Last Wednesday’s crash of a Libyan airliner with 104 people on board yielded one sole survivor: 9-year-old Ruben from Tilburg. The boy, who lost both his parents and his brother in the crash, became a celebrity overnight as footage of him lying in his Tripoli hospital bed was broadcast around the planet.

Some are now asking whether journalists have gone too far in pursuit of the story. Dutch daily De Telegraaf sparked controversy in the Netherlands last Friday, when it published a phone interview with the child who – apparently – wasn’t even aware of the full extent of his own personal tragedy.

Politicians of all stripes were quick to condemn what they saw as pointless prying and exploitation of Ruben’s plight. De Telegraaf has since issued a half-hearted apology, stating it regretted it readers had “been made to feel as if De Telegraaf had acted incorrectly” and that it would practice more restraint in its future dealings with relatives of the crash victims.

The incident has stirred a recurring debate that pits the public’s right to know against the individual’s right to privacy. Few would argue that the story of the Ruben’s survival in itself should not be reported, but how much of it should be? Do media audiences worldwide need to know his (last) name, his hometown or his age? Should pictures of him be broadcast? Can he be interviewed? And what type of harm lies in disclosing these facts exactly?

Drug tourism has been a hot-topic in many Dutch border towns for years. While the problem is pretty similar everywhere along the Netherland’s southern border, solutions differ wildly. The authorities in some municipalities have dealt with cross-border drug tourists by closing down all coffee shops in their towns.The former mayor of Maastricht, a city home to 14 coffee shops that cater to largely foreign clientele, however, has argued the Netherlands should not only allow the sale and use of small quantities of cannabis, it should legalise its production.

The array of responses is born out of the Netherlands’ schizophrenic drug policy, which has decriminalised, but not legalised, the sale of cannabis on a small scale. Though clearly defined, the line between illegal and de facto legal trade runs straight through the supply chain of coffee shops. In March, the owner of the Netherlands largest coffee shop, located on the Belgium border, was convicted of running a criminal organisation. The judge stopped just short of calling the local government that facilitated its operations complicit in his crimes.

The coffee shops on the border are dealing with foreigners, particularly from France, Belgium and Germany, who are coming to the Netherlands to purchase drugs. In 2006, in a measure to limit the nuisance caused by these tourists, the city of Maastricht tried to ban foreign nationals from its coffee shops. The European Court of Justice currently has a test case under consideration that concerns the removal of two foreigners from a Maastricht coffee shop.

The Netherlands has long been under international pressure to enforce a stricter drug policy. In this case, however, a European Commission representative has made an argument against the ban of foreigners. As the owner of the Maastricht coffee shop, who feels that trade in cannabis should be free within the EU because it is a commodity like any other, the representative feels the free flow of capital is at stake.

What do you think? Is Maastricht correct in trying to limit the nuisance caused by drug tourism this way? Or is its policy unfair, perhaps even a form of discrimination? Have other towns done better at combating the problem? What can be done about drug tourism?