Book Review: The Strangers Within Us

BY LINA DELZOVICH

In March 1953, a healthy 28-year-old woman donated blood at a clinic in northern England. As technicians tried to determine her blood type, they could hardly believe what they saw. The woman, identified as Mrs. McK, had both type O and type A red blood cells. The results contradicted a central paradigm of 20th century medicine, which stated that people can only have one blood type — A, B, AB, or O.

When Robert Race, a blood-type specialist in London, received the findings, he revealed that the case wasn’t unprecedented. About a decade earlier, American biologist Ray Owen stumbled on a similar phenomenon not in humans, but in cows, in which — due to the shared placental blood circulation — twin calves had two different types of blood cells.

When asked, Mrs. McK divulged that she had a twin brother who died young. Almost 30 years later, she was still carrying her twin’s cells inside her body. The revelation was so discombobulating that Race described Mrs. McK as a “chimera,” referring to a monstrous creature from Greek mythology with a head and forequarters of a lion, a goat’s head on its back, and a serpent for a tail.

This is only one of many mind-boggling and fascinating examples of cellular trickery described by French science journalist Lise Barnéoud in “Hidden Guests: Migrating Cells and How the New Science of Microchimerism Is Redefining Human Identity.” A biological phenomenon, microchimerism refers to the presence of a small number of cells from one individual within another genetically distinct individual. It most commonly occurs during pregnancy when fetal cells escape into the mother’s bloodstream or maternal cells sneak into the placenta, eventually becoming part of the embryo or fetus. Likewise, twins may exchange cells before birth, too.

The cases aren’t that rare. “Approximately 8 percent of fraternal twins and 21 percent of fraternal triplets carry blood cells from their companions in utero,” Barnéoud writes, citing a 2020 review. Similarly, fetal cells that wander outside the placenta can persist in the mother’s body for years, genomic scientist Diana Bianchi discovered decades after Mrs. McK’s case, in 1993. Bianchi and her team found male cells in the blood of six women who had given births to sons from one to 27 years earlier. Male cells are easier to spot in women because they have X and Y chromosomes in their cell nucleus while female cells have two X chromosomes, and the Y chromosome stands out. But males can carry foreign cells too.

These wandering cells can settle anywhere in the body, making up “a tiny fraction of a kidney, for example, or the entire organ,” Barnéoud reveals. Some have been known to make a home in lungs and others in livers. Moreover, “microchimeric cells can cross the blood-brain barrier and take up permanent residence in our command center,” Barnéoud writes. A 2012 study of 54 deceased women referenced in the book found that 63 percent had male cells in their brains. And one far-fetched hypothesis even posits that women may also acquire foreign cells through semen. So, “if you don’t want to wind up with a head full of cells from multiple men, you’d better use protection!” writes Barnéoud.

Microchimerism refers to the presence of a small number of cells from one individual within another genetically distinct individual. It most commonly occurs during pregnancy.

“Mothers likely carry their children’s cells within them for the rest of their lives,” according to Barnéoud. Children may be carrying their parents. If your mother’s cells sneaked in, clinging to you while you were in utero, you may still harbor them. Bianchi found that maternal cells migrated into their offspring’s thymus, thyroid, liver, skin, and spleen. “So you think your mother is always looking over your shoulder?” Barnéoud quotes Judith Hall, a pediatrician and geneticist who wrote an editorial commenting on Bianchi’s findings, as saying. “She may be in your shoulder.”

Moreover, researchers now hypothesize that even your grandmother’s cells may be lurking in your body, passed on from your mother. It seems that a lot of us may be chimeras, not only Mrs. McK.

However, Barnéoud argues that by using the term “chimeric,” scientists did a great disservice to the cells, instantly casting them as villains. Understandably, they were shocked because Mrs. McK defied the laws of immunology at the time, which stated that a healthy immune system can’t tolerate foreign cells. Eventually, chimeric cells lived up to their reputation: In the mid-1990s, scientists implicated them in autoimmune diseases, which disproportionately affect women.

Sometimes, it seems, the immune system may decide to go after them, causing increased inflammation. (Except in this case the term “autoimmune” doesn’t apply because the cells indeed are foreign and the body isn’t attacking itself.) And so “these cells became migrants, intruders, vagrants crossing the placental border and colonizing, invading, or squatting on maternal territory,” Barnéoud writes. In medicine, it seems, the concept of “us” and “them” is just as dominant as in politics and wars.

It took time to realize that the “invading” cells can come in peace — and even bring benefits. Early in this millennia, scientists learned that microchimeric cells can repair wounds by forming skin and blood vessels. They also can heal heart damage; when injected into mice after a heart attack, they find a way to the damaged heart parts and fix them. And in post-mortem findings of a child who had diabetes, researchers discovered maternal cells were producing insulin in the pancreas, decreeing that the cells were likely helping to “restore function and regenerate diseased tissue.”

And just like that, the chimeric cells “have gone from being suspicious vagrants to productive immigrants, naturalized — in the political sense of the term — to their new home,” Barnéoud quotes historian of science Aryn Martin as saying.

Told in beautiful, sometimes bordering on poetic, language with occasional snark and humor thrown in, the book upends some of the very foundations of medicine, immunology, and genetics. And, having been rooted in cutting-edge research, it rocks our philosophical concept of self. A discovery that the microbial cells in our body may outnumber our own, made us realize we’re only partially human. Now comes the second blow to our ego — we aren’t fully one-human either. “Twenty years after the microbial upheaval, another is underway: even the human half of us does not solely consist of our ‘I,’” Barnéoud’s observes.

“The idea of an entirely independent individual self-constructed from a single fertilized egg is a myth.”

Clever chapter names — “The Other in Me,” “The Other Mes” and “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” — make you question your biological composition. You can’t help but wonder where all these “others of you” came from and how they interact with one another — and yourself. Instead of a single, uniform genome defining your biological identity, you begin to see yourself as something greater than just you.

“The idea of an entirely independent individual self-constructed from a single fertilized egg is a myth,” Barnéoud concludes. That myth may bode well with the ideals of modern Western societies, where we prioritize the individual’s rights over the needs of a collective, but in this new, emerging biological reality, no human is a true individuum. We all are living communities of cells — some ours, some ancestral, some microbial — all of which are in perpetual flux that sometimes results in health and sometimes disease.

Instead of being battlegrounds of “us” and “them,” our bodies operate on never-ending negotiations, tolerating and benefiting from genetic strangers within. “We are each of us a collective in constant co-construction,” Barnéoud resolves, “and our equilibrium depends on the interactions of our constituents.”

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Who Wins And Who Loses As The US Retires The Penny

BY NANCY FORSTER-HOLT

CLINICAL ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF 

INNOVATION AND ENTREPRENEURSHIP,

UNIVERSITY OF RHODE ISLAND

By now, Americans know the strange math of minting: Each penny costs about 4 cents to make. Chances are you have some in a jar, or scattered among pockets, purses and car ashtrays.

As small as it is, the penny punches above its weight culturally. If it ever disappeared, so too might the simple kindness of “take a penny, leave a penny,” alongside timeless classics like penny loafers and the tradition of tossing a penny in a fountain.

But the penny’s days are indeed numbered. The U.S. Mint pressed the last 1-cent coin on Nov. 12, 2025, following a directive from the White House. While pennies will remain legal tender, old ones will gradually be taken out of circulation.

The impact of this change will reach beyond coin jars. Its ripples will be felt as small, cash-reliant Main Street merchants face another test of adaptability in a system that increasingly favors scale, technology and plastic. It will also be felt by people who rely on cash – often people without bank accounts who have the least room to absorb even tiny shifts in price.

My interest comes from my former lives as the chief financial officer of a large credit union and as a small-business owner. Now, I bridge theory and practice as a professor – or “prac-ademic,” as I like to say – studying the challenges facing Main Street businesses.

When the penny goes away, some will win, some will lose – and for some, it’ll be a coin toss.

Heads, they win

The first and most obvious winner is the U.S. government, which will save tens of millions of dollars each year by no longer minting a coin that costs more to make than it’s worth. Ending production seems like an easy call for efficiency’s sake.

Banks and credit unions will likely benefit too. Pennies are disproportionately expensive to handle: Every bag of pennies gets counted, sorted, rolled, verified and shipped back to the Federal Reserve, generating labor and equipment costs that far exceed the coin’s value. Removing the smallest denomination strips out an entire layer of cost and friction from bank operations – savings that scale immediately across thousands of branches.

Another beneficiary, this one hiding in plain sight, is who transports the cash: the armored-carrier industry. For companies such as Loomis and Brink’s, pennies are heavy, low-value cargo, and a logistical money-loser. Removing penny pickups eliminates one of their most inefficient services, reducing fuel use, labor hours and truck wear.

Large retailers will likely also win. Size and scale make it easier to undertake preparations both big and small, such as reprogramming cash registers and stockpiling pennies to hedge against shortages. Larger companies also have the talent and bandwidth to figure out the true costs and benefits of accepting cash or noncash payments. If most of their transactions are already digital, they could be relatively indifferent to the end of the penny.

Large retailers also negotiate lower card processing rates, which are the fees merchants must pay to the card companies every time a customer uses a credit or debit card. These rates aren’t uniform: Large chains get discounted pricing based on sales volume, while small businesses face higher costs for identical transactions. It follows that any policy change leading to more people paying with plastic will disproportionately benefit larger retailers.

To be sure, some banks, credit unions and large retailers have expressed concern and surprise at the pace of the change and the lack of guidance from the federal government. But for most, the penny’s end is a minor operational footnote. Online-only businesses operate in this frictionless world as well – no coins, no counting, no issue.

Tails, they lose

For small, Main Street businesses, the penny’s disappearance highlights the structural disadvantages they already face – and I think it will force a reckoning about what types of payments benefit their bottom lines.

As pennies phase out, local businesses are likely to round cash transactions to the nearest 5 cents, resulting in what economists call a “rounding tax.” Rounding to the nearest nickel could cost businesses and consumers about $6 million annually, according to researchers with the Federal Reserve Bank of Richmond.

And it wouldn’t offer much relief if more shoppers turn to plastic and other noncash payments. That’s because most small merchants lack the negotiating power to lower their card-processing fees.

Card acceptance comes with a layered stack of costs for merchants: interchange fees, network assessments, processor markups, gateway fees, chargeback penalties, terminal rentals and more. Together, these average 2.5% to 3.5% per sale for many small businesses. Also, there are expenses related to adopting the latest, greatest payment methods, and then keeping them updated.

Consider a quick-service restaurant where a typical customer spends $14. If that customer pays with a credit card and the business pays an average processing fee of 2.2% plus 10 cents per transaction, each sale incurs about 41 cents in fees. Even low-cost debit cards include fixed per-transaction charges that disproportionately affect businesses when the per-sale average is small. When the average sale is $10 or less, it barely covers the cost to process it as a card transaction.

That said, handling cash also comes at a cost, and it’s not always easy to know what’s best for business. One analysis found that accepting cash costs 53 cents per $100 of sales, compared with $1.12 for accepting debit payments using a signature and 81 cents for PIN-based debit. Of course, businesses also should keep in mind that different customers will have different payment preferences.

And speaking of customers, those who are most likely to feel the pinch from the end of the penny are people who still rely on cash: older adults, lower-income households, people without credit cards or bank accounts – either unbanked or under-banked – and people who budget in cash because it provides firmer spending discipline.

A few cents added to a grocery total or a convenience store purchase may not matter to someone tapping a rewards credit card, but cash-dependent consumers experience those small increases directly, with no offsetting points, perks or end-of-month cash back. And yes, prices often end in 99 cents, which get rounded up, not down. So the burden falls disproportionately on those least equipped to absorb even small, cumulative increases.

For some, it’s a coin toss

Digital-first consumers may barely notice the penny’s disappearance. They tap phones, scan QR codes and use payment apps that will still settle to the exact amount.

While businesses haven’t received final guidance on how to handle payments in the post-penny era, one option is to price electronic transactions to the cent and round cash transactions to the nearest nickel. If that were widely adopted, digital payments alone would remain precise.

Consumers who use cashless payments may believe their choice doesn’t affect how they shop, but behavioral research says otherwise. Credit cards reduce the “pain of paying,” leading people to spend more – often 10% to 20% more than with cash. Credit card rewards programs further incentivize card use. In one last nod to the cost of noncash payments, those rewards are funded by higher merchant fees that ultimately translate into higher retail prices.

Killing the penny makes economic sense for the government and some businesses, yet it also highlights a deeper truth: Efficiency tends to reward the already efficient. For many, however, even when the change is small, every cent still counts.

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50 Years After Franco’s Death, Giving A Voice To Spanish Dictator’s Imprisoned Mothers

A protester holds a banner with pictures of people who went missing during the Spanish dictatorship of Francisco Franco. John Milner/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images

BY ZAYA RUSTAMOVA

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF SPANISH,

KENNEDSAW STATE UNIVERSITY

In the run-up to the 50th anniversary of Francisco Franco’s death on Nov. 20, 2025, the left-leaning Spanish government led a vigil honoring the many victims of the dictator’s regime.

While the exact numbers remain impossible to determine, historians estimate that Franco’s men killed up to 100,000 people during the brutal Spanish Civil War, and tens of thousands were executed during his dictatorial rule from 1939 until his death in 1975. Hundreds of thousands more were imprisoned, sent to labor camps or subjected to political persecution. To these figures, we must add the roughly half a million people who fled or were forced into exile.

Among the multitudes of Francoism’s victims were women and children who endured psychological and physical abuse in prisons, orphanages and asylums. Yet for decades their experiences have remained marginal in the public narrative – highlighting the uneven acknowledgment of different groups of victims amid Spain’s broader struggle to confront its past.

Still, their stories remain alive in the testimonies of the women who were imprisoned by the regime. In the summer of 2024, I conducted research at the Documentation Center of Historical Memory in Salamanca, collecting documented written accounts of traumatic experiences suffered by Spain’s female population under Franco. They reveal the extent to which Francoist repression was structured through gender, framing women as inherently subordinate and subjecting those who resisted the regime’s patriarchal order to especially severe punishment.

Franco’s gendered violence

My study explores the testimonies of women imprisoned during the civil war or subsequent decades, all of whom endured suffering related to their motherhood. While some were detained for their ideological allegiance to the republic that preceded Franco’s ascent, others had no formal partisan affiliations or were merely related to men who did.

These women suffered what many survivors and historians have described as a “double punishment” – targeted not only for their beliefs or associations but just for being women and mothers.

The earliest testimony I came across was from a woman detained in 1939, just three years after Franco, a military general, led an uprising against the democratically elected government of the Second Republic that precipitated the civil war and his subsequent reign.

Under Franco’s dictatorial regime, women’s roles were rigidly controlled by the ideology of National Catholicism, which linked femininity, motherhood and loyalty to the state. The church reinforced this vision, “dictating that women served the fatherland through self-sacrifice and dedication to the common good.”

Those who defied the patriarchy were criminalized and subjected to “re-education” focused on religious values.

Women’s so-called “redemption” under this reeducation was no less violent than their confinement. As one witness described, in May of 1939 the auditorium of Las Ventas prison was prepared to celebrate “two girls and a boy (… recently) born in prison.” During the ceremony, a choir “composed of forty inmates, including opera singers, music teachers, violinists, and amateurs,” had to perform the national anthems with the fascist arm-raised salute.

Yet confinement itself was particularly brutal.

According to Josefina García, a woman imprisoned during the 1940s, guards regularly insulted and beat inmates. “If you were at home behaving like decent women, you wouldn’t be here,” she recalled one saying. García continued: “Of course, they used a crude, sexist language. The police ‘used words’ in a way that sometimes leave a mark deeper than a bruise.”

Gender also played a role in the type of punishment prisoners received. Following their arrest, women were subjected to head shaving, forced ingestion of castor oil and the subsequent public humiliation of being made to walk in circles while defecating. In addition, they were often subjected to sexual violence by prison guards or interrogating officers.

Recounting her experience, another witness reported the case of an 18-year-old sister of a guerrilla fighter in Valencia who “was subjected to terrible torture, stripped naked in a room with several Civil Guards who pricked her breasts, genitals, and stomach with … needles.”

Motherhood as battleground

One of the most painful aspects of Franco’s repression was the forced separation of mothers and their children.

Upon incarceration, women frequently lost custody of their sons and daughters, who were placed in orphanages or adopted by families loyal to Franco and his regime. Such violent ruptures of the maternal bond were more than an act of personal cruelty – they were a calculated political strategy rooted in the broader Francoist ideology.

Since Francoism promoted an image of women as obedient wives and self-sacrificing mothers devoted to the Catholic family model, Republican women were demonized as immoral, dangerous and unworthy of motherhood.

By stripping women of their children, the regime both punished them and reinforced its narrative that only “loyal” women could be true mothers.

Meanwhile, child-rearing or birth during incarceration was marked by fear and uncertainty. In certain cases, newborns were allowed to stay with their mothers for a short time. However, a lack of proper nourishment and mental exhaustion made breastfeeding an impossible task.

At times, women who began to lactate were denied the possibility of nursing their infants, leading to physical pain and emotional torment.

More often, babies were permanently taken away altogether, deemed at risk of being “contaminated” by their mothers’ ideological values.

“When I was arrested, my son was five days old,” one victim, Carmen Caamaño, reported. “About a year later, they said I no longer needed to breastfeed him and took the child out of the prison. Some friends had to take him in because I had no family there.”

There were also countless cases in which children were imprisoned alongside their mothers. With no other relatives to care for them, these children suffered from hunger, disease and a lack of basic hygiene in their overcrowded cells. For mothers, the psychological burden was immense as they were forced to watch their children suffer, yet they had no power to protect them.

In the summer of 1941, about six or seven children died daily in these prisons from starvation and diseases, according to accounts of survivors.

Trauma and resistance

Alongside trauma, there were also moments of resistance.

Mothers in prison looked for ways to nurture their children despite scarcity and fear. Testimonies I reviewed relate cases of inmates sharing food, telling stories and protecting children as best they could. These small acts of care were a quiet but powerful form of defiance.

Yet for many women, the trauma of these losses never healed. Survivors often speak of the pain of separation as an open wound that lasted a lifetime. Children raised in prisons or separated from their families carried the scars into adulthood.

Even decades after the regime ended, many descendants still struggle with the weight of this silenced past. Yet because of Spain’s Amnesty Act of 1977, which was granted for past political crimes, those responsible for atrocities committed under Franco have seldom been held accountable.

Histories of the Franco years often leave the grief of the intergenerational trauma in the shadows. And for the victims themselves, the traumatic motherhood experiences under his dictatorship reveal more than just personal suffering – they expose how authoritarian power can reach into the most intimate parts of life.

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Vice President Dick Cheney’s Life Followed The Arc Of The Biggest Breakthroughs In Cardiovascular Medicine

BY WILLIKAM CORNWELL

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF CARDIOLOGY,

UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO ANSCHULTZ

MEDICAL CAMPUS

The life and political legacy of former Vice President Dick Cheney, who died on Nov. 4, 2025, at the age of 84, has been well documented. But his decades-long battle with heart disease may be less appreciated.

Cheney benefited from almost every major advance made in cardiovascular medicine. These breakthroughs enabled him to sustain an active political career and gave him additional years of an enjoyable life after he moved away from the political spotlight.

As a cardiologist who specializes in both sports medicine and heart disease, as well as advanced heart failure and transplant cardiology, I frequently provide care for patients who, like Cheney, are supported by powerful medicines and procedures to help support heart function.

Cheney’s passing provides an opportunity to reflect on the rapid evolution in medical technology, especially in the past half-century, that improved the lifespan and overall quality of life for Cheney, as well as millions of heart patients around the world.

The formative days of cardiac medicine

Cheney suffered his first of five heart attacks at age 37, in 1978, when the standard of care mainly involved pain relief and bed rest, and when medical professionals did not yet have a clear understanding of what causes heart attacks in the first place.

Today, doctors understand that a heart attack occurs when blood flow through an artery is blocked by a blood clot called a thrombus and oxygen cannot get to the heart muscle. Imagine a kink in a hose that prevents water passing through it. When the heart muscle does not receive oxygen for a long enough period of time, the heart muscle will die and a scar will form.

In the 1960s and ’70s, however, doctors thought a thrombus was the result of – not the cause of – a heart attack.

It is now clear that the formation of a thrombus leads to a heart attack rather than the other way around. That important lesson revolutionized the way doctors like me treat patients with heart attacks.

Big and small breakthroughs

Today, we reopen arteries with stents. When stents are not available, we use powerful medications called thrombolytics, or clot-busters, to break down the thrombus. These kinds of treatments seem commonplace today, but it wasn’t until 1988 that a pivotal study showed combining aspirin and streptokinase, a clot-buster drug, improved survival after a heart attack by almost 50%.

Cheney had additional heart attacks in 1984, 1988, 2000 and 2010. Notably, all but the last were during election years, underscoring the detrimental effects of stress on heart health. His heart attack in 2000 occurred as the courts worked to determine whether Al Gore or George W. Bush – with whom Cheney would become vice president – had won the presidential election.

As technology advanced over the years, Cheney had multiple angioplasties – a procedure to open up narrowed or blocked arteries. During an angioplasty, a procedure developed in the 1980s, heart doctors would place a balloon made of flexible polymers inside an artery to open up and clear the thrombus.

While angioplasties were helpful, one of the main limitations was that the walls of the artery would quickly shrink back – known as recoiling – after the balloon was deflated.

How stents became mainstream

That limitation led to the concept of stents – devices that are now frequently used to treat heart attack patients.

Cheney’s first heart attack in 1978 occurred well before the first stents became available.

Stents started out as metal, tubelike structures that cardiologists used to open up narrowed or blocked blood vessels. The original stents, made of stainless steel, fixed the problem of blood vessels recoiling.

But over time, cardiologists found that stents become stenotic, meaning they themselves would become narrow, making it difficult for blood to flow through them. This problem was solved with the introduction of drug-eluting stents, which have a polymer that coats the metal struts of a stent and prevents stenosis from occurring.

Drug-eluting stents were a game-changer and reduced the need for repeated procedures by about 50% to 70%. Like millions of Americans, Cheney received several stents during his long battle with heart disease.

While stents are helpful, sometimes patients require a surgery called coronary artery bypass graft. Heart surgeons perform this procedure when there are blockages that angioplasty or a stent cannot fix, or when there are too many blockages in the heart arteries.

In 1988, at age 47, Cheney underwent a quadruple bypass operation to help restore blood flow to his heart following his third heart attack.

Battling heart disease

Despite the best efforts of cardiologists, many patients with heart disease, like Cheney, go on to develop heart failure.

There are two main types of heart failure. One – called heart failure with preserved ejection fraction – occurs when the left ventricle, the largest and strongest chamber of the heart, becomes stiff and unable to relax.

The other type – heart failure with reduced ejection fraction – occurs when the left ventricle becomes enlarged and weakened, and fails to pump blood efficiently.

Both types of heart failure make it difficult for the heart to adequately pump blood throughout the body. Cheney, like millions of people throughout the world, suffered from a dilated and weakened heart.

Fortunately, now there are several classes of medications used to treat the kind of heart failure that Cheney suffered from.

There are four main types of drugs that heart failure cardiologists use to manage patients with this condition, which are referred to as the “four pillars” of heart failure management. These medications work together to reduce the amount of stress placed on the heart and to create an environment that helps a weakened heart pump blood more efficiently throughout the body.

Thanks to these four medication types, millions of patients with dilated, weak hearts are living much longer with a higher quality of life and staying out of the hospital. Some of these medications are also used for patients with stiffened hearts, but there is a lot of ongoing research to better understand how to take care of patients with that kind of heart failure.

Despite the use of medications to treat dilated, weak hearts, some patients suffer from continued weakening of the heart muscle and progress to end-stage, or advanced, heart failure. When this happens, there are only two treatment options available. These options are a mechanical pump or a heart transplant.

Heart transplantation is the gold-standard, preferred treatment option for advanced heart failure that results from a dilated, weakened heart.

In 2023, there were about 4,500 heart transplants in the U.S. and about 2,200 in Europe. On average, patients live well over a decade with a heart transplant, and many will go on to live for 20 to 30 more years.

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure

Benjamin Franklin famously quipped, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.”

In an interview with “60 Minutes” in 2013, Cheney said his heart disease was the result of genetics and an unhealthy lifestyle. He admitted that he drank beer, ate fatty foods and also smoked three packs of cigarettes per day.

Millions of people across the U.S. and Europe have a lifestyle that is similar to that of Cheney’s prior to his heart transplant. While heart patients benefit from medications, stents and surgeries, preventive strategies cannot be underestimated.

Almost all major health organizations, including the American Heart Association, American Cancer Society and the Department of Health and Human Services, recommend 150 minutes per week of moderate-intensity exercise.

This recommendation translates to a brisk walk about 30 minutes per day, five days per week. This level of exercise leads to large increases in survival and preservation of overall health throughout a lifetime.

While Cheney lived through five heart attacks, the goal for patients and their doctors is to avoid the first. Scientific advances in cardiology have led to a dramatic improvement in survival and quality of life for millions of people, but preventive measures are still by far the most effective lifesaving measure.

RDEAD ORIGINAL STORY HERE

Black Student Unions Are Under Pressure – here’s What They Do And How They Help Black Students Find Community

Members of the Black Student Union at Johns Hopkins University pose for a portrait in Baltimore in 2004. JHU Sheridan Libraries/Gado/Getty Images

BY ANTAR A. TICHAVAKUNDA

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF EDUCATION,

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA

BARBARA

Black student unions have been a vital part of many Black college students’ lives for more than 60 years. But since 2024, Black student unions have lost their institutional support, campus space and funding with the rise of anti-diversity, equity and inclusion laws in Utah and Alabama.

Black student unions now face a new wave of pressure, as more than 400 colleges and universities under the Trump administration have rebranded or eliminated programs and centers that promote diversity, equity and inclusion.

Amy Lieberman, education editor at The Conversation U.S., spoke with Antar A. Tichavakunda, a scholar of race and higher education, to better understand what Black student unions are and how they influence Black students’ experiences in higher education.

Why are Black student unions important, particularly for Black students?

Aside from Black fraternities and sororities, Black student unions were among the first ethnic student organizations at colleges to be established. A group of students started the first Black student union in 1968 at San Francisco State University. This happened during the Black Campus Movement, when Black college students advocated for themselves, making demands for resources, respect, spaces and programs to support Black student life. At the time, Mariana Waddy, a student at San Francisco State University and the first president of a Black student union, said, “This college had done little for Black students except try to whitewash them.”

Today, these student unions are essential for Black student life on college campuses. They offer a place of belonging, where Black students can figuratively exhale from a predominately white campus or student environment. Black student life on campus isn’t a given – just because there are Black students, it doesn’t mean there is a Black student community. These unions allow Black students to come together as a community.

What do these unions look like and do, day to day?

Black student unions largely operate independently. They have various events, like cookouts and parties. If a campus is dealing with an issue or some kind of racist occurrence, for example, Black student union leaders will come to the forefront to be an advocate for Black students. They try to engage with students and university leaders on whatever is happening.

How are political pressure and policy shifts influencing these unions?

The University of Utah and the University of Alabama announced in 2024 that they would no longer fund or support their schools’ Black student unions. Universities typically give these unions a certain amount of money, as they do with other student-led groups. With this funding pulled, it is going to make it harder for Black student unions to exist. Where are they going to meet? Will they have to pay for a place to meet off campus?

And if you want to encourage students to come to Black student events, you will likely want to have food for them. If you want to arrange a trip to a conference or host a movie night, those things cost money and require space.

These cuts have drained time, energy and resources from Black student unions.

Now, Black student leaders are filling gaps where funding, staff, spaces and infrastructure used to exist to support and meet the needs of Black student life.

The Trump administration’s attempts to remove funding from and shut down diversity, equity and inclusion programs could lead Black student union leaders to act as unpaid diversity workers if and when these positions at universities are eliminated.

This work also involves organizing social events and support services for Black students. It means continuing to creatively advocate for Black student needs.

Full-time students leading Black student unions now find themselves doing unpaid labor that helps sustain Black communities and the universities that profit from them.

How exactly are universities profiting from Black student unions’ work?

Here’s one example: I observed a university tapping student leaders from a Black engineering group to represent the university’s school of engineering at public events. These leaders might have had to skip class or lose study time to be available for this event. But the university wanted other people, including prospective Black students, to know that there were already Black students at this school.

Black students in these positions have mentioned to me that sometimes administrators will pressure them to show up for panels and other events as a form of marketing. I think most of these requests are well-meaning. But I also know that Black student representatives and leaders place pressure on themselves to also show up for their community and school.

Their presence and visibility help universities have a more welcoming environment. They have an active, vibrant community because of Black student unions and leaders. Organizations like this create community and lead to more positive experiences for students. This joy can lead to more students staying in school.

If I am a Black parent touring a college with my child and don’t see any Black students participating in the tour or on campus, that sends a message to a prospective Black student – will I, or my child, belong here?

What message are Black student unions receiving with these policy shifts?

I think the message to Black student unions is that you all have to fend for yourselves. That is what inequality is all about, having different expectations for different students.

Cuts to diversity, equity and inclusion work signals to Black students that they are not valued and that, if they want to have meaningful experiences as a Black student community, they will have to do this work themselves. You can discern an institution’s values in their budget priorities. If there is nothing being materially invested in Black students, how can you say you support them?

My research shows that Black students act independently to achieve their goals. They create places of joy and belonging for themselves and others, navigating institutions to create full, dynamic lives.

Black students have historically played the cards they were dealt, even if they were inequitable. They have worked to create traditions and lives within and outside of higher education’s campus walls. Some Black student unions may look different going forward, but I have full faith they will continue.

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Before The American Revolution, Native Nations Guarded Their Societies Against Tyranny

An artist’s depiction of life in Cahokia. Michael Hampshire for the Cahokia Mounds State Historic Site via Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA

BY KATHLEEN DUVAL

PROFESSOR OF HISTORY,

UNIVERSITY OF NORTH

CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL

When the founders of the United States designed the Constitution, they were learning from history that democracy was likely to fail – to find someone who would fool the people into giving him complete power and then end the democracy.

They designed checks and balances to guard against the accumulation of power they had found when studying ancient Greece and Rome. But as I discuss with Ken Burns in his new documentary, “The American Revolution,” there were others in North America who had also seen the dangers of certain types of government and had designed their own checks and balances to guard against tyranny: the Native Americans.

Although most Americans today don’t know it, there were large centralized civilizations across much of North America in the 10th through 12th centuries. They built massive cities and grand irrigation projects across the continent. Twelfth-century Cahokia, on the banks of the Mississippi River, had a central city about the size of London at the time. The sprawling 12th-century civilization of the Huhugam had several cities of more than 10,000 people and a total population of perhaps 50,000 in the Southwestern desert.

The ruins of these constructions remain, more than 1,000 years later, in places as far-flung as Phoenix, St. Louis and north Georgia.

The American Colonists and founders thought Native American societies were simple and primitive – but they were not. As research has found, including my own, and as I explain in my book, “Native Nations: A Millennium in North America,” Native American communities were elaborate consensus democracies, many of which had survived for generations because of careful attention to checking and balancing power.

Powerful rulers led many of these civilizations, combining political and religious power, much as monarchs of Europe in later centuries would claim a divine right to rule.

In the 13th century, though, a global cooling trend began, which has been called the Little Ice Age. In part because of that cooling, large-scale farming became more difficult, and these large civilizations struggled to feed their people. Elites began hoarding wealth. The people wanted change.

Spreading out

The residents of North America’s great cities responded to these stresses by reversing the centralization of power and wealth. Some revolted against their leaders. Others simply left the cities and spread out into smaller towns and farms. All across the continent, they built smaller, more democratic and more egalitarian societies.

Huge numbers left Cahokia’s realm entirely. They found places that still had game to hunt and woods full of trees for firewood and building, both of which had declined near Cahokia due to its rapid growth.

The population of the central city of Cahokia fell from perhaps 20,000 people to only 3,000 by 1275. At some point the elite left as well, and by the late 15th century the cities of Cahokia’s realm were completely gone.

Encouraging engaged democracy

As they formed these new and more dispersed societies, the people who had overthrown or fled the great cities and their too powerful leaders sought to avoid mesmerizing leaders who made tempting promises in difficult times. So they designed complex political structures to discourage centralization, hierarchy and inequality and encourage shared decision-making.

These societies intentionally created balanced power structures. For example, the oral history of the Osage Nation records that it once had one great chief who was a military leader, but its council of elder spiritual leaders, known as the “Little Old Men,” decided to balance that chief’s authority with that of another hereditary chief, who would be responsible for keeping peace.

Another way some societies balanced power was through family-based clans. Clans communicated and cooperated across multiple towns. They could work together to balance the power of town-based chiefs and councils.

An ideal of leadership

Many of these societies required convening all of the people – men, women and children – for major political, military, diplomatic and land-use decisions. Hundreds or even thousands might show up, depending on how momentous the decision was.

They strove for consensus, though they didn’t always achieve it. In some societies, it was customary for the losing side to quietly leave the meeting if they couldn’t bring themselves to agree with the others.

Leaders generally governed by facilitating decision-making in council meetings and public gatherings. They gave gifts to encourage cooperation. They heard disputes between neighbors over land and resources and helped to resolve them. Power and prestige came to lie not in amassing wealth but in assuring that the wealth was shared wisely. Leaders earned support in part by being good providers.

‘Calm deliberation’

The Native American democracy that the U.S. founders were most likely to know about was the Iroquois Confederacy. They call themselves the Haudenosaunee, the “people of the longhouse,” because the nations of the confederacy have to get along like multiple families in a longhouse.

In their carefully balanced system, women ran the clans, which were responsible for local decisions about land use and town planning. Men were the representatives of their clans and nations in the Haudenosaunee council, which made decisions for the confederacy as a whole. Each council member, called a royaner, was chosen by a clan mother.

The Haudenosaunee Great Law holds a royaner to a high standard: “The thickness of their skin shall be seven spans – which is to say that they shall be proof against anger, offensive actions and criticism. Their hearts shall be full of peace and good will.” In council, “all their words and actions shall be marked by calm deliberation.”

The law said the ideal royaner should always “look and listen for the welfare of the whole people and have always in view not only the present but also the coming generations, even those whose faces are yet beneath the surface of the ground – the unborn of the future Nation.”

Of course, people do not always live up to their values, but the laws and traditions of Native nations encouraged peaceful discussion and broad-mindedness. Many Europeans were struck by the difference. The French explorer La Salle in 1678 noted with admiration of the Haudenosaunee that “in important meetings, they discuss without raising their voices and without getting angry.”

Politicians, government officials and everyday Americans might find inspiration in the models of democracy created by Native Americans centuries ago. There was an additional ingredient to the political and social balance: Leaders looked ahead and sought to protect the well-being of every person, even those not yet born. The people, in exchange, had a responsibility to not enmesh their royaners in less serious matters, which the Haudenosaunee Great Law called “trivial affairs.”

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What Could Have Stopped Hitler — And Didn’t

The German foreign minister Walter Rathenau was everything the Weimar Republic’s nationalist right wing hated: Jewish, rich, a staunch supporter of the young German democracy and actively working for reparations with the Allies. He was murdered in 1922. Credit...Bettmann, via Getty Images

BY CASEY SCHWARTZ

On a rainy morning in June 1922, Walther Rathenau, the German foreign minister, rode out of his Berlin villa in an open convertible. As his chauffeur slowed at a curve, a second car overtook them. A man in a long leather coat raised his pistol and shot Rathenau five times. For good measure, a second assassin threw a hand grenade into Rathenau’s car. The blast lifted the foreign minister from his seat.

Rathenau was everything Germany’s nationalist right wing hated: Jewish, rich, a staunch supporter of the young German democracy and actively working to reach an agreement over World War I reparations with the Allies. His death reverberated throughout the country and beyond. When Franz Kafka heard the news, he bitterly responded that he was surprised the murder hadn’t happened sooner, it was “so very much part of Jewish and German destiny.”

“Political murder was the order of the day in the early Weimar Republic,” the German historian Volker Ullrich writes in his new book, “Fateful Hours.” Violence was a fact of Weimar life. Assassinations, coups, occupation — all of these storms and more hit the young, wobbly German republic in just the first four years of its existence. And yet, not only did the Weimar Republic survive its early challenges, Ullrich argues, but its demise was never inevitable, even as late as January 1933 — the month Adolf Hitler became chancellor.

Ullrich, translated here by Jefferson Chase, is not the first to make this argument; he follows in the footsteps of the many scholars who have set their sights on Weimar over the years, among them Peter Gay, Eric Weitz and, most recently, Harald Jähner. But Ullrich breaks new ground, laying out his case in illuminating granularity, moving inch by inch through the political machinations that began with the establishment of Germany’s first democratically elected government, in 1919, and ended with the chancellorship of Hitler.

And much more so than in any of his previous books, which include a two-volume biography of Hitler, Ullrich explicitly positions “Fateful Hours” as exemplar and warning for our own perilous, norm-shattering times. “It’s in our hands to decide whether democracy fails or survives,” he writes.

Friedrich Ebert, the German democracy’s first president, came from the left. His Social Democrats faced deep-seated opposition: a bulky coalition of discontents forced into unlikely alliances — while the Social Democrats themselves relied on the right-wing Freikorps to put down armed rebellions.

Ullrich emphasizes that the Social Democrats didn’t do enough to fundamentally change German society while they could. By 1925, Ebert was dead, and a former officer of the Imperial German Army, Paul von Hindenburg, had triumphed in the national elections. This victory, celebrated by the right, was one of the major inflection points in the nation’s fate. It would be Hindenburg who appointed Hitler, however reluctantly, to the chancellorship.

Ullrich summons a chorus of eyewitnesses along the way to this apocalyptic outcome, including the noted diarist Victor Klemperer and Sebastian Haffner, whose memoir, “Defying Hitler,” is one of the masterpieces of the era. It is Haffner who gives the most indelible description of the nation-shaking hyperinflation that hit the young republic in 1923. In the face of this profound economic instability, experience and expertise also lost their value, and the young and quick-witted sprang up to displace their elders. “The 21-year-old bank director appeared on the scene,” Haffner wrote. “He wore Oscar Wilde ties, organized champagne parties and supported his embarrassed father.” Haffner, like his contemporaries Stefan Zweig and Thomas Mann, saw a direct path from the trauma of inflation to the triumph of Nazism exactly 10 years later.

Many histories of the Weimar Republic bask in the cultural fermentation occurring in those years: the extraordinary movements happening in painting, in cinema, in sex. Ullrich barely mentions these aspects of Weimar life, most of which were in any event centered in Berlin. By focusing so narrowly on Germany’s politics, he gives the reader an ominously clear view of the step-by-step buildup to Nazism, and all of the moments it could have been stopped, but wasn’t.

What might have been done to alter its brutal ascension, from the dangerous flexibility of Article 48 to grant rule by emergency decree to the fallout from the Great Depression? Ullrich tells us, insistently, that history is ultimately decided by individual people, while giving a curious minimum of detail as to who these individuals actually were. Of Friedrich Ebert, we hear only that he was formerly a “saddler” whose lack of higher education annoyed the Wilhelmine elites. And this is more character development than we get for most.

Instead, what becomes apparent in Ullrich’s fine-grained political ticktock is how much was decided by chance and luck. For example, Hindenburg’s 1932 decision to dissolve the Brüning cabinet came at a time when the German economy was still in tatters, and the radical National Socialist Party held more appeal to the populace than it might have just two years later when Reichstag elections would have otherwise been held.

Still, though the main players may remain psychologically opaque, the road map to authoritarian disaster is laid out here in gleamingly sinister detail by a historian who knows the period as well as anyone could. And the playbook is only too familiar. One of the Nazis’ first targets was school curriculums. They managed to ban the antiwar classic “All Quiet on the Western Front” three years before Hitler was installed as chancellor in the Reichstag.

The parallels to our own moment aren’t perfect, but they are resonant enough to make us ask, once again, who or what it will take for us to save ourselves.

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What America’s Divided And Tumultuous Politics Of The Late-19th Century Can Teach Us

Can today’s divided America learn something from the divisions of the past? zimmytws, iStock/Getty Images Plus

BY ROBERT A. STRONG

SENIOR FELLOW, MILLER CENTER,

UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA

People trying to understand politics in the United States today often turn to history for precedents and perspective. Are our current divisions like the ones that preceded the American Revolution or the Civil War? Did the dramatic events of the 1960s generate the same kind of social and political forces seen today? Are there lessons from the past that show us how eras of intense political turmoil eventually subside?

As a scholar of American politics and the presidency, I believe one American historical period is especially worth revisiting in this turbulent moment in the U.S.: the 20 tumultuous years between the presidencies of Ulysses S. Grant and William McKinley in the second half of the 19th century.

The two decades between 1876 and 1896 are usually remembered as a time when the cities in the East grew rich and the West was wild – a “Gilded Age” in New York City and gunslingers on the frontier.

It was also a time when Americans struggled with immigration issues, racial injustice, tariff levels, technological change, economic volatility and political violence.

There was even a president, Grover Cleveland, who served two nonconsecutive terms in the White House – the only time that happened before Donald Trump.

In the elections between Grant and McKinley, the nation was closely divided. No president in those years – not Rutherford Hayes, James Garfield, Chester Arthur, Cleveland or Benjamin Harrison – served for two consecutive terms. No presidential candidate won more than 50% of the popular vote, except the Democrat Samuel Tilden. And Tilden, after winning 50.1% of the ballots cast in 1876, lost in the Electoral College. That happened again in 1888 when Cleveland, the first time he was seeking a second term, won the popular vote but failed in the Electoral College.

The narrow victories that characterized presidential politics in the 1870s and 1880s were matched by constant shifts on Capitol Hill. In the 20 years between Grant and McKinley, there were only six years of unified government, when one political party controlled the White House, the Senate and the House of Representatives. In the remaining 14 years, presidents encountered opposition in Congress.

The U.S. has the same kind of divided politics today.

Heating up partisanship and raising stakes

President Bill Clinton had two years of unified government; President George W. Bush had less than that. Barack Obama, Donald Trump in his first term and Joe Biden all came into office with party majorities in the House and Senate, and then, like Clinton, their parties lost the House two years later.

Divided politics, with close elections and neither party in power for very long, make partisanship more intense, campaigns harder fought and the stakes sky high whenever voters go to the polls. That’s part of what produced instability in the second half of the 19th century and part of what produces it today.

Divided government is, of course, one of the most powerful “checks” in the constitutional system of checks and balances. Intense competition between political parties can prevent the national government from making rash decisions and serious mistakes. It can sometimes generate compromise.

But there’s a cost. Political division can also allow critical problems to fester for far too long. The dramatic changes brought on by the Industrial Revolution after the Civil War were not seriously addressed in federal legislation until the Progressive Era early in the 20th century.

In the second half of the 19th century, Congress raised or lowered tariffs – depending on which party controlled the White House and Capitol Hill. The nation debated immigration but only once passed meaningful legislation, the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. A long list of issues connected to railroads, banks, currency, civil service, corruption and the implementation of the post-Civil War constitutional amendments were ignored or only partially addressed.

When major legislation was passed in 1883 to create a merit-based civil service – reforming the spoils system of political appointments – it passed because Garfield’s 1881 assassination by a disgruntled federal job seeker temporarily pushed the issue to the top of the national agenda.
Immigration, fake news and riots

Political violence accompanied the period of closely divided national elections in the 1870s and 1880s.

In the 1880 presidential campaign, both candidates – the Republican, Garfield, and the Democrat, Winfield Hancock – called for restrictions on Chinese immigration to the United States. Neither supported the complete ban that many Westerners wanted.

But just before Americans went to the polls, newspapers across the country printed a letter, allegedly written and signed by Garfield, that endorsed an open border to Chinese immigrants. Before anyone could learn that the letter was a fake, there was public uproar. In Denver, an angry mob burned down all the homes in Chinese neighborhoods.

There were more incidents of political violence: anti-Chinese riots in Los Angeles in 1871, in San Francisco in 1877 and in Seattle in 1886.

Throughout the 1880s, anti-immigrant nativists targeted immigrants from Italy and sometimes vandalized Catholic churches.

Political violence in the South successfully suppressed Black voting rights and reestablished white control of state and local politics.

Realignment

Political division in the second half of the 19th century produced more problems than solutions. How and when did it end, or become less intense?

The simple answer is what political scientists call a “realignment,” a major shift in national electoral patterns.

In 1893, the first year of Cleveland’s second term, the nation suffered a financial crisis followed by a severe economic depression. As a result, McKinley was able to win solid victories in 1896 and 1900 and build a Republican coalition that dominated presidential politics until the election in 1932 of Democrat Franklin Roosevelt.

It’s not hard to imagine how an economic disaster, or a crisis of some kind, could shake the country out of a period of closely divided politics. But that’s a painful way of building a higher level of national unity.

Can it happen when large numbers of voters get thoroughly frustrated by languishing issues, swings back and forth in Washington, nasty elections and rising political violence?

Perhaps.

But either way – responding to crisis or finding a public change of heart – is a reminder that voters are the ultimate arbiters in a functioning democracy. Today, as in late-19th-century America, elections make a difference. They can mark continued division or they can take the nation in a new, and perhaps more unified, direction.

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Can The World Prevent A Genocide In Sudan?

A woman from El Fasher at a displacement camp in the Darfur region of Sudan in late October. Mohammed Jammal/UNICEF/AP

BY PHILIPP KASTNER

SENIOR LECTURER IN INTERNATIONAL LAW,

THE UN IVERSITY OF WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Two years ago, a power struggle erupted between two factions of Sudan’s military. Today, this conflict is spiralling out of control, with thousands being killed in what a United Nations report has called “slaughterhouses”.

Last week, the Rapid Support Forces (RSF), the paramilitary group battling Sudan’s army, captured the city of El Fasher, the last hold-out in the western Darfur region held by the military.

Soon after, reports of ethnically motivated massacres emerged. The World Health Organization said 460 people were killed in just one incident at the city’s hospital. Witnesses described widespread executions and sexual violence targeting certain ethnic groups.

A UN fact-finding mission found already last year that both sides in the conflict have committed war crimes and crimes against humanity.

Rights groups and analysts are now sounding the alarm about a possible genocide taking place. Some say the killings are reminiscent of the start of the Rwanda genocide in 1994, which killed a staggering 800,000 people.

The atrocities are also following the same troubling pattern as in Darfur 20 years ago, which killed an estimated 300,000 people.

Back then, celebrity activists such as George Clooney helped put Darfur on the map. It became a major foreign policy issue in the United States, Europe, Africa and elsewhere. The genocide in Rwanda was still relatively fresh in people’s minds. The slogan “never again” was still taken somewhat seriously.

The global attention eventually led the International Criminal Court to indict Sudanese President Omar al-Bashir for allegedly directing the campaign of mass killings in Darfur, the first sitting head of state to be indicted.

Sudan is now home to the worst humanitarian crisis in the world. Hundreds of thousands have been killed since 2023, 12 million people have been displaced and 21 million people face what the UN calls “high levels of acute food insecurity”.

Yet, compared to the early 2000s, the international community has been largely silent.

Why global attention matters

It would be tempting to say the wars and suffering in Gaza and Ukraine have overshadowed Sudan in the minds of global leaders and concerned citizens alike. But this does not mean the world can’t do anything.

Global awareness did not solve anything by itself in Darfur 20 years ago, but it was a first step. It led to the eventual deployment of a peacekeeping mission by the United Nations and the African Union.

The mission was too small and limited, but it showed that international peacekeepers can still have a positive impact in the 21st century. They can monitor ceasefires, implement disarmament programs, protect civilians and prevent further escalations of violence.

More attention – and pressure – also needs to be placed on the external actors supporting both sides in the current conflict. These countries are pursuing their own strategic interests in Sudan and consider the power struggle a chance to increase their influence in the region and exert control over Sudan’s natural resources.

The Sudanese Armed Forces (SAF) are backed by Egypt, Turkey, Iran and Russia. The United Arab Emirates, meanwhile, has been accused of funding and providing weapons to the Rapid Support Forces in clear violation of an arms embargo.

While these countries deny arming both sides, rights groups say a flood of weapons has nonetheless entered the country. The United Arab Emirates, in particular, is accused of covertly supplying drones, howitzers, heavy machine guns and mortars to RSF fighters in Darfur.

The United Arab Emirates has only just started to distance itself from the RSF following the recent atrocities in El Fasher.

What’s needed to bring peace

A ceasefire must urgently be agreed to, so humanitarian corridors can be opened to allow aid organisations to do their work.

All outside military support to the warring parties must end immediately. The current arms embargo is too limited and has been poorly implemented – it needs to be strengthened.

And more sanctions should be imposed, especially on the perpetrators reportedly responsible for international crimes. In January, the Biden administration levied sanctions on the RSF commander and several UAE-based companies supporting him – these must now be expanded.

This would make it more difficult for Sudan’s lucrative gold trade to continue to be used by both sides to sustain the war.

For the peace to hold in the long term, both sides must also agree on a mechanism to disarm or integrate the RSF fighters into the regular forces.

Establishing some form of justice and reconciliation process can also contribute to preventing further violence. This sends a clear signal that committing crimes will not be rewarded. It can also help communities heal and give peace a better chance.

Nothing of this sort has really happened in Darfur over the past couple decades. Instead, political actors continued to exploit and aggravate ethnic tensions. The RSF, in particular, has recruited fighters from the infamous Janjaweed militias responsible for the Darfur atrocities in the early 2000s.

A further complication is the increasing fragmentation of the situation, as the Sudanese Armed Forces and RSF are not perfectly integrated armies. They do not have centralised control over their various coalitions of fighters.

This means that while getting the leaders to agree on a ceasefire is important, it may not be sufficient.

As a result, peace initiatives must include local agreements with individual rebel leaders and smaller factions of fighters, which can greatly increase the security of the population in particular areas.

To be clear, lasting peace does not come from some miracle peacemaker. In fact, nothing tangible came out of previous attempts at peace talks aimed at ending the conflict this year.

But this is where other actors can play an important role. The United Arab Emirates, for example, may now feel pressured to exert a more positive influence on the RSF and urge it to come to the negotiating table. The same applies to Egypt and the Sudanese Armed Forces.

And a more comprehensive plan then needs to be worked out, ideally through an international organisation like the United Nations or the African Union, with the goal of empowering the people of Sudan to make their own political decisions.

Sudan is a stark reminder that making lasting peace takes huge efforts. The devastating situation in the country demands the world keep trying.

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