Green European Journal

Miközben a fejlett mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák kifejlesztéséért folyó technokratikus-autoriter verseny teljes gőzzel folytatódik, a Szilícium-völgy szabályozási napirendekre gyakorolt befolyása már vetekszik – sőt, akár meg is haladja – számos államét. A globális szuperhatalmak és a MI-óriások ambíciói között azonban Európának lehetősége nyílik arra, hogy valami jobbat keressen. Interjú a díjnyertes újságírónővel és írónővel, Karen Haoval.

Alessio Giussani: Számos metaforát hoztak fel a mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésének jelenlegi modelljének leírására – például egy papagáj vagy egy tükör. Miért választotta éppen a birodalom metaforáját?

Karen Hao: Úgy gondolom, ezek a metaforák mind rendkívül hasznosak. A „birodalomra” összpontosítok, mert nem csupán magát a technikai eszközt és azt vizsgálom, mi történik, amikor azt a társadalomban alkalmazzák, hanem a technológia előállítását is, valamint azokat a szereplőket, akik rendkívüli mértékű gazdasági és politikai hatalmat halmoznak fel annak előállításához.

Négy fő okból nevezem ezt a rendszert birodalomnak. Először is, ezek a vállalatok olyan erőforrásokra tartanak igényt, amelyek nem az övék: az egyének adataira, valamint az írók és alkotók munkájára. Másodszor, rendkívüli mértékben kizsákmányolják a munkaerőt, és ez vonatkozik mind azokra a munkavállalókra, akiket a gyártási folyamatban és a technológiák ellátási láncában kizsákmányolnak, mind pedig azokra, akiknek a munkajogait a technológia bevezetése során csorbítják.

A harmadik szempont az információellenőrzés. A birodalmak terjeszkedésének egyik fő jellemzője az a képesség, hogy minden tudástermelést és információt a birodalmi céljaik szűrőjén keresztül szűrjenek, és pontosan ezt teszik a mesterséges intelligencia vállalatok is. Ők ellenőrzik és cenzúrázzák a tudományt azáltal, hogy a legtöbb mesterséges intelligencia-kutató munkáját pénzügyileg támogatják, és olyan információs technológiát építenek ki, amelyet a központi portállá kívánnak tenni, amelyen keresztül mindenki más kapcsolódik a világhoz, beleértve az oktatást is.

Végül mindezt egy civilizációs küldetésbe burkolják. Azt állítják, hogy azért foglalkoznak ezzel a munkával, mert végső soron olyan technológiát akarnak az emberiség rendelkezésére bocsátani, amely egy utópikus állapotba emel minket, és ha a „rosszfiúk” – ami általában Kínát jelenti – előttünk fejlesztik ki, akkor inkább egy disztópikus állapotba süllyedünk. Ez egyfajta vallási narratíva, amely a régi birodalmak körében is gyakori volt.

Az MI-birodalom, ahogyan Ön leírja, nem korlátozódik egy vállalatra; ez egy rendszer, egy logika. Mi áll az OpenAI-ra és annak vezérigazgatója, Sam Altman személyére irányuló figyelme mögött?

Az egyik válasz az, hogy az embereknek szükségük van történetekre, amelyek segítenek konkrét formába önteni azt, ami egyébként elvont ötlet maradna. De az OpenAI azért is különösen érdekes, mert minden olyan fontos döntést hozott, amely megváltoztatta az iparági normákat, és a birodalomépítés irányába terelte azt. Az OpenAI volt az, amelyik úgy döntött, hogy minden áron bővül, nagy nyelvi modellekkel dolgozik, és chatbot-szerű felületet hoz létre számukra. Szinte minden, amit a közvélemény ma a mesterséges intelligenciával társít, először az OpenAI falai között dőlt el.

Ha elmeséljük ezt a történetet, sokkal nyilvánvalóbbá válik, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia nem elkerülhetetlen, mert rájövünk, hogy valódi emberek hozták meg azokat a döntéseket az értékeik, világnézetük, személyes bosszúvágyuk alapján – bármi is volt az, ami valójában meghatározta a mesterséges intelligencia fejlődésének pályáját. Sam Altman ideológiái nem csupán elvont értelemben áthatják a modellt. Gyakran hallani azt a közhelyet, hogy a modellek tükrözik alkotóikat, de én azt akartam megmutatni, hogy ez valójában hogyan történik. A vállalatokról, az emberekről, valamint a gazdasági és ideológiai környezetről van szó, amelynek részesei.

Ahogy ezek a technológiák egyre hatékonyabbá válnak, az alkalmazásuk feletti ellenőrzés megszerzése egzisztenciális kérdéssé válik. Láttuk, hogy a Big Tech meghajolt Trump előtt a második beiktatásán, de azt is látjuk, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia területén működő vállalatok vezérigazgatói egyre inkább szembefordulnak a kormánnyal. Kié lesz végül a végső szó – az államé vagy a magánvállalatoké?

Folyamatban van a harc arról, ki fogja a döntéseket hozni. A Washington és a Szilícium-völgy közötti kapcsolatot kényelmi szövetségnek tekintem, de egy nagyon feszültnek. Két különböző birodalmi modellt képviselnek, mindkettő a saját birodalmi terveivel. Mindkettő terjeszkedni próbál, és szó szerint több területet akar átvenni más országoktól, de a Trump-kormányzat az MI-vállalatokat az állam birodalmi törekvéseinek eszközeiként tekinti. Eközben a Szilícium-völgy a Trump-kormányzatot saját birodalmi törekvéseinek eszközeként tekinti, de valójában nem járnak egy hullámhosszon, mert mindkettő azt akarja, hogy ő legyen a legfőbb hatóság, amely a csúcsra kerül.

Voltak olyan pillanatok, amikor az amerikai kormány bebizonyította, hogy még mindig ő az úr – amikor Trump és Musk összetűztek, Muskot kirúgták. Amikor azonban a Hadügyminisztérium összetűzésbe került az Anthropic-kal, a vállalat bebizonyította, hogy ebben az esetben ő az erősebb fél: Pete Hegseth védelmi miniszter a „nukleáris opciót” vetette fel, azzal fenyegetve, hogy a vállalatot ellátási lánc-kockázatnak nyilvánítja – mint végső eszközt, amellyel az Anthropic-ot engedelmeskedésre kényszerítheti –, de a vállalat még így sem hajlott engedésre. Elég kínos módon a Háborús Minisztérium mélyen függővé vált egy olyan magánszereplőtől, amely nem hajlandó a kormány feltételei szerint együttműködni, és a kormány semmit sem tehet ellene.

Mindkét birodalmi szereplőnek elszámoltathatónak kell lennie, és ez az elszámoltathatóság egyiküktől sem fog származni; a néptől kell származnia. Alulról felfelé építkező, alulról jövő szerveződésből, amelynek virágzását kezdjük látni szerte a világon, beleértve az Egyesült Államokat is. Bármennyire is áthatolhatatlannak tűnik ez a kényelmi szövetség, valójában rendkívül törékeny, és vannak lehetőségek arra, hogy felgyorsítsuk bukását azáltal, hogy nagyobb nyomást gyakorlunk a gyenge pontjaira.

Ahelyett, hogy a mesterséges intelligenciát a jók és a rosszak közötti globális versenynek tekintenénk, inkább azon kellene gondolkodnunk, hogy milyen jövőképünk van a társadalomról.

A mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésének jelenlegi állása úgy tűnik, mint egy versengő verseny a mélypont felé a rivális vállalatok és a globális szuperhatalmak között. Milyen szerepet játszott a Kínával folytatott geopolitikai verseny abban, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia a jelenlegi nehéz helyzetbe került?

Kína egy olyan kártya, amelyet a Szilícium-völgy már egy évtizede kijátszik, gyakorlatilag azóta, hogy kiutasították Kínából. Ha azonban megvizsgáljuk ennek az érvelésnek a korábbi eredményeit, láthatjuk, hogy a valóságban mindig pont az történt, ami a Szilícium-völgy előrejelzéseivel ellentétes volt.

Azt állították, hogy a szilícium-völgyi vállalatok szabályozásának elmaradása – és Kína exportkorlátozásokon keresztüli szabályozása – révén az amerikai technológia világszerte dominálni fog. Mégis a TikTok a legnépszerűbb közösségi médiaplatform, és a kínai nyílt forráskódú mesterséges intelligencia-modellek egyre népszerűbbek világszerte, az Egyesült Államokban is. Azt is megígérték, hogy a Szilícium-völgy dominanciája liberalizáló hatással lesz a világra, de ez sem valósult meg; hatásuk éppen ellenkezőleg, mélyen illiberalizáló volt. A demokratikus intézmények rendkívüli mértékű eróziója és a demokrácia visszaesésének gyors felgyorsulása volt tapasztalható, amit a Szilícium-völgyi platformok és a mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák is elősegítettek.

Ahelyett, hogy a mesterséges intelligenciát a jók és a rosszak közötti globális versenynek tekintenénk, inkább azon kellene gondolkodnunk, hogy milyen jövőképünk van a társadalomról, milyen mesterséges intelligencia-technológiák támogatnák ezt a jövőképet, és milyen erőforrásokra van szükségünk annak megvalósításához. Nem a Szilícium-völgy által meghatározott versenyben kellene versenyeznünk, hanem azokban az elképzelésekben és értékekben, amelyeket fenn akarunk tartani. És úgy gondolom, Európának itt lehetősége nyílik arra, hogy a világnak egy harmadik utat mutasson, amely eltér az Egyesült Államokétól és Kínáétól, és amely új szabályokat állít fel.

Az Európai Bizottság nemrég elfogadott egy technológiai szuverenitási csomagot, amely része annak az erőfeszítésnek, hogy Európa saját technológiai útját járja. Hogyan fogalmazzuk meg ezt a jövőképet úgy, hogy ne egy megfigyelésen alapuló, oligarchikus üzleti modell európai változatát kapjuk?

Az a vezetőcsillag, amelyet Európának követnie kell, nem a szuverenitás a szuverenitás kedvéért, hanem az a cél, hogy ezt a szuverenitást elérjük. Európa – vagy legalábbis nagy része – a demokrácia egyik utolsó bástyája a világon. Támogatja az emberi jogokat és szabadságokat, és szüksége van a technológiai szuverenitásra, hogy előmozdítsa ezeket az értékeket. Amíg rendkívül függő marad az olyan rendszerektől, amelyeket nagyon autoriter módon fejlesztenek ki, és amelyek az európai társadalmak aláásására törekednek, addig nem tudja fenntartani értékeit.

A szuverenitás mint fogalom hajlamos elmosódni, ha pusztán öncélként kezdjük el értelmezni. Ennek egy cél eléréséhez vezető eszköznek kell lennie.

Milyen koalíciókból, érdekcsoportokból vagy konfliktusok színtereiből kellene kiindulnunk annak érdekében, hogy felépítsük ezt az alternatív jövőképet?

Először is, az MI-irányítást tágabb értelemben kell felfognunk. Például a munkavállalói jogok megerősítése és a civil társadalom védelme is az MI-irányítás részét képezi. A diákoknak, a tanároknak és az egészségügyi dolgozóknak is ott kell ülniük az asztalnál, hogy segítsenek alakítani és megkérdőjelezni, hogyan fejlesztik és alkalmazzák a mesterséges intelligenciát a társadalomban. Az oktatás kulcsfontosságú, mind szektorként és olyan koalícióként, amelyet be kell vonnunk, mind pedig a mesterséges intelligenciával kapcsolatos társadalmi felvilágosítás szempontjából.

Egy másik fontos szempont a mesterséges intelligencia kutatóinak és vállalkozóinak finanszírozása, hogy kiderítsék a fejlesztésük technikai részleteit és az alkalmazás módját. De nem adhatunk nekik egyszerűen pénzt anélkül, hogy a társadalom többi részének is szót adnánk; ellenkező esetben csak megismételjük azokat a problémákat, amelyekkel az Egyesült Államokban szembesülünk, ahol lényegében a technokraták vagy a technokonzervatívok hoznak döntéseket.

Nem a nulláról indulunk. Már rengeteg munkát végeztek annak érdekében, hogy meghatározzák azokat a közös célokat, amelyek felé a társadalomnak törekednie kell. Például a fenntartható fejlődési célokra gondolok. Ez kiindulópont lehet annak kitalálásához, hogyan finanszírozzuk a mesterséges intelligencia terén történő innovációt.

A jelenlegi mesterséges intelligencia-technológiákkal kapcsolatos narratívák rendkívül polarizáltak. Az egyik oldalon vannak azok, akik szerint ezekben a technológiákban nincs semmi különösebben új, és hogy a buborék hamarosan kipukkad. A másik oldalon pedig azok állnak, akik úgy vélik, hogy a mesterséges intelligencia átalakítja az életünket, forradalmasítja az ellátási láncokat, és mindannyiunkat feleslegessé tesz. Mit gondol ezekről a különböző álláspontokról?

Igaz, sokan hajlamosak túlzottan felnagyítani az előnyöket anélkül, hogy figyelembe vennék a technológiák költségeit, vagy éppen a költségeket emelik ki túlzottan, anélkül, hogy látnák az előnyöket. De szerintem elég nagy azok aránya, akik egyetértenek abban, hogy szeretnénk élvezni a mesterséges intelligencia előnyeit, de nem a méltóságteljes életvitelünk árán – amelyhez hozzátartozik a jó egészségügyi ellátás, a gazdasági lehetőségek, az egészséges környezet és a virágzó bolygó. Ez a legkiegyensúlyozottabb megközelítés.

A mesterséges intelligencia (MI) sokféle technológia gyűjtőneve, ezért alaposan át kell gondolnunk, melyekbe fektessünk be, és mely új technológiákat szeretnénk kifejleszteni, mert mindegyik más-más kompromisszumokkal jár; ezek közül néhány összhangban áll azzal a jövővel, amelyet építeni szeretnénk, mások viszont nem. Bölcsen kell választanunk.

A mesterséges intelligencia (MI) számos különböző technológiát jelöl, ezért alaposan át kell gondolnunk, melyekbe fektetünk be, és mely új technológiákat szeretnénk kifejleszteni.

Milyen a saját viszonya a meglévő MI-eszközökhöz?

Három fő okból nem használom őket. Először is az etikai álláspontom miatt. Másodszor a magánélet védelmével kapcsolatos álláspontom miatt: ezeket a vállalatokat vizsgálom, és ezek végső soron a valaha feltalált leghatékonyabb megfigyelési technológiák. Harmadszor, ezek az eszközök nem igazán hasznosak ahhoz a speciális készségkészlethez, amelyre a munkám elvégzéséhez szükségem van.

Nem azt mondom, hogy mindenkinek ugyanezt kellene tennie. Sok emberrel beszéltem, akik egyértelműen profitálnak ezekből az eszközökből, vagy akiknek a szakmai szerepük részeként kötelező azok használata. Inkább az a megoldás a jelenlegi problémára, ha ugyanazt tesszük, amit a múltban más iparágakkal, például a divatiparral is tettünk. Amikor rájöttünk, hogy ruháink nagy részét valóban szörnyű körülmények között gyártják, nem egyszerűen csak megszabadultunk a ruháktól. Számos fogyasztói és munkavállalói szerveződés, kormányzati szabályozás és általános közvélemény-visszhang kellett ahhoz, hogy az iparágot kordába szorítsák. Természetesen a divatipar még mindig messze nem tökéletes, de legalább ma már vannak alternatívák, és a fogyasztók a pénztárcájukkal szavazhatnak arról, hogy milyen ellátási láncot és vállalati gyakorlatokat támogatnak.

Ugyanezt kell tennünk a mesterséges intelligenciával is. Jelenleg nincs elég alternatíva a felhasználók számára, és ahhoz, hogy ez megváltozzon, több munkavállalói szerveződésre és nagyobb nyilvános ellenállásra van szükség. Akik tudnak tartózkodni ezeknek a technológiáknak a használatától, azoknak feltétlenül bojkottálniuk kell őket, a kormányoknak pedig be kell avatkozniuk, hogy segítsenek új piacokat teremteni az alternatívák számára.

A fogyasztóknak fontos befolyásuk van, de ez nem az egyetlen. Emberként, egyénként munkavállalói, oktatói és polgári szerepet is betöltünk, és el kell gondolkodnunk azon, hogyan használhatjuk fel ezeket a szerepeket a mesterséges intelligencia fejlesztésével kapcsolatban annak javítása érdekében.

Enquanto iniciativas democráticas lideradas por cidadãos, as comunidades de energia desempenham um papel importante nos esforços em acelerar a transição da Europa para as energias renováveis. No entanto, por detrás da sua imagem progressista, persistem desigualdades familiares: as mulheres e as FLINTA continuam amplamente ausentes da adesão e da tomada de decisões. Se estes projetos populares de base têm como objetivo reformular não só a forma como a energia é produzida, mas também quem detém o poder, a questão do género não pode ser tratada como secundária.

As comunidades de energia são frequentemente consideradas um dos desenvolvimentos mais promissores ligados à transição energética — e por boas razões. A REScoop.eu, a federação europeia de comunidades de energia, descreve-as como uma «forma de organizar cidadãos que pretendem cooperar juntos numa atividade relacionada com o setor energético, baseada numa participação e governança abertas e democráticas, de modo a que a atividade possa prestar serviços ou outros benefícios aos membros ou à comunidade local». Isto abrange uma vasta gama de organizações e iniciativas, com dimensões e formas de produzir energia muito diferentes, desde a solar e hídrica à eólica ou biomassa. Em comum têm a produção de energia descentralizada e autogerida, a aposta nas renováveis e — infelizmente — uma persistente sub-representação das mulheres. Estudos mostram que mais de 70 por cento dos membros de comunidades de energia elétrica e mais de 83 por cento dos seus conselhos de administração são do sexo masculino.

Pode parecer picuinhas discutir a dinâmica de género no contexto da transição energética em geral, e ainda mais no microcosmos das comunidades de energia, que estão ainda a estabelecer-se na maioria dos Estados-membros da UE. No entanto, o género continua a ser uma lente útil para descrever a experiência de mais de metade da população e para analisar fenómenos políticos, incluindo a política energética.

Nas comunidades de energia, há uma persistente sub-representação das mulheres. Estudos mostram que mais de 70% dos membros e mais de 83% dos conselhos de administração são do sexo masculino.

Além disso, as comunidades de energia são laboratórios interessantes, pois abordam a transição energética a partir das bases, em proximidade com a vida quotidiana das pessoas. As estruturas e dinâmicas presentes nestes contextos podem simultaneamente refletir e moldar a direção da mudança.

Uma transição política
Os nossos sistemas energéticos atuais têm um impacto mais negativo nas mulheres do que nos homens. Isso começa com a extração de combustíveis fósseis, que coloca as mulheres indígenas e as pessoas two-spirit num risco acrescido de violência (incluindo sexual). Estes grupos também sofrem mais com os efeitos imediatos do consumo de combustíveis fósseis, como na poluição derivada de cozinhar. Os efeitos a longo prazo das alterações climáticas também mostram ter um viés de género: as mulheres enfrentam mais riscos para a saúde, estão em maior risco durante as catástrofes climáticas, e por aí fora.

O setor energético emprega menos mulheres e paga-lhes menos, agravando também a sua pobreza (energética). Do mesmo modo, a governança energética tem sido dominada por homens no passado, tanto a nível nacional como europeu. No fundo, os sistemas energéticos atuais não funcionam para as mulheres em imensos aspetos e as comunidades de energia ainda não se libertaram desta dinâmica. Por isso, o género precisa de ser tido em conta para a justiça energética, a par das experiências interseccionais de desigualdade e opressão, que incluem também a classe, a sexualidade, a etnia e a idade. No entanto, como demonstrou a investigadora Barbara Nicoloso, a vertente política da transição energética não tem recebido a devida atenção.

Os sistemas energéticos atuais não funcionam para as mulheres em imensos aspetos e as comunidades de energia ainda não se libertaram desta dinâmica.

A política energética é sensível à política em geral e aos interesses políticos instalados. A reação contra o Pacto Ecológico Europeu (o Green Deal) visa abrandar a transição energética — mesmo quando os estudos refutam, uma e outra vez, a ideia de que os eleitores se opõem às medidas climáticas. Ao mesmo tempo, os riscos geopolíticos ligados à dependência dos combustíveis fósseis ficaram bem visíveis desde a invasão da Ucrânia, com os elevados preços da energia a agravar a pobreza energética na Europa. Nos anos que se seguiram à invasão, a UE conseguiu diversificar o seu fornecimento de energia (ainda que por vezes com contrapartidas dolorosas), mas as renováveis estão a ser difamadas pela extrema-direita. Na Alemanha, por exemplo, a Alternativa para a Alemanha (AfD) tem criticado frequentemente a energia eólica e defendido a retoma das importações baratas de combustíveis fósseis vindas da Rússia.

A política energética reflete as estruturas e as prioridades das sociedades em que é criada. Isto significa que a sub-representação das mulheres num nicho de prosumidores de energia ativos não é uma coincidência, mas um produto da política. É um sinal de alerta de que a transição energética, se for tratada como forma de sair de um sistema e entrar num novo, mesmo por defensores das renováveis, vai arrastar consigo pontos cegos contraproducentes e injustos.

Equilibrar o terreno

As comunidades de energia representam um microcosmos das questões mais amplas com que progressistas e Verdes se debatem em toda a Europa. Pode a transição energética ser verdadeiramente participativa? Como pode ser acelerada e o seu alcance alargado? As dinâmicas sociais e políticas são, pelo menos, tão importantes quanto as considerações técnicas.

A sub-representação das mulheres num nicho das comunidades de energia não é uma coincidência. É um produto da política.

Dado que as comunidades de energia são, na maioria das vezes, fundadas e mantidas vivas apenas por voluntários, ter mais membros significa maior envolvimento, mais recursos e, em última análise, mais dinamismo. Embora as comunidades de energia tenham surgido de um movimento ambicioso para a transição energética, atualmente, ficam tantas vezes limitadas a um grupo homogéneo de homens altamente qualificados e com rendimentos elevados.

Se as comunidades de energia conseguirem aumentar o número de mulheres entre os seus membros, a transição energética descentralizada ganha velocidade. O que pode ser feito para criar um ciclo positivo entre a participação das mulheres nas comunidades de energia, a igualdade de género e a transição energética?

O caso das comunidades de energia alemãs é particularmente interessante porque a Alemanha é o país com mais comunidades de energia na UE e tem uma longa história de ativismo de base e turbulência política relacionados com a transição energética.

Segundo Lara Track, gestora de projetos na Netzwerk Energiewende Jetzt e.V., uma organização de apoio às comunidades de energia, é impossível ignorar a ligação entre a luta pela igualdade de género e a transição energética, mesmo que esta tenha sido negligenciada durante demasiado tempo.

Se as comunidades de energia conseguirem aumentar o número de mulheres entre os seus membros, a transição energética descentralizada ganha velocidade.

As mulheres, lésbicas, pessoas intersexo, não-binárias, trans e agénero (por vezes designadas em alemão pelo acrónimo FLINTA) estão muito menos representadas nas comunidades de energia, mas também na transição energética como um todo. Lara Track, que trabalhou extensivamente sobre o papel das FLINTA na transição energética, afirma que é essencial aumentar a sua Teilhabe, o seu «ter um papel», que é mais do que apenas participação (Teilnahme).

Centrar apenas na participação como veículo para a igualdade de género e a representação tem-se revelado vulnerável ao tokenismo e à simplificação excessiva. Em contrapartida, ter um papel (através da liderança de um projeto, fazendo parte de uma administração ou simplesmente integrando uma comunidade) significa ter voz e, em última análise, poder. Este tipo de participação mais forte costuma ser mais acessível para pessoas abastadas, proprietários de habitação e homens cisgénero, pois têm mais oportunidades de participar, explica Track. Quem quiser colocar o género nas comunidades de energia tem de nadar contra a maré na sua luta por representação, inclusão e poder. Segundo Track, embora o género seja um tema importante, as comunidades de energia podem acabar por dar prioridade a outras áreas e não conseguir criar estruturas de participação.

Ter um papel significa ter voz e, em última análise, poder.

Kiara Groneweg, que trabalha na área da energia na Women Engage for a Common Future (uma rede sem fins lucrativos dedicada à ligação género-clima), concorda com Track que uma participação e representação meramente simbólicas arriscam reforçar o status quo em vez de trazerem uma mudança transformadora e maior igualdade.

A título de exemplo, Groneweg menciona Katherina Reiche, atual ministra da energia alemã e ex-CEO de uma subsidiária do gigante energético E.ON, como exemplo de mulheres que usam as suas posições de poder para impedir mudanças estruturais. Reiche propôs restrições à expansão das renováveis, como exigir que estas suportem os custos de extensão da rede e limitar a compensação pela injeção de eletricidade na rede. O ex-secretário de Estado Verde Sven Giegold criticou estas propostas como uma tentativa de travar a produção renovável descentralizada.

Quem quiser colocar o género nas comunidades de energia tem de nadar contra a maré na sua luta por representação, inclusão e poder.

Ainda assim, Groneweg reconhece que, no que diz respeito à representação nas comunidades de energia, «as mulheres atraem mulheres e as FLINTA atraem FLINTA». E acrescenta: «Se tivermos um conselho de administração masculino com um tempo de palavra muito elevado, algumas FLINTA simplesmente não vão querer entrar e participar nas discussões, porque a estrutura não se adequa logo à partida.» A atração que acompanha o aumento da representação é crucial para abrir as estruturas dominadas por homens. Como refere Track, «as pessoas gostam de trabalhar com pessoas com quem conseguem sentir uma ligação com relativa facilidade.»

No entanto, as desigualdades socioeconómicas constituem um obstáculo ao aumento da representação, afirma Groneweg. Para ela, o debate sobre uma transição energética socialmente justa precisa também de ser lúcido quanto ao acesso desigual ao capital, à habitação e à propriedade. Este acesso é limitado na Alemanha, onde mais de metade da população vive em habitações arrendadas e uma em cada cinco pessoas está em risco de pobreza ou exclusão social — valor que duplica nos agregados familiares monoparentais.

Estes números têm uma forte dimensão de género. As mulheres representam a grande maioria (85 por cento) dos agregados monoparentais, ganham 16 por cento menos e têm pensões em média muito mais baixas do que os homens.

Com 75 por cento do parque habitacional europeu classificado como energeticamente ineficiente, a transição no aquecimento é o ponto mais vulnerável da transição energética. Groneweg sublinhou que, no aquecimento, as soluções individuais são praticamente insuficientes, sobretudo para os 53 por cento de pessoas na Alemanha que alugam habitação. Uma vez que as renovações e a adaptação com bombas de calor têm sido politicamente inflamadas na Alemanha, estas grandes soluções estruturais ficam por resolver, deixando as populações a compensar sozinhas os elevados custos de energia.

Uma mentalidade competitiva

Quando Marina Braun — engenheira, fundadora e membro do conselho de administração de várias comunidades de energia — decidiu envolver-se no setor, pensou no facto de ser a primeira mulher a aderir a uma comunidade de energia inteiramente masculina. Conhecia até alguns dos homens na administração, o que facilitou. No entanto, acabou por dedicar os seus esforços a uma comunidade de energia mais jovem e diversa.

«Apercebi-me de que a motivação era, de alguma forma, completamente diferente», recorda. «Havia mulheres envolvidas também. Tive um pressentimento de que me sentiria mais confortável do que na outra comunidade de energia porque estavam ativamente à procura de mulheres. Pensei que talvez não houvesse aquela ‘mentalidade de cotoveladas’ — e bem, isso foi um fator decisivo para mim.»

A representação não é uma cura milagrosa para a igualdade de género.

Kerstin Lopau, engenheira e cofundadora da SoLocal Energy, teve uma experiência negativa em comunidades de energia dominadas por homens, onde se deparou com uma falta de generosidade conversacional e uma mentalidade competitiva — a tal mentalidade de cotoveladas também mencionada por Braun. Na sua experiência, uma cultura de comunicação mais agradável conduz também a uma maior produtividade e a uma abordagem cooperativa na resolução de problemas.

Tal como Track e Groneweg, Lopau acredita que a representação não é uma cura milagrosa para a igualdade de género. Por exemplo, fazer parte do conselho de administração de uma empresa — uma estrutura tantas vezes muito hierárquica e conformista — pode levar as mulheres a seguir ideais masculinos e a perder solidariedade com outras mulheres. Nas comunidades de energia, porém, o panorama é um pouco diferente, segundo Lopau: as direções tendem a ser mais democráticas, com vários mecanismos para garantir o controlo e a transparência, o que evita o afastamento e a perda de solidariedade.

Cultivar o terreno
As comunidades de energia alemãs são frequentemente Genossenschaften (cooperativas) que englobam uma ética, um estatuto jurídico e uma estrutura específicos. Estas organizações visam ajudar os seus membros a prosseguir os seus próprios objetivos económicos, sociais ou culturais através de operações conjuntas. Seguem tradicionalmente os princípios de entreajuda, autorresponsabilidade e autogestão.

No seu trabalho, Track observou que as comunidades de energia podem desencadear conversas em torno de novas formas sustentáveis de criar e reter valor. As comunidades de energia são alavancas para as pessoas beneficiarem localmente da transição energética, em especial as que não beneficiam atualmente, observa. No setor da energia, isto é crucial. Demonstrou-se que os projetos de energia comunitária geram entre duas a oito vezes mais receitas locais do que se o projeto fosse realizado por um agente externo. Na Alemanha, onde grande parte da eletricidade produzida no leste do país flui para oeste, agravando os desequilíbrios existentes, este aspeto local tem um potencial imenso.

O debate sobre uma transição energética socialmente justa precisa também de ser lúcido quanto ao acesso desigual ao capital, à habitação e à propriedade.

Track diz que é surpreendente que mais municípios não recorram às comunidades de energia para combater o fenómeno «not in my backyard» (NIMBY) e construir uma democracia energética local. Segundo Groneweg, porém, dado o tempo e o esforço voluntário necessários para criar comunidades de energia (sobretudo num país como a Alemanha, sobrecarregado por enormes obstáculos burocráticos), as comunidades de energia não devem ser as únicas responsáveis por eliminar barreiras estruturais e resolver problemas políticos mais amplos como a pobreza energética.

Em vez disso, o movimento das comunidades de energia poderia unir forças com outros movimentos sociais, como as comunidades feministas e climáticas. «Espero um movimento energético feminista que lute para crescer os sistemas de energia descentralizados. Teríamos então mais pessoas a envolver-se. Isso significaria que, numa comunidade de energia que talvez tenha agora cerca de 20 voluntários, de repente 200 estão envolvidos, e cresce de cidade em cidade, ou de aldeia em aldeia», diz Groneweg.

As comunidades de energia são alavancas para as pessoas beneficiarem localmente da transição energética, em especial as que não beneficiam atualmente.

Para Lopau, é um desenvolvimento positivo que os painéis solares se tenham tornado um produto de massa, retirando a geração de energia do domínio dos geeks da tecnologia e trazendo-a para o mundo familiar do supermercado local. Os pequenos módulos fotovoltaicos tornam muito acessível para os inquilinos criar o seu próprio sistema solar nas varandas. Para quem consome pouco ou está em situação de pobreza energética, as poupanças geradas por um módulo solar numa varanda são relativamente maiores do que para quem consome muito.

As renováveis permitem a produção local de energia e são a forma mais democrática e acessível de fornecer energia até à data. No entanto, estas fontes de energia ainda são fortemente influenciadas pelos sistemas energéticos anteriores e pelas suas dinâmicas de género, observa Lopau. Ela vê as renováveis como um terreno fértil que agora precisa de cultivo para alcançar o seu potencial, nomeadamente através da inclusão de pessoas FLINTA nas comunidades de energia. No entanto, persistem pequenos e grandes obstáculos que as comunidades de energia têm de superar para equilibrar a sua participação.

«As comunidades de energia não existem num vazio»

Os primeiros obstáculos que os potenciais novos membros de uma comunidade de energia enfrentam são os custos iniciais e recorrentes associados à adesão. As comunidades de energia podem antecipar-se a isso oferecendo modelos de preços solidários.

O movimento das comunidades de energia pode unir forças com outros movimentos sociais, como as comunidades feministas e climáticas.

Lopau, que tem estado ativa na democratização dos sistemas solares de varanda, reconhece que as renováveis muitas vezes não são uma prioridade para quem enfrenta a pobreza (energética) e o peso mental e o stress a ela associados. Afirma que as comunidades de energia devem depender menos das motivações internas das pessoas com consciência ambiental. Para que isto se torne uma realidade, os potenciais utilizadores devem ser procurados de forma proativa e apoiados.

Mas as barreiras financeiras não são o único obstáculo à participação. Uma vez que as comunidades de energia dependem da eficácia individual e coletiva, as pessoas que não tenham autoconfiança ou experiência na sociedade civil ou em iniciativas coletivas locais, como associações desportivas, podem enfrentar barreiras mentais e subestimar-se a si próprias e às suas capacidades. Para Braun, é importante lembrar às pessoas que as comunidades de energia são uma iniciativa coletiva. Os membros trabalharão sempre com outros; ninguém ficará para trás, e seguem sempre um princípio de trabalho a 4 ou 6 mãos, afirma.

Para antecipar os obstáculos financeiros à adesão, as comunidades de energia podem oferecer modelos de preços solidários.

Os estereótipos de género também contribuem para a sub-representação das mulheres. Braun, que estudou engenharia, sugere que a disparidade de género nas áreas STEM também tem que ver com os nomes dos programas de licenciatura e a ênfase nos aspetos técnicos. Termos como tecnologia energética ou tecnologia renovável tendem a colocar em primeiro plano os elementos técnicos tradicionalmente associados à masculinidade, ocultando as questões jurídicas, organizacionais e sociais ligadas às renováveis.

Braun sublinha que os estereótipos de género podem ser desafiados. «Este é um tema que qualquer pessoa pode aprender e compreender. Basta dedicar-lhe tempo, tal como é preciso tempo para aprender a tricotar, a pintar e qualquer outra competência que se queira desenvolver.»

A disparidade de género nas áreas STEM também tem que ver com os nomes dos programas de licenciatura e a ênfase nos aspetos técnicos.

No entanto, a escassez de tempo também afeta desproporcionalmente as mulheres. Na Alemanha, as mulheres passam 44,3 por cento mais tempo em trabalho de cuidados do que os homens, constituindo um segundo turno não remunerado de 30 horas por semana. Estima-se que este trabalho equivale a 826 mil milhões de euros por ano não remunerados, sendo a condição prévia de todo o trabalho remunerado. Sem dar e receber cuidados, como ensinar as crianças a falar, a resolver conflitos ou a construir relações sociais, outras atividades económicas simplesmente não seriam possíveis. Quando os governos pressionam para o alargamento da semana de trabalho a fim de aumentar a produção económica, arriscam reforçar a disparidade de cuidados entre géneros. Reduzem também o tempo disponível para o envolvimento e a participação democráticos.

Estas são questões mais amplas que inevitavelmente afetam as comunidades de energia, que dependem maioritariamente do trabalho voluntário. Como refere Track: «As comunidades de energia não existem num vazio. E tudo o que fazemos estruturalmente para promover a igualdade de género vai beneficiar a igualdade de género dentro das comunidades de energia.»

As competências que importam

Uma das estratégias que os organizadores das comunidades de energia seguem para atrair pessoas FLINTA é destacar que são necessárias competências diversas. As competências em comunicação, administração, direito ou finanças são essenciais para construir a organização antes de qualquer ventoinha eólica ou campo de painéis solares ser aprovado.

Braun explica que, especialmente no início, é essencial ter pessoas a bordo que saibam como construir uma organização — de forma prática e social. «As mulheres são simplesmente muito boas a construir organizações estruturalmente, em gestão de projetos, são muito ponderadas, muito empáticas — e é isso que é essencial para uma comunidade de energia.» Chegar às pessoas, convencê-las e integrá-las está ligado a um conjunto de competências emocionais e sociais (que são, de facto, competências, e não qualidades inatas) que as mulheres e as pessoas FLINTA frequentemente têm.

As competências em comunicação, administração, direito ou finanças são essenciais para construir a organização antes de qualquer ventoinha eólica ou campo de painéis solares ser aprovado.

Os investigadores demonstraram provas sólidas dos benefícios de trabalhar em equipas mais diversas. Um exemplo, mencionado por Braun, é a maior aversão ao risco. Na sua experiência, enquanto os homens tendem a assumir mais riscos e a adiar a abordagem de cenários pessimistas, uma maior interação entre géneros nas discussões equilibra estas tendências, conduzindo, por exemplo, a uma avaliação de risco mais sólida sobre no que investir.

Para Lopau, procurar ativamente uma adesão mais diversa pode também ter efeitos dominó importantes, como abrir novas perspetivas e oportunidades para fazer crescer a comunidade, e tornar o espaço mais acolhedor para todos — incluindo potenciais novos membros.

Track menciona o exemplo de uma comunidade de energia liderada por mulheres com que trabalhou: «Acho interessante que, quando há duas presidentes, se pense em programas de apoio à infância.» E acrescenta: «Não são as únicas, mas nem toda a gente o faz.»

Com vista à transição energética, que por vezes luta para ter o apoio das comunidades e fazer face ao fenómeno NIMBY, torna-se evidente que as competências sociais e organizacionais — tradicionalmente associadas a género e desvalorizadas — são as que determinam o impacto de uma comunidade de energia. Embora do exterior possa parecer que a falta de competências tecnológicas torna a participação nas comunidades de energia sem sentido, na verdade, são as competências sociais e organizacionais que podem fazer crescer e escalar o movimento.

«Não ouças os homens»

Kerstin Lopau quer combater a sub-representação das mulheres nas comunidades de energia pela raiz e fazer as coisas de forma radicalmente diferente. Em anos anteriores, organizou uma escola de verão para jovens aprenderem a instalar painéis solares. Depois de receber feedback de que algumas pessoas FLINTA não se inscreveram porque não se sentiam seguras, Lopau pôs mãos à obra. Desde então, ela e os seus colegas da SoLocal Energy têm organizado campos solares concebidos especificamente para FLINTA. A sua abordagem é estar atenta às lacunas, «tentar sempre olhar atentamente para o que as pessoas precisam. Sabemos pela nossa própria experiência no terreno o que parece estranho, por isso tentamos perceber o que poderia ser melhor.»

Estes campos solares pretendem também ser uma rampa de lançamento para o emprego futuro daqueles que gostariam de seguir este caminho profissionalmente. Lopau tem sido estratégica na construção de relações com o setor local de mão-de-obra especializada no Norte de Hesse. Contou com a sua experiência e conhecimento, mesmo quando tal não era estritamente necessário. Estas colaborações levaram a alguns contactos muito úteis. Ela recorda que os profissionais «viram no local, ‘ok, elas sabem mesmo o que estão a fazer, e são competentes — e não são tão más como pensávamos. Talvez possamos recrutar alguns estagiários e trabalhadores aqui.’ Por isso foi uma situação em que todos saíram a ganhar.»

Um pilar central deste campo de verão é o networking, já que a construção de relações entre estes futuros profissionais de energia durante o campo tem sido valiosa. Desenvolve a literacia energética e a confiança das participantes, permitindo-lhes aparecer de forma diferente, mais empoderada, nas suas comunidades de energia ou em futuros empregos. Lopau partilha que uma antiga participante do campo de verão lhe enviou um e-mail com uma questão técnica. «Disse que era assim que se tinha de fazer, mas os homens aqui dizem que não é preciso fazê-lo assim», escreveu a participante. Lopau respondeu: «Não, não ouças os homens. Lembraste-te corretamente.»

Este artigo foi inspirado pelo trabalho de Barbara Nicoloso, cujo ensaio “Gender Power: The energy transition through a gender lens” e o policy brief “Gender at the Heart of the EU Energy Transition: Key learnings from the French case” foram anteriormente publicados pela Green European Foundation.

O que distingue os humanos da inteligência artificial? A autora alemã Nina George vê a resposta na capacidade de criar aquilo que até então não existia. No entanto, à medida que o alcance da IA se expande para cantos cada vez mais distantes das nossas vidas – desde o conteúdo que consumimos até à forma como falamos –, arriscamo-nos a perder a nossa liberdade e criatividade.

Mais de três anos após o seu lançamento no mercado, em novembro de 2022, o ChatGPT, a robótica geradora de texto criada pela OpenAI na sagrada Silicon Valley, continua a ser adorado como se fosse o «Pancriador» (como o autor e filósofo da tecnologia Stanisław Lem chamou o «construtor racional do mundo» na sua obra de 1964, Summa Technologiae).

Segundo um estudo da própria OpenAI, 800 milhões de utilizadores, predominantemente jovens entre os 18 e os 25 anos, submetem uma média de 18 mil milhões de pedidos por semana ao seu chatbot. Recorrem ao ChatGPT para trabalhos de casa, candidaturas a emprego, slogans de marketing, e-mails, newsletters, excertos de propaganda para bots das redes sociais, para produtos que se assemelham a livros, críticas ou traduções; para cartas de amor à la Cyrano de Bergerac versão ciborgue, respostas automáticas ao cliente, resumos; e conselhos de relacionamento ou de vida. Claro que o ChatGPT é apenas um entre muitos chatbots – existem muito mais de 1000 grandes modelos de linguagem, e as suas aplicações estão disponíveis em todo o mundo.

O número de pedidos oscila no início e no fim do semestre e das férias escolares. Segundo um inquérito da HEPI e da Kortext no Reino Unido, a proporção de estudantes que usam ferramentas de IA generativa como o ChatGPT para trabalhos avaliados saltou de 53 por cento em 2024 para 88 por cento em 2025. Tal como a escrita, também a leitura está em declínio. Docentes universitários na Europa e do outro lado do Atlântico relatam que um número crescente de estudantes não está habituado a ler e considera mental, emocional e fisicamente exaustivo ler textos mais longos do que um poema.

Embora fosse fácil culpar estes desenvolvimentos na OpenAI, Meta, Anthropic e os restantes suspeitos do costume do colonialismo digital norte-americano, a IA apenas acelerou uma tendência que já era visível, inclusive na Europa. O poder computacional e a estatística baseada em dados, frequentemente apresentados como «inteligência artificial», são um espelho amplificador de condições pré-existentes desoladoras.

Tal como a escrita, também a leitura está em declínio. Docentes universitários na Europa e do outro lado do Atlântico relatam que um número crescente de estudantes não está habituado a ler e considera mental, emocional e fisicamente exaustivo ler textos mais longos do que um poema.

Um admirável mundo velho

As tentativas, desde os anos 1960, de replicar as vias neuronais do cérebro humano através de estatística baseada em dados produziram aquilo a que chamamos «IA fraca». A IA fraca só consegue concentrar-se numa única tarefa – ao contrário dos humanos, que conseguem processar 11 milhões de impressões sensoriais por segundo e filtrar as 40 mais importantes para reações imediatas. Ao conduzir um automóvel, nós pensamos, mudamos de mudança, viramos o volante, reagimos aos sinais vermelhos e mantemos o olhar na criança no banco de trás que está a enfiar um chocalho no nariz.

O ChatGPT, o Gemini, o LlaMA, o Microsoft Copilot e semelhantes só conseguem conduzir sempre em frente ou reconhecer o sinal vermelho. Além disso, não compreendem nem o significado nem o contexto daquilo que misturam, porque todas as letras, palavras, frases, contextos e informações são convertidos em fórmulas algorítmicas. A linguagem humana é convertida em matemática de máquina, e a matemática é cuspida de volta como comunicação simulada.

Numa era de policrises complexas, da ascensão da extrema-direita e de uma inundação de bots de propaganda nas redes sociais, a comunicação automatizada funciona como acelerador de futuras ditaduras linguísticas.

No entanto, este resultado é rigorosamente pré-censurado: os chatbots de IA estão programados para evitar uma lista crescente de termos proibidos e temas sensíveis, através de um «controlo de conteúdo» definido de fábrica. Esta lista inclui palavrões e termos sexualmente explícitos, mas também adjetivos incomuns e assuntos politicamente sensíveis (e, com o atual governo dos EUA, a lista é cada vez mais longa). O resultado é, na melhor das hipóteses, uma linguagem medíocre e conservadora, desprovida do elemento humano.

Os chatbots de IA estão programados para evitar uma lista crescente de termos proibidos e temas sensíveis, através de um «controlo de conteúdo» definido de fábrica. O resultado é, na melhor das hipóteses, uma linguagem medíocre e conservadora, desprovida do elemento humano.

Esta linguagem está a mudar não só a comunicação humana escrita, mas também a oral. Investigadores do Instituto Max Planck para o Desenvolvimento Humano analisaram mais de 770.000 podcasts e vídeos e concluíram que estamos a começar a falar no estilo do ChatGPT. Esta erosão da diversidade linguística e cultural aumenta consideravelmente o perigo de manipulação de opinião. Numa era de policrises complexas, da ascensão da extrema-direita e de uma inundação de bots de propaganda nas redes sociais, a comunicação automatizada funciona como acelerador de futuras ditaduras (linguísticas).

Uma análise a mais de 770.000 podcasts e vídeos conclui que estamos a começar a falar no estilo do ChatGPT. Esta erosão da diversidade linguística e cultural aumenta o perigo de manipulação de opinião.

Exploradores do tempo, da cultura e do conhecimento
Mas este não é o único problema com o entusiasmo em torno da IA. A base textual sobre a qual, por exemplo, o GPT-3 foi desenvolvido, consiste em 45 terabytes de material que a OpenAI muito provavelmente pilhou ilegalmente ao longo dos anos. Trezentos milhões de páginas de texto extraídas de sites privados, arquivos de meios de comunicação, fóruns do Reddit, avaliações da Amazon, redes sociais, entradas da Wikipédia. E também sete milhões de livros protegidos por direitos de autor e 81 milhões de textos científicos.

Equipas de investigação como a holandesa AI Safety Camp ou a dinamarquesa Rights Alliance provaram que as bases para grandes modelos de linguagem, como o Llama da Meta, foram construídas a partir de livros e coleções como a Books3, armazenadas ilegalmente em bibliotecas paralelas como a Library Genesis (LibGen), a Z-Library (Bok), a Sci-Hub e a Bibliotik – sites de pirataria.

O número de processos judiciais contra empresas de IA pela violação massiva de direitos de autor cresce todas as semanas nos EUA. Na Europa, as ações coletivas são difíceis de mover e financeiramente inviáveis para autores individuais.

O número de processos judiciais contra esta violação massiva de direitos de autor cresce todas as semanas. Em novembro de 2025, havia 75 processos contra a OpenAI, a Microsoft, a Meta e a Alphabet (empresa-mãe da Google). Os mais conhecidos são o do The New York Times contra a OpenAI e a Microsoft, e a ação coletiva movida pela Guilda dos Autores dos EUA (a maior organização profissional de escritores nos EUA) e 18 autores individuais (incluindo George R.R. Martin, Jonathan Franzen e John Grisham) contra a OpenAI. Outro processo, movido por três autores individuais, o caso Bartz v. Anthropic, resultou num acordo de 1,5 mil milhões de dólares. Na Europa, as ações coletivas são difíceis de mover e financeiramente inviáveis para autores individuais. Mesmo que os juízes norte-americanos decidam contra a pilhagem feita pela IA, isso não fará justiça aos autores europeus.

Danos de mercado pelo resultado da IA

O linguista Noam Chomsky chamou ao ChatGPT um «plagiador de alta tecnologia» que copia de livros amostrados ilegalmente para produzir texto que reflete o estilo dos autores originais. Apesar deste roubo, os resultados são considerados «domínio público» e podem ser reutilizados por qualquer pessoa. Mas isto é um problema colateral – o dano real é que produtos de IA semelhantes prejudiquem os mercados precisamente das pessoas cujas obras foram roubadas.

Noam Chomsky chamou ao ChatGPT um «plagiador de alta tecnologia» que copia de livros amostrados ilegalmente para produzir texto que reflete o estilo dos autores originais.

A Amazon, que sempre aplicou software de controlo de conteúdo em todos os e-books para filtrar pornografia infantil, discurso de ódio e negacionismo do Holocausto, adicionou um detetor de IA. No entanto, continua a permitir o carregamento de livros gerados por IA na plataforma (máximo de três por dia por utilizador), sem etiquetas ou avisos visíveis para os clientes. Entre 10.000 e 40.000 «fraudes literárias» produzidas por IA inundam a plataforma todos os meses, enganando os consumidores e chegando mesmo a colocá-los em perigo (por exemplo, quando «guias» não verificados prescrevem tratamentos sem sentido, conselhos de vida fatais, ou declaram que cogumelos venenosos são comestíveis).

Ao mesmo tempo, os livros reais de autores humanos tornam-se menos visíveis, e as receitas da autopublicação estão a encolher. Por exemplo, a remuneração dos escritores através do modelo de partilha de receitas da Kindle Direct Publishing está a diminuir, à medida que mestres de bots e outros utilizadores sem escrúpulos embolsam uma grande parte do dinheiro. Os livros gerados por IA são frequentemente feitos para se assemelharem aos verdadeiros lançamentos de autores conhecidos (ou são apresentados como «resumos» e «material secundário»). Biografias de pessoas famosas, lançadas quase instantaneamente após a sua morte, são também uma forma fácil de ganhar dinheiro com IA.

Um fenómeno semelhante pode observar-se no setor da música: segundo um estudo da aplicação de streaming Deezer, 34 por cento das canções carregadas diariamente na plataforma são geradas por IA, o que, por sua vez, reduz a remuneração de compositores e músicos humanos através do modelo de receita partilhada das plataformas.

Tradutores, ilustradores e narradores de audiolivros são os grandes perdedores neste jogo. As aplicações geradoras de texto são amplamente usadas em todo o mundo, incluindo dentro do setor editorial. A Amazon acabou de lançar o seu «serviço de tradução» por IA para autopublicadores. No Reino Unido, um terço dos tradutores relatou ter perdido trabalho devido à IA, e 37 por cento dos ilustradores viram o seu rendimento diminuir pela mesma razão. Os tradutores estão a começar a mudar de profissão ou a trabalhar como pós-editores mal pagos, reparando textos e traduções gerados por máquina. Entretanto, vários narradores de audiolivros disseram-me, em confidencialidade, que se veem perante a escolha entre aceitar que as suas vozes sejam clonadas, ou serem «colocados na lista negra» pela indústria.

No Reino Unido, um terço dos tradutores relatou ter perdido trabalho devido à IA, e 37 por cento dos ilustradores viram o seu rendimento diminuir pela mesma razão. Os tradutores estão a começar a mudar de profissão ou a trabalhar como pós-editores mal pagos, reparando textos e traduções gerados por máquina.

Pagar aos escritores pela utilização passada ou futura do seu trabalho iria, segundo as gigantes tecnólogicas, prejudicar o desenvolvimento da IA. A administração Trump está do lado dos oligarcas tecnológicos: em maio, despediu Shira Perlmutter, chefe do Gabinete de Direitos de Autor dos EUA, depois de o seu gabinete ter divulgado um relatório que concluía que os usos não autorizados de obras protegidas por direitos de autor para treinar sistemas de inteligência artificial generativa poderiam ser ilegais. (O Supremo Tribunal suspendeu, por agora, a demissão de Perlmutter.)

A linha de defesa da Google é a de que as máquinas não são assim tão diferentes de um humano a ler um livro. No entanto, os humanos não conseguem memorizar livros inteiros, nem copiam o seu conteúdo como modelo de negócio. Nenhum autor que queira construir ou manter uma reputação se apropria do estilo de outro; em vez disso, dedica milhares de horas de trabalho a encontrar a sua voz única e original. O truque de equiparar máquinas a humanos e atribuir direitos humanos às máquinas é popular entre as GAFAM (Google, Amazon, Facebook, Apple, Microsoft; a OpenAI deveria ser acrescentada a esta lista) para evitar pagar aos autores.

Isto não é surpreendente no setor cultural. As empresas tecnológicas têm uma longa tradição de pilhar ideias de escritores e poetas. Ciborgues, máquinas humanoides, a internet, as redes sociais, máquinas de escrever automáticas omniscientes, videochamadas, carros autónomos e robôs domésticos existiram todos na literatura muito antes de aparecerem no mundo real. Os verdadeiros inovadores não são Mark Zuckerberg, Sam Altman e Bill Gates, mas Stanisław Lem, E. M. Forster, Neal Stephenson, George Orwell, Mary Shelley, Karel Čapek e Isaac Asimov, entre outros. Termos como avatar, robô, mundos virtuais ou metaverso também têm origem nas mentes de autores.

Os humanos não conseguem memorizar livros inteiros, nem copiam o seu conteúdo como modelo de negócio. Nenhum autor que queira construir ou manter uma reputação se apropria do estilo de outro; em vez disso, dedica milhares de horas de trabalho a encontrar a sua voz única e original.

Deveríamos nós, escritores, deixar de conceber tais ideias, sabendo que muito provavelmente se tornarão realidade?

Perder a própria voz

Não devíamos. O poder dos seres humanos de imaginar utopias ou distopias nunca antes concebidas é o que os distingue das máquinas. Se as máquinas viessem a apoderar-se da narrativa da humanidade, a evolução primeiro estagnaria e depois regrediria. O óbvio desenraizaria por completo o extraordinário – nenhuma ideia nova, nenhuma nova proposta de coexistência, nenhum novo conceito para dar sentido a policrises em constante evolução.

Prevê-se que, até 2030, a infraestrutura física que alimenta as aplicações de IA venha a exceder as necessidades energéticas de toda a força de trabalho humana.

Os direitos de autor e os direitos morais, o direito à integridade e a não ser censurado, o direito dos autores de decidir como e por quem as suas obras e o seu trabalho são usados – estes não são direitos exclusivos de profissionais culturais e artistas. São o resultado de uma mudança de paradigma na autoperceção da humanidade: o reconhecimento da criatividade humana, do livre arbítrio, da individualidade, da autonomia e da capacidade de decisão. E também da responsabilidade individual: todo o autor, seja profissional ou amador, blogger ou comentador no Facebook, é responsável por aquilo que exprime; e, ao mesmo tempo, tem permissão para o fazer. Os direitos de autor dizem respeito à liberdade.

Escrever ou dedicar-se a atividades artísticas tem também um efeito multifacetado na identidade humana: quem consegue pensar consegue decidir; quem consegue decidir consegue agir. Quem consegue ler, compreender e escrever é menos suscetível à propaganda, à desinformação e à manipulação, venha ela das «promoções» da Black Friday ou de forças políticas antidemocráticas. Podem ser participantes ativos na democracia, em vez de meros consumidores ou eleitores. Em contrapartida, quem depende da linguagem automatizada já não consegue falar por si próprio; perde a sua voz.

Quem consegue pensar consegue decidir; quem consegue decidir consegue agir. Quem consegue ler, compreender e escrever é menos suscetível à propaganda, à desinformação e à manipulação, venha ela das «promoções» da Black Friday ou de forças políticas antidemocráticas.

Ter voz própria e saber usá-la é ainda mais necessário face às crises democráticas, sociais e ecológicas que enfrentamos. Do ponto de vista ecológico, a IA deveria ser encarada com a mesma atitude crítica que outrora se dirigiu aos clorofluorocarbonetos ou à poluição por partículas. Prevê-se que, até 2030, a infraestrutura física que alimenta as aplicações de IA venha a exceder as necessidades energéticas de toda a força de trabalho humana. É provável que numerosos empregos desapareçam, não só no setor cultural, aumentando o fardo sobre Estados que já se debatem com o desemprego e o envelhecimento das populações. Se isto acontecer, um punhado de monopólios de comunicação terá cimentado o seu domínio, determinando também a orientação política da Europa. Este seria o desfecho final da globalização digital, um sistema em que poucos decidem o destino de muitos – a menos que os muitos decidam usar a sua voz.

Quem depende da linguagem automatizada já não consegue falar por si próprio; perde a sua voz.

Adeus à liberdade?

O autor individual, enquanto ator liberal e responsável, está a ser apagado pela simulação de comunicação automatizada. A IA generativa é, na verdade, degenerativa: perturba as capacidades de quem a usa regularmente, e fá-lo à custa dos trabalhadores da palavra.

O anseio por uma máquina superior aos humanos, um golem, um deus ex machina, é o eterno defeito humano. É um desejo de criar uma entidade maior, mais permanente, melhor do que a humanidade, e de mergulhar com deleite numa passividade infinita e reconfortante, enquanto o piloto automático assume o controlo. Finalmente livre! Livre da responsabilidade e da necessidade de tomar decisões. Livre do fardo desta vida hedionda e confusa, com as suas muitas crises e humilhações.

Talvez essa seja a consequência mais lamentável da atual religião das máquinas: aqueles que não escrevem nem falam, mas deixam que as máquinas escrevam e falem por si, abraçam a supressão da sua própria liberdade de expressão.

O lítio pode estar no coração da transição verde, mas a extração deste elemento metálico também causa danos aos ambientes naturais. Em Portugal, país rico em lítio, comunidades rurais modestas juntam-se à indignação nacional contra acordos governamentais que ignoram as economias locais e ameaçam meios de subsistência.

À primeira vista, Covas do Barroso, aninhada entre montanhas verdes no norte de Portugal, não é mais do que um punhado de casas de pedra reunidas junto ao cruzamento de duas estradas. A aldeia, com cerca de 150 habitantes, tem as tradições da pecuária e da agricultura como base da sua economia local. Mas as terras de Covas do Barroso são também valiosas por outra razão: são ricas em reservas de lítio. E, desde 2016, a Savannah Resources, uma empresa britânica que tem apenas o Barroso na sua carteira, tem vindo a desenvolver planos para uma mina a céu aberto na área. A empresa estima que a mina poderia ser explorada durante 12 anos, empregaria até 250 trabalhadores e forneceria lítio suficiente para 500 mil baterias de carros elétricos por ano.

Uma vista geral de Covas do Barroso. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli Um acordo controverso

Portugal é conhecido como o maior e, com efeito, o único local significativo de produção de lítio na União Europeia. Até agora, o lítio do país só foi extraído em combinação com o feldspato para abastecer a indústria cerâmica. Mas o crescimento da produção global de lítio, ligado ao fabrico de baterias, especialmente para veículos elétricos, tem impulsionado o desenvolvimento de uma cadeia de produção específica na UE. No âmbito da sua Lei das Matérias-Primas Críticas, a Comissão Europeia estipulou que, até 2030, pelo menos 10 por cento da procura europeia de matérias-primas críticas como o lítio deve ser satisfeita a partir de fontes internas. Em Portugal, as empresas mineiras receberam aprovação para novos projetos em áreas como o Barroso, Romano, Alvarrões e Argemela. E há pedidos de exploração pendentes em muitas outras áreas do país.

Portugal é conhecido como o maior e, com efeito, o único local significativo de produção de lítio na União Europeia. A Comissão Europeia estipula que, até 2030, pelo menos 10% da procura europeia de matérias-primas críticas como o lítio deve ser satisfeita a partir de fontes internas.

A Agência Portuguesa do Ambiente deu a sua aprovação preliminar à avaliação de impacto ambiental do projeto do Barroso no final de maio de 2023, e a construção estava prevista para começar em 2024. Mas muitos residentes acham que a mina da Savannah Resources não deveria ser construída. Desde o início, os habitantes locais opostos ao projeto fundaram a Unidos em Defesa de Covas do Barroso (UDCB), uma associação local que organiza manifestações, assembleias, acampamentos de protesto e ações legais.

Uma pequena pedreira de pedra na zona perto do Romainho, na área de Covas do Barroso. A área é historicamente uma zona de extração para a construção de casas de pedra. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

O plano de mineração é também altamente controverso junto da população mais alargada da região. E, em Portugal, a mineração é mais do que uma questão local: as concessões de exploração em Barroso e Montalegre estiveram no centro de uma investigação de corrupção que levou a buscas em gabinetes parlamentares em novembro de 2023 e que resultou na demissão do então primeiro-ministro António Costa. A faixa que dá as boas-vindas aos visitantes de Covas do Barroso diz-nos que «Não às Minas, Sim à Vida», e coloca questões incontornáveis ao modelo global de transição verde.

Algumas faixas no centro de Covas do Barroso contra a abertura da mina. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli Em defesa do Barroso

Vila Real, nordeste de Portugal, 24 de outubro de 2023. A sala B.02 da Universidade de Trás-os-Montes e Alto Douro está cheia. Toda a atenção está voltada para o primeiro orador de um debate público organizado pelo Centro de Estudos Transdisciplinares para o Desenvolvimento (CETRAD): «Chamo-me Nelson Gomes e vivo em Covas do Barroso.» Como presidente da UDCB, Nelson explica que as minas iriam perturbar completamente o ambiente do vale e a vida dos seus habitantes. «Acusam-nos de não estarmos dispostos a sacrificar-nos pelo planeta,» diz Nelson, «mas nós já nos sacrificamos com o nosso modo de vida e a nossa agricultura.»

A audiência é composta por estudantes, professores, investigadores, pessoas interessadas. «É uma falsificação falar de uma transição verde justa,» diz Mariana Riquito, investigadora da Universidade de Coimbra. «Não pode ser justa se não respeitar a autonomia das populações locais. Não pode ser uma transição se, para a implementar, se intensifica o consumo de combustíveis fósseis. Não pode ser verde se apenas considerar o problema das emissões e não as consequências da indústria mineira e extrativa.»

«É uma falsificação falar de uma transição verde justa,» diz Mariana Riquito, investigadora da Universidade de Coimbra. «Não pode ser justa se não respeitar a autonomia das populações locais.»

À esquerda, Mariana Riquito, investigadora universitária portuguesa, e Nelson Gomes, presidente da associação «Unidos em defesa de Covas do Barroso», durante uma conferência organizada pela UTAD – Universidade de Trás-os-Montes e Alto Douro, em Vila Real. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Um espectador pergunta se o projeto da mina poderá, ainda assim, representar uma oportunidade de desenvolvimento para a área. Nelson responde calmamente que «Covas do Barroso é Património Agrícola Mundial pela FAO [Organização das Nações Unidas para Alimentação e Agricultura] desde 2018. A mina é incompatível com o desenvolvimento da área. Falam-nos de compensação, minimização, recuperação da paisagem. Mas a relação com a natureza é a única razão para viver num lugar tão isolado. Que desenvolvimento é possível para uma área onde ninguém quereria viver?»

Segundo Nelson, o projeto de mineração tem implicações vastas: «Precisamos de questionar a transição energética como um modelo centrado no extrativismo.» As alternativas, diz Nelson, incluiriam o desenvolvimento de transportes públicos, também nas zonas rurais, em vez de simplesmente substituir os carros privados a combustíveis fósseis por elétricos. «Tenham em mente», avisa Nelson, «que uma imposição destas pode um dia acontecer também a vocês, onde vivem.»

«Falam-nos de compensação, minimização, recuperação da paisagem. Mas a relação com a natureza é a única razão para viver num lugar tão isolado. Que desenvolvimento é possível para uma área onde ninguém quereria viver?», pergunta Nelson Gomes, presidente da Unidos em Defesa de Covas do Barroso.

Impactos locais

Uma ribeira, mais cheia depois das chuvas, corre sobre a estrada que leva à aldeia de Alijó. «Venho até aqui porque posso usar alguns dos pastos para o gado,» diz Paulo, um pastor com 170 ovelhas. O seu negócio, tal como o de outros pastores e agricultores de Covas do Barroso, está ameaçado pela mineração de lítio. «Parte das minhas terras corre o risco de ser incluída na área da mina. Onde vou então levar as ovelhas a pastar?»

Paulo teme que as fontes de água do vale sejam comprometidas: «Com as perfurações, alguns agricultores já se queixam da falta de água nos poços. O que vai acontecer aos bebedouros e às ribeiras?»

Paulo Pires, pastor de Covas do Barroso, a levar o seu rebanho de ovelhas a pastar perto de Alijó, uma aldeia a 4 km de Covas do Barroso. Paulo é um dos residentes locais que se opõem à construção da mina de lítio da Savannah. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Embora reconheça a necessidade de uma transição energética, Paulo considera importante alargar a visão: «Claro que é preciso lítio para as baterias. Mas devíamos perguntar-nos para que usamos esta energia. Será que o lítio vai tornar o consumismo sustentável? E de que transição verde estamos a falar se destruímos espaços verdes? Olhe», exclama a rir, «aqui está tudo verde!»

Precisamos de questionar a transição energética como um modelo centrado no extrativismo.

«Opusemo-nos à mina de lítio desde o início,» diz o [à data original deste artigo] presidente da Câmara de Boticas, Fernando Queiroga, sentado à sua secretária na sede municipal responsável por Covas do Barroso, a quase 20 km da aldeia. «É um tipo de atividade mineira diferente das que já existiam na área,» explica. «Pode afetar as condições de vida e a saúde dos membros da nossa comunidade.» Na linha de Paulo, considera que o abastecimento de água doce da área, nomeadamente as fontes subterrâneas, são uma preocupação chave: «Estamos muito alarmados porque há o risco de a mineração comprometer o nível freático.»

Fernando Queiroga, presidente da Câmara Municipal de Boticas em 2024. O presidente é uma voz crítica contra a construção da mina de lítio de Covas. Nesta fotografia, é visto no seu gabinete em Boticas. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

«Dizem que uma área tão pouco povoada só pode beneficiar com um projeto destes,» diz Queiroga com um sorriso sarcástico, «mas se olharmos para a cadeia de valor do lítio, além da mineração – produção de baterias, fabrico de carros elétricos e, por fim, reciclagem de baterias – todas essas atividades industriais serão tratadas noutro lugar. Nada vai ficar aqui.» Sobre as perspetivas futuras da região, usa palavras diretas: «No que estiver ao nosso alcance, não daremos autorizações. Se o governo decidir avançar, arrisca-se a enfrentar uma revolta popular.»

«Quando abri, há mais de vinte anos, a aldeia era animada,» diz o idoso dono do único café de Covas. «Agora há cada vez menos habitantes. Até a escola fechou há muito tempo.» Perante a inexorável despovoação, o dono do bar talvez espere que o projeto de mineração traga desenvolvimento e novos clientes, e mostra-se menos crítico do que a maioria dos outros habitantes locais. «O meu bar é para todos, não toma partido na questão do lítio!»

O único café aberto na pequena aldeia de Covas do Barroso, no norte de Portugal. Nesta área, designada pela FAO como património agrícola mundial, a empresa britânica Savannah quer construir a maior mina de lítio da Europa. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Mas, junto à porta, um cliente com uma bebida na mão exprime uma opinião diferente: «Claro que alguns venderam as suas terras [ao projeto da mina]. Mas como é que se pode abandonar tudo? Com esse tipo de dinheiro, não é possível mudar-se e mudar de vida», diz.

A resistência

«Agora está bem!» Mariana, que acabou de limpar a entrada da antiga escola primária de Covas do Barroso com a sua amiga Paloma, parece satisfeita com o trabalho de ambas. Fechado durante muitos anos, o edifício renasceu como A Sachola, graças à iniciativa de jovens que, como elas, se mudaram para aqui para apoiar a luta contra a mineração. A faixa à entrada diz Encontro Solidário Anti-Extrativista. «Temos de acabar de preparar o espaço», explica Mariana, apontando para a grande sala interior. «Daqui a uma semana, vamos ter uma sessão de cinema. Queremos que este espaço seja um ponto de encontro e de convívio para os habitantes da aldeia mas, ao mesmo tempo, um ponto de encontro entre a comunidade local e quem vem de fora.»

Aida Fernandes, presidente da associação de terras de Covas do Barroso, Baldios, está empenhada em proteger as áreas comunitárias de terra mais ameaçadas pelos projetos de mineração. «A Savannah comprou alguns terrenos, mas está a decorrer muita perfuração nos baldios, sobretudo nas florestas», explica Aida. «Queremos travar as obras, reivindicando o uso dessas terras para a comunidade.»

Aida Fernandes, residente de Covas do Barroso e criadora de gado. É presidente dos «Baldios – terra comunitária, terra de uso cívico», e é contra a construção da mina de lítio. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Nos últimos anos, muitas pessoas vieram a Covas do Barroso para conhecer a luta dos seus habitantes. Aida conta como as situações de intercâmbio são muitas vezes recíprocas: «Em outubro [de 2023], participámos num encontro internacional contra a mineração em Espanha, porque é importante estarmos unidos face a um adversário tão poderoso.»

Ganhar a guerra

Os projetos de exploração massiva das reservas de lítio provocaram protestos entre os habitantes de muitas áreas rurais de Portugal. Tal como no Barroso, também se formaram comissões e movimentos na Serra da Estrela, em Argemela e em Penalva, só para citar alguns. Uma pluralidade de vozes uniu-se em várias ocasiões: em manifestações conjuntas em Lisboa, em assembleias em Coimbra e noutros locais, num acampamento de protesto anti-mineração que se realiza anualmente em Covas do Barroso.

Do Miradouro do Olhar do Guerreiro, é possível ver todo o vale. As áreas de perfuração, parcialmente cobertas por vegetação, veem-se por todo o lado. Aida aponta para um ponto a sudeste da aldeia, uma extensão de pinheiros numa encosta. «Ali é a área onde eles estão mesmo a concentrar-se. Parece ser a mais rica [em lítio],» diz. «Pensem só, aquela área toda vai tornar-se numa mina a céu aberto. Vai ser escavada até 150 metros de profundidade, com um diâmetro de 500 metros. 80 por cento do material será resíduo. Os restantes 20 por cento terão de ser lavados, inclusive quimicamente, para extrair o lítio ali contido.»

A área em torno de Covas do Barroso, designada pela FAO como Património Agrícola Mundial. No centro, entre a vegetação, a primeira escavação da Savannah, a empresa britânica que tem planos para construir uma mina de lítio na área. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Recentemente, a luta contra a extração de lítio em Covas do Barroso tem recebido amplo apoio de diversos setores da sociedade. «Isto não é sobre atrasar as obras e obter pequenos resultados», diz Aida com determinação. «Não basta vencer batalhas. É preciso ganhar a guerra!»

A sede (ponto de informação) da Savannah em Covas do Barroso, no norte de Portugal. A Savannah é a empresa britânica que quer construir a maior mina de lítio da Europa na área do Barroso. ©Giacomo Sini & Dario Antonelli

Com o sol a pôr-se, um agricultor atravessa a praça central da aldeia, levando as suas vacas para o estábulo com uma enxada ao ombro. De um lado fica o campo desportivo, onde se realizou o acampamento de protesto contra a mineração de lítio; inúmeras faixas coloridas estão penduradas na vedação. Clamam contra a mineração, pela vida da aldeia, pela água e pela natureza. Mesmo em frente, do outro lado da praça, fica o pequeno escritório da Savannah, escondido atrás de uma porta escura, vigiado por câmaras.

Enquanto os movimentos de extrema-direita apertam o seu domínio sobre a política europeia e procuram capturar a cultura – comprando meios de comunicação, instalando figuras partidárias nas instituições culturais e deslocando as fronteiras do discurso público –, um contraciclo está a emergir. Por todo o continente, «artivistas» estão a reconquistar a cultura como um espaço de resistência democrática e a usar a arte para promover solidariedade e inclusão. Conseguirão reavivar a imaginação política da Europa e remobilizar os cidadãos?

É uma noite chuvosa de sábado em setembro, num antigo terreno ferroviário desativado no sudeste de Paris, agora transformado num local temporário para eventos que celebram a inovação social e cultural. Apesar do dilúvio nesta segunda noite do Festival Fluctuations, o público – uma mistura animada de homens e mulheres com idades ali entre os 20 e os 45 anos – dança com força e canta em voz alta. No palco, quatro membros do coletivo francês Planète Boum Boum montaram uma atuação enérgica.

A multidão grita em uníssono: La vraie menace n’arrive pas en bateau, elle est ici, c’est les fachos! («A verdadeira ameaça não chega de barco, já está aqui: são os fascistas!»)

Enquanto batidas frenéticas de techno trespassam a multidão, os quatro intérpretes gritam os seus slogans ao microfone com convicção. Envolvem-se em coreografias simples mas eficazes que o público consegue facilmente reproduzir. Manter o tom não interessa muito; no palco e fora dele, todos estão a passar um belo momento politicamente consciente.

Por toda a Europa, coletivos, organizações sem fins lucrativos e indivíduos estão a organizar-se para reacender a chama do envolvimento democrático. Algumas das iniciativas mais bem-sucedidas têm mobilizado ferramentas que vão além do manual tradicional do ativismo político: as artes.

E no entanto, para lá do recinto do concerto, o ambiente político é radicalmente diferente. O primeiro abalo veio em 2002, quando Jean-Marie Le Pen, fundador da Frente Nacional e veterano do exército acusado de torturar combatentes independentistas argelinos nos anos 1960, chegou à segunda volta das eleições presidenciais. Dezasseis anos depois, no entanto, o partido reinventou-se como Reagrupamento Nacional (RN, Rassemblement National) e goza agora de um apoio sem precedentes: o RN tem o maior número de representantes no Parlamento Europeu e é o maior partido na Assembleia Nacional.

Também pela Europa, o panorama político está a assumir um tom de azul cada vez mais escuro. Os partidos de extrema-direita estão no governo em mais de um quarto dos Estados-membros da UE. Mesmo nos países onde não governam, exercem uma influência considerável sobre o discurso político e público. Isto é também visível ao nível da UE, onde o Partido Popular Europeu – o maior grupo político no Parlamento Europeu – se tem alinhado cada vez mais com a extrema-direita.

Estes acontecimentos tornam cruciais os espaços de resistência – como aquele no sudeste de Paris. Por toda a Europa, coletivos, organizações sem fins lucrativos e indivíduos estão a organizar-se para reacender a chama do envolvimento democrático. Algumas das iniciativas mais bem-sucedidas têm mobilizado ferramentas que vão além do manual tradicional do ativismo político: as artes. O termo artivista é cada vez mais usado para descrever pessoas que participam em protestos através da arte.

A resistência cultural, redescoberta

Uma junção de art (arte) e activist (ativista), este termo surgiu pela primeira vez em 1997 para descrever a união de artistas Chicano nos Estados Unidos e o movimento zapatista no México. Captava um momento em que a expressão artística e o ativismo de base se fundiram para desafiar as desigualdades sociais e políticas em ambos os países. Hoje, à medida que governos de direita em países como Itália, Alemanha, Hungria e França retiram financiamento às práticas artísticas independentes ou instalam figuras politicamente alinhadas à frente de instituições culturais fundamentais, o (re)surgimento desta abordagem politicamente motivada da arte parece especialmente significativo.

«Não inventámos nada de novo», diz Marie Cohuet, membro do coletivo Planète Boum Boum. «Quando olhamos para a história das lutas em todo o lado, houve sempre pessoas a fazer música, a cantar, a montar espetáculos e a fazer coisas que, de uma forma ou de outra, ajudam a manter a luta viva a longo prazo, a criar um sentido de coesão.»

A abordagem dos Planète Boum Boum combina a natureza histórica das raves com as teorias do filósofo francês Florian Gaité, especialista em free parties. Gaité defende uma visão radical do clubbing e da dança, na qual o esgotamento inútil, fútil e improdutivo do corpo é um ato de resistência anticapitalista.

O Planète Boum Boum, um coletivo de nove ativistas que se conheceram através da organização Action Justice Climat, diz que o seu objetivo é «trazer a festa aos protestos e o protesto às festas». Dão energia a marchas ou encontros políticos e são agora também frequentemente convidados para fazer sets de DJ em clubes e eventos «apolíticos».

Apenas um membro do grupo tem formação musical formal, já que a maioria só começou a cantar quando o coletivo foi formado. Quando estes ativistas notaram que a música e a dança eram alavancas eficazes, decidiram incorporá-las no seu trabalho. A sua abordagem – que descrevem como techno-ativismo – combina a natureza histórica das raves, feitas para unir pessoas, com as teorias do filósofo francês Florian Gaité, especialista em free parties. Gaité defende uma visão radical do clubbing e da dança, na qual o esgotamento inútil, fútil e improdutivo do corpo é um ato de resistência anticapitalista.

Créditos: ©Planète Boum Boum

A ascensão em popularidade dos Planète Boum Boum começou em 2023, quando um vídeo se tornou viral mostrando alguns dos seus membros a liderar uma marcha contra as impopulares mexidas nas pensões, através da dança. Desde então, o seu perfil no Spotify acumula centenas de milhares de reproduções.

«Vivemos tempos difíceis. O nosso contexto político está a deteriorar-se. Os ataques racistas estão a explodir, e temos desigualdades profundas. À escala global, é aterrador», diz Cohuet. «Penso que há uma verdadeira necessidade de nos unirmos e sentirmos que temos um certo poder e força quando nos unimos. A música cria mesmo isso. É isso que funciona bem com o Planète Boum Boum: usamos muita caricatura, sátira e humor. É importante sentir que não estamos condenados, que temos a capacidade de mudar as coisas.»

Graças às redes sociais, a visibilidade dos «artivistas» tem crescido, sustentando organizações sociais, ambientais e antifascistas.

O coletivo aborda uma grande variedade de temas. Planète Boum Boum aborda a justiça social e climática a partir de diferentes ângulos: apela à preservação dos serviços públicos, critica as reformas injustas das pensões em plena crise climática, denuncia a incompatibilidade entre as ideologias de extrema-direita e a ação ambiental. Isto acontece num momento crucial para a Europa: apesar da crescente consciência ecológica, os partidos Verdes e a regulação ambiental têm sofrido um revés à medida que o continente lida com o elevado custo de vida e uma guerra em solo europeu. Ao mesmo tempo, os partidos de extrema-direita têm capitalizado sobre estas crises, tanto para alimentar como para responder ao sentimento de insegurança dos cidadãos. Ainda assim, graças às redes sociais, a visibilidade dos artivistas tem crescido, sustentando organizações sociais, ambientais e antifascistas.

Penso que há uma verdadeira necessidade de nos unirmos.», diz Marie Cohuet, dos Planète Boum Boum. «A música cria mesmo isso. Usamos muita caricatura, sátira e humor. É importante sentir que não estamos condenados, que temos a capacidade de mudar as coisas.

«Colaboramos regularmente com sindicatos, meios de comunicação socialmente empenhados e coletivos ligados a causas. O objetivo é tentar dar destaque aos seus esforços e dar-lhes força, seja mobilizando pessoas que normalmente não ouviriam falar destas questões, seja encaminhando-as para uma ação específica, como comparecer a uma manifestação numa determinada data, assinar uma petição, ou juntar-se a um coletivo», explica Cohuet. «Conseguimos chamar atenção para causas em momentos-chave, como a votação contra a inclusão de PFAS em produtos do dia a dia, a privatização do transporte ferroviário de mercadorias pelo governo ou as questões em torno da lei Duplomb.»

Estas histórias de sucesso tiveram uma forte repercussão na sociedade francesa. Em fevereiro de 2025, os legisladores votaram a proibição dos PFAS (conhecidos como químicos eternos) em cosméticos, roupa, calçado e ceras de esqui, a partir de 2026. Em pleno verão de 2025, mais de 2,1 milhões de cidadãos assinaram uma petição alojada na plataforma oficial da Assembleia Nacional para exigir a revogação da lei Duplomb, que incluía uma cláusula que teria permitido a reintrodução de acetamiprida, um pesticida altamente cancerígeno. Sob pressão pública, o tribunal constitucional francês anulou a disposição controversa.

A música impulsiona a mudança na Grécia

Entretanto, outras organizações artivistas optaram por atuar a uma escala mais local. Por exemplo, a El Sistema Greece usa a educação musical para reforçar a inclusão social. Oferece aulas de música gratuitas em campos de refugiados e abrigos para menores não acompanhados, bem como para a população local em centros urbanos em Atenas e Corinto.

«Trabalhamos em três níveis: os nossos alunos, as suas famílias e depois a sociedade», explica Angeliki Georgokosta, diretora-geral da El Sistema Greece. «Trabalhamos com os nossos alunos para aumentar a sua autoestima. Tentamos criar um ambiente que encoraje e motive as crianças a tornarem-se cidadãos ativos. Quando temos as nossas aulas, os nossos concertos, temos pessoas de diferentes etnias, línguas e religiões. Todas se juntam apenas pela música.» Acrescenta que o objetivo da organização é tornar a sociedade grega mais aberta à diversidade e superar o medo do recém-chegado que vemos crescer no país.

Tentamos criar um ambiente que encoraje e motive as crianças a tornarem-se cidadãos ativos. Quando temos os nossos concertos, temos pessoas de diferentes etnias, línguas e religiões. Todas se juntam apenas pela música.

– Angeliki Georgokosta, diretora-geral da El Sistema Greece.

Desde 2016, mais de 3.500 pessoas participaram nas aulas da El Sistema Greece. Só no ano letivo de 2024-2025, quase 16.000 pessoas assistiram às suas atuações.

Alunos da El Sistema Greece numa aula. Créditos: ©Ilias Stefanidis

«Fazemos concertos não só nos nossos espaços comunitários, mas também nos maiores teatros de Atenas, como o Centro Cultural da Fundação Stavros Niarchos e o Athens Concert Hall. Tentamos estar na cultura mainstream. Desta forma, pessoas que não estão diretamente ligadas aos alunos também veem esta orquestra a alcançar um bom resultado a partir de indivíduos de 40 nacionalidades diferentes e de contextos tão distintos. Queremos espalhar a semente de que isto também pode ser a nossa sociedade», diz Georgokosta. «Usamos frequentemente repertório que não é clássico nem grego. Já usámos repertório dos países de cada um dos nossos alunos. Queremos celebrar todas as pessoas que existem dentro da nossa comunidade.»

A Grécia tem vindo a reforçar os controlos de imigração desde 2019, chegando ao ponto de emitir uma suspensão de três meses dos pedidos de asilo em julho de 2025, em violação do direito internacional. O seu governo também foi acusado de corrupção. Pelo menos 325.000 manifestantes reuniram-se em Atenas e em Salónica em fevereiro de 2025 para exigir justiça pelas 57 pessoas que morreram no acidente de Tempi em 2023, entre um comboio de passageiros e um comboio de mercadorias. Este acidente ferroviário, o maior da história do país, deu origem a um escândalo político contínuo. Relatórios oficiais afirmam que o acidente se deveu a erro humano e a uma rede ferroviária com falhas de manutenção, mas as famílias das vítimas alegam que os detalhes do acidente estão a ser encobertos. Um relatório pericial que encomendaram mostra que o comboio de mercadorias transportava químicos que provocaram a explosão e a asfixia de passageiros anteriormente ilesos pela colisão.

Mas o artivismo da El Sistema Greece cria pontes em comunidades fraturadas por um discurso político polarizado e os seus alunos recorrem à organização para navegar o clima politicamente aceso da Grécia. «Estamos a ver que [estes desenvolvimentos políticos] são difíceis de processar para toda a gente, mesmo para a nossa equipa. Por isso, estamos a reunir-nos com universidades e pessoas que trabalham há muitos anos nas ciências sociais para que possam liderar discussões sobre estes temas com todos os nossos alunos. Vemos como isso é crucial. Já não podemos evitá-lo.»

Este envolvimento vai expandir aquilo que a organização já tinha iniciado com o seu programa Young Leaders, um grupo de 15 alunos que se reuniu uma vez por mês para workshops sobre como poderiam usar a música, a El Sistema Greece e a sua comunidade para tomar decisões e falar sobre temas que lhes interessam. Um dos principais objetivos do programa foi ensinar os participantes sobre os direitos das crianças e os direitos humanos, para que pudessem compreender e defender os seus direitos e os dos outros.

A El Sistema Greece realizou o concerto Echoes of the World em 2025. Créditos: ©Ilias Stefanidis

«Estamos a tornar-nos num programa mais holístico, que não é só sobre música, mas sobre como esta pode ser usada como uma ferramenta poderosa para falar sobre as questões sociais mais prementes do nosso tempo. Trata-se também de criar espaço para que as crianças falem por si próprias, se expressem e digam como deve ser o seu futuro, para que tenham voz.»

Reencantar a política

O que está em jogo para os artivistas, seja à escala nacional ou local, é a mudança de narrativa: tanto quanto a quem conta a história e encarna novos futuros, como quanto ao imaginário coletivo que está a ser promovido.

«A arte e a cultura são os últimos escudos que temos para defender a democracia, a liberdade, a nossa capacidade de compreender, respeitar e descobrir uns aos outros, e de ir além daquilo que nos torna diferentes. Também treina a nossa criatividade», diz Paula Forteza, fundadora da galeria parisiense Artivistas, que promove artivistas latino-americanos residentes em França e na América do Sul.

A equipa da Artivistas, com Paula Forteza ao centro, em Paris, na simbólica Place de la République. Créditos: ©Anne Le Breton

Forteza é copresidente da organização sem fins lucrativos Démocratie ouverte e foi deputada em França entre 2017 e 2022. Voltou-se para o artivismo como forma de explorar novos caminhos para a participação democrática, depois de perceber que a via política convencional não seria a mais eficaz para ela, dada a desconfiança institucional por parte dos cidadãos.

«O que senti na política é que faltava mesmo criatividade. Penso que os políticos fariam bem em fazer aulas ou workshops de arte para renovar as suas ideias», diz Forteza. «Penso que precisamos mesmo de desenvolver práticas artísticas. São antídotos aos valores da extrema-direita e ao que os seus porta-vozes tentam implementar: intolerância, desdém, agressão, violência e polarização.»

O que senti na política é que faltava mesmo criatividade. Penso que os políticos fariam bem em fazer aulas ou workshops de arte para renovar as suas ideias» – Paula Forteza, fundadora da galeria Artivistas.

Esta batalha cultural está a tornar-se cada vez mais complexa, à medida que a extrema-direita também tem investido fortemente na esfera cultural para amplificar as suas mensagens e deslocar a janela de Overton, de forma a espalhar um discurso alimentado pelo ódio – através da aquisição de meios de comunicação e editoras, bem como pelo financiamento de produtos culturais que perpetuam narrativas históricas ultrapassadas de hegemonia branca.

Obras de Cristian Laime e VicOh, representadas pela galeria Artivistas na feira Spera Art Fair em Montrouge, em 2025. Créditos: ©Artivistas Spera art fair

À medida que as pessoas se afastam dos meios de comunicação e da política tradicionais, os artivistas desempenham um papel fundamental na manutenção viva da luta contra a injustiça. Guiadas pela criatividade, alegria e resistência não-violenta, as suas ações podem ajudar a construir uma sociedade solidária e participativa.

Precisamos mesmo de desenvolver práticas artísticas. São antídotos aos valores da extrema-direita e ao que os seus porta-vozes tentam implementar: intolerância, desdém, agressão, violência e polarização.

«Quando estudava na Argentina, escrevi uma tese em que cruzava períodos de crise económica com a atividade cultural e a produção artística. Através dos dados, tornou-se muito claro que, em tempos de crise, a atividade cultural explodia», recorda Forteza.

«O artivismo pode certamente reencantar a política – no sentido nobre da palavra – e as batalhas em torno dos valores. Penso que fala a um público mais alargado. Tem esse tipo de sinceridade inerente à expressão artística, que vem do coração.»

As tech giants have expanded their reach into every corner of public and private life, their products and services have increasingly come to be seen as impossible to replace or reject. Yet although the cost of leaving the current technological ecosystem is immense, the price of staying in big tech’s grip is even higher. So, how can societies resist “digital colonialism”? An interview with Renata Ávila Pinto, CEO of the Open Knowledge Foundation. 

This interview took place on 24 April, 2026, on the outskirts of the European Green Academy in Brussels. It has been edited and condensed for clarity and length. Some answers have been reordered thematically.

Amir Hashemi: What is digital colonialism to you?

Renata Ávila Pinto: I started using the term nearly two decades ago. At the time, I had many discussions with my colleagues in academia about the increasingly extractive practices of big tech companies. Some of them saw digital colonialism as the continuation of other colonialisms, but for me, this relationship has never been a Global South vs Global North issue. Rather, it’s a one-per-cent-against-the-99-per-cent problem.

Europeans and North Americans feel very uncomfortable when being described as colonised by a small group of people in California that, until recently, held little political or cultural power over them. “We have the rule of law, human rights principles, and strong institutions, so we’re safe,” they would say. But whether we like it or not, our culture, our way of living, and the way we interact with one another on the street are all being wiped out.

Many of us are only realising now that much of the public infrastructure we used to have – and even things as simple as a paper map or a physical menu – is disappearing fast. Now, everybody is glued to their small screens, constantly surveilled and feeding the systems that have taken control of so much of our lives.

Why have governments been unsuccessful at stopping this?

The current tech landscape is like a crumbling house whose owners keep increasing the rent without providing any maintenance. For the vast majority of people, there is no possibility of thriving in this environment. Big tech makes you pay several times for everything it provides you with: You have to pay through your taxes because, increasingly, all your government administration is done inside this ecosystem; you have to pay for an ever-expanding list of subscription services; and you are also made to pay with your data and knowledge. And as the AI race rages on, you have to pay with your planet. This is the devil’s deal that these companies get us into.

Governments and institutions use regulation as the primary way to keep tech giants in check. But this is like putting on a helmet and a safety vest and hoping to be safe when the walls collapse on you

Leaving this collapsing building requires courage and a choice – one that is political, commercial, and pragmatic. But governments and institutions say getting out is too costly. Instead, they choose to use regulation as the primary way to keep tech giants in check. But this is like putting on a helmet and a safety vest and hoping to be safe when the walls collapse on you. It hasn’t worked so far, and it will not in the future. The only viable tactic of resistance is to walk out of this crumbling building and deal with the consequences later.

How should this resistance be organised? Should governments take the lead, or is this primarily a choice for individual users?

One of the things that annoys me about certain currents of the environmental movement is their emphasis on individual choices and their belief that the general public is a big part of the problem. To me, this is victim-blaming, and it doesn’t solve the bigger issues. That said, I think we need to go for big wins, and for this, everyone has to play a role.

For all the damage that they inflict on society – on mental and public health as well as the environment – tech companies contribute very little value because their profits go to tax havens. Ongoing efforts in the EU and individual countries to ban social media use for children are a good start, but they are not enough and only chip away at the edges of the problem. Both civil society and governments can put pressure on tech multinationals through other means, including strategic litigation and refusing to engage with emerging, unnecessarily complex technologies. It is also important to expose how deeply we have come to depend on a handful of companies for everything ranging from basic services to satellites. The invisible hand of big tech must be made visible.

Assuming we are willing and able to leave behind this structural dependency on big tech and its products, what replacement should we aim for?

At the Open Knowledge Foundation, we have been pushing for public-interest technologies – tech solutions that are good enough for the purpose they serve, while staying climate-friendly, accessible, and sustainable. One proposal that we are pushing for is the local stack. A lot of what we use technology for can stay local, small, manageable, and accountable. Do we really need to go through two American corporations just to take care of our government administration or talk to the people we love?

Likewise, nowadays we see teenagers using advanced AI to make memes or edit photos. Memes are great, but we don’t need sophisticated, expensive technology to make them. You can do the same thing with a much smaller dataset. If we are going to consume vast amounts of energy and water, there should be good justification, like solving the world’s most pressing problems.

With its growing financial, political, and cultural power, big tech is increasingly closing off space for innovation. Today, if you want to release an app, you first have to agree to the terms and conditions of Apple and Alphabet. In other words, even for the simplest of tasks you have to go all the way to Silicon Valley and back. But things weren’t always like this. In the early days of the web, there was a lot more freedom to play with technology and innovate. It is this same openness that we have to aim for today to break big tech’s monopoly.

You have reinterpreted the term “digital transition”, which typically refers to the adoption of digital technologies, to describe the need to wrest these technologies out of big tech’s hands. Would you characterise this as a sort of technological degrowth?

It’s not necessarily degrowth. It is recalibration. And for Europe, it is also decoupling. There is no reason for my dating life, my medical records, and the way I interact with the state to all be in the same data centre.

The transition that I call for is from a sphere of submission to a space of control, autonomy, and more importantly, accountability. This vision is not anti-tech: it acknowledges the fact that technology mediates our lives, but refuses to accept that the current tech landscape is our best and only choice.

Such a transition also embraces friction. Without friction, you are trading away your rights for convenience or speed. In that way, it resembles and can learn from the green transition. For instance, riding a bike somewhere might take longer than taking the car, but in the eyes of those who wish to pollute less, do physical exercise, and avoid getting stuck in traffic, it is a trade-off worth going for.

What is the AI boom, coupled with the continued “enshittification” of tech platforms, doing to our knowledge systems?

It is very naïve to think that these companies will keep their services available free of charge for everyone, forever. This presents a profound danger, as more and more people get stuck in these ecosystems through years of intense interaction. And when you reach that point, it doesn’t matter whether you have a university degree or not. Everyone is vulnerable.

Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression. But nowadays, freedom of information is no less important and no less under threat.

The system was already flawed, with browsers ranking content and burying webpages – the equivalent of a very censored library. Now, AI has made things much worse, removing the human element of knowledge seeking, curation, and presentation. We no longer have access to the “books”. There is only a voice reading certain information to us and omitting others, for reasons that we don’t know, and I think that’s terrifying. Another likely outcome is that AI companies will embed the nasty system of marketing in their products. If this happens, it will be very hard to differentiate facts from opinion, suggestion, or manipulation.

There are, of course, those who are trying to use advanced artificial intelligence for good, such as climate activists and digital rights campaigners, but there is no guarantee that access to these technologies will remain open.

Tech companies present the uncontrolled spread of advanced AI as inevitable while at every step fighting efforts to make the industry more transparent. For instance, Palantir’s “manifesto” disparages public discussions about the development of AI weapons and other digital technologies as “theatrical debates”.

Tech oligarchs often make these remarks, and they are nothing but pure rhetoric. What they want in reality is not a project of how they see the world. It’s just economic gain, power, and control. We know that one of the most polluting industries in the world is the military, and we know that one of the most polluting technologies is AI. What Palantir and its likes sell is fear, control, and global destruction.

This is precisely why openness is key, and why defending and advancing public information sources should be one of our top priorities. As Greens have correctly pointed out, large corporations have become the biggest hoarders of data, including public-interest data. This has to change.

That said, we’re not powerless to stop this. One of the things I learned from my years on Julian Assange’s defence team is that we often have far more space to act against injustice than we think we do. We have to keep pushing the boundaries and asking uncomfortable questions. There is now a small window of opportunity for this fight as well, since at no previous point have we had so many technologies that could help us map power and understand how it works in real time.

If social movements and political partisans recognise and seize this unoccupied space, I think the tech minority cannot circumvent the majority. But first, as I mentioned earlier, it is essential to get out of big tech’s playing field. If we only fight them in their own spaces, using the same platforms that they comfortably employ as megaphones, we will lose. But if we abandon their broken building, they will be shouting their empty prophecies to the walls.

Hungary has never had such a good climate bill as the one it could have now if, improbably, its parliament were to adopt the draft written by civil society and put out for public consultation. The fate of this draft legislation – which, with minimal changes, could be of outstanding quality even by international standards – depends on the stance of the Tisza government. But how will Péter Magyar and his party proceed?

Last summer, the Hungarian constitutional court ruled that the climate law passed by Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz government – which liked to call itself a “champion of the climate” – was inadequate and unconstitutional. The court annulled part of the law, calling on the National Assembly to “remedy the breach of the Fundamental Law resulting from this failure” by June 2026.

Subsequently, the Fidesz government showed no interest whatsoever in the matter. But a regulatory proposal has been drawn up that is virtually ready for implementation and could even have ensured compliance with the deadline. This document was not drafted by any parliamentary group: it is the joint effort of more than 180 civil society and professional organisations, and the proposal currently under public debate is of a particularly high standard.

Built on solid principles…

One of the draft bill’s greatest strengths is that it treats mitigation (alleviating environmental harm), adaptation (adjusting to climate change), and resilience (increasing resistance) as objectives of equal importance. Unusually, the system of guiding principles is also sufficiently detailed: alongside traditional environmental law principles (precaution, the polluter pays, prevention), it also includes distinctly modern, progressive principles such as the “principle of sufficiency” (which focuses on well-being rather than maximum consumption, thereby limiting waste and the over-use of resources), a systems approach, data-driven decision-making, and proportionate individual responsibility. The fact that the prohibition on regression and intergenerational justice are linked to existing constitutional court case law indicates that the drafters of the text drew upon the few effective practices that Hungarian environmental protection has painstakingly developed over recent decades.

Particularly positive is the detailed and forward-looking approach to water management. The proposal entails the requirement to review bilateral water-sharing agreements, ensuring the public availability of groundwater monitoring data, and encourages the use of greywater. These are all elements that were previously absent from domestic legislation and would be indispensable to managing the water crisis Hungary now faces – the most tangible consequence of climate change in the Carpathian Basin.

The section on forest management is also very thorough: avoiding clearcutting, accounting for shifts in climate zones, and calling for support for species migration all point to a distinctly modern approach. Another positive aspect is the inclusion of the concepts and requirements relating to mental health and energy poverty in the cooling sector, which are absent from many otherwise modern European climate laws

The detailed description of the carbon budget mechanism (a legally binding, period-based planning and accounting framework that determines how much greenhouse gas we may emit in each period if we are serious about achieving net-zero emissions) is useful: together, the five-year rolling planning cycle, the carry-over option, the institution of infringement proceedings, and the obligation to submit final accounts form an enforceable system similar to the UK model. The requirement to introduce consumption-based emissions tracking is also welcome, as it can counterbalance the limitations of the territorial approach. The sectoral measures (building renovation, transport, industry, food consumption) are sufficiently wide-ranging and specific, whilst the establishment of an ecological hierarchy for biomass utilisation (modelled on the waste hierarchy) is particularly forward-looking.

One of the draft bill’s greatest strengths is that it treats mitigation, adaptation, and resilience as objectives of equal importance.

… and strong scientific foundations

The scientific and innovation elements of the concept are particularly strong: the Climate Innovation Centre, the National Climate Data Centre, and the introduction of funding mechanisms similar to Carbon Contracts for Difference initiatives to support emissions-reduction investments create promising institutional and financial instruments. Support for grassroots initiatives and recognition of traditional and community knowledge are also forward-looking and in line with the principle of subsidiarity. Moreover, the obligation to promote climate awareness at all levels of the education system, the development of teacher training, and measures to combat disinformation together form a coherent strategy for shaping public attitudes.

It seems useful to introduce ex-ante climate risk assessment as a separate legal institution to ensure that no government decision may be adopted without such an evaluation. Extending scope 1, 2, and 3 emissions (i.e. those related to purchased energy, on-site emissions, and arising from suppliers, respectively) to cover the entire value chain in environmental impact assessments is also a modern, ESG-compatible, and forward-looking rule.

Involving the Ombudsman for Future Generations in the ombudsman procedure in the event of a carbon budget overrun could also serve as a strong enforcement mechanism. A similar institution once existed, but the 2011 amendments to the Fundamental Law rendered it ineffective.

The enshrinement of the status of the Scientific Advisory Board on Climate Policy is clearly positive: it operates solely in accordance with the Hungarian constitution and the law and has its own budget and secretariat, and proposals relating to climate targets cannot be adopted without its opinion. The joint nomination mechanism of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences (MTA) and the Hungarian Research Network (HUN-REN) also provides a safeguard against political influence. The operation of the government Committee on Climate Protection under the prime minister’s leadership provides an appropriate framework for inter-ministerial coordination, whilst the mixed (partly non-political) composition of the National Climate Protection Council can strengthen its social legitimacy.

The introduction of the concept of “climate endangerment” into Hungarian law is particularly noteworthy: the public prosecutor could also bring proceedings against major emitters, seeking compensation and a ban on their activities, which represents a significant step forward in climate litigation. The privileged legal status of civil society organisations as claimants, their right to bring legal proceedings, and an exemption from litigation fees also provide a significant safeguard. The Advocate for Future Generations’ powers to intervene and to submit motions to the constitutional court are also commendable.

The introduction of the National Climate Protection Fund is a useful initiative, as it creates a dedicated and predictable funding framework (in contrast to current practice, namely ad hoc budgetary allocations and the routine deductions affecting them). The requirement for green corporate governance obligations and transition plans – particularly in light of the fact that these obligations have been substantially relaxed following the narrowing of the scope of the EU’s CSDDD Directive – is a forward-looking and courageous step. Meanwhile, excluding activities relating to fossil fuels from development bank financing is a clear and correct direction. Furthermore, enshrining participation principles in international climate finance would be fair (although, unfortunately, it seems unrealistic in this form).

Areas for improvement

As noted, Hungarian policymakers have never faced such a well-thought-out and complex climate regulation. That said, there are some minor shortcomings and contradictions, which the current public debate could identify and iron out.

Perhaps the most striking omission is the absence of any explicit reference to the institutional framework of climate justice, including climate litigation and state liability. This would be particularly important, as the “no backsliding” and “polluter pays” principles can only be effectively implemented if backed by a strong enforcement mechanism. It would also be worth incorporating a principle of climate equity, which specifies enhanced protection for socially vulnerable groups (the poor, the elderly, and those with a higher health risk), as they bear a disproportionately greater burden from the impacts of climate change.

It is difficult to understand the complete absence of any mention of the transport sector’s resilience in the proposal. For instance, the text could at least allude to infrastructure risks from heatwaves and extreme rainfall (roads, railways, bridges) and to preparing the vehicle fleet. In the transport section, there is also no discussion of aviation and inland waterway transport, even though their emissions are by no means negligible (although, for the time being, European climate legislation also often treats these as separate categories).

The objective of “phasing out harmful state subsidies by 2030” is correct in itself, but its feasibility is doubtful unless it is accompanied by a mandatory review schedule and a public list of the subsidies concerned. Regarding the management of the National Climate Protection Fund, it would be advisable to ensure its independence from political influence and to give civil society organisations a meaningful role in decision-making (rather than merely representing beneficiaries).

The current wording of the green public procurement requirement – “preference must be given” – is far too weak. To ensure effectiveness, a specific quota requirement or a time-bound obligation should be introduced. What is more, the text includes no provision regarding the responsibility of media actors and social media platforms in combating climate disinformation. In the case of the National Climate Protection Council, limiting membership to nine and granting a minister the role of co-chair pose a risk: despite the principles of proportional representation, government influence could become dominant, particularly if the minister’s department also covers the council’s operating costs. It would be advisable to limit the minister’s role to that of an observer or a non-voting chairperson, and to place the funding under the supervision of the National Assembly.

In the case of local authorities, the phrase “The state shall provide adequate budgetary support” is too general and leaves room for abuse. At the very least, the law should set a minimum funding guarantee or a clear allocation method; otherwise, authorities in smaller parts of the country will be unable to fulfil their statutory obligations due to a lack of resources. Rules on conflicts of interest and disclosure obligations for members are lacking as well, which could allow industry lobbyists to influence the decision-making process.

In addition, it would be advisable to establish a mandatory cooperation mechanism between the Scientific Council and the Ombudsman for Future Generations. Both bodies assess compliance with the carbon budget in parallel, and without coordination, overlapping or contradictory recommendations may arise.

The scope of the climate-threatening offence also appears to be narrow, as it applies only to major emitters subject to the EU Emissions Trading System (ETS), whilst medium-sized emitters – whose emissions are significant in aggregate – are excluded. To remedy this, the text should introduce a mechanism for gradual extension.

The possibility of bringing an action for failure to act in the event of a carbon budget shortfall is appropriate, but the provision includes no specific sanction if the government fails to comply even after losing the case, which substantially weakens its enforceability. Furthermore, legality oversight is a useful tool for local authority decisions, but the possibility of withholding funding could disproportionately affect smaller local authorities, which are already under-resourced. So,  it would be advisable to establish a graduated system of sanctions and an appeal mechanism.

That said, these are minor details, and there is still time to refine the bill. The more important question is whether, after its historic win, Péter Magyar’s government will have the will to do so – not just to perfect the legislation, but to put an end to the current unconstitutional situation in the first place.

The civil society document is ‘extremely thorough and wide-ranging, comparable to the most comprehensive legislation at European level’.

How will Tisza proceed?

“Experts are analysing the text of the civil society draft bill to assess what elements can be incorporated into the draft bill to be tabled by the government,” the press office of the Ministry of the Living Environment announced at the end of July.  According to the ministry, the civil society document is “extremely thorough and wide-ranging, comparable to the most comprehensive legislation at European level”. Meanwhile, legislators are also examining which elements should be regulated at statutory level, and which issues are better addressed in strategies or lower-level legislation.

According to the ministry’s position, bolder emission-reduction targets alone are not enough. “A framework must also be established setting out how these targets will be achieved, and what the roles of economic and social actors are in the transition towards sustainability.” The legislation must also address how the country can replace fossil fuels with renewables as well as how it can reduce energy consumption.

Notably, the ministry’s response suggests that Hungary’s new climate law will place much greater emphasis on adaptation than the current legislation. “Hungary is one of Europe’s most vulnerable countries to climate change,” the ministry pointed out. According to a previous ruling by the constitutional court, a legal framework must be established to ensure the preservation of the unique landscapes, wildlife, and natural assets of the Carpathian Basin. Accordingly, “The law must address in great detail adaptation to the inevitable effects of climate change and the development of flexible resilience to climate change.”

Multiple global supply shocks have made the strongest case yet for reducing dependencies by phasing out fossil fuels. But on clean energy too, Europe has grown dependent on China, the uncontested global leader. As trade tensions with Beijing intensify, Greens in particular face a difficult balancing act: How to boost the green transition without repeating past mistakes? And can they reconcile realpolitik with human rights?

When the European Union committed to cutting emissions by at least 50 per cent by 2030 and reaching carbon neutrality by 2050, it opened up an uncomfortable question: could it hit those targets without leaning too heavily on China, its trading partner with whom relations are increasingly tense, but who now stands as the undisputed global leader in global green tech?

Today China makes up more than 80 per cent of global solar panel manufacturing capacity, but it has also established control over the supply of materials for panels: Beijing holds 70 per cent of the global supply of graphite and rare earth elements, as well as a near-monopoly on the processing of critical minerals. By contrast, the EU is almost entirely reliant on imports for critical materials.

However, recent events, such as the intensification by Beijing last year of restrictions on rare earth exports as part of a trade war initiated by the US, exposed the risks borne by an over-reliance on China in these sectors. And despite being the global leader in renewable energies, China remains the world’s largest polluter, responsible for 30 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions.

Europe is now walking a thin line between trying to reduce its dependence on China in sensitive sectors while striving to meet its climate and energy transition targets. This challenge cuts across the political spectrum, but it poses a particular test for European Greens, given their commitment to ambitious climate policies and an efficient green transition. So how do Greens approach China? How do they perceive Beijing’s role when it comes to Europe’s green transition? And are they even aligned?

Common threads

Green foreign policy remains a spectrum of ideas rather than a clearly defined approach to the world’s varied issues. When the Heinrich-Böll Foundation attempted to map the foreign policies of green parties worldwide in 2022, it found common threads. Parties displayed a strong commitment to a values-based foreign policy with elements of interventionism, and emphasised the promotion of democracy, human rights, and feminism. Yet behind these lay differences on peace and security that reflect regional histories and sensibilities.

Although Greens found common ground with the left on Palestine, they often diverge on China.

Much like wider foreign policy, Green party approaches to China share broad characteristics that impact how they mobilise on human rights violations there.

“Human rights have always been a pillar [of Green foreign policy],” says Reinhard Bütikofer, a retired German Green politician who was a leading voice on China in the European Parliament (EP) between 2009 and 2024. “I recall that many Greens were appalled by the Tiananmen massacre. And the German Greens took an active role after that in upholding the arms embargo [to China]. When our coalition partner SPD [Social Democrat Party of Germany] in Berlin proposed that we should lift the arms embargo, we blocked it.”

Over the last decade, Greens have denounced the internment of ethnic minority Uyghur in political “re-education camps” in Xinjiang, and in 2019 pushed for the first resolution in the EP condemning it. The German Greens’ mobilisation on this issue resulted in their denial of entry to China.

Besides human rights, the fast adoption of renewable energy resources is a key concern. As Green MEPs fight to prevent the watering down of the Green Deal, its implementation comes with a problem: overreliance on China. Chinese imports to support Europe’s green transition have emerged as a hot potato for European Green parties.

Buy European?

Solar panels are a particular sore point. In 2023, Beijing controlled 98 per cent of global production of solar wafers – the semiconductor material critical to photovoltaic (PV) solar cells. This quasi-monopoly places a stranglehold on the rest of the global solar supply chain. Although approaches vary slightly on how Europe should shun China’s affordable solar panels while keeping the green transition going, Greens are generally wary of a new dependency on China.

“The current position of the Greens/EFA Group is that limiting purchases from China and buying more expensive European green technologies is an investment into the future,” said Markéta Gregorová, a Czech MEP elected with the Pirates who sits in the Greens/EFA Group and serves as co-chair of the EU delegation to the People’s Republic of China.

Beyond the economic logic, Chinese-made solar panel inverters – the devices that convert the current generated by solar panels to usable electricity – represent a documented cyber threat, which some Greens are particularly aware of. “As a negotiator for the revision of the EU Cybersecurity Act, I wake up at night thinking about the inverters in solar panels from China,” adds Gregorová. The worry is that through rogue communication devices recently found in Chinese-made solar inverters, Beijing could remotely access (and switch off) the solar grid. Exploiting this could destabilise national power grids. Indeed, Beijing’s hold on the kill switch was already flagged last year by intelligence agencies as dangerous.

On national stages, the issue is linked to political debates about energy sovereignty that have been reignited by external shocks. The risks of depending on Russian fossil fuels became apparent during Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, and more recently the crisis in the Strait of Hormuz is exposing more vulnerabilities in our energy supply. Samuel Cogolati, the former co-president of Ecolo, the francophone Green party in Belgium, calls for an energy transition “coherent” with the lessons from these external shocks.

“We have to hold the same line when we speak about China – I don’t think it would be in the interest of the Europeans to let supply chains concentrate in China. A very pragmatic discourse and a strategic vision [for how to restart industry] in Europe must belong to the ecologists, if we want to stay credible.”

Building consensus

In the European Parliament, trade tensions between Beijing and Brussels have stolen the limelight from issues such as human rights and the green transition. Gregorová admits that the Greens “need to speak realpolitik too, because if we [the EU] are weakened by the trade war, we can’t help anyone else.”

Yet the Greens/EFA continue to hold on to their founding commitments. “I think that we are still probably the most credible voice with regards to human rights,” said Chiara Miglioli, policy advisor to the Greens/EFA on international trade and China since 2012. When she accompanied the EP’s China delegation to Beijing in May, “everybody had the expectation that [the Greens] would raise the human rights issue. And indeed we did.”

But when it comes to playing a leadership role on China policy, it seems the Greens’ heyday is over. Past policy is embodied in the figure of Bütikofer, who in 2021 led the Greens in requesting and negotiating the EP vote to freeze the Comprehensive Agreement on Investment (CAI), a deal that supporters hoped would further open China’s internal market to EU companies. Discussions on the CAI were promptly halted in March 2021 after Beijing sanctioned five MEPs in retaliation for European sanctions against four Chinese officials believed to be linked to human rights violations in Xinjiang.

Bütikofer, the former chair of the EP’s Delegation for Relations with the People’s Republic of China (D-CN), is largely thought of as the founder of the European Greens’ China policy. “Still nowadays, many of our current positions on China have been very much shaped by him,” adds Miglioli, who advised Bütikofer on several China-related legislation and resolutions

Part of his legacy was to make Greens think of themselves as consensus builders. Bütikofer explains that building a wide majority consensus on China in the EP was his main goal. “My understanding has been that foreign policy is a realm that the member states jealously protect against European institutions. So the European Parliament could only play a role if it would stand together.”

In line with that way of thinking, today the Greens support the hard line of the Commission on China, and, says Gregorová, “are glad [it] has finally awoken to the security issues which Greens have been pointing out for a long time.” The European Parliament is now quite consensual when it votes on China, so the Greens’ role is not about forming winning majorities. “We raise the ambition of any compromise,” says Miglioli. “We have always been the ones pushing for the most ambitious option, to make sure that there are no loopholes. I believe we have succeeded.”

But a unified European China policy is still lacking. This year, the European Parliament has organised official visits to China. For Gregorová, “[they] have started going to China as kittens that have just fallen out of the basket. It has been very uncoordinated. We need to project more unity as China takes notice.”

However, merely focusing on building consensus might hinder the development of a stronger Green political line on China. Other parties have been less shy on that front. For instance, the current chair of the D-CN, German Renew Europe MEP Engin Eroglu, promotes the EU’s deregulation agenda and advocates for further deregulation measures to make European companies more competitive as a way to reduce imbalances with China. Facing such arguments, the Greens could take a clearer and stronger opposing stance, according to Miglioli. The policy advisor argues that “[Eroglu’s] focus on deregulation is a simplification and the wrong recipe because it is impossible to compete with China on production costs.”

She sees an opportunity for Greens to strengthen their voice. “Greens as a whole are not prioritising China enough as an economic issue. An anti-capitalist angle, critical of multinationals, corporate power, and vocal on labour rights and labour standards, could be an interesting idea to pursue.” She adds that “big multinationals have benefited from access to the huge Chinese market and they have really pursued profit maximisation by delocalising production to China. And now we have these huge dependencies.”

Principles versus pragmatism

However, the dependencies described by Miglioli also make it harder for Greens to build coalitions to support their policies. Nowhere is this more evident than in Germany, where Greens went from opposition to government in 2021.

Bündnis 90/Die Grünen’s Annalena Baerbock served as foreign minister until 2025. Critical of the German foreign policy consensus, Baerbock called Xi Jinping a dictator, openly criticised China’s territorial claims in the South China Sea for having no legal basis, and condemned its cooperation with Russia. In an attempt to break away from Merkel’s “quiet diplomacy”, Die Grünen tried to bring a new China strategy, defining China as “partner, competitor, and rival” while emphasising the “systemic rivalry” aspect. This sat uncomfortably with their senior coalition partner, the Social Democrats, who have traditionally been more appeasing towards both China and Russia in the name of economic pragmatism. It also upset German industry, which had grown increasingly reliant on China for exports.

These constraints pushed the Greens to evolve and water down some of their initial policy ambitions in an effort to win over Germany’s powerful industrial sector. Back in 2021, a German automotive start-up CEO described this change to the Financial Times as “a transition from a hardline environmental party to ‘a party of the bourgeoisie’.” Still, in 2024, the German Greens favoured the adoption of EU tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles.

Now back in the opposition, Die Grünen continues to actively bring attention to China-related issues in the Bundestag. Based on Bundestag records, the party has been among the most vocal in presenting China-sceptic questions to the government this year. The Greens have scrutinised Chinese investment in Germany’s critical infrastructure and European car manufacturing, imports of Russian and Belarusian wood through China, and cybersecurity.

Left and right approaches

Greens can serve as an alternative leftist voice on China, pointing out the incoherences of leftist figures who uncritically marry anti-imperialism with a pro-Beijing stance.

“We were not trying to have a left approach to China; we wanted to have the correct approach to China”, said Bütikofer when asked if he perceived the Green position as part of a wider left-wing approach to China policy. Being Green doesn’t mean going left in Germany and Central and Eastern Europe. The German Greens are closer to the liberal centre, and the Austrian Greens even formed a coalition government with the conservative People’s Party (ÖVP) in 2020.

Meanwhile, western and southern European Green parties tend to lean more towards the left. When it comes to their foreign policy, this translates into different levels of alignment with left-wing parties, whose foreign policy is often defined by a commitment to anti-imperialism and defiance of US hegemony. And although Greens found common ground with the left on Palestine, they often diverge on China.

This is particularly striking in France, where Les Écologistes prove that a Green party can be both anchored in the Left and maintain a coherent critical stance on China. Under the leadership of Marine Tondelier, the party established a clear distinction between their position and that of the radical-left La France Insoumise (LFI).

Following LFI leader Jean-Luc Mélenchon’s call for the development of “privileged relations” between Paris and Beijing, and his downplaying of human rights violations and Beijing’s threats against Taiwan, Tondelier signed a steadfast response on her blog titled “Moving beyond the fascination for China.”

“When will we learn, us the people of the left, that anti-imperialist criticism cannot compromise itself by promoting autocracies?” asks Tondelier. “How can the Left be persuasive beyond our activist circles if we are incapable of maintaining a minimum level of consistency regarding our values?”

The post sketches out a progressive approach to China, re-affirming strong positions on human rights and democratic values, and defending a pragmatic and united policy of European engagement with Beijing. This involves cooperating with China on “segments of mutual interest”, including on the energy transition, and rejecting a simple alignment with “Washington’s crusade” against Beijing. However, the French MP is clear that the “industrialisation and electrification of Europe should be driven by European companies”, and that Chinese investment should be “limited, controlled, and contingent upon sustainable concessions” on technology transfers. Breaking with an economically liberal approach, Tondelier urges investments and planning to support a green transition.

The French case shows that Greens can serve as an alternative leftist voice on China, pointing out the incoherences of leftist figures who uncritically marry anti-imperialism with a pro-Beijing stance.

Security policy: Where Greens diverge

Security and defence remain a point of serious divergence between European Green parties. The parties, members, and voters are torn between radical pacifism and realpolitik. This translates into differences in China policy.

It seems that Green parties closer to both the geographical and political centre of Europe tend to have a more realist approach to the issue, putting emphasis on security. For the Central and Eastern European parties, this probably relates to their closer historical experience with Russia and ongoing security threats from Moscow.

In recent years, China’s impact on European security has become more palpable. Beijing maintains an official neutrality on the war in Ukraine, yet has increased its support for Russia’s war effort despite Western sanctions. Beijing continues to provide large volumes of dual-use technologies (goods, software or materials that have both civilian and military applications) vital to Russia’s military-industrial base. Further instances of transnational repression and spying operations have made Beijing a tangible security concern.

Green parties do notice and respond. The Czech Green MP Gabriela Svárovská asserts that a combined focus on “human rights, values, security, and competitiveness” is what distinguishes her party’s China policy. The Finnish ​​Vihreät’s 2025 Foreign and Security Policy Program mentions China eight times, noting its interests in the Arctic, its growing influence in Central Asia, and its threats to Taiwan.

Governing or opposing

Yet many European Green Parties still don’t have a clear China policy.

The British Greens, who made historic electoral gains under the leadership of Zack Polanski, have so far given little thought to their China approach beyond human rights concerns. Their 2024 foreign policy paper made no mention of China. Yet Chinese state threat activities on UK soil – including recognised risks of espionage, spying, and shadow policing operations, as well as cyber attacks – increasingly came under the public eye during former Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s administration. As the latter also attempted to reset diplomatic relations with the PRC, this seems like a missed opportunity for the Greens.

A similar thing can be said of the Danish Socialistisk Folkeparti (Green Left1), who have been part of the government coalition since June 2026. While they criticised the former government’s involvement with China in 2021 and later voiced criticism of China’s support for Russia, in recent years they have gone relatively silent. Denmark is seen as one of the more China-friendly countries in the EU and signed a strategic climate partnership with Beijing in 2023. We have yet to see how the Greens will deal with dependencies on China once they are in the governing seat. (We approached both Danish and UK Greens to elaborate on their positions on China, but did not receive a response.)

By contrast, the Hungarian Green Party LMP used to be quite vocal about the country’s ties with China, as Viktor Orbán made Budapest Beijing’s closest EU ally, as well as the Union’s top recipient of Chinese foreign direct investment. Home to numerous projects linked to China’s Belt and Road Initiative, including in critical infrastructure, Orbán’s Hungary openly opposed the European “derisking strategy” aimed at reducing critical vulnerabilities and dependencies. Not only did the former prime minister dismiss EU tariffs on Chinese electric vehicle (EV) imports as an “economic cold war”, he also undermined them by welcoming Chinese industrial giants to establish EV battery factories in the country.

Before it was dissolved following its failure to meet the electoral threshold in the 2024 local elections, LMP accused Orbán’s Fidesz government of “offering Hungary on a platter to Chinese investors”, compromising “the country’s natural assets, environmental treasures, and dwindling human resources”, and voiced concern about CEE becoming “an industrial backyard and dumping ground for Western countries and China”.

Opposing the government’s China policy has been crucial to the Serbian Green-left Front (Zeleno-levi Front), born from grassroots anti-corruption protests and established in its current form during the 2023 protests in Serbia. “As an opposition party, we are not trying to criticise China as much as we are trying to criticise our regime’s ties to China,” says the party’s international secretary Marko Vujačić.

In the Serbian context, Green China criticism stems not from trade imbalances, but mainly from the negative environmental impact of Chinese investment in copper and gold mining and the exploitative working conditions of workers in Chinese factories.

“Although the party does not have a clear constructive China policy, it exercises a clear line of caution towards China,” adds Vujačić, while confirming that the party has also avoided alliance with, or admiration for, the Chinese Communist Party, which is often the case with Serbian left-wing movements. “While Green parties in Serbia have historically been co-opted by the regime, the Zeleno-levi front is an exception,” said Petr Čermák, an analyst at the Association for International Affairs.

A new approach

The former dominant approach to China in Europe, led by global free trade devotees, has been “naive, depoliticised and solely centred around profit,” Tondelier wrote in her blog. As China’s activities and influence in Europe raise more political, social, environmental and security concerns, a new approach is emerging, and Green parties could seize the momentum to voice a bolder political position rooted in Green principles.

For decades, cities throughout the world have based their mobility programmes on a misguided assumption: that car ownership will only keep growing. But as more cities challenge the auto-centric model and embrace “multimodality”, a new paradigm is emerging. Bringing about this alternative vision requires not only bold, innovative solutions, but also robust new planning institutions.

For many of us, having to juggle work, school, and other daily obligations, getting stuck in traffic is a daily nuisance. In order to carry out our responsibilities, we participate in the traffic system, which costs us a lot of time and money and harms our physical and mental health.

Some of these consequences, such as safety and stress, are easy to recognise. But research tells us that daily urban mobility also has a great impact on rates of obesity, diabetes, heart complaints, respiratory illnesses, dementia, and depression, amongst other health problems. These health conditions are also linked to common harmful transport emissions, such as particles resulting from the friction of tyres on asphalt, exhaust fumes, and general noise pollution created by vehicles. What’s more, traffic also causes greenhouse gas emissions, which are directly linked to the climate crisis and other related social and ecological problems.

In order to improve urban mobility and address its problems, modern cities put special care into the planning of their urban mobility systems. To this end, one of the main goals they aspire to is becoming a “multimodal” city – a place where inhabitants can choose and combine high-quality methods of mobility, and where owning and using a car is the last option, not a compulsion. This means prioritising more active forms of movement, such as walking and riding a bicycle, especially for journeys of only a few kilometres. For longer journeys around the city, the mobility system must offer a variety of complementary combinations using high-quality public transport, such as buses and trams for short journeys, and underground trains and regional train lines for longer trips and transporting large numbers of people.

In practice, however, many cities still struggle to establish effective new planning institutions to achieve this desired result due to a variety of reasons.

Firstly, following the influence of the North American urban planning paradigm, many cities in the previous century gave priority to private cars – by dedicating street space as well as setting aside large areas for car parks – instead of, say, green spaces. This outdated planning approach assumed that the level of motorisation (i.e. the number of private cars per inhabitant) would increase and that, as a city’s population grew, more and more infrastructure would need to be dedicated to this very inefficient form of urban mobility.

Now, cities find themselves at a turning point between old and new paradigms of urban mobility planning. As the problems with the old system become clearer, a new paradigm is still developing and trying to find its way into practice. So far, it appears in cities that have been brave enough to leave behind old ways of thinking and create new, modern planning institutions. These cities, including Paris, Vienna, Helsinki, and Ljubljana, are leading by example. Although the emerging paradigm is not yet clearly defined, five main elements can often be found in their planning institutions.

This outdated planning approach assumed that the level of motorisation (i.e. the number of private cars per inhabitant) would increase and that, as a city’s population grew, more and more infrastructure would need to be dedicated to this very inefficient form of urban mobility.

The pillars of good planning

The first and most fundamental consideration in planning for multimodal cities is to have a far-reaching outlook. When it comes to urban mobility, even short-term interventions should follow long-term priorities. Taking a long-term view means considering possible future scenarios at least 20 years from now, and ideally even 30 to 50 years. Moreover, innovative thinking should be an inseparable part of this exercise to ensure that expectations of the future are not just a continuation of past trends. In concrete terms, this means we shouldn’t just assume that the rate of motorisation will grow, and that the number of cars on the road will increase as the population increases. Instead, cities must imagine alternative scenarios in which most journeys are made on foot, by bicycle, and by public transport. In other words, such a vision of the future must have citizens’ wellbeing at its heart.

This must apply to different types of people with different needs, constraints, and daily experiences of the transport system. 

In addition, a strategic planning perspective requires understanding the difference between costs and investment. Changing public transport infrastructure (and especially rail) requires millions of euros in investment, but the investment is well worth it when it is considered over 50 or even 100 years’ time – its usual length of service.

A key insight in modern planning courses entails that land use is the first and most important public policy for urban mobility. This brings us to the second pillar of multimodal city planning: the integration of spatial planning into urban mobility as part of a wider package of public policies.

As soon as you have a beginning and end point for any planned movement, you are defining a mobility system. Therefore, to realise the desired vision of the city, the spatial plan and the urban mobility system must be closely connected. This means viewing public space as a whole and considering factors like population density, planned activities, land-use diversity, and the design of all elements that make up the streetscape.

Beyond these infrastructural considerations, an integrated plan must also address economic factors, such as how public transport services, as well as educational and medical infrastructure, will be paid for. In practice, this means public policy needs to consider a package of complementary measures: those that encourage walking, cycling, and public transport, as well as measures to discourage unnecessary car use. Here, complementarity also means measures which relate to other areas of public policy, such as education, health and employment systems.

The third element crucial in successful urban planning is having quality data about mobility systems for different groups of people. The basic idea taught in traffic management courses for decades is that cities must follow a digital-numerical model of urban transport systems. This enables the modelling of a series of steps – from how the need to move around develops to how movement equates to traffic flow on this or that street or line of public transport. A computer model like this is ideal for examining the complex consequences of different intervention packages, because it not only allows us to understand the problems that exist today, but also enables us to explore different future scenarios relatively cheaply. Urban mobility models should be built based on relevant data about people’s daily travel habits as well as their characteristics and desires. This kind of analysis is usually done through questionnaires that ask residents about their current and desired travel patterns.

That said, models and surveys are not enough on their own. A modern planning institution needs to collect large amounts of automatic data, as well as data that enables deeper analysis. One example would be information collected anonymously and automatically by smartphone, through analysis of telecommunication network signals or various applications using GPS or other telephone sensors. Another useful strategy would be collecting data about reasons for travel, such as attitudes and beliefs, as well as information about the characteristics of movement for particular groups of people – data obtainable only through carrying out surveys or interviews with the relevant population sample.

Perspective is key

You may have noticed that this text does not use the traditional term “traffic planning”, but instead talks about mobility planning. This is one of the important assumptions that a modern urban planning institute should have. The aim of planning is not to enable traffic flow or prevent traffic congestion. Those are important elements to consider, but the primary concern is creating a system that enables people to move around the city and gives them access to all the various activities a city can provide within a certain timeframe. This must apply to different types of people with different needs, constraints, and daily experiences of the transport system. Therefore – and this is the fourth pillar of good planning – evaluating different scenarios must include systemic perspectives as well as those of citizens themselves.

The city’s inhabitants themselves should be included in the planning process – not only at the end, when the alternatives are being evaluated, but already in the early stages, when alternative scenarios of the future are being created.

On the one hand, it is necessary to show with a model what the cumulative effects of any mobility infrastructure will be, for example in greenhouse gas emissions caused by the transport system, or the overall level of noise on one street. On the other hand, it is necessary to assess whether an alternative system can offer a functional and high-quality daily experience of mobility infrastructure. The model mentioned in the third pillar is a way to achieve this, but we can also use other methods. One of these solutions, which can be called the “person method,” evaluates mobility systems from the perspective of specific groups, such as children, older people without access to a car, or young parents with limited financial means.

It must be noted that high-quality planning focuses not solely on the content, but also on the infrastructure development process itself. The essence of a modern planning institution is a carefully considered process that develops through a series of clearly defined activities over time, with shared and clearly defined responsibilities for all participants. It is vital to include a range of experts, in addition to those who traditionally take part in urban mobility planning projects. For example, a high-quality process should include experts in regional economics, sociology, psychology, and the environment. What’s more, the city’s inhabitants themselves should be included in the planning process – not only at the end, when the alternatives are being evaluated, but already in the early stages, when alternative scenarios of the future are being created.

A planning process that explicitly includes different perspectives – the last of the five pillars – makes it possible to develop solutions that take into account citizens’ needs and experiences, rendering the various public policy measures more acceptable to them. Citizen participation itself can be organised using traditional methods, such as workshops and public hearings, as well as through modern digital tools like online questionnaires which use interactive maps. These tools provide valuable data, comments, and suggestions from citizens which can be directly linked to concrete locations in the city. Such an inclusive approach demands robust cooperation and entails constructive conflict between different values and assumptions about life in the city.

Towards a 21st-century paradigm

Cities have always changed and will continue to do so, along with humanity itself. New forms of mobility will appear in the transport system, as we have recently witnessed with the arrival of electric scooters on streets across the world. People’s habits will also change and diversify, leading to ever-increasing demands on urban mobility systems. Thanks to the rise of remote working, we are also seeing a change in people’s mobility habits.

Even though the majority of these and other aspects will remain extremely difficult to predict, one thing is certain: planning institutions need to change. They need to rise to the challenges of the 21st century in order to respect the needs of citizens as well as the environment. New institutions will also have to think carefully about how to invest in effective, applicable interventions that fulfil the desired objectives of new mobility paradigms. Only through the development of visionary and brave planning institutions can a city of wellbeing emerge.  

This article first appeared in Serbian in Omorika. It is republished here with permission. Translated by Alex Melbourne | Voxeurop 

O dzisiejszych problemach możemy mówić w kategoriach społecznych, że zatraciliśmy się w konsumpcjonizmie, nacjonalizmie i wzroście gospodarczym. Ale możemy też ujmować je jako doświadczenie osobiste, jako separację i odcięcie się od naszej rodziny i przyjaciół.

Z Edouardem Gaudotem, autorem „Les sept piliers de la Cité” („Siedmiu filarów miasta”) i Adamem Ostolskim rozmawia Jamie Kendrick.

„Siedem filarów miasta” zaczyna się od obserwacji, że żyjemy w świecie rozpadających się przekonań i brakuje nam głębszego poczucia sensu. Co skłoniło cię, aby opis sytuacji, ujmowanej na ogół jako kryzys gospodarczy, demokratyczny czy ekologiczny, przenieś na głębszy, niemalże duchowy poziom?

Edouard Gaudot: W jakimś punkcie życia każdy z nas napotyka kryzys, który zmusza do zadawania pytań i rodzi potrzebę przebudowania siebie. Podobną podróż odbywają również społeczeństwa. Jest wiele znaków, że coraz więcej osób nie odnajduje w dzisiejszym świecie poczucia sensu i w efekcie bardzo trudno jest nam zbudować cokolwiek jako zbiorowość.

Wspólne przekonania rozpadają się. Niektóre uległy zniszczeniu. Utrata sensu w demokratycznych społeczeństwach jest moim zdaniem kluczem do dzisiejszego kryzysu. Widzę przed nami trzy drogi. Pierwsza to odbudowanie przekonań, które nas kiedyś łączyły, powrót do korzeni. Druga możliwość to rezygnacja ze wspólnych znaczeń – ale nihilizm nie jest dobrą receptą na budowę wspólnoty. Trzecią opcją byłaby zmiana sposobu myślenia, kształtującego naszą praktykę polityczną. I o to właśnie apeluję.

Adam Ostolski: Moje odczytanie tej książki idzie w przeciwnym kierunku. W tym, co piszesz, Edouardzie, najbardziej inspiruje mnie zaproszenie, aby nie zamykać się w tym przytłaczającym poczuciu kryzysu i zwrócić większą uwagę na to, co już mamy. Przede wszystkim, jesteśmy żywi, co zbyt łatwo przyjąć za oczywistość. Żyjemy i dzielimy ze sobą ten świat. A także, czy nam się to podoba, czy nie, dzielimy wiele przestrzeni w obrębie świata. Mamy przyjaciół i rzeczy, o które się troszczymy. Potrafimy zmieniać się i nie musimy grzęznąć w naszych wierzeniach. Możemy wątpić w źle działające instytucje i być nimi rozczarowani, ale nawet w tym jest wielki potencjał. Nawet na gruzowisku małe roślinki zapuszczają korzenie i przygotowują grunt dla nowych gatunków. Twoją książkę odczytuję jako gest otwarcia, poszukiwanie twórczego potencjału w obecnej sytuacji, jakkolwiek jest ona bolesna.

EG: To jest lekcja „Gwiezdnych wojen”: zawsze gdy zdaje się, że ciemność zwyciężyła, pojawia się wybuch światła. Ilekroć myślisz, że dobro zatriumfowało nad złem, pozostaje jakaś drobinka zła, która zaczyna kiełkować w ciemnościach.

Dekonstrukcja – innymi słowy, kryzys, który obecnie przeżywamy – była konieczna, abyśmy dotarli do kresu tego doświadczenia i dzięki temu mogli dowiedzieć się, czym jesteśmy, gdzie jesteśmy i kim jesteśmy. To jest podróż tak samo niezbędna dla jednostki, jak dla zbiorowości.

O dzisiejszych problemach możemy mówić w kategoriach społecznych, że zatraciliśmy się w konsumpcjonizmie, nacjonalizmie i wzroście gospodarczym. Ale możemy też ujmować je jako doświadczenie osobiste, jako separację i odcięcie się od naszej rodziny i przyjaciół. Takie doświadczenie może być niewiarygodnie wzbogacające, jednak nie nadaje się na fundament dla projektu zbiorowego. Refleksji nad doświadczeniem siebie brakuje mi we wszystkich współczesnych nurtach politycznego myślenia. Oczywiście potrzebujemy polityki dla zbiorowości, ale nie można ignorować tego, jak zbiorowość wiąże się z tym, co osobiste.

Twoja książka nie jest siedmiopunktowym programem czy manifestem. Co masz na myśli, mówiąc o „siedmiu filarach”?

EG: W rzeczy samej, programy są dla komputerów, nie dla polityki. W mojej książce usiłuję przedefiniować intelektualne, polityczne i duchowe ramy, w jakich uprawiamy politykę. Potrzebujemy zmiany w trzech obszarach. Chodzi o polityczną relację, jaką utrzymujemy sami ze sobą, polityczną relację w odniesieniu do innych oraz polityczną relację wobec planety. Tego właśnie dotyczy moje „siedem filarów”.

Dwa pierwsze filary wyznaczają konieczne, lecz niewystarczające warunki zmiany. Pierwszy z nich – niezbywalność życia – oznacza, że nie możemy zignorować niczego, co żywe. Potrzebujemy zmienić nasz sposób widzenia świata i nasze podejście do wszelkich żyjących istnień – nie tylko ludzi, lecz także zwierząt, roślin, rzek – zmierzając w stronę zrozumienia biosfery. Drugi filar, wypływający z tych samych źródeł, wymaga zmiany naszego postrzegania własności. Rywalizujemy o zasoby niczym dwie pchły sprzeczające się o to, która posiada psa. A przecież to my naprawdę należymy do Ziemi, nie odwrotnie. Jak by powiedział Mały Książę, nie powinniśmy tylko używać rzeczy, lecz także sami być użyteczni dla tego, co posiadamy.

Gdy już zmienimy te dwie perspektywy, możemy przejść do sedna, czyli zmiany politycznej. Tego dotyczy trzeci, czwarty i piąty filar w książce. Filar trzeci wiąże się ze zmianą gospodarki. Obecnie jesteśmy pożywką dla maszyny, która nie ma z nami nic wspólnego. Obojętnie, czy nazwiemy to kapitalizmem, neoliberalizmem czy konsumpcjonizmem. Ta machina przejmuje kontrolę nad naszym życiem i wcale nam nie służy – to my jej służymy. Potrzebujemy więc ekonomii nastawionej na życie. Nie chodzi po prostu o gospodarkę okrężną czy cofnięcie wzrostu gospodarczego, lecz o bardziej zasadniczą przemianę tego, jak wszystko produkujemy, od żywności po odpady i z powrotem.

Kolejny krok to zmiana naszej relacji z innymi. Polityczną formą dla inności może być tylko demokracja. Oznacza to, że nie tylko potrzebujemy odnaleźć się w równej wolności, równej godności i wzajemnym uznaniu, lecz także nauczyć się być „wolni razem”, to znaczy. wolni „z” innymi raczej niż wolni „od” innych. Zapożyczam tu sformułowanie Carla Schmitta, modyfikując jednak bez żalu związane z nim rozróżnienie „przyjaciel-wróg”. Zamiast wypierać tę opozycję albo nieustannie skupiać się na wrogu, powinnyśmy zwrócić większą uwagę na przyjaciela.

W piątym filarze chodzi o zmianę naszych relacji politycznych, nie tylko z innymi ludźmi i z planetą, lecz także z samymi sobą. Ekologię postrzegam jako ścieżkę duchową. Ekologia to nie tylko nauka i jest także czymś więcej niż polityką. Chodzi w niej także o zmianę sposobu widzenia świata i siebie, o bycie częścią czegoś większego. Otwarcie się na to może przypominać inicjację religijną bądź duchową. Masz objawienie i zaczynasz rozwijać swoją wiedzę, doświadczać złożoności. Aż w końcu docierasz do pojmowania świata jako całości, nie jako czegoś odrębnego – dochodzi do połączenia nauki i świadomości.

Z inną gospodarką, inną demokracją oraz nową relacją do siebie i świata docieramy do dwóch ostatnich filarów: anarchistycznego rządzenia i świadomości planetarnej. Przez anarchistyczne rządzenie rozumiem taką organizację instytucji, w której od hierarchicznego układu władzy przechodzimy do relacji o znacznie bardziej poziomym charakterze. Nie chodzi mi o to, żeby nie było instytucji, chodzi raczej o ład bez władzy, nieograniczony do jednego miasta czy miejsca. Zwieńczeniem tego wszystkiego jest filar siódmy – świadomość planetarna. Podążając za Bruno Latourem, kończę na wizji Europy, na duchu europejskim jako projekcie pojednania, dzięki któremu nasze wzajemne relacje opierają się na prawie i współpracy zamiast na sile.

AO: Największym atutem, a zarazem pewną słabością twojego podejścia jest właśnie to skupienie na duchowości. Duchowość może oczywiście istnieć bez religii. Ale nie jest wówczas możliwa do utrzymania w dłuższym okresie, ponieważ nie wytwarza tradycji. A jeśli buduje wspólnoty, to najczęściej są to niewielkie sekty.

Napięcie między duchowością a religią jako kształtującą wspólnotę ludzi instytucją jest równie dawne jak sama religia. W doświadczeniu jednostki duchowość może się obyć bez religii, ale nie jest wówczas istotna politycznie. W tym kontekście warto też przyjrzeć się pojęciom herezji i ortodoksji oraz relacji między nimi. Zarówno herezja, jak i ortodoksja potrzebują wspólnoty ludzi, którzy podzielają pewne wierzenia, ale nie zgadzają się między sobą w kwestii tego, jako owe wspólne wierzenia interpretować.

Wracając do kwestii bliższych sprawom politycznym, żyjemy w świecie wielu religii, co jest bardzo dobre. Nie chcemy, aby to się zmieniło. Większość ludzi, gdy odkrywają dla siebie jakąś formę duchowości, robi to w ramach którejś z wielu różnych tradycji. Jeśli więc chcemy przełożyć tę duchową wizję na coś bardziej praktycznego, to potrzebujemy – z zachowaniem niezbędnej delikatności – pomyśleć o tym, jak uruchomić i zorganizować polityczne myślenie o religii w sposób, który posunie nas naprzód.

Jakiś czas temu na zjeździe socjologicznym przysłuchiwałem się sesji na temat „alternatywnych stylów życia”. Justyna Kajta przedstawiała wyniki swoich badań biograficznych nad działaczami skrajnej prawicy w Polsce. Jednym z odkryć było to, że badani przez nią młodzi mężczyźni deklarowali, że wolą życie pożyteczne od życia szczęśliwego. Pomyślałem wtedy: „Kurczę, potrafię się w tym rozpoznać. Nie podzielam ich poglądów politycznych, ale i w moim życiu chodzi przecież o coś więcej niż mnie samego”. Potrzebujemy duchowości nie tylko po to, by odkryć i opanować siebie, lecz także po to, by siebie przekroczyć. Z tego samego powodu potrzebujemy tradycyjnych zorganizowanych religii, z różnorodnością sposobów, w jakie odnoszą się do sfery publicznej i polityki.

EG: Patrząc historycznie, ruchy skrajnej prawicy na swój sposób próbują ponownie wnieść wartości duchowe w materialistyczny świat. Tak właśnie czytam choćby „Fight Club” – zarówno książka, jak i film mają silny rys faszystowski. Lecz tym, co nadaje im taki charakter, nie jest ani przemoc, ani wątek paramilitarnej organizacji popełniającej sabotaż. Główny bohater, Tyler Durden, daje młodym mężczyznom poczucie przekroczenia swoich ograniczeń i przekroczenia życia zdefiniowanego przez konsumpcjonizm i brak odwagi. Przesłanie jest głęboko faszystowskie i silnie duchowe.

Skrajna prawica odwołuje się do tej tęsknoty za czymś większym niż ja. Poza nią jedynym nurtem myśli politycznej apelującym do tego samego pragnienia jest ekologia. To dlatego uważam, że XXI wiek będzie konfrontacją między ekologią, która wykracza dalece poza ramy partii zielonych, a skrajną prawicą. Jasna i mroczna strona naszego stulecia to zielona wizja świata stojąca naprzeciwko wizji brunatnej.

Czy nie ma ryzyka, że to zainteresowanie sobą i nacisk na duchowość funkcjonuje jako forma ucieczki? Że gdy nie udało nam się zmienić świata, siadamy pod drzewem i próbujemy zacząć od zmiany siebie? A może odwrotnie, to poprzez dążenie do utopii – przez politykę, która może zmienić świat – zmieniamy również siebie?

EG: Nie chodzi o „najpierw ja”, lecz o „również ja”. Nie powinniśmy mylić utopii z idealizmem. Ideały, choćby nieosiągalne, są tak częścią polityki, jak i rozwoju osobistego. Tym, co zmienia człowieka, jest zmaganie się z trudnościami, by coś osiągnąć – zaprawić się w sporcie, opanować język. Ważny jest wysiłek, a nie ostateczny cel.

W pełni zgadzam się, że przemiana siebie, jeśli nie wiąże się z jakimś projektem zbiorowym, jest tylko samorozwojem. I szczerze mówiąc nie jest to aż tak potrzebne światu. Z drugiej strony projekty polityczne nie mogą ignorować jednostki. Aby zadbać o innych, musimy czuć się dobrze ze sobą. Ktoś, kto sam się o siebie nie troszczy, nikomu nie pomoże. To jak procedura bezpieczeństwa w samolocie: najpierw sam załóż maskę tlenową, potem pomagaj innym.

Więc tak, samorozwój musi się łączyć z czymś większym. Historia pokazuje, że kolektywne projekty, które nie troszczyły się o jednostki, okazywały się w końcu skrajnie złe, przeważnie totalitarne. Nie chcemy zbiorowiska jednostek, które mają za nic społeczeństwo, i nie chcemy społeczeństwa przekonanego, że samo wie najlepiej, co jest dla wszystkich dobre.

AO: Dla mnie punktem wyjścia do troski o siebie jest dostrzeżenie innych i wyjście im naprzeciw. Przemiana siebie nie musi zaczynać się od wewnątrz, jej katalizatorem mogą być wyzwania związane z obecnością innych ludzi, z którymi łączyć nas może przyjaźń, antypatia, wspólna praca, pożądanie czy cokolwiek innego.

To samo dotyczy naszej kolektywnej wizji siebie jako społeczeństwa. W Twojej książce jest wspaniały fragment poświęcony laickości, gdzie wyjaśniasz, jak to pojęcie stało się obecnie we Francji narzędziem kolektywnego samopotwierdzania raczej niż otwartości, której początkowo miało służyć. Ucieleśnieniem tego jest polityka Macrona. Jego wystąpienia na temat „islamskiego separatyzmu” pokazują, jak polityczne elity we Francji próbują rozwiązywać szereg problemów, od bezpieczeństwa narodowego przez edukację aż po politykę zagraniczną za pomocą ustawodawstwa dotyczącego religii. Jest w tym głęboka ironia, że dzieje się to w państwie, które uważa samo siebie za ostoję świeckości.

Francuskie kłopoty to przykład problemu, z którym mierzą się dziś wszystkie zachodnie demokracje. Jesteśmy zaaferowani pytaniami o to, kim naprawdę jesteśmy, jakie jest moje prawdziwe imię i jak mogę wyegzekwować je od świata, a także jakie jest poprawne imię innego. Czy można go nazwać imieniem tego właśnie narodu, tej właśnie płci, czy tą właśnie inną etykietą?

Ta kwestia wyrasta z tradycji religii abrahamicznych: judaizmu, chrześcijaństwa i islamu. Troska o prawdziwe „ja” – na poziomie indywidualnym i zbiorowym – a także o to, jak poprawnie można nazywać innych znalazła się dziś w centrum zmagań politycznych po lewej i po prawej stronie. Religie monoteistyczne, zwłaszcza w powiązaniu z duchowością, są niezbędne i pomocne w budowaniu demokratycznej sfery publicznej, ale mają swoje ograniczenia. Potrzebujemy również inspiracji tradycji nie-abrahamicznych jako swoistego kontrapunktu, który pozwoliłby nieco poluzować to kurczowe przywiązanie do kwestii tożsamości.

W książce postulowane są trzy zasady dla współczesnej polityki. Po pierwsze, chodzi o zachowanie, ochronę i przywrócenie naturalnej równowagi i warunków życia. Po drugie, o poszerzanie wolności, o ile nie kłóci się to z zasadą pierwszą. Po trzecie wreszcie, o powiększanie dobrostanu materialnego, o ile nie jest to sprzeczne z dwiema pierwszymi zasadami. Ale ludzie już przecież wzburzyli „naturalny porządek rzeczy” dogłębnie i na wiele sposobów. Czy nie powinniśmy raczej zaakceptować naszego sprawstwa, zamiast silić się na odbudowę równowagi w przyrodzie?

EG: Niektóre z naszych największych osiągnięć zawdzięczamy temu, że potrafimy w przemyślany sposób wycofać się z ingerencji w przyrodę. Myślę na przykład o rezerwatach morskich czy niektórych parkach narodowych, gdzie pozwalamy dzikiej przyrodzie, by sama odzyskała równowagę. Czasami najlepszą formą sprawczości w odniesieniu do przyrody jest pozostawienie jej w spokoju – przykładem takiego myślenia jest choćby unijne rozporządzenie o odbudowie zasobów przyrodniczych (Nature Restoration Law). Nie znaczy to, że mamy się odsunąć ze świata, jak chcieliby zwolennicy nurtu ekologii głębokiej. Jesteśmy częścią tego stworzenia i tej równowagi. Ale musimy się nauczyć, jak unikać zaburzania równowagi w przyrodzie, jak szanować i podtrzymywać ją.

My, ludzie, jesteśmy organizmami, a każdy organizm to w istocie organizacje rozmaitych procesów równowagi. Aktualne wyzwanie polega na tym, byśmy ponownie włączyli się świat, tak abyśmy mogli kształtować go jako organizmy, a nie manipulować nim jako pochłaniające wszystko mechanizmy. To wymaga „sprawczości”, ponieważ wycofanie się to za mało. Potrzebujemy zreformować nas samych. Dlatego właśnie uważam, że ekologia jest formą duchowości.

Tak że istnieje przestrzeń na ludzkie działanie. Chodzi o wycofanie się tam, gdziekolwiek to możliwe, lecz również przez reformację, gdziekolwiek i kiedykolwiek to możliwe – przy założeniu, że nie mówimy o geoinżynierii czy terraformowaniu Ziemi.

AO: Ludzie są także częścią ekosystemu. Nie powinniśmy na przykład myśleć o wycofywaniu się z terytoriów, gdzie równowaga w przyrodzie zależy od obecności ludzi. W miejscach, gdzie zabroniono społecznościom rdzennym kontrolowanego wypalania lasów, efektem często są megapożary.

Z drugiej strony, kiedy dajemy więcej luzu naturze, możemy też trochę poluzować oczekiwania wobec społeczeństwa. Wiemy, że bardzo dużo można uzyskać dzięki temu, że po prostu pozwolimy drzewom rosnąć czy zostawimy przestrzeń na niezakłócony rozwój ekosystemów morskich. Dodatkowa korzyść jest taka, że nie musimy poświęcać aż tyle uwagi temu, jak namówić wszystkich do weganizmu czy powstrzymać ludzi przed podróżami lotniczymi. Oznacza to, że moglibyśmy zmniejszyć presję na nasze style życia i ograniczenia nakładane na nas jako jednostki i społeczności.

Oczywiście nasze style życia wymagają reformy. Ale możemy zrobić to w sposób bardziej organiczny, jeśli nie traktujemy tego jako jedynego rozwiązania. Mechanizmy można naprawiać, ale organizmy zdrowieją. To, co można naprawić, trzeba naprawić. Lecz również potrzebujemy stworzyć – zarówno dla ludzkich społeczności, jak i ekosystemów – przestrzeń, której potrzebują dla uzdrowienia.

Co chcielibyście, żeby czytelnik wyniósł z tej książki?

AO: Polityczne etykiety są często używane jako obelgi. Myślę, że to błąd. Konserwatyzm jest szlachetną tradycją polityczną, dającą cenną perspektywę na człowieka i społeczeństwo, ale ma również ciemną stronę. Tak samo liberalizm, socjalizm, feminizm czy ekologizm – każda z tych tradycji wnosi coś cennego do naszego rozumienia człowieka i społeczeństwa i oferuje wspaniałe wizje wspólnego życia. Ale każda z nich ma też swoją ciemną stronę.

Wyobraźnia ekologiczna może wzbogacić nasze myślenie o demokracji. Ekologiczne myślenie o demokracji nie polega na tym, aby poprawiać czy naprawiać innych, narzucać im nasz sposób myślenia i zmuszać do akceptowania jedynie słusznych rozwiązań. Przeciwnie, chodzi o myślenie o tym, jak uwzględnić te różnorodne glosy w taki sposób, aby nie były krzywdzące dla innych. To duże wyzwanie, ze względu na wpisaną w każdą ideologię polityczną jej ciemną stronę. Ale to także szansa na zbudowanie wspólnego świata.

Nie powinniśmy zaczynać od tego, co mówi prawo, jaka jest prawda, czy jakie jest właściwe rozwiązanie. Punktem wyjścia powinno być pytanie o to, jak mogę dzielić ten świat, to państwo, tę Unię Europejską czy to miasto z ludźmi, którzy są ode mnie inni. Znalezienie równowagi nie jest oczywiście, na przekór pewnym modelom ekonomicznym, równoznaczne ze stabilnością. W przyrodzie równowaga jest zawsze dynamiczna, ciągle się zmienia.

To jest moim zdaniem lekcja z tej książki. Możemy uczyć się od konserwatystów, liberałów czy jakiejkolwiek innej tradycji bez utraty własnego kompasu. To daje nam szansę na zbudowanie świata, w którym możemy żyć razem. Dla mnie to jest właśnie istotą ekologii w polityce.

EG: Chciałbym zaprosić czytelnika do refleksji nad sobą. Myślę, że zawsze powinniśmy pielęgnować umiejętność wątpienia i pogłębiać nasze rozumienie siebie. Podczas gdy ciemna strona wszelkich światopoglądów sprowadza nas do dogmatyzmu, introspekcja zakłada pragnienie bycia lepszym – nie tylko w sensie lepszego funkcjonowanie, lecz bycia lepszą istotą żywą. Dla różnych osób oznaczać to będzie coś innego: udział we mszy, medytację, działalność humanitarną czy co komu w duszy zagra. To nie przypadek, że jedną z największych lekcji zachodniej filozofii jest wciąż aktualne „Poznaj samego siebie”.

Z języka angielskiego przełożył Adam Ostolski.

In rhetoric, the far right pitches itself as a defender of ordinary citizens, but its policies often serve the powerful. In Czechia, building and agricultural land reforms put forward by Andrej Babiš’s government exemplify this dynamic. Civil society and grassroots organisations are fighting back. But can they turn their opposition into organised political power?

Democratic backsliding is most typically associated with attacks on courts, media freedom, elections, or civil society. In Czechia, some of the most consequential shifts are currently arriving in a less visible way – disguised as solutions. Since returning to power in 2025, Prime Minister Andrej Babiš’s ANO movement, backed by the far-right SPD and Motorists parties, has been promoting a series of reforms supposedly designed to tackle pressing problems such as housing unaffordability, land speculation, and precarious food security. However, what these reforms deliver is less public oversight, less social welfare, less resilience, but more power in the hands of corporations and oligarchy.

The first proposed reform aims to introduce a preferential purchase right for farmers leasing agricultural land, ostensibly to protect food sovereignty and curb speculation. The second, nicknamed “Lex Developer” by its civil society critics, is framed as a solution to the housing crisis through faster planning and permitting procedures.

The likely beneficiaries of these reforms, however, are not struggling family farmers or households priced out of the housing market. In a country where the state has long been captured by corporate interests (and the prime minister himself is one of the country’s most influential agribusiness owners through the conglomerate Agrofert), these seemingly pragmatic responses to urgent public problems risk major societal and environmental consequences.

A Czech shock doctrine

Human societies are facing multiple, mutually reinforcing crises that scientists increasingly understand as interconnected expressions of deeper structural contradictions in capitalist socio-ecological relations. Under the dominance of the market, housing, agricultural land, and food are treated as financial assets instead of basic rights and strategic resources. The environmental and social costs of this model accumulate over time, occasionally erupting in visible moments of disruption.

Some critics argue that the term “crisis” has lost its meaning. Crisis implies a temporary condition demanding urgent political action, yet many contemporary problems are chronic and structural. They require long-term, systemic transformation rather than emergency responses. Instead, political and economic elites often choose to exploit the language of crisis, using urgency to obscure root causes, advance their own interests, and consolidate the status quo.

As Naomi Klein famously argued in The Shock Doctrine (2007), moments of heightened urgency create opportunities for accelerated decision-making, controversial policies, and exceptional interventions. Drastic measures are often shielded from democratic scrutiny by being presented as technical and pragmatic solutions. It is often through appeals to efficiency that bypassing public debate becomes justified. Critics, meanwhile, are dismissed as simultaneously unrealistic and obstructive, to the point of being held responsible for worsening the crisis.

In Czechia, these dynamics can be illustrated through housing and its entanglement with post-socialist legacies. The Civic Democratic Party (ODS) and its founder, former prime minister and president Václav Klaus, have promoted the idea that democracy is inseparable from the free market and under threat from an unelected civil society operating outside of formal politics. Public debate in Czechia has thus largely accepted that anything from rising prices to housing shortages should be attributed to state bureaucracy and activists: the former for its slow permitting procedures, the latter for delaying development and preventing the market from meeting demand.

A different pattern is followed in the case of food security. In Czechia, agricultural production is concentrated among domestic oligarchs, whose interests are closely linked to the state. High food prices and supply disruptions are therefore often blamed on external factors, such as international retail chains, European environmental policies, and geopolitical instability. What remains similar is the perception of the state and civic actors as a threat.

Both cases reveal a governing strategy which relies on real or perceived crises to shift attention away from questions of power, ownership, and alternative futures, redirecting it towards scapegoats and supposedly straightforward fixes. In this way, solutions to serious contemporary problems are devised by those who contributed to the problems in the first place, whereas weakened democratic oversight helps secure the growing influence of hegemonic actors.

Food sovereignty as concentration

Czechia, due to its socialist legacies and neoliberal transformation, has a peculiar agricultural structure. With the collapse of state socialism, agricultural land was returned to millions of individual owners whose ancestors had lost their land due to collectivisation. After 1989, large production units and farming cooperatives created through this process were transformed into big agricultural enterprises and agroholdings. This led to land ownership becoming highly fragmented, despite farming itself being among the most concentrated and industrialised in Europe. According to a 2024 report by the Czech Ministry of Agriculture, 71.8 per cent of Czech agricultural land is leased rather than farmed by its owners, and most of that land is cultivated by large agricultural enterprises.

In this context, Andrej Babiš’s government has proposed introducing a pre-emption right for farmers leasing agricultural land. If adopted, owners wishing to sell their land would first have to offer it to the current tenants. The reform is presented by the government as a response to two widely recognised concerns: the growing financialisation of farmland and the need to strengthen Czech food sovereignty and food security in an increasingly unstable world.

At first glance, such a proposal sounds reasonable. Few people would object to protecting agricultural land from speculative investment. But the popular image of a family farmer working a modest piece of land, which agrifood enterprises and retail chains like to use in their marketing, hardly corresponds to the realities of Czech agriculture, dominated by large enterprises farming hundreds or thousands of hectares. By contrast, family and smaller private farms operate on only about 10-20 per cent of agricultural land. Therefore, the pre-emption right would grant dominant agricultural actors an opportunity to gradually purchase the land they already cultivate, and to further increase their control over agricultural resources.

71.8 per cent of Czech agricultural land is leased rather than farmed by its owners, and most of that land is cultivated by large agricultural enterprises

The gap between crisis rhetoric and the outcomes of proposed solutions is particularly visible through the government’s attempt to frame the reform as a defence of food sovereignty, a concept developed by farmers’ movements and food justice activists in defence of their communities’ access to land and ability to shape their own food systems against the control of large agricultural businesses. Research consistently shows that highly concentrated agricultural systems tend to favour a narrow range of export-oriented commodities and large-scale industrial production. In Czechia, this often means vast fields of cereal and industrial crop production (accounting for over 62 per cent of total crop production), while production of fruit, vegetables, and other labour-intensive foods is declining due to cost efficiency (for example, fruit production fell from 557,447 tons in 2000 to 123,530 tons in 2024).

Concentration of land ownership will thus inevitably undermine rather than strengthen food sovereignty, as well as more sustainable and just food systems. Our research on state food politics conducted at BOKU University in Vienna has also shown that Czech agricultural policy is primarily shaped by large agricultural enterprises and their profit-driven interests, while alternative food movements or small-scale farmers with more diverse and sustainable production have only a marginal influence.

Instead of tackling the structural problems of Czech agriculture, such as stagnating rural development, barriers faced by people who want to start their own farm, or the lack of support for more diverse forms of food production, the proposed preferential purchase right for farmers leasing agricultural land risks reinforcing the already dominant model based on the concentration of land, subsidies, and political influence by the domestic agricultural oligarchy and powerful agrifood enterprises.

Speculation as progress

If the agricultural land reform uses the language of food sovereignty to justify a further concentration of land ownership, the amendment to the Building Act recently approved by the Parliament performs a very similar trick in the urban space. In this case, the crisis language focuses on housing unaffordability. It is now an almost undisputed fact that Czechia, and Prague in particular, suffers from the worst housing crisis in the EU. Home ownership, so popular and normalised in a country where many were able to privatise their dwellings during the post-socialist transformation – creating what some scholars call a “super-homeownership” housing regime – is now increasingly out of reach.

As journalist Táňa Zabloudilová noted, young people facing housing insecurity are now increasingly being told by mainstream media that renting is the best option, and that tenancy is a widespread housing option in Western European countries. What they are being told less often is that those countries also have a strong tradition of social housing and tenants’ rights. Meanwhile, rents continue to rise in Czech cities, with average prices reaching approximately 19 euros per square metre in Prague this year. Moreover, affordable public housing is still a rarity, and the few affordable options on offer are often occupied by people with good connections and political influence, regardless of their income. For example, a recent investigation revealed that Minister for Regional Development Zuzana Mrázová of the ANO movement lived in affordable municipal housing while serving as mayor of Bílina.

Instead of building a robust social housing sector or taming housing financialisation through higher property taxes, the government recently passed an amendment to the building code, blaming expensive housing on slow construction due to long planning procedures, annoying regulations, pointless environmental reviews, and activists getting in the way – a mantra many Czechs have learned to repeat.

While accelerated construction will not deliver affordable housing and is a problem in itself, especially from the perspective of environmental and heritage protection, legal experts, planning specialists, environmental organisations, and municipal representatives also highlighted the amendment’s potential to reduce public oversight and participation, and to strengthen the position of developers and investors. The “Lex Developer” would benefit large corporate projects specifically, as permission procedures will not be sped up for small-scale projects.

As critics of the reform have pointed out, the housing crisis is a result of decades of commodification, speculative investment, the retreat of public housing, and successive governments’ unwillingness to seriously treat housing as a social right rather than a market commodity.1 While politicians promise that building more will eventually make housing affordable, a growing share of newly built homes is acquired by investors, institutional landlords, and people who already own property. Moreover, developers can slow down or halt construction when the costs of labour and materials rise, undermining the argument that faster permitting procedures can address the housing crisis.

In Czechia, the housing crisis also causes a generational divide. Many older Czechs bought homes during the post-socialist transformation or before prices spiralled out of reach. Rising property values have since given them assets that younger generations can only dream of, and for some, investing in real estate has become a substitute for a pension system they no longer trust. Young people without family wealth, stable incomes, or access to credit often have no such option and remain trapped in an increasingly expensive rental market.

Yet these inequalities rarely decide elections. Homeowners still form a majority of the electorate, and in a country with some of Europe’s lowest property taxes, many directly benefit from rising property value. This helps explain why the mainstream debate largely avoids framing the housing crisis as a political question of wealth, inequality, and redistribution, and why the narrative of a technical problem of slow permitting has far greater appeal.

A certain paradox also transpires in the way power holders abuse Czech antipathies for communism and activists. In my earlier research on urban activism, I found that people in Czechia rarely mobilise because they oppose development itself. More often, they do so because decisions are made without them, in a top-down manner. In other words, participation, transparency, and public scrutiny emerge as responses to democratic deficits, not as their cause. Promoters of the “Lex Developer”, however, often frame civil society as a source of problems and public engagement against pragmatic market solutions as ultimately antidemocratic – a remnant of communist times.

The building code reform thus epitomises a peculiar Czech version of democratic deficit in which democracy is invoked to defend markets, while citizens attempting to exercise democratic influence and protect values such as heritage and a healthy environment are dismissed as enemies of progress.

Democratic erosion does not always arrive through spectacular attacks on democratic institutions. It also advances in more inconspicuous ways: through planning amendments, property law, and other reforms which the public may perceive as too technical to warrant their attention

Organising resistance

Both the agricultural land and the housing reforms assist the further concentration of power and capital in the hands of a few, aggravating structural problems at the heart of housing unaffordability and fragile food security. They also try to silence and delegitimise the opposition, represented by activists, civil society, and smallholders of farmland. According to Gabriela Svárovská, a Green member of the Czech parliament, the government’s project is “a peculiar form of corporate communism: costs, subsidies, and risks are distributed across society as a whole, while profits, assets, and decision-making power are concentrated in the hands of a small number of corporate groups.”

Under Babiš’s far-right government, democratic infrastructures in Czechia are facing a serious threat. But the backlash against both reforms also reveals these infrastructures’ resilience and determination in increasingly hostile conditions. The “Lex Developer” has long been challenged by the association of environmental organisations Zelený kruh (“Green circle”), heritage protection organisations, local activist groups, and some municipalities. The land reform has been challenged by the Association of Private Farming of the Czech Republic, which forms the most important opposition to the large agroindustrial lobby, advocating instead for a more decentralised and sustainable agricultural model based on family farms. Other critics include smaller agroecological initiatives promoting soil care, such as the Živá půda (“Living soil”) project, promoting more equitable access to farmland, and the Nadace pro půdu (“Foundation for the land”), focused on acquiring agricultural land for smallholder, organic, and beginning farmers.

In both cases, awareness-raising has been the main tactic, and civic associations are increasingly aware that cooperation and alliances across civil society and social movements are essential when facing a powerful opponent – a state captured by corporate and oligarchic interests. The concerns of private farmers in particular have often been amplified at mass protest events organised by Milion chvilek pro demokracii (“Million moments for democracy”), a grassroots movement able to mobilise hundreds of thousands of citizens through public campaigns, demonstrations, and community organising.

Still, many on the Czech Left view these anti-government protests and the civic organisations opposing the reforms as politically toothless, understanding democracy primarily in apolitical terms, as a matter of political culture, ethics, corruption, populism, and institutional integrity. Despite focusing on a variety of critical issues, the narratives put forward by Czech civic organisations tend to be only vaguely linked to questions of social inequality and economic power. In this polarised context, many professional civic organisations and pro-democratic mobilisations are regularly framed by both Left and Right as elitist, foreign-funded, disconnected from ordinary citizens’ everyday problems, and as supporters of liberal ideologies dictated by the EU.

Meanwhile, MPs of ODS, the main opposition force, representing the neoliberal orthodoxy, voted in favour of the “Lex Developer” in the name of economic growth and market efficiency. In doing so, they exposed a contradiction at the heart of Czech liberalism: attachment to property rights and individual freedom can easily evaporate when confronted with concentrated corporate power.

The situation is dire from a democratic perspective, but it also offers an opening for a real shift in Czech politics, which increasingly suffers from the absence of a strong Left. It is also an opportunity to build a truly grassroots counter-hegemony that translates dispersed experiences of insecurity, exclusion, and ecological crisis into a shared political project capable of challenging dominant economic and political arrangements. Some of this emancipatory work is being pioneered by Re-set: The Platform for Social-Ecological Transformation, particularly through its efforts to directly confront Czech fossil oligarchy and state capture by corporate interests, and by promoting decentralised economic power and organising solidarity struggles from below.

Current developments in Czechia offer a broader lesson for Europe and for green politics. Democratic erosion does not always arrive through spectacular attacks on democratic institutions. It also advances in more inconspicuous ways: through planning amendments, property law, and other reforms which the public may perceive as too technical to warrant their attention. The Czech government’s approach to housing and food sovereignty and security reveals a dangerous approach that does not just ignore the causes of crises but actively reproduces them, exploiting urgency to expand corporate power at the cost of democratic participation.

While we need to mobilise solutions to the multitude of crises we face today, we must also pay attention to how these crises are framed, who gets to define the solutions, and who is left out of the debate. In the face of a democratic deficit becoming institutionalised via concentrated corporate power, we must also ask how cleavages in a polarised society can be mended, particularly through finding common ground for solidarity, nurturing collective capacities for democratic participation, and rebuilding the social power needed to confront interconnected crises in just and inclusive ways.

1. For scientific publications about housing in Czechia see especially the research by the Socioeconomics of Housing department of the Czech Academy of Sciences: https://www.soc.cas.cz/cz/oddeleni/socioekonomie-bydleni
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From its outset, urban mobility has been built for and by men, mainly with one specific journey in mind: home to work and then back again. Not only does this design marginalise women and ignore their care-driven living patterns, but it also means their safety is endangered in the public space. Across the Balkans, grassroots organisations are mapping inequalities and reimagining urban mobility through a gender-responsive lens.

You cannot easily fit women into a structure that is already coded as male.

– Mary Beard 

The urban environment has never been gender-neutral. In critical discussions of gender inequality, the binary division of space into public and private spheres often emerges as a key theme. Public affairs – and, therefore, the public sphere and mobility – have been dominated by men since antiquity, whereas the private sphere has been viewed predominantly as the domain of women and family life. This understanding of space, according to feminist urban theory, both illustrates and reproduces traditional gender power relations.

Urban mobility dictates when and how people move and carry out their daily routines, as well as who gets to do what. As a system of transport infrastructure that enables movement throughout the urban environment, urban mobility has been conceived, designed, and built by – and for – those who govern the public sphere. As such, urban mobility often ends up preventing the free and safe movement of women. The various elements which make up this infrastructure – such as public transport, street layout, pavements, and lighting – are built according to the needs of men, forcing women daily to try and fit into a space and way of doing things that does not recognise them.

The infrastructure of movement in urban areas is governed by three principles that, throughout history, have been important parameters for the performance of daily tasks traditionally undertaken by men: speed, efficiency, and precision. These principles took the pater familias from point A to point B – from home to work – and back again. Analysing the movements that women make every day, we discovered a much more layered connection between locations and activities – something known as “trip chaining”. This phenomenon represents the practice of connecting the shorter distances that women cover during the day into one “branched” journey which is not linear; rather, it involves visiting additional important locations within an overall pattern of movement.

These points on the journey, where women stop for a short period, are part of a structural issue – namely, caring for the family and the community – involving tasks that are imposed on them, such as taking and collecting children to and from school, going to the gym, grocery shopping, paying bills, taking care of elderly family members, and other care-related and “emotional” work.

Urban mobility dictates when and how people move and carry out their daily routines, as well as who gets to do what.

Globally, women perform 76.2 per cent of unpaid work caring for others and typically choose to work near home so that they can combine paid work with unpaid caregiving responsibilities. Treating household chores and caring responsibilities as “women’s issues” is another mechanism by which gender inequality is reproduced within urban life and women’s spatial movement. Reclaiming their space and freedom of movement often begins in the family.

The gender gap is even visible when we talk about riding a bicycle: globally, women use this mode of transport up to four times less than men. In Europe, specifically, the difference between men and women’s use of cycling as a means of transport is 64 per cent in Spain, 54 per cent in France and the UK, and 42 per cent in Germany. This disparity is another result of the structural obstacles women face: they are more sensitive to traffic risks, fear violence by men, often carry groceries, and take children to and from school or nursery. All of these factors mean that their first choice of transport is usually not to ride a bicycle.

Women’s participation in urban life and their use of urban transport are strongly influenced by a sense of fear. Moreover, the paths and roadways they take every day are determined by which part of the city or which means of transport feels safe, and where there is the least likelihood of being attacked.

Fostering safety

Women shouldn’t have to choose between freedom of movement and safety, and this has been recognised by a number of initiatives in southeast Europe. In places where urban mobility is most risky for women due to a culture of violence or the lack of suitable infrastructure, organisations are working to provide fundamental protection for women. One organisation that has taken up this cause is Space SyntaKs, in Kosovo. It has created a safety map of Pristina based on the experiences of women, who have largely been marginalised in the planning of urban spaces and traffic.

Security in this research is not simply a technical concept, but rather an indicator of what women depend on for their well-being and ability to function. Security starts from the right to a safe environment as a basic human right, which demands that policymakers actively address the problems women face every day in moving around the city. This research pays particular attention to subjective indicators, including feelings such as fear of any type of harassment, theft, and physical threats. It also focuses on how diverse the users of a given public space perceive it to be, and unlike previous research in this area, matches this data with objective indicators. These factors include the presence of street lighting, security cameras, public institutions, and stray dogs.

According to the research, not a single public space in Kosovo’s capital has attained even half of the maximum safety index score. Respondents expressed fear and identified threats such as verbal and physical violence by men, and these were mapped throughout the entire urban core of the city. The maps revealed that Pristina is not a safe place for women, and that the places they move in are virtually never completely safe from start to finish. Gender-responsive planning of urban areas and urban mobility begins with identifying important factors for the safe and free movement of women, as well as mapping locations where intervention can make movement safer.

Similar initiatives have taken place in Belgrade under the initiative “Don’t be afraid of the dark” by the collective Sestre, drugarice (“Sisters, friends”). This campaign is one of the responses to the question of security and the problem of violence by men against women in public spaces and transport, and it aims to map the city of Belgrade according to its “invisible boundaries” – places in which sexual attacks have taken place – and to make these places safer.

Sestre, drugarice has been effective in communicating important and alarming statistics, including that 64 per cent of women have been sexually harassed on the street, with 57.9 per cent of those being child victims aged between 13 and 17. It is particularly striking that 40.5 per cent of harassment took place on public transport. The results of an anonymous questionnaire created as part of this campaign show that public transport and bus stops are among the likeliest locations for sexual harassment incidents. Members of the collective organise women’s activist walks, advise them on how to feel safe in public spaces and on public transport, and call on women to actively help make their environment safer through “micro-actions”. One such initiative, called “Ada is ours”, saw members of the collective and the wider public take part in a feminist activist walk, tying bows around broken streetlights to get them repaired and to send the message that Belgrade belongs to women even after sunset.

According to the collective, and based on answers from respondents, the main forms of violence on public transport include verbal violence, unwanted physical contact, exhibitionism, secondary victimisation, and worse, stalking and attempted rape.1 In order to map and recognise these types of violence, it is important to use all available platforms to inform and educate women about what they mean. Only when such violence becomes visible do we perceive it as systemic, and are thus able to challenge that system.

That said, the very act of creating a mental map of streets and ways of moving as a basis for safety, actively assessing risks, giving out advice on safety to other women, and organising movement based on assumed family obligations all fall under women’s “emotional work”. By recognising this as work, we raise awareness of women’s position, create the possibility of sharing caregiving more equally within the family, place responsibility on the institutions that create public policies related to urban mobility, and preserve women’s emotional and cognitive resources and, ultimately, their lives.

In the sphere of gender-responsive urban planning and urban mobility, there is an ongoing debate about how to create a safe environment for women. Devoting parts of public space and transport infrastructure exclusively to women is one of the short-term solutions adopted by some city administrations to address the issue of male violence against women. This institutional measure has been deemed necessary in social contexts where public transport is the only way for women to move around if they are economically or socially marginalised.

Women’s carriages have been introduced in many countries, from Brazil to Japan. In the latter, sexual violence against women on public transport is so common it even has a special term: chikan. Nevertheless, countries that have responded to the problem of violence on public transport by segregating men and women do not report a significant reduction in the number of attacks on women, indicating that this mechanism does not address the root cause of the problem.

This is precisely the basis for criticising segregation: if women-only train carriages become the norm without any other major changes in public policy – the enforcement of penalties, education, and media campaigns – segregation by gender will place additional pressure on victims, discriminate against non-binary individuals, and send a message to men that their violence will be tolerated and movement and daily life planned around it. Women-only cars and spaces must not be the sole or permanent solution; instead, the city and public transport must be reclaimed, and safety for everyone established within shared spaces.

If we want to achieve the right to freedom of movement and safety for all, we must shine a light on how unsuitable the current urban mobility infrastructure is and how much it marginalises women. Women’s lives and movement patterns show us what complete institutional neglect looks like.

In the case of Podgorica, Montenegro’s capital, apart from the lack of adjustment to gender-sensitive indicators, we can see concrete examples of how unsuitable the transport system is for women with disabilities or mobility impairments. Despite committing more than a decade ago to ensure the accessibility of buildings and streets, Podgorica has utterly failed to do so. The city’s poorly built and badly maintained streets and pavements render movement unsafe for women who predominantly shoulder the responsibility of childcare, push prams, or use wheelchairs to get around. Narrow, uneven pavements full of open manhole covers and drains; inaccessible public transport stops; steep, slippery ramps unsuited to wheelchair tyres; and tactile paving not designed for the variety of shoes women wear – these are just some of the daily obstacles women encounter when getting around. These barriers prevent access to social, healthcare, educational, and professional opportunities, further intensifying the discrimination faced by marginalised groups.

Where women win

This is precisely the basis for criticising segregation: if women-only train carriages become the norm without any other major changes in public policy […] we send a message to men that their violence will be tolerated and movement and daily life planned around it.

Vienna boasts a long tradition of gender-responsive urban mobility. Since 2000, gender equality has been a priority in the Austrian capital’s urban planning. By integrating gender perspectives in all of its policies, the city has implemented projects to improve public lighting; widened pavements to accommodate wheelchairs; enhanced visibility in streets and passageways by installing street mirrors; and added benches and seating at bus stops, along pedestrian routes, and on public transport. This strategy stems from a recognition that women rely more frequently on these ways of moving around and spend more time waiting between short-distance trips.

Vienna’s response to “trip chaining” has been to build housing units as part of the “Women-Work-City” project, designed by women for women. In these units, women who provide care within the family and community can find kindergartens, doctors, and pharmacies all in one place, thereby reducing the time spent on these caregiving tasks. The goal of this project was to facilitate the caregiving work women perform.

Meanwhile, the city of Umeå in Sweden has taken even bolder steps. Widely known as “the most feminist city” in the world, Umeå includes a gender-responsive dimension in all its urban planning. In 2019, a prototype gender-sensitive bus stop was built in the city, designed to address women’s concerns about safety on public transport. Audible and visual signals indicate that the bus is approaching the stop, while rotating wooden booths enhance visibility, allow for monitoring of surroundings, provide shelter from the wind and other weather conditions, and create a sense of security within the public space.

In addition, Umeå has undertaken other feminist-inspired spatial interventions, including benches created for play and socialisation in collaboration with and catered towards teenage girls; constructing well-lit underground pedestrian tunnels featuring large central entrances and exits, as well as rounded wall corners to enhance visibility; prioritising snow removal services based on gender, taking into account that women walk and use public transport more frequently; and clearing pavements and public transport stops before roadways. In addition, the city organises a “Gendered Landscape” tour that connects existing feminist spatial interventions with those still needed to make the city truly a place for everyone. All of this has been reinforced by education, research, the integration of gender perspectives into urban mobility data, advocacy for the equal participation of men and women in caregiving, and women’s active involvement in decision-making.

In the UK, one factor that has improved women’s safety and strengthened a culture of zero tolerance for sexual harassment on public transport is the cooperation among the British Transport Police, the Metropolitan Police, the City of London Police, and Transport for London (TfL). After a 2013 TfL survey showed that 15 per cent of women using public transport had experienced sexual harassment in the previous year, and that about 90 per cent of cases were not reported, training was organised for 2,000 police officers on the public transport network with the support of feminist organisations. Only half a year after the launch of this initiative, the percentage of reported sexual harassment cases increased by 20 per cent, and the number of cases going to trial increased by 32 per cent.

As UN Women has noted, aside from improvements to the public transportation system, the active participation of men is a crucial step in the struggle to eliminate male violence against women in public transport. To that end, in Vietnam’s Ho Chi Minh City, the organisation has also opened so-called Male Advocacy Clubs, which bring men together for the purpose of educating and promoting gender equality in various spheres. One of the media campaigns by the club targeted the problem of sexual harassment of women in public spaces. The campaign’s message about preventing this type of violence reached as many as 8.5 million people.

Mobility for all

To build truly inclusive mobility, we must reclaim our parks, streets, and public transport. Moreover, to liberate women and make their movement safer, we must begin collecting gendered statistics and mapping the intersectional female experience of living in cities. Let’s react to systemic discrimination and violence, shout, write, unite, build a network of solidarity for each other, and create systemic solutions.

As women’s right to free movement is under threat, it is important to imagine a future of equal urban mobility – one where this right is guaranteed and respected, the provision of care is shared equally, and women participate actively in spatial planning and the creation of mobility policies. In such a future, women are healthy and safe, and they can freely socialise, create, educate, and improve their lives.

“What would transportation look like if it were designed by mothers? How would streets be different if they were made for women with disabilities? Which social groups are not represented in our infrastructure, and how can we change that?” – these questions can be the start of constructive conversations about building a fairer city. In addition to marginalised social groups, men must also take responsibility and be active participants in such discussions.

At the centre of these conversations should be a gender-responsive and intersectional understanding of women’s mobility issues. After all, it is from gender studies and feminist urban theory that the criticisms of male-centred urban mobility emerged. Women’s path to reclaiming common spaces passes from there, too.

This article first appeared in Serbian in Omorika. It is republished here with permission. Translated by Alex Melbourne | Voxeurop 

1. H. Cvetičanin Knežević, Koliko je sigurna tvoja vožnja? Istraživanje o seksualnom uznemiravanju, napadima i bezbednosti žena u javnom prevozu u Beogradu (Žensko udruženje Kolubarskog okruga, 2025), p. 5-6. / How safe is your journey? Research into sexual harassment, assault and women’s safety on Belgrade’s public transport (Women’s Association of Kolubara district, 2025), pp. 5-6.  ︎

The European automotive industry is slipping deeper into crisis. While this decline has external drivers such as US tariffs and Chinese overcapacities, it is also “made in Europe” in many ways. Can new policy measures save the industry from its woes?

Since 2020, electric car sales have gained momentum, and until 2025, it was widely believed that the era of the combustion engine would soon be history.

While Europe is certainly on the way towards electromobility, this is not a linear process: there are constantly ups and downs with new concerns emerging. There is also much uncertainty in a complex and turbulent geopolitical context in which multilateralism is eroding and “zero-sum-game” perspectives are becoming dominant.

The initial fear about electromobility was that it would lead to job losses, as building battery electric vehicles (BEVs) is less labour-intensive than producing vehicles with internal combustion engines (ICEVs). While some of our earlier publications at the European Trade Union Institute demonstrate that employment loss is indeed a direct consequence of electrification in the powertrain sector – and to a lesser extent in automotive manufacturing at large – the aggregate employment effect across the entire automotive ecosystem is expected to be neutral.

Although this aspect of the transition is certainly important, the greater concern about the future of the automotive industry is how the EU can position itself in a completely new economic geography defined by the EV era and fierce geopolitical rivalries. In this context, the main question is whether EU manufacturers can maintain their core competence and market share.

The developments of the last few years indicate that this is not the case, with the EU automotive sector slipping deeper and deeper into crisis.

A crisis how deep?

With 2.5 million jobs, the automotive industry is not only the largest employer in European manufacturing  – supporting a total of some 13.6 million European jobs – but its transition is also the most complex. The green and digital transformations it faces are intertwined with global value chains that are fully exposed to changing geopolitical realities.

Although fast-track electrification started out as a policy-driven process, there is already a strong business case for the industry to embrace it, and the future competitiveness of each automotive location depends on its ability to adopt the new technology. Unfortunately, it has taken a very long time for incumbent EU car manufacturers to realise that their leading market position in combustion engine technology – and diesel in particular – is not transferable to the era of electric vehicles, where much of the added value will come from batteries and software. Dysfunctional emissions regulation and zig-zagging industrial policies have not helped either.

Transport is the only major sector in the EU economy in which greenhouse gas emissions have risen rather than fallen over the last few decades: since 2010, emissions have grown by 9 per cent. Reversing this trend to meet the EU’s 2040 emissions target and achieve net-zero by 2050 is a formidable challenge.

The reasons for this failure are multiple. The European policy framework for the decarbonisation of road transport has been far from optimal, often hindering the green transition by favouring large and expensive vehicles. Many European carmakers have also been slow to embrace the shift to electromobility, and now face a loss of market share in both domestic and export markets.

Despite this, the European Automobile Manufacturers’ Association (ACEA) reported a 1.8 per cent increase in new car registrations in 2025 compared to 2024, even though the number remained 17 per cent below the 2019 level. In the first half of 2026, a further increase of 5.7 per cent took place.

Since 2020, the share of petrol and diesel vehicles in car sales has continued to fall, reaching 22.2 per cent and 7.5 per cent respectively in the first half of 2026. Meanwhile, the share of hybrid electric vehicles (HEV) grew to 37.2 per cent in the same period, and that of plug-in hybrid electric vehicles (PHEV) reached 9.2 per cent. Most importantly, sales of fully electric vehicles picked up again in 2026 to reach 20.7 per cent.

These trends illustrate that, while the initial momentum in the shift towards electromobility has been broken, the trend is again upward. But is Europe reaping any benefits?

Figure 1. New car sales by fuel type in the EU (2020-2026 first half), shares (%). Source: ACEA (2026) 

The number of cars produced in the EU grew modestly (by 0.3 per cent) in 2025 (up in Germany and France – by 2.3 per cent and by 15.5 percent respectively – but down in Italy by 22.9 per cent). At the same time, production numbers in 2025 remained 18.7 per cent below the 2019 level, again with significant differences between countries (down by 10.3 per cent in Germany, 38 per cent in France, and 56.7 per cent in Italy).

The automotive industry’s woes become more apparent when looking at the latest trends in foreign trade of cars. While the EU maintains a significant trade surplus in the sector (76 billion euros in 2025), the number shrank by nearly 9 per cent last year. It is noteworthy that 2025 was the first year when the EU’s balance in vehicle trade with China turned into a deficit (with 15.1 billion euros in imports and 8.5 billion euros in exports).

2023 2024 2025 per cent change (2025/2024) Imports  80,266   74,231  71,872 -3.2 Exports  169,802  157,731  147,901  -6.2 Balance  89,536  83,500 76,028 -8.9 Table 1. EU car trade surplus narrows as exports fall faster than imports (2023–2025, €m). Source: ACEA (2026) based on Eurostat data
Note: figures refer to EU trade with non-EU countries.  

The picture looks worse if we look at the trends with the EU’s two most important trading partners, China and the US. Compared with 2024, EU exports (in value) to the US in 2025 shrank by 21.4 per cent, while exports to China saw a staggering 43-per cent drop.

The import side does not look any better, although here a big difference appears between the value and volume of imports. In 2025, total EU car imports from China only grew by 4 per cent when measured in euros, but when measured in volume (number of units), the increase was 30.7 per cent, reaching over one million cars. In other words, cars imported from China surpassed the number of cars produced in France that year. Data for 2026 show an acceleration of the increase. For instance, imports in May 2026 grew by 65 per cent compared to the same month last year. Figure 2 also shows that, between 2021 and 2025, the number of cars the EU imported from China grew by 270 per cent.

Figure 2 EU new car imports from China, number of units. Source: ACEA (2026) 

A further concern in Europe is that China’s share in the European car market is rapidly increasing, having reached 7 per cent in 2025, up from 5 per cent the previous year. Data for the first half of 2026 reveal that China’s share increased further to 10 per cent. This means that the expansion of the EU market in 2026 benefited manufacturers in China, while EU manufacturers suffered a 3-per cent market share loss (with Japanese carmakers also losing 2 per cent).

This is worse than it may initially appear. A report by the Rhodium Group shows that despite punitive tariffs introduced from October 2024, sales figures for made-in-China BEVs in 2025 ​​bounced back to pre-tariff levels. At the same time, the sale of Chinese-made PHEVs and ICEVs – which are only subject to the 10-per cent basic tariff – accelerated. A recent report by Transport & Environment (T&E) supports the view that the 2024 tariffs backfired, showing that they only curbed imports of China-made EU BEVs. While, as of early 2026, made-in-China cars dropped to 17 per cent of BEV sales in the EU, down from a peak of 22 per cent in 2024, the decrease is due to fewer imports of China-made EU cars. The share of Chinese brands in made-in-China car imports grew from 35 per cent in 2024 to 54 per cent by early 2026. T&E also projects that without further policy change, weaker EV targets in the EU would increase the market share of Chinese carmakers in 2035 to 30 per cent of BEV sales in the bloc. 

European manufacturers’ loss of market share also results from their choice to focus business strategies on premium market segments, abandoning the production of smaller, more affordable entry-level electric cars. If the European automotive industry cannot produce affordable clean EVs, this will not only add to inequality in clean mobility but also pose a threat to high-quality jobs in European automotive manufacturing.

EU policy responses

In March 2025, the European Commission launched its Industrial Action Plan for the European automotive sector to boost demand for European EVs. The plan includes a law to green corporate fleets and measures to encourage national incentives schemes and social leasing for electric cars. The declared objective is to maintain a strong European production base and avoid strategic dependencies.

However, the Commission caved in to industry lobbying, providing flexibility regarding CO2 targets. An amendment to the CO2 Standards Regulation for cars and vans enables car manufacturers to meet their compliance targets by averaging their performance over a three-year period (2025-2027), offsetting shortfalls in any one or two years with excess achievements in the other year(s).

The EU Automotive package, launched at the end of 2025, also chose short-term competitiveness over long-term goals. It opened possibilities for plug-in hybrids, range extenders, and ICEVs to remain part of the automotive landscape beyond 2035. The International Council for Clean Transportation estimates that this could slow down EV adoption, with BEV shares expected to drop from 61 to 44 per cent by 2030. Regarding corporate vehicles, mandatory targets are set at the member state level to support the uptake of zero- and low-emission vehicles by large companies. In the run-up to 2035, carmakers will benefit from “super credits” for small, “affordable” electric cars made in the EU.

Meanwhile, the Industrial Accelerator Act (IAA) proposal published in March 2026 seems more like damage control than a strategic initiative. Made in Europe (MiEU) criteria are limited to public interventions and procurement decisions and do not include labour conditionalities. EVs will be required to have green steel, while 70 per cent of their components, excluding batteries, will have to be produced in the EU.

The main purpose of the initiative is to put made-in-China vehicles at a disadvantage in Europe, and to address the growing use of Chinese components in European vehicle production. As Europe struggles to build a competitive battery industry, European carmakers are increasingly sourcing inputs from China. Beyond defining content thresholds and determining what countries (beyond EU member states) will qualify as having MiEU origin, a major challenge is how these requirements would actually be applied in the sector and what exactly the scope of the measures will be. Once the IAA is finalised and the transition period has passed, member states would be required to procure MiEU vehicles exclusively as part of their public procurement, to restrict financial incentives (both EV grants and as part of corporate fleets) to Made in Europe vehicles, and to provide CO2 supercredits only to small BEVs made in Europe.

Several important factors limit the IAA’s effectiveness. Timing is one, as measures are not expected to take effect before mid-2027. Scale is another, given that public procurement accounts for less than 2 per cent of the passenger car market. Supercredits for small BEVs and low-carbon steel requirements matter less for Chinese firms, as they generally have strong CO2 fleet balances. On the other hand, the Corporate Fleet proposal is particularly important. From 2028 onward, member states would be allowed to provide financial support only to corporate fleets operating low-emission and EU-made vehicles. Notably, this would not fully lock Chinese exporters out of the largest demand segment, but put them at a significant disadvantage, and around 30 per cent of the market would remain fully open. And even within the protected segments, original equipment manufacturers (OEMs) would face higher costs to remain eligible for support due to local content requirements. It is also uncertain whether EU manufacturers would be able to provide all the required elements of the value chain.

In summary, measures of market protection would indeed raise a barrier for Chinese manufacturers, but the EU is still lacking in bold, forward-looking, actionable initiatives to prop up European producers. For instance, the bloc’s 1.8-billion-euro Battery Booster Facility is modest when held up against the investment needed to close gaps with global competitors.

As the bankruptcy of Northvolt – a flagship EU project – and the subsequent cancellation of more than 100 GWh of battery capacity illustrate, what the EU automotive industry needs most is investment and innovation; protecting the status quo will not help. Short-term, defensive measures, such as the decision to give carmakers two extra years to comply with the 2025 car CO₂ emission targets, are harmful. The weakening of the zero-emissions target in 2035 is an even bigger blow, as it opens the door to high-emission combustion engine vehicles and undermines the future competitiveness of EU carmakers in electromobility, in particular with regard to Chinese BEVs. These are confusing signals both to the industry and consumers, and divert investment away from electrification at a time when European manufacturers urgently need to catch up with Chinese EV-makers. OEMs have already written off tens of billions of investments into electric vehicle development and launched new combustion engine projects.

Trade unions fight back

Even if 2025 was not a year of crisis in terms of production and sales for the EU automotive sector, it certainly was so in terms of employment. Loss of market share and competitiveness is putting the future of EU automotive jobs at risk.

While the number of car registrations and vehicles produced in the EU in 2025 grew somewhat, production value has seen a downward trend over the last several years. In Germany – the EU’s biggest producer and market – production value in 2025 shrank for both car makers and suppliers (down by 1.1 per cent and 4.3 per cent respectively). Employment fell sharply too: manufacturers cut 18,000 jobs (3.6 per cent of all positions), while suppliers laid off 29,000 (11 per cent of employees). Employment trends were also downward in the EU as a whole, with the European Association of Automotive Suppliers (CLEPA) reporting 54,000 losses among EU suppliers for 2024, and a further 22,000 in the first half of 2025.

A series of layoffs and company closures illustrates this trend, as a Eurofound study from early 2025 shows. In 2024, restructuring announcements in the EU automotive industry were dominated by job contraction, with a forecast net loss of 53,669 jobs in the EU, not including Volkswagen’s December 2024 announcement about a 35,000 reduction of its workforce in Germany by 2030. In 2026, Volkswagen management was considering expanding the workforce reductions up to 100,000 by 2030. Further examples include the closure of Audi Brussels in February 2025, which led to a loss of 3,000 quality jobs, and the shutdown of Ford Saarlouis in Germany in 2025, affecting 3,600 employees. But how have trade institutes responded?

In Germany, IG Metall – the country’s dominant metalworkers’ union – and works councils have sought to expand their existing repertoire of collective bargaining and company policy instruments in order to co-manage change. In this regard, collective agreements for securing the future and competitiveness (in short, “future-oriented agreements”) have emerged as the main tools to protect workers’ rights. The 2021 round of collective bargaining in the metal and electrical industries provided works councils, IG Metall, and employers with a collective framework to regulate measures to realise innovations, improve competitiveness, reskill employees, and achieve their continued employment. IG Metall has carried out successful projects to tap into new, previously unorganised workers, such as at the Tesla factory near Berlin. It has also managed to foster creative and disagreement-led company target-setting processes, including at the Mercedes site in Marienfelde, near Berlin. Moreover, works councils at Mercedes have successfully expanded the scope for codetermination.

In terms of content, future-oriented agreements comprise three elements: first, concessions on the part of employees, for example on the subject of working hours; second, a temporary exception from redundancies in operational areas. These processes form the framework for the third element, namely negotiations conducted jointly by management and works councils on the future use of the individual sites. Although these processes are organised at plant level, they are integrated into the coordination structures operating within the company. This practice provides proof that managing change in a forward-looking manner is possible. That said, future-oriented agreements don’t guarantee success.

The developments of 2024 in Volkswagen, where management withdrew from longstanding job security commitments, illustrate this clearly. In an unprecedented move, the company announced it was considering two plant closures in Germany, putting aside the employment guarantees contained in its “2016 Pact for the Future” that was viewed as an example of codetermination and responsible just transition practices. In December 2024, Volkswagen AG, IG Metall, and the works council reached a final agreement on a socially responsible reduction of the workforce by more than 35,000 across the company’s German locations by 2030.

On the other hand, collective social agreements are not a new collective bargaining instrument, but one that has experienced a revival in the wake of site closures and transformation-related pressure on workforces. This is demonstrated by recent collective bargaining disputes at various Continental and Vitesco sites; at the Ford plant in Saarlouis, where production came to an end in 2025; at the Japanese supplier Musashi; and at the supplier GKN Driveline.

The collective social agreement concluded by IG Metall for the closure of the Ford plant in Saarlouis is one of the most comprehensive and generous among such agreements in Germany. Out of the 3,600 employees affected, 1,000 will be kept until at least 2032 and assigned to different projects (Ford car parts and battery recycling, among others), while 1,400 workers will move to a transfer company for further qualification and skills development (18 to 24 months with a compensation of 80 per cent of their previous salary). The rest of the workers are entitled to severance payments.

The stakes

The particular challenge for the automotive industry is that it is undergoing multiple and intertwined changes at the same time, including decarbonisation, the digitalisation of both product and process, the automation of production, and the complete reorganisation of automotive value chains. This is leading to fierce competition between production locations for new developments, with decisions often being focused on labour costs and resulting in relocations and job losses.

How workers can shape the complex restructuring processes of the European automotive industry is decisive for making this transition just, as well as for achieving zero-carbon mobility. Despite its lower labour demand, electrification is the lesser threat to EU jobs; what is most important is how (and to what extent) EU manufacturers manage to keep up with clean mobility needs. This is about re-defining the competitiveness of a key industrial sector in the new era of electromobility under geopolitical pressures from both the East and the West.

In a turbulent and challenging geopolitical environment, market protection is necessary and useful only if it is instrumentalised to foster innovation and technological catching up. Carrying on the old business model of building ever bigger, heavier, and more expensive cars (even if often under hybrid or plug-in hybrid cover) would be a massive failure. Giving up already binding legislative commitments, like the 2035 ban on combustion engine cars, is not only bad for the climate but also jeopardises the medium- and longer-term future of European automotive jobs.

Policy also needs to push towards a more comprehensive transformation of mobility systems. The whole system of national subsidies for both the production and sale of BEVs must be reconfigured to support more affordable BEVs and electromobility services, with a clear priority for social groups most dependent on cars and, recently, most excluded from car ownership.