Across the Western world, attitudes towards illegal drugs appear to be slowly softening. In the US, a number of states have now decriminalised the possession of cannabis for personal use, as have Spain, the Netherlands and the Czech Republic in Europe, though different rules apply in each country. Portugal has decriminalised possession of all drugs and usage there has not gone up, but drug-related disease and death have declined.

That said, the trend has not been one-way: in the Netherlands, for example, laws related to cannabis have been tightened up in recent years. In the UK in 2003, cannabis possession was downgraded to a lower level of criminal offence, only for the government to swiftly reverse the policy the following year. In many other countries, like Sweden, there is a zero-tolerance approach to drugs.

Yet it is also clear that societies in general have a much more relaxed approach to drug-taking than in the past. Where once it was a career-ending scandal for high-profile celebrities to be caught taking drugs, now it seems their reputations can be quickly rehabilitated. For example, in 2005, the model Kate Moss made newspaper headlines after being caught on camera taking cocaine, yet was soon signing lucrative modelling contracts again.

However, while there has been some softening of legal and social attitudes to illegal drugs, many currently legal substances have experienced greater regulation. Smoking is banned indoors in almost every country in Europe now. In New York, smoking outdoors is banned in public parks and other civic spaces, a policy that is gaining interest in the UK and other countries, too. Snus, while legal in Sweden, is banned across the rest of the EU. The Scottish and Irish governments want to introduce minimum unit prices for alcohol to counteract the availability of ‘cheap’ booze (which is already heavily taxed) and younger adults are now routinely asked for identification before being able to purchase alcohol. The UK government’s former drugs adviser argues for decriminalising cannabis, which encourages passivity, while restricting alcohol, which encourages rowdiness.

Even e-cigarettes, which are designed to be a much safer alternative to tobacco smoking, have been subject to bans and stiff regulation. While e-cigs containing nicotine are legal in the UK, vaping with nicotine is effectively banned in Sweden. The EU’s new Tobacco Products Directive will treat e-cigs the same as tobacco products, including a ban on advertising. Yet the UK government’s main public health body has argued for the wider use of e-cigarettes, which it believes are 95 per cent safer than tobacco cigarettes.

Are these trends contradictory? Why have some states relaxed laws on ‘hard’ drugs and cannabis while making it harder to drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes? Does this reflect the rise in influence of public health – where mortality rates trump both morality and personal choice? Have trends for a more liberal society, a hangover from the Sixties, now come to an end? And how should we think of drugs morally? Is it wrong to criticise those who prefer to get ‘wasted’ than getting on with life?

In 2011, the Occupy Movement launched in New York in protest at the increasing wealth of the ‘1%’ – at the expense, it was claimed, of everyone else. After the global economic crisis, many campaigners demanded that multinational corporations and wealthy financiers – ‘fat cats’ – should contribute more to society through taxation. In 2014, the left-leaning French economist Thomas Piketty had a surprise international bestseller in 2014 with Capital in the Twenty-First Century, which suggested that inequality was likely to continue to grow, while UK aid charity Oxfam caused a stir with the claim that the 85 richest people globally have as much wealth as the poorest half of the world’s population.

But concerns about inequality are by no means limited to radicals. In 2013, Christine Lagarde, managing director of the International Monetary Fund (IMF), declared ‘Excessive inequality is corrosive to growth; it is corrosive to society.’ It is a theme that has been popular among many politicians, too. In 2012, US President Obama called inequality ‘the defining issue of our time’. Sweden’s prime minister, Stefan Löfven, has linked inequality to the rise of the far-right, claiming ‘the increasing support of the Swedish Democrats is not a result of growing racism or even widespread xenophobia, but rather a result of wider and wider gaps in society’.

The Spirit Level: Why More Equal Societies Almost Always Do Better, published by two British academics in 2009, became a must-read book for many politicians and think tanks. The authors, Richard Wilkinson and Kate Pickett, argue that inequality has ‘pernicious effects’ on societies, including ‘eroding trust, increasing anxiety and illness, (and) encouraging excessive consumption’. Yet critics of The Spirit Level have argued that the authors were selective in their use of data and that inequality is a poor predictor of social problems.

Other critics of the discussion around inequality argue that poverty, not inequality, is the real problem. Even on this question, there is controversy. A common measure is relative poverty, which looks at the number of people whose income is below 60 per cent of a country’s median income. But is relative poverty really an appropriate measure? For example, Sweden is widely recognised to be a more equal society than the US. But as one commentator notes, ‘the Swedish poverty rate… is much lower than the US poverty rate. But equally other research tells us that the actual living standards of the bottom 10 per cent of Sweden are almost exactly the same as the living standards of the bottom 10 per cent of the US.’

Should we be worried about inequality as well as poverty? Does inequality have effects on society that go beyond material disadvantage? Why have politicians become so keen on tackling inequality today?

The arrival of thousands of refugees from Syria into Europe has put the debate about immigration and right of asylum at the centre of European politics. And as the continuing popularity of parties like the Sweden Democrats, UKIP and the True Finns shows, immigration is a fraught political issue in Europe today that goes beyond the refugee crisis. Does immigration, from either within Europe or from beyond, help or hinder the economies of those countries migrants go to – or does that question miss the point? Right of asylum from persecution is a universal human right which the EU has agreed to through various conventions – so what are the practical steps needed to be taken for Europe to honour its committments?

The pro-immigration side counters that immigration is actually good for the economy. Migrants are often driven to make a new life for themselves and want to get jobs and work hard rather than live off welfare. Because of their relative youth, they are less likely to consume public services, and seem more willing to take up the relatively low-skill jobs that comparatively affluent Western Europeans are reluctant to do. So does immigration – from either within Europe or from beyond - help or hinder the economies of those countries migrants go to?

Or does that question miss the point? For example, does that miss the broader social changes that come with immigration? While metropolitan liberals seem to welcome newcomers with open arms, others see immigrants as catalysts of unwelcome change that is being imposed upon society from above.  Yet such fears are usually dismissed as xenophobia or prejudice. For example, the former UK prime minister, Labour’s Gordon Brown, was embarrassed during the 2010 election campaign by being caught on a microphone describing an elderly Labour supporter as a ‘bigot’ for raising such questions. Being pro-immigration seems to have become, for many, a way of distinguishing themselves as enlightened while the masses are stupid and prejudiced.

Another issue is who controls the borders. EU rules effectively mean that national governments have little control over migration within the EU. Not only does that mean that workers from Eastern Europe can freely move West, but also that migrants from outside the EU can travel freely if they claim asylum and are granted the correct papers. Has the EU effectively taken away democratic control of nations’ borders?

Where are those willing to defend immigration on the grounds that everyone should be entitled to freedom of movement regardless of their passport or their skill-set? Is there a case for giving up on controlling borders altogether? Conversely, are arguments against immigration too defensive? Are secure borders essential to maintaining national sovereignty? Is it time for a different kind of debate?

This debate, on the question ‘Should we legalise euthanasia?’, will be conducted in German.

Bisher ist es in Deutschland verboten, jemanden auf Verlangen zu töten. Doch was ist, wenn ein Schwerkranker dies möchte? Sollte es Ärzten und anderen erlaubt sein, beim Sterben zu helfen. Wenn ja, unter welchen Bedingungen? Diese Frage will der Bundestag im November regeln.

Die Vorschläge reichen dabei von einem vollkommenen Verbot des sogenannten „assistierten Suizids“ bis hin zu seiner kompletten Legalisierung. Die einen warnen vor dem Aufweichenethischer Prinzipien. Die andern fordern, es müsse endlich erlaubt sein, über den eigenen Todselbst zu bestimmen. Gegner wie Befürworter kommen aus allen Parteien und weltanschaulichen Richtungen.

Man wolle, so ein Statement der Gegner „eine Begleitung in den Tod“ fördern, aber nicht eine “Beförderung in den Tod”. Palliativmedizin und andere Hilfe reichten aus, um das Sterben erträglicher zu machen. Die Befürworter halten dagegen, dass Schwerkranke ansonsten nur die Option eines Selbstmordes hätten, statt in Würde sterben zu dürfen. Sie verweisen darauf, dass eine Mehrheit der Bevölkerung für eine Lockerung des Verbots sei.

Bundestagspräsident Norbert Lammert (CDU) bezeichnet die Pläne zur Neuregelung als eines der anspruchsvollsten und schwierigsten Gesetzesvorhaben in dieser Wahlperiode. Doch weshalb hat die Debatte überall in Europa so stark an Bedeutung gewonnen, obwohl das Sterben seit jeher Teil des menschlichen Lebens war? Gibt es ein Recht, über den eigenen Tod zu entscheiden? Gibt es überhaupt ein Recht auf selbstbestimmtes Sterben, das direkt aus dem Recht auf eigene Lebensgestaltung abgeleitet werden kann?

In recent years, international migration has been accelerating rapidly. The latest figures from the UN show that 10 per cent of the population of Europe was born in a country other than where they live. Oslo is a city in flux; by 2030 its population will grow by a third, and more than half of all those who live in the city are likely to be international migrants and their descendants. In the face of such changes, many societies are asking how they should respond to an influx of peoples with different traditions, backgrounds and beliefs. In an increasingly globalised world, a sense of belonging to one place is no longer taken for granted. But what does belonging really mean? Is it important that people should feel attachment to a single place?  Or is it equally possible we belong to many places, or even no place? How does this new condition impact on the way our future cities are thought about and planned?

In line with multiculturalist policies, many urban designers have recently adopted a ‘place making’ approach to cities, advocating design as a means to create belonging through localised forms of memory, identity and community. Community and resource sharing initiatives and user/inhabitant participation have become popular in planning circles. So can such participative initiatives provide a sense of belonging within the open city? Or is there a risk that involvement in local design process is merely an end in itself rather than impetus to a wider democratic involvement in shaping the city?
In the age of migration, what is the way forward for the open city and how can architects and urban planners best work to create it?

This event is an initiative of Battle of Ideas and is part of the 2016 Oslo Architecture Triennale pre programme, in collaboration with The Norwegian Centre for Design and Architecture. The Oslo Architecture Triennale 2016 edition has as its main theme ‘After Belonging: A Triennale In Residence, On Residence, and the Ways We Stay in Transit’ and it is curated by The After Belonging Agency.

Admission is free. To reserve a space contact:
reservas@zedosbois.org | +351 21 343 0205 |  www.zedosbois.org

Democratically debating common issues has never been so important, necessary and challenging as it is today. But what and where is democratic space today?

Two thousand years ago, the Athenian agora was the heart of democratic debate… except that slaves, women and foreigners were excluded. After World War II, British Prime Minister stated that “Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all those other forms that have been tried”. And author Martin Jacques now suggests that China’s one-party state system “is one in which the West is going to have to learn from”. When society clearly finds it difficult to endorse democracy, perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised by the rise of the European Union with its ‘democratic deficit’ that removes accountability to the ordinary citizen.

It seems that we have always been uncertain and confused about democracy and democratic space. So does this mean that democratic debate a fallacy? If public space is where the public gathers en masse, is it a place where we can truly be individuals - or must we always be part of a group?  How can individuals best express themselves as self-determining citizens when public life today is so conformist?  Is the public sphere within democracies, so often policed by regulations, a space we should defend?  Or in such circumstances is real “public space” to be found in “virtual space? Is this a new democracy? 

Yet for many the true heart of democratic public space remains the neighborhoods of city – perhaps personified by artistic quarters such as the Bairro Alto. But who determines what the values of public space are – or should be? Hannah Arendt wrote that public space is where people act rather than work: ‘it is a space where political action takes place urged by freedom and the need for self-realisation of the individual’. But if public space is the arena where we, the public, make something of ourselves, then do we really need public authorities to cultivate engagement through public space?  To what extent can public space create a public? Should public space have to bear this burden at all?

Tickets: €3, pay on the door. Attend this event and What is creativity? for €5.

After much talk in recent years of the public sphere moving online, there’s a resurgence of interest in the physical world. ‘Public spaces, not virtual town squares, are still the places where uprisings are decided’, declared the New York Times of the events that took place in Tahrir Square during the Arab Spring. In many cities, it is culture and heritage that have provided a framework for public space interventions. From Paphos to Porto, whether it is UNESCO protected heritage centres or EU-funded Capital of Culture initiatives, municipalities and architects focus on public space design, streetscaping and pedestrianisation schemes as a way to promote and develop city life. The result, claims Porto Mayor Rui Moreira, is that ‘people are going back to public space’ and we are seeing the emergence of the ‘post-Facebook society’.

For critics, however, many regeneration initiatives mean cities are merely becoming gentrified and privatised, raising questions as to who is benefiting from the public investment. After all, if culture and heritage are merely seen as a route to urban competitiveness, is there not a risk that cities become merely profit-oriented, with market exchange and touristic development taking priority over building communities and boosting civic creativity? And given the rise of gated communities and exclusive areas dominated by restaurants and bars, is the collective commons fragmenting into elite urban spaces on one hand, and left-over space for the disenfranchised on the other?

Yet the question remains as to what actually is public space and who is it for? Writer Anna Minton’s essay on the Creative Commons advocates for a ‘public good’ based on the reinvention of the common interest, which should emphasise ‘the social value and social consequences of schemes for communities’. But who is to determine what these values are? Is common consent the same as democratic legitimacy? Hannah Arendt wrote that public space is where people act rather than work: ‘it is a space where political action takes place urged by freedom and the need for self-realisation of the individual’. But if public space is the arena where we, the public, make something of ourselves, then do we really need public authorities to cultivate engagement through public space?  To what extent can public space create a public? Should public space have to bear this burden at all?

Tickets: €3, pay on the door. Attend this event and Public space: collective common or virtual reality? for €5.

It is claimed that we are living in an ‘Age of Creativity’. Researcher Richard Florida has identified the rise of a creative class, ‘whose economic function is to create new ideas, new technology and/or creative content’. As one of the buzzwords du jour, the ‘creative’ tag is applied to the endeavours of architects and designers, but also the work of scientists, university professors and even those in the healthcare, business and finance and legal sectors. With policymakers keen to associate the economy, industry, education and skills with creativity, it’s perhaps no surprise to see the rise of what Charles Landry calls the Creative City.

The celebration of creativity, however, is accompanied by confusion over what makes us creative, and even what creativity is. In the past, experts often tied creative leaps to key moments in the development of society – for example, the realisation by Baroque masters of the sensuous qualities of music, mood and emotion that accompanied the Enlightenment revolution of intellectual thinking. Today, many argue for a wider, more timeless and perhaps more democratic understanding of creativity. Everyone, they say, has the capacity to be creative.

Another view of creativity goes back to the Italian physician Cesare Lombroso’s 1891 work The Man of Genius, which attempted to link creativity with neurosis, psychosis and other mental illnesses. Today, neuroscientists scan the brains of illustrious scientists and artists to ask why ‘so many of the world’s most creative minds’ are ‘among the most afflicted’. But to what extent can the science of the brain explain creativity? If creativity is inherited, does this rule out Edison’s notion that genius is one per cent inspiration and 99 per cent perspiration?

If scientists look to our neurons for answers, then architects and urban designers often argue that the key influence on creativity is our environment. From eighteenth-century coffeehouses to the ‘creative clusters’ of the modern workplace, the most creative spaces, they say, are those that throw us together, creating interaction and chance meetings. But doesn’t that contradict the idea of the secluded genius who needs isolation and solitude in order to create? Can design cultivate creativity? Do we know how to encourage creativity or even what it is? Is it one of those abstract concepts that can mean everything and nothing all at once, even as it is widely debated?

Part of the Barbican’s classical weekender, Sound Unbound. For more information and tickets, visit the Barbican website.

‘All art’, claimed the Victorian critic Walter Pater, ‘aspires to the condition of music’. For many, classical music still stands as the greatest of all: as study aid for concentration, as quick-fire emotional trigger on a film soundtrack or as cultural shorthand for sophistication and taste. In the twenty-first century, however – when music has rarely been more accessible or ubiquitous in our daily lives – it can be hard to articulate its merits. While many would say its value is self-evident, it’s not necessarily true we know quality when we hear it: when violinist Joshua Bell experimented several years ago by busking in the New York subway, he failed to make enough money to buy a ticket for one of his own concerts. Attempts to popularise classical music for a younger generation – such as the Classical Brits – can prove divisive, with existing audiences insisting its appeal is precisely because it eschews the instant gratification of pop culture.

Some look towards neuroscientific explanations, arguing that the complexity of a symphony or sonata have a beneficial effect on brain development or touch us on an innate, instinctive level. Others suggest that its power resides in its historical significance, emphasising its influence on contemporary popular forms. Yet, for others, such academic explanations still fall short of capturing the emotional resonance and power of the music, and evades the difficult question of judgement: why struggle through Sibelius or Shostakovich when the same delights may be on offer elsewhere? Few would seriously claim to Salieri really was a better composer than Mozart, but might be more hesitant to argue for Dvorak over muzak; casual listeners would struggle to judge the quality of one orchestral performance over another, yet the same differences can provoke stark disagreement between serious aficionados.

Does classical music really matter to the extent that we should invest time in appreciating it over other forms of music? Is choosing between Verdi and Clint Mansell, or Strauss and Morricone, simply a matter of preference or is it possible to draw more precise distinctions? Is it elitist to argue that some classical music pieces simply offer a richer, or even more important, listening experience than others? Where should a new listener begin – and, perhaps more importantly, why should they bother?

Part of the Barbican’s classical weekender, Sound Unbound. For more information and tickets, visit the Barbican website.

New studies regularly purport to show the benefits of classical music as an aid to concentration. For example, the Institute of Education last year recommended that listening classes should be on the curriculum from the age of seven. Within the classical music world itself, however, there are concerns about how to make symphonies and other long pieces of music appeal to a younger generation more comfortable with Spotify, for whom even a pop LP has become an uncomfortably long listening experience. The BBC Proms this year is continuing its attempts to appeal to younger audiences with a Late Night Prom hosted by club music DJ Pete Tong. Its director explained: ‘It’s so people will think, “Oh, classical music, that’s all right – I’m going to come back for another one”.’ At the same time, the possibility of cultural crossover is extended further than ever on the internet: viewers of NBC’s Hannibal could even enjoy the cultured killer’s own playlist selection afterwards.

Innovative educational tools like The Mozart Project provide younger listeners with accessible, curated introductions to the art form. Many arts institutions and critics provide playlists to accompany performances, offering audiences context and suggestions for further listening. Certainly, many suggest it can only offer an improvement on classical music’s often ambivalent relationship with the music industry in the twentieth century, where a bewildering array of performances and version would languish in specialist sections. But others express concern increased access comes at a cost: new audiences prefer to cherry-pick ‘greatest hits’ movements or standalone pieces, rather than cultivate the patience and interest necessary for longer, more challenging symphonies or operas.

Has internet streaming been good for classical music or has it really only changed how existing audiences engage with music? Does the internet have a vital role to play in increasing access and demystifying the music for a new generation, or does it only attract more casual fans? Has the internet changed the way we listen to music, or just made it easier to access? In a digital age, are live performances still the gold standard?

FREE but ticketed. Register via Eventbrite.

In the space of less than a year, from September 2015 to May 2015, the Scottish people spoke twice on their political future, but the two messages can seem hard to square. If the referendum outcome was a clear-cut ‘No’, the general election result was a resounding victory for the party of ‘Yes’. Contradictions abound and clearly a wide range of considerations inform the electoral choices people make. While dissatisfaction with Westminster and a collapse of trust in representation are key driving forces, what else lies behind the seismic shifts we are witnessing?

The independence question is certainly less binary and more nuanced than it appears, with many supporters viewing independence as a means to a (broadly social-democratic) end, rather than a (nationalist) end in itself. But is there any more to this than wishful thinking? Will the rise and rise of the SNP continue in the coming Scottish national and local elections? What approaches might existing incumbents deploy to rebuild faith in representative democracy? In a time of controversy over austerity and when some basic freedoms are under attack, if ‘the people’ are to be more than just democratic window dressing, some of these conundrums need to be addressed.

Commercial drone use has dramatically expanded in recent years, with an increasingly inventive set of uses. Drones have been deployed in fields as diverse as aerial photography and humanitarian relief, while retailers in Japan have even started to use them to deliver products (Amazon’s much-vaunted Prime Air is still in prototype).

Much attention has been focused on their military functions and use by law enforcement; Indian police have purchased drones that could be used to pepper spray protestors. Conversely, Dutch feminist campaigners were able to fly abortion pills into Poland to circumvent its restrictions on reproductive healthcare. And more prosaically, the singer Enrique Inglesias became a high-profile drone casualty when one near severed his fingers on stage. There have already been several near-misses with passenger aircraft as well, so drones’ increasing affordability and commercial ubiquity poses numerous problems for regulators.

Meanwhile, as with the driverless car, there are also profound questions about how drones alter human relationships with technology. The use of drones in Chinese schools to prevent students cheating in exams is merely the latest example of the ethical questions raised by rapidly advancing surveillance techniques. Moreover, increased automation through smart systems and advanced robotics in the ‘second machine age’ raises serious economic challenges, with jobs in the delivery and freight sectors only among the most visible threatened by the use of drone technology.

Are we on the brink of a new Drone Age or will their impact be more niche and specialist? What economic and legal barriers exist to their development, and can these be overcome? How should the authorities balance the benefits of allowing the freedom to experiment with the potential hazards and risks new technologies create? Outside of military and security purposes, will they have a transformative effect on how we live, or are they more akin to advanced consumer gadgets?

Following the final festival panel debates, come have a drink on us, offer a toast to liberty and carry on the debates informally in a special drinks reception.

When Jeremy Corbyn went from being the token lefty candidate for Labour leader to the favourite to lead the party this summer, it became clear that the old assumptions no longer apply. But while the ‘Corbyn Wave’ appeared to be something new, there was an unmistakable paradox in the fact that the man of the moment had been hiding in plain sight at Westminster since 1983. So is he a blast from the past or a harbinger of things to come? Some suggest his rise represents a momentous shift to the left. With its new £3 registered supporter option, Labour’s ‘membership’ swell to 610,753, with many of the new influx aged under 30. This seemed to echo the rise of the SNP in Scotland as another example of the left-wing populism flaring up across Europe in the wake of SYRIZA in Greece and Podemos in Spain. At the same time, though, more long-established outsider parties like Britain’s UKIP and France’s Front National have enjoyed considerable electoral success, topping the European Parliament polls. With the unlikely emergence of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders as plausible US presidential candidate, ‘politics as we know it’ seems to be over, but it does not seem to be as simple as a move to the left.

The dramatic ascent of the Sweden Democrats, a party that describes itself as socially conservative with a nationalist foundation, means that when its leader Jimmie Åkesson predicts that his party will one day be strong enough to run the country, serious commentators acknowledge this is possible. It is as yet unclear whether these new political parties command a stable support for specific policies. There seems a more unstable ebb and flow of new parties in the spotlight and showing disenchantment with mainstream politics by voting for the outsider can appear more the sign of anti-politics rather than newly radicalised times. Is it Corbyn’s old-fashioned state socialism programme attracting solid support, or is his appeal that he is Not Blair Or The Other Three candidates? And while UKIP gained four million votes in the general election, their much vaunted rise is now side-lined as yesterday’s flash in the pan story, with UKIP voters being amongst those enthusiastically supporting Corbyn.
Why have populist parties become so popular? Does this mark the beginning of the end for many established parties, or is it merely a period of change, more about volatile protest votes than a new historic era? Should we really take seriously some of these movements when they may disappear as quickly as they emerged? If the Corbyn Effect is part of this wider trend, will it last or will it crumble like Clegg-mania amid broken promises and unrealistic ideas? Or are we in fact watching the emergence of exciting new political movements, a reason to be hopeful?

The announcement by Transport for London that they would be running a Night Tube service provoked much excitement about the prospect that London can finally compete with the likes of New York, Berlin and Tokyo as thriving 24-hour metropolises. For many, the move marked a natural extension of the same process which drove the liberalisation of licensing restrictions in 2003, and a further boon to the capital’s thriving £66 billion night-time economy. Furthermore, it is hoped, the changes could generate potentially significant social changes, with theatres and restaurants able to open later and even small businesses such as gyms and cafes able to offer more flexible opening hours with workers able to commute more easily at all hours.

Yet despite a seeming consensus from commuters and business alike that such a move was long overdue, its introduction has been beset with problems. Industrial action from tube workers objecting to the terms of the service provoked a series of strikes which potentially delayed its introduction. More remarkably, the Night Tube’s introduction has coincided with concern from business-owners that the night-time economy is being increasingly restricted by tough regulations imposed by local authorities aimed at curbing anti-social behaviour and other associated problems of late-opening venues. The Forward Into The Night report commissioned by the newly formed Night Time Industries Association points to a string of closures of otherwise successful bars and clubs as evidence that nightlife is seriously threatened by such measures. Councils insist, however, that a careful balance needs to be struck between the opportunities of night-time revelry and the needs of an increasingly densely populated inner city.

Does the Night Tube offer a unique opportunity to transform London life, or will its benefits offer more marginal gains to night-time commuters? Is London too crowded and developed to effectively implement large-scale changes, or is it the challenge for infrastructure catching up to inevitable demands of modern city-living? How should regulators balance the challenges of burgeoning nightlife with the needs of local communities? Does opposition to the night-time city jeopardise London’s reputation as a genuinely global, cosmopolitan centre?

In September 2014, the Rockefeller Brothers Fund announced it would sell off its investments in fossil fuels. Although the fund’s investments were relatively small, this was a symbolic moment, given that the Rockefellers made their money through JD Rockefeller’s stake in Standard Oil. The announcement was part of a growing movement, most notably promoted by the Guardian’s ‘Keep It In the Ground’ campaign, for charities, academic institutions and pension funds to renounce their fossil-fuel investments. Campaign group Fossil Free UK explains: ‘Divestment isn’t primarily an economic strategy, but a moral and political one. As our public institutions take a moral stand and divest from fossil fuel companies, we remove the financial social and political license these companies need to operate.’

However, many institutions have resisted the push to divest. For example, the Wellcome Trust has refused, though director Jeremy Farrar added that ‘when we are not satisfied that a company is engaging with our concerns, we are perfectly prepared to sell’. But while campaigners like Archbishop Desmond Tutu have argued that there is a moral case for divestment, the world will need fossil fuels for many years to come. For example, the International Energy Agency believes fossil fuels will still have to meet 76 per cent of energy needs in 2035, even with substantial investment in low-carbon alternatives. As long as renewable energy sources like wind and solar remain expensive and unreliable, the developing world will undoubtedly continue to expand its use of fossil fuels. And as the American writer Alex Epstein has argued, if our moral yardstick is the welfare of humanity, then there is a moral case to be made for retaining fossil fuels, which have been central to our material progress for over 200 years.

Does the campaign to divest from fossil fuels have merit? If we are serious about tackling climate change, can we afford to encourage further fossil-fuel use? On the other hand, given that alternative investors may be happy to accept the opportunity to buy the shares that divesting institutions sell, does divestment actually achieve anything? If not, is the real point of the campaign to allow many in the wealthy West to demonstrate their ethical credentials, regardless of the effectiveness or consequences of divestment?

In the past few years, the Middle East has undergone serious convulsions, from the collapse of Iraq to the Arab Spring, the Syrian war and the Saudi-led bombardment of Yemen. The spread of Islamic State has wiped out one hundred-year-old borders in a matter of months, with large areas of Iraq and Syria now part of those countries only in name. America’s interest and power in the region seems to waning while regional powers such as Saudi Arabia, Turkey and Iran are becoming more assertive.

A bewildering number of alliances and counter-alliances seem to be in play in which religious affiliations, local political grievances and powerful external players meet in a maelstrom. The Gulf states intervene against and for Sunni jihadists depending upon which state one looks at; America supports Iranian-backed militias in Iraq while backing Saudi-led airstrikes against Shia groups in Yemen; in Syria, America and its Arab allies are supporting Islamist groups against Assad, who is still supported by Iran and its Lebanese proxy Hezbollah. The US and Iran appear to have reached a historic agreement on Iran’s nuclear energy programme, just as US-Israel relations turn increasingly fractious; indeed, Israel is closer to Saudi Arabia when it comes to the nuclear deal, albeit for very different reasons.

The Arab Spring was supposed to mean the end of tyranny and the rise of democracies across the region. Instead, states are imploding. Was this inevitable, or is there still hope for peace and democracy within the existing borders of countries like Syria and Iraq? Would their break-up mean anarchy or a new order based on more meaningful religious and ethnic identities? And while the Western powers were long considered the puppet masters of the Middle East, are the strings now in the hands of regional powers? Does the West even have a sense of its strategic interests in the region, or is it stuck in the past, supporting the wrong allies and condemning the region to years of chaos? What do the confusing alliances and counter-alliances tell us? And what future is there for the people of the Middle East?

Listen to the session

Last year marked the fiftieth anniversary of the launch of the Free Speech Movement (FSM) at the University of California, Berkeley, through which academics and students successfully overturned the censorious policies of university management. Against the backdrop of McCarthyism, the FSM ushered in a new era of student activism across the US and Europe, with free speech at its heart. So it is striking that today, student radicals appear to be at the forefront of calling for restrictions on what they and their fellow students are allowed to say, read and hear.

In February, the online magazine spiked launched the UK’s first Free Speech University Rankings. It found that 80 per cent of universities censored speech, and that the vast majority of this was carried out by students’ unions. No Platform policies, which originally banned fascist speakers, are now used to ‘protect’ students from a wide range of controversial ideas, and not only right-wing ones; even feminist speakers have been disinvited because some students objected to their views. At the other end of the spectrum laddish comedian Dapper Laughs was banned from Cardiff University after campaigners claimed he promoted ‘rape culture’. And last October, a high-profile debate on abortion was cancelled at Christ Church, Oxford, after protesters claimed the discussion would harm the emotional wellbeing of female students and make them feel ‘unsafe’.

One former student union president has argued that while inviting speakers is not in itself an endorsement, it could be seen as ‘legitimating their views as something that’s up for discussion’. Should some issues be seen as beyond discussion, if discussing them is likely to upset students? Toni Pearce, the current president of the National Union of Students, has declared: ‘I’m really proud that our movement takes safe spaces seriously.’ But should safety on campus really extend to protection from emotional as well as physical harm? Or should students be expected to cope with controversial ideas. Should campuses be bastions of open debate, where anything goes, or does creating ‘safe spaces’ actually allow many vulnerable students more opportunity to speak their minds? Is this trend exclusive to campus life, or are student leaders responding to a wider censorious culture? And what is the future of student politics, now that spirit of the Free Speech Movement seems a distant memory?

Thomas Heatherwick and Joanna Lumley have proposed a new bridge over the Thames that ticks all the right-on boxes: it is solely for pedestrian access, has impeccable environmental credentials and creates a new park over the river. But protests have erupted that claim the bridge is only notionally public due to hosting corporate events and closing early on weekdays. Similarly, architecture critic Rowan Moore bemoans that the public Sky Garden at 20 Fenchurch Street – located 35 storeys in the air – cannot be ‘public when you have to go through airport-style security and book at least three days in advance’.

It has long been a worry that public spaces have become steadily privatised – but nowadays, there is also an insistence that notionally private spaces be opened up to the public. Yet there seems more proscription about what and who public space is for. Often, these spaces are seen as ‘catalysts’ for something unspecified. While Granary Square in Camden has generated some liveliness around its restaurants and water-features, there are many more designated public areas where the public are noticeably absent. Newcastle’s Blue Carpet remains empty and grim; King’s Cross station’s public realm was branded ‘dull and uninspiring’; and the Project for Public Places notes that Tate Modern’s plaza ‘is a study in aggravating design’.

As a result, some try desperately to give their plazas meaning. Cardiff’s Central Square, for example, simply proposes to ‘give a positive impression to people visiting the capital’, while Birmingham City Library’s public square has being ‘revamped’ to provide space for ‘events and happenings on the square’. Whatever it is, public space tends to be seen as an unqualified good, a designated realm where people can come together as a public. But who comprises the public that designers and politicians constantly invoke? Why has public space provision become so ubiquitous? Who is it for and should there be so much of it?

There seems to be a battle for the hearts and minds of young people taking place in Britain today. Stories about teenagers running off to join the Islamic State are only the most extreme example of generational and cultural estrangement. At the same time, there is a broader concern that all young people are becoming more self-centred and less civic-minded - a ‘me, me, me’ generation, self-absorbed and increasingly alienated from traditional institutions and mores. We worry about young people being drawn to nihilistic subcultures, from violent video games to suicide and self-harm websites. To address this alienation, and jihadi chic in particular, the government has said schools should actively promote British values.

This seems uncontroversial until we ask what exactly British values are, and who gets to decide. Some critics argue that by laying down what must be taught, new laws undermine the very democratic principles schools are being asked to promote. Despite seemingly being more hype than reality, the ‘Trojan Horse’ scandal – with schools allegedly being taken over by Islamic extremists – has led to a series of ‘snap’ Ofsted investigations targeting not only schools in predominantly Muslim communities, but also Jewish and Christian schools, raising fears of a witch hunt against faith schools per se. Ofsted inspectors have also asked primary school children questions about their knowledge of homosexuality and female genital mutilation, leading some parents to worry the government is pushing a particular agenda that may be at odds with their own beliefs. Others ask if there’s a tension between the active promotion of ‘British values’ and the delivery of an open, knowledge-based education. 

Is there a shared set of British values that we can all sign up to? How do we reconcile any tensions between the values of parents and those espoused by educators or laid down by the government? Should parents accept that a key role of schooling is to broaden their children’s knowledge, exposing them to ideas and values beyond those held by the family? Or should the state accept that values are best learned in the home and only tangentially picked up at school? Is it even possible for schools to uphold values that are highly contested in society more broadly? If so, which ones, and how should they be taught?

Whilst Arendt is chiefly famous for her provocative study of the trial of Adolf Eichmann – from which we get the famous phrase ‘the banality of evil’ – Arendt’s important philosophical work, The Human Condition, is a profoundly original study of human life that deserves far greater attention than it receives. 

At the centre of The Human Condition is Arendt’s bold distinction between three spheres of human activity: Labour, Work, and Action. Labour, the toil that is essential for the preservation of biological life, Arendt associates with necessity, with what we must do to survive. The recurrent cycle of Labour and its characteristic lack of individuality is redeemed in part by Work – that is, the creation of and addition to the tangible human edifice, in a way that outlasts our own lives and makes possible our being remembered. For Arendt, however, it is only in Action that we experience freedom, for in Action we show ‘who’ we are (unique individuals), not merely ‘what’ we are (members of the human species). Only in Action are we motivated by concerns that go beyond the preservation of life. Rehabilitating this state of freedom, which Arendt associates with politics, is the central concern of The Human Condition. To this end, she draws on the Christian-Humanist celebration of natality, offering an impassioned defence of the ‘miracle’ that is the birth of each and every unique human being. 

The Human Condition is a challenging yet endlessly rewarding text, and the freshness and erudition of Arendt’s prose stands as a fine advert for the humanist ideals of the academy.

Over the past few months, it has been impossible to avoid the harrowing images of desperate migrants risking and sometimes losing their lives in an attempt to reach Europe. Throughout, debate has raged about the nature of the migrants – with often unhelpful labels such as ‘economic migrant’ and ‘refugee’ used to distinguish between those who are genuinely in need of help, and those who are not. Amid the human tragedy, Europe has struggled to formulate anything resembling a cohesive strategy to deal with the crisis – with responses varying from ambitious German commitments to accommodate up to 800,000 migrants this year, to Hungary erecting barbed-wire fences to keep the ‘marauding’ migrants from entering the country.

The British government came under increasing pressure during the summer, and despite agreeing belatedly to take in 20,000 Syrians directly from camps, it has so far opted out of any binding EU agreements to settle refugees. The differential nature of binding agreements - and the tensions they create for sovereign states in controlling their own borders – has angered Eastern European states such as Hungary and Croatia, who accuse Western European governments of ‘cultural imperialism’. Others argue that the focus should be on preventing migrants from leaving their countries in the first place by improving the situation on the ground, but commentators differ fiercely on whether military intervention in Syria would make things better or much worse.

At home, territorial sovereignty is key to the debate, as countries grapple with the practical and moral dimensions of mass migration. And with EU policy appearing to override nationally elected governments, some have questioned whether in our haste ‘to do something’, in the long term we are at risk of undermining one of the key tenets of statehood: the ability to control national borders. The issues are undoubtedly complex, but with little sign of the flow of migrants abating, how should we view the European response to the crisis thus far? Should we sympathise with countries such as Hungary who do not want refugees, and insist on maintaining the ability to control their own immigration policy? Or are German calls for European solidarity in accepting migrants the more ethical path – but if so, is it even feasible for Europe to deal with the sheer weight of numbers? And finally, should we see this as a short-term issue, with clear political solutions, or does this in fact mark the beginning of a trend of mass migration, thus challenging borders for the foreseeable future?

Jeanne-Marie Gescher OBE is acknowledged as one of the leading thinkers on China. For the past 25 years, she has been instrumental as a business adviser in shaping its emerging market dynamics, especially in the development of China’s digital and creative industries. In All Under Heaven, she has written a definitive critique of China’s development, from the year dot to today, to explore how the largest nation on earth maintains order.

If ‘China is in many ways a microcosm of our planet’, is the role of humanity to question everything or to compromise in the spirit of community? Was Confucius right to suggest that, ‘where wealth and the efficiency of wealth-creation are valued over humanity, chaos will prevail’? Should we be individuals, citizens or subjects? And does China or the West have the better answers?

If you’ve ever wondered how China maintains order - by its one-party state, but also by its social contract - this is the book, and the Bookshop Barnie, for you.

Gone are the days when the idea of a Minimum Wage sparked controversy about the impact it would have on jobs. Outside of free-market think-tank circles, it is universally accepted as a standard below which no decent employer must stoop. And now the Living Wage is posited as the new minimum firms must observe if they are to be considered socially responsible, while there is also a growing consensus that so called zero-hours contracts are unfair to workers, with calls for them to be banned. Low pay has become a cause célèbre.

The Minimum Wage is worked out by the Low Pay Commission and set by government, while the Living Wage is calculated by the GLA in London, where it originated, and by academics at the Centre for Research in Social Policy at Loughborough University for the rest of the country. According to the Living Wage Foundation: ‘The Living Wage affords people the opportunity to provide for themselves and their families.’  At £7.80 an hour (or £9.15 in the capital), it compares favourably, for those at least whose employers have signed up to it, with the national Minimum Wage of £6.50. Commentators from left and right, meanwhile, have even suggested looking to Switzerland’s proposals for a Universal Basic Income – to be voted on by referendum next year – as an inspiration for alternatives to current welfare models. But where is the extra money going to come from?

Many businesses say they employ people on zero-hours contracts because they cannot afford to pay people when there is not enough work for them to do – especially if they are expected to pay a higher hourly wage. Even many who support the Living Wage, like Prime Minister David Cameron, argue that zero-hours contracts have a place. They say flexibility and job creation in a depressed economic climate trump arguments about secure pay and working conditions. But is any job always better than none? Critics argue that the government is effectively subsidising poorly-performing businesses through benefit payments to underpaid workers. And under proposed reforms, a million-plus working people claiming housing benefit and working less than 35 hours on the Minimum Wage will find themselves subject to sanctions unless they work more hours. So can businesses really take up the slack as benefits are cut? Or is the problem deeper than tight-fisted employers?

So should we welcome the Living Wage as a more civilised idea of what a ‘decent’ hourly rate looks like? Should the right of employers and employees to enter into zero-hours contracts be protected from government interference? Why can’t the UK economy generate enough well-paid work to go around? Who should get to decide what working people get paid?

The world has looked on horrified in recent years at the rise of groups like Boko Haram, al-Shabaab and Islamic State (IS). Such organisations often seem to have formed almost overnight before making rapid military gains using brutal tactics aimed at maximising their notoriety through gory killings. Governments are seemingly at a loss at how to confront belligerents who are undermanned and less equipped, play by no rules, and whose targets can be indiscriminate.

Despite bring regularly branded as ‘medieval’, IS’s savvy use of social media as a propaganda tool is a reminder that they are an unusually modern foe. Some, like Tony Blair’s former chief of staff Jonathan Powell, have controversially suggested negotiating with ‘fourth wave’ Islamist terrorists, arguing it is little different from talking to terror groups associated with national liberation movements, whether the IRA, PLO or ANC. Certainly, the decision by the Turkish government to treat its domestic insurgency by Kurdish separatists in the PKK – hailed as heroes in the West following their defence of Kobane - as on a par with IS was a reminder that terrorism is a highly contested concept.

For many others, the apolitical nihilism of much contemporary terrorism marks a profound shift from terrorism in the past: with some suggesting acts such as the slaughter of Western tourists in Tunisia have more in common with the racist murders of black church-goers in Charleston than political responses to Western foreign policy. Yet with the potential damage wrought by such ‘lone wolf’ attacks increasing, security forces and governments inevitably search for more authoritarian and pre-emptive measures to prevent them occurring: some would say much to the benefit of Boko Haram in Nigeria.

Are we confronting the rise of a ‘new terrorism’ or are we simply more exposed to the grisly nature of brutal civil wars and disintegrating states than previously? In an age in which a highly skilled hacker could potentially cause as much harm as a car bomber, how can liberal societies hope to meaningfully protect their citizens? Is a rejection of the political justifications behind these acts an implicit endorsement of similar atrocities under different circumstances – the good old days of ‘proper terrorists’? Or does the sheer barbarity of these movements necessitate a harsher response than before, whether it’s ‘boots on the ground’ abroad or Extremism Disruption Orders at home? Who precisely is the enemy these days?

The way children are raised to be distinctly boys or girls is now questioned in mainstream culture. Campaigns like Pink Stinks and Let Toys be Toys rail against girls being assigned princessy or even sexualised clothes, and toys that mimic pampering or homemaking, while boys are encouraged to be active, nascent men of the world with construction sets and superheroes. Some parents commit to ‘gender-neutral’ or ‘anti-sexist’ parenting, encouraging girls to get muddy and boys to play with dolls, in a bid to liberate boys and girls from their respective stereotypes. Why shouldn’t she dress up as an astronaut rather than a nurse?

But reasonable parental worries about not wanting to limit aspirations have become more of a political minefield of late. If you let Jodie plays with Barbie, are you implicitly endorsing the objectification of women?  If Johnny is allowed to dress up as a soldier, might he end up a macho misogynist? The headline-grabbing mum who let her son go to school dressed as 50 Shades of Grey’s creepy hero Christian was accused of endorsing her offspring’s inculcation into rape culture. Meanwhile, some parents have taken gender-neutral child-rearing to the extreme of not revealing their child’s biological sex to anyone, allowing the child to determine their own identity as ‘boy’, ‘girl’ or something else through their own tastes and preferences. Increasing media attention given to ‘transgender kids’ adds another confusing dimension to the issue of gender identity in childhood.

There seems to be a little agreement about what gender identity means, whether it is an inherent feature of the individual child’s development, something that is shaped from without by social pressures or whether it is necessary at all. Similarly, there is little agreement but much anxiety about whether there is anything positive about masculinity or femininity and about whether social problems such as gender inequality or attitudes to sexual violence have their roots in childhood. So, is it fair or helpful to focus on childhood when it comes to our adult concerns about gender? Is this feminist influence on parenting a victory for women’s equality or a distraction from the real issues facing young women? Is it just another opportunity to blame parents? Or does it make sense to start as early as possible to solve social problems?