Trump and Zelenskyy meet in Florida – as it happened
This blog is now closed. Thanks for following along.
Polls close in first phase of Myanmar elections widely condemned as a sham
Polls have closed in conflict-racked Myanmar, ending the first phase of an election that has been widely condemned as a sham designed to legitimise the military junta’s rule. The military has touted the vote as a return to democracy almost five years after it seized power in a coup, ousting the country’s then de-facto leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, detaining her and sparking a spiralling civil war. But analysts say most candidates are seen as military allies, and the UN has said the vote is being conducted in an environment of “violence and repression”, with one official describing it as a “theatre of the absurd”. The election is being carried out in three stages, with the second and third phases scheduled for January. Large areas of the country are excluded from the voting because they are under the control of anti-junta groups or in the grip of fierce fighting. The Union Solidarity and Development party (USDP), a military proxy, is fielding the largest number of candidates and expected to emerge as the largest bloc. In locations where the election is taking place, campaigning has been muted – lacking the vibrant, packed rallies that marked past votes. The red flags and signs associated with Aung San Suu Kyi, still the country’s most popular politician, and her party, the National League for Democracy, have been absent. The 80-year-old has been detained since she was ousted, and her party has been banned. The election has been condemned by western governments, but has support from China, which is the military’s most important ally. China, Russia, India and Vietnam have sent election observers, according to military-controlled media. The military has rejected criticism of the election, saying it was being conducted with public support. The head of the junta told reporters on Sunday the vote was guaranteed to be a “free and fair” election. “It’s organised by the military; we can’t let our name be tarnished,” said Min Aung Hlaing, who led the coup. “People should vote,” he added. “If they don’t vote, I will have to say they don’t completely understand what democracy really is.” Turnout in Yangon appeared lower than in previous elections. At polling stations, most residents were reluctant to be interviewed, with some saying the election was too sensitive to be discussed publicly. There was little choice on the ballot paper, said a 28-year-old man, who did not give his full name. “We already know about the election, what will happen,” he said of the vote before a relative urged him to stop speaking, warning him police were nearby. Others only shrugged or smiled when asked how they felt about the vote. A 22-year-old, who also spoke anonymously, said young men were anxious about being conscripted into the military, and were anxious not to find themselves on the radar of the authorities during the election period. He added: “Living in Myanmar is a constant worry. Whether we vote or not, the worry is there. The worry is about business, personal lives, everything is very restricted, there is no freedom … There is problem in everything in daily life.” Preliminary results of the first phase of the election will be announced on Sunday, after polling booths closed at 4pm local time, Min Aung Hlaing told reporters. In total, 57 parties are competing, though only six are doing so nationwide. “On paper, voters see a long list of party logos; in reality, meaningful opposition has been banned, jailed, or forced underground,” analysis by the Asian Network for Free Elections, an NGO, said of the vote. Tens of thousands of people have been arrested in Myanmar for expressing political views since the coup, and in July the military introduced a new election protection law that prohibits disruption or criticism of the vote. People have been arrested for putting up anti-election stickers, or for sending private Facebook messages criticising the election. Those prosecuted under the law face a sentence of at least three years in prison, or even the death penalty. In September, a man in Shan state was sentenced to seven years with hard labour under the law for criticising the election in a Facebook post. “I fear the nation is falling deeper and deeper into darkness,” said a resident in Yangon, who spoke anonymously before the election. She was not voting, and nor was her family, as they did not want to give the election credibility. Others may do so, she added, but only out of fear. “Some people are so afraid that if they don’t show up, the military will come to their homes and arrest them.” The UN human rights chief, Volker Türk, said the elections were “clearly taking place in an environment of violence and repression”. The UN rights office said it had received reports from displaced people in several areas of the country, including Mandalay region, who had been warned they would be attacked or their homes seized if they did not return to vote. The military has presented the vote as a return to normality, and on Saturday lifted a long-standing curfew in Yangon. However, intense conflict continues to rage across large areas of the country. In Sagaing region, air and artillery strikes by junta forces continued even as polling stations opened, while attacks were also carried by anti-junta groups, according to the independent outlet Myanmar Now. Myanmar has been gripped by conflict since the coup, which abruptly ended the country’s 10-year democratic transition. The coup initially prompted huge mass protests, which the military responded to with deadly force. In response, people took up arms and joined “people’s defence forces” to fight against the junta, at times in coordination with ethnic armed groups that have long fought for greater autonomy. The conflict has plunged the country into economic turmoil, with half the population now living below the poverty line, and led to “one of the world’s most dire and yet underfunded” humanitarian crises, according to the UN. Tom Andrews, the UN special rapporteur on human rights for Myanmar, described Sunday’s vote as a “theatre of the absurd”. He warned there was a risk it could further entrench the junta’s rule, and represent a “significant step backward for the people of Myanmar”. Campaigners have called on governments to reject the vote. Yadanar Maung, a Justice For Myanmar spokesperson, said the election was an attempt by the military to “manufacture legitimacy while it slaughters civilians with total impunity”. The military has carried out relentless airstrikes as it attempts to regain ground lost to opposition groups since the coup, and has repeatedly been accused of indiscriminately attacking civilians. It has previously denied atrocities and has said any military operations are carried out against terrorists. The second phase of the vote will take place on 11 January, with a final round on 25 January.
Saving Kyiv’s heritage: a city rebuilding itself in the shadow of war
Lesia Danylenko proudly showed off her new front door. Volunteers had nicknamed its elegant transom window the “croissant”, a nod to its curved shape. “I think it’s more of a peacock,” she said, admiring its branch-like details. The restoration project at one of Kyiv’s early 20th-century art nouveau houses was supported by residents, who celebrated with two pavement parties. It was also an act of resistance against Russia, she explained: “We are trying to live like normal people despite the war. It’s about arranging our life in the best possible way. We’re not afraid of staying in Ukraine. I could have left the country and moved away to Italy or Germany. Instead, I’m here. The new entrance shows our commitment to our homeland.” Saving Kyiv’s architectural heritage seems strange at a time when Russian missiles and drones routinely fall on the capital, bringing death and destruction. Since the beginning of 2025, the Kremlin has dramatically stepped up its aerial raids. After each attack, workers board up shattered windows with plywood and try, where possible, to save residential buildings. Amid the bombs, a group of activists have been attempting to preserve the city’s crumbling mansions, built in a playful style known as Ukrainian modernism. Danylenko’s house is in the central Shevchenkivskyi district. It was built in 1906 and was originally the home of a rich fur dealer. Its exterior is decorated with horse chestnut leaves and delicate camomile flowers. “They are symbols of Kyiv. These properties are quite rare nowadays,” Danylenko said. The Austrian-German architect Martin Klug designed the mansion. Several other buildings nearby display similar art nouveau features, including asymmetry – with a gothic tower on one side and a turret on the other. One much-loved house in the area boasts two unhappy white stucco cats, as well as owls, masks and a devil. But Russia is only one threat. Preservation campaigners say they face unscrupulous developers who knock down listed buildings, corrupt officials and a governing class indifferent or hostile to the city’s rich architectural history. The harsh winter climate adds another burden. “Kyiv is a city where money wins. We don’t have real political will to save our heritage,” said Dmytro Perov, an activist with the Heritage Kyiv group. He claimed the city’s mayor, Vitali Klitschko, was friends with many of the developers who bulldoze important houses. “Klitschko lives in an illegal building with a striptease club. His vision for the capital comes straight out of the 90s and Tony Soprano,” he alleged. Klitschko denies the claim, which he says comes from political rivals. Perov said many of the civically minded activists who once defended older properties were fighting on the frontline or had been killed. Russia’s almost four-year war meant that everyone was facing financial problems, he added, including judges who mysteriously ruled in favour of dubious new-build schemes. “The longer this goes on the more we see degradation of our society and governing institutions,” he argued. He took the Guardian to one of the most egregious demolition sites in the riverside Podil neighbourhood. The street was home to classical 19th-century houses. A developer who acquired the plot agreed to preserve its attractive brick facade. A day after Russia’s 2022 invasion, diggers tore it down. Last week, a crane excavated foundations for a new shopping and business centre, watched by a surly security guard. Anatolii Pohorily, a Heritage Kyiv supporter, said there was not much hope for the remaining turquoise-painted houses on the site. Sometimes developers levelled old properties while claiming they were doing “archaeological research”, he said. The Soviet Union also inflicted immense damage on the capital, reconstructing its Khreshchatyk thoroughfare after the second world war so it could accommodate tanks and communist military parades. One of Kyiv’s most prominent champions of historic buildings, the tour guide and blogger Serhiy Mironov, was killed in 2022 while fighting in Bakhmut. His colleague Nelli Chudna said she and other volunteers were carrying on Mironov’s important preservation work. There were originally 3,500 brick-built mansions in Kyiv, many constructed for the city’s prosperous sugar barons. Only 80 of their original doors survived, she said. “It wasn’t Russian rockets that got rid of them. It was us,” she lamented. “The war could go on for another 20 years. If we don’t defend architecture now nothing will be left,” she added. Chudna recently helped to restore a characterful creeper-covered house built in 1910, which serves as the headquarters of her True Kyiv organisation and doubles as a film set and museum. The property has a new red door and authentic railings; inside is a period bathroom and antique mirrors. The building’s tenant, artist Yurii Pikul, described his home as “very cool and a little bit cold”. Why do many Ukrainians not value the past? “Unfortunately they lack education and taste. It’s all about business. We are trying as a country to go to the west. But we are still some distance away from civilisation,” he said. Soviet ways of thinking lingered, with people reluctant to take personal responsibility for their built surroundings, he added. Some buildings are collapsing because of official neglect. Chudna pointed to a once-magical villa hidden behind a modern hospital, the National Institute of Traumatology and Orthopaedic Rehabilitation. Its roof had collapsed; pigeons nested among its broken windows; rubbish lay under a fairytale tower. “Often we don’t win,” she admitted. “Restoration is therapy for us. We are trying to save all this history and beauty.”
‘Almost collapsed’: behind the Korean film crisis and why K-pop isn’t immune
South Korea’s entertainment dominance appears unshakeable. From BTS conquering global charts to Parasite sweeping the Oscars in 2020 and Korean dramas topping Netflix, Korean popular culture has never been more visible. Exports driven by the country’s arts hit a record $15.18bn (£11bn) in 2024, cementing the country’s reputation as a cultural superpower. But inside South Korea, the two industries that helped build the Korean Wave – cinema and K-pop – are now experiencing fundamental transformations, with their survival strategies potentially undermining the creative foundations of their success. The decline in cinema is the most dramatic. Admissions – for Korean and international films – have fallen 45% since 2019, from about 226 million to 123 million, while box office revenue has dropped from $1.3bn to $812m. With investment slowing sharply, Korean distributors that once released more than 40 locally produced films a year are expected to put out about only 20 in 2025, and warn that 2026 could be “even more serious” as the pandemic-era backlog runs out and new productions are not coming fast enough. Kim Han-min, director of the Yi Sun-sin trilogy, delivered the bluntest warning when he told lawmakers last year that the sector had “almost collapsed”. Jason Bechervaise, a professor of Korean film at Hanyang University, sees not a short-term slump but a structural weakening. “Years of tightening margins and rising costs have thinned out the mid-budget productions where new directors once developed and established film-makers experimented,” he says. “Much of the talent pipeline is now moving toward streaming platforms, where investment is steadier and production schedules more predictable.” The theatrical “holdback window” – the period between a cinema release and a film’s arrival on streaming – has also shortened to just a few weeks for many titles, leaving audiences with little reason to buy a ticket. The strain has already triggered historic consolidation, with the operators of the Lotte Cinema and Megabox chains planning to merge their 1,682 screens. Cinemas are investing heavily in premium formats such as Imax and Dolby, but without a reliable flow of domestic films, industry insiders say such upgrades cannot deliver a sustained recovery. K-pop’s reckoning Cinema is not the only pillar under strain. K-pop, long considered one of South Korea’s strongest cultural exports, is also entering a period of uncertainty. Physical album sales fell 19.5% in 2024 – the first decline in a decade – dropping from 115.2m units to 92.7m, with the drop projected to continue by the end of 2025. This includes international releases, but few make major inroads into the Korean charts. Yet major agencies have found their salvation elsewhere, with concert revenues now surging past traditional album sales as they pivot to global touring. Areum Jeong, a professor of Korean studies at Arizona State University, says companies have increasingly prioritised their most dedicated fans. “K-pop companies began catering mainly to the core fandom, and kind of forwent the idea of being widely known to the public,” she says. “When companies cater to the core fandom’s needs, the core fandom will spend and support.” This narrow focus, she argues, has influenced how idols are recruited, trained and marketed, and the superfan-centred model is now being copied by industries outside Korea. Yet questions remain about whether this approach can produce the kind of breakthrough global phenomena that defined K-pop’s golden era, such as BTS or Blackpink. Meanwhile, smaller agencies, once vital for experimentation and diversity, have struggled to survive, squeezed by rising production costs and a shrinking share of fan spending. At the same time, the global success of Korean cultural ideas no longer guarantees that Korean companies will be the ones profiting. Netflix’s animated hit KPop Demon Hunters became the platform’s most-watched animated film. The film was co-directed by the Korean-Canadian Maggie Kang, and included several Korean/Korean-American voice actors, but was an American production based on Korean aesthetics. Jeong describes it as a “de-territorialised, hybrid idea of K-pop [rather] than an authentic K-pop product”, suggesting that Korean cultural concepts have become portable enough to be reproduced internationally without Korean participation. Similar groups trained in Korean methods are now emerging in Japan and south-east Asia, creating direct competition. Yet she says audiences still seek real-world encounters with Korean culture. After the film’s release, museums, food brands and cosmetics companies experienced renewed interest in items featured onscreen. Bechervaise notes how creative dynamics have shifted. As domestic productions became more formulaic, American studios and Korean-diaspora creators began drawing on Korean cultural elements in works such as Minari, Beef and Demon Hunters. “Korea had beaten Hollywood at its own game,” he says, “but now it’s as though Hollywood’s beating Korea at its own game.” The government has responded with a sweeping five-year, 51.4tn won (£26bn) cultural investment plan, aimed at expanding South Korea’s global cultural footprint and strengthening broader cultural industries, from content exports to arts training, tourism and sports. President Lee Jae Myung has also appointed the JYP Entertainment founder and K-pop mogul Park Jin-young to co-chair a new presidential cultural committee to promote the spread of Korean pop culture internationally. Major agencies such as HYBE and SM Entertainment are opening new subsidiaries in south-east Asia, India and China. But critics say the focus on overseas expansion risks overlooking the infrastructure at home that once powered South Korea’s cultural ascent and eroding the cultural authenticity that originally attracted international audiences. Jeong believes the industries will continue to earn money but warns that financial success alone cannot guarantee creative renewal. “The Korean entertainment industry will continue to profit this way,” she says, “but I think it will be difficult to create something like KPop Demon Hunters that has won over so many people worldwide.”
Tommy Robinson says he found Jesus in prison. Churches disagree about how to respond
Gary made sure he got to Whitehall early for the “unite the kingdom” (UTK) outdoor carol service in the run-up to Christmas. After about 150,000 people turned up for the last rally called by Tommy Robinson in September, the leader of the anti-migrant far-right movement, he wanted to be sure of a prime position. He needn’t have worried. About 1,500 people – perhaps 1% of September’s turnout – came to Whitehall to sing carols and hear preachers in the twilight of a mid-December day. Robinson had publicly insisted the event was a non-political celebration of Christmas; maybe that deterred some of movement’s more ardent activists. Crosses and flags were on display, but there was little overt talk – either from the preachers or people in the crowd – of Robinson’s favoured political themes. One did complain loudly that her grandchildren were “banned from celebrating Christmas” at school; another group of women handed out leaflets calling for communities to be “protected from illegal immigration”. Standing beneath a “Jesus saves” sign, Gary said he was a believer but didn’t attend church. “That’s not for me, I can’t be bothered with all that,” he said. Some others attending the service also said they were Christians but not churchgoers. Since Robinson, whose real name is Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, emerged from prison last May, bearded and wearing a wooden cross around his neck, churches have been uncertain how to respond to incipient Christian nationalism on the far right of British politics. Some church members have wanted to push back unequivocally against racism and xenophobia, saying it has no place in Christianity; others have warned that any direct response risks amplifying the far right’s message. Robinson was “led to Christ” while in prison, according to Rikki Doolan, a minister at the Spirit Embassy church in Tottenham, north London, which has a large component of worshippers with west African heritage. Three weeks before his release, Doolan – a former Ukip candidate in local elections – paid Robinson a visit. “We spoke about the gospel, and he received Jesus Christ as his personal lord and saviour, right there in the prison,” Doolan said later. After his release, Robinson told the far right Visegrad 24 media platform that he had “looked deeply over the past few years about what we are fighting for and what made Britain, and it is Christianity. We are a Christian culture”. Over the Christmas period, Robinson posted a number of messages on X positioning himself as an advocate for a Christian revival, including a Boxing Day repost of a tweet by a rightwing account which claimed there had been a “MASSIVE surge in attendance across all denominations” with the comment: “It’s happening” and a cross emoji. The account shared part of a Sky news interview with an Anglican vicar talking about “huge growth” in churchgoing, particularly since the pandemic. At the huge UTK march in central London in September, there was overt Christian symbolism on display, including large crosses and placards proclaiming “Christ is King”. Hymns were sung, prayers were said. Some have suggested that the far right’s newfound Christianity is cultural rather than deeply rooted in faith, or that it is simply a respectable cloak to drape over anti-migrant and Islamophobic views, while also tapping into potential new supporters from beyond Robinson’s largely white base. Others point to entrenched, hugely influential and well-funded Christian nationalism in the US, saying he is seeking to emulate that movement. According to Chris Wickland, a senior pastor at the evangelical Living World Church Network in Hampshire and an associate of Robinson, the rise of Christian nationalism is a “continuation of much older debates about identity, sovereignty and social cohesion that have been unfolding for years”. He said: “Many of the people attending our churches currently are disillusioned with the political situation in the country and see faith as a stabilising influence in family life, local communities and society more generally … People are drawn by a shared concern about the role of faith in public life, and many are also exploring or deepening their own personal commitment to Christianity.” Online footage has shown Wickland attempting to find new members of his flock from the ranks of men attaching flags to lamp-posts as part of the rightwing “Raise the Colours” movement. A few UTK supporters have begun turning up in churches, creating a dilemma for clergy and fellow congregants who don’t share their views. “People are showing up on the back of these rallies, and local church leaders are thinking: ‘What do we do with this?’ It’s something we have to think very hard about,” said one person who attended a December meeting of church, charity and civil society leaders in Westminster on their response to Christian nationalism. Arun Arora, the bishop of Kirkstall and co-lead in the Church of England on racial justice, said he “rejoiced” that Robinson had come to faith, but that the far-right leader needed to hear the key messages of Christianity: love thy neighbour, compassion, justice for the weak and vulnerable. Within the C of E, Arora has been at the forefront of the argument that the church needs to push back hard against the Islamophobia and anti-migrant stance of Robinson – while taking care not to demonise all those in his orbit. “Not everyone who goes on a UTK march is racist. No one is in favour of uncontrolled immigration. But that doesn’t mean you stand neutral in the face of Robinson’s message,” Arora said. He and other Leeds clergy have engaged with protesters outside asylum hotels in the city, offering cake and a vision of “positive patriotism” in an effort to create a space for discussion. In the next few years there would be a “battle as to what Christianity is”, he said. In the lead-up to the UTK carols service, a number of clergy publicly called for a firm response from the C of E. Their case was strengthened by criticism of the event by the Baptist Union, Methodists and United Reformed Church. Churches Together in England shared an opinion piece questioning “why so many churches were slow to challenge [Robinson’s] insidious rhetoric”. The day before the UTK carols event, the C of E national head office released a 43-second video to remind people that “Christmas belongs to all of us”. It didn’t mention Robinson or the UTK carols event, but C of E officials indicated that they were happy for it to be seen as a response to both. Some of those who had argued for pushback felt it was a “safe” way of heading off a more radical response. Differences in views on how to respond to Robinson, UTK and the Reform UK party are believed to exist at the very top of the C of E, between Stephen Cottrell, the archbishop of York, who has a long track record on racial justice issues, and the incoming archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally. She condemned the use of “Christian symbols to oppress” in a pre-Christmas interview with the Sunday Times, but Mullally is thought to be wary of the potential pitfalls of a political battle with hard-right politicians and activists. In January, C of E bishops will discuss the church’s response to Christian nationalism and the far right at one of their regular meetings. Nick Spencer, a senior fellow at the Christian thinktank Theos, who is embarking on a two-year study of Christian nationalism, said the C of E faced a genuine dilemma. If it embraced rightwing activists proclaiming newfound Christianity, it would “get its head kicked in”; if it slammed the door in their face, it would be “missionally-speaking a catastrophe”. The church is “damned if they do, damned if they don’t”, he said. “I don’t think it can remain silent, but its response risks underlining the narrative that the C of E is only for the comfortable middle-class.” Steve Chalke, a Baptist minister and founder of the Oasis Charitable Trust, said to ignore Christian nationalism was “really unwise. You don’t ignore a cancer in your body”. Chalke, who has spent decades working against poverty and injustice, said: “We need to create community, belonging, hope. Britain is not only a post-Christian society, now it’s post-secular. People are searching for meaning and purpose.” According to Spencer, what happens next depends on whether Robinson reflects on the low turnout for the UTK carols and decides to “quietly ditch” his Christian nationalist rhetoric. “Or will he stick with it? How sincere is he in his Christianity?” A possible clue came the week before Christmas, when Robinson and UTK announced the “largest demonstration for national unity and strength this country has ever witnessed” on 16 May in central London. It was billed as a “celebration of our culture, our identity and our shared destiny”. There was no mention of Christianity.
‘Times have changed’: Germany’s military seeks recruits as it confronts new era
Sitting in the cramped interior of a Panzerhaubitze 2000 armoured vehicle, Tom, 20, hangs on every word coming from Achim, an officer with the German military, as he breathlessly talks students through the workings of “the most modern tank in the world”. “What damage would you expect its ammunition to inflict?” Tom asks. Achim replies: “A standard round has a range of 30km, and anything within a 100-metre radius of that would be a direct hit,” Achim says. The students exchange surprised glances. They are on a day out at the Essen Motor Show in western Germany, where among the many exhibitors is the Bundeswehr, or German army, showing off its wares – including quad bikes, an armoured weapons carrier, VR vision equipment and a khaki Porsche sports car – and hoping to convince a mainly male audience of all ages of its benefits as an employer. The Bundeswehr is on a recruitment drive on a scale not seen for decades. According to experts, the size of the professional military needs to expand by about 80,000 members to 260,000 over the next 10 years, and its reservists by 140,000 to 200,000 within a similar timeframe. Intense public outreach work is considered necessary. It aims to convince a population – which for decades has defined itself by pacifism owing to the scars of the Nazi era – that the military’s role is primarily to defend Europe’s largest economy and that soldiers are not warmongers, but citizens in uniform. From 1 January, young men who turn 18 will have to fill out a questionnaire assessing their suitability for armed service, and in about two years will be expected to undergo an obligatory health test so authorities have on record who is potentially available in the event they are needed to fight in a full-scale war. In an attempt to attract more volunteers, army wages are to be boosted, while recruits will have access to language courses, subsidised driving licences, free second-class train travel (if they’re in uniform) and the opportunity to obtain new qualifications. The motor show is just one of many places the Bundeswehr is choosing to recruit these days. It is setting up career lounges around the country everywhere from sports venues to equestrian events, supermarket forecourts and truck stops, as well as hosting its own “discovery days” and female-focused “girls’ days” at barracks and training grounds. Outside the confines of the armoured vehicle, Tom, a trainee car mechanic from a vocational school in Aachen, says he needs little convincing about the merits of a career in the German military. “I’m in the final phase of my apprenticeship and have made plans to join the paratroopers so I can defend my country,” he says. Luca, 21, an IT specialist from near Koblenz, admiring the military’s racing car, says he struggles to understand why Germany suspended its conscription model the year he started school in 2011. The political justification given was that, since the cold war ended, it was no longer needed. However, at the very least, he says, since Vladimir Putin’s full-scale assault on Ukraine in 2022, “it is very clear how much we need it. It was a very short-sighted thing to do.” Abolishing conscription also removed the infrastructure around recruitment. Rebuilding that is proving to be costly and time consuming, everyone involved agrees. Luca would be in favour of an obligatory year of service for everyone, he says. He would be “prepared to defend Germany”, he adds, “but not to go abroad to attack a foreign country”. Increasing numbers of young men are actively submitting applications to preemptively declare their conscientious objection to serving, should compulsory military service be reinstated. “I personally would not go that far,” Luca says. “I would not know how to justify that. At the same time, I don’t think you can force anyone to serve either.” Jennifer and Matthias Schleicher, lift fitters from Erkelenz, watch as their son Erik, five, clambers over a four-wheel drive, all-terrain quad bike. “It’s about time our army was strengthened,” says Jennifer, referring in part to the billions of euros of military funding unleashed by the previous government, with billions more to follow, after Germany pledged this summer to raise its defence spending to 3.5% of GDP by 2029. “We’ve been spending too much for too long on other people’s defence systems, whilst ignoring our own. It’s only right and proper to adjust that and become war-ready ourselves,” she says. Like more than 50% of Germans, she and her husband are in favour of a conscription model, which 63% of young people oppose. “As the times have changed, so have the views on this,” she says. And if her son Erik was called up to fight? “As a mother, of course, it’s difficult, but I can’t keep him out of it if it becomes necessary. The same rules should apply to everyone.” Specially trained on-site recruiters are here to address any queries. Among them, Marco, who is overseeing the Bundeswehr stand, says the Essen Motor Show enables the Bundeswehr to reach more than 200,000 visitors over 10 days. Interest has grown exponentially since they first exhibited there in 2007, he says. “Back then people asked: ‘Why are you here?’” he says. “Now that the security situation has changed, people are more inclined to want to get into conversation with us, and say: ‘Thank you for your service.’” Achim, the tank operator, joined when he was considerably short of his 18th birthday, in 2006. “I got in with a Muttizettel [mother’s note],” he says, jokingly using the colloquial term for a written parental declaration of consent. Having completed tours in Norway, Lebanon and France, he has never been motivated by any ambition to participate in warfare, he says, “but to contribute to ensuring that we provide such a deterrent that no one comes up with the idea of attacking us and our democracy in the first place. This I strongly believe, has helped ensure peace for over 70 years.”