The last few years in European history can be described as “one battle after another”. From the start of the Russia-Ukraine war to the return of U.S. President Donald Trump for a second term and all of the headache that followed, Europe has found itself dealing with one challenge after another. Now, after years of geopolitical tensions and uncertainty, Europe may be heading towards another battle, one that could hit much closer to home: food. The continent is facing the prospect of a food shortage, and the problem has already begun to take shape.   The reasons behind it span from extreme heatwaves that are having a negative impact on crops and agriculture at large, to war-related disruptions that are affecting key trade routes and food supplies. While all of the above is already bad news for Europe, the worse possibility is that the problem might not stop at European doors and could extend into a global food crisis. Accordingly, what comes next for Europe, and can Europeans secure enough food for their people?

The largest technology firms are moving their data centres into low Earth orbit, having pushed terrestrial infrastructure to the physical and environmental limits of what it can supply in power, cooling and land to an artificial intelligence sector whose demands keep compounding. SpaceX has set the fourth quarter of 2027 for the launch of its first generation of computing satellites, targeting one gigawatt of orbital data centre power capacity in that same year and one hundred gigawatts by 2030. The scale of the pressure behind that schedule is visible in the wider market, where global data centre demand is estimated to require investment approaching €5.7 trillion before the decade closes.   What presents itself as an engineering migration is in substance a redistribution of sovereign authority. Moving processing beyond national territory removes technology firms from the reach of the data localisation rules, compliance regimes and tax frameworks that states have spent a decade constructing. For Arab states the challenge is immediate. Having invested heavily in domestic digital infrastructure and imposed strict data residency requirements, they now face the prospect that the server handling their citizens’ data sits five hundred kilometres overhead, beyond the enforcement reach of their courts.   This analysis therefore examines the economics of moving computation into orbit and the limits of its viability; traces the legal gap that allows technology firms to shelter behind the jurisdiction of the state of registry in order to avoid the laws of every other state; assesses the risks of monopolistic concentration and the environmental costs borne collectively; and identifies the regulatory instruments available to Arab states in defence of their digital sovereignty, chief among them the management of radio-frequency spectrum, satellite landing rights and the supervision of ground gateways.

The United Nations General Assembly’s resolution on ‘Correct the Map’ extends beyond the technical debate over map projections. It reveals a new arena of symbolic contestation in which countries of the Global South are seeking to renegotiate how the world is represented. The resolution encourages the use of equal-area projections, particularly Equal Earth. It neither prescribes a single map nor alters national borders but confers explicit UN legitimacy on a longstanding African demand: that the continent should not be depicted in education, the media or international institutions in ways that diminish its spatial weight relative to northern regions. Viewed in this light, the vote represents more than a geographical correction. It marks a political breakthrough in ‘visual governance’, where knowledge intersects with power and the image of the world presented to the public becomes a matter for negotiation within the multilateral system.   This initiative comes at a time when countries of the Global South are increasingly able to place questions of identity and representation on the international agenda. The resolution’s adoption demonstrates that soft power operates not only through culture and discourse but also through the standards that shape public knowledge. Changing a map projection will not, in itself, redirect investment or reconfigure supply chains. It does, however, provide a narrative instrument through which countries in Africa, Latin America and South Asia can highlight the scale of their markets, the reach of their corridors and their position within global resource and trade networks. ‘Visual emancipation’ thus offers a means of presenting the South’s geoeconomic weight anew: a framework that helps make its material sources of power more visible and encourages them to be taken more seriously.   Throughout history, maps have been among the most influential instruments of epistemic authority. They serve practical purposes in navigation and administration, while also determining what occupies the centre, what appears at the margins, how borders are drawn and how places are named. Cartography has therefore been inseparable from the state and empire. Maps have been used in surveying, taxation, military campaigns and the delineation of spheres of influence, helping to turn geographical space into a domain that can be administered and controlled. Every map carry, alongside its data, assumptions about purpose, scale, projection and the viewer’s standpoint. Reading a map consequently requires more than asking whether it is accurate. It demands a more political set of questions: accurate for what purpose, who chose this way of depicting the world, and what perceptions does that choice entrench when it becomes a widely accepted standard?   Since the sixteenth century, the Mercator projection has occupied an exceptional position in world cartography. Designed primarily for navigation, it preserves angles and represents constant bearings as straight lines but increasingly exaggerates area towards the poles. The problem lies in its adoption as a general image of the world in classrooms, the media and digital platforms, including settings where comparing areas is the principal objective, rather than in its use for the task for which it was designed. The consequences are particularly clear in the comparison between Africa and Greenland. On many Mercator maps, they appear similar in size, whereas Africa covers approximately 30.37 million square kilometres, nearly fourteen times Greenland’s roughly 2.17 million square kilometres. Repeated across generations, this image does not create political marginalisation on its own but supplies it with a visual language consistent with the North’s centrality in the global imagination.   The Correct the Map resolution, led by Togo on behalf of the African Group and supported by the African Union, brings this objection into an international institutional framework. The General Assembly adopted the text contained in document A/80/L.104 with 164 countries voting in favour, the United States alone voting against, and six abstentions. The political significance of this outcome lies in the breadth of support beyond Africa and the countries traditionally associated with the Global South, encompassing European states and international powers with divergent interests. The resolution is not legally binding and does not affect sovereignty, borders or the legal status of disputed territories. It does, however, call on educational institutions, the media, international organisations and digital platforms to give serious consideration to projections better suited to depicting relative areas. Its principal strength therefore lies in transforming ‘visual justice’ from an African advocacy campaign into an international norm capable of wider adoption.