Joseph S Nye, who popularised the term “soft power”, on what it means in an ever-hardening global landscape.

The death of Joseph S Nye, the professor who coined the phrase ‘soft power’, was announced on Wednesday. He was 88. Nye’s humility and expertise have been lauded in the hours since by many who knew him and many who did not. It makes perfect sense that the originator of a phrase whose meaning rests on the idea that peace and collaboration between nations are a good thing was a peaceful and collaborative man himself. Nye worked tirelessly for many decades in positions at the White House and Harvard University to promote his concept. At a time when hard power and coercion as means of statecraft are making a comeback, his compassion and intellectual rigour will be greatly missed by the world. Here is an article that Nye wrote two weeks ago. It will feature in Monocle’s June issue. 

In a world marked by wars in Ukraine and Gaza – and the leadership of Trump, Putin and Xi – has soft power as a form of statecraft ceased to be effective or even desirable? Some 30 years ago, many believed that the age of hard power was diminishing and that the world was entering a new, softer era. Clearly that turned out to be wrong but it was never my view. I formulated the concept of soft power during the Cold War and argued that it could be relevant to conflict as well as peace. Soft power is the ability to affect others through attraction rather than coercion. Its consequences are often slow and indirect, and it is not the most important source of power for foreign policy – but to neglect it is a strategic and analytical mistake. The Roman Empire rested on its legions but also on the allure of Roman culture and citizenship. As a Norwegian analyst described it, the US presence in Western Europe after the Second World War was “an empire by invitation”. At the end of the Cold War, the Berlin Wall collapsed not under a barrage of artillery but from hammers wielded by people whose minds had been affected by Western soft power. 

Smart political leaders have long understood the power that can come from values. If I can persuade you to want to do what I want you to do, then I do not have to force you to do what you do not want to do. If a country represents values that others find attractive, it can economise on sticks and carrots. Attraction can be used to increase hard power. Volodymyr Zelensky used his talents as an actor to attract sympathy from Western media and parliaments, which could be transformed into weapons to increase Ukraine’s hard power in its war with Russia.

A country’s soft power comes primarily from three sources: its culture, when it’s attractive to others; its political values, such as democracy and human rights, when it lives up to them; and its policies, when they are seen as legitimate. How a government behaves at home (for example, protecting a free press and the right to protest), in international institutions (consulting others and multilateralism) and in foreign policy (promoting development and human rights) can affect others by the influence of example.

Many soft-power resources originate in civil society. Hollywood movies that showcase the US’s diversity and personal liberty can attract others. So too does the charitable work of foundations and the freedom of inquiry at US universities. Firms, churches and protest movements develop soft power of their own, which might reinforce or be at odds with a country’s official foreign-policy goals. 

As I describe in my memoir, A Life in the American Century, the US lost soft power during the Vietnam War. Yet within a decade, reforms passed by Congress, the honesty of Gerald Ford, the human rights policies of Jimmy Carter and the optimism of Ronald Reagan helped to restore American attractiveness. Even when crowds around the world protested US policies in Vietnam, they sang “We Shall Overcome”. An anthem from the civil rights movement illustrated that the US’s power to attract rested not on our government’s policies but on our civil society and capacity to be self-critical and reform.

Donald Trump clearly does not understand soft power and undercuts it by actions such as abolishing USAID, silencing the Voice of America, threatening allies and belittling climate change. China values soft power – and stands ready to fill the vacuum that Trump is creating. 

Nye was professor emeritus at Harvard University and author of several books including ‘A Life in the American Century’. 

Many journalists reach a fork in the road where they have to decide whether to press on as a reporter or to start along the route of becoming an editor. (As you know, a fork has more than two prongs and there is another option: to just get the hell out of this ever-changing, always demanding profession.) Long ago I chose the editor route but with a nice side order of reporting whenever it made sense. For this month’s issue, for example, I dispatched myself to the Mipim property trade fair in Cannes. Early on in my career I saw how much fun and influence editors had and also how the good ones both played to their strengths and acknowledged their own weaknesses. There’s nothing worse than an editor who always thinks that they are the best person for any reporting mission: assigning is the watchword.

As in most businesses, there’s a clear hierarchy at magazines, Monocle included. While Tyler is clearly the admiral of the fleet, my fancy position as editor in chief comes, at least, with some imaginary epaulettes and a jaunty hat. But when we are putting together an issue, it’s all about working as a team, listening to different perspectives, commissioning the best journalists and photographers, writing and rewriting headlines and fine-tuning the pace and rhythm of the magazine.

To be a part of all of these decisions is why someone chooses to be an editor. Of course, Matt, our photography director, knows more about his domain than I do but, after years spent working together, he’ll hear me out if I think that the “select” from a shoot needs to change. Lewis, our rarely riled chief sub editor, will let me amend headlines and help nudge a story one way or the other in a final edit – though I would never do battle with him on rules of grammar. As we approach the deadline for sending an issue to press, hundreds of small choices are made at pace and hopefully we steer everything to a good place.

Then, on the day that the magazine heads to the printers, editors and the leads in the commercial team gather for what we call “the flip”. On a large TV screen, we get to see a digital version of how the magazine will look with the ads now in place. It’s a final chance to check whether there are any strange adjacencies – whether an image on an advert too closely matches the one on the editorial page that it’s next to. And then it’s over to the production team and the editors have to sit back (or, rather, start another issue). After about 10 days, we get the first boxes from the printers and discover whether our ideas, decisions and conversations have delivered what we hoped for.

In this issue you’ll find our Design Awards, organised by that section’s editor (and committed writer), Nic Monisse. There’s an interview with Femke Halsema, the mayor of Amsterdam, commissioned by our foreign editor, Alexis Self, that dives into debates about legalising drugs, sex work and over-tourism. There’s also a look at the future of the grocery shop, co-ordinated and corralled by executive editor Christopher Lord. Our fashion director, Natalie Theodosi, has commissioned a feature that looks at why couture houses are heading to the Chanakya School of Craft in Mumbai. And there’s an epic Expo that seems to have involved just about everyone, looking at places of contemplation and their role in these harried times.

All are the outcome of numerous editorial meetings, story-list finessing by Josh, art direction by Rich and a-second-to-decide moments at the printers by Jackie. It’s the work of a group of people who see in magazines the chance to tell a story, to find the harmony between words and pictures, and to engage, entertain and inform you, our reader.

1.
Focus on France
This year, France has picked up a record seven of the 50 awards. It’s a testament to the high value that the country places on impeccable design. My suspicion is that this comes from the fact it still prizes highly specialised production, rooted in the tradition of the atelier.

2.
Look back in wonder
Many brands are showing that the past can be a springboard for innovation. The likes of Ikea, Flos and independent outfit Astep have refreshed works that have enjoyed enduring success in previous decades, adding contemporary modifications to bring them up to speed for modern life.

3.
Leaders matter
Good design can only make a difference if there are people to champion it. It’s why we’re celebrating leaders such as Marva Griffin, who has nurtured generations of talent through Salone Satellite, and Zanele Kumalo, whose recently launched Design Week South Africa has elevated the status of the discipline in the country.

4.
Invest in the little things
We often talk about designers overseeing the creation of everything “from the spoon to the city”. It’s the former that I want to spotlight here. Investing in the small things can have an outsized effect. Take, for example, Christofle’s Concorde cutlery set. Holding a well-made knife and fork can enhance a meal, which in turn can elevate an evening – and your overall sense of wellbeing too.

5.
Let there be light
We have a record number of lights featured in this year’s edition. We cover everything from wall-mounted sconces to lamps and more. Why? Well, there are few objects whose output can have such an immediate effect on our lives. Light affects our health, energy levels and mood. You might as well invest in a good one.

Grocery shopping often feels like a chore. But across the globe, smart retailers are showing that it can offer far more than just loud packaging, harsh strip lighting and busy, unappealing displays. Here, Monocle meets a few entrepreneurs who are going the extra mile to entice and excite their customers, whether by offering fresh, locally sourced products or by scouring the world for the best brands and suppliers. Some of these retailers are neighbourhood institutions, while others service a smaller niche. The common thread, however, is an understanding of food’s power to nourish communities as well as individuals. Many people now rely on delivery apps, while the big supermarket chains seem to be growing increasingly impersonal. The following businesses are reminders that there’s value in creating more meaningful, intimate retail experiences.

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1.
The pleasure emporium
Lighting the way
Epic, France

When shoppers enter French supermarket chain Epic’s flagship shop in Paris, they are greeted by the sight of a huge chandelier. Assembled from 4,000 clear glass jars, it casts a warm glow over a bounty of dried fruits and nuts. “We were aiming for a ‘wow’ effect,” says Franck Hadjez (pictured), Epic’s co-founder and principal buyer. “But we also wanted it to draw customers in towards the back of the shop.” Deep within Epic is a section dedicated to what Hadjez calls “pleasure groceries” – an aisle offering more than 50 kinds of hot sauce, an alcove of olive oils from across the Mediterranean and about half a dozen beautifully illuminated sections dedicated to regional delicacies from across the globe. The shop stocks a wide selection of cheeses rarely found in other French supermarkets too, including a Corsican soft variety with a coating of wildflower petals.

Hadjez, his brother Jordan and cousin Steve are second-generation grocers. All three began their careers elsewhere but ultimately joined what Hadjez describes as the “more human-centric” family business. They had been franchisees of UK multinational chain Marks and Spencer for eight years; its outposts included a location in the heart of the Saint-Germain-des-Prés neighbourhood. In the years following Brexit, Marks and Spencer’s French outposts began to close, forcing the Hadjez clan to decide what they wanted to do with their prized 6th-arrondissement location.

The result was Epic’s first shop, for which Hadjez partnered with French retailer Monoprix to sell everyday essentials, complemented by a vast selection of delights sourced directly from small producers. These range from Emirati camel-milk chocolate to Monegasque gin. The business model might be unorthodox but it has allowed Epic to grow. “I can offer my premium products at a lower price than a fine-foods grocery shop, where margins are higher because they’re all it sells,” says Hadjez. Epic takes its name from the word “epicurean” – a nod to the pleasure-seeking disciples of Greek philosopher Epicurus – but the moniker also refers to the traditional French épicerie.

The success of the shop in Saint-Germain-des-Prés (its revenue in 2024 was about €8m) emboldened the Hadjez family to transform its Galeries Gourmandes outpost – another of its historic locations, adjacent to Paris’s wealthy western suburbs – into the new Epic flagship. This shop opened in October 2024. “We are looking at opportunities in other French cities,” says Hadjez. “We’re even considering franchising Epic elsewhere in Europe.”
epic-paris.com

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2.
The new normal
Going with the flow
LoSurdo’s, Australia

LoSurdo’s has been trading fruits and vegetables in Sydney for two generations. Originally founded in 1957 in Double Bay, the grocers moved to a suburban mall called Chatswood Chase on the other side of the Harbour Bridge in 1981. The business later relocated again and opened outposts in Lane Cove, Northbridge, Macquarie Park and North Sydney.

Earlier this year, LoSurdo’s returned to its roots by opening a vast flagship shop in Chatswood Chase, featuring a dazzling array of fresh produce from across Australasia, as well as a delicatessen, a fishmonger and a section for dry goods. It doesn’t quite reinvent the business but it’s a testament to the power of good design.

“I first worked with co-founder Domenic LoSurdo in the 1990s on the original shop here,” says Mark Landini, the founder of Landini Associates, which worked on every facet of the new shop, from the signage to the uniforms. “This has been a 32-year-long relationship. Domenic had seen a florist that I had designed in this shopping centre. I had learned that florists spend two hours every morning taking flowers out of the fridge and then two hours at the end of the day packing them back in. So we built the shop so that you closed the doors in the evening and the whole thing became a cool room.”

That kind of thinking was crucial to the design of the new LoSurdo’s in Chatswood. “Consideration of customer flow was key – how a patron moves through the space,” says Landini. A team of six designers worked on the complete experience, encompassing every customer touch point from branding and interior design to lighting and packaging, which makes use of the brand’s signature colours, green and white. “Efficiency was the starting point,” says Landini. “The look of the space was the last part we considered.”

The designer, who was Terence Conran’s creative director at Habitat in the 1990s, applies what he learned in premium retail to his work on grocery shops and supermarkets. His previous clients include Loblaws at Maple Leaf Gardens in Canada and Italy’s Esselunga group. “Esselunga allowed us to reinvent how supermarkets operate,” he says. “They now have the highest turnover per square metre for a supermarket in the world – more than Walmart. No one else has really changed how supermarkets work since they were first invented in Memphis, Tennessee, in 1916.” 

After Domenic LoSurdo retired in 2000 his son Rob, who was a commercial pilot by training, took the reins of the family grocery business. In December 2024, however, Rob suddenly passed away and his wife, Summer, took over. 

Monocle spoke to Rob as the finishing touches were being made on the new shop – his sixth collaboration with Landini on a grocery project. “Mark understands balancing the needs of the customer with functionality, including spacious aisles for users’ comfort and space for merchandising,” he said. “It’s a fine balance.”

The new LoSurdo’s outpost was inspired by Peck, a storied institution in Milan, says Landini. “We wanted to create a place that celebrated the love of food in a similar way.” About 85 per cent of the practice’s work is global and a significant proportion of its work comes from purveyors of food that are looking for fresh ideas. “We have become known for reinventing the normal.”
shop.losurdos.com.au; landiniassociates.com

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3.
The personal touch
Out of the past
Alma, Denmark

When Danish supermarket chain Irma closed its doors in 2024 after 138 years, there was an outpouring of grief from its loyal customers. But according to Alfred Josefsen (pictured), its CEO from 1999 to 2012, its decline began in 2016 when its buying department was integrated into parent company Co-op’s organisation. “Its selection ended up much the same as the other supermarkets,” he tells Monocle.

Josefsen presided over Irma’s heyday, when customers adored its own-label lines, spacious shops and attentive service. Now he has launched a new brand, Alma Madmarked, whose first shop in Frederiksberg opened in March this year. “We want to attract young people and families who once thought that Irma was unaffordable,” he says.

Products adorned with Irma’s distinctive logo, a girl in a blue dress, were design classics and much-loved souvenirs among Japanese tourists. Alma’s logo – a blue heart – is similarly appealing. Meanwhile, the distinctive design of the brand’s interiors is intended to entice a new generation of shoppers. While meat will still be sold, Alma wants to inspire Danes to adopt a more plant-based diet. It will also avoid ultra-processed foods.

Above all, Alma prioritises customer experience. (There’s not an automated checkout in sight.) And the name? “My grandmother was called Alma,” says Josefsen. “She was born in 1906 and what she would have eaten would have been grown by her family and was probably organic. She inspires me to help people have a better understanding of what they’re eating.”
almamad.dk

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4.
The wheeler dealer
On the road again
Migros, Switzerland

With sales of CHF32bn (€33bn), Migros is now one of Switzerland’s largest supermarket chains, with almost 790 outposts across the country – but its story has humble origins. A century ago, Gottlieb Duttweiler turned a fleet of five Ford Model Ts into mobile supermarkets. Families would line up every week, waiting for the Migros bus to arrive. To mark its centenary, the company is reviving its grocery van, which is touring the country this year with 100 of its bestselling own-brand products. 

“Migros has always travelled to the people,” says Philipp Kuonen, the bus tour’s manager. Known as the Merci Bus, it will roam the cantons of Appenzell and Jura, before continuing to Zug, Geneva, St Gallen and Graubünden, handing out each region’s bestselling Migros product to shoppers there as a token of thanks for their loyalty.

The bus revival isn’t just a gimmick. At a time of fierce competition among Swiss supermarkets – with newer brands such as Coop’s Fooby muscling in with new openings in Zürich – Migros needs to stake out its territory. The bus is a way to remind customers in this landmark year that the brand has deep roots in the Swiss countryside, where it sources delicacies from cervelat sausage to emmental cheese. It’s also a signal of the firm’s ambitions for the future. There are 140 new outposts planned over the next five years, as well as a refresh of 230 existing shops.

When Monocle visits the Merci bus on its maiden voyage, shoppers and children wait in line, just as people did in the past. The original narrow vehicles opened up on both sides, revealing shelves holding coffee, rice, sugar, croissants, soap and coconut oil. Duttweiler stipulated that prices should sit somewhere between wholesale and retail, and every product was emblazoned with Migros’s orange M logo – a distinctive brand identity that earned the business the nickname “the Orange Giant”. Migros might have grown bigger than Duttweiler ever imagined but it’s his devotion to domestic produce and fair prices that has kept the show on the road.
migros.ch

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5.
The local treasure trove
Spoilt for choice
Annam Gourmet, Vietnam

“We are growing along with the country,” says France-born Eric Merlin, who co-founded Annam Gourmet in Vietnam in 2000 with his wife, Ha. The Merlins oversee 14 supermarkets, 900 staff and an annual turnover of about €46m. The group’s Montclair brand makes everything from sausages to sorbets. Signage at Annam Gourmet shops is in both Vietnamese and English but local customers outnumber expats.

The Merlins met in Hanoi in the 1990s when Eric was working on his travel agency. Ha decided to venture into food retail soon after giving birth to the first of their four daughters. At the time, Vietnam’s GDP per capita was about €370 and there were concerns over
food security. Soon after opening the first shop, Ha was fielding requests from friends and chefs to stock specific products. “Annam Gourmet wasn’t meant to become a chain,” she says. “At first we were bringing in items that we had bought from European supermarkets by hand because we couldn’t get access to wholesale prices.”

Today, Vietnam’s GDP per capita exceeds €3,900 and Annam Gourmet sells plenty of local fruits and vegetables, alongside Bonne Maman jam and Barilla spaghetti, imported into the country by sister business Annam Fine Food. “The quantity of sales and the quality of products are intrinsically linked,” says Eric. “If we didn’t attract a lot of footfall, with people buying the fruits, fish, cheese and meats, they wouldn’t be as fresh and we wouldn’t be able to stock so much.”

In one of Annam Gourmet’s Ho Chi Minh City shops, Eric talks proudly about stocking 17,000 products and points out the high shelves that tower over two young, basket carrying shoppers browsing a cornucopia of wafers, crackers and biscuits. Choice entices people inside and delivers the profit margins that allow the business to price-match everyday essentials. 

Annam Gourmet’s big break came in 2015 when Singaporean property developer Keppel approached the Merlins to open their first full-scale supermarket in the basement of the Saigon Centre, a premium shopping mall. The couple flew to France to recruit a team with retail know-how and spent two years building the supply chain and cold storage infrastructure necessary to operate a delicatessen, a bakery, a butcher and a fishmonger. “I love the idea that sharing something relatively cheap, such as a big, beautiful piece of bread and some good, salty butter, can create a certain lifestyle and a wonderful moment with friends,” says Eric.
annam-gourmet.com

For millennia people have sought out places to visit where they can get away from the bustle of everyday life. Architecture has the ability to create moments of calm – think of how you feel when you stop at the threshold of an awe-inspiring hall, pause for a moment of contemplation in a city cathedral or clamber into a sauna in the middle of a Scandinavian winter. The fast pace of modern life means that there’s a greater need for such places than ever. That’s why Monocle has journeyed across the globe to bring you this selection of outstanding buildings that offer somewhere for our thoughts to drift – and give us space to breathe.

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1.
A place of meditation
Kohtei art pavilion
Fukuyama, Japan

Nothing quite prepares the first-time viewer for the sight of Kohtei. Set in lush green hills to the west of the Japanese city of Fukuyama, the Buddhist meditation pavilion has a mysterious air, appearing to hover above a sea of stones. That was exactly the intention of Kohei Nawa, the contemporary artist who created the design. “Kohtei was designed to resemble a ship floating in the mountains,” says Nawa, who worked on the pavilion with architects Yoshitaka Lee and Yuichi Kodai as part of an art collective, Sandwich. 

The maritime echoes were no accident. The 1960s Zen temple of Shinshoji, in whose grounds Kohtei was completed in 2016, was founded by the president of Tsuneishi, a shipbuilding company based nearby. But the subject also offered a gracefulness to the project. Drafting in craftsmen from the area, Nawa and the two architects had 590,000 pieces of Sawara cypress layered on top of each other using a traditional roofing technique called kokera-buki. In spite of the building’s size, stretching to some 45 metres in length, the delicate wooden shingles give the hull-like structure a sense of lightness.

Then there is the sensation of entering the pavilion: plunging into total darkness is an immediate shock to the visitor’s system. “The idea was to create a meditative experience by interpreting Zen through contemporary art,” says Nawa. “The interior expresses an ‘ocean of consciousness’ through installations of water and light. In the darkness, faint light and rippling waves flicker, allowing visitors to engage in a quiet sensory experience that sharpens their senses.” The duration of the installation is set to 25 minutes, the same length of time it takes for a meditation candle used in Zen practice to burn out. Visitors emerge discombobulated by what is an unexpectedly profound experience. Without trying, they have touched on the simplicity and impermanence that is at the heart of Zen. “This work emerges as a space where the external and the internal; the hard and the soft; and architecture and art resonate with each other in harmony,” says Nawa.

While the surrounding Shinshoji temple and gardens open a door to Zen, Kohtei is perhaps the most effective route into the Buddhist meditation practice. And there is much it can offer in the modern world, not least a way to switch off from our busy, overstimulated lives.
szmg.jp

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2.
A place to respect the dead
Sexto Pantéon 
Buenos Aires, Argentina

Hidden in the underbelly of the vast, flat plain of the Chacarita neighbourhood cemetery in Buenos Aires, the subterranean Sexto Pantéon (Sixth Pantheon) is a quiet, contemplative place of burial. Designed by Ítala Fulvia Villa, one of Argentina’s first active female architects and a keen urbanist who helped to shape the capital, its structure is a radical departure from traditional expectations of funerary architecture.

On the surface of the cemetery’s 95-hectare plot (which makes it one of the largest in the world) there is little indication of what lies beneath. Since construction was completed in 1958, it has been largely overlooked by those seeking an architectural pilgrimage due to the lack of visible structure. But those who do visit find themselves at first surrounded by angular lawns and an expanse of sky. Occasional monolithic concrete structures stem upwards, resembling familiar mausoleums. “When you approach the central stairway, however, a new curiosity is immediately fired up,” says Léa Namer, author of 2024’s Chacarita Moderna – the first major written work to highlight the necropolis and chronicle Villa’s story. “From above, you begin to see strange elements that entice you to make the descent. You see the darkness, the shadows. You spot the full-sized trees growing underground.”

Passing down into the necropolis via its labyrinthine stairway is a sensory experience. “You enter an intermediary world,” says Namer. “It’s suddenly cold. The light changes. All sound falls away.” With those shifts come bigger existential realisations: the scale of the resting place, home to more than 150,000 bodies, must be confronted. “The architect achieved something remarkable. Through her designs, spatial planning and choices of material, Villa makes the visitor ask themselves some really, really big questions.”

Time spent under the earth is dedicated to silence, paying respects or gaining perspective. But what follows is what the Ancient Greeks called anabasis – the return to the land of the living. In myth, this is an important act; one that distinguishes the person who has a choice to leave from those who are forced to stay. Visitors returning to the surface from Villa’s Sixth Pantheon might even bring back a greater appreciation for life itself.
chacaritamoderna.com

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3.
A place to switch off the city noise
Löyly sauna
Helsinki, Finland

According to the latest UN World Happiness Report, published in March, the Finns are the happiest nation on Earth. Perhaps this has something to do with the country’s three-million-plus saunas. Not only do the heated rooms provide a space to cleanse and purge, but they also present the chance for a moment of solitude and reflection. 

The sensation of stepping away from the stresses of daily life isn’t confined to the countryside either, as evidenced by urban saunas such as Löyly, near the harbour in Helsinki’s Hernesaari neighbourhood. “When we set about creating Löyly, the goal was to offer residents a place to check out of the hectic pace of life,” its co-founder Jasper Pääkkönen tells monocle. “We are inundated in modern society and our phones are constantly buzzing. But once you’re in the sauna, it’s just you for an hour or two.” 

Opened in 2016,  Löyly’s design plays a key role in setting up the sauna as a sanctuary. Shielded from the outside world by a pinewood shell, the rooms are kept dim, even in summer. Like the best saunas, it feels spartan, with the focus centred on the heat – löyly is a Finnish word describing hot steam evaporating from sauna stones. The mysterious ambience is accentuated by the use of wood within.

What might surprise some is that this space for solitary reflection has become one of Helsinki’s most popular attractions. As Pääkkönen points out, there’s something  refreshingly down-to-earth about spaces where people are stripped of clothes and accessories, as well as wealth and status. “There are no distractions in the sauna,” says Pääkkönen. Instead, the world outside fades and time passes at a different speed. “I can’t think of a setting better suited to contemplation,” he says.
loylyhelsinki.fi

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4.
A place for creative reflection
Kimbell Art Museum 
Fort Worth, USA

The Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, Texas, is the kind of place you could visit for the building alone. Though the collection is highly impressive, with some 375 works by artists including Claude Monet and Michelangelo, the Louis Kahn-designed building is the real masterpiece. Opened in 1972, it was the last project that the Estonian-born American architect completed before he died. According to museum director Eric Lee, it was also Kahn’s personal favourite. With concrete vaults bathed in the bright Texas sun, walls clad in travertine (the same as used in the Getty Museum) and elements of cork and white oak, it invites tranquillity. “It is a place of serenity,” says Lee. 

The feeling of calm washes over visitors from the moment they set foot on the 3.9-hectare property, which is dotted with tall elm and yaupon holly trees. “It starts outdoors on the grounds,” says Lee, identifying the gentle bubbling sound of water from the fountain as a source of peacefulness. Deeper within the building, the Texas light becomes more subdued. “It’s a blend of natural and artificial light, so both cold and warm,” says Lee. “It’s very inward looking.” Some might consider the concrete vaults to be brutalist in design but Lee says that this is not the case. “It was built at a time when brutalist architecture was the dominant mode but this is not a brutalist building,” he says, adding that Kahn’s prerogative was to make it welcoming. “It is human scale.”

The structure has a modernist feel but it also strikes a balance between contemporary and classic styles. “Kahn was very much inspired by ancient architecture,” says Lee. Inside, the cool space calls for a natural hush. “I never hear people raising their voices,” he says. “You speak in a whisper because it feels like a holy space, in the non-religious sense. It’s very spiritual.” More than that, it invites visitors to slow down and immerse themselves in an entirely different world for a couple of hours. “It offers an opportunity for people to take a break from ordinary life,” says Lee. “It’s magical.”
kimbellart.org

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5.
A place to reflect
Chapelle du Rosaire à Vence
Vence, France

French artist Henri Matisse designed the Chapelle du Rosaire à Vence in 1951 but its merit is more than purely ecclesiastical. Indeed, its atheist creator, who had limited experience working with religious art, became disillusioned by divinity after cancer confined him to a wheelchair. This sanctuary in Vence was actually a token of gratitude for Monique Bourgeois, the night nurse who dedicated herself to overseeing his convalescence before becoming a Dominican nun in a convent that lacked a chapel. It was an opportunity that the French artist found himself impossible to turn down despite the limitations of his health. “Matisse had carte blanche within the constraints of such a place of worship,” Gaëlle Teste de Sagey, manager of Matisse’s chapel, tells monocle. Fatigued and unwell, he was forced to work slowly and the project took four long years to complete. But the result is a remarkable alliance between faith and artistic endeavour.

Regarded as Matisse’s architectural chef-d’oeuvre, it was the first time that the artist had created a monument in its totality. “Matisse saw the relationship between the objects as little worlds that fit together,” says Teste de Sagey. From the altar and crucifix to the ceramic murals featuring the figures of the Madonna and Saint Dominique, as well as the colourful vestments of priests, Matisse dedicated his final years to this deeply personal and reflective work. Under the guidance of French architect Auguste Perret,  a master of reinforced concrete, Matisse designed the L-shaped chapel’s two narrow naves in modest proportions due to the steep terrain on which the chapel is perched. Just 15 metres long by six metres wide, the glory is in its artistic value rather than its size.

But this doesn’t detract from the chapel’s grandeur. “Matisse made every effort to give an impression of elevation,” says Teste de Sagey. Opting for a pared-back colour palette for the chapel’s 15 stained-glass windows, Matisse used blue inspired by the surrounding Côte d’Azur, yellow for sunlight – a divine glow that reaches every corner of the chapel – and distinctive green palm-leaf motifs as a reminder of the lush nature of the Riviera, which he appreciated from his window during his recovery. “The organ-pipe shape of the windows is very significant in a chapel with no organ,” says Teste de Sagey. “It corresponds with Matisse’s idea that the musicality in his chapel would come from the luminosity.”

The dappled Provençal rays that dance around the chapel’s white-tiled interior still offer a sense of hope. “Matisse found the silent rhythm of the reflections in the stained-glass windows immensely soothing,” says Teste de Sagey. And so will anyone visiting today.
chapellematisse.fr

Mipim, held in Cannes every year, is the biggest global event for property players, be they developers, venture capitalists, architects or national, state and city leaders with ambitious plans to develop sectors from housing to hospitality. The trade show pulls in exhibitors and attendees from Europe, the Gulf, North Africa and the US, all vying to make the best deals.

This year, Mipim took place under grey skies – literally and metaphorically. You needed an umbrella to keep the downpours at bay but also a thick skin to ignore the potential effects of a US-led tariff war, which had left some wondering whether American projects would be mothballed if steel was unable to enter the country. Yet there was something else at play; a sense that many in Europe would push ahead no matter what and certainly not try to amend targets for emissions reductions or sustainability. There were also pockets of genuine optimism: Ukrainians predicting a building boom post-ceasefire, Brazilians promoting a vibrant and verdant hospitality boom and the UK strutting its stuff, believing that the ills around housing might finally be addressed.

At Mipim it is possible to discern the levels of confidence around the world and see where’s on the up. And Monocle was there in force this year – with a radio studio at the heart of the event’s main venue, the Palais des Festivals. Here is a snapshot of a few of the conversations we had; for a deeper dive, tune in to our special episode of The Urbanist. Now let’s get building.

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1.
Make Europe great again
Muyiwa Oki
President, Royal Institute of British Architects

In the US we are seeing the government back away from sustainability, lowering emission standards. Do you think that will happen in the UK?
“I believe that a new generation of architects and older real-estate professionals need to come together. They need to put their foot on the gas – as it were – to ensure that we do not miss out on this opportunity. I sat in on the keynote speech by Mario Draghi, the former president of the European Central Bank, and he mentioned this important point about optimising for the future of the EU and the European continent, and that our future needs to be sustainable. And that comes from having sustainable energy sources. In his opinion, which I agree with, we need to ensure that we have our own sources of energy that we control. In Europe we need to buckle down.”

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2.
Foster resilience
Haris Doukas
Mayor of Athens

Athens is incredibly hot during the summer, what can be done to address this and deliver a better quality of life? 
“When I was running for mayor, I said that within five years, I would try to reduce the ‘feeling temperature’ by 5C. This went viral. People said that it couldn’t be done. I insisted that there were two things that we could do immediately and the first was to plant trees. I told people that we would deliver 25,000 trees in five years but we did it in the first year. We now have heat maps and are planting trees in the places where there are the biggest rises in temperature in the summer. The second thing is that we are using new materials for roads. They’re more expensive but they don’t store heat. We are engaging residents too: we have awards for the greening of rooftops and gardening so if you are planting your roof, your balcony or anywhere in your city, we can give you specific bonuses.”

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3.
Fix your own city
Mathias Müller-Using and Astrid Maria Rappel
Founder and CEO, Inter±pol Studios; communications and development at Dietrich Untertrifaller 

Mathias, you have transformed a Second World War bunker in Hamburg into a public space, with an urban park on its roof and a path to the top inspired by the High Line. A million people have now visited. How did this come about?
“It was built between 1942 and 1943 [using forced labour]. It’s a concrete monster, it’s 40 metres high and in the middle of the city. It made me think about how we could make a better place out of it. I could see it every day from my apartment. The core idea was to bring nature and greenery onto this building and to develop a concept so that people could get up to the top without going into the building. And this is what we have done.”

Astrid, you’ve seen the project – what’s your impression?
“Before it was a private building and now it’s a public one, and this has completely changed the image of the surroundings and the image of Hamburg. The project has taken a really bad monument and given it a positive image without forgetting its history. The fact that it’s accessible to everyone is important. And this is all thanks to Mathias’s vision.”

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4.
Fill those empty spaces
Alice Charles
Global leader of strategic partnerships and director of the Cities, Planning and Design team at Arup

Many cities are grappling with the lack of affordable housing. What’s the solution?
“It takes time to build housing – building is your medium-term solution. Your short-term solution is making use of vacant stock. Some cities have done good work already: Melbourne has looked at its water data to understand what housing is vacant. Paris found a way to deal with Airbnb rentals by putting a tax on Airbnb and making sure that these properties meet health and safety standards. If we were to apply more uniform approaches across cities to the likes of Airbnb, then you might suddenly see stock coming on the market for citizens to rent.

Another phenomenon is stock being held. It could be an investor from overseas who wants to hold an asset in the currency of that country. And they’re not renting out that asset. There has to be taxation to encourage the rental of this stock. To solve your problem and your crisis in the short term, it’s going to be about working with that vacant stock. Mid-term is about making sure that you’re unlocking land for development. Everyone thinks that planning is the problem but that’s not necessarily the case. When we relax planning too much, that’s generally just before we have a crash, and then we’re left with stock that is of poor quality. There’s a very difficult balancing act that governments need to get right when it comes to planning. I’m always concerned when a government says that it’s all a planning problem.” 

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5.
How to drive change
Giovanni de Niederhäusern
Senior vice-president, architecture and product design, Pininfarina 

What unites the properties that sit under your brand? Is there a specific aesthetic?
“I always say that I would like people to recognise Pininfarina not for the aesthetic but for our methodology, which goes back to car design. Pininfarina worked with almost every famous car designer around the world. It is a company that was able to adapt its vision and create a car that was unique, which was innovative but was made in the image of the car manufacturer, not of Pininfarina itself. And we have the same thing in architecture. So depending not just on the client but on the social, economic and geographical context, the architecture can be very different. What is always the same is the methodology, which is strict and is able to create value. With a Pininfarina building you see the detail; you understand the relation with the context.”

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6.
It’s a materials world
Jordan Goldstein
C0-CEO, Gensler

With climate resilience becoming a critical urban concern, what design strategies
will define the next generation of sustainable, liveable cities?
“We believe that to shape a better future through design, it’s important to think about materials, structures and sites and ask, ‘Do we always have to build new?’ There are all these different materials coming into architects’ offices so how do we start to look at these materials through a resilience lens? So we put out the Gensler Product Sustainability Standards, setting the minimum thresholds for materials and finishes for both buildings and interiors. The result is that it has made us go through the materials in our libraries and offices and say, ‘You know what? These just don’t work.’ This then creates a ripple effect. Suddenly you have manufacturers and vendors rethinking some of the fabrication processes and material composition of what’s in the marketplace.”

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7.
New nations head to Cannes
Nicolas Kozubek
Managing director, Mipim

Uzbekistan and Romania are new attendees. Are you seeing a change in the countries coming to Mipim? 
“Yes there’s definitely a shift. There are countries that are very mature in their urban development that are looking to understand how they will face future challenges with their existing built environment. In Europe and across the US, where the possibility to build something totally new is low, you have to understand how you retrofit, how you rebuild, how you renew what you have. And on the other side, you have vast parts of the globe where urban development is the topical issue because nations have rising populations and a will to modernise. Uzbekistan is a nice example because the New Tashkent project is something that is crucial for them. They are very proud of it. They are showcasing it their way this year and then, as exhibitors, they will learn about what they can achieve at the event. I’m sure that they will come back next year and continue this story further.”

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8.
How to retrofit 
Sebastien Ricard and Yasmin Al-Ani Spence 
Board directors, WilkinsonEyre

Sebastien, what did you learn from transforming the Battersea Power Station into one of London’s most important mixed-use developments?
“The biggest thing I’ve learned on the project is that actually you can do anything. A lot of people felt that the project would never happen – it was too complex, too challenging. The building was in a very poor state. So I think that if you put your mind to it, whether you’re a client or a designer, you can always find a positive solution.”

Yasmin, you’re involved in the regeneration of the Citi Bank building in Canary Wharf, where you are transforming an old skyscraper into a modern workplace, even inserting a winter garden halfway up the tower. What’s the plan?
“It is an extraordinary project and it’s very daring that Citi decided to keep the tower. I think more and more we will see this happening; it’s a huge learning curve for the construction industry, which will have to adapt to these new ways of building, to think a bit outside the box of how things can be done because there isn’t a building site – all the materials are stored inside the tower. It was built in 1999 and it was segregated floor by floor; what we’ve done is make it more democratic – in the middle is now a space for everybody. The winter garden is open to the fresh air so people don’t always have to leave the building if they want to go out. We’ve made the tower into a town. And everything that a town needs the tower has. It allows for a more collaborative work environment.”

The first mayor of Amsterdam was appointed in 1383 in a process not dissimilar to that used in 2018, when Femke Halsema became the first woman to hold the position. Amsterdam’s mayor is nominated by the minister of the interior and kingdom relations on the recommendation of the municipal council – a selection then rubber-stamped by the Dutch monarch. This makes Halsema’s role officially apolitical but she has responsibility for many political things, including taxation and the police. Some argue that this state of affairs is more suited to the 14th century but not being beholden to voters might also mean that a politician can propose radical solutions to urban ills.

Halsema has done exactly this. She is a proponent of both decriminalising all drugs and introducing tighter rules on the selling of cannabis to tourists, as well as its consumption. (It is the only narcotic currently legal in the Netherlands.) Her boldest idea – relocating Amsterdam’s red-light district to a purpose-built “erotic centre” on the outskirts of town – does not contradict her pro-sex-worker pronouncements. She is also battling the twin scourges of gentrification and over-tourism, signing legislation this year that will limit to 15 the number of days residential properties in certain neighbourhoods can be let out on platforms such as Airbnb; while in 2023 she launched “Stay Away”, a campaign to deter undesirable tourists from visiting Amsterdam. 

But perhaps her greatest challenge came in November last year, when clashes between supporters of Israeli soccer club Maccabi Tel Aviv and local youths made global headlines. Media reports alleged that young men had “hunted” the team’s Jewish fans, sparking outrage from both Joe Biden and Benjamin Netanyahu. Halsema earned praise for a response that ultimately calmed tensions between the city’s Jewish and Muslim communities. On a misty day in the Dutch capital, Halsema welcomed Monocle into her official residence, a 17th-century canal-side townhouse, to discuss the riots, housing, security and much more.

Let’s dive into that episode in November that became a global story within hours. What’s it like when the US president inserts himself into your municipal affairs, while the Israeli prime minister proposes dispatching jets to Schiphol Airport?
It felt utterly surreal. Someone told me that the rioters had chosen the sweetest city in Europe. I don’t know whether that’s true but we have relatively little crime and few riots. And then this. Of course, what happened that night was terrible. But in hindsight I’m increasingly astonished. At the very moment we were still collecting all the data, Joe Biden was already responding, 30 minutes before our press conference. We tried to be careful not to be cornered by hasty reactions.

What did you learn from that episode?
What deeply moved me was the pain in our Jewish community. During the Second World War, almost all of the city’s Jews were deported from Amsterdam, with a questionable role played by the municipality. Even after the war, the reception was distressing. Yet Jews have always continued to speak fondly of “Mokum”, their city since the 16th century, with synagogues and a rich Jewish life. After the riots, a deep hurt arose. What shocked me next was how politicians and certain residents were quick to single out Muslims, another pillar of this city. Since the riots, I have been investing a lot of time in conversations with both Jews and Muslims. My message to them is clear: this was your city yesterday, it is today, and it will remain your city tomorrow.

Since the coronavirus pandemic, the city has seemed agitated. Geopolitics has an effect on local politics. How do you govern a restless city where disagreements can lead to physical confrontations?
Are the city and country really more unsettled, or do we cope worse? I think the latter. Amsterdam has a history of resilience. Geopolitical tensions are nothing new – the largest-ever demonstration in the city was against US nuclear weapons in the middle of the Cold War. After September 11 and the murder [by a 26-year-old Dutch-Moroccan] of film director Theo van Gogh in 2004, emotions also ran high. Commotion is part of a city like Amsterdam; people make themselves heard and sometimes clash. We always have been a city of individuals, not of groups. Unrest is of all times but the reactions now are more hysterical and there is less and less room for dissent. That worries me.

As a mayor, you are in charge of maintaining public order and have authority over the police. How do you approach this?
We call it “the triangle”. It consists of me, the chief public prosecutor and the police commissioner. We direct the police. I have the last vote but we almost always agree. That strengthens my position in talks on security with national politicians. Demonstrations in the city have doubled since 2023. We’re also grappling with a rise in mentally disturbed people prone to violence. We have about 4,750 police officers but are short 300 full-time positions. Yet the government thinks that we have enough people. In the medium term, this harms public safety.

Speaking of public safety and wellbeing, in your position as a mayor and police chief, you advocate for the legalisation of drugs. Other European mayors do not yet dare to explore this topic.
The debate is ideologically charged due to the failed war on drugs. People hardly dare to talk about it rationally for fear that by doing so, they condone it. But why leave a health-risk product to criminals? Alcohol and medicine are regulated, why not drugs? Take MDMA: it’s less harmful than alcohol yet has been banned since the late 1980s. The consequence? The Netherlands is now the world’s biggest producer, resulting in illegal labs and drug wars. We want to investigate how much tax and excise duty we are losing and what a regulated market could look like. Eighty per cent of Amsterdam’s police capacity is used on drug crime. This is unsustainable. It is not a moral issue but an economic and managerial problem that requires rational solutions.

Do any colleagues in Europe share your ideas?
Many leaders privately agree but fear the political fallout of going public. Behind closed doors, I get a lot of support. The mayor of Bern openly supports me, as does Claudia López, the former mayor of Bogotá. Awareness is also growing within police, justice and health services. An international group of former heads of state and secretary-generals support regulation but they wait until they are out of office before speaking out. 

Amsterdam is a prosperous city but residents complain ofhousing shortages and overcrowding.
Growth means that things are going well, and our scale makes the city manageable. However, there are significant issues: we have both the richest and poorest neighbourhoods in the Netherlands, and middle groups are moving away. That is why we invest unequally: not pro rata to the number of inhabitants per neighbourhood. The money goes where it is needed – a pragmatic, sharp, social-democratic choice to keep the city liveable.

Property prices here are rising at the fastest rate in Europe and the population is approaching one million. There is less and less space for lower-income groups. What is the city doing about this?
We are building everywhere but the housing shortage is increasing. Things are moving too slowly. We will have to densify. In new neighbourhoods, we will build upwards, without modifying the historic city centre. This requires more infrastructure, schools and public transport, as we are already competing for every square centimetre, while dealing with the effects of climate change in a city below sea-level. It is a highly complex puzzle.

Tourists are also competing for space – the city had a record 22 million visitors last year. What are you doing to decrease tourism?
We need to think hard about the tourist/resident ratio. The city’s liveability is under enormous pressure. In Barcelona, short-term rentals will be banned from 2028. That will be inevitable for us too, we need to change the tide. People jetting in on €25 flights to binge drink and get high, with no thought for the town, adds nothing to our economy. That needs to change. In Amsterdam, tourism accounts for about 10 per cent of employment. That’s not so bad but not crucial. Business services, technology, and health and sciences mean much more to the city. Fewer tourists do not necessarily harm the economy. Everyone remains welcome but mass tourism without local connection has to decline.

As Amsterdam celebrates its 750th birthday this year, how well is the city really doing?
Amsterdam keeps changing – it’s greener, fairer and more in tune with its residents. But one thing remains constant: it’s a city with a big heart and a rebellious streak. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Gregor Gregersen looks down at the bar of gold in his hands. It is a slim trapezoid of burnished, ochre-hued metal, a 12.5kg brick that gleams gently in the light and is worth – at time of writing – about $1.2m (€1.1m). “Gold is intrinsically valuable; it doesn’t depend on the government,” says Gregersen, the founder of the Reserve, Singapore’s newest, largest and arguably most stylish vault for bullion and precious metals. “That’s the philosophy that underlies everything here.”

We are standing in a low-ceilinged bunker in the eastern end of Singapore. All around us, every centimetre of wall space is taken up by rows of drawers, each containing millions of dollars’ worth of bullion. Gregersen places the gold bar back in its drawer and turns the key, locking it safely away. The Reserve consists of a 17,000 sq m facility that was completed in 2024 and can store up to 500 tonnes (or about €45bn) of gold and 10,000 tonnes (about €10bn) of silver, potentially making it the world’s highest-capacity vault (national governments do keep some secrets to themselves).

“The financial system is much more fragile than it appears,” says Gregersen, who is originally from Germany but is now based in Singapore. “Geopolitics is getting more and more fragile. I wanted to create an option for myself and others to have a safe haven for assets.”

The Reserve is different from the other safe-storage sites peppered around the world, in places from Singapore to Switzerland. It doesn’t simply offer clients a place to stash their precious metals – it sells them too. 

“What’s different about us is that we are vertically integrated,” says Gregersen with a grin. “We are the trader, the equivalent of a bank, the vaulting operations and the facility itself. This means that we can control everything, from the time that a client buys the gold to how we source it and how it’s being stored. It also means that we can provide a lot more transparency.” 

In addition to this, The Reserve is more open to public attention – and access. In 2020, when Gregersen bought the building that became The Reserve, it housed an electronic components factory. He enlisted architects Wesley Liew and Jessica Baczkowski to transform the nondescript six-storey structure into an architectural marvel.

While the gold and the private vaults (used by the Reserve’s highest-paying clients to stash whatever they desire under guard, laser, lock and key) are located in small dedicated chambers, the silver vault is a cavernous 32-metre-high space of giant illuminated shelves. (Gregersen believes that silver is significantly undervalued – but perhaps you would expect him to.) A fifth-floor lounge and coffee bar, which Gregersen plans to let to corporations and luxury firms for parties and fashion shows, offers a vertiginous view of the vault from above. The cumulative aesthetic effect of this falls somewhere between Blade Runner and the Batcave. 

Gregersen is aware that The Reserve, in its total aversion to being nondescript and under-the-radar, is nothing like a “traditional” vault. But, he says, it checks all the boxes that matter. 

“Singapore is already a very safe place,” he says. “Having said that, we still have the heavy walls, we have mantraps – where a door closes behind you, sensor checks are happening. And if we don’t like you, we don’t open the other door and we call the police. We have auxiliary police, we have the lasers, we have motion sensors, vibration sensors, we have almost 500 CCTV cameras.” Gregersen pauses, then adds: “But you also need to have style.”
thereserve.sg

As digital technology transforms the media landscape, more and more respected broadcasters are swapping major networks for Youtube shows, podcasts and newsletters. Southeast Asia is home to some of the boldest disruptors. Jakarta-based news anchor Najwa Shihab left news channel Metro TV in 2017 to set up her own media company, Narasi, with two former colleagues. Eight years later, this trio of women have turned one talk show and Shihab’s reputation for grilling the country’s top politicians into a nationwide news platform that employs 170 people. 

“The definition of mainstream media has shifted in Indonesia,” Shihab tells Monocle from Narasi’s headquarters inside Intiland Tower, a brutalist building in central Jakarta. “If I could turn back the clock, I wish I would have started [Narasi] earlier.” Born in South Sulawesi, Najwa Shihab is the host of Mata Najwa (Najwa’s Eye). The long-running current affairs programme began in 2009 on Indonesia’s first news channel, Metro TV. The show left with Shihab and, since then, Mata Najwa has millions of views on Youtube and filled football stadiums for live debates on issues such as female empowerment. One of the most infamous episodes featured an “empty chair” interview with Indonesia’s minister of health that highlighted his inaction during the coronavirus pandemic and led to him being replaced.

Mata Najwa’s success has allowed Shihab to build up a newsroom of reporters trained in traditional journalism. Narasi’s head of news has full editorial control of the website and unlike many other stations in Indonesia, which are often controlled by tycoons with political ties, aims both barrels at the rich and powerful. In 2022 a cyber-attack brought down its website around the time when the news division was reporting on the investigation of a powerful two-star general accused of murdering his bodyguard. When computer screens came back on, a warning message appeared: “Be silent or die.” But that threat was water off a duck’s back for Shihab; her main concern is for the future of her industry. “One of the biggest challenges for professional journalists in the digital era is adhering to the code of ethics and the law, while content creators don’t have any restrictions,” she says. 

When big names want to talk to Indonesia’s vast population of 285 million people, Mata Najwa gets the exclusive. In February, Shihab conducted the only sit-down interview with Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, during his first state visit to Indonesia in a decade. As Erdogan sat opposite her, calmly lambasting US president Donald Trump’s Gaza strategy, he was following in the footsteps of Coldplay’s Chris Martin and Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang. Dutch former footballer Patrick Kluivert gave his first interview to Shihab a day after landing in Jakarta to become manager of Indonesia’s national team. 

This year, Shihab is aiming for one big exclusive a month. Mata Najwa went out weekly for more than a decade, but the workload was taking its toll on the 47-year-old host, whose time is in demand. Events are Narasi’s second-biggest revenue stream after content and the busy programme includes university campus tours, courses on journalism, festivals and running clubs led by Shihab, a keen runner. An English-language version of Narasi is also in the pipeline, beginning later this year with reports co-produced with media companies from the region.

The daughter of a well-known Muslim cleric, Shihab became a journalist by “accident”. Privately owned TV stations were springing up in Indonesia after the fall of the Suharto dictatorship in 1998 and a young law undergraduate looking for a distraction from writing her thesis applied for an internship. “Those three months changed the entire course of my life,” says Shihab, fondly recalling asking then UN secretary-general Kofi Annan a question at a press conference during that time. Her first full-time job was as a junior reporter at Metro TV. Shihab rose to national awareness for her emotional coverage of the 2004 tsunami, before going on to present the primetime news and getting her own talk show. 

She left television after 17 years to “be where the young people are” and have more editorial freedom in terms of formats and content. Episodes of Mata Najwa in recent years have covered coal pollution in Jakarta and the tribespeople living near the new capital, Nusantara. “The beauty of digital is that I can do a story when I want,” says Shihab. In 2022 she spent six days filming a documentary on the 20th anniversary of Timor-Leste’s independence, which has been viewed 18 million times. “We were shocked to see the overwhelming response to that documentary,” she says. Fame is her main limitation now; millions of Indonesians watch Shihab on their phones and stop her on the streets for photographs. An “occupational hazard”, she says.

Narasi has also given Shihab the space to show a different side of her. Shihab & Shihab is a series of conversations between Shihab and her father that airs every day during Ramadan, while families wait for the Iftar evening meal. “It’s a daughter asking her father about religious and contemporary issues from the point of view of the Qur’an and moderate Islam,” says Shihab, who comes under attacks online for not wearing a hijab, a personal choice which is increasingly uncommon as Indonesia becomes more conservative. “The key word here is moderate,” she says. 

Shihab ends every episode of Mata Najwa on a positive note. “It’s important to have optimism but I define optimism as being consistent and staying true to the process,” she says. “If we see something good, we will defend it. If we see something bad, we will fight it.”

Germany’s chancellor-in-waiting, Friedrich Merz (pictured), is ripping up the script so quickly that we scribblers can hardly keep pace. In early March, there was the double bazooka of €100bn each for defence and infrastructure; a few days later, he raised us “whatever it takes”. Goodbye, the sacred “debt brake” – and about time. As I said on the opening page of my book The Shortest History of Germany, published in 2017, Europe’s largest economy needs to start acting like a great power at the heart of the West. Eight years later, this call has become an SOS. But what about the German federal election at the end of February? Do we really want to be led by a nation in which Elon Musk’s beloved Alternative for Germany (AFD) is the second-largest parliamentary party? To misquote Barack Obama: yes, we do. To understand this, we need to understand why the AFD is not the threat to German democracy that many make it out to be. After the election, a widely circulated map showed what the outcome of the vote would have been if Germany had a first-past-the-post system like the UK: it exactly mirrored the Cold War division between east and west. 

Many people blame West German arrogance after reunification for the far-right’s triumph in the country’s east. This is just the domestic German version of the Putin-is-only-aggressive-because-Nato-provoked-him shtick. The truth is that the electorate in the east has chosen authoritarian, anti-liberal parties ever since it got the vote: first the Prussian Conservatives before the First World War, then the German National People’s Party (DNVP), then the Nazi Party. Indeed, in 1933, when Adolf Hitler became chancellor, he only ever got within distant sight of a national majority (43.9 per cent) because he piled up huge votes in eastern Germany. And he only made it over the 50 per cent threshold thanks to the 8 per cent of the DNVP, which was also much stronger in the east and formed an important part of the so-called “Hitler coalition”. 

And therein lies the truth about Germany: the east is unique because it has always had completely different priorities to the west, being far younger and colonial in origin. When, in 1198, Germans took the small Slavic fishing villages next to what we now call Berlin, Köln, Mainz, Bonn and Frankfurt were 1,200-year-old, Roman-founded cities at the heart of western Europe. For the Germans in the east, though, the story, through the Teutonic knights, Frederick the Great and the Prussian General Staff, up to the Hitler-Stalin pact and Operation Barbarossa, was the same: keep peace with the Slavs when they seem too strong; crush them if you get the chance. And like William Faulkner said, “The past is never dead; it’s not even past.” Anyone who lived in the German Democratic Republic experienced the final humiliation in this 900-year battle: occupation by the Red Army. Different histories; different people.

So all that actually happened in February is that eastern Germany voted as it always has. The consolation is that the region is now much smaller than in 1933. Indeed, provided that the west holds its nerve, the east can vote however it wants to. Western Germans can forget the optimistic vision of national near-consensus and get used to seeing Germany like the US: a country with almost immoveable red and blue states. Democracy is a fight. So bring on that double bazooka, Herr Kanzler, or whatever it takes. And please use that €500bn infrastructure spending in the West. Taxpayers there have sent more than €2trn to the East since 1990 and it hasn’t changed a thing; because it can’t.

Hawes is the author of several books, including ‘The Shortest History of Germany’.