In the second decade of the 21st century, the war in Ukraine has shattered many comforting assumptions about warfare and the arsenals used, forcing the world to confront questions that had long been pushed aside.
As the conflict has intensified, attacks have reached deeper into Russian territory, striking targets once considered beyond the immediate battlefield. Military planners may view such operations as legitimate wartime strategy, intended to weaken logistics, command structures or morale. But every expansion of the battlefield also carries the risk of expanding the conflict itself.
Russia has repeatedly framed attacks on its territory as crossing dangerous thresholds. Whether those warnings are sincere strategic signals, political messaging or psychological deterrence is open to debate. What cannot be ignored however is that rhetoric surrounding nuclear weapons has become more frequent than at any point in recent decades. Voices once confined to the political fringes now occasionally find echoes in mainstream discussions, suggesting increasingly extreme responses to perceived threats.
This should concern everyone, regardless of where they stand on the war itself. Nuclear weapons are unlike any other military capability. They are not merely larger bombs or more destructive missiles. They represent the point at which conventional warfare gives way to consequences that no nation can fully control. Once that threshold is crossed, calculations based on victory or defeat become almost meaningless.
History demonstrates that crises are often fueled not only by deliberate decisions but also by miscalculation, misunderstanding, and escalating cycles of retaliation. Every side believes it is responding to the previous action while preparing for the next. The danger lies not only in intent but in momentum. Wars have a habit of creating realities that political leaders never originally intended.
The greatest responsibility of world leaders today is therefore not simply to support allies or deter adversaries. It is to ensure that military objectives never eclipse the broader obligation to preserve humanity from catastrophic escalation. Strength and restraint are not opposites. In the nuclear age, they are often inseparable.
None of this suggests that aggression should go unanswered or that nations should abandon their right to self-defence. Democracies have every reason to support international law and resist military coercion. But they must also recognize that every strategic gain should be weighed against the possibility of triggering consequences far beyond the battlefield.
The nuclear shadow has never truly disappeared. It merely faded from public consciousness while remaining locked inside missile silos, submarines, and military doctrines. Today's conflict serves as a stark reminder that those arsenals still exist, waiting behind layers of deterrence, diplomacy, and hope.
The greatest victory of the past eighty years has not been military dominance. It has been the simple fact that nuclear weapons have not been used in war. Preserving that record should remain one of humanity's highest priorities, because if the nuclear threshold is ever crossed again, there may be no meaningful winners, only survivors struggling to rebuild a world forever changed.
The warning from the United Nations Security Council about looming atrocities in Sudan should not have sounded like breaking news. It should have sounded like an indictment, not merely of the warring factions, but of a world that has mastered the art of expressing alarm while accepting catastrophe as routine. As the Rapid Support Forces tighten their encirclement of El Obeid, the capital of North Kordofan, another chapter is being written in what has become one of Africa's bloodiest and most inhuman civil wars. Yet beyond diplomatic chambers and humanitarian briefings, the conflict continues to unfold with astonishing invisibility.
Modern warfare has developed an unsettling hierarchy of attention. Some conflicts dominate headlines, mobilize international coalitions, and trigger endless political debates. Others descend into a quiet darkness where civilian suffering becomes background noise. Sudan belongs increasingly to the latter category. Millions are displaced, communities have been erased, famine threatens entire regions, and hospitals, schools, and markets have become legitimate targets in a war that appears to recognize no limits. Still, global urgency remains strangely absent.
El Obeid is not simply another city under siege. It represents a strategic gateway, a humanitarian lifeline, and a home for hundreds of thousands whose greatest crime is finding themselves trapped between armed factions that view civilian lives as expendable. Encirclement is rarely just a military manoeuvre. It is starvation disguised as strategy, terror masquerading as battlefield necessity. Every blocked road means medicine withheld, food delayed, and hope steadily extinguished.
The RSF has earned international notoriety for allegations of massacres, ethnic violence, and systematic abuses. Yet assigning blame to one armed actor alone would oversimplify a conflict that has spiralled into an almost complete collapse of state authority. Sudan's military leadership also bears responsibility for prolonging a war whose primary victims have never been soldiers but ordinary citizens. Entire generations are being sacrificed while rival commanders pursue victories measured in ruined neighbourhoods and shattered families.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy is how predictable this all feels. The international community issues warnings after violence escalates instead of preventing escalation in the first place. Diplomats convene emergency meetings after towns are surrounded rather than before siege tactics become reality. Condemnations arrive with impeccable timing, always just late enough to comfort consciences without changing outcomes.
History repeatedly demonstrates that indifference is rarely neutral. It creates space for brutality to expand. It reassures perpetrators that the world's attention span is shorter than their campaigns. Every delayed response silently communicates that there is little political cost for continuing the destruction.
Sudan deserves more than expressions of concern carefully crafted for press releases. Its people deserve sustained diplomatic pressure, meaningful humanitarian access, and accountability for those transforming civilian neighbourhoods into battlefields. Above all, they deserve to know their suffering has not become merely another statistic in an overcrowded catalogue of global crises.
The siege of El Obeid is not simply Sudan's tragedy. It is a measure of the world's willingness to tolerate horrors that, had they occurred elsewhere, might already have provoked a far more determined response. Silence has become an accomplice, and history has never judged accomplices kindly.
The relentless slide in SpaceX's private valuation is beginning to expose a truth that markets often refuse to acknowledge until long after the warning signs become impossible to ignore. Investors who once treated Elon Musk's empire as financially untouchable are gradually rediscovering an old lesson, no valuation, however glamorous, is immune to gravity.
For years, SpaceX occupied a unique position in global finance. It was not merely a rocket company but a symbol of technological optimism, attracting capital with extraordinary ease. Every funding round seemed to confirm the belief that Musk could transform almost any ambitious vision into commercial success. That confidence translated into valuations that many critics considered detached from conventional financial reasoning.
The recent decline suggests that confidence is no longer limitless. This does not mean SpaceX is suddenly becoming a weak business. On the contrary, it remains one of the world's most innovative aerospace companies, possessing launch capabilities few competitors can match. Yet innovation and valuation are two very different concepts. Markets frequently confuse exceptional products with infinite financial potential. Eventually, reality catches up.
Much of Musk's financial reputation has rested upon what might be called the premium of belief. Investors were willing to pay enormous prices not simply for existing revenues but for future possibilities. Space tourism, satellite internet, lunar missions and even Mars colonisation became ingredients in an almost mythical growth story. Such narratives can inflate valuations far beyond what current earnings justify.
Every financial bubble shares a common characteristic. It convinces participants that traditional measures no longer apply. During these periods, scepticism is dismissed as outdated thinking while optimism becomes an investment strategy in itself. History repeatedly demonstrates that these moments rarely end gently.
As interest rates have remained higher and investors have become more selective, speculative enthusiasm has naturally weakened. Capital has become more expensive, patience has become shorter and the appetite for limitless promises has faded. Companies are increasingly judged on sustainable cash generation rather than charismatic leadership alone.
This shift presents a particular challenge for Musk. His public persona has always been inseparable from the valuation of his businesses. Admirers view him as a visionary capable of reshaping entire industries. Critics argue that his reputation often inflates expectations beyond practical reality. As market enthusiasm cools, personality becomes a less valuable financial asset.
If SpaceX continues to lose value, the implications extend beyond one company. It could represent the beginning of a broader reassessment of technology investing, where extraordinary narratives receive more disciplined scrutiny. Investors may once again distinguish between revolutionary engineering and limitless financial worth.
Calling this the collapse of Musk's empire would be premature. SpaceX still possesses enviable technological advantages and significant commercial opportunities. Yet the era of unquestioning financial exuberance appears to be ending. That alone marks an important transition.
Financial balloons rarely burst because the underlying company suddenly becomes worthless. They deflate because expectations gradually return to earth. The danger lies not in innovation but in convincing markets that innovation exempts a business from economic fundamentals.
Perhaps the greatest risk facing Musk is not that SpaceX stops changing the world. It is that investors finally begin valuing it as a business rather than as a legend.
Fika is a state of mind and an important part of Swedish culture. It means making time for friends and colleagues to share a cup of coffee and a little something to eat.
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Donald Trump has spent years redefining the Republican Party in his own image, pulling it toward an unapologetic brand of nationalist populism that has energized millions of supporters while alarming millions of others. The predictable consequence is now becoming increasingly visible, democratic socialists. Once considered a permanent political fringe, are finding fertile ground in precisely the places where conventional wisdom insisted they could never grow.
History is full of political over-corrections. When one side dominates the conversation with uncompromising certainty, the other eventually discovers an audience eager for an equally bold alternative. Moderation rarely captures headlines. Certainty does. Trump understood this instinctively. So do many of the young progressive politicians emerging today.
For decades, American politics largely revolved around arguments over tax rates, regulatory tweaks, and carefully calibrated reforms. Those debates increasingly feel like relics from another era. Younger voters have grown up amid financial crises, mounting student debt, soaring housing costs, unstable employment, and healthcare expenses that often appear detached from reality. To many of them, capitalism has not failed entirely, but neither has it delivered on the promises repeated by previous generations.
In that environment, democratic socialism no longer sounds like a radical slogan. To many Americans under forty, it sounds like an attempt to solve practical problems that establishment politicians have discussed endlessly without resolving. Universal healthcare, stronger labor protections, tuition assistance, and expanded public investment have become less ideological and more transactional. The question is no longer whether these ideas fit neatly into Cold War definitions. It is whether they appear capable of improving ordinary lives.
Trump's influence has accelerated this transformation. His style of politics thrives on confrontation and polarization. Every speech, every social media post, every legal battle reinforces a political climate in which compromise is increasingly viewed as weakness. Ironically, this environment rewards ideological confidence on both sides. If Republicans rally behind a combative conservatism, Democrats naturally elevate voices that promise equally sweeping change rather than cautious centrism.
The establishment wing of the Democratic Party finds itself caught in an uncomfortable position. It cannot fully embrace democratic socialism without alienating moderate voters, yet it cannot ignore the growing enthusiasm among younger activists who increasingly dominate grassroots organizing. This tension explains why progressive candidates continue winning local races, expanding their influence in state legislatures, and shaping national conversations even when they do not control party leadership.
Critics warn that democratic socialism remains politically risky in a country whose political culture has long celebrated private enterprise and individual success. They are not entirely wrong. America is unlikely to become a Scandinavian-style welfare state overnight. Deep cultural skepticism toward government remains embedded across much of the electorate.
Yet critics sometimes overlook a crucial distinction. Many younger Americans are not rejecting markets themselves. They are questioning whether markets alone can address widening inequality, stagnant wages, unaffordable housing, and growing economic insecurity. That distinction matters. It suggests a pragmatic rather than revolutionary shift.
The irony is difficult to miss. Trump's movement sought to remake American politics by rejecting establishment conservatism. In doing so, it may also have weakened establishment liberalism. By pulling the political spectrum sharply to the right, it has inadvertently created space for voices much further to the left than many believed possible only a decade ago.
Politics rarely rewards permanence. Every dominant movement eventually plants the seeds of its own opposition. If democratic socialism continues gaining ground in America, it will not simply be because progressives became better organizers or more persuasive communicators. It will also be because the country's political pendulum, pushed forcefully by Trump, has begun gathering energy for its inevitable swing back.
Few books enjoy the strange privilege of becoming more meaningful as their readers grow older. Most childhood classics fade into nostalgia, cherished more for memory than insight. The Little Prince does the opposite. It begins as a bedtime story and quietly transforms into an examination of adulthood, loneliness, love, and the absurd rituals we mistake for living. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry somehow wrote a book that becomes wiser every decade of a reader's life.
Its remarkable longevity has less to do with literary fashion than with emotional truth. The language is deceptively simple, almost sparse, yet every conversation carries the weight of philosophy disguised as innocence. That combination is exceedingly rare. Simplicity is often mistaken for simplicity of thought, but Saint-Exupéry understood that the clearest ideas are usually the hardest to express. Children embrace the adventure. Adults recognize the melancholy beneath it.
The genius of The Little Prince lies in its refusal to preach. Instead, it quietly exposes the ridiculous habits that define adulthood. The king obsessed with authority, the businessman counting stars he can never possess, the vain man desperate for applause, these are not fairy-tale characters but exaggerated portraits of modern society. Nearly eighty years after its publication, they feel alarmingly contemporary. Our technology has evolved beyond recognition, yet our obsessions remain comfortingly primitive. We still chase status, possessions, followers, titles, and influence while struggling to answer the simple question of what actually matters.
Perhaps that explains why every generation claims the book as its own. It never belonged exclusively to wartime France or post-war Europe. Its landscape is emotional rather than geographical. The desert is isolation. The stars are hope. The rose is love complicated by responsibility. The fox reminds us that relationships are created through patience rather than convenience. These symbols remain permanently relevant because human nature has stubbornly resisted modernization.
One of the book's greatest lessons is that affection demands responsibility. Loving something is not merely appreciating it; it is caring for it consistently. In an age increasingly dominated by disposable relationships and fleeting digital attention, that lesson feels almost rebellious. Saint-Exupéry insists that meaningful connections require time, vulnerability, and commitment. None can be downloaded. None can be accelerated.
Equally enduring is the book's scepticism toward adult certainty. Children ask impossible questions because they have not yet learned which questions society considers inappropriate. Adults stop asking because they become prisoners of practicality. Somewhere between school examinations, career ambitions, and mortgage payments, curiosity quietly retires. The Little Prince gently invites it back. It reminds readers that imagination is not the opposite of maturity but an essential part of it.
Its influence stretches far beyond literature. Artists, psychologists, educators, entrepreneurs, and political leaders have all found themselves quoting its observations. Yet the book resists becoming merely inspirational. It is too bittersweet for that. Beneath its gentle humour lies grief, sacrifice, exile, and the acceptance that love often arrives intertwined with loss. That emotional honesty gives the story its extraordinary resilience.
There are books that entertain a generation and books that define an era. Then there are the rare works that quietly accompany humanity itself, waiting patiently on shelves until readers are ready to hear them differently. The Little Prince belongs firmly in that smallest category. It is not a manual for happiness or a sentimental escape into childhood. It is a reminder that growing older should never require abandoning wonder. In a civilization increasingly fascinated by speed, noise, and measurable success, Saint-Exupéry continues to whisper that the invisible things, kindness, loyalty, imagination and love, remain the only possessions that truly endure. That whisper, remarkably, still carries farther than most people shouting.
Abelardo de la Espriella won Colombia's presidency with the endorsement of Donald Trump and the result represent more than a domestic political upset. It signaled another chapter in a story that has been unfolding quietly across the Americas, the normalization of a new conservative movement that is increasingly comfortable borrowing its rhetoric, symbolism, and political instincts from Trump's brand of populism.
For years, analysts insisted that Trumpism was uniquely American, a product of peculiar institutions and cultural anxieties that could not easily travel. Reality has steadily chipped away at that assumption. Across Latin America, conservative politicians have discovered that voters frustrated by crime, economic stagnation, corruption, and elite indifference often respond to a message that rejects technocratic caution in favor of blunt certainty.
Colombia occupies a particularly important place in this conversation. Long regarded as one of Washington's closest partners in South America, the country has experienced dramatic political swings in recent years. A conservative victory following a left-wing presidency would suggest that Colombian politics, like so many democracies elsewhere, has become less about ideological permanence than public impatience. Governments are increasingly judged not by their promises but by whether citizens feel safer, wealthier, and more optimistic than they did four years earlier.
Trump's endorsement would inevitably become part of the international narrative. Supporters would portray it as evidence of a growing alliance among conservative governments throughout the hemisphere. Critics would argue that it represents the export of America's political polarization into countries with their own unique histories and challenges. Both interpretations contain an element of truth, but neither fully explains what is happening.
The deeper story is not about Trump himself. It is about voters who have lost confidence in traditional political establishments. Whether in Bogotá, Buenos Aires, San José, or Washington, elections increasingly reward candidates who promise disruption rather than continuity. The old political center has struggled to inspire confidence, leaving space for leaders who speak in absolutes rather than qualifications.
This trend should not be mistaken for ideological uniformity. Latin America's conservatives are hardly identical, nor are their countries. Crime dominates Colombian politics in ways that differ from Argentina's inflation crisis or Brazil's cultural battles. Yet they increasingly share a political vocabulary centered on national sovereignty, stronger policing, economic liberalization, skepticism toward progressive social agendas, and open confrontation with established institutions.
The temptation for observers will be to reduce every conservative victory to the phrase "another Trumpist." That label is convenient, but convenience is often the enemy of understanding. Politicians borrow tactics from one another without becoming replicas. Local conditions still matter far more than imported slogans.
The election says as much about Colombian frustrations as it does about Donald Trump's influence. The hemisphere is entering an era where voters are less interested in ideological purity than in visible results. Leaders who fail to deliver will likely discover that today's political wave, whether from the left or the right, can recede just as quickly as it arrived.
Dino is a vegetarian virgin dinosaur and his best friend is Anty, a carnivorous nymphomaniac ant. They call themselves the AntySaurus Prick and they are still here waiting for the comet to come!
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Nigeria will overcome all its current problems. Yet many Nigerians have lost faith, convinced the country will collapse under its own weight. This is the opinion of ethnic jingoists who think the best way out for Nigeria is for the over 350 ethnicities to go their separate ways. This is never going to happen. Those who are discerning will know that the problem of Nigeria is to enable its citizens to know what has been built wrongly or not built at all and to rebuild.
The North can no longer be blind to their reality again. Even though many, especially the political elites are still living in denial, there is a growing number who are well educated and are pointing out the excesses of these political elites and prescribing the way out. It seems that all the major problems of Nigeria are located in the North to the extent that the reverence accorded the first and only premier of the Northern Region, Sir Ahmadu Bello has begun to fade away. Now they see what was not obvious to the generation at the beginning of Nigeria’s independence in 1960 that Ahmadu Bello saw a potential nation before him but rejected the opportunity to build a nation that embraced the North and South. They saw that even the North that Ahmadu Bello postured to have built was only for his Fulani stock and for the propagation of Islamic religion. The hen has come home to roost and things have fallen apart in the North. We are not crying wolf where there is none, but it is very clear that the North is imploding. Nobody needs to fight the North again, the North is fighting itself. If the Fulani don’t realize it now, that the vision of ownership of the entire country given to them by Ahmadu Bello is not only a mirage but a vision of self destruction.
Cross section of Nigeria's traditional rulers
As Chief Obafemi Awolowo, who his contemporaries caused to be misunderstood, said in those early years of independence that many of the minorities who the majority tribes cheated will get education which will open their eyes and will fight back. If anybody thought the agitation of the Hausa, to which the Fulani had cleverly aligned themselves in order to conquer and dominate will not succeede, that person had better look very well. The Fulani will have to negotiate peace with the Hausa so that both of them can have an equal share of the land and political power.
We must not deceive ourselves, banditry and insurgency are manifestations of that agitation by the Hausa and the reaction by the Fulani which if not managed may lead to the eventual termination of Fulani dominance. Now, because of the terrible evil of banditry by those claiming Fulani identity, the remainder of Nigeria has directed hatred towards the Fulani clan like never before. If Ahmadu Bello, Awolowo, and Azikiwe had unified Nigeria through true federalism in 1960, many of the contemporary conflicts, including those affecting the Fulani, might have been avoided. Nigeria has lost decades, but the opportunity for federalism remains.
Though Nigeria has lost many vital years, there is still opportunity to get back to build a united nation through federalism, which Chief Obafemi Awolowo spoke and wrote so much about. One feature of that will be examined shortly. They are the traditional institutions of the country. Because of his tribal and religious orientation, Ahmadu Bello left Nigeria where the British left it. He empowered the emirs and ensured that all of them were Fulani. The British also empowered the obas in the south, especially in the South West, after the image of the Fulani oligarchy in the North. If any king or traditional leader in the middle belt will lead their people to Islam, such will be made a first class king.
In Yoruba land the British gave those kings more power than they had in the traditional mode. This made indirect rule possible in Yoruba land. The oba was not primus inter pares. He was selected by a process and could be dethroned if he did wrong by that same process which gave him a covered calabash which everybody knew was a sign that he should honorably exit or commit suicide. Chief Obafemi Awolowo did not accept this and indeed wrote in his first book “Path to Nigerian Freedom” that the institution of Obaship had been corrupted. People who should not be oba by tradition were made one. The oba exercised the power of life and death over the people.
In the North the emirs were powerful and nobody could question them, whoever they wanted the people to vote for is who they voted for. They were feudal lords. Awolowo said that feudalism would not continue forever. Now, with more education and more boldness, the Hausa are rejecting that power. They will no longer vote for anybody except those who have a concrete plan of inclusion for the Hausa. Even the bandits in the north, who are mostly Fulani, have been kidnapping and killing emirs. The emirs are complaining that their powers have been curtailed. Some wise ones among them have asked their people to rise up and defend themselves. So private ownership of guns and other instruments of violence is becoming widespread in the North. In the East, warrant chiefs were forcibly created. It was resisted, but it stayed. Now everywhere in the nation, the Igbo man who has acquired wealth wants to be an Igwe outside of his territory and even abroad.
In Yoruba land the obas are losing their authority. Character is no longer an issue in the coronation of an oba. The Oba of Ipetumodu, Alapetu, Oba Joseph Olugbenga Oloyede had to be dethroned when he was imprisoned for wire and tax fraud of $4.2 million in the US. The Governor of Osun State, Ademola Adeleke had to be compelled to dethrone him after a long period of inaction. There is a running battle between a journalist and a columnist with Punch, a popular tabloid, Tunde Odesola, who has been using the expose by the Daily Mail and Sun that the Oba of Iwo, another town in Osun State, Oba Abdulrasidi Adewale Akanbi, who was allegedly convicted twice in the US for fraud and was banned from entry into the US for life, to compel Governor Ademola Adeleke to dethrone him. Oba Abdulrasidi Adewale Akanbi has been especially controversial, alleged to have committed many offences that were unbecoming of a monarch. His martial life does not win the approval of his people. Some have accused him, including his ex wife that he smokes marijuana, though he denied. About three of his fellow monarchs have also dragged him to magistrate courts on allegations of forgery and assault against a fellow oba.
The prominent Alafin of Oyo, late Lamidi Adeyemi, was found in distasteful acts that rubbished the institution. For example, he confessed to his involvement along with a prominent and disgraced political thug in Ibadan, late Lamidi Adedibu, to organize an illegal impeachment of Rasidi Ladoja as governor of Oyo State, which was prompted by former president Olusegun Obasanjo. The impeachment was later overturned by the Supreme Court. Between the recently appointed Alafin of Oyo, Oba Abimbola Akeem Owoade, and the Ooni of Ife, Oba Adeyeye Enitan Ogunwusi, there is no love lost. The fight is over who of them is superior.
As I write, eleven Yoruba obas have been killed by bandits in Kwara State, thirty towns have been deserted because of repeated raids by bandits. These are obas that are regarded and reverred as “ekeji orisa.” Orisa is the god and the oba is next to him. That is the reverence the Yoruba give to their obas. Now they are desecrated, they are jailed by earthly men. They fight with their wives in the open and their subjects see them. They are instruments in the hands of politicians to swindle their people. They collect bribes, and rumours are rife that they collect part of the ransom collected from their people by bandits.
The Olubadan of Ibadan, Oba Rasidi Ladoja when he was enthroned said “the days of glamour are gone.” He was letting us know that the obas do nothing but chased after glamour; big cars, expensive wears, expensive neck laces, expensive shoes, big palaces. Ladoja was going to be involved in economic development of his city of Ibadan. Ibadan was decayed and he was going to renew it. Ladoja thus told us a reformation of traditional institutions were due.
If bandits are killing emirs in the North, if the emirs there have no power to protect their people again, if the obas in the South West are being kidnapped and killed and some have deserted their domains, it means that another institution must replace them that will effectively provide development and protection for those territories. The suggestion of this writer is a regrouping of these territories with mayors administering the territories who will be subject to the people’s power and their votes, who will give a covenant to the people periodically. Traditional rulers should retain cultural and advisory roles, but governance must shift to elected officials. Only then can Nigeria rebuild what was never built and fix what was built wrongly. Then our ungoverned spaces will quickly witness rapid development inspired by men and women who know what development is all about.
First Published in METRO
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Tunde Akande is both a journalist and pastor. He earned a Master's degree in Mass Communication from the University of Lagos.
One of the stranger developments in contemporary art is also one of its most refreshing, the growing number of projects created not for human audiences but for animals, plants, fungi and even microbes. We are accustomed to treating art as a fundamentally human exchange. An artist makes something; a person looks at it. The transaction seems obvious. Yet a surprising corner of contemporary practice has begun asking a simple and destabilizing question: what if humans are not the intended audience at all?
At first glance, art for non-humans sounds like a conceptual joke. A sculpture designed for bees, a sound installation for dogs, a light environment for plants; these can seem like clever stunts generated by the contemporary art world's endless appetite for novelty. Certainly, some projects deserve that criticism. Not every artwork aimed at a non-human recipient escapes the suspicion that it was actually made for a gallery wall text.
Yet dismissing the entire phenomenon would miss its deeper significance. What makes these works interesting is not whether a dog appreciates avant-garde sound design or whether a tomato plant experiences aesthetic pleasure. The value lies in how these projects force humans to confront the limits of their own perspective.
For centuries, art has operated as one of humanity's most self-centered institutions. Museums are monuments to human perception. Art criticism is the study of human interpretation. Even when artists depict landscapes, animals or ecological systems, the assumption remains that the ultimate viewer is another person standing in front of the work. Non-human art challenges this arrangement by suggesting that our sensory world is only one among countless others.
Consider a flower. To a human observer it is a visual object composed of colours and shapes. To a bee it may appear as an entirely different phenomenon, marked by ultraviolet patterns invisible to human eyes. Which version is the real flower? The question suddenly becomes difficult. Art designed for pollinators highlights the uncomfortable reality that human perception occupies only a narrow slice of existence.
This is where the most compelling projects succeed. They are less about communicating with animals than about humbling humans.
The idea arrives at a curious historical moment. Much of modern society remains devoted to human exceptionalism. We build cities for ourselves, engineer landscapes for ourselves, and increasingly redesign entire ecosystems around our needs. Meanwhile, climate change, biodiversity collapse, and ecological instability have exposed the consequences of treating everything else as background scenery. Art for non-humans emerges as a cultural symptom of this growing discomfort.
Its practitioners often seem to be searching for ways to imagine coexistence rather than dominance. If architecture can be designed for birds, if sound can be composed for whales, if installations can accommodate fungal growth as an active participant, then perhaps creativity itself becomes a shared ecological process rather than a purely human achievement.
There is, however, an irony at the heart of these efforts. Humans still create the work. Humans decide which species deserve attention. Humans define the project's goals and interpret its results. Even the most ambitious non-human artwork remains trapped within a human framework. A gallery exhibition for pigeons is still funded, curated, photographed and discussed by people. But perhaps that contradiction is precisely the point.
The dream of escaping human perspective completely is impossible. What art for non-humans offers instead is a productive failure. It reminds us that there are worlds we cannot fully enter, senses we cannot experience, and forms of life that remain fundamentally alien. In an age obsessed with personalization and algorithmic certainty, this acknowledgment of unknowability feels almost radical.
The greatest achievement of these projects may be that they transform art from a mirror into a window. Not a clear window, but a fogged and imperfect one. Through it we glimpse the possibility that creativity, perception, and even beauty might not belong exclusively to our species.
That realization is both unsettling and liberating. The gallery, it turns out, may never have been ours alone.
You have regrets? I too have regrets, They’re my regrets, They’re proof that One has lived Richly and deeply.
Loves and losses, Passions and victories, Sins and good deeds, Errors of moral and Intellectual judgement, Destruction and decay, Redemption and rebirth, And the hollow days Of the past that are Lost in the mist Of memories, Our regrets Make us Human.
******************************* With a digital painting from Nikos Laios
