MIL-OSI Export

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Adriana Marin, Lecturer in International Relations, Coventry University

Tommy Shelby returns in Netflix’s new Peaky Blinders film, The Immortal Man, a figure defined by control, composure and calculated violence. He navigates risk, trauma and conflict with an almost unnatural endurance. No matter the pressure, he adapts, survives and remains in charge.

The Immortal Man follows Shelby as he navigates a tightening web of political intrigue and criminal threats beyond Birmingham, forced to operate at a higher, more dangerous level while struggling to maintain control. As power shifts and new alliances form, he is pushed into more dangerous territory, balancing strategy, loyalty and survival, while his past continues to shape his decisions.

Irish actor Cillian Murphy delivers a masterful performance, capturing Shelby’s authority while hinting at the strain beneath the surface.

As the film’s title suggests, Shelby reflects a broader cultural archetype: the “immortal man”. He is not literally invincible, but rather resilient – a character who absorbs damage without collapsing, who endures where others fall apart.

This figure appears consistently in crime drama – Vito and Michael Corleone in The Godfather, Jimmy Conway in Goodfellas, Tony Soprano in The Sopranos – and its popularity reveals something important about how we understand crime, masculinity and power.

Criminology has long challenged the idea that criminal figures are inherently irrational or chaotic. The “enterprise model” of organised crime reframes criminal activity as structured, profit-driven and responsive to market conditions.

From this perspective, participants resemble entrepreneurs operating within illicit economies rather than criminals. Tommy Shelby fits this model closely. His actions are calculated, with violence deployed as a means to an end rather than an impulse.

The emphasis falls on strategy, recognising opportunity, managing risk and consolidating power in ways that echo legitimate business practices. This framing shifts crime away from images of chaos and unpredictability, presenting it instead as controlled and methodical. Yet rationality alone is not enough to account for his appeal.

Masculinity, control and contradiction

Cultural criminology, particularly the work of Jeff Ferrell, draws attention to the symbolic and emotional dimensions of crime. It is not only about material gain, it is also about identity, meaning and representation. Shelby is not just an economic figure but a cultural performer. His authority is constructed through style, symbolism and reputation.

Control, in this sense, is not only exercised but communicated: his presence, speech and appearance are tightly managed, projecting authority through restraint as much as action. This stylisation makes organised crime seem structured and, for some audiences, appealing. The “immortal man” is therefore not just a survivor, but a figure who appears to master both his environment and himself.

This performance of control is inseparable from masculinity. Sociologist R.W. Connell’s concept of “hegemonic masculinity” (the dominant form of masculinity in society that shapes expectations of how men should behave) helps explain Shelby’s appeal.

He embodies authority, emotional restraint and the capacity to command. He leads decisively, conceals vulnerability and maintains dominance across different spheres of life. Yet what makes the character compelling is the tension within this model. Shelby’s authority is shaped by trauma – war, loss and psychological strain.

He aligns with the ideals of dominance while simultaneously revealing their cost. The “immortal man” is defined not by being invincible, but by his ability to endure and keep going under pressure.

In this sense, masculinity is not just power, but the ability to maintain control while carrying internal damage. Shelby intensifies this model, presenting a form of dominant masculinity rooted in survival, where dominance is sustained through emotional containment rather than the absence of vulnerability.

This tension reinforces a familiar expectation: that masculinity is proven through resilience without visible collapse. At the same time, it adds complexity, presenting strength and fragility as intertwined rather than oppositional.

Sociologist Robert Merton’s strain theory suggests that when access to legitimate success is limited, individuals adapt by pursuing alternative routes.

Shelby’s trajectory reflects this logic. He does not reject the pursuit of wealth, status or influence, but he reworks the means of achieving them. Organised crime becomes a rational response to constraint, blurring the boundary between legitimate and illegitimate enterprise.

This is what gives the figure such resonance. Shelby appears to overcome structural limits while maintaining control, offering a version of success that feels both transgressive and recognisable. His appeal lies not only in what he achieves, but in how he achieves it: with certainty, authority and self-possession in contexts where those qualities feel increasingly scarce.

The endurance of this figure reflects wider cultural anxieties. In periods of instability, characters who impose order and act decisively become especially attractive. At the same time, as traditional models of masculinity are questioned, the “immortal man” offers a reassertion of clarity: an identity grounded in independence and dominance.

Shelby represents more than a criminal figure. He becomes a cultural response to uncertainty, embodying a form of masculinity and authority that promises control, even as it quietly reveals the strain required to sustain it.

Rethinking the ‘immortal man’

The issue is not that audiences engage with these narratives, but that their underlying assumptions often go unexamined. The “immortal man” ties together masculinity, power and violence in ways that appear natural but are, in fact, constructed. Authority is best demonstrated through domination, that emotional restraint is a marker of strength, and that success justifies the means by which it is achieved.

These associations are reinforced through repetition. Criminological research offers a more complex picture. Organised crime is rarely as stable or controlled as it appears on screen. It is often characterised by volatility, exploitation and harm, frequently directed at the most vulnerable.

What figures like Shelby offer, then, is not a reflection of reality, but a compelling simplification of it, one that continues to resonate because it speaks to enduring questions about power, identity and control in uncertain times.

There is, ultimately, nothing immortal about men like Tommy Shelby. What endures instead is the narrative itself: a story that continues to resonate because it speaks to persistent anxieties about inequality, control and the limits of legitimate success.

– ref. Peaky Blinders The Immortal Man: why mythic figures like Tommy Shelby continue to captivate us – https://theconversation.com/peaky-blinders-the-immortal-man-why-mythic-figures-like-tommy-shelby-continue-to-captivate-us-279417

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/peaky-blinders-the-immortal-man-why-mythic-figures-like-tommy-shelby-continue-to-captivate-us-279417/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Domenico Vicinanza, Associate Professor of Intelligent Systems and Data Science, Anglia Ruskin University

At 13:24:59 Central Standard Time on December 19 1972, the Apollo 17 command module splashed down in the Pacific Ocean, about 350 nautical miles south-east of Samoa, concluding the last mission to the Moon.

During his career, Apollo 17’s commander, Eugene A. Cernan, logged 566 hours and 15 minutes in space, of which more than 73 hours were spent on the surface of the Moon. Cernan was the second American to have walked in space, and the last person to leave his footprints on the surface of the Moon.

The conclusion of the Apollo 17 journey marked not only the end of a mission, but the close of an era. Between 1969 and 1972, 12 astronauts walked on the Moon over the course of six separate landings.

Half a century later, Nasa is preparing to return under its Artemis programme. For the Artemis II mission, set to launch on April 1 2026, four astronauts will travel in a loop around the Moon in Nasa’s next-generation Orion crew capsule.

More than 50 years is a long gap, and it is only natural to ask if Americans could reach the Moon routinely in the early 1970s, why did it take so long for them to try to go back?

The answer is not simple. It has little to do with technology and much more with how politics, money and global support work. The place to start is with Apollo itself: its model of exploration was not built to last, and was clearly not sustainable.

On May 25 1961, before a joint session of Congress, President John F. Kennedy committed the US to the goal, before the decade was out, of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth.

After Kennedy’s assassination in 1963, President Lyndon B. Johnson ensured that this Moon landing goal was met. But rising costs from the Vietnam war and domestic reforms reduced his appetite for further space investment.

In fact, Nasa’s budget peaked in 1966 and began falling even before Apollo’s success, undermining prospects for sustained exploration. Further funding was declined, planned missions were cancelled, and Apollo ended in 1972 – not because it failed, but because it had accomplished its task.

Sustainable exploration (in space as on Earth) requires stable political commitment, predictable funding, and a clear long-term purpose. After Apollo, the US struggled to maintain all three at once.

Policymakers began to ask what direction Nasa should take next. In 1972, President Richard Nixon directed the space agency to begin building the space shuttle. It would lead Nasa to shift its focus away from deep space exploration towards operations in low-Earth orbit.

Marketed as a reusable “space truck”, the space shuttle was intended to make orbital access routine and affordable. However, it would turn out to be a vehicle of incredible complexity, marred by technical failures and human tragedies – the Challenger and Columbia accidents in which 14 astronauts’ lives were lost.

Eight years into the shuttle programme, some in the space community believed it was time for the US to once again set its sights on the Moon – and the tantalising prospect of a landing on Mars. On July 20 1989, the 20th anniversary of Apollo 11’s first Moon landing, President George H.W. Bush announced the Space Exploration Initiative (SEI).

The plan aimed for a long-term commitment to construct Space Station Freedom, return astronauts to the Moon “to stay”, and finally send humans to the red planet.

However, the high estimated costs of SEI, reaching hundreds of billions of dollars, led to its downfall. Weak support in Congress along with other factors led to its cancellation under Bill Clinton’s presidential administration.

During the 1990s, the International Space Station (ISS) project cemented low-Earth orbit as the priority for human exploration. The space shuttle was the US’s means of building the station and transporting crews to and from the orbiting outpost.

The ISS became a symbol of scientific cooperation and technical prowess. Experiments carried out on the station generated valuable insights into everything from medical research to materials science. However, it also soaked up resources that might otherwise have supported deep-space exploration.

The Columbia disaster in 2003 – in which a space shuttle broke up over Texas with the loss of its crew – led to another rethink of America’s direction in space. As a result, President George W. Bush announced the Vision for Space Exploration.

The aim of this proposal, which would give rise to what was known as the Constellation programme, was to rebuild Nasa’s capability for reaching the Moon, with Mars as its longer-term goal. But independent reviews warned that costs and schedules were unrealistic. Congress never really gave full financial support to Constellation, leading to its cancellation in 2010 during Barack Obama’s presidency.

This repeated cycle of cancelled space projects exposes some inherent limitations to the system for funding lunar exploration. A sustainable Moon programme needs strong multi-sector commitment, and mechanisms in place for guaranteed multi-decade funding.

But such large programmes must compete each year with defence, healthcare and social spending. Electoral turnover and shifting committee leadership in the US further weaken the prospect of continuity.

Lunar exploration has also suffered from an unresolved strategic question: why go back at all? Apollo’s purpose was largely geopolitical, and after the cold war no equally compelling justification really emerged.

Scientific returns from human space missions are limited compared with robotic exploration. Commercial prospects remain uncertain, and prestige alone rarely sustains or secures large budgets.

Maybe a more fitting question is: why does Artemis appear to have escaped the pattern? Well, Nasa argues that sending astronauts back to the lunar surface – and in particular, establishing a sustained presence there – will help researchers learn “how to live and work on another world as we prepare for human missions to Mars”. That is true, up to a point.

Nasa also emphasises that Artemis will be built through commercial partnerships and international cooperation, creating the first long-term human foothold on the Moon.

The programme seems to sit at a carefully crafted intersection of US government leadership, commercial launch capabilities, and a broad coalition of international partners brought together under the Artemis Accords. The accords are a set of common principles regarding the use of the Moon and other targets in outer space, agreed between the US and other countries.

The main difference from previous promises to return to the Moon is that this, at least in theory, spreads risk and widens the base of political support. In practice, though, Artemis remains costly and exposed to shifting budgets and priorities.

There is also a cultural dimension to this question. Apollo created a powerful – albeit fragile – myth of swift, heroic technological advance. Artemis is building its large technological base in societies and democratic contexts where investments and commitments tend to evolve slowly, shaped by negotiation, compromise and competing interests.

If Artemis succeeds, it will be because all the political, economic, societal and scientific incentives have finally aligned in a durable way. But until that alignment is proven, the 50-year gap between Apollo and Artemis is less an engineering puzzle than a reminder of how difficult sustained exploration is for modern democracies.

– ref. Why has it taken so long to return to the Moon? – https://theconversation.com/why-has-it-taken-so-long-to-return-to-the-moon-274640

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/why-has-it-taken-so-long-to-return-to-the-moon-274640/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Nicola Welsh-Burke, Sessional Academic in Literary and Cultural Studies, Western Sydney University

In mid-March, an activist group in Rutland County, Vermont, held its usual weekly rally protesting the actions of US president Donald Trump. One protester, Marsha Cassel, led the crowd, dressed as a naked Trump wearing a crown and holding a staff. Cassel was followed by another protester holding a sign proclaiming “THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES!”.

This is not the first time Trump has been compared to Hans Christian Andersen’s bumbling emperor, who marched naked through the streets while claiming to be dressed in finery – a fiction many of his subjects willingly indulged.

Who was Andersen, what aspects of his life informed this particular story and why might this be useful to know in the age of Trump?

Andersen was born in Odense, Denmark, in 1805. While his grandfather supposedly claimed noble origins for the family, Andersen’s father was a cobbler and his mother an illiterate washerwoman.

After his father died, Andersen moved to Copenhagen for work, where he found a patron, theatre director Jonas Collin, who paid for his education. Andersen started writing after graduating from university, becoming well known for his fairy tales, which he began publishing in the 1830s.

The Emperor’s New Clothes is in his 1837 work, Fairy Tales Told for Children, which featured other memorable tales such as The Steadfast Tin Soldier and The Little Mermaid.

The story follows a vain and clothes-obsessed emperor who commissions clothing from two travelling conmen. These men, posing as weavers, visit his court to show off a new kind of material, which is supposedly rendered invisible to a man “unfit for the office he held”, or “extraordinarily simple in character”.

Afraid to reveal that he cannot see the material, the emperor sends in several aides to review the process, who all lie about being able to see the clothes being made.

Once the “outfit” is finished, the emperor dons it and parades naked through the town. The townsfolk compliment the garments, until a small child bursts the bubble, yelling out that the emperor has no clothes.

Unable to admit this, the emperor continues on his way. But the townsfolk now laugh.

This simple tale powerfully criticises rulers who tell untruths, performing intelligence and leadership, as well as those who uncritically allow this.

An outsider looking in

Like many fairy tales, the origins of this one stretch back centuries. Older versions date to medieval times. All feature people in power being duped by conmen who play on their vanities about their own intelligence. Literary scholar Hollis Robbins suggests Andersen’s version reflects a newly-emerging working class culture where “professional competence” was “quickly overtaking legitimacy and heritage as a source of aristocratic anxiety”.

In his book The Enchanted Screen: The Unknown History of Fairy-Tale Films, fairy tale scholar Jack Zipes claims Andersen was “embarrassed by his proletarian background” and “rarely mingled with the lower classes” once he found success as a writer.

Andersen never married and more recently, has been understood as a bisexual man. He had infatuations with both men and women, including Edvard Collin (the son of his patron Jonas) and Swedish opera singer Jenny Lind. After a fall in 1872, from which he never recovered, he died in 1875.

Andersen’s lower class background, argues Zipes, meant he was particularly well suited to biting cultural commentary about the difficult path for those escaping poverty.

In one translation of The Emperor’s New Clothes, the child who proclaims the nudity of the emperor is called “the voice of innocence” by his father. This voice spreads through the crowd, leading to the comical image of the naked emperor’s aides striving to lift the invisible train of his outfit even higher.

Regardless of one’s position in life, this story suggests you cannot escape “suffering, humiliation, and torture,” writes Zipes.

Indeed, many of Andersen’s tales feature characters (often frail, young women) who suffer immensely before dying nobly. The Emperor’s New Clothes, with its child character as the voice of reason, has an ending that, while not “happily ever after”, is as lighthearted as Andersen gets.

The power of fairy tales

The fairy tale is one of the most recognisable literary genres. We hear them from such a young age it is almost like we were born knowing them. Beginning as oral folktales, many of the tales we know today were first written down in 16th and 17th century France, Italy and Germany as social commentary and educational stories.

It is difficult to identify the “originals” of many tales, given their folkloric origins. Still, while it is almost stereotypical now to note that the “original fairy tales” (before contemporary Disney adaptations) were surprisingly dark Andersen’s are noticeably, and notably, bleak.

The Emperor’s New Clothes has been retold many times, with print, screen and musical adaptations. As Donald Trump, in the words of one pundit, continues to “construct a narrative, declare it to be true and relentlessly force the world to submit to it”, the story resonates today.

Indeed, literary academic Naomi Wood has argued that in a post 9/11 world, a “terrifying possibility” emerges in readings of the tale.

The truth of the fairy tale is not its glorification of the voice of innocence, free from corruption and untruth. Rather, it is that adults will continue to believe their own lies, even when they are clearly revealed. As a result, we allow the parade to continue, even while knowing it is farcical.

– ref. The Emperor’s New Clothes – a fairy tale for our times? – https://theconversation.com/the-emperors-new-clothes-a-fairy-tale-for-our-times-279558

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/the-emperors-new-clothes-a-fairy-tale-for-our-times-279558/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Jane Melville, Senior Curator, Terrestrial Vertebrates, Museums Victoria Research Institute

In the 19th century, natural history was a field dominated by men: collectors, curators and naturalists. Names such as John Gould and John James Audubon are well known for their contributions to ornithology.

Far less familiar is Jane Catherine Tost (nee Ward, 1816–1889), a skilled taxidermist and naturalist who worked alongside leading figures of her era, and became the first woman employed in a professional role at an Australian museum.

Recent archival research has brought new attention to Tost’s life and career, revealing the extent of her contribution to 19th century natural history. While, to our knowledge, no images of her have survived, many of her works are still in museum collections.

Tost’s story is the subject of my new book, For Her Love of Birds, published by Museums Victoria.

Early life in London

Jane Catherine Ward was born in 1816 into a family closely connected to the London bird trade. Her father was a bird breeder, and her older brothers, like Jane, were taxidermists.

In 1825, her eldest brother, James Frederick Ward, entered a partnership with the young naturalist John Gould. Operating from Golden Square, London, the pair advertised themselves as “bird stuffers to the King”, preparing specimens for elite clients.

Evidence uncovered for this book confirms James Frederick Ward was Gould’s first business partner, a detail not recognised in previous histories. The partnership ended in 1828 after Gould was appointed to a curatorial role at the Zoological Society of London.

But the Ward family remained active in scientific circles. They developed an association with the naturalist John James Audubon, and Jane’s brothers travelled to the United States to assist him in collecting bird specimens. Her brother Edwin Henry Ward accompanied Audubon on his first trip into the Florida Territories in 1831.

Jane remained in London, where she developed her own expertise as a taxidermist. By 1838, at the age of 21, she was working for Gould, preparing bird specimens for his projects – including those from his travels across Australia.

Her position was unusual, considering how few women worked in paid scientific fields back then. Indeed, in 1838, of the 18 taxidermists listed in the trade directories, none were women.

But in the 1841 census, Jane listed herself as a taxidermist (or bird stuffer, as they were known then).

Hardship and emigration

Jane married Charles Tost, a Prussian-born pianoforte maker, in 1839. Yet she continued working while raising a family.

During the 1840s they experienced financial hardship. And, like many others living in London during this period, they faced the threat of disease, instability, and personal tragedy.

Moving from London to Nottingham 1850, Jane opened her own business, advertising herself as a leading naturalist and using her maiden name “Ward” alongside her married name. Her work as an independent, professional naturalist gathered considerable attention in the local papers.

In 1855, the family emigrated to Australia. Although it has been previously reported they travelled to Australia on the Indian Queen, research for this new book uncovered documentation they sailed on the fast-clipper Schomberg, bound for Melbourne.

The voyage was fraught with problems, which came to a head on a stormy night two days after Christmas when the ship wrecked on the Victorian coast. Although all passengers were rescued, the ship was lost.

The Tost family eventually continued on to Tasmania, all their belongings at the bottom of the sea.

A new career in Australia

In Hobart Town, Jane began working for the Royal Society of Tasmania, preparing specimens for their new museum, which would later become the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. Her work was well regarded, and she contributed to displays that would be shown internationally, including in an 1862 exhibition held at the Crystal Palace.

Seeking broader professional opportunities, Jane moved her family to Sydney. There she established a taxidermy business and undertook work for private clients and public exhibitions. Her work, including a well-publicised display of alpacas that won medals at the International Exhibition in London in 1862, helped establish her reputation.

Her most significant appointment came when Australian Museum director and curator Gerard Krefft employed her as a taxidermist in 1863. She was paid £10 per week, the same wage as the men. In this role, she repaired and prepared specimens for display when the museum’s collections required extensive restoration.

Her employment marked a milestone: she was the first woman appointed to a professional position at the Australian Museum, and likely one of the first at a museum globally.

Her legacy

Despite her achievements, Jane’s career was not free from difficulty. Heated disputes within the museum led to the dismissal of her husband, who had also been employed there, and she subsequently lost her position. The family again faced financial strain.

Following further tragedies, Jane and her daughter Ada established a taxidermy business opposite the museum. Over time, it became one of the leading taxidermy establishments in Australia, supplying specimens to museums and private collectors globally.

Jane continued working until her death in 1889, exhibiting at international exhibitions in London, Paris, Calcutta and Chicago.

Although her name faded from mainstream accounts of scientific history, Jane Ward Tost played a significant role in the development of natural history collections in both Britain and Australia.

The full extent of her life – spanning professional achievement, migration, personal loss and resilience – is finally being fully documented.

Her story offers a new perspective on the people who underpinned 19th century museums and natural history, and on the women whose expertise helped build museum collections that still exist today.

– ref. Jane Ward Tost was a trailblazer in natural sciences – until history forgot her – https://theconversation.com/jane-ward-tost-was-a-trailblazer-in-natural-sciences-until-history-forgot-her-276764

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/jane-ward-tost-was-a-trailblazer-in-natural-sciences-until-history-forgot-her-276764/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Bonnie Yushih Liao, Assistant Professor of Diplomacy & International Relations, Tamkang University

The United States and Israeli strikes on Iran have become increasingly concerning for the world due to the risks of further escalation and the impact on energy markets.

In Taiwan, however, the focus has shifted in a different direction.

Rather than treating the war as geographically distant, Taiwanese political leaders and analysts are viewing it as a real-time indicator of how the United States operates under strategic pressure.

The key question is less about whether the United States would act if a conflict with China were to break out in the Indo-Pacific region, and more about how it would manage competing pressures if multiple crises unfolded at once.

A test of limits, not intentions

There is growing recognition in Taiwan that US resources are not unlimited.

The Middle East war has caused energy prices to fluctuate and stoked fears of rising inflation in the United States, demonstrating the domestic costs of military operations.

US President Donald Trump’s approval ratings have also taken a hit, with some in his own party now questioning his rationale for going to war.

Some reports have indicated US supplies of interceptor missiles are running low. The US military has, for example, had to move some THAAD missile interceptors from South Korea to the Middle East. The US has also struggled to defend against Iran’s use of asymmetrical fighting tactics.

This has direct implications for the deterrence Washington has long maintained in the Indo-Pacific. This deterrence depends not only on US war-fighting capability, but on the expectation this capability will remain intact under strain.

Conflicts elsewhere may not weaken the US resolve to intervene if China were to invade or pressure Taiwan in some fashion. But they can drain American resources and influence where these items are prioritised.

Shifting thresholds for the use of force

The US has also framed its strikes on Iran as a “preventive” action aimed at mitigating a future threat rather than responding to an imminent attack. This raises broader questions about the changing threshold for the use of force in the Indo-Pacific.

For Taiwan, this is not an abstract notion. If the threshold for military action is lowered from imminent threat to potential risk, the strategic environment becomes less predictable in the Indo-Pacific.

This broadens the range of circumstances under which force by the United States may be justified.

The speed with which the Trump administration has acted in Iran has also increased uncertainty for regional partners like Japan and South Korea in assessing when and how the United States would act against China.

The US’ NATO partners weren’t told about the Iran strikes before they happened. This could make Japan and South Korea similarly worried about a lack of communication on potential US actions over Taiwan.

Wars rarely follow anticipated pathways

The Iran war has also raised broader questions about how the United States adapts as crises evolve.

Much of the discussion around Taiwan has traditionally centred on the possibility of a large-scale Chinese invasion. However, recent developments suggest escalation may be less linear than this.

Rather than following a single, predictable pathway, conflicts can develop through a sequence of smaller decisions, the ambiguity over signals sent by an adversary, or rapidly changing political conditions.

This has contributed to a shift in strategic discussion in Taiwan. Recent defence policy debates and security forums have increasingly examined scenarios in which China pressured Taiwan with grey-zone tactics, blockades and incremental escalatory moves, rather than focusing solely on full-scale invasion.

As a result, attention is shifting to how such pressure might build over time – through cyber operations, maritime restrictions or limited military actions – and possibly spiral out of control.

The current crisis in the Strait of Hormuz has been watched closely in Taiwan as an example of how disruption of a strategic chokepoint can quickly impact the world. This raises questions about whether similar dynamics could emerge in the Taiwan Strait, and how prepared external actors – including the US – would be to respond.

The US has also been unable to prevent the Iran war from spilling over into the Persian Gulf states. This raises questions about whether a war over Taiwan could be contained or produce wider regional effects.

The risk of misinterpretation

For Taiwan, the most immediate challenge comes from how China interprets US actions in Iran. If Beijing concludes that diminishing military resources or domestic pressures would limit the US’ ability to wage a sustained conflict in the Indo-Pacific, it may reassess the risks of applying coercive pressure on Taiwan.

This does not imply immediate conflict is likely over Taiwan. However, it increases the likelihood that China would try to pressure or coerce Taiwan just below the threshold of full-scale war.

History suggests that escalation is often shaped by how situations are interpreted by adversaries, rather than by clear shifts in power. When states believe conditions are more favourable than they actually are, the risk of misjudgement increases.

For Taiwan, the challenge is therefore not only to assess developments in the Middle East, but to ensure that its own position is not misunderstood. This involves:

• maintaining credible defensive capabilities
• reinforcing internal cohesion against possible threats
• signalling clearly that any attempt at coercion would face robust resistance.

Deterrence depends not only on what a country can do, but what others believe it will do — and whether those beliefs discourage risk-taking.

– ref. How Taiwan is viewing the Iran war – and what it reveals about US credibility – https://theconversation.com/how-taiwan-is-viewing-the-iran-war-and-what-it-reveals-about-us-credibility-279102

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/how-taiwan-is-viewing-the-iran-war-and-what-it-reveals-about-us-credibility-279102/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Di Johnson, Senior Lecturer, Finance and Financial Planning, Griffith University

Retiring well means making a series of decisions to ensure a financially secure post-work life. One practical step is to work out the income you need each week to survive and thrive when you stop working.

If you are one of the many Australians still working and growing your super, knowing more about tailored retirement income products might help to plan.

There are two main ways to use super savings in retirement:

• through products that provide an income stream, and/or
• through lump sums.

It’s easy to put off thinking about superannuation when retirement is years away. In this five-part series, we ask top experts to explain how to sort your super in a few simple steps, avoid greenwashing, and set goals for retirement.

Account-based pensions

The most common product for a retirement income stream in super is an account-based pension. These can be set up outside super, but there are advantages inside super. Around 80% of retired super fund members have one or more account-based pensions in super.

These products offer flexibility, control and continued exposure to investment markets. They allow retirees to convert part, or all, of their super balance into an income stream while keeping an allocated sum invested.

More than one can be set up, at different times, and with different investment choices, so your investment balance keeps growing while providing income in the short-term. Retirees can choose how much they withdraw, as long as they meet the government’s minimum withdrawal requirements.

Arguably, the greatest advantage of an account-based pension within super is its tax effectiveness compared to investments outside super. Once a super member is fully retired, both the investment earnings and income drawn from an account-based pension in super is tax-free.

One of the disadvantages of account-based pensions in super is that the age-based minimum drawdown rates might not suit your investment timing or income preferences. Investment returns are not guaranteed, and you don’t know how many years of income will be needed.

If you die before the funds are fully drawn, however, your beneficiary can receive the remaining money.

Another option for regular income: annuities

Retirees can also use their super to buy another type of income product called an annuity. There are a few main types of annuities and you can choose if you want the income payments:

• guaranteed over a fixed period of time
• investment-linked over a fixed period or for life, or
• guaranteed for the rest of your life, typically adjusted for inflation.

The cost of the annuity will vary depending on these factors. Annuities provide more certainty both in the payments and timeframe for income, regardless of investment market performance.

In Australia, fewer than 5% of super member accounts are annuities. But that may be changing, as more retirees realise the advantages of including an annuity in their super income planning.

Annuities can be bought using super or non-super money, but using super has the advantage of tax-free earnings and income.

In addition, for age pension eligibility, Centrelink only takes into consideration 60% of the value of a lifetime annuity compared to 100% of an account-based pension. This favourable treatment means your super savings can last longer, because your retirement income will be supplemented with more age pension.

On the downside, annuities have less flexibility. Once you have committed a lump sum of super to purchase the annuity, you cannot convert that back into a lump sum.

The income from annuity returns may also not be as high as in an account-based pension, because there is a trade-off between investment returns and guaranteed income.

Choosing the right mix for your circumstances

Retirees may benefit from a retirement income strategy that includes a combination of account-based pensions and annuities, depending on their personal needs and circumstances.

Once aged 67, retirees will also be eligible for the age pension, within asset or income limits. More than 60% of retirees receive at least some age pension, around 40% as their main income.

There is a maximum amount that can be transferred to pension phase within super, regardless of whether you choose an account-based pension or annuity, or a combination. That cap currently sits at A$2 million.

What about lump sums?

Once a super fund member reaches preservation age, usually age 60, and ceases at least one job, they may be able to access some or all their super as a lump sum. Alternatively, a member can access some or all their super as a lump sum when they turn 65, regardless of their employment.

With more people heading into retirement with mortgages, lump sums can be used to pay down debt, or for home repairs, holidays or even gifting.

How the lump sum is used may affect your age pension. In 2025, the average lump sum taken out by newly retired members was around $58,000.

While income stream products have a range of advantages within super, taking at least some super as a lump sum is common, even later in retirement. More than $71 billion was paid out in lump sums from superannuation in 2025 across 2.26 million member accounts.

Advice can help

Getting advice on coordinating super income streams and age pension entitlements can make a big difference to maximising your income while managing risk. Licensed financial advisers are in high demand, either within or outside your super fund.

Super funds can provide a range of valuable information, calculators and support. Other online tools are also available that can help with retirement income planning, including taking age pension eligibility into account.

Disclaimer: This article provides general information only and is not intended as financial advice.

– ref. I’m close to retirement age. What are my options for drawing on my super savings? – https://theconversation.com/im-close-to-retirement-age-what-are-my-options-for-drawing-on-my-super-savings-276377

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/im-close-to-retirement-age-what-are-my-options-for-drawing-on-my-super-savings-276377/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Suzanne Nielsen, Professor and Deputy Director, Monash Addiction Research Centre, Monash University

Anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) are among the most common mental health conditions for which Australians are prescribed medicinal cannabis.

Most prescriptions for mental health conditions, and for other conditions more broadly, are for products containing higher levels of THC (tetrahydrocannabinol). This is the part of cannabis that causes a “high” and can affect thinking and mood.

Many of these prescriptions are for inhaled products, such as dried leaf or flower that people smoke or inhale.

This pattern of use – of inhaled, higher-THC content for mental health conditions – appears to be partly driven by prescribing trends among 18 to 44-year-old men.

For anxiety alone, there are almost three times more approvals for the products containing the highest levels of THC than for products containing only CBD (cannabidiol).

But this prescribing pattern doesn’t line up with the best available research. Most higher-quality clinical trials for anxiety have tested CBD-based products, not THC.

This is just one example of how Australians are using medicinal cannabis to treat mental health conditions without the best available evidence to back it.

Let’s start with anxiety

Anxiety is the most common mental health reason people seek medicinal cannabis in Australia.

There is emerging evidence CBD may help some people with anxiety, but the findings are inconsistent.

The largest and most comprehensive systematic review on medicinal cannabis and mental health found it did not meaningfully improve anxiety symptoms. The authors said we still need larger, high-quality trials, and studies that reflect how people use medicinal cannabis in the real world.

Evidence for THC is even more mixed. In our previous article we described how some people find THC makes them feel calmer, but others say it worsens their anxiety. As few trials have investigated THC for anxiety, it is hard to draw firm conclusions.

Medicinal cannabis prescriptions have skyrocketed in Australia, mostly for legal but unapproved products we don’t even know work or are safe. In this series, experts tease out what’s fuelling the rise of medicinal cannabis, the fallout, and what needs to happen next.

How about PTSD?

The evidence so far for using medicinal cannabis to treat PTSD is limited.

While some people report benefit, the findings from the small number of high-quality randomised controlled trials (the gold standard for medical evidence) are mixed.

In one very small study, only five people completed the entire protocol. This tested vaporised cannabis containing either a combination of 10% THC and 10% CBD, or a product with mainly 10% THC.

Both products appeared to improve PTSD symptoms in the short term, but the trial had trouble recruiting participants. A larger study would be needed to know if the results are reliable.

Another trial tested smoked cannabis with three strengths: 12% THC, one mainly containing CBD, and one with equal amounts of THC and CBD. There was no change in the severity of PTSD symptoms for any of the products compared to placebo. Smoking cannabis, including medicinal cannabis, is also not recommended because of its well known harms.

The limited and uncertain evidence is one reason the Department of Veterans’ Affairs has decided not to fund medicinal cannabis to treat mental health conditions, including PTSD.

What about depression?

There is even less high-quality evidence for using medicinal cannabis to treat depression. A recent systematic review found no relevant randomised controlled trials.

A small pilot study tested 150–300 milligrams a day of CBD alongside standard treatment for bipolar depression. CBD was well tolerated, meaning it didn’t cause serious side effects, but it didn’t help symptoms.

Studies for different types of depression are mixed. Some show possible benefits but also unfavourable effects including worse symptoms or acute mental health effects such as psychosis, suicidal thoughts or anxiety. It is also unclear whether unfavourable effects are due to the product or underlying mental health condition.

Is medicinal cannabis safe?

Emerging evidence shows psychosis has been reported among people using medicinal cannabis containing higher levels of THC.

Australia’s medicines regulator, the Therapeutic Goods Administration (or TGA) says products containing THC are generally not appropriate for people who have a personal or family history of psychosis or schizophrenia. This caution also extends to people with past or current mood or anxiety disorders.

This is largely because THC can worsen or trigger symptoms in people who are already vulnerable to these conditions.

Why the increased risk?

Is this due to the THC or were these people already at higher risk? It’s likely a mix of both.

Daily or near-daily cannabis use (which is common with medicinal use) is linked to a higher risk of psychosis, or it may contribute to developing it.

Young people may be particularly vulnerable to side effects after taking medicinal cannabis (and cannabis in general) for mental health conditions as their brains are still developing.

Other research shows higher-strength THC products appear to carry higher mental health risks for everyone. People who use frequently, or for long periods, are at further risk.

So the emerging picture is that the product used, how it is used, and the person matter and can influence health outcomes. Higher THC products raise risks across the board, but those risks are increased in people who start young, use often, or continue long term.

What happens when I stop taking it?

Some people whose mental health symptoms increase when they stop taking medicinal cannabis see that as evidence their medicine was working. But that’s not necessarily the case. They could be experiencing withdrawal from cannabis.

Many people who use cannabis (medicinal or otherwise) experience a rebound in symptoms – such as anxiety or sleep difficulties – when they stop. This can feel very similar to the symptoms that prompted them to seek treatment.

We also know around one in three or four people who use cannabis medically will develop cannabis dependence and are likely to experience withdrawal symptoms if they stop using it suddenly.

So, cannabis withdrawal may be more common than people realise, and may well explain symptoms that emerge when someone stops taking it.

How do I know what is right for me?

Many studies that look at whether medicinal cannabis could help different mental health conditions are low quality or have conflicting findings. So the evidence is not yet strong enough to recommend it as the best treatment for any mental health condition.

So talk to your trusted, regular medical professional to help you weigh up the potential benefits and risks of medicinal cannabis, especially if you have a history of mental health concerns.

Given the mixed evidence and the TGA’s cautions, it’s really important to seek personalised medical advice.

If you or someone you know is struggling with anxiety, mood changes, or any mental health concerns – whether or not these relate to cannabis use – the following support is available: Beyond Blue (24/7 support): 1300 22 4636 and Lifeline (crisis support): 13 11 14.

– ref. Will medicinal cannabis help my mental health? Here are the evidence and the risks – https://theconversation.com/will-medicinal-cannabis-help-my-mental-health-here-are-the-evidence-and-the-risks-271196

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/will-medicinal-cannabis-help-my-mental-health-here-are-the-evidence-and-the-risks-271196/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Hussein Dia, Professor of Transport Technology and Sustainability, Swinburne University of Technology

As fuel prices spike, many Australians are understandably anxious. Photos of empty bowsers, long queues, and high prices create the impression of a system under strain.

What we are seeing isn’t a collapse of Australia’s fuel supply chain. Shipments are still arriving and most deliveries continue as planned. While some cargoes have been disrupted, governments and industry have actively secured alternative supplies. What this crisis shows is the lack of a clear, long-term strategy to reduce dependence on fuel shipped from conflict zones thousands of kilometres away.

Because Australia is so reliant on trucks running on imported fuel, rising diesel costs are now flowing through the economy and pushing up the cost of freight, food and everyday goods.

The federal government has moved to underwrite fuel imports, relax fuel standards and tap reserves. The government has also flagged the possible need to ration fuel if supplies keep shrinking in its new fuel security plan.

These are sensible responses to a disruption more complex and potentially longer-lasting than first thought. But they are not a long-term plan to end reliance on importing fuel in a very uncertain world.

No unifying strategy

Australia’s plans for the future of transport include a national electric vehicle strategy and the New Vehicle Efficiency Standard.

These steps are necessary. The problem is, they tend to exist in silos. There’s no clear roadmap aimed at a practical outcome: reducing dependence on imported fuels and strengthening our long-term energy security as part of the transition to net zero.

Electrification at scale

Every kilometre travelled using electricity is one that didn’t depend on a tanker arriving from overseas. Unlike oil, renewable energy is not exposed to global supply disruptions in the same way.

Electric vehicles aren’t just a question of consumer choice. Electrifying transport is a full system transition.

Waiting for households to gradually switch to electric cars will be slow. Working to electrify high-impact segments such as urban freight, commercial fleets, buses and government vehicles will be much faster. Over time, this should reduce the hundreds of tanker shipments needed to keep the country moving each year.

Fastest response? Reduce demand

The quickest way to cut fuel dependence is to reduce how often we drive.

Around the world, governments and businesses are already encouraging reduced travel, flexible work and more efficient use of transport.

These temporary measures should become a core part of long-term strategy, as they can deliver immediate and lasting reductions in fuel use at very low cost.

Public transport as resilience

Every trip taken by train, tram or bus reduces demand for imported fuel. The same applies to walking, cycling and micromobility options, such as electric bikes or scooters.

Victoria and Tasmania have moved to make public transport free – and reduce demand for fuel.

If Australia had an integrated transport system in which public transport, cycling and other alternatives get a boost, it would give people viable alternatives when driving becomes more expensive or difficult.

Rethinking fuel reserves

The International Energy Agency requires member countries to hold 90 days of fuel reserves. Australia has long struggled to meet that benchmark.

Decades of economic stability left Australia underprepared for fuel security challenges. Australia has long relied on continuous global supply of fuel, stocks held by the private sector and relatively lean inventories. While efficient under normal conditions, this system has little buffer when supply becomes uncertain.

To boost fuel security, authorities should expand onshore storage, diversify import pathways, and strengthen distribution networks so fuel can reach crucial regional sectors and communities when supply is disrupted.

Policy coherence matters

Even as Australia’s power grid runs more and more on renewables, policymakers continue to approve more and more investment in fossil fuels.

With one foot in each camp, it’s hard to have a coordinated strategy to shift rapidly to forms of transport that don’t rely on long fuel supply chains.

Policy discussions around reducing incentives for EVs and introducing distance-based road user charges for EV drivers risk sending mixed signals to consumers and industry.

A credible transition to a new technology requires a clear sequence: first, give incentives and support, and move to pricing reform only once the adoption trend is established.

Avoiding ‘quick fixes’

In every energy crisis, bad ideas come back from the dead.

The move to temporarily halve the fuel excise is one such idea.

The move will lower petrol and diesel prices by around 26 cents per litre. While this provides short-term relief, it also weakens the price signal. Making fuel cheaper will simply encourage people to use more of it – a bad idea in a supply crunch.

Economists are warning the move could push fuel consumption higher and prolong inflationary pressures.

Other countries are already reducing fuel dependence

China has linked industrial policy, renewable energy and EV deployment into a coordinated transition, demonstrating how scale and coordination can reduce reliance on imported fuels.

Singapore has taken a whole-of-system approach, linking energy, transport, land use and infrastructure into a coordinated transition to reduce emissions, manage demand and limit reliance on fossil fuels.

Japan maintains large fuel reserves well beyond minimum requirements, equivalent to 254 days of domestic consumption.

None of these models is perfect. But they show reducing fuel dependence is a matter of economic resilience and national security, not just environmental policy.

A moment to reset

The modern world has long been built on oil. This crisis shows how fragile that system is.

Despite widespread fears, Australia isn’t running out of fuel. But even this tightening of supply shows how quickly global disruptions can affect us. Short-term interventions won’t be enough, while sugar hits such as cutting fuel excise will have the opposite effect.

Policymakers should use the crisis to build a transport system less exposed to less reliable supply chains, built on locally produced electricity and aligned with a low-carbon future.

– ref. Cutting fuel excise is a sugar hit – we need a plan to slash dependence on imports – https://theconversation.com/cutting-fuel-excise-is-a-sugar-hit-we-need-a-plan-to-slash-dependence-on-imports-279556

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/cutting-fuel-excise-is-a-sugar-hit-we-need-a-plan-to-slash-dependence-on-imports-279556/

Source: The Conversation (Au and NZ) – By Phoebe Hart, Associate Professor, Film Screen & Animation, Queensland University of Technology

April Fools’ Day is a funny one. Developed over centuries, it’s a tradition that gives people the permission to prank. Some leg-pulls are delightful – while others can cause distress and damage, especially if they’re rolled out on a large scale.

There’s a fine line between jokes that charm and those that harm. This overstep, especially in regard to the media and politics, warrants close attention.

A cheeky pasta prank

Historians conjecture the mischief most likely began in earnest in the 1500s in France, when the Julian calendar – which started the year on April 1 – was replaced by the Gregorian calendar we use today.

But not everyone got the memo; those who continued to celebrate the new year on April 1 were branded “April fools”, and were often sent on fools’ errands. Some examples, according to folklorist Nancy Cassell McEntire, include being sent for:

a left-handed screwdriver or wrench, a board-stretcher, a stick with one end, a bucket of striped paint, a bucket of steam, pigeon milk, a jar of elbow grease […] or a fallopian tube.

There was often a subversive edge to the hoaxes, which grew in scale over time.

Fast forward to the 20th century and the advent of broadcast media. Industry and governments began to hold advertisers, television and journalists accountable for dishonesty and deception.

Even so, respectable media organisations joined in on the condoned capers offered by April Fools’ Day. The BBC was famous for its ornate hoaxes, which borrowed the conventions of conventional reportage to pull the wool over viewers’ eyes.

One classic example was the “spaghetti harvest” segment broadcast on the channel’s current affairs show, Panorama, in 1957. The three-minute bit claimed to show Swiss farmers plucking pasta directly from trees.

It’s thought to be the first April Fools prank ever pulled on TV.

When the Opera House was sinking

In Australia, institutions such as the Australian Broadcasting Commission (now Corporation) also began a lighthearted tradition of fooling the public on the first day of April.

The ABC’s flagship current affairs program, This Day Tonight (1967–78), reported on serious issues every other night of the year (although it also ran satirical content).

But in 1970, the April 1 program included a fishy report on a new invention called the “Dial-O-Fish” – a device guaranteed to aid even the most inept angler.

A few April Fools’ later came the bogus story on how the iconic Sydney Opera House, which opened in 1973, was sinking into the harbour. There were shots of divers inspecting the foundations underwater; it was convincing.

Then, in 1975, the program announced Australia would soon be converting to “metric time” following on from the introduction of metric currency in 1966. According to an ABC report, “under the new system there would be 100 seconds to the minute, 100 minutes to the hour, and 20-hour days”.

The segment featured shots of Adelaide Town Hall with a new ten-hour clockface. South Australian Deputy Premier Des Corcoran took part in the prank by heartily supporting the change on camera.

Audiences were divided. Many called the station. Some were amused, while others upset. More than a few were confused.

Importantly, these jokes were psychologically benign – and the reveal came quickly before any real damage was done.

Routine April Fools’ Day ruses still occur on television breakfast shows, commercial radio and in advertising – but news broadcasters walk a trickier tightrope.

No longer laughing along

The key difference before and after the digital revolution is how production, platforms and audiences have transformed.

Broadcast news audiences used to be large and trusting. Millions gathered in front of television and radio sets every evening and believed most of what they saw and heard.

Now, when everyone and anyone has the means to film and publish a story on their mobile phone, audiences are fractured and suspicious. News is suffering a crisis of confidence in an era of misinformation, and many in the industry are loath to do anything that might instil more distrust among the public.

Moreover, attention is a scarce commodity on social media, where information is delivered with less context. Short video clips, deep fakes and fake news jostle for space – and all too often, April Fools’ jests backfire.

Last year, Australian-born British ITV presenter Georgina Burnett made a social media post pretending to be pregnant as an April Fools’ prank. Instead of generating excitement, she ended up offending a lot of people – including people struggling to start a family.

On the same day, Queensland politician Ryan Murphy’s misjudged post claimed Brisbane City Council had annexed the neighbouring shire of Redlands.

The language was official – alluding to Donald Trump’s proposed annexation of Greenland. And the reaction to the post was harsh and swift; the good folks of Redlands didn’t like the idea of paying higher rates, nor being governed by another wealthier city.

Pranks in a post-truth world

Jests about personal sovereignty and safety never seem to land well, especially when issued from a source of authority. Gone are the days of the Aussie larrikin who could transgress without a care.

In the past, most forgave this (usually white, male) character when others become targets of his hazing.

Today, onlookers are digitally-savvy. They are aware they’re living in a world with entrenched inequality, scammers and bad actors, immoral leaders and elites, and corruptible institutions. No wonder we’re quicker to denounce lies and insensitivity.

– ref. From spaghetti harvests to fake news: why the glory days of April Fools gags are over – https://theconversation.com/from-spaghetti-harvests-to-fake-news-why-the-glory-days-of-april-fools-gags-are-over-279331

Evening Report: https://eveningreport.nz/2026/04/01/from-spaghetti-harvests-to-fake-news-why-the-glory-days-of-april-fools-gags-are-over-279331/