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The order: Geo we know, power, place, process, possibilities

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The order: Geo we know, power, place, process, possibilities

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urbanisation is driven by local and global economic and social changes

it is also a result of modernisation and industrialisation

As for Tokyo, the reason for their urbanisation is because there is a specific piece of land in when they plan to grow vegetation for consumption. its In this specific area because of how flat the land is, its suitable for growing the vegetation they intend to.

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In Uganda, many children were taken as soldiers and female children as wives. The leader of the LRA (Lords Resistance Army), Joseph Kony, took thousands of children as soldiers and slaves in the night.
Children were considered good soldiers as they could be brainwashed easily and had no power to fight back on their own.
This took place in Uganda were there were gun fights between the LRA which wanted a theocracy and the government. After being driven out of Uganda, they continued in Sudan (now South Sudan) and then Central African Republic
https://www.bbc.com/news/world-africa-17299084

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The role globalisation played  in the spread of coronavirus 

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The role globalisation played  in the spread of coronavirus 

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Globalisation has been a major catalyst in the spread of the corona virus. Until now, it has been looked at with a very positive eye and praised because of the benefits It has brought to our society, but as of today, globalisation has been our biggest issue when it comes to controlling the virus. People have been travelling long distances more often in the past 50 years and so have diseases. Now, could it have been prevented? Yes. The reason why countries didn't close right away is because of the economy and politics, different alliances, the import-export market etc.. Governments, for example the U.S have a history of ignoring scientists and this is what really started the whole self-destruction process. The UN was rejected by most countries (USA,Russia..) and the countries considered to be the most powerful in the world started lying about the number of cases.

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Xinjiang re-education camps in Uygur, China. Muslim genocide -> abuse of power, culture. Minorities being persecuted.

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Xinjiang re-education camps in Uygur, China. Muslim genocide -> abuse of power, culture. Minorities being persecuted.

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Formed by the Chinese Communist Part (CCP). With 1.5 Million inmates. It has been happening since 2017 but has become very talked about since more and more muslim families and people started disappearing. They are using the same methods as the Nazis. The situation has not been given the "genocide" label yet by the UN but people are saying that it is a repetition of the Rwanda Genocide that had been happening in front of everyones eyes but no one made a move until the very end.

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Renewable energy -> Solar, Wind, hydroelectric, biomass, geothermal and ocean

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Renewable energy -> Solar, Wind, hydroelectric, biomass, geothermal and ocean

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Ocean pollution -> COVID-19-> thousands of masks thrown into the ocean 

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Ocean pollution -> COVID-19-> thousands of masks thrown into the ocean 

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"more masks than jellyfish"

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Urbanisation - Increased population-bigger cities- more labor-more income-richer economy-better government. Bad for the poor people, environment, culture, history, and animal. Contribution to pollution because of concrete.

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Energy- There are different types of energy, renewables and non-renewables. Nuclear debate, Oil race between the middle east and America.

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Tokyo is being urbanised daily because of its flat location, and all of the dense population contributes to the safety of the city. Tokyo's 2020 population is now estimated at 37,393,128. In 1950, the population of Tokyo was 11,274,641
Energy in Switzerland as nuclear powerhouses are being house.

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Switzerland

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increased land, air, sea, pollution, increased transmission of diseases, deforestation, taking over wildlife habitats, endangered species ect, over-population, increased poverty and unemployment

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People settle in the world's northernmost town, Longyearbyen, for many reasons. Some are captivated by the otherworldly wilderness of the Svalbard archipelago, a snowscape that exceeds even the most fantastical images of Narnia, Hoth and the lands north of the wall in Game Of Thrones. Others are drawn to the tight-knit community of 2,300 people, who must support one another, because temperatures often plunge below -30C and it is the biggest town for 500 miles. Many say they fall in love with the Arctic light, which, even in the depths of a sunless winter, surprises with pale shades, soft glimmers and celestial glints.

But there is also, in many cases, a pioneering urge. This has always been the case in this group of Arctic islands, lodged halfway between the north pole and mainland Norway. Historically, the first residents were whalers, who arrived 400 years ago and helped to hunt the bowhead close to extinction. Then came coal miners, who dug pits, fed furnaces and shipped fuel across oceans. More recently came high-end tourism workers catering for "last chance to see" cruises through the disappearing Arctic ice. Now, a growing body of academics and diplomats are here to examine how Svalbard and its people adapt to living on the frontier of climate breakdown.

Nowhere on the planet is heating faster. This was the message of a report commissioned by the Norwegian Environment Agency, unveiled in February to a stunned audience in Longyearbyen, the archipelago's de facto capital. People knew things were bad, but it was only when they heard the forecast that they realised how bad. A local reporter described how people at the meeting fell silent when they heard the statistics, which sounded like the "gloomy horror scenario of a bad thriller".

Since 1971, temperatures here have risen by 4C, five times faster than the global average. In the winter, when the changes are more marked, it has gone up by an astonishing 7C. These are increases that the rest of the world is not expected to experience until the 22nd century. They are far ahead of most computer simulations. Yet there is still more to come. On current trends, Svalbard will hit 10C of warming by 2100.

"It was quite shocking," says Morten Wedege, the earnest, middle-aged head of the environment department in the Svalbard governor's office. "My first thought was: 'How are we going to manage the environment in that setting? We can't handle that.'" Since then, though, he and other residents of the town have set about the business of adjusting with renewed intensity.

That process began in 2015, after the most devastating avalanche in the history of the town. Unusually heavy winter rain had fallen on Sukkertoppen (Sugar top), the mountain that flanks Longyearbyen. It froze and was then blanketed by thick snow, which could not stick to the soil. The unstable pack collapsed late at night, six days before Christmas, sliding down the mountain and into the bedrooms of sleeping residents. Eleven homes were pushed 20 metres from their foundations. Cars were overturned. Neighbours scrambled frantically to dig people out. A 42-year-old man and a two-year-old girl died. Eight others, including three children, had to be taken to hospital.

"It was terrible. There had been nothing like that before," says the leader of the local council, Arild Olsen, a pragmatic former miner who sees the disaster as a turning point for him personally.

Svalbard is unique, but also a microcosm of what is happening in the wider world. The archipelago - which is slightly smaller than Ireland - is at the centre of a perfect climate storm. Temperature pressures come from above (the Arctic atmosphere, which is heating at twice the global average) and the nearby ocean (which brings ever warmer currents from the Gulf of Mexico). As its white, snowy surface melts, the land reflects less and absorbs more heat from the sun. As the ice around the shores disappears, the previous calm continental weather is being replaced by rough coastal storms.

Until 10 years ago, locals say, discussion of this topic was considered bad form in the coal-mining town. Now, though, they talk about it at work and in the pub. The changes cannot be ignored. It is now impossible to take a snowmobile across the fjord, because it no longer freezes in winter, something unimaginable a couple of decades ago. This used to be an Arctic desert, but now there is rain, even in winter. The glaciers that cover 60% of Svalbard are retreating, which is causing more run-off through the valleys, while the permafrost is thawing; this has caused landslides, damaged foundations and cracked the walls of some buildings.

The physical impact is evident at the Global Seed Vault - the so-called doomsday vault - which sits close to Longyearbyen airport. This store room, built into a mountainside, was designed to safeguard almost 1m varieties of seeds from around the world for future generations. But after the entrance was flooded as a result of permafrost melt in 2017, the not-quite-impregnable safe is undergoing a refit. So are other buildings. Almost 150 homes are being moved at a cost of 350m kroner (£32m). New drainage canals are being dug. Power supply lines are being fortified. But the change is coming so fast that officials wonder whether they can keep up.

"It's difficult to maintain the safety of people. Things are happening that are not supposed to happen," Olsen says. "We have to adapt a whole city. It's difficult. We do a white paper and it will be obsolete the next year."

The psychological challenges are less obvious, but arguably greater. For the most part, this seems to be a happy town. There are few places in the world where people are as affluent, healthy and friendly. But there is a new background hum of unease. Unreliable ground, unpredictable weather and unstable mountain slopes create a physically unsettling environment. People do not feel as safe as before. There is a sense of loss - of reliable seasons, familiar views and declining species. Many people are recalibrating their expectations and ambitions.

Audun Salte is a trained nature guide and student of friluftsliv, the Norwegian philosophy of open-air living that was popularised in the 1850s by the playwright Henrik Ibsen. The burly, friendly man adheres strongly to friluftsliv's principal tenet of spending time in remote locations for spiritual and physical wellbeing. Salte owns 50 Siberian huskies, which he harnesses to take tourists on dog-sled rides across the tundra, sometimes for several days. He explains that a shift in the ski season - now 20 days shorter than in the past - means he has to switch from ice runners to grass rollers earlier each year. It is part of a bigger picture that he comes to terms with, in a spirit that is simultaneously mournful and cheery. The end of humanity might be OK, he says, as long as his dogs are fine. There are regrets. He used to dream of going to the north pole. That used to be possible from Svalbard, but the polar ice sheet is no longer frozen solidly against the island. "You can no longer go safely. Perhaps the last time that was possible was two years ago."

A few are rethinking their lives entirely. In August, Hilde Fålun Strøm will take a nine-month break from her managerial job for a cruise ship company - and her husband - and retreat deep into nature with Sunniva Sorby, a Canada-based Antarctic explorer. They plan to live in a trapper's cabin and survive on whatever provisions they can bring on a ski-buggy, augmented by the one reindeer that Strøm, as a resident of Svalbard, is entitled to hunt each year. They will conduct research on climate disruption, including weather-monitoring and sampling of phytoplankton - the oxygen-producing forests of the ocean - and share the results online with a "global classroom" of students. Strøm says she was inspired by the avalanche, which hit 10 metres from her home. She joined the rescue operation and it left a mark. "Those were Svalbard's first deaths from climate change. That made it personal," she says.

Others are dealing with a gnawing feeling of impermanence. "Each time you go to work, you get evacuation anxiety," says Lena Berntsen, who runs the reception at one of the snug, high-end hotels in the centre of town. "We try to stay prepared. I've learned a lot about snow - good snow and bad snow," she says. "You know that if there is rain followed by ice, followed by snow, then you have to pack your bags." Avalanche warnings have forced Berntsen to leave her home at the foot of the mountain four times in the past year. Last summer, she was ordered to permanently abandon her old flat because it was designated within the high-risk "red zone". To mark the occasion, she threw an evacuation party for more than 50 guests, who turned up to say goodbye to the condemned apartment block dressed in hi-vis jackets and helmets.

Her new apartment is only slightly more secure. It is in the "orange zone", where buildings can be evacuated temporarily in certain weather conditions. This has happened three times since Berntsen moved in. It can happen at any time of night. "It's brutal," she says. "The fire department come in full gear and wait until you leave."

New barriers were erected on the hillside last summer to hold back the snow, but they are not enough. Dozens of buildings in the danger zone will be knocked down and replaced by a 12-metre-high wall of earth. Close to 10% of the town's population have lost their homes or been moved temporarily.

Berntsen takes me to the place she used to live. As we crunch through the snow past the brightly coloured homes of Longyearbyen, she points out the area where the disaster hit, before we enter her old building, passing through the unlocked front door, marked with an X to show that it is condemned. Inside, there are a few items that she left behind, including furniture, incense burners and other knick-knacks. "It's sad," she says. "This was a beautiful apartment." She has an understandable yearning for stability in her new home. "I plan on staying a long time. I really hope I don't have to move again."

But not even the dead are guaranteed a secure resting place. On the opposite side of the valley, Lise Loktu, the town's enthusiastic young archaeologist, takes us to the old town cemetery, which the municipality is planning to move. The cluster of white, wooden crosses sits at the foot of a high escarpment covered in snow and gravel. White, antlerless reindeer graze nearby. A few steps away lies the debris from two recent landslides, caused by melting permafrost. This inspired the plan to relocate the graves to a new resting place further down the valley. "In a few more years, there'll be a lot more rain and more landslides," Loktu says.

In the distant past, burials were permitted in Svalbard as long as the graves were very deep. If not, the active layer of the permafrost had a ghoulish tendency to push corpses out of the ground. But now there are other threats: a miner's grave on the coast recently had to be relocated because it was in danger of falling into the sea. "The shores are being eroded more quickly, because there is less ice," Loktu explains. "We didn't want tourist cruisers to pass by and see bones sticking out of the ground."

Loktu clearly loves her job and beams as she takes us around Svalbard Museum, a smart, modern, distinctively Nordic structure that looks out over the fjord. It houses an archaeological laboratory that contains some of the world's best-preserved samples of fabric from the 18th century, taken from coffins that were naturally refrigerated for centuries. But the climate that facilitated this is changing. It has brought abnormally high temperatures for 100 months in a row.

Loktu shows us the contents of a couple of whalers' coffins to highlight what is happening. One, dug up in the 90s when the permafrost was more stable, contains a well-preserved skeleton with some traces of skin and hair, dressed in a colourful tunic and socks. The other, disinterred more recently from warmer subsoil, is so decomposed it is almost unrecognisable. "The [natural, underground] freezer isn't working any more," Loktu says. To preserve what is left, the Norwegian government is funding a programme to accelerate the excavation of graves. "We need this knowledge before it is too late. If we wait 20 years, even the skeletons could be gone," she says.

Humans can adapt to extremes. Svalbard is proof of that. For centuries, people here learned to adjust their circadian rhythms to months of winter without light and months of summer without darkness. They built homes, wove clothes and found ways of preserving food so they could survive in a temperature of -46C (the historic low), find their way through blizzards and remain healthy and nourished even when supply ships were unable to reach the community for months. Olsen, the council chief, wants to tap that talent for adaptation to make Svalbard a model of how to prepare for climate disruption. He focuses on the possible upsides: a chance to upgrade the housing stock, improve energy efficiency and make Longyearbyen one of the few carbon-neutral towns in the world.

In summer, the solar potential of Svalbard is greater than Oslo or London, because it is sunny 24 hours a day. In the winter, wind can meet a portion of the demand, but it cannot be relied on to keep homes warm. To fill the gap, the town has reached an agreement with the Norwegian government to build a hydrogen power plant, which would generate clean electricity, producing only water as a byproduct. "We can pave the way for the world and provide know-how for Norway," Olsen says. The council leader wants Svalbard to be carbon-neutral within 10 years - an ambitious target, but one the planet needs to follow within a couple of decades if global temperature rises are to be kept within 1.5C. "It takes time. It's not just changing power lines, it's changing an entire system. It'd be unique in the world."

To achieve this, he has to win over the coal-mining community. "The company", as people refer to Svalbard's state-owned mining group Store Norske, dominates the town and owns most of the housing. Local bars are decorated with portraits of pit workers and at least one restaurant is named after the industry. The statue that sits at the main junction of the town is a cast of a miner. Coal keeps the lights on and the pipes warm. Along with the need to fly frequently, it is one of the reasons why the carbon footprint of Svalbard residents is among the largest in Europe.

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'It's getting warmer, wetter, wilder': the Arctic town heating faster than anywhere

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People settle in the world's northernmost town, Longyearbyen, for many reasons. Some are captivated by the otherworldly wilderness of the Svalbard archipelago, a snowscape that exceeds even the most fantastical images of Narnia, Hoth and the lands north of the wall in Game Of Thrones.

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Greenland and Siberia particularly effected.