One of the four pillars of good conversation is levity. You needn’t be a comedian, you can but have some funTetra Images, LLC/Alamy Conversation lies at the heart of our relationships – yet many of us find it surprisingly hard to talk to others. We may feel anxious at the thought of making small talk with strangers and struggle to connect with the people who are closest to us. If that sounds familiar, Alison Wood Brooks hopes to help. She is a professor at Harvard Business School, where she teaches an oversubscribed course called “TALK: How to talk gooder in business and life”, and the author of a new book, Talk: The science of conversation and the art of being ourselves. Both offer four key principles for more meaningful exchanges. Conversations are inherently unpredictable, says Wood Brooks, but they follow certain rules – and knowing their architecture makes us more comfortable with what is outside of our control. New Scientist asked her about the best ways to apply this research to our own chats. David Robson: Talking about talking feels quite meta. Do you ever find yourself critiquing your own performance? Alison Wood Brooks: There are so many levels of “meta-ness”. I have often felt like I’m floating over the room, watching conversations unfold, even as I’m involved in them myself. I teach a course at Harvard, and [my students] all get to experience this feeling as well. There can be an uncomfortable period of hypervigilance, but I hope that dissipates over time as they develop better habits. There is a famous quote from Charlie Parker, who was a jazz saxophonist. He said something like, “Practise, practise, practise, and then when you get on stage, let it all go and just wail.” I think that’s my approach to conversation. Even when you’re hyper-aware of conversation dynamics, you have to remember the true delight of being with another human mind, and never lose the magic of being together. Think ahead, but once you’re talking, let it all go and just wail. Reading your book, I learned that a good way to enliven a conversation is to ask someone why they are passionate about what they do. So, where does your passion for conversation come from? I have two answers to this question. One is professional. Early in my professorship at Harvard, I had been studying emotions by exploring how people talk about their feelings and the balance between what we feel inside and how we express that to others. And I realised I just had this deep, profound interest in figuring out how people talk to each other about everything, not just their feelings. We now have scientific tools that allow us to capture conversations and analyse them at large scale. Natural language processing, machine learning, the advent of AI – all this allows us to take huge swathes of transcript data and process it much more efficiently. Receive a weekly dose of discovery in your inbox. Sign up to newsletter The personal answer is that I’m an identical twin, and I spent my whole life, from the moment I opened my newborn eyes, existing next to a person who’s an exact copy of myself. It was like observing myself at very close range, interacting with the world, interacting with other people. I could see when she said and did things well, and I could try to do that myself. And I saw when her jokes failed, or she stumbled over her words – I tried to avoid those mistakes. It was a very fortunate form of feedback that not a lot of people get. And then, as a twin, you’ve got this person sharing a bedroom, sharing all your clothes, going to all the same parties and playing on the same sports teams, so we were just constantly in conversation with each other. You reached this level of shared reality that is so incredible, and I’ve spent the rest of my life trying to help other people get there in their relationships, too. “TALK” cleverly captures your framework for better conversations: topics, asking, levity and kindness. Let’s start at the beginning. How should we decide what to talk about? My first piece of advice is to prepare. Some people do this naturally. They already think about the things that they should talk about with somebody before they see them. They should lean into this habit. Some of my students, however, think it’s crazy. They think preparation will make the conversation seem rigid and forced and overly scripted. But just because you’ve thought ahead about what you might talk about doesn’t mean you have to talk about those things once the conversation is underway. It does mean, however, that you always have an idea waiting for you when you’re not sure what to talk about next. Having just one topic in your back pocket can help you in those anxiety-ridden moments. It makes things more fluent, which is important for establishing a connection. Choosing a topic is not only important at the start of a conversation. We’re constantly making decisions about whether we should stay on one subject, drift to something else or totally shift gears and go somewhere wildly different. Sometimes the topic of conversation is obvious. Even then, knowing when to switch to a new one can be trickyMartin Parr/Magnum Photos What’s your advice when making these decisions? There are three very clear signs that suggest that it’s time to switch topics. The first is longer mutual pauses. The second is more uncomfortable laughter, which we use to fill the space that we would usually fill excitedly with good content. And the third sign is redundancy. Once you start repeating things that have already been said on the topic, it’s a sign that you should move to something else. After an average conversation, most people feel like they’ve covered the right number of topics. But if you ask people after conversations that didn’t go well, they’ll more often say that they didn’t talk about enough things, rather than that they talked about too many things. This suggests that a common mistake is lingering too long on a topic after you’ve squeezed all the juice out of it. The second element of TALK is asking questions. I think a lot of us have heard the advice to ask more questions, yet many people don’t apply it. Why do you think that is? Many years of research have shown that the human mind is remarkably egocentric. Often, we are so focused on our own perspective that we forget to even ask someone else to share what’s in their mind. Another reason is fear. You’re interested in the other person, and you know you should ask them questions, but you’re afraid of being too intrusive, or that you will reveal your own incompetence, because you feel you should know the answer already. What kinds of questions should we be asking – and avoiding? In the book, I talk about the power of follow-up questions that build on anything that your partner has just said. It shows that you heard them, that you care and that you want to know more. Even one follow-up question can springboard us away from shallow talk into something deeper and more meaningful. There are, however, some bad patterns of question asking, such as “boomerasking”. Michael Yeomans [at Imperial College London] and I have a recent paper about this, and oh my gosh, it’s been such fun to study. It’s a play on the word boomerang: it comes back to the person who threw it. If I ask you what you had for breakfast, and you tell me you had Special K and banana, and then I say, “Well, let me tell you about my breakfast, because, boy, was it delicious” – that’s boomerasking. Sometimes it’s a thinly veiled way of bragging or complaining, but sometimes I think people are genuinely interested to hear from their partner, but then the partner’s answer reminds them so much of their own life that they can’t help but start sharing their perspective. In our research, we have found that this makes your partner feel like you weren’t interested in their perspective, so it seems very insincere. Sharing your own perspective is important. It’s okay at some point to bring the conversation back to yourself. But don’t do it so soon that it makes your partner feel like you didn’t hear their answer or care about it. Research by Alison Wood Brooks includes a recent study on “boomerasking”, a pitfall you should avoid to make conversations flowJanelle Bruno What are the benefits of levity? When we think of conversations that haven’t gone well, we often think of moments of hostility, anger or disagreement, but a quiet killer of conversation is boredom. Levity is the antidote. These small moments of sparkle or fizz can pull us back in and make us feel engaged with each other again. Our research has shown that we give status and respect to people who make us feel good, so much so that in a group of people, a person who can land even one appropriate joke is more likely to be voted as the leader. And the joke doesn’t even need to be very funny! It’s the fact that they were confident enough to try it and competent enough to read the room. Do you have any practical steps that people can apply to generate levity, even if they’re not a natural comedian? Levity is not just about being funny. In fact, aiming to be a comedian is not the right goal. When we watch stand-up on Netflix, comedians have rehearsed those jokes and honed them and practised them for a long time, and they’re delivering them in a monologue to an audience. It’s a completely different task from a live conversation. In real dialogue, what everybody is looking for is to feel engaged, and that doesn’t require particularly funny jokes or elaborate stories. When you see opportunities to make it fun or lighten the mood, that’s what you need to grab. It can come through a change to a new, fresh topic, or calling back to things that you talked about earlier in the conversation or earlier in your relationship. These callbacks – which sometimes do refer to something funny – are such a nice way of showing that you’ve listened and remembered. A levity move could also involve giving sincere compliments to other people. When you think nice things, when you admire someone, make sure you say it out loud. This brings us to the last element of TALK: kindness. Why do we so often fail to be as kind as we would like? Wobbles in kindness often come back to our egocentrism. Research shows that we underestimate how much other people’s perspectives differ from our own, and we forget that we have the tools to ask other people directly in conversation for their perspective. Being a kinder conversationalist is about trying to focus on your partner’s perspective and then figuring what they need and helping them to get it. Finally, what is your number one tip for readers to have a better conversation the next time they speak to someone? Every conversation is surprisingly tricky and complex. When things don’t go perfectly, give yourself and others more grace. There will be trips and stumbles and then a little grace can go very, very far. Topics:

Growing up steeped in the aggressive gender stereotypes of the 1990s was a real trip for most queer millennials, but I think gamers had it especially hard. Almost all video game characters were hypermasculine military men, unrealistically curvaceous fantasy women wearing barely enough armour to cover their nipples, or cartoon animals. Most of these characters catered exclusively to straight teenage boys (or, I guess, furries); overt queer representation in games was pretty much nonexistent until the mid 2010s. Before that, we had to take what we could get. And what I had was Link, from The Legend of Zelda.Link. Composite: Guardian Design; Zuma Press/AlamyLink is a boy, but he didn’t really look like one. He wore a green tunic and a serious expression under a mop of blond hair. He is the adventurous, mostly silent hero of the Zelda games, unassuming and often vulnerable, but also resourceful, daring and handy with a sword. In most of the early Zelda games, he is a kid of about 10, but even when he grew into a teenager in 1998’s Ocarina of Time on the Nintendo 64, he didn’t become a furious lump of muscle. He stayed androgynous, in his tunic and tights. As a kid, I would dress up like him for Halloween, carefully centre-parting my blond fringe. Link may officially be a boy, but for me he has always been a non-binary icon.As time has gone on and game graphics have evolved, Link has stayed somewhat gender-ambiguous. Gay guys and gender-fluid types alike appreciate his ageless twink energy. And given the total lack of thought that most game developers gave to players who weren’t straight and male, I felt vindicated when I found out that this was intentional. In 2016, the Zelda series’ producer Eiji Aonuma told Time magazine that the development team had experimented a little with Link’s gender presentation over the years, but that he felt that the character’s androgyny was part of who he was.“[Even] back during the Ocarina of Time days, I wanted Link to be gender neutral,” he said. “I wanted the player to think: ‘Maybe Link is a boy or a girl.’ If you saw Link as a guy, he’d have more of a feminine touch. Or vice versa … I’ve always thought that for either female or male players, I wanted them to be able to relate to Link.”As it turns out, Link appeals perhaps most of all to those of us somewhere in between. In 2023, the tech blog io9 spoke to many transgender and non-binary people who saw something of themselves in Link: he has acquired a reputation as an egg-cracker, a fictional character who prompts a realisation about your own gender identity.Despite their outdated reputation as a pursuit for adolescent boys, video games have always been playgrounds for gender experimentation and expression. There are legions of trans, non-binary and gender non-conforming people who first started exploring their identity with customisable game characters in World of Warcraft, or gender-swapping themselves in The Sims – the digital equivalent of dressing up. Video games are the closest you can come to stepping into a new body for a bit and seeing how it feels.It is no surprise to me that a lot of queer people are drawn to video games. A 2024 survey by GLAAD found that 17% of gamers identify as LGBTQ+, a huge number compared with the general population. It may be because people who play games skew younger – 40 and below – but I also think it’s because gender is all about play. What fun it is to mess with the rules, subvert people’s expectations and create your own character. It is as empowering as any world-saving quest.

Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to date back to the European wars of religion. According to most historians, the first barricade went up in Paris in 1588; the word derives from the French barriques, or barrels, spontaneously put together. They have been assembled from the most diverse materials, from cobblestones, tyres, newspapers, dead horses and bags of ice (during Kyiv’s Euromaidan in 2013–14), to omnibuses and e‑scooters. Their tactical logic is close to that of guerrilla warfare: the authorities have to take the barricades in order to claim victory; all that those manning them have to do to prevail is to hold them.  The 19th century was the golden age for blocking narrow, labyrinthine streets. Paris had seen barricades go up nine times in the period before the Second Empire; during the July 1830 Revolution alone, 4,000 barricades had been erected (roughly one for every 200 Parisians). These barricades would not only stop, but also trap troops; people would then throw stones from windows or pour boiling water onto the streets. Georges‑Eugène Haussmann, Napoleon III’s prefect of Paris, famously created wide boulevards to make blocking by barricade more difficult and moving the military easier, and replaced cobblestones with macadam – a surface of crushed stone. As Flaubert observed in his Dictionary of Accepted Ideas: ‘Macadam: has cancelled revolutions. No more means to make barricades. Nevertheless rather inconvenient.’   Lead image: Barricades, as we know them today, are thought to have originated in early modern France. A colour engraving attributed to Achille‑Louis Martinet depicts the defence of a barricade during the 1830 July Revolution. Credit: Paris Musées / Musée Carnavalet – Histoire de Paris. Above: the socialist political thinker and activist Louis Auguste Blanqui – who was imprisoned by every regime that ruled France between 1815 and 1880 – drew instructions for how to build an effective barricade Under Napoleon III, Baron Haussmann widened Paris’s streets in his 1853–70 renovation of the city, making barricading more difficult Credit: Old Books Images / Alamy ‘On one hand, [the authorities] wanted to favour the circulation of ideas,’ reactionary intellectual Louis Veuillot observed apropos the ambiguous liberalism of the latter period of Napoleon III’s Second Empire. ‘On the other, to ensure the circulation of regiments.’ But ‘anti‑insurgency hardware’, as Justinien Tribillon has called it, also served to chase the working class out of the city centre: Haussmann’s projects amounted to a gigantic form of real-estate speculation, and the 1871 Paris Commune that followed constituted not just a short‑lived anarchist experiment featuring enormous barricades; it also signalled the return of the workers to the centre and, arguably, revenge for their dispossession.    By the mid‑19th century, observers questioned whether barricades still had practical meaning. Gottfried Semper’s barricade, constructed for the 1849 Dresden uprising, had proved unconquerable, but Friedrich Engels, one‑time ‘inspector of barricades’ in the Elberfeld insurrection of the same year, already suggested that the barricades’ primary meaning was now moral rather than military – a point to be echoed by Leon Trotsky in the subsequent century. Barricades symbolised bravery and the will to hold out among insurrectionists, and, not least, determination rather to destroy one’s possessions – and one’s neighbourhood – than put up with further oppression.   Not only self‑declared revolutionaries viewed things this way: the reformist Social Democrat leader Eduard Bernstein observed that ‘the barricade fight as a political weapon of the people has been completely eliminated due to changes in weapon technology and cities’ structures’. Bernstein was also picking up on the fact that, in the era of industrialisation, contention happened at least as much on the factory floor as on the streets. The strike, not the food riot or the defence of workers’ quartiers, became the paradigmatic form of conflict. Joshua Clover has pointed out in his 2016 book Riot. Strike. Riot: The New Era of Uprisings, that the price of labour, rather than the price of goods, caused people to confront the powerful. Blocking production grew more important than blocking the street. ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn’ Today, it is again blocking – not just people streaming along the streets in large marches – that is prominently associated with protests. Disrupting circulation is not only an important gesture in the face of climate emergency; blocking transport is a powerful form of protest in an economic system focused on logistics and just‑in‑time distribution. Members of Insulate Britain and Germany’s Last Generation super‑glue themselves to streets to stop car traffic to draw attention to the climate emergency; they have also attached themselves to airport runways. They form a human barricade of sorts, immobilising traffic by making themselves immovable.   Today’s protesters have made themselves consciously vulnerable. They in fact follow the advice of US civil rights’ Bayard Rustin who explained: ‘The only weapons we have are our bodies, and we need to tuck them in places so wheels don’t turn.’ Making oneself vulnerable might increase the chances of a majority of citizens seeing the importance of the cause which those engaged in civil disobedience are pursuing. Demonstrations – even large, unpredictable ones – are no longer sufficient. They draw too little attention and do not compel a reaction. Naomi Klein proposed the term ‘blockadia’ as ‘a roving transnational conflict zone’ in which people block extraction – be it open‑pit mines, fracking sites or tar sands pipelines – with their bodies. More often than not, these blockades are organised by local people opposing the fossil fuel industry, not environmental activists per se. Blockadia came to denote resistance to the Keystone XL pipeline as well as Canada’s First Nations‑led movement Idle No More. In cities, blocking can be accomplished with highly mobile structures. Like the barricade of the 19th century, they can be quickly assembled, yet are difficult to move; unlike old‑style barricades, they can also be quickly disassembled, removed and hidden (by those who have the engineering and architectural know‑how). Think of super tripods, intricate ‘protest beacons’ based on tensegrity principles, as well as inflatable cobblestones, pioneered by the artist‑activists of Tools for Action (and as analysed in Nick Newman’s recent volume Protest Architecture).   As recently as 1991, newly independent Latvia defended itself against Soviet tanks with the popular construction of barricades, in a series of confrontations that became known as the Barikādes Credit: Associated Press / Alamy Inversely, roadblocks can be used by police authorities to stop demonstrations and gatherings from taking place – protesters are seen removing such infrastructure in Dhaka during a general strike in 1999 Credit: REUTERS / Rafiqur Rahman / Bridgeman These inflatable objects are highly flexible, but can also be protective against police batons. They pose an awkward challenge to the authorities, who often end up looking ridiculous when dealing with them, and, as one of the inventors pointed out, they are guaranteed to create a media spectacle. This was also true of the 19th‑century barricade: people posed for pictures in front of them. As Wolfgang Scheppe, a curator of Architecture of the Barricade (currently on display at the Arsenale Institute for Politics of Representation in Venice), explains, these images helped the police to find Communards and mete out punishments after the end of the anarchist experiment. Much simpler structures can also be highly effective. In 2019, protesters in Hong Kong filled streets with little archways made from just three ordinary bricks: two standing upright, one resting on top. When touched, the falling top one would buttress the other two, and effectively block traffic. In line with their imperative of ‘be water’, protesters would retreat when the police appeared, but the ‘mini‑Stonehenges’ would remain and slow down the authorities. Today, elaborate architectures of protest, such as Extinction Rebellion’s ‘tensegrity towers’, are used to blockade roads and distribution networks – in this instance, Rupert Murdoch’s News UK printworks in Broxbourne, for the media group’s failure to report the climate emergency accurately Credit: Extinction Rebellion In June 2025, protests erupted in Los Angeles against the Trump administration’s deportation policies. Demonstrators barricaded downtown streets using various objects, including the pink public furniture designed by design firm Rios for Gloria Molina Grand Park. LAPD are seen advancing through tear gas Credit: Gina Ferazzi / Los Angeles Times via Getty Images Roads which radicals might want to target are not just ones in major metropoles and fancy post‑industrial downtowns. Rather, they might block the arteries leading to ‘fulfilment centres’ and harbours with container shipping. The model is not only Occupy Wall Street, which had initially called for the erection of ‘peaceful barricades’, but also the Occupy that led to the Oakland port shutdown in 2011. In short, such roadblocks disrupt what Phil Neel has called a ‘hinterland’ that is often invisible, yet crucial for contemporary capitalism. More recently, Extinction Rebellion targeted Amazon distribution centres in three European countries in November 2021; in the UK, they aimed to disrupt half of all deliveries on a Black Friday.   Will such blockades just anger consumers who, after all, are not present but are impatiently waiting for packages at home? One of the hopes associated with the traditional barricade was always that they might create spaces where protesters, police and previously indifferent citizens get talking; French theorists even expected them to become ‘a machine to produce the people’. That could be why military technology has evolved so that the authorities do not have to get close to the barricade: tear gas was first deployed against those on barricades before it was used in the First World War; so‑called riot control vehicles can ever more easily crush barricades. The challenge, then, for anyone who wishes to block is also how to get in other people’s faces – in order to have a chance to convince them of their cause.        2025-06-11 Kristina Rapacki Share

A dangerous strain of bird flu is spreading in US livestockMediaMedium/Alamy Since Donald Trump assumed office in January, the leading US public health agency has pulled back preparations for a potential bird flu pandemic. But as it steps back, another government agency is stepping up. While the US Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) previously held regular briefings on its efforts to prevent a wider outbreak of a deadly bird flu virus called H5N1 in people, it largely stopped once Trump took office. It has also cancelled funding for a vaccine that would have targeted the virus. In contrast, the US Department of Agriculture (USDA) has escalated its fight against H5N1’s spread in poultry flocks and dairy herds, including by funding the development of livestock vaccines. This particular virus – a strain of avian influenza called H5N1 – poses a significant threat to humans, having killed about half of the roughly 1000 people worldwide who tested positive for it since 2003. While the pathogen spreads rapidly in birds, it is poorly adapted to infecting humans and isn’t known to transmit between people. But that could change if it acquires mutations that allow it to spread more easily among mammals – a risk that increases with each mammalian infection. The possibility of H5N1 evolving to become more dangerous to people has grown significantly since March 2024, when the virus jumped from migratory birds to dairy cows in Texas. More than 1,070 herds across 17 states have been affected since then. H5N1 also infects poultry, placing the virus in closer proximity to people. Since 2022, nearly 175 million domestic birds have been culled in the US due to H5N1, and almost all of the 71 people who have tested positive for it had direct contact with livestock. Get the most essential health and fitness news in your inbox every Saturday. Sign up to newsletter “We need to take this seriously because when [H5N1] constantly is spreading, it’s constantly spilling over into humans,” says Seema Lakdawala at Emory University in Georgia. The virus has already killed a person in the US and a child in Mexico this year. Still, cases have declined under Trump. The last recorded human case was in February, and the number of affected poultry flocks fell 95 per cent between then and June. Outbreaks in dairy herds have also stabilised. It isn’t clear what is behind the decline. Lakdawala believes it is partly due to a lull in bird migration, which reduces opportunities for the virus to spread from wild birds to livestock. It may also reflect efforts by the USDA to contain outbreaks on farms. In February, the USDA unveiled a $1 billion plan for tackling H5N1, including strengthening farmers’ defences against the virus, such as through free biosecurity assessments. Of the 150 facilities that have undergone assessment, only one has experienced an H5N1 outbreak. Under Trump, the USDA also continued its National Milk Testing Strategy, which mandates farms provide raw milk samples for influenza testing. If a farm is positive for H5N1, it must allow the USDA to monitor livestock and implement measures to contain the virus. The USDA launched the programme in December and has since ramped up participation to 45 states. “The National Milk Testing Strategy is a fantastic system,” says Erin Sorrell at Johns Hopkins University in Maryland. Along with the USDA’s efforts to improve biosecurity measures on farms, milk testing is crucial for containing the outbreak, says Sorrell. But while the USDA has bolstered its efforts against H5N1, the HHS doesn’t appear to have followed suit. In fact, the recent drop in human cases may reflect decreased surveillance due to workforce cuts, says Sorrell. In April, the HHS laid off about 10,000 employees, including 90 per cent of staff at the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, an office that helps investigate H5N1 outbreaks in farm workers. “There is an old saying that if you don’t test for something, you can’t find it,” says Sorrell. Yet a spokesperson for the US Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) says its guidance and surveillance efforts have not changed. “State and local health departments continue to monitor for illness in persons exposed to sick animals,” they told New Scientist. “CDC remains committed to rapidly communicating information as needed about H5N1.” The USDA and HHS also diverge on vaccination. While the USDA has allocated $100 million toward developing vaccines and other solutions for preventing H5N1’s spread in livestock, the HHS cancelled $776 million in contracts for influenza vaccine development. The contracts – terminated on 28 May – were with the pharmaceutical company Moderna to develop vaccines targeting flu subtypes, including H5N1, that could cause future pandemics. The news came the same day Moderna reported nearly 98 per cent of the roughly 300 participants who received two doses of the H5 vaccine in a clinical trial had antibody levels believed to be protective against the virus. The US has about five million H5N1 vaccine doses stockpiled, but these are made using eggs and cultured cells, which take longer to produce than mRNA-based vaccines like Moderna’s. The Moderna vaccine would have modernised the stockpile and enabled the government to rapidly produce vaccines in the event of a pandemic, says Sorrell. “It seems like a very effective platform and would have positioned the US and others to be on good footing if and when we needed a vaccine for our general public,” she says. The HHS cancelled the contracts due to concerns about mRNA vaccines, which Robert F Kennedy Jr – the country’s highest-ranking public health official – has previously cast doubt on. “The reality is that mRNA technology remains under-tested, and we are not going to spend taxpayer dollars repeating the mistakes of the last administration,” said HHS communications director Andrew Nixon in a statement to New Scientist. However, mRNA technology isn’t new. It has been in development for more than half a century and numerous clinical trials have shown mRNA vaccines are safe. While they do carry the risk of side effects – the majority of which are mild – this is true of almost every medical treatment. In a press release, Moderna said it would explore alternative funding paths for the programme. “My stance is that we should not be looking to take anything off the table, and that includes any type of vaccine regimen,” says Lakdawala. “Vaccines are the most effective way to counter an infectious disease,” says Sorrell. “And so having that in your arsenal and ready to go just give you more options.” Topics:

In 2024, Egypt completed its 1,155km stretch of the Cairo–Cape Town Highway, a 10,228km‑long road connecting 10 African countries – Egypt, Sudan, South Sudan, Ethiopia, Kenya, Tanzania, Zambia, Zimbabwe, Botswana and South Africa.   The imaginary of ‘Cape to Cairo’ is not new. In 1874, editor of the Daily Telegraph Edwin Arnold proposed a plan to connect the African continent by rail, a project that came to be known as the Cape to Cairo Railway project. Cecil Rhodes expressed his support for the project, seeing it as a means to connect the various ‘possessions’ of the British Empire across Africa, facilitating the movement of troops and natural resources. This railway project was never completed, and in 1970 was overlaid by a very different attempt at connecting the Cape to Cairo, as part of the Trans‑African Highway network. This 56,683km‑long system of highways – some dating from the colonial era, some built as part of the 1970s project, and some only recently built – aimed to create lines of connection across the African continent, from north to south as well as east to west.  Here, postcolonial state power invested in ‘moving the continent’s people and economies from past to future’, as architectural historians Kenny Cupers and Prita Meier write in their 2020 essay ‘Infrastructure between Statehood and Selfhood: The Trans‑African Highway’. The highways were to be built with the support of Kenya’s president Jomo Kenyatta, Ghana’s president Kwame Nkrumah and Ghana’s director of social welfare Robert Gardiner, as well as the United Nations Economic Commission for Africa (UNECA). This project was part of a particular historical moment during which anticolonial ideas animated most of the African continent; alongside trade, this iteration of Cape to Cairo centred social and cultural connection between African peoples. But though largely socialist in ambition, the project nevertheless engaged modernist developmentalist logics that cemented capitalism.  Lead image: Over a century in the making, the final stretches of the Cairo–Cape Town Highway are being finished. Egypt completed the section within its borders last year and a section over the dry Merille River in Kenya was constructed in 2019. Credit: Allan Muturi / SOPA / ZUMA / Alamy. Above: The route from Cairo to Cape Town, outlined in red, belongs to the Trans‑African Highway network, which comprises nine routes, here in black The project failed to fully materialise at the time, but efforts to complete the Trans‑African Highway network have been revived in the last 20 years; large parts are now complete though some links remain unbuilt and many roads are unpaved or hazardous. The most recent attempts to realise this project coincide with a new continental free trade agreement, the agreement on African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), established in 2019, to increase trade within the continent. The contemporary manifestation of the Cairo–Cape Town Highway – also known as Trans‑African Highway (TAH) 4 – is marked by deepening neoliberal politics. Represented as an opportunity to boost trade and exports, connecting Egypt to African markets that the Egyptian government view as ‘untapped’, the project invokes notions of trade steeped in extraction, reflecting the neoliberal logic underpinning contemporary Egyptian governance; today, the country’s political project, led by Abdel Fattah El Sisi, is oriented towards Egyptian dominance and extraction in relation to the rest of the continent.  Through an allusion to markets ripe for extraction, this language brings to the fore historical forms of domination that have shaped the connections between Egypt and the rest of the continent; previous iterations of connection across the continent often reproduced forms of domination stretching from the north of the African continent to the south, including the Trans‑Saharan slave trade routes across Africa that ended in various North African and Middle Eastern territories. These networks, beginning in the 8th century and lasting until the 20th, produced racialised hierarchies across the continent, shaping North Africa into a comparably privileged space proximate to ‘Arabness’. This was a racialised division based on a civilisational narrative that saw Arabs as superior, but more importantly a political economic division resulting from the slave trade routes that produced huge profits for North Africa and the Middle East. In the contemporary moment, these racialised hierarchies are bound up in political economic dependency on the Arab Gulf states, who are themselves dependent on resource extraction, land grabbing and privatisation across the entire African continent.  ‘The Cairo–Cape Town Highway connects Egypt to African markets viewed as “untapped”, invoking notions steeped in extraction’ However, this imaginary conjured by the Cairo–Cape Town Highway is countered by a network of streets scattered across Africa that traces the web of Egyptian Pan‑African solidarity across the continent. In Lusaka in Zambia, you might find yourself on Nasser Road, as you might in Mwanza in Tanzania or Luanda in Angola. In Mombasa in Kenya, you might be driving down Abdel Nasser Road; in Kampala in Uganda, you might find yourself at Nasser Road University; and in Tunis in Tunisia, you might end up on Gamal Abdel Nasser Street. These street names are a reference to Gamal Abdel Nasser, Egypt’s first postcolonial leader and president between 1956 and 1970.  Read against the contemporary Cairo–Cape Town Highway, these place names signal a different form of connection that brings to life Egyptian Pan‑Africanism, when solidarity was the hegemonic force connecting the continent, coming up against the notion of a natural or timeless ‘great divide’ within Africa. From the memoirs of Egyptian officials who were posted around Africa as conduits of solidarity, to the broadcasts of Radio Cairo that were heard across the continent, to the various conferences attended by anticolonial movements and postcolonial states, Egypt’s orientation towards Pan‑Africanism, beginning in the early 20th century and lasting until the 1970s, was both material and ideological. Figures and movements forged webs of solidarity with their African comrades, imagining an Africa that was united through shared commitments to ending colonialism and capitalist extraction.  The route between Cape Town in South Africa and Cairo in Egypt has long occupied the colonial imaginary. In 1930, Margaret Belcher and Ellen Budgell made the journey, sponsored by car brand Morris and oil company Shell Credit: Fox Photos / Getty The pair made use of the road built by British colonisers in the 19th century, and which forms the basis for the current Cairo–Cape Town Highway. The road was preceded by the 1874 Cape to Cairo Railway project, which connected the colonies of the British Empire Credit: Library of Congress, Geography and Map Division This network of eponymous streets represents attempts to inscribe anticolonial power into the materiality of the city. Street‑naming practices are one way in which the past comes into the present, ‘weaving history into the geographic fabric of everyday life’, as geographer Derek Alderman wrote in his 2002 essay ‘Street Names as Memorial Arenas’. In this vein, the renaming of streets during decolonisation marked a practice of contesting the production of colonial space. In the newly postcolonial city, renaming was a way of ‘claiming the city back’, Alderman continues. While these changes may appear discursive, it is their embedding in material spaces, through signs and maps, that make the names come to life; place names become a part of the everyday through sharing addresses or giving directions. This quality makes them powerful; consciously or unconsciously, they form part of how the spaces of the city are navigated.  These are traces that were once part of a dominant historical narrative; yet when they are encountered in the present, during a different historical moment, they no longer act as expressions of power but instead conjure up a moment that has long passed. A street in Lusaka named after an Egyptian general made more sense 60 years ago than it does today, yet contextualising it recovers a marginalised history of Egyptian Pan‑Africanism.  Markers such as street names or monuments are simultaneously markers of anticolonial struggle as well as expressions of state power – part of an attempt, by political projects such as Nasser’s, to exert their own dominance over cities, towns and villages. That such traces are expressions of both anticolonial hopes and postcolonial state power produces a sense of tension within them. For instance, Nasser’s postcolonial project in Egypt was a contradictory one; it gave life to anticolonial hopes – for instance by breaking away from European capitalism and embracing anticolonial geopolitics – while crushing many parts of the left through repression, censorship and imprisonment. Traces of Nasser found today inscribe both anticolonial promises – those that came to life and those that did not – while reproducing postcolonial power that in most instances ended in dictatorship.  Recent efforts to complete the route build on those of the post‑independence era – work on a section north of Nairobi started in 1968 Credit: Associated Press / Alamy The Trans‑African Highway network was conceived in 1970 in the spirit of Pan‑Africanism At that time, the routes did not extend into South Africa, which was in the grip of apartheid. The Trans‑African Highway initiative was motivated by a desire to improve trade and centre cultural links across the continent – an ambition that was even celebrated on postage stamps There have been long‑standing debates about the erasure of the radical anticolonial spirit from the more conservative postcolonial states that emerged; the promises and hopes of anticolonialism, not least among them socialism and a world free of white supremacy, remain largely unrealised. Instead, by the 1970s neoliberalism emerged as a new hegemonic project. The contemporary instantiation of Cape to Cairo highlights just how pervasive neoliberal logics continue to be, despite multiple global financial crises and the 2011 Egyptian revolution demanding ‘bread, freedom, social justice’.  But the network of streets named after anticolonial figures and events across the world is testament to the immense power and promise of anticolonial revolution. Most of the 20th century was characterised by anticolonial struggle, decolonisation and postcolonial nation‑building, as nations across the global south gained independence from European empire and founded their own political projects. Anticolonial traces, present in street and place names, point to the possibility of solidarity as a means of reorienting colonial geographies. They are a reminder that there have been other imaginings of Cape to Cairo, and that things can be – and have been – otherwise. 2025-06-13 Kristina Rapacki Share

Ivy Grant, SVP of Strategy & Operations, Twilio June 13, 20255 Min Readpeshkova via alamy stockAsk technologists and enterprise leaders what they hope AI will deliver, and most will land on some iteration of the "T" word: transformation. No surprise, AI and its “cooler than you” cousin, generative AI (GenAI), have been hyped nonstop for the past 24 months. But therein lies the problem. Many organizations are rushing to implement AI without a grasp on the return on investment (ROI), leading to high spend and low impact. Without anchoring AI to clear friction points and acceleration opportunities, companies invite fatigue, anxiety and competitive risk. Two-thirds of C-suite execs say GenAI has created tension and division within their organizations; nearly half say it’s “tearing their company apart.” Most (71%) report adoption challenges; more than a third call it a massive disappointment. While AI's potential is irrefutable, companies need to reject the narrative of AI as a standalone strategy or transformational savior. Its true power is as a catalyst to amplify what already works and surface what could. Here are three principles to make that happen. 1. Start with friction, not function Many enterprises struggle with where to start when integrating AI. My advice: Start where the pain is greatest. Identify the processes that create the most friction and work backward from there. AI is a tool, not a solution. By mapping real pain points to AI use cases, you can hone investments to the ripest fruit rather than simply where it hangs at the lowest. Related:For example, one of our top sources of customer pain was troubleshooting undeliverable messages, which forced users to sift through error code documentation. To solve this, an AI assistant was introduced to detect anomalies, explain causes in natural language, and guide customers toward resolution. We achieved a 97% real-time resolution rate through a blend of conversational AI and live support. Most companies have long-standing friction points that support teams routinely explain. Or that you’ve developed organizational calluses over; problems considered “just the cost of doing business.” GenAI allows leaders to revisit these areas and reimagine what’s possible. 2. The need for (dual) speed We hear stories of leaders pushing an “all or nothing” version of AI transformation: Use AI to cut functional headcount or die. Rather than leading with a “stick” through wholesale transformation mandates or threats to budgets, we must recognize AI implementation as a fundamental culture change. Just as you wouldn't expect to transform your company culture overnight by edict, it's unreasonable to expect something different from your AI transformation. Related:Some leaders have a tendency to move faster than the innovation ability or comfort level of their people. Most functional leads aren’t obstinate in their slow adoption of AI tools, their long-held beliefs to run a process or to assess risks. We hired these leaders for their decades of experience in “what good looks like” and deep expertise in incremental improvements; then we expect them to suddenly define a futuristic vision that challenges their own beliefs. As executive leaders, we must give grace, space and plenty of “carrots” -- incentives, training, and support resources -- to help them reimagine complex workflows with AI. And, we must recognize that AI has the ability to make progress in ways that may not immediately create cost efficiencies, such as for operational improvements that require data cleansing, deep analytics, forecasting, dynamic pricing, and signal sensing. These aren’t the sexy parts of AI, but they’re the types of issues that require superhuman intelligence and complex problem-solving that AI was made for. 3. A flywheel of acceleration The other transformation that AI should support is creating faster and broader “test and learn” cycles. AI implementation is not a linear process with start here and end there. Organizations that want to leverage AI as a competitive advantage should establish use cases where AI can break down company silos and act as a catalyst to identify the next opportunity. That identifies the next as a flywheel of acceleration. This flywheel builds on accumulated learnings, making small successes into larger wins while avoiding costly AI disasters from rushed implementation. Related:For example, at Twilio we are building a customer intelligence platform that analyzes thousands of conversations to identify patterns and drive insights. If we see multiple customers mention a competitor's pricing, it could signal a take-out campaign. What once took weeks to recognize and escalate can now be done in near real-time and used for highly coordinated activations across marketing, product, sales, and other teams. With every AI acceleration win, we uncover more places to improve hand-offs, activation speed, and business decision-making. That flywheel of innovation is how true AI transformation begins to drive impactful business outcomes. Ideas to Fuel Your AI Strategy Organizations can accelerate their AI implementations through these simple shifts in approach: Revisit your long-standing friction points, both customer-facing and internal, across your organization -- particularly explore the ones you thought were “the cost of doing business” Don’t just look for where AI can reduce manual processes, but find the highly complex problems and start experimenting Support your functional experts with AI-driven training, resources, tools, and incentives to help them challenge their long-held beliefs about what works for the future Treat AI implementation as a cultural change that requires time, experimentation, learning, and carrots (not just sticks) Recognize that transformation starts with a flywheel of acceleration, where each new experiment can lead to the next big discovery The most impactful AI implementations don’t rush transformation; they strategically accelerate core capabilities and unlock new ones to drive measurable change. About the AuthorIvy GrantSVP of Strategy & Operations, Twilio Ivy Grant is Senior Vice President of Strategy & Operations at Twilio where she leads strategic planning, enterprise analytics, M&A Integration and is responsible for driving transformational initiatives that enable Twilio to continuously improve its operations. Prior to Twilio, Ivy’s career has balanced senior roles in strategy consulting at McKinsey & Company, Edelman and PwC with customer-centric operational roles at Walmart, Polo Ralph Lauren and tech startup Eversight Labs. She loves solo international travel, hugging exotic animals and boxing. Ivy has an MBA from NYU’s Stern School of Business and a BS in Applied Economics from Cornell University. See more from Ivy GrantReportsMore ReportsNever Miss a Beat: Get a snapshot of the issues affecting the IT industry straight to your inbox.SIGN-UPYou May Also Like

John Edwards, Technology Journalist & AuthorJune 5, 20254 Min ReadSailGP Australia, USA, and Great Britain racing on San Francisco Bay, CaliforniaDannaphotos via Alamy StockWarren Jones is CTO at SailGP, the organizer of what he describes as the world's most exciting race on water. The event features high-tech F50 boats that speed across the waves at 100 kilometers-per-hour (62 miles-per-hour).  Working in cooperation with Oracle, Jones focuses on innovative solutions for remote broadcast production, data management and distribution, and a newly introduced fan engagement platform. He also leads the team that has won an IBC Innovation Awards for its ambitious and ground-breaking remote production strategy. Among the races Jones organizes is the Rolex SailGP Championship, a global competition featuring national teams battling each other in identical high-tech, high-speed 50-foot foiling catamarans at celebrated venues around the world. The event attracts the sport's top athletes, with national pride, personal glory, and bonus prize money of $12.8 million at stake. Jones also supports event and office infrastructures in London and New York, and at each of the global grand prix events over the course of the season. Prior to joining SailGP, he was IT leader at the America's Cup Event Authority and Oracle Racing. In an online interview, Jones discusses the challenges he faces in bringing reliable data services to event vessels, as well as onshore officials and fans. Related:Warren JonesWhat's the biggest challenge you've faced during your tenure? One of the biggest challenges I faced was ensuring real-time data transmission from our high-performance F50 foiling catamarans to teams, broadcasters, and fans worldwide. SailGP relies heavily on technology to deliver high-speed racing insights, but ensuring seamless connectivity across different venues with variable conditions was a significant hurdle. What caused the problem? The challenge arose due to a combination of factors. The high speeds and dynamic nature of the boats made data capture and transmission difficult. Varying network infrastructure at different race locations created connectivity issues. The need to process and visualize massive amounts of data in real time placed immense pressure on our systems. How did you resolve the problem? We tackled the issue by working with T-Mobile and Ericsson in a robust and adaptive telemetry system capable of transmitting data with minimal latency over 5G. Deploying custom-built race management software that could process and distribute data efficiently [was also important]. Working closely with our global partner Oracle, we optimized Cloud Compute with the Oracle Cloud.  Related:What would have happened if the problem wasn't quickly resolved? Spectator experience would have suffered. Teams rely on real-time analytics for performance optimization, and broadcasters need accurate telemetry for storytelling. A failure here could have resulted in delays, miscommunication, and a diminished fan experience. How long did it take to resolve the problem? It was an ongoing challenge that required continuous innovation. The initial solution took several months to implement, but we’ve refined and improved it over multiple seasons as technology advances and new challenges emerge. Who supported you during this challenge? This was a team effort -- with our partners Oracle, T-Mobile, and Ericsson with our in-house engineers, data scientists, and IT specialists all working closely. The support from SailGP's leadership was also crucial in securing the necessary resources. Did anyone let you down? Rather than seeing it as being let down, I'd say there were unexpected challenges with some technology providers who underestimated the complexity of what we needed. However, we adapted by seeking alternative solutions and working collaboratively to overcome the hurdles. What advice do you have for other leaders who may face a similar challenge? Related:Embrace adaptability. No matter how well you plan, unforeseen challenges will arise, so build flexible solutions. Leverage partnerships. Collaborate with the best in the industry to ensure you have the expertise needed. Stay ahead of technology trends. The landscape is constantly evolving; being proactive rather than reactive is key. Prioritize resilience. Build redundancy into critical systems to ensure continuity even in the face of disruptions. Is there anything else you would like to add? SailGP is as much a technology company as it is a sports league. The intersection of innovation and competition drives us forward and solving challenges like these is what makes this role both demanding and incredibly rewarding. About the AuthorJohn EdwardsTechnology Journalist & AuthorJohn Edwards is a veteran business technology journalist. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and numerous business and technology publications, including Computerworld, CFO Magazine, IBM Data Management Magazine, RFID Journal, and Electronic Design. He has also written columns for The Economist's Business Intelligence Unit and PricewaterhouseCoopers' Communications Direct. John has authored several books on business technology topics. His work began appearing online as early as 1983. Throughout the 1980s and 90s, he wrote daily news and feature articles for both the CompuServe and Prodigy online services. His "Behind the Screens" commentaries made him the world's first known professional blogger.See more from John EdwardsWebinarsMore WebinarsReportsMore ReportsNever Miss a Beat: Get a snapshot of the issues affecting the IT industry straight to your inbox.SIGN-UPYou May Also Like

The Isaiah Dead Sea Scroll is thought to date to around 100 BCZev Radovan/Alamy Some of the Dead Sea Scrolls may be up to a century older than previously thought, potentially revising our understanding of how these ancient texts were produced. This new assessment, based on AI analysis of handwriting and modern radiocarbon dating techniques, even suggests that a few scrolls – like those containing the biblical books Daniel and Ecclesiastes – may be copies made during the lifetimes of the books’ original authors, says Mladen Popović at the University of Groningen in the Netherlands.

The ways roads are used, with ever larger and heavier vehicles, have dramatic consequences on the environment – and electric cars are not the answer Today, there is an average of 37 tonnes of road per inhabitant of the planet. The weight of the road network alone accounts for a third of all construction worldwide, and has grown exponentially in the 20th century. There is 10 times more bitumen, in mass, than there are living animals. Yet growth in the mass of roads does not automatically correspond to population growth, or translate into increased length of road networks. In wealthier countries, the number of metres of road per inhabitant has actually fallen over the last century. In the United States, for instance, between 1905 and 2015 the length of the network increased by a factor of 1.75 and the population by a factor of 3.8, compared with 21 for the mass of roads. Roads have become wider and, above all, much thicker. To understand the evolution of these parameters, and their environmental impact, it is helpful to trace the different stages in the life of the motorway.  Until the early 20th century, roads were used for various modes of transport, including horses, bicycles, pedestrians and trams; as a result of the construction of railways, road traffic even declined in some European countries in the 19th century. The main novelty brought by the motorway was that they would be reserved for motorised traffic. In several languages, the word itself – autostrada, autobahn, autoroute or motorway – speaks of this exclusivity.  Roman roads varied from simple corduroy roads, made by placing logs perpendicular to the direction of the road over a low or swampy area, to paved roads, as this engraving from Jean Rondelet’s 19th‑century Traité Théorique et Pratique de l’Art de Bâtir shows. Using deep roadbeds of tamped rubble as an underlying layer to ensure that they kept dry, major roads were often stone-paved, metalled, cambered for drainage and flanked by footpaths, bridleways and drainage ditches Like any major piece of infrastructure, motorways became the subject of ideological discourse, long before any shovel hit the ground; politicians underlined their role in the service of the nation, how they would contribute to progress, development, the economy, modernity and even civilisation. The inauguration ceremony for the construction of the first autostrada took place in March 1923, presided over by Italy’s prime minister Benito Mussolini. The second major motorway programme was announced by the Nazi government in 1933, with a national network planned to be around 7,000 kilometres long. In his 2017 book Driving Modernity: Technology, Experts, Politics, and Fascist Motorways, 1922–1943, historian Massimo Moraglio shows how both programmes were used as propaganda tools by the regimes, most notably at the international road congresses in Milan in 1926 and Munich in 1934. In the European postwar era, the notion of the ‘civilising’ effect of roads persevered. In 1962, Valéry Giscard d’Estaing, then‑secretary of state for finances and later president of France, argued that expanded motorways would bring ‘progress, activity and life’. This discourse soon butted up against the realities of how motorways affected individuals and communities. In his 2011 book Fighting Traffic: The Dawn of the Motor Age in the American City, Peter D Norton explores the history of resistance to the imposition of motorised traffic in North American cities. Until the 1920s, there was a perception that cars were dangerous newcomers, and that other street and road uses – especially walking – were more legitimate. Cars were associated with speed and danger; restrictions on motorists, especially speed limits, were routine.  Built between 1962 and 1970, the Westway was London’s first urban motorway, elevated above the city to use less land. Construction workers are seen stressing the longitudinal soffit cables inside the box section of the deck units to achieve the bearing capacity necessary to carry the weight of traffic Credit: Heritage Image Partnership Ltd / Alamy To gain domination over cities, motor vehicles had to win priority over other street uses. Rather than restricting the flow of vehicles to minimise the risk of road accidents, a specific infrastructure was dedicated to them: both inner‑city roads and motorways. Cutting through the landscape, the motorway had, by definition, to be inaccessible by any other means of transport than motorised vehicle. To guarantee the fluidity of traffic, the construction of imposing bridges, tunnels and interchanges is necessary, particularly at junctions with other roads, railways or canals. This prioritisation of one type of user inevitably impacts journeys for others; as space is fragmented, short journeys are lengthened for those trying to navigate space by foot or bicycle.  Enabling cars to drive at around 110–140km/h on motorways, as modern motorways do, directly impacts their design, with major environmental effects: the gradient has to be gentle (4 per cent), the curves long (1.5km in radius) and the lanes wide, to allow vehicles to overtake each other safely. As much terrain around the world is not naturally suited to these requirements, the earthworks are considerable: in France, the construction of a metre of highway requires moving some 100m3 of earth, and when the soil is soft, full of clay or peat, it is made firmer with hydraulic lime and cement before the highway’s first sub‑layers are laid. This material cost reinforces the criticisms levelled in the 1960s, by the likes of Jane Jacobs and Lewis Mumford, at urban planning that prioritised the personal motor vehicle. When roads are widened to accommodate more traffic, buildings are sliced and demolished, as happened in Dhaka’s Bhasantek Road in 2021 Credit: Dhaka Tribune Once built, the motorway is never inert. Motorway projects today generally anticipate future expansion (from 2×2 to 2×3 to 2×4 lanes), and include a large median strip of 12m between the lanes, with a view to adding new ones. Increases in speed and vehicle sizes have also translated into wider lanes, from 2.5m in 1945 to 3.5m today. The average contemporary motorway footprint is therefore 100 square metres per linear metre. Indeed, although the construction of a road is supposed to reduce congestion, it also generates new traffic and, therefore, new congestion. This is the principle of ‘induced traffic’: the provision of extra road capacity results in a greater volume of traffic. The Katy Freeway in Texas famously illustrates this dynamic. Built as a regular six‑lane highway in the 1960s, it was called the second worst bottleneck in the nation by 2004, wasting 25 million hours a year of commuter time. In 2011, the state of Texas invested US$2.8 billion to fix this problem, widening the road to a staggering total of 26 lanes. By 2014, the morning and afternoon traffic had both increased again. The vicious circle based on the induced traffic has been empirically demonstrated in most countries: traffic has continued to increase and congestion remains unresolved, leading to ever-increasing emissions. In the EU, transport is the only sector where greenhouse gas emissions have increased in the past three decades, rising 33.5 per cent between 1990 and 2019. Transport accounts for around a fifth of global CO₂ emissions today, with three quarters of this figure linked to road transport. Houston’s Katy Freeway is one of the world’s widest motorways, with 26 lanes. Its last expansion, in 2008, was initially hailed as a success, but within five years, peak travel times were longer than before the expansion – a direct illustration of the principle of induced traffic Credit: Smiley N Pool / Houston Chronicle / Getty Like other large transport infrastructures such as ports and airports, motorways are designed for the largest and heaviest vehicles. Engineers, road administrations and politicians have known since the 1950s that one truck represents millions of cars: the impact of a vehicle on the roadway is exponential to its weight – an online ‘road damage calculator’ allows you to compare the damage done by different types of vehicles to the road. Over the years, heavier and heavier trucks have been authorised to operate on roads: from 8‑tonne trucks in 1945 to 44 tonnes nowadays. The European Parliament adopted a revised directive on 12 March 2024 authorising mega‑trucks to travel on European roads; they can measure up to 25 metres and weigh up to 60 tonnes, compared with the previous limits of 18.75 metres and 44 tonnes. This is a political and economic choice with considerable material effects: thickness, rigidity of sub‑bases and consolidation of soil and subsoil with lime and cement. Altogether, motorways are 10 times thicker than large roads from the late 19th century. In France, it takes an average of 30 tonnes of sand and aggregate to build one linear metre of motorway, 100 times more than cement and bitumen.  The material history of road networks is a history of quarrying and environmental damage. The traces of roads can also be seen in rivers emptied of their sediment, the notches of quarries in the hills and the furrows of dredgers extracting sand from the seabed. This material extraction, arguably the most significant in human history, has dramatic ecological consequences for rivers, groundwater tables, the rise of sea levels and saltwater in farmlands, as well as biodiversity. As sand is ubiquitous and very cheap, the history of roads is also the history of a local extractivism and environmental conflicts around the world.  Shoving and rutting is the bulging and rippling of the pavement surface. Once built, roads require extensive maintenance – the heavier the vehicles, the quicker the damage. From pothole repair to the full resurfacing of a road, maintenance contributes to keeping road users safe Credit: Yakov Oskanov / Alamy Once roads are built and extended, they need to be maintained to support the circulation of lorries and, by extension, commodities. This stage is becoming increasingly important as rail freight, which used to be important in countries such as France and the UK, is declining, accounting for no more than 10 per cent of the transport of commodities. Engineers might judge that a motorway is destined to last 20 years or so, but this prognosis will be significantly reduced with heavy traffic. The same applies to the thousands of motorway bridges: in the UK, nearly half of the 9,000 highway bridges are in poor condition; in France, 7 per cent of the 12,000 bridges are in danger of collapsing, as did Genoa’s Morandi bridge in 2018. If only light vehicles drove on it, this infrastructure would last much longer. This puts into perspective governments’ insistence on ‘greening’ the transport sector by targeting CO2 emissions alone, typically by promoting the use of electric vehicles (EVs). Public policies prioritising EVs do nothing to change the mass of roads or the issue of their maintenance – even if lorries were to run on clean air, massive quarrying would still be necessary. A similar argument plays out with regard to canals and ports, which have been constantly widened and deepened for decades to accommodate ever-larger oil tankers or container ships. The simple operation of these infrastructures, dimensioned for the circulation of commodities and not humans, requires permanent dredging of large volumes. The environmental problem of large transport infrastructure goes beyond the type of energy used: it is, at its root, free and globalised trade. ‘The material life cycle of motorways is relentless: constructing, maintaining, widening, thickening, repairing’ As both a material and ideological object, the motorway fixes certain political choices in the landscape. Millions of kilometres of road continue to be asphalted, widened and thickened around the world to favour cars and lorries. In France, more than 80 per cent of today’s sand and aggregate extraction is used for civil engineering works – the rest goes to buildings. Even if no more buildings, roads or other infrastructures were to be built, phenomenal quantities of sand and aggregates would still need to be extracted in order to maintain existing road networks. The material life cycle of motorways is relentless: constructing, maintaining, widening, thickening, repairing, adding new structures such as wildlife crossings, more maintaining.  Rising traffic levels are always deemed positive by governments for a country’s economy and development. As Christopher Wells shows in his 2014 book Car Country: An Environmental History, car use becomes necessary in an environment where everything has been planned for the car, from the location of public services and supermarkets to residential and office areas. Similarly, when an entire economy is based on globalised trade and just‑in‑time logistics (to the point that many service economies could not produce their own personal protective equipment in the midst of a pandemic), the lorry and the container ship become vital.  The final stage in the life of a piece of motorway infrastructure is dismantling. Like the other stages, this one is not a natural outcome but the fruit of political choices – which should be democratic – regarding how we wish to use existing roads. Dismantling, which is essential if we are to put an end to the global extractivism of sand and aggregates, does not mean destruction: if bicycles and pedestrians were to use them instead, maintenance would be minimal. This final stage requires a paradigm shift away from the eternal adaptation to increasing traffic. Replacing cars and lorries with public transport and rail freight would be a first step. But above all, a different political and spatial organisation of economic activities is necessary, and ultimately, an end to globalised, just-in-time trade and logistics. In 1978, a row of cars parked at a shopping centre in Connecticut was buried under a thick layer of gooey asphalt. The Ghost Parking Lot, one of the first projects by James Wines’ practice SITE, became a playground for skateboarders until it was removed in 2003. Images of this lumpy landscape serve as allegories of the damage caused by reliance on the automobile Credit: Project by SITE Lead image: Some road damage is beyond repair, as when a landslide caused a large chunk of the Gothenburg–Oslo motorway to collapse in 2023. Such dramatic events remind us of both the fragility of these seemingly robust infrastructures, and the damage that extensive construction does to the planet. Credit: Hanna Brunlöf Windell / TT / Shutterstock 2025-06-03 Reuben J Brown Share

John Edwards, Technology Journalist & AuthorJune 4, 20254 Min ReadRancz Andrei via Alamy Stock PhotoIt may be hard to believe, but some senior executives actually believe that AI's arrival isn't a ground-shaking event. These individuals tend to be convinced that while AI may be a useful tool in certain situations, it's not going to change business in any truly meaningful way. Call them skeptics or call them realists, but such individuals really do exist, and it's the enterprise's CIOs and other IT leaders who need to gently guide them into reality. AI adoption tends to fall into three mindsets: early adopters who recognize its benefits, skeptics who fear its risks, and a large middle group -- those who are curious, but uncertain, observes Dave McQuarrie, HP's chief commercial officer in an online interview. "The key to closing the AI adoption gap lies in engaging this middle group, equipping them with knowledge, and guiding them through practical implementation." Effective Approaches The most important move is simply getting started. Establish a group of advocates in your company to serve as your early AI adopters, McQuarrie says. "Pick two or three processes to completely automate rather than casting a wide net, and use these as case studies to learn from," he advises. "By beginning with a subset of users, leaders can develop a solid foundation as they roll out the tool more widely across their business." Related:Start small, gather data, and present your use case, demonstrating how AI can support you and your colleagues to do your jobs better and faster, recommends Nicola Cain, CEO and principal consultant at Handley Gill Limited, a UK-based legal, regulatory and compliance consultancy. "This could be by analyzing customer interactions to demonstrate how the introduction of a chatbot to give customers prompt answers to easily addressed questions ... or showing how vast volumes of network log data could be analyzed by AI to identify potentially malign incidents that warrant further investigation," she says in an email interview. Changing Mindsets Question the skeptical leader about their biggest business bottleneck, suggests Jeff Mains, CEO of business consulting firm Champion Leadership Group. "Whether it’s slow decision-making, inconsistent customer experiences, or operational inefficiencies, there's a strategic AI-driven solution for nearly every major business challenge," he explains in an online interview. "The key is showing leaders how AI directly solves their most pressing problems today." When dealing with a reluctant executive, start by identifying an AI use case, Cain says. "AI functionality already performs strongly in areas like forecasting, recognition, event detection, personalization, interaction support, recommendations, and goal-driven optimization," she states. "Good business areas to identify a potential use case could therefore be in finance, customer service, marketing, cyber security, or stock control." Related:Strengthening Your Case Executives respond to proof, not promises, Mains says. "Instead of leading with research reports, I’ve found that real, industry-specific case studies are far more impactful," he observes. "If a direct competitor has successfully integrated AI into sales, marketing, or operations, use that example, because it creates urgency." Instead of just citing AI-driven efficiency gains, Mains recommends framing AI as a way to free-up leadership to focus on high-level strategy rather than day-to-day operations. Instead of trying to pitch AI in broad terms, Mains advises aligning the technology to the company's stated goals. "If the company is struggling with customer retention, talk about how AI can improve personalization," he suggests. "If operational inefficiencies are a problem, highlight AI-driven automation." The moment AI is framed as a business enabler rather than a technology trend, the conversation shifts from resistance to curiosity. Related:When All Else Fails If leadership refuses to embrace AI, it’s important to document the cost of inaction, Mains says. "Keep track of inefficiencies, missed opportunities, and competitor advancements," he recommends. Sometimes, leadership only shifts when management’s view of the risks of staying stagnant outweigh the risks of change. "If a company refuses to innovate despite clear benefits, that’s a red flag for long-term growth." Final Thoughts For enterprises that have so far done little or nothing in the way of AI deployment, the technology may appear optional, McQuarrie observes. Yet soon, operating without AI will become as unthinkable as running a business without the internet. Enterprise leaders who delay AI adoption risk falling behind the competition. "The best approach is to embrace a mindset of humility and curiosity -- actively seek out knowledge, ask questions, and learn from peers who are already seeing AI’s impact," he says. "To stay competitive in this rapidly evolving landscape, leaders should start now." The best companies aren't just using AI to improve; they're using the technology to redefine how they do business, Mains says. Leaders who recognize AI as a business accelerator will be the ones leading their industries in the next decade. "Those who hesitate? They’ll be playing catch-up." he concludes. About the AuthorJohn EdwardsTechnology Journalist & AuthorJohn Edwards is a veteran business technology journalist. His work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and numerous business and technology publications, including Computerworld, CFO Magazine, IBM Data Management Magazine, RFID Journal, and Electronic Design. He has also written columns for The Economist's Business Intelligence Unit and PricewaterhouseCoopers' Communications Direct. John has authored several books on business technology topics. His work began appearing online as early as 1983. Throughout the 1980s and 90s, he wrote daily news and feature articles for both the CompuServe and Prodigy online services. His "Behind the Screens" commentaries made him the world's first known professional blogger.See more from John EdwardsWebinarsMore WebinarsReportsMore ReportsNever Miss a Beat: Get a snapshot of the issues affecting the IT industry straight to your inbox.SIGN-UPYou May Also Like