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Q3118065 Inglês
How online photos and videos alter the way you think



The images we are exposed to on social media and internet websites have a surprising influence on the way we view the world.


Every day we are bombarded with digital images. They appear on our social media feeds, in our search results and the websites we browse. People send them to us via messaging apps or over email. By the end of today, billions more will have been uploaded and shared online.


With the average user spending 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on the internet, according to one report, these images make up a significant portion of our everyday visual input.


And, recent research indicates that they may even be influencing our perceptions.


One study published earlier this year analysed images on Google,Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database (IMBD), specifically looking at what genders predominated when they searched for different occupations − such as "farmer", "chief executive officer" or "TV reporter". The findings were stark. Although women were underrepresented overall, gender stereotypes were strong. Categories like "plumber", "developer", "investment banker" and "heart surgeon" were far more likely to be male. "Housekeeper", "nurse practitioner", "cheerleader" and "ballet dancer" tended to be female.


So far, so unsurprising. Anecdotally, I found the same phenomenon myself in 2019, when I was trying to find gender-balanced images for this website. Searching on Getty Creative, one of our main stock photo sites, I had found that photographs of male doctors outstripped female doctors by three to one − even though in the US, for example, physicians under 44 at the time were more likely to be female than male. This depiction of medical professionals were only part of the problem. There were twice as many options for photos of women with babies, or for that matter, of women with salads, as of men.


The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves


The latest study, however, took this a step further. Rather than just showing the extent of gender bias in online imagery, the researchers tested whether exposure to these images had any impact on people's own biases. In the experiment, 423 US participants used Google to search for different occupations. Two groups searched by text, using either Google or Google News; another group used Google Images, instead. (A control group also used Google, but to search for categories unrelated to occupations, like "apple" and "guitar"). Then all participants were given an "implicit association test", which measures implicit biases.


Compared to Googling text-based descriptions of occupations, the participants who used Google Images and received visual representations in response showed much higher rates of implicit gender bias after the experiment − both immediately after and three days later.


"The rise of images in popular internet culture may come at a critical social cost," the researchers write. "Our findings are especially alarming given that image-based social media platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok are surging in popularity, accelerating the mass production and circulation of images. In parallel, popular search engines such as Google are increasingly incorporating images into their core functionality, for example, by including images as a default part of text-based searches."


There's another growing problem, too: how the images already circulating online are informing and shaping AI models. Earlier this year, I experimented with this myself. I asked ChatGPT to create images for me of dozens of various professionals: doctor, lawyer, scientist, comedian, poet, teacher, customer service representative, nutritionist, thought leader, CEO, expert. Except for two or three results − dental hygienist, nurse and housekeeper − it delivered, again and again, a man. And not just a man, but a slim white man around his 30s with a crop of flowing brown hair.


In a later attempt, trying to get away from career bias, I asked ChatGPT to come up with different sorts of people for me: someone "smart", someone "successful", someone watching an opera, someone watching the show Love Is Blind, someone who quit their job to take care of the kids. Once again, over and over, I got the white guy with the lustrous hair.


Obviously, models like ChatGPT are learning based on the imagery that already exists. But, once again, this may perpetuate a vicious cycle: the more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves. And the more biased we become, the more we create and upload our own biased imagery.


So what can be done? A good deal of responsibility lies with the tech and AI companies. But even when their intentions are good, there doesn't seem to be an easy fix. In its attempt to correct for racial, gender and other biases, for example, Google's AI tool Gemini sometimes overcorrected − one image it generated of the US Founding Fathers included a black man, for example, while an image of German soldiers from World War Two featured a black man and an Asian woman.


In the meantime, we need to take control of shaping our digital visual world ourselves.


While it seems obvious, the fact that we can − to a certain extent − curate our social media feeds often goes overlooked. Seeking out accounts and influencers who are of different ethnic and racial backgrounds, or photographers from different parts of the woresults we get by altering the way we phrase the initial query.


The most effective strategy of all might be reclaiming our time. In the eponymous "digital detox plan" of art entrepreneur Marine Tanguy's book The Visual Detox: How to Consume Media Without Letting It Consume You, for example, there are no surprises, but some good, solid reminders − such as putting limits on when you look at a screen or your phone, deleting apps you aren't using, and spending time outside without technology.


I became aware recently that even my several-year-old phone has a timer you can switch on for various apps, choosing whatever time period per day you'd like. While I can't say that I've always heeded its warning when I hit my limit, it's helped me become much more aware of, and cut down on, my social media usage. As we have covered before, putting your phone in another room entirely seems to keep even the thought of checking it at bay.


Above all else, however, it may be awareness that is key. We don't often think about our visual consumption or consider how often we're surrounded by images that have been deliberately created and served to us, often to persuade us to purchase something.


Nor do we think about just how strange and new a phenomenon that is. For the vast majority of human evolutionary history − some 99% of the time we have been around − we wouldn't have seen many images within our own natural environment at all, save some cave paintings or handmade sculptures. While, in Europe, the Renaissance ushered in a new era of image production − which saw the rise of art markets and of artworks made for popular consumption, like printmaking − people still wouldn't have seen anywhere near the number of man-made images that we see today.


In the more than 100,000 generations since the Homo branch of the evolutionary tree emerged, we have evolved to spend far more time looking at the world (and people) around us than at images, never mind images on a screen. Perhaps, it seems, there is an argument for trying to incorporate more of that time away from our screens into our everyday lives today. 


https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20241101-how-online-photos-and-vid eos-alter-the-way-you-think 
In the context of the article, what does the phrase "curate our social media feeds" imply?
Alternativas
Q3118064 Inglês
How online photos and videos alter the way you think



The images we are exposed to on social media and internet websites have a surprising influence on the way we view the world.


Every day we are bombarded with digital images. They appear on our social media feeds, in our search results and the websites we browse. People send them to us via messaging apps or over email. By the end of today, billions more will have been uploaded and shared online.


With the average user spending 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on the internet, according to one report, these images make up a significant portion of our everyday visual input.


And, recent research indicates that they may even be influencing our perceptions.


One study published earlier this year analysed images on Google,Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database (IMBD), specifically looking at what genders predominated when they searched for different occupations − such as "farmer", "chief executive officer" or "TV reporter". The findings were stark. Although women were underrepresented overall, gender stereotypes were strong. Categories like "plumber", "developer", "investment banker" and "heart surgeon" were far more likely to be male. "Housekeeper", "nurse practitioner", "cheerleader" and "ballet dancer" tended to be female.


So far, so unsurprising. Anecdotally, I found the same phenomenon myself in 2019, when I was trying to find gender-balanced images for this website. Searching on Getty Creative, one of our main stock photo sites, I had found that photographs of male doctors outstripped female doctors by three to one − even though in the US, for example, physicians under 44 at the time were more likely to be female than male. This depiction of medical professionals were only part of the problem. There were twice as many options for photos of women with babies, or for that matter, of women with salads, as of men.


The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves


The latest study, however, took this a step further. Rather than just showing the extent of gender bias in online imagery, the researchers tested whether exposure to these images had any impact on people's own biases. In the experiment, 423 US participants used Google to search for different occupations. Two groups searched by text, using either Google or Google News; another group used Google Images, instead. (A control group also used Google, but to search for categories unrelated to occupations, like "apple" and "guitar"). Then all participants were given an "implicit association test", which measures implicit biases.


Compared to Googling text-based descriptions of occupations, the participants who used Google Images and received visual representations in response showed much higher rates of implicit gender bias after the experiment − both immediately after and three days later.


"The rise of images in popular internet culture may come at a critical social cost," the researchers write. "Our findings are especially alarming given that image-based social media platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok are surging in popularity, accelerating the mass production and circulation of images. In parallel, popular search engines such as Google are increasingly incorporating images into their core functionality, for example, by including images as a default part of text-based searches."


There's another growing problem, too: how the images already circulating online are informing and shaping AI models. Earlier this year, I experimented with this myself. I asked ChatGPT to create images for me of dozens of various professionals: doctor, lawyer, scientist, comedian, poet, teacher, customer service representative, nutritionist, thought leader, CEO, expert. Except for two or three results − dental hygienist, nurse and housekeeper − it delivered, again and again, a man. And not just a man, but a slim white man around his 30s with a crop of flowing brown hair.


In a later attempt, trying to get away from career bias, I asked ChatGPT to come up with different sorts of people for me: someone "smart", someone "successful", someone watching an opera, someone watching the show Love Is Blind, someone who quit their job to take care of the kids. Once again, over and over, I got the white guy with the lustrous hair.


Obviously, models like ChatGPT are learning based on the imagery that already exists. But, once again, this may perpetuate a vicious cycle: the more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves. And the more biased we become, the more we create and upload our own biased imagery.


So what can be done? A good deal of responsibility lies with the tech and AI companies. But even when their intentions are good, there doesn't seem to be an easy fix. In its attempt to correct for racial, gender and other biases, for example, Google's AI tool Gemini sometimes overcorrected − one image it generated of the US Founding Fathers included a black man, for example, while an image of German soldiers from World War Two featured a black man and an Asian woman.


In the meantime, we need to take control of shaping our digital visual world ourselves.


While it seems obvious, the fact that we can − to a certain extent − curate our social media feeds often goes overlooked. Seeking out accounts and influencers who are of different ethnic and racial backgrounds, or photographers from different parts of the woresults we get by altering the way we phrase the initial query.


The most effective strategy of all might be reclaiming our time. In the eponymous "digital detox plan" of art entrepreneur Marine Tanguy's book The Visual Detox: How to Consume Media Without Letting It Consume You, for example, there are no surprises, but some good, solid reminders − such as putting limits on when you look at a screen or your phone, deleting apps you aren't using, and spending time outside without technology.


I became aware recently that even my several-year-old phone has a timer you can switch on for various apps, choosing whatever time period per day you'd like. While I can't say that I've always heeded its warning when I hit my limit, it's helped me become much more aware of, and cut down on, my social media usage. As we have covered before, putting your phone in another room entirely seems to keep even the thought of checking it at bay.


Above all else, however, it may be awareness that is key. We don't often think about our visual consumption or consider how often we're surrounded by images that have been deliberately created and served to us, often to persuade us to purchase something.


Nor do we think about just how strange and new a phenomenon that is. For the vast majority of human evolutionary history − some 99% of the time we have been around − we wouldn't have seen many images within our own natural environment at all, save some cave paintings or handmade sculptures. While, in Europe, the Renaissance ushered in a new era of image production − which saw the rise of art markets and of artworks made for popular consumption, like printmaking − people still wouldn't have seen anywhere near the number of man-made images that we see today.


In the more than 100,000 generations since the Homo branch of the evolutionary tree emerged, we have evolved to spend far more time looking at the world (and people) around us than at images, never mind images on a screen. Perhaps, it seems, there is an argument for trying to incorporate more of that time away from our screens into our everyday lives today. 


https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20241101-how-online-photos-and-vid eos-alter-the-way-you-think 
What reasoning does the author provide for suggesting a "digital detox" as part of managing the influence of online images? 
Alternativas
Q3118063 Inglês
How online photos and videos alter the way you think



The images we are exposed to on social media and internet websites have a surprising influence on the way we view the world.


Every day we are bombarded with digital images. They appear on our social media feeds, in our search results and the websites we browse. People send them to us via messaging apps or over email. By the end of today, billions more will have been uploaded and shared online.


With the average user spending 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on the internet, according to one report, these images make up a significant portion of our everyday visual input.


And, recent research indicates that they may even be influencing our perceptions.


One study published earlier this year analysed images on Google,Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database (IMBD), specifically looking at what genders predominated when they searched for different occupations − such as "farmer", "chief executive officer" or "TV reporter". The findings were stark. Although women were underrepresented overall, gender stereotypes were strong. Categories like "plumber", "developer", "investment banker" and "heart surgeon" were far more likely to be male. "Housekeeper", "nurse practitioner", "cheerleader" and "ballet dancer" tended to be female.


So far, so unsurprising. Anecdotally, I found the same phenomenon myself in 2019, when I was trying to find gender-balanced images for this website. Searching on Getty Creative, one of our main stock photo sites, I had found that photographs of male doctors outstripped female doctors by three to one − even though in the US, for example, physicians under 44 at the time were more likely to be female than male. This depiction of medical professionals were only part of the problem. There were twice as many options for photos of women with babies, or for that matter, of women with salads, as of men.


The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves


The latest study, however, took this a step further. Rather than just showing the extent of gender bias in online imagery, the researchers tested whether exposure to these images had any impact on people's own biases. In the experiment, 423 US participants used Google to search for different occupations. Two groups searched by text, using either Google or Google News; another group used Google Images, instead. (A control group also used Google, but to search for categories unrelated to occupations, like "apple" and "guitar"). Then all participants were given an "implicit association test", which measures implicit biases.


Compared to Googling text-based descriptions of occupations, the participants who used Google Images and received visual representations in response showed much higher rates of implicit gender bias after the experiment − both immediately after and three days later.


"The rise of images in popular internet culture may come at a critical social cost," the researchers write. "Our findings are especially alarming given that image-based social media platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok are surging in popularity, accelerating the mass production and circulation of images. In parallel, popular search engines such as Google are increasingly incorporating images into their core functionality, for example, by including images as a default part of text-based searches."


There's another growing problem, too: how the images already circulating online are informing and shaping AI models. Earlier this year, I experimented with this myself. I asked ChatGPT to create images for me of dozens of various professionals: doctor, lawyer, scientist, comedian, poet, teacher, customer service representative, nutritionist, thought leader, CEO, expert. Except for two or three results − dental hygienist, nurse and housekeeper − it delivered, again and again, a man. And not just a man, but a slim white man around his 30s with a crop of flowing brown hair.


In a later attempt, trying to get away from career bias, I asked ChatGPT to come up with different sorts of people for me: someone "smart", someone "successful", someone watching an opera, someone watching the show Love Is Blind, someone who quit their job to take care of the kids. Once again, over and over, I got the white guy with the lustrous hair.


Obviously, models like ChatGPT are learning based on the imagery that already exists. But, once again, this may perpetuate a vicious cycle: the more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves. And the more biased we become, the more we create and upload our own biased imagery.


So what can be done? A good deal of responsibility lies with the tech and AI companies. But even when their intentions are good, there doesn't seem to be an easy fix. In its attempt to correct for racial, gender and other biases, for example, Google's AI tool Gemini sometimes overcorrected − one image it generated of the US Founding Fathers included a black man, for example, while an image of German soldiers from World War Two featured a black man and an Asian woman.


In the meantime, we need to take control of shaping our digital visual world ourselves.


While it seems obvious, the fact that we can − to a certain extent − curate our social media feeds often goes overlooked. Seeking out accounts and influencers who are of different ethnic and racial backgrounds, or photographers from different parts of the woresults we get by altering the way we phrase the initial query.


The most effective strategy of all might be reclaiming our time. In the eponymous "digital detox plan" of art entrepreneur Marine Tanguy's book The Visual Detox: How to Consume Media Without Letting It Consume You, for example, there are no surprises, but some good, solid reminders − such as putting limits on when you look at a screen or your phone, deleting apps you aren't using, and spending time outside without technology.


I became aware recently that even my several-year-old phone has a timer you can switch on for various apps, choosing whatever time period per day you'd like. While I can't say that I've always heeded its warning when I hit my limit, it's helped me become much more aware of, and cut down on, my social media usage. As we have covered before, putting your phone in another room entirely seems to keep even the thought of checking it at bay.


Above all else, however, it may be awareness that is key. We don't often think about our visual consumption or consider how often we're surrounded by images that have been deliberately created and served to us, often to persuade us to purchase something.


Nor do we think about just how strange and new a phenomenon that is. For the vast majority of human evolutionary history − some 99% of the time we have been around − we wouldn't have seen many images within our own natural environment at all, save some cave paintings or handmade sculptures. While, in Europe, the Renaissance ushered in a new era of image production − which saw the rise of art markets and of artworks made for popular consumption, like printmaking − people still wouldn't have seen anywhere near the number of man-made images that we see today.


In the more than 100,000 generations since the Homo branch of the evolutionary tree emerged, we have evolved to spend far more time looking at the world (and people) around us than at images, never mind images on a screen. Perhaps, it seems, there is an argument for trying to incorporate more of that time away from our screens into our everyday lives today. 


https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20241101-how-online-photos-and-vid eos-alter-the-way-you-think 
 In the sentence "The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves," the author uses this structure to emphasize:
Alternativas
Q3118062 Inglês
How online photos and videos alter the way you think



The images we are exposed to on social media and internet websites have a surprising influence on the way we view the world.


Every day we are bombarded with digital images. They appear on our social media feeds, in our search results and the websites we browse. People send them to us via messaging apps or over email. By the end of today, billions more will have been uploaded and shared online.


With the average user spending 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on the internet, according to one report, these images make up a significant portion of our everyday visual input.


And, recent research indicates that they may even be influencing our perceptions.


One study published earlier this year analysed images on Google,Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database (IMBD), specifically looking at what genders predominated when they searched for different occupations − such as "farmer", "chief executive officer" or "TV reporter". The findings were stark. Although women were underrepresented overall, gender stereotypes were strong. Categories like "plumber", "developer", "investment banker" and "heart surgeon" were far more likely to be male. "Housekeeper", "nurse practitioner", "cheerleader" and "ballet dancer" tended to be female.


So far, so unsurprising. Anecdotally, I found the same phenomenon myself in 2019, when I was trying to find gender-balanced images for this website. Searching on Getty Creative, one of our main stock photo sites, I had found that photographs of male doctors outstripped female doctors by three to one − even though in the US, for example, physicians under 44 at the time were more likely to be female than male. This depiction of medical professionals were only part of the problem. There were twice as many options for photos of women with babies, or for that matter, of women with salads, as of men.


The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves


The latest study, however, took this a step further. Rather than just showing the extent of gender bias in online imagery, the researchers tested whether exposure to these images had any impact on people's own biases. In the experiment, 423 US participants used Google to search for different occupations. Two groups searched by text, using either Google or Google News; another group used Google Images, instead. (A control group also used Google, but to search for categories unrelated to occupations, like "apple" and "guitar"). Then all participants were given an "implicit association test", which measures implicit biases.


Compared to Googling text-based descriptions of occupations, the participants who used Google Images and received visual representations in response showed much higher rates of implicit gender bias after the experiment − both immediately after and three days later.


"The rise of images in popular internet culture may come at a critical social cost," the researchers write. "Our findings are especially alarming given that image-based social media platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok are surging in popularity, accelerating the mass production and circulation of images. In parallel, popular search engines such as Google are increasingly incorporating images into their core functionality, for example, by including images as a default part of text-based searches."


There's another growing problem, too: how the images already circulating online are informing and shaping AI models. Earlier this year, I experimented with this myself. I asked ChatGPT to create images for me of dozens of various professionals: doctor, lawyer, scientist, comedian, poet, teacher, customer service representative, nutritionist, thought leader, CEO, expert. Except for two or three results − dental hygienist, nurse and housekeeper − it delivered, again and again, a man. And not just a man, but a slim white man around his 30s with a crop of flowing brown hair.


In a later attempt, trying to get away from career bias, I asked ChatGPT to come up with different sorts of people for me: someone "smart", someone "successful", someone watching an opera, someone watching the show Love Is Blind, someone who quit their job to take care of the kids. Once again, over and over, I got the white guy with the lustrous hair.


Obviously, models like ChatGPT are learning based on the imagery that already exists. But, once again, this may perpetuate a vicious cycle: the more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves. And the more biased we become, the more we create and upload our own biased imagery.


So what can be done? A good deal of responsibility lies with the tech and AI companies. But even when their intentions are good, there doesn't seem to be an easy fix. In its attempt to correct for racial, gender and other biases, for example, Google's AI tool Gemini sometimes overcorrected − one image it generated of the US Founding Fathers included a black man, for example, while an image of German soldiers from World War Two featured a black man and an Asian woman.


In the meantime, we need to take control of shaping our digital visual world ourselves.


While it seems obvious, the fact that we can − to a certain extent − curate our social media feeds often goes overlooked. Seeking out accounts and influencers who are of different ethnic and racial backgrounds, or photographers from different parts of the woresults we get by altering the way we phrase the initial query.


The most effective strategy of all might be reclaiming our time. In the eponymous "digital detox plan" of art entrepreneur Marine Tanguy's book The Visual Detox: How to Consume Media Without Letting It Consume You, for example, there are no surprises, but some good, solid reminders − such as putting limits on when you look at a screen or your phone, deleting apps you aren't using, and spending time outside without technology.


I became aware recently that even my several-year-old phone has a timer you can switch on for various apps, choosing whatever time period per day you'd like. While I can't say that I've always heeded its warning when I hit my limit, it's helped me become much more aware of, and cut down on, my social media usage. As we have covered before, putting your phone in another room entirely seems to keep even the thought of checking it at bay.


Above all else, however, it may be awareness that is key. We don't often think about our visual consumption or consider how often we're surrounded by images that have been deliberately created and served to us, often to persuade us to purchase something.


Nor do we think about just how strange and new a phenomenon that is. For the vast majority of human evolutionary history − some 99% of the time we have been around − we wouldn't have seen many images within our own natural environment at all, save some cave paintings or handmade sculptures. While, in Europe, the Renaissance ushered in a new era of image production − which saw the rise of art markets and of artworks made for popular consumption, like printmaking − people still wouldn't have seen anywhere near the number of man-made images that we see today.


In the more than 100,000 generations since the Homo branch of the evolutionary tree emerged, we have evolved to spend far more time looking at the world (and people) around us than at images, never mind images on a screen. Perhaps, it seems, there is an argument for trying to incorporate more of that time away from our screens into our everyday lives today. 


https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20241101-how-online-photos-and-vid eos-alter-the-way-you-think 
According to the author, what role does "awareness" play in managing the influence of images? 
Alternativas
Q3118061 Inglês
How online photos and videos alter the way you think



The images we are exposed to on social media and internet websites have a surprising influence on the way we view the world.


Every day we are bombarded with digital images. They appear on our social media feeds, in our search results and the websites we browse. People send them to us via messaging apps or over email. By the end of today, billions more will have been uploaded and shared online.


With the average user spending 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on the internet, according to one report, these images make up a significant portion of our everyday visual input.


And, recent research indicates that they may even be influencing our perceptions.


One study published earlier this year analysed images on Google,Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database (IMBD), specifically looking at what genders predominated when they searched for different occupations − such as "farmer", "chief executive officer" or "TV reporter". The findings were stark. Although women were underrepresented overall, gender stereotypes were strong. Categories like "plumber", "developer", "investment banker" and "heart surgeon" were far more likely to be male. "Housekeeper", "nurse practitioner", "cheerleader" and "ballet dancer" tended to be female.


So far, so unsurprising. Anecdotally, I found the same phenomenon myself in 2019, when I was trying to find gender-balanced images for this website. Searching on Getty Creative, one of our main stock photo sites, I had found that photographs of male doctors outstripped female doctors by three to one − even though in the US, for example, physicians under 44 at the time were more likely to be female than male. This depiction of medical professionals were only part of the problem. There were twice as many options for photos of women with babies, or for that matter, of women with salads, as of men.


The more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves


The latest study, however, took this a step further. Rather than just showing the extent of gender bias in online imagery, the researchers tested whether exposure to these images had any impact on people's own biases. In the experiment, 423 US participants used Google to search for different occupations. Two groups searched by text, using either Google or Google News; another group used Google Images, instead. (A control group also used Google, but to search for categories unrelated to occupations, like "apple" and "guitar"). Then all participants were given an "implicit association test", which measures implicit biases.


Compared to Googling text-based descriptions of occupations, the participants who used Google Images and received visual representations in response showed much higher rates of implicit gender bias after the experiment − both immediately after and three days later.


"The rise of images in popular internet culture may come at a critical social cost," the researchers write. "Our findings are especially alarming given that image-based social media platforms such as Instagram, Snapchat and TikTok are surging in popularity, accelerating the mass production and circulation of images. In parallel, popular search engines such as Google are increasingly incorporating images into their core functionality, for example, by including images as a default part of text-based searches."


There's another growing problem, too: how the images already circulating online are informing and shaping AI models. Earlier this year, I experimented with this myself. I asked ChatGPT to create images for me of dozens of various professionals: doctor, lawyer, scientist, comedian, poet, teacher, customer service representative, nutritionist, thought leader, CEO, expert. Except for two or three results − dental hygienist, nurse and housekeeper − it delivered, again and again, a man. And not just a man, but a slim white man around his 30s with a crop of flowing brown hair.


In a later attempt, trying to get away from career bias, I asked ChatGPT to come up with different sorts of people for me: someone "smart", someone "successful", someone watching an opera, someone watching the show Love Is Blind, someone who quit their job to take care of the kids. Once again, over and over, I got the white guy with the lustrous hair.


Obviously, models like ChatGPT are learning based on the imagery that already exists. But, once again, this may perpetuate a vicious cycle: the more biased images AI models themselves spit out, the more we see; the more we see, the more implicitly biased we become ourselves. And the more biased we become, the more we create and upload our own biased imagery.


So what can be done? A good deal of responsibility lies with the tech and AI companies. But even when their intentions are good, there doesn't seem to be an easy fix. In its attempt to correct for racial, gender and other biases, for example, Google's AI tool Gemini sometimes overcorrected − one image it generated of the US Founding Fathers included a black man, for example, while an image of German soldiers from World War Two featured a black man and an Asian woman.


In the meantime, we need to take control of shaping our digital visual world ourselves.


While it seems obvious, the fact that we can − to a certain extent − curate our social media feeds often goes overlooked. Seeking out accounts and influencers who are of different ethnic and racial backgrounds, or photographers from different parts of the woresults we get by altering the way we phrase the initial query.


The most effective strategy of all might be reclaiming our time. In the eponymous "digital detox plan" of art entrepreneur Marine Tanguy's book The Visual Detox: How to Consume Media Without Letting It Consume You, for example, there are no surprises, but some good, solid reminders − such as putting limits on when you look at a screen or your phone, deleting apps you aren't using, and spending time outside without technology.


I became aware recently that even my several-year-old phone has a timer you can switch on for various apps, choosing whatever time period per day you'd like. While I can't say that I've always heeded its warning when I hit my limit, it's helped me become much more aware of, and cut down on, my social media usage. As we have covered before, putting your phone in another room entirely seems to keep even the thought of checking it at bay.


Above all else, however, it may be awareness that is key. We don't often think about our visual consumption or consider how often we're surrounded by images that have been deliberately created and served to us, often to persuade us to purchase something.


Nor do we think about just how strange and new a phenomenon that is. For the vast majority of human evolutionary history − some 99% of the time we have been around − we wouldn't have seen many images within our own natural environment at all, save some cave paintings or handmade sculptures. While, in Europe, the Renaissance ushered in a new era of image production − which saw the rise of art markets and of artworks made for popular consumption, like printmaking − people still wouldn't have seen anywhere near the number of man-made images that we see today.


In the more than 100,000 generations since the Homo branch of the evolutionary tree emerged, we have evolved to spend far more time looking at the world (and people) around us than at images, never mind images on a screen. Perhaps, it seems, there is an argument for trying to incorporate more of that time away from our screens into our everyday lives today. 


https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20241101-how-online-photos-and-vid eos-alter-the-way-you-think 
What can be inferred about the impact of social media images on viewers, according to the article?
Alternativas
Q3116797 Inglês
In linguistic theory, the concept of "Universal Grammar" is most closely associated with which of the following theorists, who argued that certain grammatical structures are innate to all humans?
Alternativas
Q3116796 Inglês
The Base Nacional Comum Curricular (BNCC) emphasizes formative assessment as a key strategy to support student progress. Which of the following practices best aligns with formative assessment principles in the English language classroom?
Alternativas
Q3116790 Inglês
A teacher wishes to apply the principles of Communicative Language Teaching (CLT) in a high school English class. Which of the following activities would best align with CLT methodologies?
Alternativas
Q3116789 Inglês
Consider the following analysis of the word "antidisestablishmentarianism." In terms of morphemic structure, which of the following statements best describes its composition?
Alternativas
Q3116786 Inglês
A teacher is preparing her students to understand pragmatic differences in English communication across cultures. She plans to discuss how polite requests are phrased differently in British and American English. Which of the following would be the most effective example to illustrate this difference?
Alternativas
Q3116495 Inglês
In a public school, a teacher notices that a student is being favored by another educator, who frequently gives him grades higher than he deserves and treats him preferentially in activities and assessments. At the same time, the teacher knows that a formal complaint could harm relationships within the teaching staff and even create a hostile environment for both him and the student. Considering the ethical principles of the profession, what is the most appropriate attitude the teacher should adopt?
Alternativas
Q3116494 Inglês
A teacher is aware that a 15-year-old student is experiencing serious family problems, including neglect and emotional abuse. The student confided this situation to the teacher in a moment of fragility, asking her not to share this information with other people. However, the teacher is concerned about the student's wellbeing and considers the need to share the case with the school's social assistance service. Based on the ethical and legal principles that govern the teaching profession, what would be the most appropriate action?
Alternativas
Q3116493 Inglês
A pedagogical coordinator notices that a teacher on the team has been giving extra classes and private guidance, outside of school hours, to a restricted group of students who pay for these classes. The coordinator is aware that this exclusive service is favoring only some students to the detriment of others. In this sense, the most ethical approach that the pedagogical coordinator should adopt is:
Alternativas
Q3116492 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

According to the story of Bir Tawil, different individuals have used social media to share their experiences of "claiming" this land. What does this reflect about the modern use of social media in personal narratives?
Alternativas
Q3116491 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

When using international stories like Bir Tawil's in the English curriculum, what educational value can they bring to students?
Alternativas
Q3116490 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

Based on the text, how does the story of Jeremiah Heaton's claim to Bir Tawil illustrate intercultural concepts in a globalized world?
Alternativas
Q3116489 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

Imagine you are using the story of Bir Tawil to introduce students to reading comprehension in English. Which approach would be most effective to support young learners' understanding?
Alternativas
Q3116488 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

In the text, it is stated that the journey to Bir Tawil is "lengthy" and involves careful planning. Choose the word that is closest in meaning to "lengthy" in this context.
Alternativas
Q3116487 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

What can be inferred about the general attitude of the international community towards the self-declared "kingdoms" established in Bir Tawil?
Alternativas
Q3116486 Inglês

NO MAN'S LAND


Mystery of world's only stretch of unclaimed land with NO laws that farmer tried to seize to make daughter a princess


Hidden deep in the African desert lies one of the strangest pieces of land on Earth — not for its beauty, wealth, or strategic value, but because no country wants it.


Bir Tawil is a 2,060-square-kilometre patch of barren desert between Egypt and Sudan, which remains an unusual geopolitical anomaly after decades of being unclaimed.


Those daring to go there face a tough journey, driving through remote desert roads past relics of gold mines and, at times, crossing paths with armed gangs and bandits.


Bir Tawil has long been a quirky favourite for small, often tongue-in-cheek, self-declared "countries" - usually founded by ordinary people across the globe.


With no laws, the land has even drawn would-be "kings," including a US dad who trekked there to fulfil his young daughter's wish of becoming a princess.


Jeremiah Heaton, a Virginia farmer, planted a flag and declared Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" so that his daughter Emily could have a royal title. While the move had no legal bearing, it sparked global interest and debate over land claims and the nature of sovereignty. 


As the dad tells it, Emily had casually asked if she could be a princess, and Heaton, wanting to make her dream come true, started looking for a way to make that happen. While most parents might have gently explained the impracticality of such a request, Heaton took it as a challenge. He began researching unclaimed land where he could theoretically establish a kingdom for Emily, at the time aged six.


In June 2014, Heaton headed to northeastern Africa, reaching Bir Tawil after a challenging journey through the desert. With a homemade blue flag bearing a crown symbol and the name "Heaton," he ceremoniously planted it in the sand, declaring Bir Tawil the "Kingdom of North Sudan" and himself its king. He immediately proclaimed Emily to be a princess, therefore "granting" her the royal title she had wished for.


In 2017, Suyash Dixit, an IT entrepreneur from Indore, India, also claimed Bir Tawil as his own, naming it the "Kingdom of Dixit." After a challenging journey across the desert, he planted a flag, declared himself king, and even "appointed" his father as prime minister. He posted his claim and experience on social media, where it garnered significant attention and sparked a wave of jokes and memes.


There are rumours, though largely unsubstantiated, that Bir Tawil contains hidden gold deposits.


While Egypt and Sudan have both had ancient ties to gold mining, particularly in the Nubian Desert, Bir Tawil itself is rarely studied or mined. These rumours, however, have attracted a few treasure hunters and adventurers over the years, hoping to uncover hidden riches in the desert.


Some have even joked about Bir Tawil as a potential "backup homeland" for populations affected by natural disasters. While obviously impractical, the idea underscores the paradox of unclaimed land in a time when territorial disputes are common.


Despite several stunts and theories, Bir Tawil remains unclaimed due to a unique border dispute between Egypt and Sudan.


The journey to Bir Tawil is lengthy and can take anywhere from two days to a week, depending on the starting point, route, and conditions. Due to its isolation and extreme desert environment, the journey requires careful planning, local knowledge, and permission from authorities in Egypt or Sudan.


Most travellers begin in Aswan, Egypt, or Khartoum, Sudan, as these are the nearest large cities with transportation infrastructure. From Aswan, the trip typically involves a long desert drive heading southward toward the Egypt-Sudan border.


Both countries monitor the border area closely, with visitors needing permits and a good guide familiar with the region. Egypt, in particular, restricts movement near the border, especially in sensitive zones close to the Hala'ib Triangle.


The trip to Bir Tawil from either Egypt or Sudan covers hundreds of kilometres across remote, rugged desert terrain. Explorers often follow dirt tracks used by nomadic tribes, miners, or military patrols, though few roads are mapped or maintained. The drive can take days and usually involves off-road vehicles capable of handling deep sand and rough trails.


There are no towns, water sources, or services along the way, so travellers must bring ample water, food, fuel, and spare parts. And to make matters worse, armed gangs, smugglers, and bandits often prey upon those venturing in the desert, particularly along less-monitored routes.


The origins of this unclaimed desert stretch back to British colonial rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when overlapping boundary lines inadvertently left Bir Tawil in a legal limbo.


In 1899, while both Egypt and Sudan were under British administration, a formal border was established along the 22nd parallel north. This placed Bir Tawil, an arid and resource-poor patch of desert, in Egyptian territory, while a more valuable area, the Hala'ib Triangle, was assigned to Sudan.


But in 1902, the British changed the boundary to fit the local tribes' movements, putting Bir Tawil in Sudan instead and giving Egypt control over the fertile Hala'ib Triangle.


When Egypt and Sudan became independent, each country wanted the Hala'ib Triangle because it has good land and access to the Red Sea.


Egypt claims it based on the 1899 line, while Sudan uses the 1902 line to support its claim. Bir Tawil, a barren desert with no resources, has no value to either country.


To claim the Hala'ib Triangle, each country must reject Bir Tawil — because they can't claim both under their chosen boundary line. So by claiming Hala'ib, they essentially "give away" Bir Tawil, leaving it unwanted.


The territory is therefore unclaimed because Egypt and Sudan only want the valuable land next to it, not Bir Tawil itself.


For now, Bir Tawil endures as a strange relic of colonial history and an unlikely symbol of modern-day geopolitics — a land still ungoverned and, in all likelihood, destined to remain unclaimed.


Source:

https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-bel ongs-to-no-nation/ (adapted)


https://www.thesun.co.uk/news/30658172/bir-tawil-land-that-belongs-to-no-nation/

Bir Tawil's unusual status has led to informal online discussions and jokes. What communication skill can be practiced by exploring this aspect with students?
Alternativas
Respostas
7141: C
7142: A
7143: C
7144: C
7145: B
7146: A
7147: C
7148: C
7149: C
7150: B
7151: B
7152: D
7153: C
7154: C
7155: A
7156: D
7157: D
7158: D
7159: A
7160: A