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< Back to Issue 2 Tactile communication: how touch conveys the things we can’t say Our daily dose of touch has decreased through months of lockdowns. But why is touch so important to us, and why do we feel the lack of it so severely? by Lily McCann 10 December 2021 Edited by Juulke Castelijn and Ethan Newnham Illustrated by Janna Dingle In a confusing world, thrust in and out of lockdowns, estranged from family and friends, you may have felt somewhat lost and out of touch in recent years. What helps to bring you back to a sense of self and belonging? For me it's a hug from my partner, a pat on the back from a sibling or a cuddle with my dog. Positive physical contact helps ground us and reassure us of our place in the world. It's an instinct cultivated from our first moments of life and one crucial to development. As the first sense to form, touch is the start of our gradual awakening into the world and informs our developmental progress. Even touching a mother’s stomach in pregnancy can alter the behaviour of the foetus within[1]. In the mid-late 20th century, researchers began to study the impact of sensory deprivation on children and infants, examining those placed in institutions who suffered from neglect[2]. This was a poignant problem following World War II, when millions of children were orphaned or displaced. The limited number of carers in overcrowded orphanages that attempted to harbour them meant that infants and young children were often left to lie day after day without a hug, stroke or any other form of caring contact. Upon studying these children, it became clear that the impact of deprivation was devastating, resulting in a number of cognitive, behavioural and physical deficits. Studies have since established that increasing tactile contact with developing children is protective against such problems[3]. For instance, simply stroking isolated premature babies improves mental development and physical growth[4]. It seems that touch provides a message to the infant’s body, communicating that it is safe and guarded and in an environment where it can grow and flourish. As you might expect, this process is closely related to stress responses. Studies have shown that in stressful situations of food deprivation, mice populations prioritise survival, neglecting breeding and exploration. When food is plentiful, this is reversed. A mother’s touch has a similar effect on human infants, decreasing stress levels and facilitating development and exploration[5]. We see another good example of this in dogs. Along with other domesticated animals, dog display something called ‘Domestication Syndrome’, which describes a set of features animals shaped by human breeding efforts share[6]. The ‘cute’ physique of such animals (floppy ears, snubby nose, curly tails) are correlated with increased stress tolerance and more tame behaviours. Interestingly, in dogs this decrease in stress is also paired with increased desire for and pleasure in touch. This is clear even between dog breeds: the working Australian Kelpie with its active herding instincts is more likely to chase down a bicycle than snuggle into you and ignore it like the floppy-eared Cavalier. Correlation studies abound, but what about the mechanism behind all these associations? How does touch affect our body? How is its message conveyed? The key mediators of tactile communication are nerve cells, otherwise known as neurons. These cells conduct signals to, from and within our brain. They’re particularly important for sensation, transferring information about our external environment to our inner mind. For touch, there are neurons in our skin with specialised endings that can sense pressure, vibration, temperature and stretch. They respond to these stimuli by firing little signals that tell our brain we’re touching something. There are actually two distinct types of touch that we use. Typing, turning book pages or handling tools are all mediated by the first type, discriminative touch, which is mainly limited to the palmar surface of our hands and fingers. Have a look at your palm now, then flip it over and examine the back of your hand. Notice anything different? The main difference is that the inner surface of your hand is smooth. Check out the back of it – it’s hairy. Hairy skin is differentiated by – you guessed it – hair, but also by the method of touch sensation. The type of touch experienced by hairy skin is affective touch. Affective touch holds the key to explaining our emotional dependence on tactile communication because it describes touch that has emotional and social relevance. It relies on a type of sensory nerve called CT fibres, which are specialised for positive social touch: they respond best to the temperature of human skin and a gentle, stroking pressure. Parents automatically use this sort of touch when interacting with their children[7]. This caring touch is incredibly powerful. It can cause the release of oxytocin (the “bonding hormone”)[8], decrease stress levels[9], and trigger the facial muscles that form a smile[10]. It can stimulate unique emotional responses, such as excitement, affection or calm. It even has the power to speak to DNA itself: research has shown that changing touch exposure in mice affects how DNA is structured and expressed[11]. Social touch is an essential component of how we define ourselves as humans. Without it, touch would mean nothing more than that a person is present, that their skin is warm or cold, dry or wet. The warmth of our partner’s hand wouldn’t create a sense of belonging, hugging a friend wouldn’t trigger memories of time spent together, stroking your child wouldn’t give rise to feelings of love. Affective touch colours our world and gives it meaning. Whilst some suggest that social touch encompasses all intentional, consensual interpersonal touch, I would argue that even accidental touch has a social impact[12]. In recent times we have all felt the change of walking down empty streets. Where bumping or brushing against another person was taken for granted as simply unavoidable on the morning train a couple of years ago, COVID19 has introduced new connotations to such accidental touch, all but prohibiting it. Whilst you may have been frustrated by clustered train carriages, you can’t help but notice that it feels a little lonely when the train is quiet, and the nearest passenger is more than 1.5m away. Even accidental touch signals to the body that you are part of a community, part of a herd, and for a social animal that must be comforting. Look at sheep, for instance: under stress, harassed by sheepdogs or farmers, they automatically cluster together in a group. Whilst an individual bump between two sheep in the herd may be fortuitous, the fact that crowding together maximises interpersonal contact is no accident. The comfort of touch is a fact of human life, but one not often actively acknowledged. Lockdowns and isolation have reminded us all how necessary social contact can be for our wellbeing. Touch is a part of the chatter that defines our place amongst others and our identities as part of a community. So if your pet, friend or partner are in need of comfort, administer a bit of affective touch and see the miraculous calming effects of the actions of those CT nerve cells. Stay safe and sanitise, but remember, hugs are helpful too! References [1]Marx, Viola, and Emese Nagy. 2017. "Fetal Behavioral Responses To The Touch Of The Mother’S Abdomen: A Frame-By-Frame Analysis". Infant Behavior And Development 47: 83-91. doi:10.1016/j.infbeh.2017.03.005. [2] van der Horst, Frank C. P., and René van der Veer. 2008. "Loneliness In Infancy: Harry Harlow, John Bowlby And Issues Of Separation". Integrative Psychological And Behavioral Science 42 (4): 325-335. doi:10.1007/s12124-008-9071-x. [3] Ardiel, Evan L, and Catharine H Rankin. 2010. "The Importance Of Touch In Development". Paediatrics & Child Health 15 (3): 153-156. doi:10.1093/pch/15.3.153. [4] Rice, Ruth D. 1977. "Neurophysiological Development In Premature Infants Following Stimulation.". Developmental Psychology 13 (1): 69-76. doi:10.1037/0012-1649.13.1.69. [5] Caldji, Christian, Josie Diorio, and Michael J Meaney. 2000. "Variations In Maternal Care In Infancy Regulate The Development Of Stress Reactivity". Biological Psychiatry 48 (12): 1164-1174. doi:10.1016/s0006-3223(00)01084-2. [6] Trut, Lyudmila. 1999. "Early Canid Domestication: The Farm-Fox Experiment". American Scientist 87 (2): 160. doi:10.1511/1999.2.160. [7]Croy, Ilona, Edda Drechsler, Paul Hamilton, Thomas Hummel, and Håkan Olausson. 2016. "Olfactory Modulation Of Affective Touch Processing — A Neurophysiological Investigation". Neuroimage 135: 135-141. doi:10.1016/j.neuroimage.2016.04.046.v [8]Walker, Susannah C., Paula D. Trotter, William T. Swaney, Andrew Marshall, and Francis P. Mcglone. 2017. "C-Tactile Afferents: Cutaneous Mediators Of Oxytocin Release During Affiliative Tactile Interactions?". Neuropeptides 64: 27-38. doi:10.1016/j.npep.2017.01.001. [9]Field, Tiffany. 2010. "Touch For Socioemotional And Physical Well-Being: A Review". Developmental Review 30 (4): 367-383. doi:10.1016/j.dr.2011.01.001. [10]Pawling, Ralph, Peter R. Cannon, Francis P. McGlone, and Susannah C. Walker. 2017. "C-Tactile Afferent Stimulating Touch Carries A Positive Affective Value". PLOS ONE 12 (3): e0173457. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0173457. [11]Bagot, R. C., T.-Y. Zhang, X. Wen, T. T. T. Nguyen, H.-B. Nguyen, J. Diorio, T. P. Wong, and M. J. Meaney. 2012. "Variations In Postnatal Maternal Care And The Epigenetic Regulation Of Metabotropic Glutamate Receptor 1 Expression And Hippocampal Function In The Rat". Proceedings Of The National Academy Of Sciences 109 (Supplement_2): 17200-17207. doi:10.1073/pnas.1204599109. [12] Cascio, Carissa J., David Moore, and Francis McGlone. 2019. "Social Touch And Human Development". Developmental Cognitive Neuroscience 35: 5-11. doi:10.1016/j.dcn.2018.04.009. Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

< Back to Issue 2 Hiccups Evolution might be a theory, but if it’s evidence you’re after, there’s no need to look further than your own body. The human form is full of fascinating parts and functions that hold hidden histories - from the column that brought you a deep-dive into ear wiggling in Issue 1, here’s an exploration of why we hiccup! by Rachel Ko 10 December 2021 Edited by Katherine Tweedie and Ashleigh Hallinan Illustrated by Gemma Van der Hurk Hiccups bring a special brand of chaos to a day. It’s one that lingers, rendering us helpless and in suspense; a subtle, internal chaos of quiet frustration that forces us to drop what we’re doing to monitor each breath – in and out, in and out – until the moment they abruptly decide to stop. It’s an experience we’ve all had – one that can hit anyone at any time – and for most of us, hiccups are a concentrated episode of inconvenience; best ignored, and overcome. Yet, despite our haste to get rid of them when they interrupt our day, hiccups seem to have mystified humans for generations. Historically, the phenomenon has been the source of many superstitions, both good and bad. A range of cultures associate them with the concept of remembrance: in Russia, hiccups mean someone is missing you (1), while an Indian myth suggests that someone is remembering you negatively for the evils you have committed (2). Likewise, in Ancient Greece, hiccups were a sign that you were being complained about (3), while in Hungary, they mean you are currently the subject of gossip. On a darker note, a Japanese superstition prophesises death to one who hiccups 100 times. (4) Clearly, the need to justify everything, even things as trivial as hiccups, has always been an inherent human characteristic, transcending culture and time. As such, science has more recently made its attempt at objectively identifying a reason behind the strange phenomenon of hiccups. After all, if you take a step back and think about it, hiccups are indeed quite strange. Anatomically, hiccups (known scientifically as singultus) are involuntary spasms of the diaphragm (5): the dome-like sheet of muscle separating the chest and abdominal cavities. (6) The inspiratory muscles, including the intercostal and neck muscles, also spasm, while the expiratory muscles are inhibited. (7) These sudden contractions cause a rapid intake of air (“hic”), followed by the immediate closure of the glottis or vocal cords (“up”). (8) As many of us have probably experienced, a range of stimuli can cause these involuntary contractions. The physical stimuli include anything that stretches and bloats the stomach, (9) such as overeating, rapid food consumption and gulping, especially of carbonated drinks. (10) Emotionally, intense feelings and our responses to them, such as laughing, sobbing, anxiety and excitement, can also be triggers. (11) This list is not at all exhaustive; in fact, the range of stimuli is so large that hiccups might be considered the common thread between a drunk man, a Parkinson’s disease patient and anyone who watches The Notebook. The one thing that alcohol, (12) some neurological drugs (13) and intense sobbing (14) do have in common is that they exogenously stimulate the hiccup reflex arc. (15) This arc involves the vagal and phrenic nerves that stretch from the brainstem to the abdomen which cause the diaphragm to contract involuntarily. (16) According to Professor Georg Petroianu from the Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine, (17) many familiar home remedies for hiccupping – being scared, swallowing ice, drinking water upside down – interrupt this reflex arc, actually giving these solutions a somewhat scientific rationale. While modern research has successfully mapped out the process of hiccups, their purpose is still unclear. As of now, the hiccup reflex arc and the resulting diaphragmatic spasms seem to be effectively useless. Of the existing theories for the function of hiccups, the most prominent seems to be that they are a remnant of our evolutionary development, (18) essentially ‘vestigial’; in this case, a feature that once served our amphibian ancestors millions of years ago, but now retain little of their original function. (19) In particular, hiccups are believed to be a relic of the ancient transition of organisms from water to land. (20) When early fish lived in stagnant waters with little oxygen, they developed lungs to take advantage of the air overhead, in addition to using gills while underwater. (21) In this system, inhalation would allow water to move over the gills, during which a rapid closure of the glottis – which we see now in hiccupping – would prevent water from entering the lungs. It is theorised that when descendants of these fish moved onto land, gills were lost, but the neural circuit for this glottis closing mechanism was retained. (22) This neural circuit is indeed observable in human beings today, in the form of the hiccup central pattern generator (CPG). (23) CPGs exist for other oscillating actions like breathing and walking, (24) but a particular cross-species CPG stands out as a link to human hiccupping: the neural CPG that is also used by tadpoles for gill ventilation. Tadpoles “breathe” in a recurring, rhythmic pattern that shares a fundamental characteristic feature with hiccups: both involve inspiration with closing of the glottis. (25) This phenomenon strengthens the idea that the hiccup CPG may be left over from a previous stage in evolution and has been retained in both humans and frogs. However, the CPG in frogs is still used for ventilation, while in humans, the evolution of lungs to replace gills has rendered it useless. (26) Based on this information, it seems hiccupping lost its function with time and the development of the human lungs, remaining as nothing more than an evolutionary remnant. However, we cannot discredit hiccupping as having become entirely useless as soon as gills were lost. Interestingly, hiccupping has only been observed in mammals – not in birds, lizards or other air-breathing animals. (27) This suggests that there must have been some evolutionary advantage to hiccupping at some point, at least in mammals. A popular theory for this function stems from the uniquely mammalian trait of nursing. (28) Considering the fact that human babies hiccup in the womb even before birth, this theory considers hiccupping to be almost a glorified burp, intended to remove air from the stomach. This becomes particularly advantageous when closing the glottis prevents milk from entering the lungs, aiding the act of nursing. (29) Today, we reduce hiccups to the disorder and disarray they bring to our day. But, next time you are hit with a bout of hiccups, take a second to find some calm amidst the chaos and appreciate yet another fascinating evolutionary fossil, before you hurry to dismiss them. After that, feel free to eat those lemons or gargle that salty water to your diaphragm’s content. References Sonya Vatomsky, "7 Cures For Hiccups From World Folklore," Mentalfloss.Com, 2017, https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/500937/7-cures-hiccups-world-folklore. Derek Lue, "Indian Superstition: Hiccups | Dartmouth Folklore Archive," Journeys.Dartmouth.Edu, 2018, https://journeys.dartmouth.edu/folklorearchive/2018/11/14/indian-superstition-hiccups/. Vatomsky, "7 Cures For Hiccups From World Folklore". James Mundy, "10 Most Interesting Superstitions In Japanese Culture | Insidejapan Tours," Insidejapan Blog, 2013, https://www.insidejapantours.com/blog/2013/07/08/10-most-interesting-superstitions-in-japanese-culture/. Paul Rousseau, "Hiccups," Southern Medical Journal, no. 88, 2 (1995): 175-181, doi:10.1097/00007611-199502000-00002. Bruno Bordoni and Emiliano Zanier, "Anatomic Connections Of The Diaphragm Influence Of Respiration On The Body System," Journal Of Multidisciplinary Healthcare, no. 6 (2013): 281, doi:10.2147/jmdh.s45443. Christian Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," Bioessays no. 25, 2 (2003): 182-188, doi:10.1002/bies.10224. Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," 182-188. John Cameron, “Why Do We Hiccup?,” filmed for TedEd, 2016, TED Video, https://ed.ted.com/lessons/why-do-we-hiccup-john-cameron#watch. Monika Steger, Markus Schneemann, and Mark Fox, "Systemic Review: The Pathogenesis And Pharmacological Treatment Of Hiccups," Alimentary Pharmacology & Therapeutics 42, no. 9 (. 2015): 1037-1050, doi:10.1111/apt.13374. Lien-Fu Lin, and Pi-Teh Huang, "An Uncommon Cause Of Hiccups: Sarcoidosis Presenting Solely As Hiccups," Journal Of The Chinese Medical Association 73, no. 12 (2010): 647-650, doi:10.1016/s1726-4901(10)70141-6. Steger, Schneemann and Fox, "Systemic Review: The Pathogenesis And Pharmacological Treatment Of Hiccups," 1037-1050. Unax Lertxundi et al., "Hiccups In Parkinson’s Disease: An Analysis Of Cases Reported In The European Pharmacovigilance Database And A Review Of The Literature," European Journal Of Clinical Pharmacology 73, no. 9 (2017): 1159-1164, doi:10.1007/s00228-017-2275-6. Lin and Huang, "An Uncommon Cause Of Hiccups: Sarcoidosis Presenting Solely As Hiccups," 647-650. Peter J. Kahrilas and Guoxiang Shi, "Why Do We Hiccup?" Gut 41, no. 5 (1997): 712-713, doi:10.1136/gut.41.5.712. Steger, Schneemann and Fox, "Systemic Review: The Pathogenesis And Pharmacological Treatment Of Hiccups," 1037-1050. Georg A. Petroianu, "Treatment Of Hiccup By Vagal Maneuvers," Journal Of The History Of The Neurosciences 24, no. 2 (2014): 123-136, doi:10.1080/0964704x.2014.897133. Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," 182-188. Cameron, “Why Do We Hiccup?” Michael Mosley, "Anatomical Clues To Human Evolution From Fish," BBC News, published 2011, https://www.bbc.com/news/health-13278255. Michael Hedrick and Stephen Katz, "Control Of Breathing In Primitive Fishes," Phylogeny, Anatomy And Physiology Of Ancient Fishes (2015): 179-200, doi:10.1201/b18798-9. Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," 182-188. Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," 182-188. Pierre A. Guertin, "Central Pattern Generator For Locomotion: Anatomical, Physiological, And Pathophysiological Considerations," Frontiers In Neurology 3 (2013), doi:10.3389/fneur.2012.00183. Hedrick and Katz, "Control Of Breathing In Primitive Fishes," 179-200. Straus et al., "A Phylogenetic Hypothesis For The Origin Of Hiccough," 182-188. Daniel Howes, "Hiccups: A New Explanation For The Mysterious Reflex," Bioessays 34, no. 6 (2012): 451-453, doi:10.1002/bies.201100194. Howes, "Hiccups: A New Explanation For The Mysterious Reflex," 451-453. [1] Howes, "Hiccups: A New Explanation For The Mysterious Reflex," 451-453. Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

< Back to Issue 4 PT by Saachin Simpson 1 July 2023 Edited by Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko and Patrick Grave Illustrated by Jolin See 'Pt' (medical abbreviation for ‘patient’) recounts a patient visit on an early-morning ward round at Footscray Hospital in my first placement as a second-year medical student. The line “I came to hospital with my innocence” was actually said by the patient and stuck with me, eventually inspiring this poem, which I wrote in a Narrative Medicine class run by Dr Fiona Reilly and Dr Mariam Tokhi. The poem depicts a dramatic rise and fall in tension during the patient visit. It is bookended by soulless technical medical abbreviations that exemplify patient notes on electronic medical records. Pt Pt alert and oriented, sitting upright in chair. Breathing comfortably, responsive to questions. Bilat basal creps, bilat pitting oedema to knee. Pt gazes out window at the opposite concrete wall Pt’s cataracts suddenly shimmer, a sorcerer’s crystal ball. Pt need not speak for his stony grimace conveys Pt’s sheer and utter avowal of his final dying days. Pt’s power becomes apparent in his mighty ocular grip Pt’s lungs echo black tattered sails of a ramshackle timber ship. “I came to hospital with my innocence” Professional, qualified eyes dart from computer To patient And back. “and now I muse on dark and violent tricks” Med student looks at intern looks at reg looks at consultant. Feet shuffle, lips purse Pretending not to hear. “Your poisons gift no remedy, your words fat and hollow” Like a serpentine hiss, his derision rings through sterile air 5-step Therapeutic Guidelines for Reassurance (vol 23.4, updated 2023) does little for his despair. Pt need not speak for his stony grimace conveys Pt’s sheer and utter avowal of his final dying days. Pt need not speak for his stony grimace conveys Pt’s sheer and utter avowal of his final dying days. Pt to await GEM. Frusemide 40mmHg. Cease abx. Refer physio. Refer OT. Call family. For d/c Monday. Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE

< Back to Issue 7 Neuralink: Mind Over Matter? by Kara Miwa-Dale 22 October 2024 edited by Weilena Liu illustrated by Aisyah Mohammad Sulhanuddin What if I told you that you could control a computer mouse with just your thoughts? It sounds like something straight out of a sci-fi movie, doesn’t it? But this isn’t fiction… Welcome to the brain-computer interface, a device which is able to record and interpret neural activity in the brain, enabling direct communication between your mind and a computer. Tech billionaire Elon Musk founded ‘Neuralink’, a company developing coin-sized brain-chips that can be surgically inserted into the brain using a robot. Neuralink made headlines a few months ago by successfully implanting their brain-chip, dubbed ‘Telepathy’, into their first trial patient, Noland Arbaugh. While there were a few technical glitches, it seems to be working relatively well so far. Noland has been able to regain some of the autonomy that he lost following a devastating spinal cord injury. He is even able to play video games with a superhuman-like reaction speed, thanks to the more direct communication route between the Neuralink implant and his computer. But it doesn’t stop there; Elon Musk’s ultimate vision is to have millions of people using Neuralink in the next 10 years, not only to restore autonomy to those with serious injuries, but to push the boundaries of what the human brain is capable of. He thinks that Neuralink will allow us to compete with AI and vastly improve our speed and efficiency of communication, which is ‘pitifully slow’ in comparison to AI. Neuralink implants may seem like an incredible leap in scientific technology, but what will happen if they become normalised in our society? Let’s imagine for a moment … Jade, April 7th 2044 Shoving my jacket into my bag, I dart out of the hospital and pull onto the main road in my Tesla. As I speed past the intersection, I see a giant advertisement plastered on a sleek building: ‘Neuralink: Seamless Thoughts, Limitless Possibilities’. When I signed up to get a Neuralink implant, all I’d thought about were the infinite possibilities of how it would change my life – not what could go wrong. I wish I could say that I was brainwashed into getting a Neuralink, or that I had no choice in the matter. But the truth? I got an implant so that I could be ‘ahead of the crowd’ and because I was so frustrated at feeling inadequate compared to the other doctors at my hospital. When I graduated medical school, at the top of my class, people told me that I would do ‘great things’ and ‘change the world’. I followed the standard path, landing my first job and climbing the ranks one caffeine-fuelled shift at a time. I loved my job. Every time I saved a life, it felt like all my effort had paid off. Then Neuralink happened. I still remember the day Dr Maxwell - a doctor I worked with - proudly announced that he’d ‘bitten the bullet’ and gotten the implant. Over the coming weeks, we watched in awe: his diagnoses were quicker and more accurate than any human could imagine, and he went home as energetic as he’d arrived. Now, the extra hours I spent figuring out tricky cases were no longer a representation of my work ethic, but a symptom of my inadequacy compared to the Neuralink-enhanced doctors. One by one, my colleagues signed up for the implant. I hated the thought of having something foreign nestled in my brain, recording my brain’s neurons every second of the day. I told myself I wouldn’t let peer pressure get to me. But, as I watched those around me get promoted while I continued to work endless days, the frustration started to build. One afternoon, the department head came into my office to tell me that they were reconsidering the renewal of my contract. I wasn’t ‘keeping up’ with my Neuralink-enhanced colleagues. “We respect your personal decision, of course,” she said with hollow politeness. I wasn’t keen on being pressured into it, but at the same time, I genuinely believed that the implant would improve my life. When I told my friends and family about getting an implant, they were concerned. They tried to list all the things that could go wrong, but I came up with enough reasons to convince myself that it was the right decision. Once they saw how incredible the Neuralink device was, I thought, they would want one too. *** I’m jolted back to reality as the car veers slightly left, and I manually yank the wheel to correct it. Perhaps my implant glitched for a second… *** Everything changed after I had my Neuralink implanted. I was the only person in my family who had one, although a couple of friends did. At first, I felt invincible. The phenomenal speed with which I was able to come up with previously challenging diagnoses was thrilling. I was able to process enormous amounts of data and draw connections that I had never been able to before. It was addictive to feel that I was working at my full potential, using my newfound ‘superpower’ to save more lives than ever. About a month in, my thoughts began racing uncontrollably, until I felt like I was drowning in a flood of information. Sometimes, the input was so overwhelming that my head pounded and I struggled to breathe. My thoughts didn’t even feel like mine anymore. Family and friends started to grow more and more distant from me. This device was stuck inside my brain like superglue, and sometimes I just wanted to dig it right out of my skull. When I asked the doctor about removing it, he looked at me and smirked, “Why on earth would you want to get rid of such a game-changing device? Neuralink’s the new normal, honey. Get used to it.” *** A honk startles me as a car zooms past, nearly colliding with mine. I turn into a quieter street to regain my composure. But then – suddenly – thoughts of accelerating the car bombard my mind – so loud that I can barely hear myself think. The speedometer rises from 60 to 80 to 100 km an hour. I desperately try to disconnect my Neuralink from the car, to manually override the system – anything that will slow the car down. I start pushing random buttons hoping that I will get some kind of response. A red light flashes on my dashboard. ERROR. SIGNAL DISRUPTED BY UNKNOWN USER. I look up and meet the panicked eyes of a woman pushing a man in a wheelchair. Noah, April 7th 2044 The sun makes its final, glorious descent below the horizon, painting a beautiful array of pinks and oranges across the sky. I take a deep breath as Sophia, my support worker, pushes me along the road. We’re on our way to the grocery store, just in time for the end of day specials, which are all I can afford right now. Since my accident, I’ve tried my best to appreciate what I have, but it isn’t easy. Some days, I’m filled with rage as I struggle to complete daily tasks that I did on autopilot before my accident – back when I wasn’t confined to a wheelchair. It’s been hard to come to terms with this new body that I’m stuck with, and all the ways it seems to betray me. I miss the simple things – going to the grocery store by myself or playing board games with friends. But most of all, I miss working as an architect. I loved seeing my clients’ faces light up as they imagined the memories they would make in the new homes I had designed. This sense of satisfaction was taken from me the moment I was paralysed from the neck down. It’s why I’m so desperate to get a Neuralink implant. I would get one right this second if they weren’t so expensive. The Neuralink device isn’t covered by my insurance because the government claims that it wouldn’t be ‘cost effective’. While it won’t restore movement in my arms and legs, this implant would give me some precious freedom back. Maybe if I keep saving and take out a loan, I’ll have just enough to cover it and get my life back … *** “God, these Tesla drivers think they own the road!” I chuckle at Sophia, as a Tesla races towards the crossing in this 40km zone. As we begin to cross the road, I realise that the Tesla is showing no signs of slowing down. The car swerves violently, hurtling towards us without mercy. Sophia’s face pales as she frantically tries to push me out of the road. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for impact. Bibliography: Cernat, M., Borțun, D., & Matei, C. (2022, April). Human-Computer Interaction: Ethical Perspectives on Technology and Its (Mis) uses. In International Conference on Enterprise Information Systems (pp. 338-349). Cham: Springer Nature Switzerland. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-39386-0_16 Fridman, Lex. (Host). (2024, August 3rd). Elon Musk: Neuralink and the Future of Humanity (No 438). [Audio podcast episode]. In Lex Fridman Podcast. https://lexfridman.com/elon-musk-and-neuralink-team/ Jawad, A. J. (2021). Engineering ethics of neuralink brain computer interfaces devices. Perspective , 4 (1). https://doi.org/10.23880/abca-16000160 Oravec, B. Neurotechnology, Ethical Privacy, and Information Technology. Knighted , 36. https://www.mga.edu/arts-letters/docs/knighted-journal/Issue-6.pdf#page=37 Youssef, N. O. A., Guia, V., Walczysko, F., Suriyasuphapong, S., & Moslemi, C. (2020). Ethical concerns and consequences of Neuralink. Natural Science. https://rucforsk.ruc.dk/ws/files/75503337/NIB3_Group1_Neuralink.pdf Previous article Next article apex back to

< Back to Issue 10 Terrible Lizards and their Terrible Reconstructions by Kaya Czerwinska 2 June 2026 Illustrated by Esme MacGillivray Edited by Vicenta Wheatley This comes as a surprise to nobody, but it isn't the easiest task in the world to figure out an extinct creature’s appearance, habitat and behaviour from a few bones. Our understanding of animals is constantly evolving with new discoveries and technology, much like the species themselves. Yet, no matter how cunning we are to glean all kinds of fascinating history about those who lived so long before us, we humans can't always get it right. Let’s take a walk down memory lane to look at some of history’s more eccentric paleontological reconstructions! Stegosaurus Figure 1 W.H. Ballou’s Vision of a Flying Stegosaurus. Note. Image reproduced from (3). Stegosaurus is one of the more well-known dinosaurs and can be easily spotted among a child’s plastic figurine set. When presented with something Stegosaurus -shaped, one is left with very little doubt in their mind that it is, indeed, a Stegosaurus . There’s no modern animal quite like it. However, this distinctness is exactly what gave scientists trouble when they first discovered it. More specifically, why did it have plates on its body, and where were they supposed to go? Othniel Charles Marsh, the paleontologist who discovered it, initially believed that the plates sat flat over its back like armour or roof tiles (1). This is where its name, which translates to ‘roofed lizard’, came from. The confusion did not end after realising the plates were supposed to stand upright, though. Imaginations ran wild as their function remained unclear. One 1912 edition of the Cincinnati Enquirer claimed that they were used for defence against predators, calling Stegosaurus the ‘most grotesque animal’ and ‘a freak of nature’ (2). Another article, written by William Hosea Ballou, was published in the Ogden Standard-Examiner in 1920, suggesting that it used its plates like wings for gliding or flight (3). This was considered absurd even for the time, but was certainly charming to picture. To this day, what our spiky friends used their plates for is up for debate. Some of the more recent hypotheses are that they assisted with regulating temperature or colourful displays, which have been supported by the discovery of channels inside the plates that might have held blood vessels (4). However, even once we conclusively figure out what their true function was, flying Stegosaurus will remain a whimsical and creative interpretation. Elasmosaurus Figure 2 Cope’s Initial Reconstruction of Elasmosaurus with its Head on the Wrong End. Note. Image reproduced from (5). Sometimes, one can get so distracted by workplace drama that they can’t make head nor tail of the work they’re supposed to be doing - literally. This was the case for Edward Drinker Cope, a rival of Othniel Charles Marsh (who described Stegosaurus ). Both paleontologists competed to discover more new species, often criticising and even sabotaging each other’s work. In 1869, Cope attempted to describe a new marine creature called Elasmosaurus , which had four flippers and a long neck, almost like the Loch Ness monster (5). Unfortunately, he made one crucial error. In his reconstruction, he had mistakenly attached the head to the tail end instead of the neck. While it was quickly pointed out and fixed, Cope’s blunder was much to the amusement of Marsh, who frequently mentioned it in order to call Cope a ‘careless’ scientist who rushed his work (6). People tend to use this moment as an example of the many insults and arguments Marsh and Cope threw at each other during their lifelong feud. However, an animal like Elasmosaurus had not been seen before, and it’s very common for lizards to have long tails. Deciding that the longer end must be the tail wouldn’t have been a completely unreasonable guess at the time. At the end of the day, it’s important to remember that paleontologists during their time were working from much less information than we have today. Hallucigenia Figure 3. Initial Reconstruction of Hallucigenia Walking Using Spines. Note. Image reproduced from (7). Hallucigenia ’s name means ‘hallucination’ or ‘dream producer’, which is a good indicator of the experience scientists had while attempting to figure this creature out. It lived around 505 million years ago during the Cambrian era, a time when evolution was being particularly experimental (7). All kinds of strange, worm-like creatures were wandering the ocean floor, and many of them were very small. This certainly doesn’t help scientists trying to interpret the vague and cryptic shapes these animals can create when they become fossils. The first proposed idea about Hallucigenia was that it moved on a set of stiff, straight legs, with tentacles coming out of its back (8). If that wasn’t confusing enough, there was also a mysterious stain near one end of the initial fossil’s body, prompting debate about which side was the head. The mystery was finally solved when a second specimen was discovered, sitting in the rock at a different angle that allowed its legs to be seen more clearly. The ‘legs’ were actually spines on its back, and its real legs were the ‘tentacles’ (9). Scientists had been looking at it upside-down the whole time. While we finally know roughly what it looked like, Hallucigenia continues to be somewhat of an enigma to this day, with many things left to figure out about its place in the tree of life and its relatedness to other species. Oviraptor Figure 4. Oviraptor Embryo from Flaming Cliffs. Note. Image reproduced from (12). As a fossilised animal’s behaviour can’t be observed in action, scientists often rely on context clues from the environment that the fossil was found in. This was the case for a dinosaur discovered on top of a nest of fossilised eggs in 1924. The new species was named Oviraptor , meaning ‘egg thief’, in reference to the belief that it preyed on the eggs of another dinosaur called Protoceratops (10). However, some later analyses revealed that Oviraptor didn’t have teeth well-suited for eating eggs, and probably didn’t include them in its diet (11). It was later discovered that the eggs from the original specimen contained not Protoceratops , but baby Oviraptor embryos - Oviraptor had been framed for eating its own children (12). While the mistake has been rectified for several decades by now, it is still food for thought that humanity’s first instinct was to assume this dinosaur was hunting the eggs and not incubating them. There has, first through our knowledge gaps and later through pop culture portrayals, persisted an idea of dinosaurs as nothing more than scaly, destructive beasts. Dinosaurs are unintelligent and run purely on impulse. Dinosaurs kill on sight. Dinosaurs would never take care of their children. Yet, they did. Humans are not the only animals capable of caring or compassionate acts, and Oviraptor is a reminder to be careful of anthropocentrism. Woolly Rhinoceros Figure 5. Reconstruction of the ‘Unicorn’ by Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Note. Image reproduced from (13). Almost the holy grail of paleontological blunders is the Magdeburg Unicorn. Not knowing how to put together a Woolly Rhinoceros skeleton is understandable, but this specific reconstruction of one has many notable issues, including a lack of back legs and a completely missing torso. The glaring inaccuracies can be attributed to the fact that the fossil was discovered and reconstructed in the 1600s, long before any other examples in this article (13). Paleontology as a discipline was still in its infancy, and beliefs in creatures such as unicorns were still common. Thus, when a number of woolly rhinoceros and woolly mammoth bones were discovered in a cave, inexperience and superstition combined to manifest them into a brand new creature. The origin of the horn is somewhat dubious but was most likely a narwhal tusk (14). As paleontology advanced, the unicorn’s status as a plausible reconstruction gradually slipped away. However, on a bad day, it’s still helpful to picture a living Magdeburg Unicorn frolicking through fields in all its bizarre glory. Perhaps if this article had been written a few years from now, there would be a few new entries about animals that we think we understand well today. The only constant truth in science is that it never stops moving forward. With every step, we leave behind a piece of what we thought the truth was, and it’s only fair to show some appreciation for those who laid the path. However, two things can be true at once. We can respect the hard work of each scientist in history who has made attempts to improve humanity’s understanding of the world around us. And we can also laugh at the fact that in hindsight, many of those attempts turned out to be spectacularly strange. References Marsh OC. A new order of extinct Reptilia (Stegosauria) from the Jurassic of the Rocky Mountains. Zenodo [Internet]. 1877 Dec 1; Available from: https://zenodo.org/record/1450038#.YoPJRIjMLrc The Ogden standard-examiner. (Ogden, UT), Aug. 15 1920. https://www.loc.gov/item/sn85058393/1920-08-15/ed-1/ . "Was Most Grotesque Animal" Newspapers.com . The Cincinnati Enquirer, 22 June 1912. https://www.newspapers.com/article/the-cincinnati-enquirer-was-most-grotesq/113116207/ . Farlow JO, Hayashi S, Tattersall GJ. Internal vascularity of the dermal plates of Stegosaurus (Ornithischia, Thyreophora). Swiss Journal of Geosciences. 2010 Aug 24;103(2):173–85. Cope ED. The Fossil Reptiles of New Jersey (Continued). The American Naturalist. 1869 Apr 1;3(2):84–91. Davidson JP. Bonehead mistakes: The background in scientific literature and illustrations for Edward Drinker Cope’s first restoration of Elasmosaurus platyurus. Proceedings of the Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia. 2002 Oct;152(1):215–40. Conway Morris S. A new metazoan from the Cambrian Burgess Shale of British Columbia. Palaeontology. 1977;20(3):623–40. Stephen Jay Gould. Wonderful life : the Burgess Shale and the nature of history. New York: W.W. Norton & Company; 1989. Ramsköld L, Xianguang H. New early Cambrian animal and onychophoran affinities of enigmatic metazoans. Nature. 1991 May;351(6323):225–8. Henry Fairfield Osborn. Three new Theropoda, Protoceratops zone, central Mongolia. American Museum Novitates. 1924 Jan 1;144:1–12. Barsbold, R. "Khishchnye dinosavry mela Mongoliy" [Carnivorous Dinosaur of the Cretaceous of Mongolia]. Transactions of the Joint Soviet-Mongolian Paleontological Expedition . 1983 19: 5–119. Norell MA, Clark JM, Demberelyin D, Rhinchen B, Chiappe LM, Davidson AR, et al. A Theropod Dinosaur Embryo and the Affinities of the Flaming Cliffs Dinosaur Eggs. Science. 1994 Nov 4;266(5186):779–82. Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz. Protogaea. University of Chicago Press; 2008. Kolfschoten, Thijs. THE WOOLLY RHINOCEROS FROM SEWECKENBERGE NEAR QUEDLINBURG (GERMANY). 157. 39-48. doi:10.11588/propylaeum.868.c11306. Previous article back to Fact & Fiction Next article

< Back to Issue 9 It’s Dangerous to Go Alone by Julia Lockerd 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Jason Chien Edited by Luci Ackland It’s safe to say that as a species, we have done a fair bit of thinking over the years. From microbes to mammals, to mapping the stars, we have always searched for ways to make meaning of the world and its many mysteries. Every day, the amount of knowledge possessed grows, building on the ideas we learn from each other. But what is knowledge without someone to know it? And how can we build a reliable foundation upon which to amass this knowledge? Many modern philosophers take a ‘what’s mine is mine’ approach to epistemology – the development of knowledge – with ideas like trust and collaboration altogether excluded from the recipe for ‘good science’ (1). Philosopher John Locke suggests that an ‘autonomous knower’ (2) – that’s you! – should only accept input from someone existing outside the self if she already possesses empirical evidence confirming that input is true (3). That is to say, don’t believe anything you read online, or in a book, or hear from your friend, or your professor alone. Basically, don’t believe the sky is blue unless you can look outside and see it for yourself. This seems like a hard way to live and makes it nearly impossible to make any headway on scientific advancement. If there is truly no way to build on previous knowledge, how do we measure anything at all? When considering scientific disciplines, the (presumably brooding) ‘autonomous knower’ must give up her lone wolf life and finally make some friends. This is not only for her emotional benefit, but also because science simply cannot occur without it. Epstein (2006) argues that the three main drivers of scientific collaboration are as follows: 1. The topic demands it. This applies to fields such as cognitive psychology, where the topic is an amalgam of different specialisations. 2. To gain a new perspective. Researchers interviewed by Epstein highlighted how collaboration helps them gain new approaches and techniques. 3. To provide additional knowledge. Although it’s all well and good to assert you should only believe what you can prove yourself (looking at you, Locke), collaboration is crucial to avoid ‘reinventing the wheel’ every time you want to learn something new (4). This last reason, by its very nature, proves that, despite my best efforts, no one person can possess the whole of human understanding by herself. Thus, the ‘many-headed knower’ makes her appearance on stage. This version of the knower exists as an alternative to Locke’s Autonomous Knower, where multiple individuals can share fragments of a greater epistemic idea. Without it, whole scientific disciplines can be reasoned away as no single person possesses the evidence to prove the scientific idea exists (2). For example, many medical devices could not be realised without input from both clinicians and engineers. If knowledge cannot be shared between these two groups, MedTech might cease to exist at all. With the multiheaded knower by your side, you can now solve scientific conundrums with the power of friendship (or, begrudging teamwork if it’s 11.59pm and you’re still working on that group project due at 12.00am). To fully grasp how systems of collaboration function, we need to investigate the interpersonal relationships that make up the heads of the knower. Generally, these relationships are of two kinds: Moral and Epistemic trust. Returning to our old friend, the multi-headed knower, epistemic trust allows multiple heads to exist, while moral trust in social bonds between researchers keeps her many heads attached. Epistemic trust involves the acceptance of knowledge provided by an external source as true. While trustworthiness often evokes a sense of superior moral value, epistemic trust has far more to do with the perceived competency of the individual providing information. Wagenknecht calls these relationships ‘Epistemic Dependence’ (5). The word dependence here is interesting, as it reveals a certain vulnerability in the relationship between researchers. Wagenknecht likens it to someone asking for directions in a foreign city. Simply, it is a blind trust that one's partner knows the way to go and is capable of leading them there. But where does this trust come from? If trust were truly blind, I could justify my lab results with a simple ‘Trust me bro,’ and my supervisor would go ‘Fantastic. Nobel prize for you.’ Unfortunately, this isn’t how it works, and my career trajectory will (probably) look a little more complicated. It is instead proposed that there are ‘shades of trust and distrust’ that can be influenced by external modifiers, such as accurate conduct of experiments, analysis of results, and epistemic authority. In this model, trust is a dynamic concept that builds or deteriorates between trustees over a chain of interactions (5). If a series of interactions is positive and trust is progressively built up, at some point, an asymptotic limit of trust will be reached. However, the level of epistemic trust between any two researchers is high but never complete, even when there is no reason to doubt the other's testimony. This is good news for Locke, as there still might be a space in which his autonomous knower can exist in happy isolation. Moral trust, the far less popular younger brother of Epistemic trust, is the scrappy underdog in the world of scientific relationships. It is argued that morality shouldn’t even get a seat at the big kids' table, as there is no place for it in scientific collaboration (2). This raises the ever-devious question: why not lie? A little fudge of the numbers could make you the next Elizabeth Holmes, minus the jail time and general disgrace (6). To find an answer, I turn to T.M. Scanlon’s ‘What We Owe Each Other’ (7). Specifically, in chapter five, he discusses the ever-sexy ‘structure of moral contractualism’. Scanlon explores a set of moral requirements that must be accepted or rejected based on the concern we hold for another's well-being, their own personal values, and perspective. Simply, academic falsification is rare because one researcher owes it to another to give a truthful testimony. Returning to the analogy of being lost in a foreign city, what keeps the locals from sending a tourist in the wrong direction out of laziness or fun? I argue that it is the acceptance of a moral principle out of concern for another person's well-being. Immanuel Kant believed lying was always wrong, in every situation (a stance I’m sure made him suuuuuuuuper fun to be around) (8). If this is true, the structure of scientific collaboration must surely crumble in the absence of moral trust (9). Interestingly, Scanlon discusses the place of ‘impersonal values’ in the development of moral code. This relates to reasons for adherence to a moral code that does not pertain to the well-being or status of any one individual. He uses the preservation of the Grand Canyon as an example. We do not deface the Grand Canyon because it would harm any particular group of people, and we cannot argue that this principle is 'what we owe to others', as the canyon doesn't have any personal feelings (that we know of). Instead, only the value we have tied to the land itself stops us from turning it into the biggest lazy river in the world (7). In the context of research, not only do we owe it to each other to adhere to truthfulness, but we also owe it to science as a concept. Essentially, if you’re not doing science with a pure and truthful heart, you’re not doing science at all. Someone needs to tell Dr. Evil about this. As scientific communities have relied more and more on each other to produce collaborative results, science as a whole has become somewhat of a team sport. I argue that while epistemic and moral are two different forms of trust – or even the same form of trust applied to different issues – they both contribute to the social basis of scientific collaboration. Trust in itself is a purely social concept; just as knowledge cannot exist without a 'knower', trust cannot exist without two people, between whom that trust can exist. Therefore, whether you subscribe to the idea that moral trust has any place in scientific collaboration, it is indisputable that there is a social level to any interaction between researchers. This is to say nothing about the more 'frivolous' aspects of collaboration in which personal opinions, egos, and attitudes have been anecdotally proven to affect the quality of collaborative work. Science, at its core, is about understanding. It makes sense that we can’t even get off the ground if we don't start by understanding each other. References 1. J. Locke. An Essay concerning Human Understanding. www.gutenberg.org , 1689. Available: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10615/10615-h/10615-h.htm 2. J. Hardwig. The Role of Trust in Knowledge. The Journal of Philosophy . 1991;88(12):693. doi: 10.2307/2027007 3. R. W. Grant. John Locke on Custom’s Power and Reason’s Authority. The Review of Politics. 2012;74(4) 607–629.doi: 10.2307/23355688. Available: https://www.jstor.org/stable/23355688 4. S. Epstein. Making Interdisciplinary Collaboration Work. Available: https://www.cs.hunter.cuny.edu/~epstein/papers/collaboration.pdf . [Accessed: Mar. 29, 2024] 5. S. Wagenknecht. Facing the Incompleteness of Epistemic Trust: Managing Dependence in Scientific Practice. Social Epistemology . 2014;29(2):160–184. doi: 10.1080/02691728.2013.794872 6. E. Fricker. Testimony and Epistemic Autonomy. The Epistemology of Testimony . 2006:225–245. doi: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199276011.003.0011 7. T. M. Scanlon. What We Owe to Each Other. 1998. Available: https://www.hup.harvard.edu/file/feeds/PDF/9780674248953_sample.pdf 8. T. L. Carson. Kant and the Absolute Prohibition against Lying. Lying and Deception . 2010:67–87. doi: 10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199577415.003.0004 9. Immanuel Kant. An Answer to the Question: What is Enlightenment? by Immanuel Kant 1784. Marxists.org , 1798. Available: https://www.marxists.org/reference/subject/ethics/kant/enlightenment.htm Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 9 Rewilding Our Cities with Dr Kylie Soanes by Ciara Dahl 28 October 2025 Illustrated by Jess Walton Edited by Arwen Nguyen-Ngo When you think of nature, I bet the last things that come to mind are skyscrapers, freeways and footpaths. Welcome to the hidden world of urban ecology! I recently spoke to urban ecologist and prolific science communicator Dr Kylie Soanes about the challenges of conserving wildlife in urban environments, and what drives her to protect nature in our cities. Dr Kylie Soanes is determined to protect wildlife in our urban environments. (1) A research fellow at the University of Melbourne, Soanes describes herself as “your friendly neighbourhood wildlife scientist” on a mission to “save nature in cities and towns.” Her projects range from designing rope bridges to help endangered possums cross busy roads, to installing floating wetlands that bring biodiversity back to our urban waterways. Cities are a bustling weave of people and places, but where does nature belong in all of that chaos? That’s the question Soanes has dedicated much of her career to exploring. Like many of us, she grew up in a classic urban environment, longing to get into the wild. Her passion for learning about the natural world eventually grew into a career studying ecology and conservation at university. There is a common assumption that nature doesn't belong in cities. However, Soanes emphasises that cities are a “perfect place for people to connect with nature; there’s heaps of amazing biodiversity here”, adding that “it doesn't always have to look like the pristine natural conditions for it to be valuable”. She emphasises that communicating this message is the "first real step" in shifting mindsets. Soanes notes that urban ecology is often more about working with people than with science, explaining that “there are still people in this space that need to use it." Urban ecologists must be skilled collaborators, working with communities and experts across disciplines – from architects and engineers, to social scientists and artists – to reach solutions that balance the needs of nature and people. But what happens when communities don't feel seen by urban plans? A recent effort to protect swamp wallaby habitat along the Merri Creek Trail by diverting pedestrian traffic was met with concern from the community about personal safety (2). Cases like these highlight the challenges urban ecologists face every day when trying to make space for nature in our cities. Soanes argues that it is critical for urban ecologists to discuss “social risks and social justice, to make sure that we're not changing cities in a way that makes it worse for people". Public outcries like these often stem from communities that are faced with “a decision that they think that they weren't involved in”. The biggest tool in an urban ecologist's belt is community consultation, "so that everybody is brought along on the journey and we can make the right call for everyone." Some of Soanes’ favourite work is not just about protecting nature in cities, but putting it back. She speaks about creating new habitats in urban spaces, such as floating wetlands that transform bleak industrial wastelands into thriving ecosystems, or even rooftop gardens that reclaim space for nature. One of the most exciting areas of urban ecology includes restoring locally extinct species. Soanes cites the example of the endangered Key’s Matchstick Grasshopper, which was reintroduced to Royal Park in 2022 to restore the local population and support a healthy ecosystem (3). Often, such projects are overlooked in urban areas. She explains how they are frequently “put in the too hard basket”; but there is now a shift in focus towards “physically reintroducing species once we know that all the things that they need are there". So, where can we find some of Melbourne’s most exciting urban ecology projects? You can spot the floating wetlands in various locations along the Yarra River (4), and native wildflower meadows planted on roadsides throughout the city (5). Ever spotted those wooden boxes on trees around Melbourne’s gardens? They’re not decorations – they’re artificial hollows providing safe places for wildlife to nest (6). Additionally, “lots of councils are really embracing water sensitive urban design" by installing "miniature wetlands that slow rainwater down and clean it up before it hits our stormwater system" (7). The City of Melbourne has installed floating wetlands in the Yarra River since 2022. (4) Soanes also emphasises how cultural values and knowledge can be woven into urban ecology projects. She points to the revitalised Moonee Ponds Creek as an example, noting “it has a calendar for the Wurundjeri seasons and a beautiful cultural trail.” Projects like these offer valuable opportunities for communities to connect not only with nature, but with culture. So, how can we make our own homes more wildlife-friendly? Soanes encourages asking, “What can I add to make living here easier for species other than me? ”. It could be as simple as planting a few more native plants in your garden. As the warmer months approach, placing birdbaths or shallow water trays outside can help wildlife keep cool, “especially as our cities become hotter and drier”. Outside of her work as a researcher, Soanes has a strong social media presence, using it as a platform to share her conservation messages with the wider public. She emphasises that science communication is "about making your messages and your science accessible not just to the broader public, but to the people making decisions". Dr Kylie Soanes platforms her conservation messages on social media. (8) Soanes argues that "showcasing and celebrating those stories of success" gives people "hope that they can make change in their area", while inspiring councils and urban land managers to apply similar solutions. She acknowledges that wildlife conservation can feel "very heavy” at times but stresses “it is important to show that there are all these options out there.” "There are so many other people that want the same things, or would like to see their neighbourhood become a little bit better for nature," she adds. "I think almost everybody cares about nature – it just doesn't always look like wearing khaki and carrying binoculars at all times." A big thank you to Dr Kylie Soanes for taking the time to speak with us and shed light on the fascinating world of urban ecology. To keep up with her work, follow her on Instagram @drkyliesoanes or explore her research and projects at kyliesoanes.com . References Soanes K. Dr Kylie Soanes [Internet]. Dr Kylie Soanes. [cited 2025 Oct 18]. Available from: https://kyliesoanes.com/ Paul M. A “balancing act” as council votes to fence dogs out of park, sparking safety concerns [Internet]. ABC News. 2025 Aug 21. Available from: https://www.abc.net.au/news/2025-08-21/merri-creek-dog-fence-swamp-wallaby-coburg-victoria/105675854 City of Melbourne. Melbourne jumps at the chance to bring back the grasshopper [Internet]. City of Melbourne. 2022 [cited 2025 Oct 18]. Available from: https://www.melbourne.vic.gov.au/media/melbourne-jumps-chance-bring-back-grasshopper Balance Enviro. Yarra River Floating Wetlands – Balance Enviro Solutions [Internet]. 2022. Available from: https://balanceenviro.com.au/project/yarra-river-floating-wetlands/ City of Melbourne. Wildflower meadows and rare blooms boost biodiversity in Melbourne [Internet]. Vic.gov.au . 2024 [cited 2025 Oct 18]. Available from: https://www.melbourne.vic.gov.au/news/wildflower-meadows-and-rare-blooms-boost-biodiversity-melbourne#meadows Arthur Rylah Institute. Use of nest boxes in Victoria [Internet]. 2020. Available from: https://www.ari.vic.gov.au/research/people-and-nature/use-of-nest-boxes-in-victoria Melbourne Water. Constructed wetlands | Melbourne Water [Internet]. 2022. Available from: https://www.melbournewater.com.au/building-and-works/stormwater-management/options-treating-stormwater/constructed-wetlands Soanes K. Dr Kylie Soanes [Instagram page]. Instagram. [cited 2025 Oct 18]. Available from: https://www.instagram.com/drkyliesoanes/?hl=en Previous article Next article Entwined back to

< Back to Issue 6 Proprioception: Our Invisible Sixth Sense by Ingrid Sefton 28 May 2024 Edited by Subham Priya Illustrated by Jessica Walton What might constitute a sixth sense? Perhaps, it involves possessing a second sight or superhuman abilities. A classic example of this would be Spider-Man and his ‘spidey-sense’ — an instinctual warning system that alerts him to imminent danger. Enhancing his reflexes and agility, his sixth sense enables him to evade threats with precision. Turns out Spider-Man is not the sole bearer of a ‘spidey sense’. While we may not be scaling walls anytime soon, we too possess a special sense that unconsciously guides our movements. It might sound peculiar, but knowing your arm is indeed your own arm involves a unique form of sensory processing. Considered by neuroscientists as our own ‘sixth sense’, proprioception is our own way of helping the brain to understand the position of our body and limbs in space (Sherrington, 1907). Consider a typical scenario: your first sip of coffee in the morning. Eyes shut, you savour your latte before the day begins. Such a simple act, yet impossible without proprioception. With closed eyes, how do you know where your mouth is? How do you gauge the position of your arm to ensure the coffee cup reaches your lips? Proprioception seamlessly transmits information about muscle tension, joint position, and force to the brain, making drinking your coffee an automatic and coordinated process. Proprioception operates on principles akin to those guiding our other senses. Specialised cells, known as receptors, are found in each sensory organ and receive information from the environment. Receptors in your eyes capture visual information, while those in your ears detect auditory stimuli. This sensory information is transduced through signals to the central nervous system – through the spinal cord and to the brain – where it’s integrated and processed to determine an appropriate response. Analogously, proprioceptive information is mediated by proprioceptors, a unique type of receptors located in your muscles and joints (Proske & Gandevia, 2012). Unlike our other senses, proprioception does not rely on input from the external environment. Rather, it provides feedback to the brain about what the body itself is doing. Changes in muscle tension and the position of our joints are relayed to the brain, ensuring awareness of the body’s whereabouts at any given moment. One implication of this ‘internal’ feedback loop is that proprioception never turns ‘off’. When you cover your ears, you experience silence. If you hold your nose, you can block out the smell. Yet even when still, in motion, or unconscious, your brain continuously receives proprioceptive input. Imagine this in the context of going to bed each night. What exactly prevents you from falling out of bed, once asleep? While most senses are subdued when sleeping, proprioception remains active, informing the brain about the slightest changes in the position of the body. This ensures a perpetual awareness of our body in space – and luckily for us, stops us from rolling out of bed (Proske & Gandevia, 2012). It can be hard to appreciate what our proprioceptive system allows us to do, given its unconscious nature and integration with our other senses. Rare neurological disorders affecting proprioception highlight just how critical this sense is in our daily lives. The case of Ian Waterman – now known as ‘the man who lost his body – offers profound insights into the significance of proprioception (McNeill et al., 2009). Following a fever in 1971 at age 19, a subsequent auto-immune reaction destroyed all his sensory neurons from the neck down–a condition termed ‘neuronopathy’. Despite retaining his intact motor functions, Waterman lost all proprioceptive abilities, rendering him unaware of his body's position in space. Although the viral infection’s initial effect was that of immobility, this loss was not due to paralysis. Rather, it was Waterman’s lack of control over his body that inhibited his ability to move. Sitting, walking, and manipulating objects became impossible tasks as a result of the absence of any proprioceptive feedback from the body. Remarkably, Waterman has been able to teach himself precise strategies to walk and function with a degree of normality (Swain, 2017). Yet, all movement requires concerted planning and relies entirely on vision to compensate for the unconscious proprioceptive processing. In the absence of any light, Waterman is unable to see his limbs, thus restricting his ability to move. An understanding of the molecular mechanisms underlying proprioception remains somewhat of a mystery compared to that of our other senses. However, recent genetic advancements are paving the way for the development of novel therapies aimed at neurological and musculoskeletal disorders (Woo et al., 2015). A study involving two young patients with unique neurological disorders affecting their body awareness revealed a mutation in their PIEZO2 gene (Chesler et al., 2016). Both individuals experienced significant challenges with balance and movement, coupled with progressive scoliosis and deformities in the hips, fingers, and feet. The PIEZO2 gene typically encodes a type of mechanosensitive protein in cells, r esponsible for generating electrical signals in response to alterations in cell shape (Coste et al., 2010). Mutations to this gene prevent signal generation and render the neurons incapable of detecting limb or body movement. These findings firmly establish PIEZO2 as a critical gene for facilitating proprioception in humans, a sense that is crucial for bodily awareness. PIEZO2 mutations have also been implicated in genetic musculoskeletal disorders (Coste et al., 2010). Joint problems and scoliosis experienced by the patients in a study suggest that proprioception may also indirectly guide skeletal development. These insights into the role of the PIEZO2 gene in proprioception and musculoskeletal development open up promising avenues for understanding and treating neurological and musculoskeletal disorders. It’s more than fitting to regard proprioception as our sixth sense. The capacity of our nervous system to seamlessly process vast amounts of information from our joints and muscles, all without any conscious effort on our part, is truly remarkable. So, the next time you have that eyes-shut first sip of coffee, give yourself a pat on the back. With your sixth sense at play, you’re clearly a superhero! References Chesler, A. T., Szczot, M., Bharucha-Goebel, D., Čeko, M., Donkervoort, S., Laubacher, C., Hayes, L. H., Alter, K., Zampieri, C., Stanley, C., Innes, A. M., Mah, J. K., Grosmann, C. M., Bradley, N., Nguyen, D., Foley, A. R., Le Pichon, C. E., & Bönnemann, C. G. (2016). The Role of PIEZO2 in Human Mechanosensation. N Engl J Med , 375 (14), 1355-1364. https://doi.org/10.1056/NEJMoa1602812 Coste, B., Mathur, J., Schmidt, M., Earley, T. J., Ranade, S., Petrus, M. J., Dubin, A. E., & Patapoutian, A. (2010). Piezo1 and Piezo2 are essential components of distinct mechanically activated cation channels. Science , 330 (6000), 55-60. McNeill, D., Quaeghebeur, L., & Duncan, S. (2009). IW - “The Man Who Lost His Body”. In (pp. 519-543). https://doi.org/10.1007/978-90-481-2646-0_27 Proske, U., & Gandevia, S. C. (2012). The Proprioceptive Senses: Their Roles in Signaling Body Shape, Body Position and Movement, and Muscle Force. Physiological Reviews , 92 (4), 1651-1697. https://doi.org/10.1152/physrev.00048.2011 Sherrington, C. S. (1907). On the proprio-ceptive system, especially in its reflex aspect. Brain , 29 (4), 467-482. Swain, K. (2017). The phenomenology of touch. The Lancet Neurology , 16 (2), 114. https://doi.org/10.1016/S1474-4422(16)30389-1 Woo, S. H., Lukacs, V., de Nooij, J. C., Zaytseva, D., Criddle, C. R., Francisco, A., Jessell, T. M., Wilkinson, K. A., & Patapoutian, A. (2015). Piezo2 is the principal mechanotransduction channel for proprioception. Nature Neuroscience , 18 (12), 1756-1762. https://doi.org/10.1038/nn.4162 Previous article Next article Elemental back to

By Gavin Choong < Back to Issue 3 Love and Aliens By Gavin Choong 10 September 2022 Edited by Khoa-Anh Tran and Niesha Baker Illustrated by Ravon Chew Next Neither Daniel Love nor Brendan Thoms were Australian citizens, but they were both recognised as First Nations Australians by law. Under legislation, “aliens” who commit crimes with a sentence of over a year may be removed from the country. (1) Due to their non-citizenship, the then Minister for Home Affairs Peter Dutton classified these men as aliens and tried to deport them after they were convicted of serious crimes. This attempt failed. The High Court of Australia ruled, in the hotly contested landmark decision of Love v Commonwealth, that Indigenous Australians could not be considered aliens under Australian law because of the “spiritual connection” they hold with the lands and waters of the country we live in. (1) Effectively, this barred the deportation of Love and Thoms but also sent astronomical ripples through the fabric of our nation’s legal framework. This year, major challenges to the decision made in Love v Commonwealth have arisen. Of the arguments put forward, some protest the judicial activism of the judges – that is, them going above and beyond written law to produce a fairer ruling. For example, many contend the term spiritual connection bears no actual legal meaning. However, with a history dating back upwards of seventy-thousand years, two hundred and fifty languages and eight hundred dialects, complex systems of governance, deeply vested religious and spiritual beliefs, and a profound understanding of land, it would be ignorant to argue this rich culture should simply be disregarded in the face of the law. This article adopts a scientific lens and delves into an empirical basis for the spiritual connection Aboriginal Australians share with country, traversing from Dreamtime to spacetime and beyond. THE DREAMING: FROM NOTHING, EVERYTHING From nothing came everything. Nearly fourteen billion years ago, a zero-volume singularity held, tightly, all the energy, space, and time from our current universe. In the moment of creation, temperature and average energies were so extreme all four fundamental forces which shape the universe, as we know it, acted as one. Cosmological inflation followed, allowing for exponential expansion and rapid cooling. Within a picosecond, the four fundamental forces of nature – gravity, electromagnetism, weak interactions, and strong interactions – emerged independently. These forces interacted with matter, resulting in the formation of elementary particles now coined quarks, hadrons, and leptons. For twenty more minutes, elementary particles coupled to form subatomic particles (protons, neutrons) which in turn underwent nuclear fusion to create simple early atoms such as hydrogen and helium. From nothing, came everything. In an eternal present, where there had once been flat and barren ground, Ancestral and Creator spirits emerged from land, sea, and sky to roam the Earth. As they moved, man and nature – mountains, animals, plants, and rivers – were birthed into existence. Once these spirits had finished, instead of disappearing, they transformed into the world they had created, existing in sacred sites such as the night sky, monolithic rocks, and ancient trees. The Dreaming is a First Nations peoples’ understanding of the world and its creation. Importantly, it is an event which cannot be fixed in time – “it was, and is, everywhen,” continuing even today. Countless retellings have caused Dreamtime tales to diverge slightly, leading communities of Aboriginal Australians to identify with different variations of similar stories. (2) These fables refer to natural worldly features and sacred sites, whilst also incorporating favourable values such as patience, humility, and compassion. An example is the tale of the Karatgurk, told by the Wurundjeri people of the Kulin nation, about seven sisters representing what we now consider as the Pleiades star constellation. (3) The Karatgurk These seven sisters once lived by the Yarra River, where Melbourne now stands. They alone possessed the secret of fire, carrying live coals at the end of their digging sticks. (Crow ("trickster, cultural hero, and [another] ancestral being") called the sisters over claiming he had discovered tasty ant larvae. (3) The women began scouring, only to find viscious snakes underneath the dirt which they beat using their digging sticks. As they did so, the live coals flew off and were stolen by Crow who brought fire to mankind. The Karatgurk sisters were swept into the sky, with their glowing fire sticks forming the Pleiades star cluster. In theory, the extreme physical reactions occurring minutes after the Big Bang, paired with hyper-rapid cosmic inflation, should have resulted in a completely homogeneous universe with an even distribution of all existing matter and energy. Cosmological perturbation theory explains, however, that micro-fluctuations in material properties create gravitational wells resulting in the random grouping of matter. These aggregations formed the first stars, quasars, galaxies, and clusters throughout the next billion years. It took, however, another ten billion years for the solar system to form. Similar to Saturn’s planetary rings, the early Sun had its own rotating, circumstellar disc composed of dust, gas, and debris. According to the nebular hypothesis, over millions of years, enough particulates coagulated within the Sun’s spinning disc to form small, primordial planets. Early Earth was a hellish fire-scape as a result of constant meteoric bombardment and extreme volcanic activity. The occasional icy asteroids which collided with Earth deposited large amounts of water, vaporising upon contact – as our planet began to cool, these gaseous deposits condensed into oceans, and molten rock solidified into land mass. In the blink of an eye, early traces of modern humans fluttered into existence at the African Somali Peninsula. They were a nomadic people, travelling westwards and then north through modern day Egypt and into the Middle East. Ancestral Indigenous Australians were amongst the first humans to migrate out of Africa some 62,000 to 75,000 years ago. While other groups travelled in different directions filling up Asia, Europe and the Americas, ancestral Indigenous Australians took advantage of drastically lower sea levels during that time to travel south, as, back then, mainland Australia, Tasmania, and Papua New Guinea formed a single land mass (Sahul) while South-East Asia formed another (Sunda). In spite of this, the wanderers still had to possess the requisite sea-faring skills to traverse almost ninety kilometres of ocean. When the last ice age ended 10,000 years ago, rising waters from melting ice caps covered many of the terrestrial bridges early humans had once journeyed over. This severing allowed Indigenous Australians to foster culture and tradition in their very own passage of time, uninterrupted and independent until a British fleet of eleven ships approached Botany Bay thousands of years later. Significant parts of Australia’s coast were also submerged due to ice age flooding. As coastal Indigenous Australians observed this phenomenon, they recognised its significance through their tales. The Gimuy Walubara Yidinji, traditional custodians of Cairns and the surrounding district, are one of the many groups which reference coastal flooding in their geomythology. Gunya and the Sacred Fish Gunyah, who had lived on Fitzroy Island, went out to hunt for fish one day. Spotting a glimmer in the water, he plunged a spear towards it only to find he had attacked the sacred black stingray. The stingray beat its wing-like fins, causing a great, unending storm. Gunyah fled from the rapidly rising sea and managed to find refuge in a clan living on the cliffs of Cairns. Together, they heated huge rocks in a fire and threw them far into the sea. The pacific was once again pacified, and the Great Barrier Reef created. Isaac Newton proposed, in Principia Mathematica, that the strength of the force of gravity between two celestial bodies would be proportional to both of their masses. At the beginning of the twentieth century, Albert Einstein refined this concept with the theories of Special and General Relativity. His mathematical models suggested time and space were woven into a four-dimensional canvas of spacetime, and the presence of massive objects such as black holes and stars created gravitational wells which distorted spacetime. Within these distortions, bodies closer to large masses would conceive time and space differently than those further away. This unique phenomenon, for example, means astronauts living onboard the International Space Station age fractionally slower relative to us grounded on Earth. Einstein was also able to find that as the velocity of any given body increased to that near the speed of light, it would gain an almost-infinite mass and experience a drastically slowed perception of time relative to their surroundings. These once inconceivable findings had monumental implications in the sphere of theoretical physics, with two examples below. (4, 5) Dark Matter ‘Visible’, baryonic matter humanity is familiar with makes up less than a fifth of the known universe, with a hypothetical ‘dark’, non-baryonic matter comprising the rest. Dark matter lies between and within galaxies, driving baryonic matter to aggregate, forming stars and galaxies. As it cannot be detected using electromagnetic radiation, gravitational lensing provides the strongest proof of its existence. Gravitational lensing occurs when there is an interfering body between us, here on Earth, and a given target. As per Einstein’s relativity, the interfering body has mass which will bend space and therefore distort the image we receive of the target. There exists a mathematically proportional relationship between mass and distortion – the more massive an interfering body, the greater the distortion. Scientists performed calculations but found that the levels of distortion they observed correlated to masses much greater than that of the interfering body. Dark matter accounts for this invisible and undetectable missing mass. String Theory At its core, quantum physics deals with interactions at the atomic and subatomic level. This body of work has borne unusual findings – including that light can act both as a particle and wave, that we may never identify a particle’s position and momentum simultaneously with complete certainty, and that the physical properties of distant entangled particles can fundamentally be linked. On paper, however, there has been great difficulty reconciling quantum physics with relativity theory, as the former deals with interactions which occur in “jumps…with probabilistic rather than definite outcomes”. (4) String theory, however, seeks to settle this tension by proposing the universe is comprised of one-dimensional vibrating strings interacting with one another. This theoretical framework has already bore fascinating fruit – it has been hypothesised that the universe has ten dimensions (nine spatial, one temporal) and during the Big Bang, a “symmetry-breaking event” caused three spatial dimensions to break from the others resulting in an observable three-dimensional universe. (5) On 21 September 1922, astronomers in Goondiwindi, Queensland, used a total solar eclipse to successfully test and prove Einstein’s theory of relativity. Aboriginal Australians present believed they were “trying to catch the Sun in a net”. (6) Western academics were far from the only ones who sought to explain natural phenomena. From the ancient Egyptians to Japanese Shintoists and South American Incas, many civilisations of the past revered the Sun and Moon, having been enthralled by the two celestial bodies. Indigenous Australians were one such people, wanting to understand why the sun rose and set, how moon cycles and ocean tides were related, and what exactly were the rare solar and lunar eclipses. Such occurrences had a mystical property about them, reflected in a rich collection of traditional tales which looked to illuminate these astronomical observations. (7) Walu the Sun-woman Told by the Yolngu people of Arnhem Land, Walu lights a small fire every morning to mark that dawn has arrived. She paints herself with red and yellow pigment with some spilling onto the clouds to create sunrise. Walu lights a bark torch and carries it across the sky from East to West, creating daylight. Upon completing her journey, she extinguishes her torch and travels underground back to the morning camp in the East. While doing so, she provides warmth and fertility to the very Earth surrounding her. Ngalindi the Moon-man Told by the Yolngu people of Arnhem Land, “water fill[s] Ngalindi as he rises, becoming full at high tide”. (6) When full, he becomes gluttonous and decides to kill his sons because they refuse to share their food with him. His wives seek vengeance by chopping off his limbs, causing water to drain out. This is reflected by a waning moon and ebb in the tides. Eventually, Ngalindi dies for three days (New Moon) before rising once again (waxing Moon). Bahloo and Yhi Told often by the Kamilaroi people of northern New South Wales, Yhi (Sun-woman) falls in love with Bahloo (Moon-man) and tries to pursue him across the sky. However, he has no interest in Yhi and refuses her advances. Sometimes, Yhi eclipses Bahloo and tries to kill him in a fit of jealously, but the spirits holding up the sky intervene allowing Bahloo to escape. In 1788, British colonists prescribed the fictitious doctrine of terra nullius which treated land occupied by Indigenous peoples as “territory belonging to no-one,” susceptible to colonisation. (8) It is apparent, however, that Indigenous Australians did and still do belong, having a greater, more unique, and nuanced relationship to our lands and waters than we can ever hope to have. This article shows that as detailed and prescriptive our modern scientific understanding is, First Nations peoples will have an equally if not richer perspective, woven through their stories, languages, and practices. To argue that the spiritual connection Indigenous people share with country is not recognised by law would be wilfully making the same mistake our early settlers made two and a half centuries ago. It would be allowing the continuance of intergenerational trauma and suppression. For those reasons, despite the assertive legal challenges being brought against Love v Commonwealth, its judgement must be upheld. References 1. Love v Commonwealth; Thoms v Commonwealth [2020] HCA 3. 2. Stanner WE. The Dreaming & other essays. Melbourne (AU): Black Inc.; 2011. 3. Creation Stories [Internet]. Victoria: Taungurung Lands & Waters Council [cited 2022 Apr. Available from: https://taungurung.com.au/creation-stories/ 4. Powell CS. Relativity versus quantum mechanics: the battle of the universe [Internet]. The Guardian; 2015 Nov 4 [cited 2022 Apr 17]. Available from: https://www.theguardian.com/news/2015/nov/04/relativity-quantum-mechanics-universe-physicists 5. Wolchover N. String theorists simulate the Big Bang [Internet]. Live Science; 2011 Dec 14 [cited 2022 Apr 17]. Available from: https://www.livescience.com/17454-string-theory-big-bang.html 6. Hamacher DW. On the astronomical knowledge and traditions of Aboriginal Australians [thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy]. [Sydney]: Macquarie University; 2011. 139 p. 7. Mathematics, moon phases, and tides [Internet]. Melbourne: University of Melbourne [cited 2022 Apr 17]. Available from: https://indigenousknowledge.unimelb.edu.au/curriculum/resources/mathematics,-moon-phases,-and-tides 8. Mabo v Queensland (No 2) [1992] HCA 23. Previous article Next article alien back to

By Yvette Marris Behind the Mask By Yvette Marris 23 March 2022 Edited by Tanya Kovacevic Illustrated by Quynh Anh Nguyen It would be hard to write about A Year in Science without the obligatory COVID article. We hear constantly about the stresses of being a frontline healthcare worker, the signs and symptoms of long COVID, and the endless vaccine scepticism. I’d like to tell a slightly different story. During the COVID pandemic, other infections didn’t just take a holiday and cancers didn’t just stop growing. More ordinary illness and injury continued behind the headlines. As a consequence of the pandemic, healthcare workers are additionally dealing with an abundance of patients, delays with diagnosis and some very complex medical cases. Megan Gifford worked in a hospital that didn’t primarily treat COVID-19 patients, but still had to adapt to the constant changing of rules, regulations and policies put in place to protect staff and patients alike from the virus. Now at the Peter MacCallum Cancer Centre in Melbourne, Gifford spoke to me about her experiences working at Townsville University Hospital in the only bone marrow transplant ward servicing a large population across regional Queensland. Gifford experienced the stress and burden of trying, not only to assuage their own anxieties but to also provide current, up-to-date information to patients and deliver high quality care. There were the frustrations of unavoidable logistical problems like border closures, stay-at-home orders, preventing access to crucial materials and patient transport. There was heartbreak of watching transplant patients deteriorate mentally, as their will to persist with treatments began to fade. Pathologists and haematologists also found themselves facing an unprecedented logistical nightmare, including re-allocation of diagnostic equipment and protective equipment for mass COVID testing. Access to essential biomedical material like blood and plasma became increasingly difficult and many suffered as a result. While pandemic consequences like long COVID and the increased prevalence of affective disorders, like depression and anxiety, are well documented in media and academia, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) hasn’t gotten the same amount of attention. Statistics and anecdotes alike are staggering, both for patients and healthcare workers. With stressors like an unprecedented number of critically ill patients, capricious disease progressions, high mortality, and ever-changing treatment guidelines the world was sympathetic to healthcare workers’ struggles (3). Yet with the lockdowns and restrictions over, it would be naïve to think everything would just return to normal. It was found that 29% of healthcare workers had clinical or sub-clinical symptoms of PTSD (1), and that this figure was significantly higher for healthcare workers directly treating COVID patients (2). Gifford recalled anecdotes of “patients suffering anxiety attacks when they smell the hospital alcohol rub and hear the familiar beeping of the various equipment”. Even beyond the mental health scope, logistical issues like delayed learning for medical students or the backlog of elective procedures is still placing an enormous burden on healthcare workers, despite the immediate threat seemingly behind us. But to say that everything remains in shambles would frankly be insulting to healthcare workers, who are working tirelessly to deliver good quality healthcare. The speed at which pathologists and scientists have adapted to limited resources and supply shortages, and the way in which doctors and frontline workers have shifted their style of care and developed new problem-solving skills, are exceptional and should not go unnoticed or unappreciated. Importantly, the COVID-19 pandemic and its ripple effects have brought centre stage the consequences of under-resourced healthcare centres in a way that affected all people, irrespective of geography, class or reputation. The reality is that the conditions in which many metropolitan hospitals found themselves in, with never enough staff or supplies, is a condition that some hospitals experienced long before COVID-19 ever appeared, particularly in rural settings. To say that every dark cloud has a silver lining would be horribly cliché, but in this case, there may be truth to it. This edition of A Year in Science is a chance for us to reflect on all that COVID-19 has called attention to and decide to do something about it. References Carmassi C, Foghi C, Dell’Oste V, Cordone A, Bertelloni CA, Bui E, et al. PTSD symptoms in healthcare workers facing the three coronavirus outbreaks: What can we expect after the COVID-19 pandemic. Psychiatry Research. 2020 Oct;113312. Janiri D, Carfì A, Kotzalidis GD, Bernabei R, Landi F, Sani G. Posttraumatic Stress Disorder in Patients After Severe COVID-19 Infection. JAMA Psychiatry. 2021 Feb; Johnson SU, Ebrahimi OV, Hoffart A. PTSD symptoms among health workers and public service providers during the COVID-19 outbreak. Vickers K, editor. PLOS ONE. 2020 Oct 21;15(10):e0241032. Previous article Next article

< Back to Issue 7 Fossil Markets: Under the Gavel, Under Scrutiny by Jesse Allen 22 October 2024 edited by Zeinab Jishi illustrated by Jessica Walton At the crossroads between science and commerce, the trade in fossils has "developed into an organised enterprise" over the course of the twentieth century. With greater investment and heated competition between museums and private collectors, fossils increasingly took their place alongside “art, furniture, and fine wine” (Kjærgaard, 2012, pp.340-344). Fast forward to the twenty-first century, and this trend shows no signs of abating. On the contrary: as of 10 July 2024, a near-complete stegosaurus skeleton - nicknamed ‘Apex’ - was discovered by a commercial palaeontologist in Colorado, and was later purchased by “hedge-fund billionaire” Ken Griffin for US$44.6 million (Paul, 2024). This makes it the single most expensive dinosaur skeleton ever sold, eclipsing the previous record set in 2020 for a T-Rex named ‘Stan’, who was snapped up for US$31.8 million (Paul, 2024). These sales came with their fair share of criticism and controversy, reigniting the long-standing debate about how fossils should be handled, and where these ancient remains rightfully belong. Fossils (from the Latin fossilus , meaning ‘unearthed’) are the “preserved remains of plants and animals” which have been buried in sediments or preserved underneath ancient bodies of water, and offer unique insights into the history and adaptive evolution of life on Earth (British Geological Survey, n.d.). Their value is by no means limited to biology, however: they are useful for geologists in correlating the age of different rock layers (British Geological Survey, n.d.), and reveal the nature and consequences of changes in Earth’s climate (National Park Service, n.d.). Though new discoveries are being made all the time, fossils are inherently a finite resource, which cannot be replaced. This is part of what makes the fossil trade so lucrative, but the forces of limited supply and high demand have also led to the emergence of a dark underbelly. Cases of fossil forgery go back “as far as the dawn of palaeontology itself” in the late 18th and 19th centuries (Benton, 2024). The latest “boom in interest" is massively inflating prices and “fuelling the illicit trade” in fossils (Timmins, 2019). Whereas the US has a ‘finders-keepers’ policy, according to which private traders have carte blanche to dig up and sell any fossils they find, countries such as Brazil, China, and Mongolia do not allow the export of specimens overseas (Timmins, 2019). Sadly, this does little to prevent illegal smuggling; the laws are sometimes vague, and enforcement can be difficult when no single government agency is responsible for monitoring palaeontological activities (Winters, 2024). According to David Hone, a reader in zoology at Queen Mary University of London, “not every fossil is scientifically valuable”; but they are all “objects…worthy of protection,” and too many “scientifically important fossils appear briefly on the auction house website” before “vanish[ing] into a collector’s house, never to be seen again” (Hone, 2024). Museums, universities, and other scientific organisations are finding it more and more difficult to “financially compete with wealthy, private purchasers” as they are simply being priced out of the market (Paul, 2024). As sales become less open to expert scrutiny, the risk of forgery and price distortions become greater. It also has negative implications for future research. Private collectors might give access to one scientist, but not allow others to corroborate their findings. If the fossils aren’t open to all, many institutions simply won’t examine the items in private collections as a matter of principle. (Timmins, 2019). The general public also loses out in a world where dinosaur fossils are reduced to expensive conversation pieces. As Hone writes, “we might never dig up another Stegosaurus, or never find one nearly as complete as [Apex].” Having waited 150 million years to be unearthed, this latest fossil is one of many that may not see the light of day for a very long time. Bibliography Benton, M. (2024, September 5). Modern palaeontology keeps unmasking fossil forgeries – and a new study has uncovered the latest fake . The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/modern-palaeontology-keeps-unmasking-fossil-forgeries-and-a-new-study-has-uncovered-the-latest-fake-223501 British Geological Survey. (n.d.). Why do we study fossils? British Geological Survey. https://www.bgs.ac.uk/discovering-geology/fossils-and-geological-time/fossils/ Hone, D. (2024, June 10). The super-rich are snapping up dinosaur fossils – that’s bad for science . The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/article/2024/jun/10/super-rich-dinosaur-fossils-stegosaurus-illegal-trade-science Kjærgaard, P. C. (2012). The Fossil Trade: Paying a Price for Human Origins. Isis , 103 (2), 340–355. https://doi.org/10.1086/666365 National Park Service. (n.d.). The significance of fossils . U.S. Department of the Interior. https://www.nps.gov/subjects/fossils/significance.htm Paul, A. (2024, July 18). Stegosaurus 'Apex' sold for nearly $45 million to a billionaire . Popular Science. https://www.popsci.com/science/stegosaurus-skeleton-sale/ Timmins, B. (2019, August 8). What’s wrong with buying a dinosaur? BBC News. https://www.bbc.com/news/business-48472588 Winters, G.F. (2024). International Fossil Laws. The Journal of Paleontological Sciences , 19 . https://www.aaps-journal.org/Fossil-Laws.html Previous article Next article apex back to

< Back to Issue 10 Young Scientists in the Making by Kacy Toombs 2 June 2026 Illustrated by Saraf Ishmam Edited by Ingrid Sefton When you look at a baby, a multitude of thoughts might cross your mind, ranging from “aww cute” to “ ew, I’m never having kids” . You might see a baby babbling, screaming, drooling, or giving you that heedless, unwavering stare, and think about how silly that baby is. How socially inept! There’s not a thought behind those eyes! But what if I told you that every single baby is actually a young scientist? That everyday, babies are conducting social and scientific experiments; testing the limits of their understanding and noting down the mechanics of our world? Together, let’s explore how everyday babies are deploying the scientific method to learn about the world around them, and how they use these techniques to navigate life. If you’re at all familiar with this magazine, you’ll most likely know exactly what the scientific method entails. For those of you who haven’t touched a science kit since your Year 9 biology class, I’ll briefly explain. The scientific method (also known as the analytical method) is the use of a series of experiments to test a hypothesis. These experiments are often circular in their function, with the hypothesis modified and further retested until consistent results are achieved (1). It is standard practice within the many fields of science, and can range from wildly entertaining social experiments, to closely controlled quantitative observations. In the most basic terms, the scientific method is the art of asking a question, then seeking an answer. Picture a baby in a highchair. They’re happily wobbling their arms and swinging their plump little legs. Maybe they are even dribbling out the remnants of their mushy lunches. They pick up their spoon, and instead of using the spoon for its intended purpose, they drop it onto the floor. There are a number of things happening in this given scenario. A baby isn’t simply dropping the spoon to be annoying or to make itself laugh; though many babies have in the past, and will in the future, think that this act is very, very funny. The baby is asking a question – creating a hypothesis – and testing a number of variables. What happens when I let go of this spoon? When they drop the spoon, they are observing science in action. Gravity – the spoon falls down. Physics – the spoon spins in the air and bounces on the floor. The energy of sound waves – the clattering of the spoon on tile is loud, versus the soft boff of it bouncing on carpet. There are also the social aspects to consider. How will the people around them react? Will they come pick up the spoon? Is this a good way to get somebody’s attention? Like all great scientists, a baby will need to run multiple tests to come to conclusive results, so they will drop a lot of spoons. Now, am I advocating for us to let children throw their spoons around? Of course not. Part of this experience is for children to also learn that throwing spoons at the dinner table isn’t classified as decent behaviour in our society. But I do believe that it is important to acknowledge what a child is doing here. This action stems from curiosity, and it is important to cultivate that curiosity rather than quash it. Curiosity is a common trait we associate with ourselves as a species, and more often than not, is an intrinsic characteristic of children. Ironically enough, science has a hard time pinpointing the ‘why’ behind our curiosity (2), though many theories on the cognitive development of humans link our need to observe the environment and animal behaviour to survival (3). The power of curiosity is a baby’s best tool in their metaphorical toolkit. As a newly conscious being, there’s a lot about the world that they simply don’t understand. There’s a reason why the phrase, “ a baby’s brain is like a sponge” , is so well known. They absorb everything, and are constantly using any newly acquired knowledge to test the limits of their own understanding. The art of observing the world and the willingness to learn from it can be broken down into four main categories: questioning (the act of verbalising curiosity), physical exploration (bodily curiosity as a sensory experience), philosophising (the act of verbalising wonder) and embodied fascination (bodily wonder that does not seek a cognitive answer) (4). Of course, a baby won’t start verbalising their curiosity until they can speak (at which point you might be forced into the repetitive hell of a child’s never-ending echolalia of “ but why?” ), but instinctually the questions are present. These four categories are not mutually exclusive; often wonder can lead to curiosity and curiosity can lead to wonder. When people are given the room to explore their curiosity in any learning institution, they naturally grasp the concepts taught to them with a better understanding (5). Unfortunately, many modern day schools prioritise academic performance over a child’s own understanding of any given topic. I’m sure we can all relate to being talked at by a lecturer in the classroom rather than being invited to participate in the conversation. It’s a pretty fast way to get your brain to switch off and dull any curious inclination you might have had. It is no secret that some children learn differently from others, and this method of simply giving instruction in class can work for some. But using the broadest methods of engaging in wonder and curiosity will help all students, alongside their relationship with learning as a whole (6). Have you ever wondered why children enjoy field trips so much? It isn’t just the novelty of breaking a set routine and ‘skipping’ a school day; it’s also much simpler than that. Field trips give students a safe space to have fun with their learning and actively immerses them in all four categories of wonder and curiosity. Let’s take the example of students going to a planetarium. A child has the opportunity to physically explore a space; by interacting with planet mobiles or using their hands to feel textures on touchable exhibits, children are engaging in their bodily curiosity. Questions are naturally prompted by these physical explorations – “Is this Mars?”, “Which planet is Earth?” – which can lead to further discussions with their teachers and peers. Through these discussions, children can start philosophising certain ideas based on their newly acquired knowledge: “ These space rocks look like rocks on Earth. I wonder if they are made of the same thing?” . And in the quieter moments, children can idly sit with their own embodied fascination, taking in the atmosphere of the universe from inside the cool dome of the planetarium. There are no examinations or grading on field trips. A child has the freedom to simply be. This cultivation of curiosity at such a young age actively helps aid in the development of more complex and abstract thoughts (7) and leads to children in learning institutions taking more intellectual risks when approaching topics unknown to them. There’s a magic in being curious, in this need to fill in the blanks of their own knowledge. When children are comfortable in their own lack of understanding, they are not only more receptive to learning, but are shown to be more flexible in their beliefs when presented with new ideas (8). They engage more in classrooms, they speak up when they don’t understand, and they embrace the discomfort of not knowing. It all starts with the little, nappy-wearing scientist, sitting in their highchair. These babies are setting up their own cognitive learning systems from the moment they open their eyes. They let their curiosity guide their experimentation, which shapes how they come to understand the world. So what if they’re not making any groundbreaking revelations? They don’t need to be. Give in to your own curiosity next time you encounter a baby in the wild. See if you can observe the little scientist in action as they interact with the world for the first time. And hell, maybe let them drop a few spoons. References Gregersen E. Scientific method. Britannica. 24 April 2026. https://www.britannica.com/topic/empirical-evidence Kobayashi K, Ravaioli S, Baranès A, et al . Diverse motives for human curiosity. Nature Human Behaviour. 2019;3:587-595. doi: 10.1038/s41562-019-0589-3 Del Claro K. It All Began Out of Necessity and Curiosity. Behavioral Ecology . 2026;1-10. doi: 10.1007/978-3-032-13988-7_1 Heggen MP, Lynngård AM. Wonder and curiosity beyond the obvious—a dynamic model of bodily and verbal understandings of these phenomena. Humanities and Social Sciences Communications. 2026;13:167. doi: 10.1057/s41599-025-06467-3 Kidd C, Hayden B. The Psychology and Neuroscience of Curiosity.” Neuron. 2015;88(3):449-460. doi: 10.1016/j.neuron.2015.09.010 Peterson EM. Supporting curiosity in schools and classrooms. Behavioral Sciences. 2020;35:7-13. doi: 10.1016/j.cobeha.2020.05.006 Hall S. The Young Child as Scientist. A Learning Moments Collection. Videatives. 2015. https://videatives.com/node/2117 Jirout JJ, Vitiello VE, Zumbrunn SK. Curiosity In Schools. The New Science of Curiosity . Edited by Gordon G., 243-266. Nova, 2018. Previous article back to Fact & Fiction Next article