
Open-air screening of Barbie is axed in French town after threats are made for 'promoting homosexuality', sparking 'religious fundamentalists' row
The last minute cancellation of the annual event, which was due to take place last Friday in the Parisian suburb of Noisy-le-Sec, has since sparked a political debate over censorship.
Mayor Olivier Sarrabeyrouse issued a press release this week to explain why the screening of the highly regarded feminist film was scrapped, claiming that 'an extreme minority of thugs, who, no doubt, had not seen the film, [had] transformed a simple free open-air cinema screening open to all into a violent opposition movement'.
'They said that it advocates homosexuality and that it is an attack on the integrity of women,' he said, recalling that 'Barbie is a film for all audiences, which has never been banned in France '.
'I deplore the fact that a small group from the neighborhood mobilized its energy under pressure from an individual to prevent the screening of this film,' he went on to say.
The cancellation of the screening has sparked political outrage, with political figures blaming the mayor for succumbing to censorship, but the background of those who objected to the film is not known.
'Algeria, Lebanon, Kuwait, and today Noisy-le-Sec in [France] censor #Barbie... the [mayor] submits to pressures from an 'aggressive group'! Translation: Islamist religious fundamentalists exert strong and effective social control!', wrote MP Valerie Boyer on X.
But the mayor clapped back at the politician, telling French radio station RTL today: 'I never gave in'.
'I'm mayor, and I'm responsible for the safety of both public service employees and the population. I think all my fellow mayors, regardless of their political affiliation, would have made the same decision'.
'I condemn this kind of moral censorship, but I also condemn this exploitation,' he added, noting that 'transphobia and homophobia are not reserved for a section of the population' and that 'the extreme right and the right have been fighting these battles for years.'
The film was banned in many Muslim countries over the perception that it promoted homosexuality, French media notes.
The mayor of Noisy-Le-Sec, a suburb of Paris with a large North African community, did not identify the 'aggressive' group who made the threat.
According to the mayor, several municipal workers received violent threats from the group of 'hooligans' who vowed to stop the screening and destroy equipment.
'These threats were motivated by fallacious arguments, reflecting obscurantism and fundamentalism instrumentalised for political ends.'
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The Guardian
2 hours ago
- The Guardian
How Spain put up wealth taxes - without chasing away the billionaires
With its green curtain of hanging gardens, the Planeta building is one of Barcelona's most recognisable office blocks. Earlier this summer, it was acquired as part of a Monopoly board spending spree by Spain's richest man, the Zara fashion label founder Amancio Ortega. Through his Pontegadea family office, which invests his personal wealth, Ortega has also just snapped up the five-star Hotel Banke in Paris, an apartment building in Florida, and a half-share in the operator of Teesport in the north-east of England, adding to a property portfolio already worth €20bn. Why the rush? Ortega is poised to receive a record dividend of €3.1bn (£2.7bn) this year from his shares in Zara's parent group, Inditex. He is reportedly racing to spend the windfall, which would otherwise be subject to wealth taxes. Sources close to Pontegadea told the Guardian it was not investing to avoid tax, but following its mandate 'to create wealth from the original assets, maintain it, make it grow, and consolidate it over generations'. It invests all dividends from Inditex 'and any other income from its own economic activities every year, no matter the amount', they said. Whatever the reason, the Ortega property portfolio has grown rapidly in recent years, making his family office one of Europe's biggest real estate owners. As chancellors around Europe cast about for ways to repair the damage to public finances caused by successive global shocks, there is a growing clamour for more effective ways to tax the largest private fortunes. Spain is one of only three European countries (along with Switzerland and Norway) to still collect wealth taxes, and policymakers are looking to Madrid for lessons in what works – and what doesn't. In the UK, the former Labour leader Neil Kinnock and the party's former shadow chancellor Anneliese Dodds have joined those calling for Rachel Reeves to introduce a wealth tax when she sets out her budget in the autumn. As the chancellor looks at the options, which could also include changes to inheritance tax, members of her own party are pushing for a debate in parliament about introducing a 2% annual levy on those with assets over £10m, which they say could raise £24bn. In France, a similar proposal aimed squarely at the ultra-rich with assets of more than €100m was approved by the lower house but was rejected by the senate. Wealth taxes are designed to take a percentage of a person's assets each year. Once fairly common, they have gradually fallen out of use, replaced by levies that bite when money changes hands, for example, through dividend payments, inheritance and sales of shares or property. Spain's wealth tax dates to 1978, a year that marked the transition to democracy from dictatorship under Franco. Regional governments receive the revenues collected by the levy, a system that worked well until, after a brief pause during the financial crisis, it was brought back in 2011. On its return, Madrid's conservative administration responded by discounting the rate to zero. The move benefited the high-earning footballers at Real Madrid, attracted new residents from other regions, and incomers from Venezuela and other Latin American countries, boosting property prices. In 2022, the conservative-run region of Andalucía in the south, announced that it, too, would cut the rate to zero. In a play on the Spanish term for tax haven, paraíso fiscal, Madrid's regional leader posted on X: 'Andalucíans: welcome to paradise.' Then Galicia, in the north-west, where Ortega is resident for wealth tax, joined the fray by offering a 50% discount. A source of income that had been providing hundreds of millions of euros a year to support local services, including healthcare, was under threat. The battle to save it became a tussle between the socialist-led central government, headed by Pedro Sánchez, and conservative-run autonomous regional governments. At the end of December 2022, Sánchez took action, with the solidarity tax on large fortunes. Initially for two years, to help with public spending after the pandemic, it has now been rolled over until the regional financing is revised, which is not likely to happen soon. It was designed in such a way that whatever revenue was forfeited by the regions would be collected centrally. The rate starts at 1.7% for those with net wealth of €3m, rising to 3.5% for fortunes over €10m. It is payable on worldwide assets. There are allowances: the first €700,000 is exempted, as is €300,000 for the main residence. A cap to help the asset rich and cash poor means that combined income and wealth taxes cannot exceed 60% of income. Numbers shared with the Guardian by the Ministerio de Hacienda (the Spanish Treasury) show that in the first year, 2023, the regions collected €1.25bn, and the central government €630m; a total of €1.88bn. In 2024, the regions took the logical step of keeping the income for themselves. The total take rose to €2bn. 'The solidarity tax is not a tool to collect revenues for central government, it is a way of forcing regions to collect more,' says Dirk Foremny, associate professor of economics at the University of Barcelona. In that respect, it has worked perfectly. As a revenue raiser, it is limited. The approach from Madrid has been light touch, though the rules could be changed to raise more. The sums collected are on a par with inheritance tax – already heavily discounted by the regions – which raises about €3bn a year. By contrast, income taxes bring in €130bn. But Foremny says the solidarity tax has a social value. 'This tax is a tool to achieve a more equitable distribution of wealth across individuals. There are good arguments why we don't want to have a very large concentration of wealth in the hands of very few. Wealth is correlated with political influence and power.' He points to the US and its billionaire tech barons as a warning of what can happen when the scales tip too far. What is clear is that, two years on, a predicted exodus of the rich, trumpeted in endless alarmist headlines, has not materialised. Forbes counted 26 Spanish billionaires in 2021. This year, it lists 34, with a combined net worth comfortably over $200bn. 'The big fortunes mostly stayed put, filed protective appeals, and hired better structuring teams,' says Marc Debois, the founder of FO-Next, which advises family offices. 'A handful decamped to Lisbon or Dubai or any other location; enough for newspaper headlines, not enough for a flight.' Could the billionaires be made to pay more? Experts point to a big exemption: the one for 'family companies'. Originally designed to encourage small- to medium-sized businesses, these structures are also being used by the very biggest fortunes to manage their assets. There are restrictions. A taxpayer must demonstrate that assets are being used for economic activity, that is, a trade or business. Cash and shares held simply for investment purposes are taxable. Real estate that earns rents is not. If the family exemption is abolished, Debois says the billionaires won't necessarily decamp. They are more likely to lawyer up, reduce profits by leveraging (taking on debt), and create holding companies in low-tax jurisdictions such as Luxembourg. 'Some money already half‑abroad would finish the move,' he says.' The bigger issue is tens of thousands of mid‑sized family firms rely on the same rule; torching it is politically radioactive.' Estimates by Julio López Laborda, a professor of public economics at the University of Zaragoza, suggest that 80% of the assets of the richest 1% are not subject to the wealth tax. He says the family company exemption could represent a loss to the Treasury of about €2bn, while the cap on tax as a proportion of income, mentioned above, could account for another €2.5bn uncollected. Susana Ruiz, tax justice policy lead at Oxfam, which is working with López Laborda on a forthcoming report about wealth taxes, says: 'We could be raising at least two to three times more than we are at the moment.' Cutting public services in order to fund tax breaks, or simply balance the books, can create a doom loop, because it reduces the quality of provision, undermining the consensus on which taxation depends. In Madrid, declines in healthcare provision fuelled resentment among working people and created a sense that private provision was more efficient, says Ruiz. She believes the solidarity tax has helped rebuild confidence. 'There is a lot of citizen support behind it. It helps in the perception that the system is fair.' So far, there is no sign that it has affected growth. Spain was the world's fastest-expanding major advanced economy last year, outpacing even the US, with GDP up 3.2%. By contrast, growth in the UK and France last year barely scraped above 1%. On the balconies of the Planeta building, and in the country at large, the green shoots are alive and well.


Daily Mail
3 hours ago
- Daily Mail
Vintage banquettes, lime-washed panelling and scalloped trims – inside a tiny fisherman's cabin just outside Marseille
Three years ago, Paris-based TV producer Xavier Favre and his wife Pauline, who works for a fragrance company, set out to find the perfect weekend escape in the small fishing village of Les Goudes, near their hometown of Marseille. Les Goudes, once an industrial hub located on the city's fringe, became known for its nightclub on La Maronaise beach that attracted crowds of over 1,000. An epic wrap party for the French film Taxi took place there in 1998. The demolition of the club in 2010 marked the beginning of a new chapter for the village, ushering in a wave of artisan coffee shops and upscale restaurants. As Les Goudes is located within the bounds of the protected Calanques National Park, its identity has remained untouched, along with the charming crop of cabanons ('sheds') that were vacation homes for fishermen and factory workers during the 1950s and are still dotted along the coastline beyond Marseille. When one such cabanon hit the market for around £300,000 ('a rare occurrence, as these spaces are never available' says Xavier), the Favres quickly found themselves back in Les Goudes with a holiday home. The compact two-storey property stands right on the coast, on land owned by the French government. As a result, the Favres pay a modest annual fee to live there. The main door is close to the water's edge and leads to a harbour-facing guest room, where the previous owner used to keep his sailboat. On the upper level is an airy all-in-one kitchen, living and dining area, as well as the primary bedroom and bathroom. Ceilings throughout are a modest six-and-a-half feet high. For a home of such small proportions, the decorating scheme packs a punch, featuring lime-washed wood panelling throughout and ornate wooden banquette seating, like those on a vintage carousel, as well as cabinets with scalloped trims. Open shelves are stacked with vintage café pitchers, stoneware confit pots and ceramics by the Marseilles potter Vincent Verde. In the living area, located on a platform above the kitchen and dining room, there are marine-inspired paintings by the Provençal painter Eugène Baboulène. It's a theme that is continued with the palette of azure blue and egg-yolk yellow that reflects the surrounding seascape, as seen from the Favres' bijou balcony. 'The cabanon is a place to spend time with friends and to enjoy a stripped-back version of life by the sea,' says Xavier. 'Its proximity to urban culture, along with the easy train ride from Paris, means we get to visit all year round.' CATCHES OF THE DAY Sardines are having a moment, on everything from tea towels to tiles Cotton printed fish tablecloth for 6 to 8 diners £29.99 Shop Sardine Tapas Earthenware Bowl £13 Shop Dolce Vita Cotton Tea Towel, £6 Shop Trinket tray £45 Shop Klevering Extra Small De la Mer Plates Set of 4 £65 for four Shop Can of Sardines Delft Tile £27.50 Shop Sardines Doormat £48 Shop Better Together Sardines Matches £9 Shop


Spectator
5 hours ago
- Spectator
Unesco status is killing Bath
Last month, the Trump administration announced that the United States would once again withdraw from Unesco, the Paris-based UN cultural agency responsible for World Heritage Sites, education initiatives, and cultural programmes worldwide. The official line? Unesco promotes 'woke, divisive cultural and social causes' and its 'globalist, ideological agenda' clashes with America First policy. Predictably, the Trump administration framed it as a culture-war grievance. But, set aside the politics, and it soon becomes clear that Trump might not be entirely wrong. Unesco – founded in 1945 with the lofty mission of promoting peace and global cooperation through culture, education, and science – has devolved into something far less edifying. Once led by artists, architects, and scholars, Unesco's World Heritage Committee has become the Fifa of culture: a fiefdom of bureaucrats, political journeymen and international grifters who drift between departments, NGOs and consultancies with no accountability, while the list of sites has ballooned to 1,248. Its $1.5 billion annual budget fuels a self-perpetuating treadmill of capacity-building workshops, unread reports and relentless reputation polishing. The consequences are not merely abstract for Bath, a Unesco World Heritage Site since 1987. Some World Heritage Sites are a single chapel, a medieval bridge, or a protected ruin; Bath's listing covers the entire city – all 94,000 residents, its suburban sprawl, its industrial remnants, and its everyday working streets. The designation treats the Georgian crescents and Roman baths as inseparable from the supermarkets, car parks, and 1970s infill, meaning almost any change anywhere must be weighed against the city's 'Outstanding Universal Value.' At the same time, the city is grappling with a record housing crisis: house prices are more than 13 times annual earnings, social housing demand is soaring, and temporary accommodation has reached a 20-year high. Homelessness services like Julian House's Manvers Street hostel operate far beyond capacity, providing nearly 97,000 bed spaces last year alone while struggling to secure their own roof. But Bath's heritage status means it is almost impossible to get anything built. Although Unesco status carries no direct legal force in the UK, it is woven into planning policy through the Bath and North East Somerset Local Plan, which bars development deemed harmful to the 'qualities justifying the inscription' or its setting. In practice, this gives opponents of change a powerful rhetorical weapon: they need only invoke 'Outstanding Universal Value' to wrap their case in the prestige of an international mandate. The result is a permanent, low-level threat – that almost any proposal, however modest, might be cast as an affront to world heritage and fought on those grounds. In 2024, residents were warned that the city's Unesco status was 'at risk' after the council approved the replacement of former industrial units on Wells Road with 77 'co-living' apartments. The planning committee split four to four, with the chair casting the tiebreaker vote in favour. Councillors raised concerns about the building's bulk and potential 'cumulative impact' on the World Heritage Site, with one declaring the city was 'sailing close to the wind with Unesco.' It is extraordinary: a city struggling to house its own people, yet officials can menace its international status over a modest block of flats. Meanwhile, residents in nearby Saltford – whose own Grade II* Saltford Manor dates to the 12th century and is thought to be Britain's oldest continuously inhabited house – watch as Bath's tight planning restrictions push the housing burden outwards. With 1,300 new homes proposed for its green belt, the village faces development on a scale it can't sustain, without the infrastructure or political protection to resist it. Phil Harding, head of the Saltford Environmental Group and a resident for more than 30 years, recently made headlines when he spoke out about the impact of Bath's World Heritage status on neighbouring communities. 'I'm not against new housing, I'm against putting housing in the wrong place,' he says. Bath, he notes, is already a fantastic city that draws tourists in its own right, and Unesco status 'makes no difference.' The real problem, he adds, is that World Heritage designation makes it 'incredibly hard to build in Bath,' pushing development into nearby villages. Much of the employment for new arrivals will still be in Bath, leaving Saltford to shoulder the burden – green belt land lost, congestion rising, local services stretched – without enjoying the benefits. 'Bath doesn't need World Heritage Status,' he concludes. 'It distorts planning priorities, forcing the city to preserve appearances while shifting the real costs onto neighbouring communities.' It may sound unthinkable, but losing that status is hardly fatal. Liverpool provides the example: once celebrated for its maritime mercantile cityscape, it was stripped of Unesco recognition in 2021 after the agency judged that recent and planned developments had caused an 'irreversible loss' of the site's Outstanding Universal Value. Among the contested projects was Everton FC's new stadium at Bramley-Moore Dock, which required filling in part of the historic dock to accommodate a 52,000-seat arena. Even the Guardian acknowledged it as 'the most striking, ambitious addition to the waterfront since the Three Graces were built in the early 1900s.' The £800 million stadium formed part of a broader £1.3 billion regeneration plan, projected to create over 15,000 jobs and attract more than 1.4 million visitors annually. The city did not crumble: regeneration pressed ahead, docks were revitalised, neighbourhoods transformed and tourism continued to flourish. The lesson is plain – Unesco's imprimatur is not the secret ingredient of urban vitality, and its objections can just as easily hinder development as they can protect it. If Unesco were merely symbolic, that would be one thing. But the status is far from meaningless: it exerts moral and political pressure, informs planning guidance, and lends weight to the opinions of advisory bodies like Historic England. For Bath, this translates into a city where development proposals are scrutinised through the lens of 'Outstanding Universal Value,' with councillors warned that new flats or infrastructure might unsettle international sensibilities. The result is a city frozen in amber, preserved more for the approval of tourists rather than for the people who actually live and work there. So when the America First brigade lashes out at Unesco, it is tempting to roll our eyes. But there is a logic to that disdain. World Heritage labels are increasingly badges for the international jet set, not the local people. The US may be leaving for its own vanity, but the reasoning – that Unesco is corrupt, politicised, and more interested in theatre than preservation – hits the mark. For cities like Bath, the real question isn't whether Unesco might disapprove, but why on earth they should care.