REDefine // Civic Intelligence Podcast

By REDefine — Association for Research, Education and Development

REDefine Civic Intelligence is a podcast about the systems shaping everyday life — often long before most of us notice them. We look at Europe, democracy, technology, public policy, civic participation and the institutions quietly deciding how societies work, then go beyond the press release to ask what those decisions actually mean for people, organisations and communities. Each episode takes a serious idea and makes it understandable without flattening it. We follow the connections between policy and practice, regulation and behaviour, institutions and ordinary life, with evidence, real examples and the occasional dry observation when bureaucracy earns one. From EU laws and democratic resilience to AI, digital infrastructure, youth participation, sustainability and the future of European cooperation, REDefine Civic Intelligence is for people who want more than headlines — and are curious about what is happening underneath them. associationredefine.substack.com

  1. 3d ago

    Who Builds the Builders? Why Digital Literacy Is No Longer Enough

    Most of us are great at using digital systems. We log in, upload, approve, search, automate and increasingly ask AI to do parts of the work for us. But knowing how to operate a system is not the same as understanding the system we are operating. This explainer from The Code Beneath the Floorboards looks at system literacy: the ability to see beyond the interface and understand the rules, data, dependencies, decisions and forms of power underneath it. That matters for citizens trying to access services, for educators working inside digital platforms, and for organisations that may depend on systems nobody inside the institution can fully explain anymore. As AI makes technical execution easier, the gap between what we can do and what we can understand may become even wider. The question is no longer whether everyone should learn to code. It is whether enough of us understand the systems shaping our work and public life well enough to question them, change them and remain accountable for what they do. The full REDefine longform goes much deeper into institutional intelligibility, epistemic dependency, decision lineage, knowledge concentration, shadow architecture and the organisational consequences of losing understanding while the technology itself keeps working. This video is part of The Code Beneath the Floorboards, REDefine’s series exploring the invisible digital infrastructure underneath ordinary life, institutions and civic power. Get full access to REDefine // Civic Intelligence at associationredefine.substack.com/subscribe

    Who Builds the Builders? Why Digital Literacy Is No Longer Enough
  2. Oct 22

    EU in Practice: The AI Act Is Already Here. Just Not All at Once.

    If you opened a customer-service chat this morning and were told that you were speaking to AI, that notice sits inside a rule that already applies. If an employer buys an AI system to screen job applications today, the full set of AI Act requirements for that kind of high-risk system will not apply until December 2027. If the employer interprets that as permission to build first and think about governance sometime next year, however, the timetable has been badly understood. Both situations belong to the same law, but they sit at very different points in its implementation timetable. The EU AI Act has become harder to explain because it no longer has a useful single answer to the question “when does it apply?” The Regulation entered into force in 2024, some rules began applying in February 2025, obligations for providers of general-purpose AI models followed in August 2025, most of the Act became applicable in August 2026, and the 2026 Digital Omnibus then moved the detailed high-risk regime further into 2027 and 2028. Meanwhile, the Commission has published transparency guidance, enforcement has started, complaint mechanisms are operating, new prohibited practices are approaching their application date, and the first harmonised AI Act standard appeared in the Official Journal last week. A four-colour risk pyramid can still tell us something about the architecture of the law. It can’t tell a citizen what should happen when an AI system is used around them today, whether a company developing a system in 2026 can safely ignore requirements that apply in 2027, or why a European standard with the deeply unromantic name EN 18286:2026 suddenly matters. So we are going to leave the pyramid alone for a while. The more useful questions in October 2026 are what the Act already requires, what remains in transition, what people should notice when AI is used around them, and what organisations should be building now even when the legal deadline is still more than a year away. First, “provider”, “deployer” and “user” are not interchangeable Before looking at the dates, one piece of terminology is worth clearing up because it causes a surprising amount of confusion. Under the AI Act, a provider is broadly the organisation or person that develops an AI system or has it developed and places it on the market or puts it into service under its own name or trademark. A deployer is an organisation or person using an AI system under its authority. Personal, non-professional use is excluded from the deployer definition. That means an employee casually using an AI assistant, a company integrating an AI tool into recruitment, and the company that developed that tool do not automatically occupy the same legal position. Nor does a citizen asking a chatbot a question become a “deployer” simply by pressing Enter. The distinction matters because the Act distributes responsibility across the AI value chain. Providers may have obligations concerning how systems are designed, documented, tested and supplied. Deployers can have their own responsibilities concerning how systems are used, monitored and overseen in practice. In other words, buying an AI system does not magically transfer every governance question back to the vendor. Anyone who has ever bought enterprise software may recognise the general principle. The timetable now has several different clocks running The first substantial AI Act rules began applying on 2 February 2025. That included the original prohibited AI practices and the AI-literacy provision. Article 4 has since been amended by the 2026 Digital Omnibus, but it still requires providers and deployers to take measures supporting the development of AI literacy among staff and others operating AI systems on their behalf. What changed is that organisations are no longer required to guarantee some undefined “sufficient” level of literacy for every individual. The obligation is contextual: technical knowledge, experience, training, the way the system is being used and the people affected by that use all matter. That distinction is worth making because two equally unhelpful interpretations have circulated around AI literacy. One turns it into a universal certification exercise in which everyone needs the same course. The other assumes that the Omnibus quietly removed the obligation. It did neither. From 2 August 2025, obligations for providers of general-purpose AI models also began applying. Providers of those models have duties concerning technical documentation, information for downstream system providers, compliance with EU copyright rules and publication of information about training content. Providers of the most advanced models presenting systemic risk face additional risk-management, incident-reporting and cybersecurity requirements. Models already on the market before August 2025 have a longer transition period, until August 2027. For an ordinary organisation using a general-purpose model, that doesn’t mean it suddenly becomes the provider of the underlying model. It does mean that the AI Act is already regulating parts of the infrastructure on which many familiar AI products depend. The statement that “the AI Act doesn’t really start until 2027” is therefore simply wrong. Then came 2 August 2026, when the general application date arrived. Enforcement powers became operational for provisions already applicable, and Article 50’s transparency obligations began affecting the AI systems and synthetic content people are much more likely to encounter directly. The next important date is 2 December 2026, when the new prohibition introduced by the Digital Omnibus on AI systems generating non-consensual sexually explicit or intimate material and child sexual abuse material begins applying. The same date is also the end of the limited transitional period for the Article 50 machine-readable marking requirement for generative AI systems that were already placed on the market before August 2026. Then we reach the dates that have generated most of the confusion: 2 December 2027 for many Annex III high-risk AI systems, including systems in areas such as employment, education, essential services, migration and certain biometric uses, and 2 August 2028 for high-risk AI embedded in products covered by the legislation listed in Annex I. Those are not dates on which the rest of the AI Act suddenly becomes real. They are application dates for specific parts of the high-risk regime. That difference matters enormously. What should a citizen actually notice today? The most visible part of the Act in ordinary life is now transparency. Article 50 requires providers of certain interactive AI systems to make people aware that they are interacting with AI, unless that is already obvious from the circumstances. Providers of systems generating or manipulating synthetic content also have obligations to make those outputs detectable through machine-readable marking. Deployers have separate disclosure obligations for uses including emotion recognition, biometric categorisation, deepfakes and certain AI-generated or manipulated texts dealing with matters of public interest. These are related duties, but they are not the same thing. The visible notice telling you that the customer-service agent is artificial is there for a different reason from the machine-readable information embedded in synthetic content. One is about making the nature of an interaction clear to a person. The other helps technical systems identify content as AI-generated or manipulated. Deepfakes bring another layer. Where AI has generated or manipulated image, audio or video content in a way that could falsely appear authentic, the deployer may need to disclose that artificial origin. Artistic, fictional, satirical and similar works are treated more flexibly because transparency has to be provided without destroying the work itself. European law has, thankfully, not yet decided that every science-fiction film requires a warning across the actor’s forehead. The rules on text concerning matters of public interest are especially interesting because they make a distinction that much of the public argument about AI writing doesn’t. The disclosure obligation targets AI-generated or manipulated text published to inform the public on matters of public interest where there has not been meaningful human review or editorial control. Where a human has genuinely reviewed the text and an identifiable person or organisation assumes editorial responsibility, the disclosure requirement can fall away. That doesn’t give professional writers, researchers or organisations permission to wave vaguely at “human oversight” after asking a model to write something and publishing it unread. The Commission’s guidance distinguishes substantive human review from merely formal intervention. What matters is whether someone with appropriate judgement actually examined the work and had the ability to change, reject or take responsibility for it. For us at REDefine, this is one of the more sensible distinctions in the current implementation. The important line in AI-assisted professional work is not whether a machine touched the draft. It is whether professional judgement survived the process. A researcher can use AI and remain responsible for evidence. An editor can use it and remain responsible for publication. A project team can use it and remain responsible for the architecture, claims and decisions in a proposal. The dangerous version is not “AI was involved”. It is “nobody competent checked what happened next”. Transparency tells you something important. It doesn’t certify the system This is also where expectations need to remain realistic. A notice saying that you are interacting with AI tells you something about the nature of the interaction. It doesn’t tell you that the system is accurate. A deepfake label tells you something about provenance. I

  3. Oct 8

    EU in Practice: The European Digital Identity Wallet

    Someone asks whether you are over 18. You hand over an identity card. They now know much more than whether you are over 18. Your full name is there. Your exact date of birth. Your photograph. Your nationality. A document number. Depending on what you handed over, perhaps several other pieces of information that have nothing whatsoever to do with the question. We are so used to this arrangement that it barely registers as odd. Physical identity documents come as bundles, and the bundle is what we show. You cannot peel your age off a passport, hand over that one fact and keep the rest in your pocket. Digital identity doesn’t have to work that way. That is what makes the European Digital Identity Wallet more interesting than the phrase “digital wallet” suggests. Europe is not only trying to move familiar documents onto phones. It is trying to make identity more precise: to let us prove the particular thing that matters in a particular interaction without automatically handing over everything else. A system designed around that principle begins with a much better question than Who are you? It asks: What do I actually need to know about you? Your identity doesn’t have to travel as one big package The European Digital Identity Wallet will allow people to hold and use identity information and official credentials digitally, including things such as driving licences, educational qualifications and other attestations. Member States are required to provide wallets capable of working across the European Union. But putting a driving licence on a phone is the least interesting part of the idea. The bigger change is selective disclosure. The European framework is designed so that a person can disclose only the attributes required for a particular transaction. Where full identification is unnecessary, the system can also support pseudonyms and privacy-preserving methods that confirm a fact without exposing all the data underneath it. In practical terms, that means an interaction could look like this: a service needs to know whether you are over 18, so it receives confirmation that you are over 18. It doesn’t automatically receive your date of birth. An institution needs to know that you hold a certain qualification, so it receives a verifiable credential confirming that qualification rather than a miscellaneous bundle of identity documents assembled around it. That is a significant change in the logic of identification. For years, European data-protection law has told organisations to collect only the personal information they actually need. The principle is called data minimisation. It sounds perfectly sensible written into legislation. Everyday digital life has been somewhat less disciplined. The wallet attempts to turn that principle into something a person can actually use. Europe is effectively asking whether privacy can be built into the transaction itself, rather than added afterwards through another notice explaining what happened to all the data you already surrendered. The most interesting thing about the wallet may therefore be what it allows us not to say. Europe is not creating one giant identity database in Brussels The name can also give the wrong impression in another direction. The European Digital Identity Wallet is not one enormous EU identification system into which every European will be deposited. National identity systems remain national. Member States provide the wallets, directly or through recognised providers, while common European rules and standards are meant to make those different systems interoperable. Europe already has plenty of digital identity systems. The difficulty begins when people cross borders. A digital identity that works beautifully inside one country may suddenly become much less useful when you need to enrol at a university, prove a qualification, access a service or complete an administrative process somewhere else. At that point, digital Europe can still become remarkably fond of scanned documents, attachments, translations and certificates proving the authenticity of other certificates. The Commission says that only a relatively small share of key public services currently allow cross-border authentication through existing electronic-identification arrangements. So the problem is not simply that Europe needs digital identity. It needs portable digital trust. If a university in Portugal issues a digital qualification, an institution in another Member State needs to know what it is looking at. Who issued it? Was that organisation entitled to issue it? Has the credential been altered? Is it still valid? Does it belong to the person presenting it? None of those questions is solved merely by converting a diploma into a prettier file. This is why the Wallet is really part of a much larger trust infrastructure. The visible credential is only the front end. Underneath it are standards for issuance, verification, revocation, security, authentication and legal recognition across different countries and institutions. The QR code is easy. Getting twenty-seven administrative systems to agree on what the QR code means is rather more European. “Over 18: yes” is enough Age verification gives us the clearest example of how different this could feel in practice. The European Commission has already been developing a privacy-preserving age-verification solution based on technical specifications compatible with the future Wallet. The basic idea is deliberately simple: an online service that genuinely needs to know whether somebody is over 18 can receive confirmation of that fact without also receiving the person’s name, exact date of birth or broader identity. Instead of: Jane Doe, born on X date, holder of document Y. the service receives the information it actually needs: Over 18: yes. That separates two ideas that digital systems have spent years muddling together: verification and identification. If the question is whether somebody meets an age threshold, identifying the person may be entirely unnecessary. A service needs an answer to one question, not an introduction. Privacy-preserving cryptography can make that separation stronger. One of the technologies discussed in the European framework is the zero-knowledge proof, which allows a statement to be verified without exposing the underlying information used to establish it. The name is considerably more dramatic than the concept needs to be. You can think of it as proving that you know something without revealing the thing itself, or proving that a condition is true without handing over the data behind it. You don’t need to understand the mathematics to appreciate the change in philosophy. For decades, digital systems have often treated more information as more certainty. If we know your name, birthday, address, document number and perhaps a little more for luck, surely we can trust the transaction. The Wallet introduces a more disciplined possibility: sometimes a system can trust what you are entitled to do without knowing everything about who you are. A digital diploma is useful only when somebody else can trust it Age verification is neat because the proof is tiny. Cross-border credentials reveal the more complicated part of the project. The Digital Credentials for Europe pilot, DC4EU, brought together organisations from 22 European countries to test wallet-based credentials in education and social security. Its use cases included educational diplomas, professional qualifications, European Health Insurance Card information and social-security documentation. Consider the diploma. You graduate from a university in Portugal and later need to use that qualification in Germany. The obvious digitalisation project would be to replace the paper diploma with a digital diploma. Useful, certainly. Sufficient, no. The institution receiving it still needs to know whether the university was authorised to issue the qualification, whether the credential has been tampered with, what the qualification actually represents, whether it remains valid and whether the person presenting it is the rightful holder. A digital credential becomes genuinely valuable only when the receiving institution can trust the chain behind it. That is why the European architecture includes far more than storage. It has to define the relationships between credential issuers, wallets and the organisations that rely on the information they receive. The same principle applies to driving licences, prescriptions, public services, banking, electronic signatures and many of the other uses being tested. A person shouldn’t have to become the integration layer between two institutions every time they cross a border. Anyone who has carried one official document into an office to prove the validity of another official document, accompanied by a certified translation explaining the first official document to the people responsible for recognising the second, will understand the attraction. Better privacy technology doesn’t make organisations less curious The European framework contains real privacy protections. Wallet use is supposed to remain voluntary. The system supports selective disclosure. Users should be able to see and control what information they share. The architecture includes protections against tracking and linking transactions across contexts, and relying parties have obligations around what data they request. Those protections matter. They also don’t make institutional curiosity disappear. The European Data Protection Supervisor has warned about over-disclosure, transaction linkability, profiling and the possibility that organisations may request more information than they actually need. Another problem is almost behavioural: when credentials become very easy to share, saying yes can become so frictionless that people stop examining what they are saying yes to. We have considerable evidence from the rest of digital life that humans are not at their m

    EU in Practice: The European Digital Identity Wallet
  4. Sep 22

    EU in Practice: Canada and Europe Are Getting Closer. But What Exactly Are They Building?

    The European Union is generally rather fond of categories. There are Member States, candidate countries, potential candidates, European Economic Area countries, associated countries, strategic partners, third countries associated with individual programmes and third countries very specifically not associated with those programmes. Somewhere in Brussels, one suspects, there is a taxonomy for the taxonomy. This week, however, Europe did something rather less characteristically tidy. In her State of the Union address on 16 September, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen proposed opening the door for Canada to become the EU’s first “associate member.” She placed the idea inside a much broader “Alliance for the Future”: a common prosperity and economic-security space covering advanced manufacturing, defence industries, the Arctic, energy, critical minerals, batteries, artificial intelligence, quantum technologies, cybersecurity and economic security. There is just one small institutional detail. The European Union does not currently have a general membership category called associate member. The ordinary accession route under Article 49 of the Treaty on European Union is written for a “European State”. The EU does have powers under Article 217 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union to conclude association agreements with third countries, involving reciprocal rights, obligations, common action and special procedures. But that is not an off-the-shelf status called “associate membership” into which Canada can simply be inserted after completing the appropriate form in triplicate. A day after von der Leyen’s speech, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney welcomed the ambition and supplied considerably more detail about what Canada would like the relationship to contain. His proposals included closer cooperation in critical minerals, defence production, AI and computing capacity, energy, space and payments; smoother digital trade in non-agricultural goods and services; deeper financial integration; stronger youth mobility; Canadian membership of Erasmus+; and participation in the next generation of Horizon Europe. So we have reached an unusually interesting point in European integration: the political ambition is visible, several pieces of the practical integration already exist, and the constitutional label remains under construction. This is therefore not a story about Canada joining the European Union. It is about a more interesting question. How many parts of Europe can a country join without joining the Union itself? First, Canada and Europe did not suddenly discover one another in Strasbourg The easiest way to misread this week’s announcement is to imagine Canada and the EU standing on opposite sides of the Atlantic until geopolitical anxiety suddenly caused them to exchange telephone numbers. The relationship is already substantial. CETA, the Comprehensive Economic and Trade Agreement, has been provisionally applied since September 2017. EU–Canada trade in goods reached €81.5 billion in 2025, 76% higher than in 2016, while bilateral services trade reached €49 billion, up 91% over the same period. The EU is Canada’s second-largest trading partner. CETA also supplies an early warning about the difference between political announcements and European institutional reality. Almost nine years into provisional application, only 17 of the EU’s 27 Member States have completed their national ratification processes. Belgium, Bulgaria, Cyprus, France, Greece, Hungary, Ireland, Italy, Poland and Slovenia still have not. Before Europe constructs an entirely new relationship with Canada, then, there remains the small matter of fully ratifying the old one. That is not merely a Brussels joke. It tells us something important about what follows. European international agreements can operate, deepen and produce real economic effects while parts of their legal architecture remain unresolved for years. The announcement of an “associate membership” relationship is therefore the beginning of an institutional process, not evidence that the process has already happened. Meanwhile, cooperation has continued growing around CETA rather than waiting politely for every national parliament to finish. In 2025, Canada and the EU established a Security and Defence Partnership. In June 2026, Canada became the first non-European country formally able to participate in procurement under SAFE, the EU’s Security Action for Europe instrument. That means Canadian companies and Canadian-origin products can participate in parts of common European defence procurement under the agreement. A few days before the Strasbourg speeches, Canadian and European leaders were already pointing to the first Canadian contract under SAFE. This is rather more consequential than the diplomatic language might suggest: Canadian firms are no longer merely cooperating with European defence companies from the outside. They can participate inside a specific EU procurement framework. And defence is not the only example. Horizon Europe has already shown what partial integration looks like In July 2024, Canada became associated with Pillar II of Horizon Europe, the enormous part of the EU research programme devoted to collaborative work on global challenges and industrial competitiveness. Canadian universities, researchers and organisations can participate there on broadly equal terms with their European counterparts. They can join and lead consortia and receive Horizon Europe funding directly. This is easy to overlook because research programmes don’t receive the theatrical lighting of summits and parliamentary speeches. But institutionally, it is quite revealing. Canada did not need to become an EU Member State to become integrated into one of the EU’s major research systems. That existing arrangement also helps clarify Carney’s proposal for Canadian participation in the next generation of Horizon. He is not proposing that Canada suddenly discover European research cooperation. He is proposing continuity and potentially deeper participation beyond the current framework. This is where the emerging model becomes visible. Instead of imagining one enormous gate marked EU MEMBERSHIP, imagine a building with many doors. Research is one door. Defence procurement is another. Digital trade may become another. Education and youth mobility could become another. Critical-mineral supply chains, financial services and technological cooperation may produce still more. Canada is already through some of them. Erasmus+ may matter more than the strategic sectors in the spotlight The headline sectors in the new alliance are exactly the ones one would expect in 2026: defence, AI, critical minerals, energy, quantum technologies and economic security. But one of Carney’s proposals may ultimately tell us more about the durability of the relationship than any of those. He explicitly proposed Canadian membership of Erasmus+, arguing that it could expand opportunities for Canadian and European students and strengthen long-term ties between the two societies. Canada is not currently fully associated with Erasmus+. Under the current programme rules, EU Member States and a limited group of associated third countries participate fully across the programme. Countries such as Canada belong to the much larger category of third countries not associated with the programme, which can participate only in particular actions under specific conditions. The distinction matters because Erasmus stopped being merely a university-exchange programme a long time ago. It now connects universities, schools, vocational education, civil society organisations, adult learning, staff mobility, sport and large networks of institutional cooperation. Since 1987, Erasmus and its predecessor programmes have provided international learning opportunities to more than 16 million people. The Commission’s latest evaluation found that more than 6.2 million participated in learning mobility during 2014–2020 and around another 1.6 million between 2021 and 2023. It also concluded that the programme has contributed to common values, civic participation and a shared identity. Those effects make Erasmus politically unusual. Trade agreements connect markets. Research programmes connect institutions. Defence agreements connect states and industries. Erasmus has spent nearly four decades connecting biographies. A Portuguese student acquires friends in Poland. A Bulgarian youth worker builds a project with a Spanish organisation. A French vocational teacher returns from Finland with different ideas about training. People acquire colleagues, partners, languages, professional networks and an intuitive familiarity with countries that previously existed largely as shapes on maps. Much of the EU has been built through law. Erasmus added something law cannot manufacture so easily: repeated personal experience of other European societies. Canadian association could begin extending that infrastructure across the Atlantic. The interesting effects would not flow in only one direction. European participants would gain more systematic routes into Canadian universities, organisations and communities, and those exchanges could reach well beyond conventional higher education. Canadian expertise in Arctic communities, Indigenous knowledge and reconciliation, multilingual federalism, AI, rural and remote education, climate adaptation and natural-resource governance would create very different possibilities for European universities, organisations and vocational institutions. For civil society, the implications are particularly interesting. Erasmus+ funds participation, organisational partnerships, training and capacity development as well as student mobility. A fully associated Canada would not simply mean more Canadian undergraduates spending a semester in Barcelona. It could mean r

    EU in Practice: Canada and Europe Are Getting Closer. But What Exactly Are They Building?
  5. Sep 8

    EU in Practice: Can You Still Call It “Green”?

    Most of us have probably noticed that the humble leaf has had quite a career in marketing. Once confined largely to trees, it eventually discovered packaging design and has never looked back. It now lives on shampoo bottles, hotel websites, trainers, electricity tariffs, washing liquid, clothing collections, food-delivery services and an impressive assortment of products whose relationship with photosynthesis is, at best, indirect. Sometimes it appears alone. Sometimes it is accompanied by a water droplet, a tiny planet, an earnest hand cradling a seedling, or that particular shade of muted green that seems to say: this purchase has already discussed the matter with nature. Around the leaf grew an equally successful vocabulary. Products became green, eco-friendly, natural, responsible, conscious, climate friendly and, most majestically of all, sustainable. These words do rather more than describe. They reassure. They distinguish. They allow an ordinary purchase to acquire a small moral biography. The detergent is no longer merely going to clean your socks; it is apparently participating in the transition to a better civilisation. From 27 September 2026, some of that language becomes considerably harder to use casually in the European Union. Directive (EU) 2024/825, usually referred to as the Empowering Consumers for the Green Transition Directive, starts applying across the EU after Member States were required to transpose it by 27 March this year. It strengthens existing consumer law against misleading environmental claims, unreliable sustainability labels, misleading carbon-neutrality claims and several other practices associated with greenwashing. The interesting part is not that Brussels has suddenly developed an aversion to the colour green. It is that European consumer law is beginning to ask a deceptively difficult question about the environmental language surrounding everyday products: what, exactly, is this sentence asking the consumer to believe? That question turns out to take us somewhere much more interesting than packaging. The problem with buying something you cannot inspect When you buy a chair, you can sit on it. When you buy a peach, you can eventually discover whether it tastes like a peach or like a small damp disappointment. But many environmental qualities cannot be verified by the person buying the product, even after using it. Economists describe characteristics like these as credence attributes. Whether a product was made under particular environmental conditions, whether its supply chain really has lower emissions, whether a material comes from the source claimed, or whether a production process genuinely reduces ecological harm is largely invisible to the buyer. Consumers therefore depend on signals supplied by producers, labels, certifiers and retailers to bridge an information gap they cannot realistically investigate themselves. Research on sustainability certification has long identified exactly this problem: environmental qualities are unusually dependent on trust because the consumer often cannot independently verify them through either inspection or experience. This makes environmental communication commercially powerful. A sustainability claim does not merely transmit information; it can influence how the entire product is perceived. Psychologists and consumer researchers call one version of this the halo effect. Once something is marked as environmentally preferable, people may unconsciously attribute other positive qualities to it as well. A wonderfully strange series of experiments published in Food Quality and Preference found that an eco-label could even make fruit seem to taste better and influence assessments extending beyond environmental performance. More recent research continues to find similar effects: a 2024 study involving 1,010 German consumers found that an environmental score affected not only perceived environmental friendliness but, under some conditions, expectations about healthiness and taste. So when regulators worry about a vague green claim, they are not being pedantic about adjectives. They are dealing with an information signal capable of changing how people value the thing being sold. The problem becomes sharper when almost anybody can manufacture the signal. The European Commission’s own work found that 53% of green claims examined provided vague, misleading or unfounded information, while 40% had no supporting evidence. It also counted 230 sustainability labels and 100 green-energy labels in the EU, with widely varying levels of transparency, and found that around half of green labels offered weak or non-existent verification. At that point, the humble leaf starts looking less like decoration and more like an unregulated unit of credibility. A market in adjectives This is why the new rules make more sense if we stop thinking about them as environmental legislation and start thinking about them as market legislation. Imagine two companies selling comparable products. Company A spends several years redesigning production, changing suppliers, measuring impacts, improving materials and paying for independent certification. Company B keeps roughly the same product but introduces a new package featuring a tasteful forest, the words planet conscious and, naturally, our old friend the leaf. If consumers cannot distinguish the underlying environmental performance, Company A has a problem. It has invested in environmental improvement while Company B has invested in environmental atmosphere. This is partly what the EU is trying to correct. The Directive itself explicitly connects reliable environmental claims with fair competition: if consumers can distinguish products with genuinely better performance, businesses making substantive environmental improvements are less likely to compete on equal terms with businesses making substantively better graphics. There is a democratic dimension here too. The green transition relies heavily on consumer choice, but consumer choice only works as a policy instrument when the information entering that choice is reasonably trustworthy. Asking citizens to “vote with their wallets” while allowing the ballot paper to be written by the marketing department has certain structural weaknesses. And this is where Europe has arrived at the slightly surreal but entirely logical business of regulating adjectives. So, can you still call something “green”? Yes. But not quite in the carefree way the word has sometimes been used. The Directive identifies generic environmental claims such as environmentally friendly, eco-friendly, green, ecological, climate friendly, carbon friendly, energy efficient, biodegradable and similar expressions. From September, such broad claims cannot simply be made unless the trader can demonstrate recognised excellent environmental performance relevant to the claim. There is, however, an important distinction between something generic and something specific. The Directive itself contrasts a phrase such as “climate-friendly packaging” with a statement explaining that 100% of the energy used to produce the packaging comes from renewable sources. The latter tells the consumer what the environmental advantage actually consists of, rather than asking two words and a hopeful colour palette to carry the entire burden. That distinction may sound linguistic, but it changes the logic of sustainability communication. For years, marketing has often done exactly what good marketing is trained to do: compress complexity. Supply chains, energy sources, material composition, lifecycle impacts and production methods become a memorable phrase because nobody has ever stood in a supermarket thinking, I wish this yoghurt label contained a methodological annex. The new law does not reverse that completely. Nor should it. But it does begin to set a limit on how much environmental complexity can be compressed before information becomes impression. The problem is not brevity. It is what disappears during compression. “Sustainable” may be an even more ambitious word than we thought One of the more fascinating details in the legislation concerns words such as sustainable, responsible and conscious. Those words can imply more than environmental performance. Sustainability may also carry social meanings: working conditions, fairness, animal welfare, human rights and other aspects of how a product or organisation behaves. The Directive therefore warns that excellent environmental performance alone cannot automatically justify sweeping generic claims such as sustainable or responsible. This is important because sustainable has spent years behaving rather like a very ambitious umbrella. A recycled package becomes a sustainable product. An efficiency improvement becomes a sustainable service. A lower-emission process becomes a sustainable business. One better-performing characteristic quietly expands until it appears to describe the moral condition of the whole organisation. The Directive tackles that tendency directly as well. It prohibits environmental claims about an entire product or business when the claim really concerns only one aspect of the product or one unrepresentative part of the company’s activities. Its own example is wonderfully ordinary: if only the packaging is made from recycled material, marketing the whole product in a way that gives the impression that the product itself is made from recycled material can be misleading. This may eventually become one of the most important habits the new rules encourage: the scale of the claim should resemble the scale of the evidence. A small improvement is still an improvement. It does not need to be promoted to sainthood. Zalando and the curious legal life of a leaf We already have a useful glimpse of what this new approach looks like in practice. The European Commission and national consumer authorities began a coordinated action involving Zalando after conce

    EU in Practice: Can You Still Call It “Green”?

About

REDefine Civic Intelligence is a podcast about the systems shaping everyday life — often long before most of us notice them. We look at Europe, democracy, technology, public policy, civic participation and the institutions quietly deciding how societies work, then go beyond the press release to ask what those decisions actually mean for people, organisations and communities. Each episode takes a serious idea and makes it understandable without flattening it. We follow the connections between policy and practice, regulation and behaviour, institutions and ordinary life, with evidence, real examples and the occasional dry observation when bureaucracy earns one. From EU laws and democratic resilience to AI, digital infrastructure, youth participation, sustainability and the future of European cooperation, REDefine Civic Intelligence is for people who want more than headlines — and are curious about what is happening underneath them. associationredefine.substack.com