Millions of people in more than a hundred countries march at Pride festivities each year. Attendees come mostly to express support for lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans gender, queer and intersex people — the LGBTQI+ community. And although Pride may be on every continent, there's a swathe of countries where Pride still is not freely celebrated. Take Russia, where a court last decade issued a one-hundred-year ban on Pride events. Or Turkey, where police in recent years have been harassing, attacking and detaining activists and members of the LGBTQ+ community. And then there's Hungary, which is inside the EU but out of step with its laws and values. This year Hungary's illiberal prime minister Viktor Orbán said he intended to stop Pride in the capital Budapest, on the pretext of child-protection. Under-18s are supposedly at risk from so-called displays of homosexuality, displays that themselves were banned four years ago. That's a direct echo of Russia's anti-LGBT statute on Protecting Children and Traditional Family Values signed into law by Vladimir Putin more than a decade ago. This month Hungarian police duly imposed the Budapest ban that Orbán called for. And they added a dystopian touch: facial recognition technology. Attendees identified at Budapest Pride could face fines of 500 euros; they also could face neofascist thugs from far-right splinter groups. But Budapest mayor Gergely Karácsony says this year's event is going ahead this weekend just the same. After all, Budapest has had Pride marches for the best part of three decades. It's also worth recalling that Pride was born out of state repression. The first marches were held in the early 70s in a handful of US cities to mark the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. That name, Stonewall, comes from a bar, the Stonewall Inn, in New York City's Greenwich Village. The gay and transgender patrons of the Stonewall had grown sick of police harassment and abuse, and their uprising in 1969 still marks a key moment for civil rights movements everywhere. One beneficiary of such hard-won victories is Marc Angel, one of five so-called Quaestors at the European Parliament overseeing matters affecting the chamber's 705 members. Marc is a Socialist from Luxembourg and also co-president of the European Parliament's intergroup on LGBTIQ+ rights. For him, this weekend's Budapest Pride events amount to a protest — a protest against bogus limits on freedom of assembly in Hungary, and a protest against an international anti-gender movement, backed by Russia, supported by US ultraconservatives, and aimed at polarizing societies and weakening democracy.

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An initial wave of support for Israel after the Oct. 7, 2023, attack in which Hamas killed 1,200 people and took 251 hostages has been eclipsed by 20 months of reprisals in which Israel has killed nearly 55,000 Palestinians in Gaza including thousands of children. Public support for Israel is sinking and the country's staunchest allies are rowing back. Even so, a huge gap remains between the political rhetoric and the reality of what Israel's partners are doing to stop the atrocities. Among the European Union states that have been most reluctant to condemn Israel is Germany, where the history of the Holocaust is a complicating factor. Germany considers ties with Israel part of its so-called Staatsräson, or raison d'état, effectively aligning German foreign policy and security with that of Israel. And despite the abundant evidence of disproportionate and indiscriminate strikes by Israel, Germany has continued to allow arms sales and to oppose severing trade and political ties. Sharing Germany's support for Israel are countries like Hungary and the Czech Republic with Spain, Slovenia and Ireland among those most supportive of the Palestinians. But as the EU's biggest and richest member state, Germany has an outsized influence on the bloc, and its stance has fed the perception that Europeans are reluctant to restrain Israel. Adding to that impression is Ursula von der Leyen, a German conservative, and the president of the bloc's powerful executive, the European Commission. She only recently shifted tone on Israel by calling targeting of civilian infrastructure abhorrent. In this episode: German journalist Katrin Pribyl on the extent of her country's the pro-Israel stance and the awkward silence von der Leyen has long maintained over Gaza — and on whether von der Leyen has inadvertently imposed Germany's Staatsräson on the rest of Europe.

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Call it the real nuclear option for bringing Viktor Orbán's Hungary to heel — but also call it a risky thought experiment. Tom Theuns of Leiden University wants to empower the EU to sever ties with a rogue member state like Hungary, where Orbán has fashioned an autocracy and set about cultivating the EU's strategic rivals. Introducing an expulsion threat could push EU autocrats like Orbán to show more respect for rule of law and democracy, says Tom, while the current lack of any such mechanism has instead emboldened them. For now, Tom's ideas still are legally theoretical, not to mention politically delicate. In his new book, Protecting Democracy in Europe, Tom envisages democratic states each leaving the EU and then immediately re-founding the Union — an EU 2.0 — minus any autocratic states. More than two dozen countries would need to coordinate national consents in advance, using the same EU treaty article that Britain used in Brexit. But if all doesn't go to plan — think obdurate legislators, sudden calls for referendums, or a even French demand for more subsidies — the exercise could usher in the kind of political warfare that sinks the EU for good. Tom's goal is, above all, to end what he calls fatalistic and defeatist thinking — that the EU must remain stuck in perpetuity with Orbán's brand of kleptocratic illiberalism. "Supranational union with an autocratic state is a choice," insists Tom. "EU member states can also choose to disengage." In this episode Tom also reflects on what happened a quarter-century ago, when European authorities failed to block Austria's far-right Freedom Party (FPÖ) from government, to elucidate a pattern of insufficient EU responses in the Hungarian context.

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Musk, Zuckerberg and Vance have stomped into the EU's canteen, overturned the tables, smashed the glasses, and drawn their pistols. They are scanning a crowd of bewildered Eurocrats and asking menacingly: who really wants a fight over what belongs online? It wasn't meant to be this way. Three years ago the EU agreed a landmark law, the Digital Services Act, or DSA. Hopes were high that hate speech, content that harms minors — as well as fake news and weaponised social media — could be reined in. The biggest platforms would be fined up to 6 percent of global annual turnover if they failed to deal with issues like election interference that amount to a systemic risk. Since then the transatlantic far right has stepped up a campaign to discredit the EU's rules, and often in fanatical terms. Under this new form of McCarthyism, any impediment to online expression is branded as a form of censorship. That is patently absurd. Bans on speech linked to the Nazi period have been in place in parts of Europe for decades. But concerns are growing that the European Commission's ongoing cases against X and Meta under the DSA could become bargaining chips or even get traded away to ease standoffs with the Trump administration. Already the Commission is reportedly lowballing digital markets fines against Silicon Valley giants and talking about simplifying its range of digital regulations — including the DSA. That looks like complying in advance with US intimidation. On the other hand, the Commission could use the Trump administration's bullying tactics to invoke another law — the so-called Anti-Coercion Instrument. That could restrict aspects of Musk's businesses as well as the services of some US digital companies — and it would amount to a more muscular response. In this episode: two prominent MEPs urge the European Commission to hold firm on enforcement of the DSA after their mission to Washington, where they met MAGA hardliners like Congressman Jim Jordan and where they witnessed the kind shocking disdain for Europe echoed most recently in Signal messages shared with The Atlantic. "Everything we are doing in EU is seen as an attempt to be anti-American," says Christel Schaldemose, the Danish social democrat who is a vice president of the European Parliament and an architect of DSA. "That was very, very scary." Christel also is a coordinator on plans to combat foreign influence with a so-called Democracy Shield, which she suggested could allow for suspension of social media in the run up to elections. Sandro Gozi, the Italian liberal who is a former member of French and Italian governments, says the EU must show it has the nerve to impose its laws in the face of U.S. coercion. Sandro says lawmakers would never agree to sacrifice the DSA, which he characterises as "non-negotiable," in exchange for lower tariffs. Sandro also excoriates Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni and her party for retreating from previous enthusiasm for Ukraine — and for the DSA.

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Following the horrors of Nazism, the post-war far right needed to proceed strategically, and patiently, if it was ever to stage a comeback. Some far-right actors in Europe and in particular the French Nouvelle Droite took the Italian political philosopher Antonio Gramsci as their guide. Gramsci's teachings — culture first, politics later — were eventually absorbed by the US radical right. And in recent weeks US Vice President JD Vance and Trump adviser Elon Musk have brought such tactics back to Europe. It's a great irony of political thought that​ the most assiduous students of Gramsci — a Marxist jailed by Mussolini in 1920s and 1930s — would come to include so many on the far right. The history of how Gramscian thinking has flowed back and forth across the Atlantic is of particular interest to Philipp Adorf at the University of Bonn. Philipp is the author of two books on the radicalisation of the US Republican Party and he's a leading analyst of the rise of the far right Alternative for Germany, the AfD. Philipp also has closely analysed how groups including a "Vorfeld" or vanguard, which supports the AfD, are drawing on Gramscian principles to prepare Germany for a far-right future. Such tactics are helping to make what was once unthinkable for Germans — such as mass deportations and "remigration" of naturalised citizens — something that many of them now are prepared to vote for.

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There are many more politicians and policymakers from the far right on our TVs, in our social media feeds, and in our legislatures. They have a new swagger and an even more conspicuous disdain for their adversaries. "They act like they own the place," observes Raquel García Hermida-van der Valle, a liberal member of the European Parliament for the Dutch D66 party. Two far-right groups, the Patriots and Sovereigntists, still face a so-called cordon sanitaire. But another, the European Conservatives and Reformists, has been welcomed into a right-wing mainstream that includes the party of European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen. And, in reality, all three far-right groups have much in common, from xenophobia, to distrust of state institutions, and a fixation on free speech. In this episode: Raquel talks about her recent showdowns with increasingly combative far-right lawmakers including a race-baiting Bulgarian and a conspiracy theorist from Hungary. Raquel speculates that some far-right MEPs have "gone down the rabbit hole" and actually believe the EU is replacing white Christians with Muslims and people of colour. Others, says Raquel, are probably following Steve Bannon's notorious battle plan, "to flood the zone with shit," so as to disorient the media and voters. Raquel also talks about how she's looking to better coordinate with other MEPs to counter a European far right that appears to be growing more openly radical as it grows in size and influence. Also in this episode, snapshots of MEPs from the three far-right blocs: Stephen Nikola Bartulica, Zsuzsanna Borvendég, Jorge Buxadé Villalba, Ivan David, Geadis Geadi, Sarah Knafo, Rada Laykova and Jaak Madison.

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Big Tech bosses. Their immensely profitable corporations. And the fabulously wealthy venture capitalists who fund them. They are gaining power over the destinies of nations. Yet they also contribute to injustice and inequality, even in areas like Silicon Valley that are typically celebrated for generating wealth and innovation. The Valley's crumbling infrastructure and its stark disparities form part of The Tech Coup, a new book by Marietje Schaake, a former member of the European Parliament for the liberal Dutch D66 party. Since leaving the Parliament in 2019, Marietje has spent considerable time at the Cyber Policy Center and the Institute for Human-Centered Artificial Intelligence at Stanford University in the heart of Silicon Valley. Her book is packed with concrete and compelling examples of how the tech industry, in its quest for power and profit, undermines democracy, civil liberties, the environment, and even national security. But the book is not a counsel of despair. Marietje lays out proposals such as revamping public procurement, banning rogue cryptocurrencies, and trialling Artificial Intelligence models before letting them loose on the public. To be sure, the new transatlantic era complicates the challenges posed by the Tech Coup. Donald Trump and Vice President-Elect JD Vance ran campaigns funded by tech magnates who will want to leverage US power to resist unfavourable regulations, including those from the EU. But Marietje says there's still time to develop alternative technology models that uphold liberal democratic values and that avoid capitulating to Silicon Valley — and to its mythologisers.

Marietje Schaake serves as one of four chairs leading the development of the first Code of Practice for the European Union's A.I. Act and is a senior fellow at the Centre for Future Generations, which partnered with EU Scream in producing this episode.

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Close your eyes. Imagine a young person you know and care about. Picture them at age 90. And then think about the kind of world you want to leave them. Is it ridden by conflict and chaos? Or is it peaceful and habitable? Such thought experiments can lead us to change behaviour and priorities. But they also have wider application to government and policymaking, says social philosopher Roman Krznaric who wrote The Good Ancestor and is Senior Research Fellow at Oxford University’s Centre for Eudaimonia and Human Flourishing. Roman's thinking has become part of a push to get governments and leaders to make better policy choices by taking a far longer perspective. That push seems to be bearing fruit. President of the European Commission Ursula von der Leyen may create a portfolio for intergenerational fairness for her next five-year term, and UN Secretary-General António Guterres seems set to appoint a Special Envoy for Future Generations at a summit this month in New York. But how a focus on future generations works in practice raises thorny questions, among them: how many generations of descendants should we plan for, and over what time spans? And how can the focus on future generations be kept separate from controversial ideas like Longtermism and Effective Altruism that are associated with jailed cryptocurrency mogul Sam Bankman-Fried? Also in this episode: Roman introduces his new book History for Tomorrow in which he explores the role of so-called radical flank movements, like Extinction Rebellion. "It's too late to leave the problems of our time to simmer on the low flame of gradualism," he says. "You need the disruptive movements to accelerate things."

Music this episode by border.

Listen to part one of this series with Elizabeth Dirth of the ZOE Institute.

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