The fall of Jair Bolsonaro, Brazil’s mercurial hard-right former president, came gradually and then suddenly. After a steady, years-long drip of revelations about his time in office and months of judicial procedures and hearings, Brazil’s Supreme Court convicted the 70-year-old ex-army captain of plotting a coup d’état and seeking to illegally retain power after his 2022 election defeat. The five-member panel reached a majority verdict and quickly handed down its sentence: 27 years and three months in prison.
The significance of this was lost on no one. Bolsonaro was sentenced alongside several co-conspiring military officers and government officials. His conviction marked the first time that Brazil – a nation that has suffered more than its fair share of coups – had successfully punished the leaders of one of them. In reading their verdicts, the four convicting justices highlighted the vulnerability of democracy and the need to protect institutions against the whims of would-be authoritarians. And that meant dispensing justice, even to the most powerful.
The contrast with the US is clear: whereas America has failed to bring to account a political leader who has chosen to defy democratic rules and norms, Brazil has held firm. On social media, left-wing Brazilians have been revelling in Bolsonaro’s conviction, crowing proudly about the country’s commitment to democracy. On the right, the response has been muted: no mass protests or widespread outrage. Politicians on that side of the spectrum are already plotting what comes next.
The most immediate backlash is likely to come from Donald Trump’s White House. The US president has openly and frequently sympathised with Bolsonaro’s plight and drawn parallels with his own legal strife. As the latter’s trial reached a crescendo in recent weeks, Trump sought to bully Brazil into dropping the case. First, the White House slapped 50 per cent tariffs on the country’s imports. Then it cancelled visas of Brazilian judges and politicians, and hit Alexandre de Moraes – the Supreme Court justice leading the case against Bolsonaro – with Magnitsky Act sanctions. Such sanctions, which freeze De Moraes’s US assets and block him from US financial infrastructure, were once reserved for the world’s worst human-rights offenders. Brazil is now bracing for more.
What happens next to Bolsonaro is less clear. Pending court procedures, his sentence is likely to begin before the end of this year, though it is still undecided whether he will serve it in prison, a federal police facility or in a military barracks, or under house arrest. The man once hailed by supporters as a “messiah” is pinning his hopes on congressional allies passing an amnesty. That would, at the very least, keep him out of prison and, at best, rehabilitate him politically so that he could contest elections next year. Bolsonaro has sought to keep his options open by refusing to name a political heir; if he does name a successor, the decision will be just as significant as that of the courts, showing that he knows his race has been run.
For the incumbent president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, Bolsonaro’s trial (and the unprecedented intervention of Trump in the court proceedings) has been a blessing. Serving a third, non-consecutive term, Lula’s latest stint in power had until recently been uninspiring. But in the face of attacks from the White House, he has managed to cast himself as a defender of national sovereignty. His administration has even come up with a catchy slogan – “Brazil belongs to Brazilians” – to emblazon on caps and T-shirts. In a New York Times article directed squarely at the US president, Lula said that he was proud of the Supreme Court’s verdict and that Brazilian sovereignty was “not on the table” for negotiations. His efforts appear to be working. A poll released on the day of Bolsonaro’s conviction showed Lula’s approval rating at its highest point this year. Thank you, Donald Trump.
Bryan Harris is a journalist based in São Paulo. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
It’s not always easy being rich – just ask Norway’s prime minister. Following re-election last week, Jonas Gahr Støre holds the nation’s purse strings as a cast of competitive coalition partners and critics from the populist right-wing Progress Party pull him in opposing directions. Having grown immensely wealthy from its oil and gas reserves in the North Sea, Norway and its politics have come to be defined by how to use its abundance. As of today, it has successfully squirrelled away €1.7tn into a handy sovereign wealth fund.
A savvy fiscal rule says that no more than 3 per cent of the fund’s returns can be spent each year. But that is still a huge pot – more than €50bn on top of Norway’s annual GDP. The Labour Party preaches prudent spending on Norway’s already generous welfare system, while its supporters in parliament – the Socialist Left, the Centre Party, the Communist Red Party and the Greens – want to spend more oil money on everything from regional development to green-energy initiatives. The Conservatives and the Progress Party, however, want to cut taxes and offer other incentives for businesses to stimulate growth. A tale as old as time, maybe. But there’s concern that the nation’s affluence has fostered a sense of economic complacency. The title of Norwegian economist Martin Bech Holte’s bestselling book earlier this year is telling: Landet som ble for rikt (The Country That Became Too Rich).
Yet there are more pressing problems facing the Labour government – and indeed the entire Norwegian nation. The wealth fund’s mandate is to grow Norway’s petroleum revenues, which it seeks to do by investing in some 9,000 companies globally. But it has recently come under fire for investing in Israeli companies involved in the war in Gaza.
The Socialist Left has said that full divestment from all companies that contribute to Israel’s “war crimes, occupation, or genocide” is a condition for them propping up Labour in parliament. Along with the Greens, they also want to reform or even replace the wealth fund’s independent ethics council, giving parliament greater control over ethical guidelines. This is problematic.
The fund is supposed to be – and must be – apolitical. Some ethical investment decisions are relatively straightforward, such as avoiding companies involved in tobacco or nuclear weapons. An issue arises, however, if the fund could be accused of making decisions based on the political leanings of a sitting government. Both the wealth fund and the country would become vulnerable to foreign political pressure. The Trump administration, for instance, has already shouted foul over the fund’s divestments from US construction company Caterpillar, whose machines are used by the IDF in Gaza. Trump could choose to impose further tariffs on, say, Norwegian salmon as a retaliation.
The Norwegian case, while a first-world issue, is singular. Other major sovereign wealth funds do not face the constraints of public and political pressure that exist in Norway’s liberal democracy. The Abu Dhabi Investment Authority, China Investment Corporation and Singapore’s Temasek Holdings are all free to focus on financial returns over ethical or political considerations.
Yet unlike the Gulf and other petrostates, there is still broad agreement from citizens on the need for some form of moral process as to how the money is invested. Norwegians will be tackling a far more fundamental question in the coming parliamentary period: when to cease extracting oil and gas from the North Sea?
Lars Bevanger is Monocle’s Oslo correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Read next: The Green petrostate: Can Norway really become carbon neutral?
This November, Ho Chi Minh City (or Saigon to those of us who live here) will host AGI Open – the annual gathering of the Alliance Graphique Internationale, an association of the world’s leading graphic designers. With more than 500 members from nearly 50 countries, it’s the first time the organisation is bringing its meetings and conference to Southeast Asia. The participants will arrive in a country on the brink of something extraordinary.
Vietnam is not just riding a wave of economic growth or manufacturing scale – it’s approaching a moment of redefinition. A shift from being the workshop for the world to a maker of brands that matter, in engineering, AI, coffee and sport. Where commerce blossoms, cultural exports often follow and Vietnam’s soft power is bubbling up around the globe – from award-winning films at Cannes to fashion worn by Gen-Z tastemakers such as Billie Eilish.
The resources are here. The talent is here. The market is young, savvy and involved. What’s needed now is intent. The question is: who will get it right? Who will cut through the noise and “make it” as a stand-out brand?
Take Highlands Coffee. Established in the 1990s, it now has nearly 1,000 shops nationwide and is poised to go global. But size alone doesn’t equate to world-class. To lead, Highlands must tell a story rooted in origin, culture and craft. Vietnam produces a vast share of the world’s coffee and the label is investing heavily in elevating farm-to-cup quality. The brand can rival Starbucks by being unapologetically Vietnamese.
But the path isn’t guaranteed. There’s another, less-appealing but commonly driven road, where marketing outpaces product and hype is mistaken for trust. The world has yet to make up its mind about “Made in Vietnam”, so business and industry have an opportunity – a responsibility, even – to shape the country’s reputation abroad in a positive way.
That shift is already underway. At Rice, the studio we founded in Saigon in 2011, we talk about “Brand Vietnam” almost daily. Marou Chocolate was our first client, and for years, it felt like a lonely ambassador for Brand Vietnam on the world’s supermarket shelves. But a decade later, far more brands are on the way. Our work today comes from Vietnamese founders across industries new and old, from blockchain and sports to steel and mining. Factory owners realise that building their own brands offers better margins, but beyond that, prestige. And fortunately for Vietnam, the lessons from Japan, South Korea and China are clear: combine rich resources and distinctive culture with disciplined brand building. In an era when consumers care about provenance and understand the fragility of supply chains, achieving that will make us hard to beat.
When the AGI wraps up in November and our peers head back to New York, London, Zürich and Tokyo, they will be taking home more than just conference notes and tins of Vietnamese cacao. They’ll take a first-hand impression of a country redefining itself and a new generation of creative and commercial talent that’s ready to lead rather than imitate. If we get it right, the world won’t just look out for Brand Vietnam – they’ll look up to it.
Finally! A Saturday to sleep in, poke around the apartment, go for a long wander, get a proper shave, swim in the lake and generally take stock after a crazy few weeks of entertaining, hosting and family logistics. I’ve just popped into our café in Zürich and while there are enough bare ankles and guests in shorts, it definitely has the feel of summer’s end and back to business. The regulars have returned from Leros, Comporta and Menorca, attention is turning to the autumn collections on our shop rails and there’s a snappier rhythm about the city. I haven’t quite had the full back-to-school experience, partly because I have one more sunny long weekend ahead (the rocks and sea along the coast from Nice still await), and partly because there’s not been an autumn wardrobe reset (that will be in Tokyo in a few weeks) – but things have definitely shifted gears as we enter the rush to Christmas crazy times.
First, there’s a new executive assistant helping to run the show. After a three-year stint, Izumi has moved to a Japanese bank here in Zürich and André is now officially installed to keep things in check, spot opportunities and build up relations in the Lusophone world. Luanda, here we come! A big arigatō gozaimasu Izumi and boas-vindas André. Buckle-up.
Second, we’re entering a season (perhaps an era) in which Monocle’s shops and cafés are becoming a near seamless extension to what happens on our pages. Only three years ago, our outlets from Toronto to Tokyo were places to pick up the latest issue, back numbers or one of our books. But now we’re seeing brand partners wanting to move from page and screen to be active in our spaces. We recently did brand residencies with the likes of Massimo Dutti and Gucci, and this week German department store group Breuninger makes a splash with us in Zürich, while in Paris womenswear brand Soeur launches a special K-Way project at our outlet on rue Bachaumont. Over the coming weeks we will also have collaborations with Stone Island, Rosewood and a few other surprises. What does this say about the state of the media landscape? As newsstands and kiosks continue to close, it means that we need to take greater control of our distribution – and that means running our own outlets.
A magazine or even newspaper can no longer rely on the trusty neighbourhood newsagent to be a place to browse, sample and purchase. Thankfully partner brands see value in meeting our readers in person and enjoy taking up residencies with us. If you have ideas for retail and café spaces in Madrid and Milan, please send pics and coordinates my way. And if you’re a fitting brand that might want to shack up, we’re happy to fluff the duvet with you.
Helsinki Design Week is in full swing and, as ever, the city is buzzing with creativity and community. This year, two highlights in particular are especially worth paying attention to: an open-air exhibition that celebrates the nation’s brief but brilliant summer, and a pop-up restaurant where Nordic craft meets seasonal cuisine.
‘10 Days of Summer’
The 10 Days of Summer exhibition at Helsinki Design Week is a playful nod to Finland’s fleeting but intense warm season. Running from 10 to 12 September on the leafy grounds of the city’s Kaisaniemi Botanic Garden, the group show highlights the ingenuity of a new wave of Finnish designers while testing their creations in the open air. The line-up spans both emerging names and more established figures, including Aino Michelsen, Samuli Helavuo, Studio Tolvanen and Antrei Hartikainen. Their contributions range from modular seating and tables to lamps, textiles and even a furniture-scale greenhouse.
On show is a grill by Salla Luhtasela of Studio Kaksikko that doubles as a sculptural centrepiece, while birdhouses and other pieces hint at a playful approach to garden life. Wood, glass, ceramics and metal are the materials of choice, all selected with durability in mind. “Outdoor furniture shouldn’t be trapped indoors on a podium,” says designer and organiser Ville Auvinen. “Here, people can test it in a real environment.” For visitors, the exhibition is more than just a chance to admire clever seating systems or finely crafted grills. It’s also an opportunity to acquaint themselves with Finland’s new flock of designers, who are emerging confidently from the long shadows of figures such as Alvar and Aino Aalto, Paavo Tynell and Eero Aarnio – proving that the nation’s design legacy is alive, evolving and rooted firmly in the present.
Visit ‘10 Days of Summer’ during Helsinki Design Week at Kaisaniemenranta 2.
Kuurna pop-up restaurant
Located in the heart of Helsinki, Suomital is a commercial building that dates to 1911. Over the coming days it’s playing a central role in the city’s design week as its main venue, with the fifth floor serving seasonal, Finnish dishes in a pop-up restaurant. Helmed by the team behind Kuurna, it’s a delicious exercise in drinking and dining. Design, of course, is served up too, with guests able to test out chairs, tables, cutlery and crockery by Finnish Design Shop and Danish manufacturer Hay.
“Both companies share a passion for spreading the message of Nordic design – and where better to do so than around a shared meal in beautiful architectural surroundings,” explains Noora Tirkkonen, managing director of Finnish Design Shop. “Hay’s playful style fits perfectly with the pop-up’s festive yet relaxed nature. We are also excited to provide some visual delight by setting the table with the new La Pittura collection by artist Emma Kohlmann.” Bookings are now open for lunch and dinner reservations until 13 September. For those who don’t find a seat, the bar area is available to walk-ins ready to toast to good design.
Book for dinner at the Kuurna pop-up restaurant here.
1.
Breakfast at restaurant le Square Trousseau
This classic restaurant at the corner of the square near Marché d’Aligre in the 12th arrondissement is run by a genial pair called Mickael and Laurence. Order a ficelle with salted butter and strawberry jam with your coffee.You’ll see the same people returning here every day, reading their newspapers and nattering with their neighbours.
2.
Swim at Piscine Pontoise
This elegant art deco swimming pool in the Quartier Latin always makes a splash. The team has retained the original two storeys of individual changing cabins overlooking the pool. These are accessible only with a key provided by an attendant; don’t expect swipe cards or digital passcodes.
3.
Stock up at the Rue du Nil
For your groceries, head to the four Terroirs d’Avenir shops on this 2nd arrondissement street, offering high-quality, mostly organic fare.
4.
Have something made to measure
Sharp tailoring is always a good idea if you want to fit in with Paris’s well-dressed denizens. High-end tailor Charvet in the Place Vendôme remains the essential choice for classic gents in search of made-to-measure shirts. Meanwhile, Husbands is the place to go for an impeccable suit.
5.
A glass of wine at Le Select
A favourite haunt of authors, poets and politicians, Le Select brasserie on Boulevard du Montparnasse is a Paris institution.
6.
Stay at Les Suites Cinabre
Above the Cinabre boutique at 14 Cité Bergère are two stylish apartments decked out by Necchi Architecture. At this new hospitality offering from Alexandre Chapellier, Cinabre’s founder, you’ll sleep soundly on a Hästens bed, savour Plaq chocolates and refresh yourself with Susanne Kaufmann products. You’ll also find a selection of vinyl records and even custom playlists.
7.
Find serenity at a historic chapel on the Rue du Bac
A popular pilgrimage site for those seeking solace, the Chapelle Notre- Dame de la Médaille Miraculeuse on the Rue du Bac is renowned for the apparitions of the Virgin Mary to Catherine Labouré in 1830. This beautiful church is also a perfect spot for anyone wanting to rest their feet after checking out Le Bon Marché’s fada exhibition nearby.
8.
Book a cinq à sept at the Hôtel Paradiso
Reserve a cosy suite at his hotel- cum-cinema a stone’s throw from the Place de la Nation, where you” “can watch films that are currently being screened in theatres, rather than just the usual Netflix fare. This Parisian original offers an excellent way to unwind if the weather doesn’t hold. Even the room directory is written as a screenplay.”
9.
Fill your tote at Miyam
This shop on the Rue Beaubourg revolutionises the supermarket with short supply chains and plentiful veggie options, and by limiting waste.
10.
Find lost treasure at the Marché Puce de Vanves
Every weekend some 400 vendors flog their wares at the Vanves flea market near Parc Montsouris on avenues Marc Sangnier and Georges Lafenestre. Unlike at the Saint-Ouen market, the stalls here are outdoors. This authentic market attracts those with an eye for vintage furniture, coins, porcelain, silverware and jewellery.
11.
Head to the Musée Bourdelle
After a two-year renovation, the Musée Bourdelle reopened in 2023. In addition to Antoine Bourdelle’s monumental sculptures such as “Hercules the Archer” and “The Dying Centaur”, you can now see studios filled with tools, unfinished works and his personal effects. End your visit at Le Rhodia café, designed by Studio Freudenthal.
Read next: Monocle’s complete City Guide to Paris
Illustrations: Mathieu De Muizon
In last December’s issue of Monocle we ran a story about a Catalan tradition: the building of castells, or human towers. We sent our writer Julia Webster Ayuso to the city of Tarragona to attend a vast gathering of castellers, who were participating in a biannual competition in which groups of up to 300 people erect these crazy, gravity-defying towers. She was joined on her mission by photographer Julia Sellmann and together they delivered a story that really hit the mark. Because this was not just about acrobatics or Catalonian pride; these towers were a vibrant, universal, living example of what happens when we support each other, have each other’s backs.
It was a story that sat with me and continued to make me think about what happens when the strongest take the most weight, when we elevate the young. So when it was confirmed that the Monocle Quality of Life Conference would be in Barcelona, I had a rare clever idea – let’s ask a group of castellers to come to the conference and show off their skills. Hannah, who runs all of our events, somehow went with the commission and contacted Julia, who in turn set off to find our conference’s climactic moment.
That’s why, last week, as the conference day was concluding at the Palau de la Música Catalana in Barcelona, we ran a short film that we had made about this tradition. Even watching this began to catch my emotions. And then, as a surprise – it wasn’t listed in the programme, not even all our staff knew what was about to happen – the back doors of the auditorium opened and in marched 70 castellers, members of the Castellers de la Vila de Gràcia, beautifully attired in white trousers and blue shirts, with red sashes around their waists. The crowd stood and turned.
Now it just so happens that 70 castellers are a lot of people but, in the small space that we had kept clear at the front of the stage, they assembled and began to build the first tower, initially in silence, then to the rhythm of their musicians – the changing beat allowing those on the ground floor and in the centre, unable to see, to know what stage the tower had progressed. The group then made a second tower, atop of which clambered a young girl who unfurled a flag emblazoned with our Quality of Life symbol and the words, “Thank you! Gràcies!”. By the end of the day, when the presenters were assembling to take a Monocle equivalent of the final curtain, I looked over at Rob and Sophie to see tears on cheeks. I peered out across the roaring audience and saw person after person wiping away their tears too. Me? Almost sobbing.
One of the castellers, Rafa, came up on stage to talk to Rob and I about this emblematic and emotional Catalan pastime. He explained how his three children had signed up; how they practised with the community twice a week; how people who were not originally from the region had been welcomed in; and why this giver of identity was flourishing.
But why had the building of a human tower had such a powerful effect on a room filled with Monocle readers and listeners, people who between them know so much, have seen so much? My colleague Josh suggested that these men, women and children had somehow demonstrated all of the things we had been debating on stage all day without saying a word – how to make better cities, give people dignity through design, finding new sources of inspiration. And he was right.
Later, at the amazing gala dinner at La Paloma – an old dance hall – I spoke to our delegates about the day, about what they had come to Barcelona for, about their connection to Monocle. And, for a moment, I allowed myself to feel a little proud of what we have created at the heart of our brand. Why? Because in the stories that they told me about the connections they had made through the magazine, through meeting other delegates at events like this one over the years, and in looking around this humming, buzzing, joyful room, I could see that we have made something of our own castell. Our readers care, offer each other and their own communities support, strive to elevate their families, employees and neighbours. They are people who know what’s possible if you work in harmony with like-minded people. How the seemingly impossible can become reality.
Click here to explore the full collection of Andrew’s past columns.
Danish pharmaceutical giant Novo Nordisk announced 9,000 redundancies on Wednesday in response to lowered growth forecasts and a rapidly changing market. The company’s decline has been as swift as it has been surprising – to the Danes, at least.
By late 2023, sales of Novo’s diabetes drug, Ozempic, and its obesity treatment derivative, Wegovy, helped it become Europe’s largest company by market capitalisation. The first shock to what had been a sky-rocketing share price appeared in December 2024 with disappointing trial results of its next-gen obesity drug, Cagrisema. Meanwhile, the company was failing to meet demand, allowing rivals such as US-based Eli Lilly to increase their market shares. Growing online sales of counterfeit drugs compounded the challenges.
In late 2024, I visited Novo to interview Dr Lotte Knudsen, who leads the team whose research resulted in Ozempic. She was deeply impressive but I did sense an odd complacency about Novo’s production bottlenecks, their rivals and those aforementioned counterfeiters. The prevailing attitude seemed to be that “there are plenty of fat people in the world to go round.”
A few months later, at a get-together at an ambassador’s residence here in Copenhagen, I shared my concerns for Novo with a former executive of the company. She grabbed my arm as if she were an escapee from a cult: “Yes, exactly,” she said. “But it’s worse than that.” She described an organisation that was reticent to the point of self-harm when it came to seeking leadership from outside of a small cabal of top-level executives, all of whom were Danish.
On one hand, it seems fair that Danish companies are led by Danes. After all, the Danes’ confident leadership style is sought after in neighbouring Sweden, which is often hamstrung by consensus-driven decision making. But Danish CEOs are a strikingly homogenous bunch: predominantly males in their 50s, they inhabit the same wealthy enclave on the coast north of Copenhagen and even have a de facto uniform: a navy, two-button suit, with no tie. (It’s perhaps a trivial point but their cultural hinterland seems mostly limited to cycling and running.) Mads Nipper, the former CEO of crisis-hit Danish energy company Ørsted, is a classic example. His replacement, Rasmus Errboe, is a mere 46 years old – but he too was promoted from within the company.
Here is the issue, though: Novo Nordisk is a profit-driven company but some of those profits (notably dividends) end up in a philanthropic foundation. Dr Knudsen proclaimed herself “a proud socialist”. Altruism and philanthropy are of course deeply admirable but one sometimes wonders if Danes are hungry or ruthless enough for the global corporate environment.
In May of this year, Novo’s board sacked its own identikit Danish CEO, Lars Fruergaard Jørgensen, without having a replacement lined up. Interviewed on Danish television on the day of his firing, he seemed in shock but assured the interviewer that he would handle his defenestration like “a professional” (odd that needed saying). Jørgensen maintained his belief that the US authorities would crack down on counterfeit products. To me this seemed somewhat delusional, given the same US authorities were hurling tariffs at the world, threatening Danish interests in Greenland and then cancelled Ørsted’s crucial Rhode Island wind-farm project, which resulted in the state-owned energy company’s share price plummeting to a record low.
Last month, Novo Nordisk finally appointed Jørgensen’s replacement – Mike Doustdar, an Austrian-Iranian company vice-president, is the first non-Dane to run Novo since it was founded in 1923. I notice that he sometimes wears a tie. Perhaps things are looking up.
Michael Booth is Monocle’s Copenhagen correspondent. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today. To read Booth’s interview with the quiet scientist behind Ozempic, click here.
Nordic design events are engaged in a battle for supremacy. Where the Stockholm Furniture Fair is struggling to attract attendees to the Swedish capital every February, the sunny offerings of Copenhagen’s 3 Days of Design and Helsinki Design Week are going from strength to strength. More than 150,000 people are expected to attend the latter, which is currently in full swing and runs until 14 September. Talks, exhibitions and product launches are taking place in venues across Helsinki, with an emphasis on materiality, functionality and design’s role in society. The event’s headline exhibition, Designing Happiness, examines how design fosters wellbeing – an apt theme for a nation that has been declared the world’s happiest for the past eight years.
The programme is broad but there’s a sense of intimacy. Leading studios have opened their doors, offering glimpses of the lives of Helsinki’s designers. Finnish textile brand Johanna Gullichsen has transformed its city-centre showroom into a sound installation, while Artek is launching a collaboration with Marimekko. The Design Diplomacy showcase, a Helsinki Design Week favourite, will again invite the public into ambassadors’ residences. Habitare, the region’s largest interiors fair, begins today and provides a rare opportunity to buy furniture directly from the trade-hall floor.
But what truly sets Helsinki Design Week apart is that it’s family run. Founded 20 years ago by Kari Korkman, who still serves as its CEO, the festival is now a multigenerational effort: his daughters, Anni and Iris, are its programme director and its community manager respectively. It’s often assumed that the city organises the event but the Korkmans are responsible for shaping its vision and ensuring continuity. The family is more willing to take risks than a public body and design brands no doubt prefer dealing with a nimble company over a bureaucratic city committee. The long-term stewardship also ensures a consistency that rotating civil servants would struggle to provide. The benefits of such a model are clear and, as Designing Happiness curator Anniina Koivu says, “There’s always someone on the line and there’s a genuine sense of community.”
The Korkmans downplay their private role – their company, Luovi Productions, is rarely mentioned. But the remarkable reality is that one of Finland’s most visible showcases runs largely without state backing. The sums allocated by the City of Helsinki and the Finnish government are on a par with amounts given to a small regional sports meet – hardly befitting an international cultural flagship seeking to rival the likes of Copenhagen and stay ahead of Stockholm. The city, however, has steadily cut its contribution. If Helsinki wants to be taken seriously as a design capital, it cannot outsource its cultural reputation to a single family. A stronger commitment is needed – not just words but meaningful investment.
Petri Burtsoff is Monocle’s Helsinki correspondent.
Taiwan is racing to fortify itself against the possibility of conflict with China. Fighter jets roar across the divide, new weapons deals are signed and the defence budget keeps on climbing – but Taiwan just doesn’t have the manpower.
This week, satellite imagery showed large-scale developments of airports and ports for amphibious vehicles on Chinese islands in the East China Sea. It’s believed that these could be used to launch an invasion of Taiwan, which US officials warn Beijing would be ready for as soon as 2027. But on the ground in Taipei, armed forces remain significantly under-manned: active units are only about 80 per cent staffed. Meanwhile, the island’s draft-age population has fallen from about 138,000 in 2017 to 118,000 in 2022 – a decline that could pose even greater challenges by the end of the decade.
To plug the gap, Taipei has restored year-long conscription, raised the monthly allowance for volunteers and leaned heavily on advertising to court a sceptical generation. City buses and metro stations now carry glossy posters styled after video games and action films – the Ministry of National Defense’s (MND) attempt to make service look less dutiful and more aspirational.
Major General Fu Cheng-jung, who oversees recruitment and training at the MND, says that’s by design. “We want to follow the pulse of society,” he explains. “If we want to attract young people, the posters need to resonate with their world.” Beyond the visuals, Fu stresses that military service offers training, dignity and post-service support. “We want service to be meaningful. Soldiers gain skills, education and when they leave the state helps with employment and transition,” he says.
But experts say that such measures barely scratch the surface. “Many Taiwanese people associate the military with antiquated, rigid bureaucracy,” says William Yang, a senior Northeast Asia analyst at the International Crisis Group, who sees the shortfall as less of a marketing issue and more about mindset. “There’s a saying that men only become professional soldiers when they don’t have anything else to do,” he adds. That perception lingers, even as the military loosens rules on height restrictions or tattoos and organises events to showcase day-to-day life in uniform.
Low pay has long compounded the problem. Grassroots soldiers earn far less than their peers in the private sector and only this June did lawmakers agree to boost monthly allowances to NT$30,000 (€840), a figure that still leaves the military struggling to compete for skilled recruits.
The larger challenge, though, is cultural.“It has to do with the risk-averse nature of Taiwan in general,” says Yang. This mindset extends beyond recruitment and reflects Taiwan’s broader cross-strait strategy, where de-escalation is consistently preferred over confrontation. In other words, the same instinct that makes Taiwan cautious in diplomacy also discourages young people from enlisting.
Maj Gen Fu points to modest gains: several hundred more soldiers recruited this year than last and a 2.8 per cent rise in re-enlistment. But bigger obstacles remain – shrinking birth rates, morale issues and training bottlenecks. The posters mirror his optimism: “Defend, stand firm” and “Guard with courage”. While the frogmen and Black Hawk helicopters depicted in the posters might catch eyes at a bus stop, they alone won’t fill a barracks. Deterrence will depend on more than slogans; it will require pay that competes, training that produces capable forces and a broader recruiting base that includes women and specialists. Against a formidable neighbour and with a long-term ally in the US that can no longer be fully relied upon – Taiwan must override its reflex to de-escalate.
Clarissa Wei is a US journalist based in Taiwan. For more opinion, analysis and insight, subscribe to Monocle today.
Read next: Could these recruitment campaigns succeed in enlisting the generation that won’t fight?
