Involution Labs

Category: Thinking Out Loud

  • Reclaiming the Republic

    A Proclamation for 2025 and Beyond

    Author’s note:
    I chose Ireland. I’m a naturalised Irish.
    I grew up in Sweden when it was an example.
    Now, it’s a warning. Ireland doesn’t have to follow.
    This proclamation isn’t a rejection of others—it’s a reminder that Ireland must first remember herself.

    To the People of Ireland and to All Who Call This Nation Home:

    In the name of the Irish people, we declare anew our right to sovereignty, dignity, and self-determination. Standing on the shoulders of those who rose in 1916, we affirm that the spirit of freedom is not a relic of history but a living force—one that must be defended in every age.

    We recognise that today, our nation faces new and grave challenges:

    • A housing crisis that leaves generations unable to build homes and families
    • Economic policies that put the interests of outsiders ahead of our own citizens
    • Cultural and demographic shifts that threaten to erase the identity and traditions of our land
    • Political leadership that too often serves foreign powers and abstract ideals rather than the people of Ireland

    We hold that Ireland belongs to its people first and foremost—those who have built, loved, and defended her, whether by birth or by committed naturalisation. Irishness is not merely a word but a sacred trust: of language, heritage, community, and shared destiny.

    The Irish Republic must re-examine its foreign policy, which too often reflects inherited resentment and abstract grievance rather than reasoned moral clarity. Ireland’s historical pain has led some to project our past onto present conflicts, aligning with causes not because they are just, but because they feel familiar. To support a people’s dignity does not require endorsing those who preach hatred, glorify terror, or reject coexistence. Ireland must no longer be a hostage to its own past in global affairs. Our empathy must not excuse brutality, nor our memory override reality.

    We reaffirm:

    • The right of the Irish people to secure housing, fair work, and a dignified life
    • The sovereign right to control our borders, laws, and resources
    • The duty of the State to protect and cherish the cultural and historical identity of Ireland, ensuring it is preserved for future generations

    We reject the politics of division and dismissal that label genuine concerns as extremism. We embrace the spirit of free speech, honest debate, and national solidarity.

    To those who would undermine our nation—whether through neglect, dishonesty, or betrayal—we say: the Irish people are awakening. We are ready to stand together, to reclaim the promise of 1916, and to forge a future where Ireland is strong, united, and sovereign once more.

    In this cause, we pledge our voices, our efforts, and our unwavering commitment.

    We declare the inalienable right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland and to the unfettered control of Irish destinies—sovereign, independent, and free. No external power, no foreign institution, and no policy of demographic or cultural engineering can extinguish this right, nor shall it ever be extinguished except by the disappearance of the Irish people themselves.

    The long and ongoing dilution of this right—whether by political subservience, economic manipulation, or the erosion of national identity—has not broken the will of the Irish nation. In every generation, the Irish people have risen to assert their claim to freedom and sovereignty; today we reaffirm that sacred claim in the face of forces that seek to weaken or dissolve it.

    Standing on this fundamental right, we proclaim again the Irish Republic as a Sovereign Independent State. We pledge our voices, our labour, and our very futures to the cause of its freedom, welfare, and exaltation among the nations of the world.

    The Irish Republic, born of the spirit of liberty, reaffirms that women and men are equal in all matters—public and private, legal and social. In Ireland, women are free to dress as they choose, walk where they wish, and live without fear or constraint.

    We declare that harassment, intimidation, or control of women—whether in the streets, workplaces, or homes—will never be tolerated or excused. No woman in Ireland shall be forced to cover herself, conceal her identity, or submit to practices that diminish her dignity and autonomy.

    While we respect freedom of conscience and belief, no cultural or religious practice may override the fundamental rights of women in Ireland. To cover, conceal, or control a woman’s freedom is unnatural in Irish society, and we resolve that any man, group, or ideology that devalues or suppresses women must be confronted through civic truth and legal firmness. Let there be no misunderstanding: by re-education, we mean not coercion or indoctrination, but a national standard of civic and moral responsibility. In Ireland, respect for women is not a cultural suggestion—it is a civil requirement. Any community or institution that teaches otherwise shall be held to account in schools, in law, and in public life.

    We recognise that many who have come to Ireland—particularly from countries shaped by political Islam or authoritarian regimes—are themselves the first victims of those ideologies. We call them what they are: spiritual hostages, born into systems that suppress individual freedom, critical thought, and gender equality. Ireland must never tolerate those imported ideologies on our soil, but neither shall we assume all who arrive carry them by choice. We will protect our values, and we will protect those who seek freedom by joining them.

    We call upon all in Ireland—native and newcomer alike—to stand together in protecting and advancing the freedom of women, so that Ireland remains a land where no woman is hidden, silenced, or diminished.

    The Irish Republic, rooted in the ideals of liberty and dignity, reaffirms that women and girls are equal to men and boys in every way—legally, socially, and morally. In Ireland, every female—whether woman or girl—is free to dress, speak, and live as she chooses, without fear, control, or intimidation.

    We declare that no girl or woman shall be forced to cover herself, conceal her body, or hide her identity under any cultural, religious, or social pressure. It is unnatural to hide the female form and to teach girls from a young age that they are somehow less than boys or that their freedom must be limited to control the behaviour of men.

    We condemn any system or ideology that:

    • Teaches that boys and men are not responsible for their own urges
    • Places the burden of modesty, shame, or honour on girls and women
    • Or allows silence in schools and institutions that fail to defend the rights and dignity of girls

    All institutions in Ireland—schools, public services, and community organisations—are hereby charged with upholding these principles, ensuring that no practice or teaching contradicts the fundamental equality of women and girls.

    While we respect freedom of belief, Ireland’s commitment to gender equality is absolute. All who live here are called to uphold these principles, ensuring that Ireland remains a place where women and girls can live fully, freely, and equally—unhidden, unashamed, and uncompromised.

    The Irish Republic affirms that freedom of expression is the lifeblood of a free nation. Every person in Ireland has the absolute right to speak, write, and share ideas without censorship or intimidation.

    We declare that only through open, fearless dialogue can we fully understand and address the realities facing our nation. It is truth, not silence, that keeps a society strong. Suppression of speech breeds resentment, misunderstanding, and danger; openness allows a people to face challenges head-on and resolve them with wisdom and unity.

    However, with this absolute right comes the responsibility to speak with integrity, respect for facts, and a commitment to the common good. Freedom of expression shall not be used to incite violence or hatred, but neither shall it be restricted merely to shield institutions or ideologies from fair and necessary criticism.

    All institutions and public bodies are charged with protecting this freedom and ensuring that no voice is silenced when it seeks to uncover truth or challenge injustice.

    In this, we commit to building an Ireland where speech is free, truth is prized, and the light of open discussion prevents darkness from taking root.

    The Irish Republic affirms that freedom of expression is absolute and inviolable. Every person in Ireland has the unalienable right to express opinions, beliefs, and criticisms—no matter how controversial or offensive they may seem to others.

    We declare that it is the right of every citizen to criticise, oppose, or even hate:

    • Religions
    • Political ideologies
    • Rules, laws, and regulations
    • Cultural practices and beliefs

    Such criticism, even when harsh or provocative, is a vital safeguard of liberty and democracy. No religion, ideology, or institution is above question or disdain.

    However, this freedom does not extend to incitement of violence or direct threats against individuals or groups. To say “kill all [insert group]” or to promote physical harm violates both moral duty and legal protection.

    We reject and will resist any attempt—whether from within or from external forces such as the EU—to blur the line between criticism of ideas and attacks on people. In Ireland, speech is free, and truth is paramount, but violence and calls to violence have no place.

    All institutions are charged with defending this freedom, ensuring that fear of censorship or punishment never silences the necessary, uncomfortable, or dissenting voice.

    We commit the cause of the Irish Republic to the strength, wisdom, and resolve of its people, guided by the enduring ideals of freedom, justice, and sovereignty, and under the watch of conscience and, for many, faith in the Most High.

    We hold that no one who serves this cause should dishonour it by cowardice, inhumanity, or opportunism. In this pivotal hour, the Irish nation must, by its valour and discipline, and by the readiness of its children to sacrifice comfort, reputation, and personal safety for the common good, prove itself worthy of the proud destiny to which it is called.

    Today’s struggle is waged not with arms but with truth, courage, and unwavering voice. Defending Ireland’s sovereignty, culture, and freedom may bring dislike, false labels, and social punishment, but we affirm that true courage lies in standing for what is right, regardless of cost.

    With unity of purpose, steadfast hearts, and the guidance of conscience and faith, we dedicate ourselves to the cause of an Ireland that is free, sovereign, and unafraid—faithful to its heritage and bold in its future.

    For Ireland—her people, her identity, her future.

  • Between Safety and Risk

    Exploring Another Way of Reading Freud

    Freud’s psychosexual stages can sound strange when reduced to notes about sucking, toilet training, masturbation and forbidden desire. Perhaps part of the difficulty lies in what he meant by sexuality. He was not always describing sexuality as adults experience it. He was trying to connect bodily pleasure with attachment, frustration, independence and identity.

    Freud may have noticed something important about the emotional intensity of childhood while interpreting that intensity through the sexual framework he had developed. What might happen if we viewed his theory through a different lens?

    What if some of what Freud understood as sexual desire could also be explored as attachment, separation and the gradual movement from safety into risk?

    The oral stage: can I trust the world?

    During infancy, much of a baby’s experience centres on the mouth. Babies suck, taste, bite and chew. Through the mouth, they receive nourishment, comfort and contact while also beginning to explore what exists beyond themselves.

    Freud wondered whether experiences during this period could influence later habits such as smoking, nail-biting, chewing pencils, kissing or overeating. These associations remain speculative and should not be treated as straightforward explanations of adult behaviour.

    Yet the oral stage may still offer an interesting question:

    Will the world respond when I need something?

    A baby depends on others for food, warmth and reassurance. The person who repeatedly responds may become the baby’s earliest experience of safety. This is often the mother, though it could be any consistent primary caregiver.

    Perhaps the importance of the mouth is not only that it provides pleasure. It is also where trust and dependence first meet the outside world.

    The anal stage: what may I control?

    During toddlerhood, children become increasingly aware of bodily functions. Toilet training introduces ideas of holding, releasing, timing, privacy and approval. Something that once happened automatically becomes an area in which the child may exercise control.

    Freud connected experiences during this stage with later tendencies towards rigidity, withholding, disorder or carelessness. His proposed connections are difficult to establish, but the symbolism may be more useful than the personality categories.

    Could this stage be partly about discovering what belongs to the self?

    The toddler is also learning to say no, mine and I’ll do it. Retaining and releasing might form one small part of a much larger movement towards autonomy.

    The questions raised during this period may continue in different forms:

    What belongs to me? What can I control? When is it safe to let go?

    Perhaps the struggle is not really about cleanliness or bodily waste. It may be one of the first negotiations between a child’s emerging will and the expectations of other people.

    The phallic stage: why the phallus?

    Between approximately three and six, children often become curious about bodies, anatomical differences, reproduction and the taboo language surrounding bodily functions. They may touch themselves, ask direct questions or display jealousy when a parent gives attention to someone else.

    Freud called this the phallic stage. The term immediately places the male body at the centre of development, which raises questions of its own. Why should agency, movement or power be represented by the phallus? Does that reflect something universal about childhood, or something about the culture and period in which Freud developed his theory?

    If we temporarily treat the phallus as a symbol rather than an anatomical organ, could it represent outward movement, agency or the courage to venture beyond the familiar?

    And if the mother—or another primary caregiver—has become associated with safety, could the child be negotiating between the desire to remain protected and the impulse to explore?

    This does not mean that mothers necessarily provide safety while fathers provide risk. A father may be the child’s safest person. A mother may encourage independence and adventure. One parent may perform several functions, and these experiences can also come through grandparents, siblings, teachers and the child’s own curiosity.

    Still, the symbolic contrast raises an interesting possibility. Could development involve learning to move away from safety without believing that love will be withdrawn?

    Another reading of the Oedipus conflict

    Freud believed that the young boy unconsciously desired his mother and experienced his father as a rival. Fear of the father supposedly led the boy to identify with him, contributing to the development of the superego and a male identity.

    A related idea, later called the Electra complex by Carl Jung, described the girl as desiring her father and competing with her mother. Freud’s understanding of girls and women was strongly shaped by the assumptions of his time, and many aspects of the theory are no longer persuasive.

    Young children may say:

    “I’m going to marry Mummy.”

    “Daddy belongs to me.”

    “Don’t kiss her. Kiss me.”

    How should we interpret such declarations? Do children mean desire in anything resembling its adult sense? Might they instead be expressing attachment, possessiveness or anxiety about losing a special position?

    A young child may not yet understand marriage as an adult partnership. Marriage might simply mean permanent love: You will always belong with me.

    What Freud described as rivalry could perhaps also be a response to discovering that the caregiver has relationships and desires beyond the child. The child is no longer the centre of that person’s entire world—if they ever were—and this may be difficult to accept.

    The third person in the relationship, traditionally represented by the father, interrupts the imagined completeness of the mother-child bond. But could this interruption also open the child’s world?

    If the caregiver exists separately from the child, then perhaps the child can gradually become separate too.

    The question may not always be:

    Which parent does the child desire?

    It could sometimes be:

    Can I become separate without losing the person who makes me feel safe?

    Latency: practising life beyond the family

    Freud proposed five psychosexual stages rather than four. Between the phallic and genital stages, he placed the latency period, roughly covering the school years until puberty.

    He believed sexual energy became less visible during this period and was redirected into learning, friendship, play and competence. Another interpretation might be that the child is practising how to belong beyond the original family.

    Friends become increasingly important. Teachers and other adults acquire influence. The child discovers skills, rules, hierarchies and social identities that do not come entirely from home.

    Perhaps the question of this stage is:

    Can I enter a larger world without losing myself?

    Even this will vary enormously between children and cultures. Some children may experience school as expansion; others may experience it as conformity or separation imposed before they are ready.

    The genital stage: intimacy after separation

    Freud’s genital stage begins around puberty, when sexual interest develops in a more recognisably adult form. He believed that successful development would lead towards mutual heterosexual relationships.

    His treatment of homosexuality as the result of unresolved development is outdated. Sexual orientation should not be understood as a failed resolution of childhood conflict.

    There may nevertheless be something worth exploring in Freud’s interest in how early relationships affect later intimacy. Could adults sometimes look to partners for the safety, approval or completion once sought from parents? Might some conflicts arise when a partner is unconsciously expected to repair an old wound or provide unconditional parental reassurance?

    Not every adult difficulty needs to be traced back to childhood, and human relationships are unlikely to fit one developmental explanation. Yet it may be useful to ask what we are hoping another person will provide.

    Can we experience intimacy without possession? Can we depend on someone without asking them to become our entire source of security? Can love include both attachment and freedom?

    Do we carry safety with us?

    Perhaps the mother and father in psychoanalytic theory can sometimes be read as functions rather than fixed people.

    The maternal function might represent being held, nourished and welcomed. The paternal or phallic function might represent separation, uncertainty and movement into a wider world. These descriptions are culturally loaded, however. They may reveal as much about traditional ideas of motherhood and fatherhood as they do about childhood itself.

    Perhaps we do not need to preserve the gendered division in order to explore the underlying movement.

    A child may need both secure attachment and opportunities to venture. Too little safety could make exploration frightening. Too little freedom could turn protection into confinement. But even this balance cannot be prescribed in the same way for every child.

    Might healthy development involve leaving and returning repeatedly? A child wanders away, looks back and discovers that the trusted person is still there. Over time, perhaps some experience of safety becomes internal. The child may venture further because connection no longer depends entirely on physical closeness.

    Adults may continue making similar movements. A new relationship, migration, parenthood, bereavement or a change of identity can return us to old questions:

    Is it safe to leave?

    Will I still belong if I change?

    Can I enter the unknown without abandoning where I came from?

    I do not know whether this interpretation explains Freud better or simply takes his theory somewhere else. Perhaps his sexual reading and this attachment-based reading illuminate different parts of the same emotional territory. Perhaps neither can fully contain the complexity of childhood.

    But changing the central question may allow another conversation to begin.

    Instead of asking only what or whom the child desires, we might ask:

    How does a child leave safety without losing love?

    And perhaps growing up is not a final departure from dependence. It may be the continuing practice of moving between safety and risk, attachment and freedom, home and the world beyond it.

  • We Questioned Catholicism. We Must Scrutinise Islam Too.

    There is one issue I keep coming back to, and that is the covering of women and girls.

    I understand that some adult Muslim women will say that wearing the hijab is their choice, and I do not believe the state should tell an adult woman what she may or may not wear. But I also think we have become too reluctant to ask what’s behind that choice.

    Because choice is not always as simple as saying, “I chose this.”

    If removing the hijab would mean conflict with your family, rejection by your community, shame, intimidation, or fear, then we should at least be honest enough to ask how free that choice really is.

    And for me, the question becomes even more difficult when we are talking about girls.

    I struggle with seeing a young girl covered for reasons of modesty while boys of the same age run around without the same restrictions. What exactly are we teaching her?

    Why is the girl being asked to cover herself?

    If the concern is the way men or boys might look at women and girls, then surely the responsibility should be placed on the person doing the looking. Men should control their eyes and their behaviour. A girl should not grow up believing that her body is something that has to be hidden in order to manage somebody else’s thoughts.

    That is an unequal burden, and we should be able to say so.

    A young girl does not make religious decisions with the independence of an adult. She learns what is expected of her from the people she depends on. If girls are taught from childhood that modesty requires them to cover themselves in ways that boys do not, I think a society committed to equality has every right to question that.

    That is not the same as attacking Muslims.

    Nor do I believe every Muslim thinks alike. Islam is a vast religion encompassing people with completely different attitudes to democracy, women’s rights, secularism and religious law. Many Muslims want exactly the same freedoms that I do.

    But political Islam is something different. When religious doctrine becomes a political project, when it is used to determine law, restrict speech, control women’s behaviour, punish people for leaving a religion, or demand authority over individual freedom, then we should be prepared to oppose it.

    These beliefs and practices are not beyond criticism simply because they are rooted in Islam.

    Ireland eventually learned to question the authority of the Catholic Church. We learned, painfully, what can happen when religious teachings about women, sexuality and family life are given too much power and too little scrutiny.

    It would be a strange lesson to take from that history if we concluded that Catholic doctrines may be challenged, but that Islam where it extends beyond private faith into law, politics, gender roles, education, and social norms must be treated with silence.

    The principle should be the same for everyone.

    An adult woman should be free to wear a hijab. But she must be equally free to take it off. And a girl should be free not to wear one in the first place.

    She should be able to change her mind and reject the teaching behind it.

    She should even be able to leave Islam entirely.

    And she should be able to do all of those things without threats, punishment, intimidation or being cast out.

    That, to me, is the real test of freedom.

    Not whether someone is permitted to obey a religious rule, but whether they are genuinely free to say no.

  • Defending Shared Culture Without Apology

    • Shared culture matters for social cohesion. Traditions like Christmas and New Year’s are part of the country’s cultural fabric and help communities feel grounded and connected.
    • Talking openly about those traditions is normal and legitimate. It is not exclusion, hostility, or oppression — it is everyday social life.
    • Participation is a choice. People who do not celebrate or do not want to engage can opt out, but that does not give them the right to police or reshape the conversation for everyone else.
    • Feeling excluded is not the same as being excluded. Discomfort is sometimes the price of living in a shared society, and adults are responsible for managing their own feelings.
    • Inclusion rhetoric often overreaches. It can turn ordinary behaviour into a moral problem and treat ordinary working people as if they need constant correction.
    • Security threats and cultural pressure are real. When public celebrations are cancelled, restricted, or constrained because of fear, people notice — and they have every right to talk about it openly.
    • Mainstream media and institutions do not always trust ordinary people to make up their own minds. They filter, delay, frame, and soften reality, then lecture the public about misinformation. People are entitled to find that patronising.
    • Working-class people are too often dismissed rather than heard. Concerns raised by working-class communities are frequently labelled uneducated, populist, prejudiced, or racist instead of being addressed on their merits. But people who live directly with the consequences of social, economic, and cultural change are entitled to raise legitimate concerns without being caricatured or morally discredited for doing so.
    • Rapid social and cultural change affects the existing population too, and integration cannot be one-way. Ireland has changed significantly in a relatively short period of time, particularly over the past decade and even more so in recent years. Some newcomers underestimate how substantial that change can feel to Irish people, who are often expected simply to accept it without question. People who move to a country have a responsibility to understand and adapt to the society they have joined. They are entitled to keep their own beliefs, customs, and traditions, but they should not expect the wider society to reorganise itself around their sensitivities. Those already living there are equally entitled to speak openly about the pace and consequences of change without automatically being treated as hostile to immigrants or immigration.
    • Standing up for shared culture is not racism or privilege. It is about fairness, honesty, personal responsibility, and keeping a society functional instead of fragile.

    A healthy society should be capable of respecting difference without becoming afraid of its own traditions. Cultural confidence and tolerance are not opposites. People can welcome others without apologising for who they are, and newcomers can be respected without being told that the society they joined must constantly reshape itself to avoid causing discomfort.

    Shared culture only survives when people are willing to defend it openly. That means speaking plainly, accepting disagreement, and refusing the idea that every uncomfortable opinion or cultural difference is a form of harm. A functioning society requires tolerance from everyone — not just from the people expected to give ground.

  • The Eleven Principles of Honest Reasoning

    1. Attack the argument, not the person.
      Character does not determine whether an argument is true.
    2. Represent opposing views fairly.
      Understand the strongest version of an argument before criticizing it.
    3. Seek evidence that could prove you wrong.
      Don’t only collect facts that confirm what you already believe.
    4. Follow the evidence, not your preferences.
      Conclusions should come from the weight of the evidence, even if they’re uncomfortable.
    5. Distinguish facts, interpretations, and opinions.
      Know the difference between what happened, what it might mean, and what someone thinks about it.
    6. Extraordinary claims require proportionate evidence.
      The stronger the claim, the stronger the supporting evidence should be.
    7. Correlation is not causation.
      Just because two things occur together doesn’t mean one caused the other.
    8. Admit uncertainty.
      “I don’t know,” “The evidence is mixed,” and “I may be wrong” are signs of intellectual honesty, not weakness.
    9. Apply the same standard to every claim.
      Don’t demand rigorous evidence from people you disagree with while accepting weak evidence from those you agree with.
    10. Be willing to change your mind.
      The purpose of reasoning is not to defend beliefs but to discover what is most likely true.
    11. Truth is determined by reality, not by popularity, authority, tradition, or emotion.
      A claim is not true because many people believe it, an expert says it, it has always been believed, or it feels right. Those may be reasons to investigate, but reality is the final judge.

  • How Change is Created

  • What Do the World Cup and Eurovision Have in Common?

    They are both global storytelling festivals.

    The competition is the stage; the real drama is the people watching it.

    The World Cup and Eurovision create temporary maps of affection and resentment. For a few weeks, people rediscover who they feel close to, who they instinctively oppose, and which old stories are still alive.

    The arguments around Eurovision can be more revealing than the winning song. They show what a country cares about, what irritates it, and how it sees its place in the wider world. The fascinating part is watching a country say, in effect: “This is how we want the world to see us this year.”

    The World Cup does something similar on a global scale.

    When people talk about Eurovision, they often talk about the songs. When people talk about the World Cup, they talk about the football. What fascinates me is what happens before either competition begins.

    Long before a ball is kicked or a song is sung, countries start telling stories about themselves.

    Every Eurovision act is, in some way, a national introduction. Some countries present themselves as modern and sophisticated. Others embrace humour, eccentricity, tradition, rebellion or nostalgia. The songs matter, but so does the message behind them.

    The same thing happens at the World Cup.

    This year, Norway told a story.

    Before the tournament had even properly begun, the Norwegian team posed dressed as Vikings. Some people immediately saw colonisers and raiders. Yet that is not how much of the world sees the Vikings. For many people, the Vikings represent curiosity, courage and the willingness to leave the familiar behind.

    The people who sailed west from Scandinavia were not living in a land of endless abundance. They survived in a harsh climate with short growing seasons. They looked beyond the horizon and wondered what else was out there.

    That image still resonates today.

    Norway took that story and turned it into a simple act: rowing.

    Suddenly people everywhere were rowing for Norway. They dropped to the floor in offices, schools, gyms and living rooms. Nursing home residents turned their exercises into rowing sessions. People who had never met a Norwegian in their lives found themselves taking part in a small national ritual.

    The rowing was not really about football.

    It was a story about a small country setting out into the unknown and inviting others to come along for the journey.

    The image was simple and irresistible: a small nation climbing into the boat together and rowing out to take on the world.

    Norway was rowing for gold.

    I don’t even watch the matches, but it was almost impossible to miss. My social media feeds filled with Erling Haaland videos. There were clips of his goals, his interviews, his larger-than-life presence and his peculiar sense of humour. I even found myself watching videos of his sister affectionately mimicking him. Her impressions were funny precisely because they were so warm. She seemed to know exactly which details made him recognisably himself.

    That’s how these tournaments escape the boundaries of sport. The players become characters, their families become part of the narrative, and the supporters create rituals that travel far beyond the stadium.

    You don’t need to watch ninety minutes of football to become aware that something is happening.

    The same thing happened at Eurovision.

    Bulgaria did not simply send a song. It sent an idea.

    Before Eurovision, Bangaranga was a catchy pop song. On stage it became something else. The choreography, movement and visual storytelling brought the song fully to life. I found myself completely hypnotised by it.

    The word itself is unusual, but DARA used it to express something universal: finding your inner strength, letting go of fear and having the courage to be yourself. The performance transformed that message into something you could feel rather than merely hear.

    Bulgaria went on to win Eurovision for the first time, but by then the story had already connected with people.

    That is what these competitions are really about.

    Countries do not simply send football teams and songs. They send stories about themselves.

    This year, Norway’s story was rowing towards the horizon. Bulgaria’s story was finding the courage to become yourself.

    One invited people to pick up an oar. The other invited people to let go of fear.

    The competition gave them a stage. The stories are what people will remember.

    Years from now, most people will not remember every result. What they will remember are the stories.

    This year, Norway’s story got people rowing.

    A small country told a story about itself, and the world decided it liked the story.

  • Eurovision is Not a Battlefield

    Eurovision is not a battlefield. There are no soldiers on that stage, only artists. It was created as a space where countries could meet through music rather than conflict, where political tensions were held back rather than performed.

    “Music unites us” is a comforting slogan, but unity becomes more complicated when participation itself is questioned. If shared spaces only remain open to those we approve of, what kind of unity is being protected?

    Debates over boycotts reveal something larger than disagreement about particular countries. They raise questions about culture, morality, and belonging. When does participation become endorsement? When does exclusion become principle? And who decides?

    People who choose not to boycott may be seen as indifferent, complicit, or disloyal. Others may see participation as a way of keeping dialogue possible. The disagreement is not only about politics. It is also about what cultural spaces are for.

    Eurovision has long carried contradictions. Countries compete while claiming unity. Histories of conflict sit beside performances of celebration. Identity is expressed, judged, rewarded, and sometimes rejected.

    Perhaps the question is not whether Eurovision is political. It almost always has been.

    Perhaps the harder question is whether culture should remain one of the few places where countries continue to meet despite disagreement.

    Because once shared spaces disappear, it becomes less obvious where people meet those they disagree with, misunderstand, or would not choose to spend time with at all.

  • What Story Does Eurovision Tell About Europe?

    Eurovision is often described as a song contest, but people rarely speak about it as if that is all it is. Many claim not to care. They laugh at it, criticise it, dismiss it as political, strange, over-produced, or irrelevant, and then they watch anyway. Sometimes openly. Sometimes from another room while insisting they are only watching because someone else put it on. Often while already knowing who should win and who should not.

    This says something.

    Perhaps Eurovision continues because it is not really about music, or not only about music. Every year, countries step onto a stage and perform a version of themselves. Not always who they are, but sometimes who they hope to be. Sometimes who they think Europe expects them to be. Sometimes who they once were, or who they refuse to stop being.

    For a few minutes, a song becomes something larger. It becomes identity.

    Some countries arrive with confidence. Others seem to ask for recognition. Some bring humour, folklore, absurdity, pain, rebellion, nostalgia, or longing. The performance ends, but the story does not. Votes are given, votes are withheld, patterns are noticed, and people argue. Beneath all of this sits a larger question:

    What is Europe?

    The word is used easily. European values. European identity. European culture. Yet no clear definition exists. Europe contains histories that do not fully agree with each other: empires and occupations, wars and reconciliations, languages and loyalties, countries that remember the same events differently.

    There is no single Europe. Eurovision complicates the idea further. Countries outside geographical Europe participate, while others sit at its edges—connected through history, politics, migration, or culture. Europe begins to look less like a place with clear borders and more like an ongoing negotiation about belonging. Who is included, who feels included, and who remains outside changes over time.

    There are many Europes. Nordic Europe. Balkan Europe. Post-Soviet Europe. Rural Europe. Urban Europe. The Europe of migration, memory, and inherited stories. The Europe imagined from outside, and the Europe people carry with them long after leaving.

    And still, once a year, countries gather and vote.

    Not because agreement exists, but perhaps because disagreement does.

    Eurovision survives, perhaps, because it allows contradiction. Countries insist: this is who we are. The contest quietly replies: you are also part of something larger. Neither statement disappears.

    This year’s winner sang:

    Welcome to the riot.

    And then came a made-up word:

    Bangaranga.

    Meaningless, perhaps. Or perhaps not.

    People create new words when existing ones no longer feel large enough. Maybe Bangaranga means: become yourself. Remember yourself. Resist disappearing into everyone else. But do not become so individual that connection is lost.

    Maybe this is true for countries too.

    No one country is Europe. All contribute to it. None define it.

    Perhaps Europe is not an identity at all. Perhaps it is an unfinished conversation—a place where histories meet without fully merging, where blame survives, memory survives, difference survives.

    And despite everything, people continue showing up.

    Singing.

    Voting.

    Wanting to be understood.

    Because beneath performance, competition, and politics, there may be something simpler: the desire for recognition.

    To say:

    See us.
    Remember us.
    Understand us.

    And perhaps Europe itself is asking for the same thing.

  • The Courage to Think

    Thinking is often treated as something automatic. We assume we’re already doing it because we have opinions, reactions, beliefs, and conclusions, but real thinking requires something more demanding. It requires openness.

    To think isn’t just to process information; it’s to allow ourselves to be changed by what we encounter. That isn’t easy. It means letting go of certainty, questioning what feels familiar, and staying with ideas that don’t immediately make sense. That takes courage.

    Inspiration is often treated as something external, something that arrives when the conditions are right. But it’s closely tied to thinking itself. It emerges when we stay open, when we’re willing to engage without needing immediate answers or clear outcomes.

    When I was growing up, characters like Pippi Longstocking, created by Astrid Lindgren, suggested that it was possible to move through the world differently, without needing to fit neatly into expectations or social norms. That kind of influence doesn’t just inspire behaviour; it changes how you think about what’s possible. In a different way, Tove Jansson, the creator of the Moomin books, encouraged a deeper kind of reflection, a willingness to examine and question rather than accept things as they are.

    Thinking doesn’t happen in isolation. It’s shaped by what we read, what we experience, who we encounter, and also by the language we move through every day. Language does more than communicate ideas; it shapes how we understand them. The words available to us influence what we can describe, question, and even notice.

    When language becomes simplified, shortened, or reduced to immediate reactions, thinking can become narrower too. Quick responses replace reflection. Nuance disappears behind slogans, captions, and certainty. Even digital forms of communication—text language, constant scrolling, emojis, and rapid exchanges—change the rhythm of thought itself. They’re expressive, efficient, and useful in many ways, but they also encourage speed over depth. And deep thinking rarely happens quickly.

    There’s a tendency to avoid discomfort by simplifying things, by turning challenges into easy explanations. Phrases like “everything happens for a reason” don’t open thinking. They close it. They offer resolution without understanding.

    Challenges aren’t interruptions to thinking; they’re what make it possible. To think well, we have to be willing to learn, unlearn, and relearn. That means meeting new situations without assuming we already understand them and allowing doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction to exist without rushing to resolve them.

    In that sense, thinking isn’t just an intellectual activity. It’s a way of being. And it begins with something simple but difficult: being open enough to change.

    Excerpt from Thinking Out Loud: Notes on Being Human