Leaving the EU marks a generational shift in the way the country is governed, but it is not an end in itself. It is an opportunity to do things differently – economically, politically, on the world stage. Whether we grasp that opportunity is up to us. Leaving was never going to bring an immediate boost in prosperity – on the contrary, some contraction in the short-term was inevitable, as the country and business adjusted. The impact of external events like Covid and the Russian invasion of Ukraine provide some mitigation. But outside the EU, so far, we have taken only small steps. I fear we are still in our silos, wedded to outdated thinking, resentful and too timid to make the changes we need. The jeopardy our continent faces demands an urgent response. This means actively working to put differences aside. It means finding the imagination to design a joint future. A more durable alliance with our continental neighbours, is an imperative. Without it, we – and they – face continued decline and dangerous dependence on more powerful nations.

This chapter examines the origins of news as a commodity in the Atlantic world. In the wake of Columbus’ voyages, the Americas emerged as an important feature in Renaissance Europe’s increasingly global consciousness. Gradually, as novelty receded, news from across the ocean became a staple item in handwritten newspapers. The rhythm of transatlantic news, unlike ‘regular’ European news, was determined by the intricate pattern of winds and currents, and the threat of hurricanes in the Caribbean, which turned the ocean into a barrier. This chapter zooms in on the characteristics of transatlantic news by focusing on European-wide coverage of the fateful campaign of Sir Francis Drake to Puerto Rico and Panama in 1595-96. The famous Fuggerzeitungen, news reports collected from all across Europe by the Fugger merchant family in Augsburg, reveal that correspondents in Protestant towns wrote hopeful reports of Drake’s success in capturing Havana, while avvisi in Italy were literally months ahead in their coverage of the admiral’s failure and death.

In this chapter, we reflect on re-decentralisation in human–data interaction. This represents very personal views, particularly potentially revisionist history, and we encourage people who were around for any of this time to disagree. When we use the word centralisation, we are referring to ownership and management. Of course, there are other players in the supply chain, hardware vendors, government, civil society, but let us concentrate on this service aspect in this work. In the somewhat early days of the Internet (e.g., 1980), we saw it as a decentralised system that contrasted with the central telephone systems. The phone systems had until then largely been national monopolies. Whilst some of them were distributed in terms of technical management and operations, they were centralised in terms of ownership and administration. The Internet was decentralised at the network layer and later in terms of assigned numbers and traffic. Twenty years later, post world-wide-web and cloud and since the start of the smart phone revolution, from 2000 onwards, we see a massive swing towards centralisation of the Internet in almost all of its layers (e.g., Baig Viñas, 2019). This has consequences, some, but not all, of which are bad. It is time to think about re-decentralisation and how we might address some of the unfortunate consequences. We look at this through the lens of Human–Data Interaction.

Educating graduate students aims at making them competent members in a disciplinary community and culture. This chapter identifies PhD student training as a curious process in which instruction and the advancement of science go together. It examines how a PhD student was instructed to tackle a common, though often challenging, problem of science with large datasets: calibrating a new dataset and combining it with data from a different source for analysis. By following this student around over two years as she achieved this goal, the author learnt how she became a competent member in the community and culture of extragalactic astronomy. Conversely, it is possible to gain insights into what makes combining scientific datasets often so challenging. As such, this chapter applies the tactics of Chapter 2 – take a problem of data-intensive science, consider how it is “staffed” in a specific case, and follow its management ethnographically – to another setting. This account serves as a resource for the next two chapters, on uses of diagrams and mundane reasoning in research with large datasets.

This chapter shows that the Judicial Power Project seeks to clear the way for the Common Good Project so that the executive can ‘promulgate the common good’ according to a controversial understanding of Catholic theology. Moreover, the combination of the two projects gives the common good lawyers more in common with the thought of the two German fascist thinkers Carl Schmitt and Eric Voegelin than with Catholic theology or classical natural law. It is important to the argument that this claim does not depend only on noticing the resonances between these two figures and the common good lawyers. Adrian Vermeule is a disciple of Schmitt, and Finnis has been influenced throughout his career by Voegelin, who is also a major figure in right-wing ideology in the US.

The promise to end free movement of EU citizens was a trump card for the campaign to leave the European Union. Unlike the economic and sovereignty arguments, the immigration argument was simple and undeniably true: the UK could not control immigration while it remained a member of the EU. Experts on both sides of the referendum debate agreed that leaving the EU would reduce migration. For many voters, that was a pretty compelling argument. Fast forward six years, and migration post-Brexit had hit a record high. Net migration was three times the pre-Brexit level. What happened? Why did EU exit fail so spectacularly to deliver on its clearest promise? This chapter argues that the post-Brexit immigration system broke its promise to reduce migration partly by accident and partly by design. The government made liberal choices on immigration policy and underestimated quite how many migrants would take them up. Hardly any of this was an inevitable consequence of Brexit. In an alternative universe, things could have looked very different.

Although the liberty and equality language of the Declaration was probably not the most important part of the document in 1776, it has come to be that today.

This chapter presents a structured account of the Framework and Topology of Methods in Behavioural Data Science, expanding upon a four-stage methodological process – data collection, data processing, feature engineering and model development – and introducing four foundational conceptual pillars: Hypothesis Testing at Scale, Data Science Modelling for Behavioural Problems, Gap Detection and Hybrid Modelling. These pillars not only represent distinct methodological orientations but also correspond to divergent epistemological and ontological commitments within the field. The chapter provides a comprehensive overview of methods and tools used at each stage of the Behavioural Data Science workflow, illustrates how emerging technologies such as large language models (LLMs) reshape methodological choices and concludes with ethical considerations and future directions. In so doing, it advances a unified topology of Behavioural Data Science methods capable of accommodating both theory-driven and data-driven approaches, while responding to gaps in traditional behavioural science paradigms.

This chapter examines presidential emergency powers and the framework for analyzing separation of powers disputes between Congress and the President. It argues that the Constitution grants no inherent authority for the President to act beyond or against statutory law in crises. Analyzing the Steel Seizure Case (1952), where the Supreme Court rejected Truman’s unauthorized steel mill seizure, it critiques Justice Jackson’s tripartite framework, particularly its vague “twilight zone” of congressional silence, as conceptually muddled. It proposes a formalist framework: presidential power is limited to executing Congress’s laws or acting within enumerated presidential authorities, but Congress and the President have some overlapping or concurrent powers. The chapter then rejects claims to emergency powers, arguing that historical examples like Lincoln’s habeas corpus suspension were extraconstitutional actions that may have been justified but were not legal, requiring public or legislative indemnity. This originalist approach, opposing functionalist expansions of an “imperial presidency,” advocates a restrained presidency faithful to the law-execution role that the Vesting and Take Care Clauses assign to the chief executive.