Retro-futuristic illustration of Château Frontenac Indo-Pacifique, surrounded by futuristic floating cities and airships(Artwork by ChatGPT, 2025)
Sea‑level rise is no longer a distant warning but an active force reshaping coastal geographies—threatening infrastructure, displacing communities, and exposing the limits of traditional urban planning. As these pressures intensify, global institutions are reimagining what future cities must become to withstand environmental volatility. Meanwhile, on a wholly separate track, populist political visions are revisiting the idea of new cities not out of climate necessity but out of a desire for mobility, opportunity, and a renewed appetite for frontier‑style experimentation. Yet both trajectories, for different reasons, could plausibly converge on the same notional theater: the Pacific Ocean, a vast expanse that some in Washington still, with a characteristically patriotic flourish, call “American lake.”
Against this evolving backdrop, UN‑Habitat’s floating‑city initiative steps in as the global institutional expression of these shifting ambitions—anchoring its efforts in the Indo‑Pacific, where the earliest practical attempts to build sustainable, resilient ocean‑based habitats are already unfolding. The concept first took formal shape in 2019, when more than 70 stakeholders gathered at UN Headquarters to evaluate floating cities not as speculative fiction but as viable responses to coastal vulnerability and housing scarcity. UN‑Habitat’s leadership emphasized that such innovation must benefit “all people,” underscoring inclusivity, affordability, and environmental responsibility.
On the other side sits an unexpectedly parallel vision from U.S. President Donald J. Trump, who in 2023 proposed constructing up to ten ‘Freedom Cities’ on unused federal land—futuristic settlements with advanced infrastructure, vertical take‑off vehicles, mass‑produced homes, and a bid to reopen the frontier of American development. His proposal reframed challenges of affordability, mobility, and industrial decline as opportunities for ambitious reinvention.
Despite their divergent motivations—UN‑Habitat driven by global equity and rising seas, Trump by economic dynamism and national aspiration—both frameworks share a foundational recognition: the static, land‑bound city is losing relevance. Their overlap hints at the emerging idea of ‘floating freedom cities,’ where Pacific Island sovereignty and American patriotism intersect in surprising ways. In this light, the question is no longer whether such visions belong to speculative futurism, but how—and how soon—they might materialize in the Indo‑Pacific’s high‑stakes environments. And even though the United States is not yet directly constructing floating cities, the diplomatic, industrial, and regional maneuvering surrounding them is already underway—quietly shaping the context into which the next phase of development will emerge.
Current Development Status — Maldives vs UN‑Habitat’s Oceanix
Floating cities have moved decisively beyond theory, and nowhere is this more evident than in the Maldives—arguably the world’s most vulnerable proving ground for ocean‑based urbanism. A full floating settlement is already taking shape there, where rising seas threaten nearly 80 percent of national territory. As reported, the Maldives Floating City—developed with Dutch marine engineers—has been designed as a 200‑hectare lagoon community composed of nearly 5,000 coral‑patterned housing modules. Engineered to rise and fall with the tides, the platforms absorb storm surges while protecting surrounding reefs, transforming environmental volatility into structural resilience. Early phases project homes for approximately 20,000 residents, with units ranging from 1,000 to 1,500 square feet and supported by pontoons, canals, and solar‑powered utilities. The Maldivian initiative demonstrates that floating cities are not privileges reserved for advanced economies—they can serve small island nations confronting existential land loss in real time.
By comparions, UN‑Habitat’s Oceanix project—the world’s first sustainable floating‑city prototype—shows how rapidly the idea has shifted from architectural speculation to applied engineering. Designed to house 12,000 residents across three interconnected platforms spanning 15.5 acres, Oceanix carries an estimated construction cost between $200 million and $627 million. Its modular platforms integrate renewable‑energy systems, zero‑waste loops, on‑site food production, and resilient marine architecture capable of withstanding category‑5 hurricanes. Crucially, the entire structure is engineered to adapt to projected sea‑level rise of 1–2 feet over the next three decades, positioning Oceanix not only as a climate buffer but as an early expression of a new amphibious urban typology.
Beyond these flagship projects, the technologies enabling ocean‑based settlements signal a broader shift in how humans may inhabit marine environments. Very Large Floating Structures (VLFS), autonomous marine robotics, AI‑driven environmental monitoring, offshore solar‑wind hybrids, and advanced desalination collectively form the technical backbone of sustained ocean living. Rather than marking a break from existing practice, these systems extend the logic of maritime infrastructure, offshore energy, and ocean‑logistics networks already central to the Indo‑Pacific. Within this continuum, floating cities emerge as a provocative evolution in urban form: modular, mobile, ocean‑based population centers capable of expanding, repositioning, or replicating as new infrastructure is added. The Indo‑Pacific thus becomes not merely a testing ground but the region most likely to define the next stage of marine‑based urban development.
From Climate Sanctuary to a Plurality of Freedom Cities
Building on this trajectory, the next phase of floating‑city development is best seen as a natural extension of early prototypes. The Maldives and Oceanix projects demonstrate that floating settlements are maturing into credible, adaptive, and resilient urban forms. What remains is understanding how these models might evolve—sometimes aligned, sometimes divergent—to shape humanitarian, urban, and technological futures in parallel. In this sense, the three emerging functions of floating cities offer a conceptual bridge: they link the UN’s focus on inclusive, resilient development with the frontier‑driven ambition behind the Freedom Cities idea, making “floating freedom cities” a plausible meeting point between the two.
a) Climate sanctuary with political agency: For UN member states and climate‑vulnerable communities, floating cities offer a humane alternative to forced climate migration. With climate refugees expected to appear in Australia as early as 2026, displacement pressures are no longer abstract. As rising seas erode the physical basis of sovereignty, small‑island nations face territorial, cultural, and political dislocation.
Floating freedom cities provide a third path—neither retreat nor erasure. They offer continuity of territory, culture, and governance even as coastlines vanish. Rather than treating displaced populations as burdens, these ocean‑based settlements enable communities to rebuild, reorganize, and retain political agency at sea. In this sense, floating cities operate not merely as emergency shelters but as platforms for preserving identity, autonomy, and nationhood.
b) An urban pressure valve—and a new frontier. In Trump’s Freedom Cities vision, the appeal lies in mobility, expansion, and architectural ambition. Floating cities mirror this impulse by extending urban space onto the water. For megacities in the Indo-Pacific, such as Manila, Jakarta, and Mumbai —already straining under intense density—floating districts act as modular spillover zones, expanding habitable space without displacement or coastal damage. The UN’s equity‑driven adaptation logic and Trump’s frontier‑expansion logic thus converge: both imagine cities growing outward into underused spaces. In doing so, floating freedom cities complement rather than compete with UN‑Habitat’s mission, becoming parallel laboratories for livability, affordability, and spatial innovation.
c) A plural, mobile tech‑industrial archipelago. Borrowing from the cinematic imagination of Mortal Engines, one can envision mobile cities roaming not as dystopian predators but as self‑contained civic organisms bearing industry, identity, and infrastructure. Transposed onto the ocean, multiple floating cities—each housing tens of thousands people—glide across open water and interlock into a shimmering mesh of shared energy grids, data links, and industrial platforms. In this optimistic reinterpretation, mobility becomes a tool of cooperation and specialization rather than conflict.
UN frameworks emphasize sustainability and marine stewardship, while Trump’s rhetoric highlights manufacturing revival and mobility. A floating freedom‑city network—multiple nodes rather than a single metropolis—can embody both visions: ocean‑cooled data centers, marine‑robotics yards, aquaculture grids, offshore‑energy labs, and floating logistics depots forming a distributed archipelago of economic activity. Such clusters could support populations in the low millions, blurring the boundaries between humanitarian refuge, industrial hub, and autonomous urban frontier.
Positioned along Indo‑Pacific maritime arteries, these nodes become not only strategic assets but strategic presences—civilian, economic, and humanitarian first, with strategic effects emerging from what they enable rather than what they threaten. Instead of resembling military bases, floating freedom‑city networks act as connective tissue: linking trade routes, supporting relief operations, extending digital infrastructure, and anchoring industrial capacity across open water. In the interplay between UN‑Habitat’s inclusive governance and Trump’s frontier‑urban ambition, these cities assume a plural identity—sanctuary, laboratory, and geopolitical signal at once. A floating frontier shaped not by fortification but by adaptability, mobility, and purpose, its influence carried by currents, commerce, and capability rather than hard power alone.
The European Union’s ambition to become a knowledge-based economy has transformed the role of higher education institutions (HEIs). My new book, The Territorial Dimension of EU Knowledge Policies: Higher Education Institutions for Europe (Routledge, 2025), explores how universities are not only shaped by European integration but also actively shape it, particularly through their engagement with EU regional policy.
Why this book?
Since the Lisbon Strategy and Europe 2020, EU policies have aimed to boost competitiveness through knowledge. While higher education remains a national competence, the EU has expanded its influence via funding instruments and governance frameworks. Among these, European Territorial Cooperation (Interreg) which traditionally is a regional policy tool plays a surprising role in higher education. Interreg funds cross-border projects among higher education institutions, creating new cooperation spaces and governance dynamics.
This book argues that these financial instruments do more than support collaboration: they Europeanise higher education by embedding EU priorities such as innovation, mobility, cohesion into institutional strategies. At the same time, HEIs use these instruments to influence EU policy, creating feedback loops that blur boundaries between national and EU governance.
Theoretical lens: a circular model of Europeanisation
At the heart of this book lies a simple but powerful idea: Europeanisation is not linear but circular. Instead of seeing it as a one-way, top-down process, the book introduces a framework that captures the dynamic interplay between EU policies HEIs.
The model unfolds like a story in four acts. It begins with the conditions for use: why HEIs decide to engage with EU funding and what incentives or barriers shape that choice. Then comes the use of EU instruments, where HEIs tap into programmes like Interreg to build networks and cooperation structures. The third act explores the consequences of use, i.e. how these projects transform organisational capacities, strategic priorities, and even the rationale for collaboration. Finally, the circle closes with feedback to EU policy, as universities move from passive beneficiaries to active policy entrepreneurs, influencing agendas and instruments at the European level.
This framework builds on multi-level governance theory, integrating perspectives from regionalisation and internationalisation research. At its core, it positions HEIs at the intersection of three distinct governance arenas. The first is intergovernmental coordination, exemplified by processes such as Bologna, which harmonise standards across national systems. The second is community programmes, including Erasmus+, Horizon Europe, and Interreg, which foster collaboration and mobility within the European Union. The third arena is organisational cooperation, where cross-border university networks create new spaces for joint action and knowledge exchange.
By weaving together vertical and horizontal dynamics, this model reveals how universities operate not merely as recipients of EU knowledge policies but as active co-creators of Europe’s knowledge economy. In doing so, it highlights their dual role: navigating complex governance structures while shaping the very architecture of European integration through education and research.
Empirical focus: Two regions, two stories
To bring this framework to life, the book dives deep into two cross-border networks. First, the University of the Greater Region (UniGR) – a consortium of six research-intensive universities spanning Belgium, Germany, France, and Luxembourg. UniGR was born out of EU funding and embodies the ambition to create a “mini-Europe” in the heart of the continent. Second, the International Association of Lake Constance Universities (IBH) – a long-standing network of 30 institutions, including universities of applied sciences, stretching across Austria, Germany, Liechtenstein, and Switzerland. Unlike UniGR, IBH existed before EU funding entered the picture, making it a perfect case to explore how incentives reshape established cooperation.
Both networks tapped into Interreg, the EU’s regional policy instrument, across multiple programming periods. This allowed to trace not just short-term impacts but long-term transformations. The evidence comes from a rich mix of sources: programme documents, strategy papers, and 64 interviews with actors ranging from university leaders to EU policy-makers. These voices reveal how decisions are made, how priorities shift, and how cooperation evolves under the influence of Europeanisation.
Key insights: Not just adapting but shaping Europe’s knowledge policies
The book uncovers a powerful truth: Europeanisation is not a one-way street. Universities do not just adapt to EU policies, but they actively shape them. What begins as a funding opportunity evolves into a political strategy. Through Interreg, HEIs move from beneficiaries to policy entrepreneurs in three distinct ways:
These dynamics reveal Europeanisation as negotiated rather than imposed. Universities adapt to EU priorities, but they also push back, innovate, and co-create policy. They become actors in multi-level governance, blurring the line between implementation and agenda-setting.
Implications: Shaping Europe’s future through higher education
For higher education, the stakes are high. Project-based governance now drives research agendas, career paths, and institutional strategies. Can HEIs thrive in a system built on short-term projects? What happens to autonomy when funding dictates priorities? These questions resonate as the EU rolls out flagship initiatives like the European Universities Initiative, which aims to create deeply integrated transnational alliances, and the Union of Skills, designed to tackle skill shortages for the digital and green transitions. Universities are expected not only to teach and research but to help solve Europe’s most pressing societal challenges from climate change to technological transformation.
For EU governance, the implications are profound. Feedback loops shift power toward beneficiaries, challenging traditional top-down models. They create new governance spaces where HEIs and regional actors influence EU policy sometimes more than expected. This raises questions about inclusivity, coherence, and the long-term sustainability of Europe’s knowledge economy.
Understanding these dynamics is essential as Europe navigates competitiveness, integration, and the twin transitions. The book shows that policy is not just made in Brussels but that it is co-created in border regions, project offices, and university networks across Europe, shaping the future of European higher education and its role in society.
Who is this book for?
This book speaks to anyone curious about how Europe works behind the scenes and how policies travel across borders and how universities become active players in shaping them. If you are a researcher or student in European Studies, Public Policy, or Higher Education Governance, you’ll find a fresh theoretical lens and rich empirical evidence that challenge traditional top-down views of Europeanisation. If you are a policy maker or practitioner, the book offers practical insights into how EU funding instruments like Interreg influence cooperation and create feedback loops that shape future policy. For university leaders and administrators, this book explains how projectification affects institutional strategies, research agendas, and international positioning. And if you are simply interested in Europe’s knowledge economy, this book connects the dots between competitiveness, integration, and education in a way that is accessible and thought-provoking.
The book may be accessed here: The Territorial Dimension of EU Knowledge Policies: Higher Education Institutions for Europe
Dr. Alina Felder-Stindt is Assistant Professor at Pompeu Fabra University, Spain. She obtained her PhD from the University of Bamberg, Germany, and previously held a postdoctoral position at the School of Economics and Political Science at the University of St. Gallen, Switzerland. Her research interests include the making of (EU) public policy and the mechanisms and effects of Europeanisation. Her research has appeared as a monograph with Routledge and as articles in Governance, Journal of European Integration, JCMS Journal of Common Market Studies, Politics & Governance and Regulation & Governance.
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A Coronelt túlélő angol hajók a csata után azonnal visszaindultak Falkland felé, mivel teljesen nyilvánvaló volt, ha a chilei vizeken maradnak, ők sem kerülhetik el a Good Hope és a Monmouth sorsát. Miután sikerült leráznia üldözőit, a Glasgow nyugat felé egy nagy kanyart megtéve déli irányba fordult, és három napon át húsz csomó feletti sebességgel haladva egyenesen a Magellán-szoroshoz hajózott. A cirkáló itt várta be a Canopust, mely a tőle telhető legnagyobb, kilenccsomós sebességgel kínlódta el magát a szorosig. A Canopus közben kétszer is csak néhány mérfölddel kerülte el a sérült angol hajók után kutató német cirkálókat, akik a rossz időben szerencsére nem vették észre a kivénhedt csatahajót. A Canopus és a Glasgow november hatodikán találkozott a Magellán-szoros bejáratánál, és innen együtt mentek Falklandra. A Canopus hajtóművei útközben kétszer is felmondták a szolgálatot.
Az Otranto, hogy biztosan elkerülje a dél felé haladó német hajókat, a csata után kétszáz mérföldet hajózott nyugat felé, ki a Csendes-óceánra. A segédcirkáló csak ezután fordult délnek, és a Magellán-szorost elkerülve a biztonságosabbnak gondolt Horn-fok körüli utat választva jutott vissza a Falkland-szigetekre.