< 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

< Back to Issue 2 Postdoc Possibilities Thinking about postgraduate research? This column has some advice for you, courtesy of a recent PhD graduate. by Renee Papaluca 10 December 2021 Edited by Ruby Dempsey and Breana Galea Illustrated by Casey Boswell The idea of (dis)order is apparent in many scientific fields. One example of this is artificial light at night, which can disrupt our ecosystems. I caught up with Marty Lockett, a recent PhD graduate in this field, to learn more about the research pathway and their experience studying science at the University of Melbourne. Marty Lockett. Image included with permission. Marty recently completed his PhD in the Urban Light Lab, School of Biosciences. In his spare time, Marty enjoys birdwatching, Lego and science fiction. What was the ‘light-bulb moment’ that prompted you to study science? “I have always enjoyed the outdoors. For example, bushwalking, snorkelling, birdwatching — all that sort of stuff. I am more of a latecomer to science. About 10 years ago, I took long-service leave from my job. I used to be a lawyer. I ended up spending a lot of time doing volunteer work for conservation and restoration organisations… and I was exposed for the first time to the world of science and ecology. The work involved things like cleaning up rubbish, tree planting, weed removal, and banding and recapturing birds with researchers. It was really eye-opening! I realised I could do this for a job… I had never studied science, apart from chemistry at school. I had never been exposed to ecology or really considered it as a potential career option. Having that opportunity to immerse myself in nature in a more constructive and helpful way, rather than being a passive observer, really got me thinking.” Why did you choose to complete a research pathway? “So, I came into this not having an undergraduate degree in science. I completed a Masters of Environment to begin with. My thinking there was to try and get into environmental management, conservation or restoration management. As part of that masters, I completed a couple of third-year animal behaviour subjects. I found this really interesting as I hadn’t studied much about the behaviour of wildlife. Off the back of that, I decided to focus on this area for my research capstone subject. I met Dr Therésa Jones [current supervisor] and … did a mini research project on artificial light at night which is her area of specialization. From there, I got hooked on research… I wanted to find out more and, from there, decided to complete a PhD… There’s so much to learn about the world. Being in the position where the world now knows something that it once didn’t because of your work is really powerful.” What was the focus of your PhD research? Why did you choose this area? “My main project was looking at the effects of artificial light at night on an important food chain in Eucalyptus woodlands.” “There's a lot of research on the effects of artificial light at night on individual organisms… There's less but increasing research on interactions between species. As you spread out wider, there's [even] less research on more complex communities and on the wider cascading ecological effects of artificial light at night. I wanted to look into the effects of artificial light on a system that was underexplored and really important here in Australia.” “I chose a specific Eucalyptus woodland food chain consisting of river red gum trees, lerp psyllids, and birds that eat them. Lerps are the white bumps you sometimes see on Eucalyptus leaves. These are made by the nymphs [juveniles] of insects called lerp psyllids. Psyllids feed on leaf sap. Since eucalyptus sap is very rich in carbohydrates, they secrete the excess carbohydrates and use it to build little white domes over themselves. This takes a resource which is completely indigestible by most animals [Eucalyptus sap] and it turns it into something that is highly digestible by a whole range of animals… like birds, other insects, possums [and] bats. So lerps are a really key food resource in Eucalyptus woodlands. At the next level of the food chain, I chose a bird that was particularly dependent on lerps known as bell miners. I wanted to see the effect of artificial light at night at each level of this food chain. This is because all three organisms were vulnerable to… [the] effects of artificial light at night in different ways, and impacts at one level of the food chain might have cascading effects on other levels.” What did your day-to-day life as a PhD researcher look like? “It's really varied. In my case, I broke it down into three main work categories. So first up, you've got reading and writing. In the early days, before you start doing any experiments, you've got to learn a lot about your area, find out what's known, what's unknown, form hypotheses and figure out ways of testing them…” “In the middle, there is much more time spent on fieldwork and lab work. The extent of this will vary depending on the project… In my case, it was probably 50/50… An amazing amount of research involves what we refer to as ‘art and crafts’ where, after you design an experiment, you've got to then figure out a way to test that experiment on a tight budget. For example, building insect traps; you have to think about how you will make it work logistically. You need something that can be easily broken down and transported, but is rigid enough to stand up in a street, doesn't blow over in the wind and all those kinds of things. Fieldwork involved rigging up electric lights in a paddock, finding ways to stop parrots eating sound recorders; all kinds of weird stuff I never thought I'd be doing. Then there’s the actual fieldwork itself — catching bugs, measuring trees — whatever it is you need to do to gather data.” “The third main activity is statistical analysis and coding, which often go hand in hand. Most of [my] analysis was done in R [programming language], which was another thing that I hadn't done before… I hadn't really appreciated, as an outsider, just how much time scientists spend on statistics and coding. Coding governs a whole lot of things [in research], not just statistics. So you'll use coding to measure the number and diversity of vocalisations in birdsong recordings. You also may use it for physical mapping of study sites. In stats, there is obviously coding involved in statistical analysis, but also for creating the plots for your papers. It's all coding!” “At the end, you come back to reading and writing. You've gathered all your data, you've written up your results and then you've got to put them in context for your reader.” What advice would you give to students considering this research pathway? “There's two aspects to a PhD. On one hand, you are researching something that is of interest to you. This might be a particular organism, process or scientific question… That's a really important element of the PhD. But the other element is about you upskilling. Basically, a PhD is like a research apprenticeship and it's mostly self-driven… Your supervisor is there to guide you but you've got to come up with all the questions yourself, and figure out how to test them. I feel like it's really important to make the most of both these aspects; you want to do a great research project and find out something interesting that the world didn't know before. But you also want to make sure you're making the most of this time to meet people, take on skills, try things out and get outside your comfort zone. This is really important in making yourself as attractive as possible to future employers and a well-rounded researcher.” What are your future plans following your PhD? “I would like to take these skills and apply them in an in-house ecologist or research position. I’d like to do work where there's a chance to both conduct research and apply what we know to achieve better outcomes for wildlife. So, for example, working on the practical application of artificial light, working with people who make decisions about installing artificial light fixtures and helping them to find better ways to balance the needs of humans and the needs of wildlife.” Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

Issue 1: Science is Everywhere Foreword from Dr Jen Marti n From the Editors-in-Chief Hear from the founder and leader of the UniMelb Science Communication Teaching Program! A few words from our four Editors-in-Chief on the inaugural issue of OmniSci Magazine! 2 minute read 2 minute read Columns The body, et cetera Conversations in science Chatter Wiggling Ears By Rachel Ko Let’s take a trip down evolution lane to uncover the story behind everyone’s favourite useless party trick: ear wiggling. 3 minute read Behind the Scenes of COVID-19 with Dr Julian Druce By Zachary Holloway In conversatio n with Dr Julian Druc e. 6 minute read Silent Conversations: How Trees Talk to One Another By Lily McCann What do trees talk about? 5 minute read Science Ethics Cinema to Reality Humans of UniMelb Should We Protect Our Genetic Information? By Grace Law How much is our genetic and biometric data worth? And why are others so keen to get their hands on it? Can We Build the Iron Man Suit? By Manthila Ranatunga Ever wondered what it takes to build the Iron Man suit? Research - Is it For Me? By Renee Papaluca Hear from current research students about their experiences studying science at UniMelb. 4 minute read 4 minute read 4 minute read The Greenhouse Unpacking the Latest IPCC Report — What Climate Science is Telling Us By Sonia Truong Unpacking the latest UN IPCC report on the science behind climate change. 5 minute read Features Our Microbial Frenemies By Wei Han Chong Diseases and pandemics have always been the source of great disasters throughout history, so why don't we do away with them? 7 minute read Where The Wild Things Were B y Ashleigh Hallinan Biodiversity loss is perhaps just as catastrophic as climate change, so let's consider the role of ecosystem restoration in battling this ecological emergency. 6 minute read Understanding the Mysterious Science of Sleep By Evelyn Kiantoro Sleep, our favourite way to wind down and relax. But why do we sleep? Moreover, what are dreams? 6 minute read The Rise of The Planet of AI By A shley Mamuko When does tech become fully integrated into our lives? 7 minute read The Intellectual’s False Dilemma: Art vs Science By Natalie Cierpisz The age-old debate once again resurfaces. Art and science. Two worlds collide 6 minute read Climate Change, Vaccines & Lockdowns: How and Why Science Has Become a Polarising Political Debate By Mia Horsfall How should scientific research and political legislation interact, and what role should they play in public discourse? 6 minute read Sick of Lockdown? Let Science Explain Why. By T anya Kovacevic The mechanisms behind lockdown fatigue - and how to treat it. 6 minute read Let's Torque Competition Winner Bionics: Seeing into the Future By J oshua Nicholls Let's explore the ground-breaking technology that could help Australians suffering from visual impairment. Let's Torque is the premier science communication organisation taking STEM to Victorian schools and undergrad students. They host a science communication competition annually. 5 minute read Let's Torque website

issue 3 : alien 10 September 2022 This issue is about exploring all things exotic, unfamiliar, unknown. Dive into the column and feature articles by our talented writers below! columns The Body, Et Cetera “Blink and you’ll miss it”: A Third Eyelid? By Rachel Ko This article unpacks the fascinating evidence for evolution reflected within our very own eyes, connecting us to our reptilian ancestors. Chatter Belly bugs: the aliens that live in our gut By Lily McCann In this issue we explore how microbes influence our health and emotions, and what this means for our concept of identity. Humans of UniMelb In conversation with Paul Beuchat By Renee Papaluca I caught up with Paul Beuchat to learn more about his research journey and his potentially ‘alien’ methods of teaching. Our Past, Present & Future Waving Hello to the Aliens By Reah Shetty Our interaction with the idea of aliens has evolved. The question is how far have we come and how far will we go? Science Books Believing in aliens... A science? By Juulke Castelijn I wasn’t expecting to be persuaded of the existence of life beyond the confines of Earth. Ethics in Science The Ethics of Space Travel By Monica Blasioli Being the beginning of research into the impacts of space travel, can turning space travel into monopoly truly be justified? Wonders of the Landscape Space exploration in Antartica By Ashleigh Hallinan What makes Antarctica special when it comes to meteorite discovery? Science in the Age of Politics Hope, Humanity and the Starry Night Sky By Andrew Lim This second feature in the ‘Science in the Age of Politics’ series considers the importance of the stars, and scientific diplomacy, amidst rising global tensions. features Death of the Scientific Hero By Clarisse Sawyer How do we teach scientific history without promoting historical bigots? Mighty Microscopic Warriors! By Gaurika Loomba Equipped with a plethora of signalling chemicals and cells with different features, our heroic immune system fights wars daily without us realising it. Love and Aliens By Gavin Choong The First Nations’ perspectives are profound, and must be recognised by the Australian legal system. Existing in an Alien World: Navigating Neurodiversity in a System Built for Someone Else By Hazel Theophania Autism isn’t some inscrutable mystery - we’re people, and learning how we operate will help dismantle the barriers built up around us. AI and a notion of 'artificial humanity' By Mia Horsfall We still consider AI as other (or 'alien') to us, but ideal utility would be gained from toeing the precarious line between humanity and machine.

By Rachel Ko < Back to Issue 3 “Blink and you’ll miss it”: A Third Eyelid? By Rachel Ko 10 September 2022 Edited by Ashleigh Hallinan and Yvette Marris Rachel Ko Next The creature snarls a deep, thundering growl, tensing its protruding muscles that are covered in layers of thick, green, armour-like scales, individually rattling by the sheer force of its stance. Clenching its claws, the lizard glares with a bizarrely human expression, a villain trapped in a peculiar hybrid humanoid form. As the screams of terrified students fill the air, the camera zooms into the mutant’s glistening yellow eye, and it blinks; a slimy, translucent covering flickers across its eyeball, leaving a trail of moisture - grotesque proof of its reptilian form. A charm of the cinematic world is that aliens, radioactive spider superheroes and giant mutant lizards can exist in the same universe as the regular person. On a recent movie night, watching The Amazing Spiderman, the villain Lizard caught my eye. The creature is a metamorphosed version of human scientist Dr Curt Connors, who had attempted cross-species genetic regeneration on himself. Largely CGI, the Lizard’s primitive no-frills characterisation makes him an unconventional superhero antagonist. However, upon focus, these exaggerated reptilian characteristics are wha become staples of the Lizard’s uniquely villainous appeal: the alien-green colouring, the razor-sharp claws, the terrifying teeth and, of course, the glistening yellow eyes. Figure 1: Spiderman's 'The Lizard' In reference to the creation of these eerie eyeballs, animation supervisor David Schaub confirmed the purposeful inclusion of a nictitating membrane (1). This membrane is a slimy skin-like covering more commonly known as the Third Eyelid. In animals such as birds, reptiles, fish, amphibians, and some mammals (2), it acts as a bizarre protective mechanism that maintains moisture while retaining vision (3) - and also gives the Lizard’s glare that extra kick. Acting like a windscreen wiper, the membrane ‘nictitates’, meaning it blinks, to keep debris and dust out of the eye while simultaneously hydrating it. Its transparency also allows vision underground or underwater (4). Figure 2: A bird blinking! There is just one primate species known to have a prominent nictitating membrane: the Calabar angwantibo, also known as the golden potto, which is a rare African prosimian primate found only in Cameroon and Nigeria (5). Figure 3: Look at the Calabar's nictating membrane! The membrane is a major characterising feature of The Amazing Spiderman’s creepy mutant reptilian aura. However, this Third Eyelid actually has a homologous counterpart in Dr Connors’ eyes too. In fact, it is found in all humans, and is known as our plica semilunaris, a vertical fold of conjunctiva in the inner corner of the eye (6). Although it plays a minor role in eye movement and tear drainage (7), the plica semilunaris has nowhere near as great a function in humans as the nictitating membrane does in animals (8). The plica semilunaris and its associated muscles are merely an evolutionary remnant of the nictitating membrane that existed in our reptilian ancestors millions of years ago (9). Evolution is driven by selective advantage: the traits that allow organisms to survive and reproduce are the ones that are selected for and thrive within the population, passed down from one generation to the next (10). Traits that are disadvantageous to organisms decrease their chance of survival and reproduction, meaning fewer offspring will inherit the trait, causing it to eventually disappear from the population (11). The mystery remains as to why human ancestors lost the nictitating membrane in the first place, but it is likely that changes in habitat and lifestyle regarding eye physiology made it selectively advantageous to lose the Third Eyelid, rather than wasting precious energy on maintaining a no-longer-vital mechanism (12). For some reason, though, once the nictitating membrane had evolved into nothing more than a miniscule pink fold in the corner of the eye, it still persisted. Some argue that this is because humans have had no evolutionary incentive to completely lose them (13) – the plica semilunaris is just harmless enough that it has flown under the radar of evolution’s cut. Having suggested that, however, the primary clinical significance of the plica semilunaris has been connected to allergies of the eye, in which release of inflammatory molecules like histamine causes the tissue to become swollen and itchy (14). Thus, it is worth considering another argument: that the persistence of the plica semilunaris may be indicative of some beneficial function, particularly in its role in human eye protection. It has been found that the tissue observed in early intrauterine (within the uterus) development has a dense infiltration of immune cells like macrophages and granulocytes that serve to engulf and destroy foreign invaders of the tissue (15). Along with the abundance of blood vessels and immune chemical signalling, this has suggested a specialised role in eye protection, a benefit that may have very well ensured the plica semilunaris’ survival within human populations until this day (16). One fascinating clinical case, which showcases the outlandish capabilities of this vestigial feature, is of a child for whom it was not a question of why the plica semilunaris persisted, but an actual nictitating membrane. This peculiar instance was presented on a 9 year-old girl whose left eye had a non-progressive translucent membrane covering it horizontally. The globe of the eye was able to move freely beneath the membrane, suggesting that there was no attachment. However, it was causing amblyopia (also known as a lazy eye), and poor vision, so the nictitating membrane was successfully removed by simple excision (17). Figure 4: The plica semilunaris Figure 5: A clinical case of a human nictating membrane The only other recorded case of persisting nictitating membrane was an infant boy born prematurely with Edwards syndrome, who had nictitating membranes in both eyes (18). However, due to the baby’s infancy and condition, membrane imaging was unobtainable. Thus, arguably, the most striking aspect of the 9 year-old girl’s case was the pre-procedure imaging of her eye: an intriguing, almost alien-like fusion of the human eye and that of our reptilian ancestors. This case study can be interpreted as an exaggerated example of an existing link between the nictitating membranes we see in animals today, and the plica semilunaris that exists, tucked away, in the corner of our very own eyes. So, next time you find yourself staring into your partner’s baby blues, or putting on eyeliner in the mirror, keep an eye out for this fascinating evolutionary remnant; but be quick because - blink and you’ll miss it. References Sarto D. 'Spider-Man'’s Lizard Part 1: The Animation [Internet]. Animation World Network. 2012 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.awn.com/vfxworld/spider-mans-lizard-part-1-animation Butler A, Hodos W. Comparative vertebrate neuroanatomy. Hoboken (New Jersey): Wiley-Interscience; 2005. Why do cats have an inner eyelid as well as outer ones? [Internet]. Scientific American. 2006 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-cats-have-an-inner/ The Equine Manual [Internet]. Elsevier; 2006. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/B978-0-7020-2769-7.X5001-1 Montagna W, Machida H, Perkins EM. The skin of primates. XXXIII. The skin of the angwantibo (Arctocebus calabarensis) [Internet]. Vol. 25, American Journal of Physical Anthropology. Wiley; 1966. p. 277–90. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1002/ajpa.1330250307 Plica semilunaris [Internet]. Merriam-Webster.com medical dictionary. [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.merriam-webster.com/medical/plica%20semilunaris LaFee S. Body and Whole [Internet]. UC Health - UC San Diego. 2016 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://health.ucsd.edu/news/features/pages/2016-06-30-listicle-body-and-whole.aspx Dartt D. Foundation Volume2, Chapter 2. The Conjunctiva–Structure and Function [Internet]. Oculist.net. 2006 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: http://www.oculist.net/downaton502/prof/ebook/duanes/pages/v8/v8c002.html Gonzalez R. 10 Vestigial Traits You Didn't Know You Had [Internet]. Gizmodo. 2011 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://gizmodo.com/10-vestigial-traits-you-didnt-know-you-had-5829687 Sukhodolets V. V. (1986). K voprosu o roli estestvennogo otbora v évoliutsii [The role of natural selection in evolution]. Genetika, 22(2), 181–193. Sukhodolets V. V. (1986). K voprosu o roli estestvennogo otbora v évoliutsii [The role of natural selection in evolution]. Genetika, 22(2), 181–193. Gonzalez R. 10 Vestigial Traits You Didn't Know You Had [Internet]. Gizmodo. 2011 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://gizmodo.com/10-vestigial-traits-you-didnt-know-you-had-5829687 Kotecki P, Olito F. We No Longer Need These 9 Body Parts [Internet]. ScienceAlert. 2019 [cited 4 May 2022]. Available from: https://www.sciencealert.com/we-no-longer-need-these-9-body-parts Bielory L, Friedlaender MH. Allergic Conjunctivitis [Internet]. Vol. 28, Immunology and Allergy Clinics of North America. Elsevier BV; 2008. p. 43–58. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.iac.2007.12.005 Arends G, Schramm U. The structure of the human semilunar plica at different stages of its development a morphological and morphometric study [Internet]. Vol. 186, Annals of Anatomy - Anatomischer Anzeiger. Elsevier BV; 2004. p. 195–207. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0940-9602(04)80002-5 Arends G, Schramm U. The structure of the human semilunar plica at different stages of its development a morphological and morphometric study [Internet]. Vol. 186, Annals of Anatomy - Anatomischer Anzeiger. Elsevier BV; 2004. p. 195–207. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S0940-9602(04)80002-5 Vokuda H, Heralgi M, Thallangady A, Venkatachalam K. Persistent unilateral nictitating membrane in a 9-year-old girl: A rare case report [Internet]. Vol. 65, Indian Journal of Ophthalmology. Medknow; 2017. p. 253. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.4103/ijo.IJO_436_15 García-Castro JM, Carlota Reyes de Torres L. Nictitating Membrane in Trisomy 18 Syndrome [Internet]. Vol. 80, American Journal of Ophthalmology. Elsevier BV; 1975. p. 550–1. Available from: http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/0002-9394(75)90228-7 Images Figure 1: Galloway, R. (2022, January 25). Lizard originally had a different look in 'Spider-Man: No way home'. We Got This Covered. Retrieved August 9, 2022, from https://wegotthiscovered.com/movies/lizard-originally-had-a-different-look-in-spider-man-no-way-home/ Figure 2: Hudson T. (2010, July) Retrieved Sep 13, 2022, from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nictitating_membrane#/media/File:Bir d_blink-edit.jpg Figure 3: Sharma R. Calabar angwantibo - Alchetron, The Free Social Encyclopedia [Internet]. Alchetron.com. 2018 [cited 7 May 2022]. Available from: https://alchetron.com/Calabar-angwantibo Figure 4: Amir, D. (2019, January 16). Twitter. Retrieved August 9, 2022, from https://twitter.com/dorsaamir/status/1085557444196 081664 Previous article Next article alien back to

< Back to Issue 2 The Evolution of Science Communication In the current age of social media, users hold far more autonomy over the posts and information which they share online. However, this was not always the case, with the media once being far more regulated, and restricted for only certain individuals. With users now having far more power over content posted online, how does this impact the information which others receive about the COVID-19 pandemic? by Monica Blasioli 10 December 2021 Edited by Khoa-Anh Tran & Yen Sim Illustrated by Rachel Ko Trigger warning: This article mentions illness, and death or dying. Since the beginning of the pandemic in March 2020, science communication has started to evolve in ways never before seen across the globe. There appears to be an endless amount of infographics, Facebook posts, and YouTube and TikTok videos… including some with dancing doctors. Information not only about the COVID-19 virus, but countless diseases and scientific concepts, is available in more casual, accessible language at only the touch of a button. Any questions which you might have about science or your body can be answered through a quick Google search. In this sense, science communication is now far more rapid, as well as more accessible than in research papers (which always seem like they are written in a foreign language at times). However, the downside of having vast amounts of information available is that it can create challenges in determining the validity of what is being presented. In previous years, science communication was typically limited to the more typical forms of media, such as in a newspaper or a magazine, or even through a television interview. These were typically completed by professionals in the field, such as a research scientist or a medical doctor. When looking at the 1920 Influenza outbreak, many citizens at that time would have received their information from printed newspapers and posters on bulletin boards, as seen below. Image 1, [1] Somewhat similar to today's age, there were signs displaying the importance of mask-wearing, and newspapers explaining the closures of schools and shops, the distribution of vaccines, and reports of death rates. These messages were, and still are, created and approved by larger institutions, governments and medical professionals, particularly doctors. As seen on the (left / right / below / above), doctors are urging people to not become complacent, despite a recent drop in influenza cases. This is rather similar to current newspaper or television news reports - only in reference to COVID-19, instead of influenza. Image 2, [2] There were, of course, still groups which were uncertain about the scientific evidence being provided by journalists, doctors and government officials at this time. In November of 1918, it was declared that “the epidemic of [influenza] disease is practically over,” with mask laws being relaxed. However, only a few days later, the previous mask laws were reintroduced with a spike in Influenza cases. As unpacked in Dr Dolan’s research [3], the “Anti-Mask League” formed and protested in response to this back track, claiming that masks were unsanitary, unnecessary, and stifling their freedom. As this was during the early 20th century, the league advertised their protests in local newspapers, with reports that hundreds of San Francisco residents were fined for not abiding by mask rules, often due to their alliance with the Anti-Mask League. The San Francisco Anti-Mask League is one of the most renowned and infamous groups of its time, with smaller-scale groups also questioning the science being communicated. This type of conflicting information surrounding mask issues, and the opinion that they restrict personal freedoms, have incited similar responses throughout history. However, resistance by anti-mask groups has not existed on such an influential and global scale, as it has during the current COVID-19 pandemic. With the rise of the age of “new media,” including platforms such as Instagram and Facebook, individuals now have far more autonomy over their role in the media, meaning that they yield a lot more power over the information others are receiving. Almost anybody can interpret scientific material online and upload it in a video of them dancing to some music on TikTok, spreading information to potentially hundreds of thousands of viewers across the globe. In many ways this new found autonomy and power can be quite beneficial. Australian Doctor Imogen Hines uses her platform on TikTok, alongside her medical education and current scientific research, to break down medical treatments and mistruths, particularly surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic. These videos use simple language and straight-forward analogies, “humanising” the often intimidating figures in the medical field, and allowing the general public to be well-informed about scientific concepts. For example, Dr Imogen breaks down the research surrounding long term side effects of vaccines using a milkshake analogy! https://www.tiktok.com/@imi_imogen1/video/7027448207823211777?is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1&lang=en On the other hand, this phenomenon can have pretty serious ramifications, with many individuals feeling rightfully confused about what the truth really is, when there appears to be so many versions of it posted across the internet. Following a rather controversial study on Ivermectin as a treatment for COVID-19, the internet was soon buzzing with excitement about the prospect of a drug that many believed could replace the need for a vaccine. Despite numerous gaps in the original study, and countless further studies refuting Invermectin’s ability to treat COVID-19, many social media users are continuing to spread this myth online. Both governments and hospitals alike have been accused of hiding a seemingly “good” cure from their citizens. In Texas, a group of doctors won a legal case which allowed Texas Huguley Hospital to refuse administering Ivermectin to a COVID-19 infected Deputy Sheriff. This sparked outrage on Facebook, with users and the Sheriff’s wife demanding greater freedoms over their medical treatments, instead of just relying on the judgement of doctors and hospital staff. In this instance, the misinformation surrounding Ivermectin is not only influencing individuals to seek out futile treatments, but it is also spreading mistrust with the science and medical communities, who work incredibly hard to protect the world, particularly over the past two years. Despite Ivermectin being used in a clinical setting to treat parasitic (not viral) infections in humans for a number of years now, it can be extremely dangerous for individuals to have complete power over their medical treatments. The dosage and timing of treatment is crucial in ensuring success. Just like with everyday medications such as paracetamol, taking Ivermectin in high doses is risky. A COVID-19 infected woman from Sydney who read about Ivermectin on social media took a very high dosage of the drug after purchasing it from an online seller, which resulted in severe diarrhea and vomiting. In order to combat some of this misinformation, a number of social media platforms are “fact checking” posts or providing warnings on posts with keywords, such as ‘COVID-19’ or ‘vaccination.’ On Instagram, each post with these keywords will contain a banner at the bottom inviting users to visit their “COVID-19 Information Centre,” which provides a list of information supported by WHO and UNICEF about how vaccines are of high-standard, well-researched, and generally resulting in mild side effects. In addition, on Facebook, posts identified to be spreading mistruths will provide users with websites explaining the truth, before they can access the original posts. However, these warnings and fact-checks can only go so far. Posts blindly supporting the use of Ivermectin, falsely reporting side effects of vaccines, and arguing that masks cannot block virus particles still circulate the internet. Often those most vulnerable in the community are at risk of being led astray with misinformation. In principle, evidence-based, concise, easy-to-understand science communication is essential to break down the barrier between research and the general public, ensuring that citizens are well-informed and more comfortable about the world around them. In the situation of a public health crisis such as the COVID-19 pandemic, this communication is crucial in ensuring that all citizens can remain well-informed, safe and healthy. Misinformation and dodgy studies can not only lead people astray, but also cost them their health and wellbeing. References: 1. Kathleen McGarvey, “Historian John Barry compares COVID-19 to the 1918 flu pandemic,” University of Rochester, October 6, 2020. https://www.rochester.edu/newscenter/historian-john-barry-compares-covid-19-to-1918-flu-pandemic-454732/ 2. Kathleen McGarvey, “Historian John Barry compares COVID-19 to the 1918 flu pandemic,” University of Rochester, October 6, 2020. https://www.rochester.edu/newscenter/historian-john-barry-compares-covid-19-to-1918-flu-pandemic-454732/ 3. Brian Dolan, Unmasking History: Who Was Behind the Anti-Mask League Protests During the 1918 Influenza Epidemic in San Francisco? Perspectives in Medical Humanities (San Francisco: UC Medical Humanities Consortium, 2020) Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

< Back to Issue 2 Spirituality and Science Science is limited by the philosophies which govern it. Common thinking is that science is a rigid, cold and largely academic field which sneers at the domain of spirituality. I posit that one must move beyond this point of view in order to do good science, and to find the true aims and values of the discipline. by Hamish Payne 10 December 2021 Edited by Irene Yonsuh Lee & Khoa-Anh Tran Illustrated by Quynh Anh Nguyen When I was fifteen, I thought that I could thwart my English teacher. He had given us homework that was simple enough; discuss with our families whether true altruism exists. I did not have this discussion with my household but instead hosted the debate in my head, coming to a measured conclusion. However, the privacy of my argumentation showed the next day when my teacher asked me to share. He immediately suggested that I had only been thinking by myself and had not welcomed others into my discussion. This is not my most interesting story, but it did teach me something important: every thought that I have had contains traces of me. Even when I am fiercely debating contrary viewpoints on a subject, even when I am having my most dissonant thoughts, it is my own voice against which I argue. Whenever I have drawn my pen across the page, I have been leaving my fingerprints in the ink. At the time, these traces of me made me very uncomfortable. I have always heard that the beauty in science is that it does not matter if it is considered in isolation or in consultation with others; its facts and its theorems are invariant. This vision of science as a haven for unchanging logic was popularised by Descartes. For the cartesian, the body is split from nature, allowing one to consider the latter more sterilely. But the mind is also split from the body, and our talents, ambitions and passions are split apart in our minds. This thinking for centuries has spurred enormous strides forward in physical technology and has made humanity feel in control of our environment largely because the cartesian divide heralds natural determinism wherein each phenomenon has a direct and exploitable cause[1]. However, there is no room for individual expression in the Cartesian framework – no place for perception, experience, or spirituality. Though my retelling is likely apocryphal, the story of Galileo serves in my mind as a symbol of this divide. From the instant Galileo sought to place the sun at the centre of our solar system, he toppled the heavens and was thus persecuted by the purveyors of spirituality. The persecution of both the scientist and his heliocentric principle barred faith and belief from the scientific process and hence placed reason and logic at its centre. Yet it should not be forgotten that the clergy of the Roman Inquisition paid Galileo in kind and forbad the scientist a spirit. But what are the consequences of taking such a divided view of nature? When I hear people talk about scientists today, they treat the scientist not as someone who lives but as someone who develops rules about life. Scientists must never strive for innate beauty, but for inert truth, guided by cold logic – even Oscar Wilde wrote that “the advantage of science is that it is emotionless”[2]. As a continuation of Galileo being branded apostate, the scientist has been stripped of the right to ambiguity in his explanations, and uncertainty in his world view. If science is not complete, it is deemed a failure. But this is ludicrous. Any scientist must know and accept that the cartesian split neglects certain aspects of the world – those properties of a system which emerge only when all its parts are combined. Moreover, nature still eludes science on a very deep level. For example, there is still no widely accepted philosophical explanation of quantum mechanics, no ability to predict the chaotic flow of a surging river, no profound understanding of the synchronisation of heart cells. Science is so woefully incomplete and incapable of dealing with the sheer scale of disorder in the world that most real-world systems must undergo several fundamental simplifications to be modelled, lest they take years to understand. And when things are cut apart, it becomes even more difficult to stitch them back into the complete picture. Then what remains of the aims of science if it is only an imitation of nature – a painting with no colours, shadows on the wall? When I ask myself this question, I find Feynman’s words echo back in my head: doing science is no more than thinking about “the inconceivable nature of nature”[3]. Science seeks to connect us with nature. It is not about disassembling it and organising it, splitting it into more and more isolated pieces, but about marvelling at the whole system, attempting to let it all sit in your mind - to look at the dancing shadows and understand what is casting them, enjoying the dance all the same. Likewise, in his book, Nonlinear Dynamics and Chaos, Steven Strogatz humorously lists life under the list of unexplored scientific domains[4]. He does not relegate, however, science to its usual, removed, and sterilised place in this. Instead, he suggests that nature is so complex, that one cannot help but marvel at it with no real hope of controlling or quantifying it. I argue that these two scientists are just as much talking about what it means to be spiritual as scientific. To be spiritual is to try relentlessly to understand our life and our world and their relationship, even as they mercurially shift and change. Simply put, spirituality arises from a profound connection with nature. For example, the unity of the mind and the natural world is the bedrock of Eastern mysticism. The discipline seeks to connect the two through considered meditation and direly avoids their division. Such is highlighted by the Buddhist philosopher Asvaghosha; “When the mind is disturbed, the multiplicity of things is produced, but when the mind is quieted, the multiplicity of things disappears.” Western religions similarly connect nature and the spirit. Polytheistic traditions like the ancient Greek and Roman ascribe to their gods an element of the world each to control. The communication of the individual with a god is thus the interaction of the individual with the natural world. Similarly, the God of Judaism, Christianity and Islam is often present in awesome acts of nature. Particularly in the oldest parts of the Bible, God is seen to communicate through natural disasters and great floods and great fish and plagues and pestilences. Whilst I must admit that this analysis is somewhat superficial, it certainly illustrates the place nature holds deep in our minds and mythology. In an overwhelming number of cases, nature begets spirituality. Science is likewise born of nature and, for me at least, is therefore spiritual. But the value in reclassifying science as something spiritual as well as logical is not argumentation for naught. The scientist who is spiritual and fully connected with nature is better equipped than any. Guarding the connection between the individual and nature as sacred allows us to question our world on a more fundamental, truer level. Take as an example a question I hear often in my studies of physics: “Why is this theorem true?” Whilst it sounds reasonable enough, this type of question leads its asker down a reductionistic rabbit hole, in pitting mathematics against nature. Instead of seeing mathematics as a tool to describe nature, nature is seen as a product of mathematics. The rich physical world is reduced into rigidly true or false statements when we know such dichotomies are severely inept in the real world. Perhaps the scientist who is more holistically, spiritually connected with nature would be prompted to ask instead: “How true is this theorem to the world?” One does not have to look far to see how this subtle shift in approach to science can be incredibly successful. A fundamental principle of quantum physics states that matter is simultaneously particle-like and wave-like. This ambiguity in physical explanation, which would not be allowed from a cartesian point of view, is acceptable because it matches completely what is observed rather than attempting to reduce nature into the language of mathematics. Werner Heisenberg even wrote that “we cannot speak about atoms in ordinary language”, demonstrating the need for scientific holism. Approaching scientific discovery from a spiritual perspective allows us to move beyond the constraints of a reductive language. Likewise, studying science increases our spiritual relationship with nature. Albert Camus, perhaps rather unknowingly, said much the same thing in his unpublished novel, La Mort Heureuse. The protagonist, Mersault, on the brink of his death, says of the red, sunset clouds: “When I was young, my mother told me that [the clouds] were the souls of the dead who were travelling to Heaven. I was amazed that my soul was red. Now I know that it’s more likely the promise of wind. But that’s just as marvelous.”[5] What is spiritual is natural. Intellectual curiosity is rooted in the physical world, even as it changes and develops, becomes completely chaotic and throws more and more unanswerable questions in our faces. Science persists not because it seeks to provide answers to all of life’s questions, but because it provokes the mind into deeper questioning and, in that, deeper connection with nature and its ineffable, uncapturable beauty. The most marvellous thing about taking this perspective is that the science I do becomes more personal and ignites a stronger passion. I no longer must worry about the traces of myself; they are a necessary part of my understanding of the world and have shown me that, although science is “emotionless” in its methodology, it should not be so in its execution. Science is not spiritual because it precludes knowledge that is born from blind faith, but because it pushes knowledge to somewhere that is deeply human and that is beyond faith. References: [1] Fritjof Capra. 2000. The Tao of Physics : An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism. 35th Anniversary Edition. Boston: Shambhala. [2] Wilde, Oscar. (1890) 2018. The Picture of Dorian Gray. New York, Ny: Olive Editions. [3] Feynman, Richard. 1983. “Fun to Imagine with Richard Feynman.” Documentary. BBC. [4] Strogatz, Steven H. (2014) 2019. Nonlinear Dynamics and Chaos : With Applications to Physics, Biology, Chemistry, and Engineering. Second. Boca Raton: Crc Press. [5] Camus, Albert. (1971) 2010. La Mort Hereuse. Paris: Gallimard. Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

< Back to Issue 2 Hidden Worlds: a peek into the nanoscale using helium ion microscopy How do scientists know what happens at scales smaller than you can see using an optical microscope? One exciting method is the helium ion microscope which can be used to view cells, crystals and specially engineered materials with extreme detail, revealing the beauty that exists at scales too small to imagine! by Erin Grant 10 December 2021 Edited by Jessica Nguy and Hamish Payne Illustrated by Erin Grant The room is white, with three smooth walls and a fourth containing a small sample prep bench and high shelves. In the centre is a desk with three monitors. Next to it, occupying most of the space, is the microscope. Eight feet tall, a few feet wide, resting on an isolated floor surrounded by caution tape; “NO STEP” written in big block letters. Wires protrude from its tiered shape in orderly chaos. It is a clean, technological space; we are ready to explore science. A colleague and I are at the Materials Characterisation and Fabrication Platform of the University of Melbourne to finish off the last steps of a scientific paper I’ve been working on for many years. What I need, as the icing on the cake, is an image. What does my sample look like way down there, at the nanometre scale? Objects that are only nanometres in size are very hard to imagine when we’re used to thinking about metres, centimetres, or maybe even millimetres. We can see those length scales; they are part of our everyday. So, if you’re told that proteins have a diameter of a few nanometres, what does that mean? Well, to be precise, a nanometre is one-billionth of a metre. A human hair, the go-to yardstick for describing small things, has a width between 0.05-0.1 millimetres, which means that if you wanted to slice a hair into nanometre-wide strands you’d end up with nearly 100,000 pieces. Unfortunately, that’s still hard to visualise, but I’ve found that when working with and thinking about scales like this every day, you gain a sort of mental landscape that small things occupy, perhaps not entirely in context, but a space that contains an overall ‘vibe’ of smallness. I first noticed this when I worked in a laboratory that studies the tiny nematode worm C. elegans. These creatures are half a millimetre long, so although they are clearly visible to the naked eye, you need a microscope if you want to use them for science. After looking at these tiny creatures under magnification for many weeks, I came to recognise a feeling almost like being underwater. Upon putting my eyes to the lens, my focus would change from the macroscopic world around me, to one of minutiae. This change in perspective was quite immersive, I almost felt like I was inhabiting that small petri dish too. Working with samples even smaller than that now, I have carried some of that mental landscape with me. It now feels commonplace to imagine tiny systems, such as crystals or molecules which were once foreign. Much of this ability to visualise small things comes from the fact that in many cases, we can actually see them too. Physics has given us many tools with which we can peer into the smallest systems that exist. Helium ion microscopy, which I have come here to carry out, is one such technique. Dr Anders Barlow runs the helium ion microscope (HIM) at this facility. He warmly welcomes me and my colleague into the quiet room and jumps straight into an enthusiastic explanation of the machine – he can tell we’re not just here for some pictures, we want to know the inner workings of the microscope too. The HIM is a bit like the more mature surveyor of minuscule worlds: the electron microscope. While a regular optical microscope uses light to illuminate a sample, the electron microscope uses electrons. When they collide with the sample these electrons can bounce off or lose energy through several mechanisms. The lost energy can go into heat or light, but more usefully, the energy might be transferred to other electrons in the sample, called secondary electrons, ejecting them like a drill removing rocks from a quarry. The secondary electrons can be detected at each point across the sample as the beam is scanned over its surface. If more electrons are detected, then the pixel at that point is brighter compared to areas where there are fewer electrons. This tells you about the topography or composition of the sample at that point on its surface and provides a grayscale image. The HIM works in the same way, but it can generate sharper images because helium ions are heavier than electrons. This is important because the increased resolution of electron and helium ion microscopes is enabled by their quantum mechanical properties - namely the particle’s wavelength. You may have heard about the wave-like nature of light, which is a basic property of quantum mechanics. Particles also have a wavelength, called the de Broglie wavelength, which is inversely proportional to their mass - the heavier the particle, the shorter the wavelength. Having a shorter wavelength allows smaller details to be resolved because of a pesky phenomenon called diffraction. Diffraction occurs when a wave encounters a gap that is of the same or smaller width to its wavelength. When this happens, the wave that emerges on the other side will be spread out. You can think of the features that you want to image as being similar to gaps, so when light, or a particle, interacts with features that are very close together it will spread out, making those features blurry or even invisible. But if you can ensure that the wavelength is smaller than whatever feature you want to see, diffraction will not occur. Interestingly, physicists can actually take advantage of diffraction, and another phenomenon called interference, when they study periodic structures like crystals, but that’s a different article! So, because the de Broglie wavelength is very short for particles with mass, like electrons, an electron microscope can generate images of higher resolution than an optical microscope. Likewise, helium ions are even heavier than electrons because they are composed of one electron, two protons, and two neutrons. This makes them about 7,000 times heavier than a single electron (electrons are very light compared to protons and neutrons!) and consequently the images they can make are very sharp. With our samples ready, lab manager Anders loads my sample into the microscope and begins lowering the pressure in its internal chamber. Having a high vacuum – approximately a billion times lower than atmospheric pressure – is essential because it prevents air from interfering with the helium beam. Making the beam is perhaps the most miraculous part of this technological feat. At the very top of the microscope’s column, there’s a tiny filament shaped like a needle. Not like a needle, in fact, it is the sharpest needle we humans can make. To achieve this, the point is shaped by first extreme heat, and then some extreme voltages until the very tip is composed of only three atoms, reverently referred to as the trimer. Once the trimer has been formed, a high voltage is applied to the needle, resulting in an extreme electric field around the tip. Next, helium gas is introduced into the chamber and individual helium atoms are attracted towards the region of the high electric field. The field is so strong that it strips each helium atom of one electron, ionising it, and these now positively charged ions are repelled from each of the three atoms in the trimer as three corresponding beams. Using sophisticated focusing fields down the length of the column allows Anders to choose only one of the beams for imaging; we are creating a picture using a beam only one atom wide! Generating such a precise beam requires constant maintenance, but once Anders is satisfied with how it looks today, he begins scanning over a large area for what we’ve come to find: tiny proteins stuck to a diamond. In an experimental PhD, you often find yourself answering small incremental questions and today I want to know how well I’ve attached these proteins to my diamond and what the coverage looks like. Other measures have told me that I probably have a lot of them, but the best way to know is to have a look! That’s what Anders does for researchers at the university; he helps us find out whether we have done a good job putting things together or coming up with new techniques. This is something he loves about his job. “I love the exposure I get to many areas of science,” he says, “Imaging of all forms is ubiquitous in research, and the HIM is applicable to most fields, so we see samples from materials science, polymers, nanomaterials, and biomaterials, through to medical technologies and devices, to cell and tissue biology of human, plant and animal origin. I never get tired of seeing what new specimens may come through the lab door.” Unfortunately, the first images we see are very dark and washed out, like a photograph taken in low-light; not many secondary electrons are making it to the detector. To combat this, Anders uses a flood gun to stop charge build up on the surface of the diamond. When the helium ions create secondary electrons, they are ejected from the surface at low speeds. As electrons are negatively charged, the bombarded surface, which now lacks electrons, will become positive and the low energy secondary electrons will be attracted back to the surface instead of making it to the detector. In an electron microscope this is avoided by coating insulators, such as my diamond, with a conductive material like gold. If the surface is conductive, the positive charge that is left behind by the secondary electrons will be offset by electrons from the metallic coating that can flow towards the sudden appearance of positive charges. In this case, the ejected electrons can escape and be detected. However, a coating like this would reduce the resolution of the image; if you want to measure proteins that are twelve nanometres high, but you put a three-nanometre coating over them, you’ll lose a lot of the resolution! To get around this, the HIM uses the flood gun, which lightly sprays the surface with electrons of low energy as the helium beam passes over. This neutralises the surface and lets the secondary electrons escape in the same way as having a conductive layer. Once Anders turns on the flood gun, the contrast increases, allowing us to zoom in on a small region of the diamond, and there they are! Thousands of spherical proteins arranged neatly across the surface, only twelve nanometres in diameter. The sight is spectacular, only one try and we got what we came for. I am three years into a PhD and I’ve become very used to the feeling of disappointment that can accompany new experimental techniques. Things rarely work out the first time around, so to see those little spheres straight away was magical. Dotted across the diamond surface is another, extra, gem. To keep protein nice and happy, you must prepare it in a salty solution. So, when the protein was deposited, some regular table salt, NaCl, came too. We can see this salt in our images as crystals in two distinctive and very beautiful patterns which you can see in the images below. Protein on the surface of my diamond. Each small pale circle is one of these spherical proteins. The first image shows a large creeping pattern, reminiscent of snowflakes or tree roots, which spreads its soft fingers across several hundred nanometres. These crystals have taken on an amorphous pattern, where the crystal structure is broken up rather than being one continuous arrangement of the atoms. The second pattern however, shown in the right image, is what a continuous NaCl crystal looks like. When large enough crystals can form without becoming amorphous they look like precise cubes of various sizes all strewn about. One of my favourite aspects about looking at very small things, is how the patterns you see often mirror those at much larger scales. Look at a fingerprint and you’ll find mountains and valleys, or the roots of a tree and you’ll see a river system. Salt (NaCl) can take on a highly ordered structure shown by the cubic crystals (left) or an amorphous pattern similar in shape to tree roots (right). The astonishing images we get from this single session are all in a day’s work for Anders. He has imaged numerous kinds of cells on all manner of interesting substrates, patterned surfaces covered in needle-like protrusions, and many kinds of man-made materials. Today, there are vials on his prep-bench which, at first glance, look much like jars of hair. However, they are not hair, in fact they are strands of carbon fibre covered in various coatings, awaiting examination. ‘What are your favourite types of samples to look at?’ I want to know. “Cell biology is fascinating,” he says. “We’ve imaged red blood cells, pancreatic cells, stem cells, and various bacterial cells in this microscope. Most often researchers are interested in cell life and death, and the HIM assists by providing high resolution images of the structure and surface topography of the cell membrane.” Recently however, Anders has been helping researchers look at polymer materials for water filtration. “These are hierarchical porous structures, meaning they’re engineered to have pore sizes that vary through the membrane. It is stunning to see the materials at low magnification with large pores, and as we zoom in and in and in, to see new pore sizes become visible at each level, like a material engineered with a fractal quality.” One of the unique things about the HIM, Anders reminds me, is that it’s not just for imaging. Since helium ions are heavy, they carry a higher momentum than electrons. “We leverage the momentum of the ions to actually modify structures too. We can create new surface properties, new devices, new technologies, on a scale that is often too small for any other fabrication technique. This is some of the most exciting work.” If you know anyone who needs some nanoscale drilling done, then the HIM is your instrument! Today’s excursion across the university campus has been thrilling. I got what I came for and I’m excited to find other projects that could benefit from the insight and beautiful images the HIM can provide. Imaging instruments have always fascinated me and I’m looking forward to witnessing how far we will be able to delve into the nanoscale world in the years to come, thanks to the fast pace of engineering and physics research. Previous article back to DISORDER Next article

< Back to Issue 4 From the Editors-in-Chief by Caitlin Kane, Rachel Ko, Patrick Grave, Yvette Marris 1 July 2023 Edited by the Committee Illustrated by Gemma van der Hurk Scirocco, summer sun, shimmering on the horizon. Salt-caked channels spiderweb your lips, scored by rivulets of sweat. Shifting, hissing sands sting your legs. You are the explorer, the adventurer, the scientist. A rusted spring, you heave forward, straining for each step, hauling empty waterskins. ----- The lonely deserts of science provide fertile ground for mirages. An optical phenomenon that appears to show lakes in the distance, the mirage has long been a metaphor for foolhardy hopes and desperate quests. The allure of a sparkling oasis just over the horizon, however, is undeniable. The practice of science involves both kinds of stories. Some scientists set a distant goal and reach it — perhaps they are lucky, perhaps they have exactly the right skills. Other scientists yearn to crack a certain problem but never quite get there. In this issue of OmniSci Magazine, we chose to explore this quest for the unknown that may be bold, unlucky, or even foolhardy: chasing the ‘Mirage’. Each article was written entirely by a student, edited by students, and is accompanied by an illustration that was created by a student. We, as a magazine, exist to provide university students a place to develop their science communication skills and share their work. If there’s a piece you enjoy, feel free to leave a comment or send us some feedback – we love to know that our work means something to the wider world. We’d like to thank all our contributors — our writers, designers, editors, and committee — who have each invested countless hours into crafting an issue that we are all incredibly proud of. We’d also like to thank you, our readers; we are incredibly grateful that people want to read student pieces and learn little bits from the work. That’s enough talking from us until next issue. Go and read some fantastic student writing! Previous article Next article back to MIRAGE