invented

For decades, men in many countries were expected to spend two or even three months’ salary on a diamond engagement ring. This notion – and the iconic status of this gem – did not come about by accident.

The story goes back to 1870, when an Oxford University dropout named Cecil Rhodes set off to try his luck in the Cape Colony – modern-day South Africa, then a key British domain.

Seeing the burgeoning diamond mining sector there, he began renting water pumps to diamond prospectors to prevent flooding of the mines. Then, over the next 20 years, Rhodes and his partner Charles Rudd proceeded to buy out hundreds, and then thousands, of small mines and “claims” – landholdings believed to contain diamonds – often for a pittance when their owners faced bankruptcy. Most miners were small operators, and Rhodes and Rudd had access to serious financial capital – notably the Rothschild banking empire – through their connections in London. As the two partners combined claims into larger mining units, overhead costs were reduced, and operations became more profitable.

The partners incorporated as De Beers Consolidated Mines, De Beers being the name of one of the mines they took over. By 1888, the company had a near-monopoly of South African claims and active diamond mines. With diamonds making up more than 25 percent of South African exports in 1900, De Beers became a powerhouse of the country’s economy, controlling some 90 percent of the world’s total diamond supply. Rhodes himself became a leading imperial figure, serving as prime minister of the Cape Colony from 1890 to 1896.

De Beers was founded upon the racist policies of South Africa, which at the time was ruled by a white minority. The diamonds were extracted by Black miners earning subsistence wages, while De Beers’s white, European-origin shareholders enjoyed the profits.

Following Rhodes’s death in 1902, control of De Beers ultimately passed to German-born entrepreneur Ernest Oppenheimer. Oppenheimer used a combination of financial incentives, strategic pressure, and diplomacy to persuade diamond suppliers in other countries to sell exclusively through the London-based and De Beers-owned “Central Selling Organization” (CSO), which in the 1930s became the unified sales channel for virtually all the world’s pre-cut diamonds. This enabled De Beers to stockpile diamonds, strictly control the release of stones to the global market, and effectively control prices – thereby creating an illusion of diamond scarcity worldwide.

Meanwhile, De Beers sought to enhance global demand for diamonds. In 1946, the company hired NW Ayer, a Philadelphia-based advertising agency, which one year later came up with the legendary slogan, “A diamond is forever”. This reframed the diamond and, specifically, the diamond engagement ring, as a symbol of “eternal love”. Through mass advertising, product placements in films, and celebrity PR – for example, lending jewellery to actors for major events – the campaign transformed the diamond market in the US, Europe and Japan.

Lasting 64 years, until 2011, this campaign was an astounding global success, with Ad Age magazine naming “A diamond is forever” as the top advertisement slogan of the 20th century. De Beers had manufactured a social norm, with the diamond engagement ring becoming almost mandatory in every developed market. While previously, a fiance might give a locket, a string of pearls, or a family heirloom to his intended, the number of American brides with a diamond ring climbed from 10 percent in 1940 to some 80 percent in 1980. In Japan, this figure rose from less than 5 percent in 1960 to 60 percent by 1981.

By the early 1950s, a diamond ring typically cost about $170 – about $2,300 in today’s money. De Beers advertisements initially suggested spending one month’s salary on an engagement ring, but by the 1980s, they were posing the question: “How can you make two months’ salary last forever?” Consumers appeared undeterred by the fact that a diamond’s resale value was typically just 50 percent of its original retail price (in contrast to gold, which has an “official” benchmark price set twice-daily).

By the time Marilyn Monroe sang “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend” in 1953 and the James Bond film “Diamonds Are Forever” was released in 1971, the diamond had become an icon.

‘Cartel behaviour’

By the late 1970s, De Beers was annually distributing some 50 million diamond carats, with sales of more than $2bn in the US alone.

But as the 1980s rolled around, problems started to emerge for the company.

De Beers came under increasing scrutiny as the anti-apartheid movement gained momentum in Europe and the United States. Reports of its working conditions were shocking: low pay for mineworkers, minimum safety training and crowded dormitory housing surrounded by barbed wire and security checkpoints. This negative publicity put De Beers firmly in the spotlight as one of the prime beneficiaries of apartheid.

De Beers had already fought off allegations of “cartel behaviour” from the US Department of Justice. But in 1994, the company was indicted by a US grand jury on price-fixing charges. The company was barred from doing business in the US, where its executives could no longer set foot for fear of arrest.

In the late 1990s, reports that the diamond trade was financing brutal civil wars in Angola, Sierra Leone and the Democratic Republic of Congo further soured consumer sentiment.

Rebel groups targeted “alluvial” diamond mines – relatively easy-to-extract surface deposits, often in riverbeds – selling stones into the informal “grey” market and using the profits to buy weapons. The phrase “blood diamonds” entered the lexicon as investigative articles depicted enslaved children with pickaxes and shovels. De Beers was accused of turning a blind eye, if not outright complicity. The company’s sales declined more than 20 percent in two years, from about $5.7bn in 1999 to $4.45bn in 2001, with other diamond suppliers such as Angola’s Endiama and Russia’s Alrosa equally affected.

But since the early 1990s, changes had been afoot at De Beers. Facing pressure from South Africa’s newly elected African National Congress (ANC), it had introduced better conditions and wages for its mainly Black mineworkers. At the same time, Black South Africans also began to occupy some management roles.

Meanwhile, the US indictment meant the company had no choice but to terminate its CSO in 2000, ushering in competition from other producers. Diamond prices, no longer set and dictated by the CSO, became more volatile, subject to fluctuating demand, economic cycles, and geopolitical conditions.

To counter the blood diamond backlash, De Beers helped implement the “Kimberley Process” in 2003, through which diamond dealers can trace the origin of diamonds and authenticate “clean’’ diamonds with a microscopic stamp.

Not forever?

Today, natural diamonds may have lost some of their allure with the rise of “lab-grown” stones and “diamond simulants” such as cubic zirconia, which are up to 90 percent cheaper than the mined variety and often distinguishable from the real thing only by experts using specialised equipment.

Over the past two years, the diamond industry has been hit by a “perfect storm” of cheaper synthetic stones, weak consumer demand in the US and China, sanctions against Russia and, more recently, high US tariffs. This has had a widespread adverse impact: the Antwerp World Diamond Centre (AWDC) reported that rough diamond imports dropped 35 percent in 2024, with overall trade declining by 25 percent year-on-year (from $32.5bn to $24.4bn) – and in the Indian gem processing hub of Surat, at least 50,000 diamond workers were rendered jobless in 2024. At least 80 diamond workers in India have died by suicide in the past two years.

In 2011, the Oppenheimer family sold its interest in De Beers to the London-based mining corporation Anglo American, another major shareholder, for just over $5bn. De Beers is now once more up for sale, again with a $5bn price tag, as Anglo American seeks to exit the declining diamond market in favour of copper, iron ore and rare earth minerals.

Despite the volatile market conditions, total global consumer diamond sales were valued at approximately $100bn in 2024, with the average price of $6,750 for a diamond ring in the US, according to the Natural Diamond Council – about 1.3 months’ standard wage in the United States, but about eight months’ worth of the global median income. For those of greater means, London’s Harrods reportedly has a 228.31 carat, pear-shaped diamond available to view by private appointment – with a price estimated to be in excess of $30m.

This article is part of “Ordinary items, extraordinary stories”, a series about the surprising stories behind well-known items. 

Read more from the series:

How the inventor of the bouncy castle saved lives

How a popular Peruvian soft drink went ‘toe-to-toe’ with Coca-Cola

How a drowning victim became a lifesaving icon

How a father’s love and a pandemic created a household name

How Nigerians reinvented an Italian tinned tomato brand

How a children’s chocolate drink became a symbol of French colonialism

It was my childhood dream to study medicine. I wanted to be a doctor to help people. I never imagined that I would study medicine not in a university, but in a hospital; not from textbooks, but from raw experience.

After I finished my BA in English last year, I decided to enrol in the medical faculty of al-Azhar University. I started my studies at the end of June. With all universities in Gaza destroyed, we, medical students, are forced to watch lectures on our mobile phones and read medical books under the light of our mobile phones’ flashlights.

Part of our training is to receive lectures from older medical students, who the genocidal war has forced into practice prematurely.

My first such lecture was by a fifth-year medical student called Dr Khaled at Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in Deir el-Balah.

Al-Aqsa looks nothing like a normal hospital. There are no spacious white rooms or privacy for the patients. The corridor is the room, patients lie on beds or the floor, and their groans echo throughout the building.

Due to the overcrowding, we have to take our lectures in a caravan in the hospital yard.

“I’ll teach you what I learned not from lectures,” Dr Khaled began, “but from days when medicine was [something] you had to invent.”

He started with basics: check breathing, open the airway, and perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation (CPR). But soon, the lesson shifted into something no normal syllabus would have: how to save a life with nothing.

Dr Khaled told us about a recent case: a young man pulled from beneath the rubble – legs shattered, head bleeding. The standard protocol is to immobilise the neck with a stabiliser before moving the patient.

But there was no stabiliser. No splint. No nothing.

So Dr Khaled did what no medical textbook would teach: he sat on the ground, cradled the man’s head between his knees, and held it perfectly still for 20 minutes until equipment arrived.

“That day,” he said, “I wasn’t a student. I was the brace. I was the tool.”

While the supervising doctor was preparing the operating room, Dr Khaled did not move, even when his muscles began aching, because that was all he could do to prevent further injury.

This story was not the only one we heard from Dr Khaled about improvised medical solutions.

There was one which was particularly painful to hear.

A woman in her early thirties was brought into the hospital with a deep pelvic injury. Her flesh was torn. She needed urgent surgery. But first, the wound had to be sterilised.

There was no Betadine. No alcohol. No clean tools. Only chlorine.

Yes, chlorine. The same chemical that burns the skin and stings the eyes.

She was unconscious. There was no alternative. They poured the chlorine in.

Dr Khaled told us this story with a voice that trembled with guilt.

“We used chlorine,” he said, not looking at us. “Not because we didn’t know better. But because there was nothing else.”

We were shocked by what we heard, but perhaps not surprised. Many of us had heard stories of desperate measures doctors in Gaza had had to take. Many of us had seen the gut-wrenching video of Dr Hani Bseiso operating on his niece on a dining table.

Last year, Dr Hani, an orthopaedic surgeon from al-Shifa Medical Complex, found himself in an impossible situation when his 17-year-old niece, Ahed, was injured in an Israeli air strike. They were trapped in their apartment building in Gaza City, unable to move, as the Israeli army had besieged the area.

Ahed’s leg was mangled beyond repair and she was bleeding. Dr Hani did not have much choice.

There was no anaesthesia. No surgical instruments. Only a kitchen knife, a pot with a little water, and a plastic bag.

Ahed lay on the dining table, her face pale and eyes half-closed, while her uncle – his own eyes brimming with tears – prepared to amputate her leg. The moment was captured on video.

“Look,” he cried, voice breaking, “I am amputating her leg without anaesthesia! Where is the mercy? Where is humanity?”

He worked quickly, hands trembling but precise, his surgical training colliding with the raw horror of the moment.

This scene has been repeated countless times across Gaza, as even young children have had to go through amputations without anaesthesia. And we, as medical students, are learning that this could be our reality; that we, too, may have to operate on a relative or a child while watching and hearing their unbearable pain.

But perhaps the hardest lesson we are learning is when not to treat – when the wounds are beyond saving and resources must be spent on those who still have a chance of survival. In other countries, this is a theoretical ethical discussion. Here, it is a decision we need to learn how to make because we may soon have to make it ourselves.

Dr Khaled told us: “In medical school, they teach you to save everyone. In Gaza, you learn you can’t – and you have to live with that.”

This is what it means to be a doctor in Gaza today: to carry the inhuman weight of knowing you cannot save everyone and to keep going; to develop a superhuman level of emotional endurance to absorb loss after loss without breaking and without losing one’s own humanity.

These people continue to treat and teach, even when they are exhausted, even when they are starving.

One day, midway through a trauma lecture, our instructor, Dr Ahmad, stopped mid-sentence, leaned on the table, and sat down. He whispered, “I just need a minute. My sugar’s low.”

We all knew he hadn’t eaten since the previous day. The war is not only depleting medicine – it is consuming the very bodies and minds of those who try to heal others. And we, the students, are learning in real time that medicine here is not just about knowledge and skills. It is about surviving long enough to use them.

Being a doctor in Gaza means reinventing medicine every day with what is available to you, treating without tools, resuscitating without equipment, and bandaging with your own body.

It is not just a crisis of resources. It is a moral test.

And in that test, the wounds run deep – through flesh, through dignity, through hope itself.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

IT was 1984 and newly qualified doctor Daniel Drucker was excited to dive into the world of ­scientific research.

Fresh out of the University of Toronto Medical School, the 28-year-old was working at a lab in Boston in the US when his supervisor asked him to carry out a routine experiment — which proved to be anything but.

5

5

For it led to Dr Drucker’s discovery of a previously unknown hormone, sparking a new era in medicine.

What he modestly calls a “happy accident” then kick-started a series of ­discoveries that made today’s game-changing weight loss jabs a reality.

The hormone was called glucagon-like peptide 1 — or GLP-1, as the world now knows it.

And the drugs that have resulted from its discovery have produced amazing effects — with users losing up to a fifth of their body weight.

So far around 50,000 of us have been prescribed jabs on the NHS for weight loss, but it is ­estimated around 1.5million people here are buying them privately — a figure that is expected to rise sharply.

Dr Drucker, now 69, tells The Sun: “I never felt like I was on the brink of something huge.

“It was just a fantastic stroke of luck to be in the right place at the right time and to be part of an ­innovation that could improve the health of hundreds of millions of people all over the world.”

The drugs are now being hailed as a possible cure for a range of other conditions too, including dementia and migraine.

But Dr Drucker warns: “We need to be cautious, respect what we don’t know, and not rush into thinking these medicines are right for everyone.

‘Full of hope’

“There could be side-effects we haven’t seen yet, especially in groups we haven’t properly studied.”

Some studies have also raised concerns about gallbladder problems and in rare cases, even ­suicidal thoughts.

GLP-1 was found to play a key role in regulating the appetite and blood sugar levels, by slowing digestion and signalling a feeling of fullness to the brain.

Fat jabs such as Mounjaro and Wegovy contain synthetic versions of GLP-1, tirzepatide and semaglutide, which mimic the natural hormone with astonishing, fat-busting results.

Originally these drugs — known as GLP-1 agonists — were licensed to treat Type 2 diabetes, due to their ability to stimulate the body’s production of insulin, which cuts high blood glucose levels.

But over the past 15 years, after studies ­confirmed the potential to tackle obesity, pharmaceutical firms have reapplied to have the drugs approved as weight loss treatments.

And now evidence is emerging almost daily to suggest these drugs could help treat and even prevent other chronic and degenerative diseases.

Hundreds of scientific trials are under way, and Dr Drucker is “full of hope”, adding that he would consider taking the drugs himself, to ward off ­Alzheimer’s disease.

He says: “I think the next five years is going to be massive. These drugs won’t fix everything, but if they help even half the ­conditions we are testing them for, we could finally find ­treatments for conditions once thought untreatable.”

Decades after his discovery, Dr Drucker is now a professor of ­medicine at the University of Toronto, and a senior investigator at the affiliated Lunenfeld-Tanenbaum Research Institute, where GLP-1 research now fills his life.

He says: “Every morning I turn on my phone and check what’s happened overnight — what new ­discovery has been made, what could this hormone cure or treat.”

Even so, in May UK health chiefs warned that the jabs must not be taken during pregnancy or in the two months before conception, after studies of animals found that semaglutide can cause ­pregnancy loss and birth defects.

But with human use, no such ­danger has been ­confirmed, Dr Drucker says, and dozens of women have ­conceived while taking them.

5

5

Some scientists even believe GLP-1 drugs may boost ­fertility, and could become a go-to for infertility treatment.

Dr Drucker, listed in Time magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in 2024, says: “It wouldn’t surprise me if five years from now, once we have more clinical trial evidence, if we start recommending these medicines to help people get pregnant, and have safer pregnancies.”

It is exciting stuff, but Dr Drucker admits he also worries about people using the drugs for the wrong ­reasons — such as slim, young women in pursuit of unrealistic beauty ideals on social media.

He says: “If I’ve got a 17-year-old who wants to lose another five per cent of her body weight to look like some celebrity, that’s a real concern.

“We haven’t studied 10,000 teenage girls on these drugs over five years. We don’t know how they affect bones, fertility, mental health or development in the long term.”

Last year model Lottie Moss, sister of supermodel Kate, revealed she had ended up in hospital after a seizure linked to high doses of weight loss drug Ozempic.

I think the next five years will be massive. These drugs won’t fix everything, but if they help even half the conditions we are testing for, we could find treatments for conditions thought untreatable

Dr Daniel Drucker

A nurse told her the dose she had been injecting was meant for someone twice her size.

Dr Drucker warned that older adults, people with eating disorders and those with mental health ­conditions may respond differently to the drugs.

He says: “We’re still ­learning, and just because a medicine works well in one group doesn’t mean it is safe for everyone.”

One of the biggest risks is dehydration, which OnlyFans star Lottie blamed for her seizure.

Dr Drucker says: “Some people experience nausea and vomiting, which can lead to dehydration, and that in itself can be dangerous.”
He also warns that losing weight too quickly can reduce muscle mass and bone density, which is especially risky for older people.

He adds: “This is why it is important people only take these drugs when being monitored by medical professionals, so they can be properly assessed for side-effects and receive the safest, most effective care.”

5

So far at least 85 people in the UK have died after taking weight loss jabs, according to reports sent to the Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency watchdog.

While none of the deaths has been definitively linked to the drugs, health bodies noted a “suspicion” that they may have played a role.

Dr Drucker says: “Reports like these can raise flags, but without proper comparison groups they don’t tell the full story.

‘Drugs aren’t candy’

“In fact, large trials show GLP-1 drugs actually reduce death rates in people with Type 2 diabetes and those with obesity and heart disease.

“So far, the evidence looks solid and reassuring.”

With millions of patients treated over the years, GLP-1s have a well-established safety record for diabetes and obesity.

But Dr Drucker warns that for newer uses, such as ­Alzheimer’s, fatty liver disease or sleep apnoea, we need more data.

He says: “I don’t think there are any hidden, terrifying side-effects waiting to be uncovered.

“But that doesn’t mean people should take them lightly. We don’t yet have 20 years of experience ­treating some of these ­conditions.

“We need to approach each new indication with appropriate caution, to really understand the benefits ­versus the potential risks.

“These drugs aren’t candy, they won’t fix everything — and like all medicines they have side-effects.

“I don’t think we should abandon our focus on safety. We need to move carefully and thoughtfully as this field evolves.”

I’m not struggling with Type 2 diabetes or obesity, but I do have a family history of ­Alzheimer’s. I’m watching the trials closely and, depending on the results, I wouldn’t rule out taking them in the future

Dr Daniel Drucker

He continues: “I’m not struggling with Type 2 diabetes or obesity, but I do have a family history of ­Alzheimer’s. I’m watching the trials closely and, depending on the results, I wouldn’t rule out taking them in the future.

“I have friends from college who are already showing early signs of cognitive decline, and there’s hope that in some cases, ­semaglutide might help to slow it.”

Several studies over the years ­support that theory.

A recent study by a US university found that the jabs could prevent Alzheimer’s-related changes in people with Type 2 diabetes.

Separate research from Taiwan found that people on GLP-1 agonist drugs appeared to have a 37 per cent lower risk of dementia.

Dr Drucker now regularly receives messages from people around the world whose lives have been changed by the drugs his lab helped to create.

He says: “I get tons of stories. ­People send me emails and photos, not just showing their weight loss, but how their health has changed in other ways too.”

Some say the jabs have helped their chronic pain, cleared brain fog or improved long-standing health conditions such as ulcerative colitis or arthritis.

Dr Drucker adds: “It’s incredibly heartwarming and I never get tired of hearing these stories.”

But for him there is even deeper meaning attached to his discovery.

His 97-year-old mother Cila, ­originally from Poland, survived the Holocaust, spending months as a child hiding in the family’s attic before they were captured and held in a ghetto, where her mother and sister were later shot dead.

At the end of the war in 1945 she became a refugee in Palestine, then in 1953 she emigrated to Canada, first settling in Montreal then making Toronto her home in the 1990s.

Dr Drucker says his work has helped to ease Cila’s survivor’s guilt which had consumed her for decades.

He says: “She looks at my work and she’s so proud of how many people it could potentially help.”

Thales

Primary Engineer

TIME

TIME

Who are the other 2025 Time girls of the year?

Women’s History Museum Zambia

Women’s History Museum Zambia

Women’s History Museum Zambia

Women’s History Museum Zambia

National Museums of World Cultures

More BBC stories on Zambia:

Getty Images/BBC