The Cockroach that won’t disappear by Avani Devi

When political empires begin to crack, the most dangerous thing for their masters is not necessarily an army, a revolution or even an angry electorate. Sometimes it is a survivor with a thousand political lives, crawling through the wreckage of a carefully constructed illusion.

Narendra Modi built his political empire on the promise of invincibility. The strongman of New Delhi, the self-appointed architect of a Hindu nationalist renaissance, the man who turned electoral victories into personal mythology, suddenly faces an uncomfortable question: what happens when the cockroach refuses to die?

Indian politics has always been a brutal ecosystem, but Modi's greatest achievement was convincing millions that he was not merely another politician surviving the jungle. He was the jungle's undisputed king. His machinery of propaganda, religious mobilisation, muscular nationalism and carefully choreographed public appearances manufactured the impression that opposition was obsolete and political alternatives were little more than historical curiosities.

Then reality intervened. The Indian electorate reminded Modi that democracy is not a private property deed issued to a charismatic leader. His party's reduced parliamentary strength in 2024 forced him into coalition dependence, exposing an uncomfortable vulnerability beneath the carefully polished armour. Suddenly, the supposedly invincible emperor needed allies, compromises and parliamentary arithmetic. The mythology of absolute dominance suffered a rather undignified collision with mathematics.

And lurking in this political mess is the cockroach: India's surviving opposition, particularly the Congress-led alliance, and the stubborn democratic instinct that refuses to surrender the country to one political personality.

The cockroach, after all, is not beautiful, respectable or particularly welcome in the kitchen. It survives. It adapts. It appears precisely when somebody believes the room has been thoroughly disinfected. India's opposition has demonstrated something Modi's political theatre desperately wanted to conceal: survival is itself a political weapon.

But the danger for Modi extends beyond parliamentary numbers. His political project depends on permanent mobilisation, permanent enemies and permanent emotional intoxication. Hindu nationalism provides the fuel, but economic frustrations, unemployment, inequality and the ordinary indignities of everyday existence cannot indefinitely be buried beneath religious spectacle. A temple inauguration does not create employment. A nationalist slogan does not fill a stomach. And another televised declaration of greatness cannot magically transform political disappointment into prosperity.

The irony is delicious. A leader who cultivated the image of a political exterminator now discovers that democratic competition possesses extraordinary reproductive capacity. Eliminate one opponent and another emerges. Marginalise one institution and another becomes troublesome. Silence one criticism and ten more crawl out from beneath the furniture.

This does not mean Modi's departure is imminent, nor that India's opposition has suddenly become competent, united or morally immaculate. The opposition has its own failures, dynastic baggage and political parasites. Modi remains powerful, his organisation formidable, and his ideological project deeply rooted. But power without vulnerability is an illusion, and the illusion has been punctured.

The real question is whether India can recover something more valuable than the humiliation of one political heavyweight: the democratic space in which disagreement is not treason, minorities are not permanent suspects, journalists are not enemies, and citizenship does not require ideological obedience.

Modi may yet survive another political season. The cockroach certainly will. And perhaps that is the most irritating lesson for every aspiring authoritarian: democracy does not need to be magnificent to survive. Sometimes it only needs to be stubborn, ugly, inconvenient and impossible to kill. In India, the political insect has survived the spraying. Now the exterminator has a problem.


Joan of Arc in Marine’s armour …again by Nadine Moreau

France does not need another saint. It needs a political movement that stops confusing national pride with national paranoia. Marine Le Pen launching her presidential campaign in Orléans, wrapping herself in the symbolic armour of Joan of Arc. When politicians begin borrowing their legitimacy from medieval saints, one should immediately check what they are trying to smuggle into the present.

Joan of Arc liberated Orléans from English occupation. She became a symbol of resistance, sacrifice and French national identity. Her story belongs to a complicated history of faith, courage, tragedy and national mythology. Marine Le Pen, however, has discovered something considerably more convenient in this historical inheritance: a magnificent political costume.

The symbolism is not accidental. Joan of Arc has long occupied the French nationalist imagination, offering an emotionally irresistible combination of patriotism, victimhood and heroic resistance against foreign domination. For Le Pen, this is political gold. Why bother constructing a convincing vision of France's future when you can borrow the emotional machinery of its past?

The problem is that France in 2027 is not medieval Orléans, and the enemies of contemporary French society cannot simply be assembled into a convenient procession of foreign invaders.

Le Pen's political project has spent decades transforming anxiety into electoral capital. Immigration becomes an existential threat. European integration becomes an assault on sovereignty. Cultural diversity becomes evidence of national decline. The familiar promise is that France can recover its greatness by recovering its supposed purity.

This is nationalism with an enormous rear-view mirror and remarkably little imagination. The strategy is particularly cynical because Joan of Arc's historical significance cannot be reduced to the ideological property of the French far right. She belongs to French history, certainly, but her courage and sacrifice are not exclusive possessions of any political party. Turning her into a campaign mascot is less an act of historical reverence than an attempt to monopolise patriotism.

And that is precisely where the danger begins. When the far right claims exclusive ownership of the nation, everybody else becomes a questionable guest in their own country. Citizens with different origins, different religions, different political convictions or different interpretations of French identity are gradually pushed towards the margins of an increasingly narrow national definition.

The genius of this political theatre is that it makes exclusion appear patriotic and prejudice sound like historical responsibility. France deserves better than this theatrical resurrection of medieval nationalism. It deserves a serious discussion about immigration, economic inequality, public services, security, secularism and the future of European democracy. It deserves political leadership capable of addressing contemporary problems without manufacturing imaginary civilisational wars.

Joan of Arc fought for a France that did not yet exist in its modern form. Marine Le Pen campaigns for a France that exists largely as an ideological fantasy, populated by nostalgic certainties and conveniently selected enemies.

The difference matters. A nation is not a museum exhibit, a bloodline or a religious monument. It is a living political community, constantly negotiating its identity through democracy, citizenship and shared responsibilities.

If Marine Le Pen wants to invoke Joan of Arc, she should remember that history is considerably more complicated than a campaign poster. France does not need another political saint. It needs fewer political exorcists.


The Nobel Is not a mandate by Mia Rodríguez

Venezuela has welcomed back its most celebrated opposition leader. But a Nobel medal is not a presidential mandate and Washington's military intervention is not democracy delivered by helicopter.

María Corina Machado is back. Venezuela has its Nobel laureate on home soil again, after ten months abroad, several failed attempts to return and a political journey that has taken her from clandestine opposition leader to international celebrity. The reception was emotional, the symbolism powerful and the political implications enormous. Yet beneath the applause lies an uncomfortable question: does Machado actually command the Venezuela she claims to represent, or has she become another political personality inflated by international admiration?

Machado's courage against Nicolás Maduro's authoritarian machinery deserves recognition. Her movement helped expose the grotesque manipulation of Venezuela's electoral process, while millions of citizens demonstrated that chavismo had exhausted much of its popular legitimacy. But courage is not political invincibility, and suffering under dictatorship does not automatically transform somebody into an unquestionable democratic leader.

Then came the American intervention. Maduro was removed by US forces, and suddenly Venezuela's political future became a peculiar mixture of Washington's strategic calculations, Delcy Rodríguez's interim authority and Machado's ambitions. The opposition leader welcomed the operation, praised Donald Trump and expected the removal of her principal adversary to open the road towards democratic power.

Instead, Washington discovered that removing Maduro did not necessarily mean installing Machado. That humiliation matters. Trump has demonstrated little sentimental attachment to democratic principles when they conflict with American interests. His administration has worked with Rodríguez while leaving Machado outside crucial negotiations. The Nobel laureate has consequently found herself in the absurd position of celebrating American intervention while discovering that the Americans might prefer another Venezuelan political arrangement.

The Nobel Peace Prize, meanwhile, has become both an asset and a political complication. Machado's international recognition elevated her struggle, but the medal cannot substitute for political organisation, institutional reconstruction or negotiations with a society exhausted by decades of economic collapse, repression and mass emigration.

Nor should the Venezuelan people be reduced to a cheering crowd waiting for a saviour. They have already endured enough messianic politics. Maduro promised revolutionary salvation; his opponents must not promise a democratic salvation requiring unquestioning loyalty to another personality.

Machado's return is important precisely because it restores her to the political arena where legitimacy must be earned, tested and renewed. She must convince not only her enthusiastic supporters but also sceptical citizens, exhausted workers, impoverished families and those who fear that another transition will merely replace one elite with another.

Her challenge is not simply to defeat chavismo's remaining structures. It is to demonstrate that Venezuela can become a democracy rather than an American-managed political experiment with Venezuelan scenery.

And here lies the uncomfortable truth: Machado may have won international recognition, Maduro may have lost his throne, and Washington may congratulate itself on liberation. But Venezuela has still not won democracy.

That victory requires elections, accountable institutions, political freedoms and a government answerable to Venezuelans rather than foreign patrons. The Nobel medal opened doors. The American operation removed a dictator. Machado has returned. Now comes the difficult part: proving that the future belongs to the Venezuelan people, not to another political messiah.


2nd opinion! 26#19 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Seriously, a human hater self-centred agoraphobic in quarantine!
I think you’ll need a second opinion after this.

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The blue tsunami and the Trumpian hangover by Thanos Kalamidas

The blue wave has arrived. Trump has been slapped, his political invincibility punctured, and his administration humiliated. But American democracy has an unfortunate habit of celebrating victories before discovering the size of the disaster left behind. The Democrats may have won the battle, but the war against Trumpism is nowhere near over.

The Democrats' blue tsunami in the US midterm elections is more than an electoral embarrassment for Donald Trump; it is a political warning, a public rejection of his governing style and potentially the beginning of the most uncomfortable chapter of his presidency. For a man who has confused electoral victory with personal ownership of the United States, the message must be particularly unpleasant, America is not his private corporation and its citizens are not employees required to applaud the boss.

Yet elections, especially US midterms, are strange beasts. They deliver dramatic headlines, emotional celebrations and endless declarations of political resurrection. What they do not necessarily deliver is immediate political power. The Democrats may have captured the momentum but the institutional consequences of their victory will become considerably more complicated.

The new Congress does not begin its work until January 2027. Between election night and the transfer of congressional power lies a dangerous political vacuum, a period in which Trump and his increasingly desperate entourage will retain the machinery of government while knowing that their parliamentary protection is about to disappear.

That is precisely where the danger begins. A wounded Trump is not necessarily a restrained Trump. A politically cornered president may become more reckless, more vindictive and more determined to transform temporary executive authority into permanent political advantage. His administration could attempt to accelerate controversial policies, impose new institutional realities, consolidate executive power and leave the incoming Democratic majority with a mountain of legal, administrative and political wreckage. The question is not simply what Trump has already done. It is what he might still do before January.

For Europe, the consequences of the blue tsunami may initially appear peripheral. European governments have spent enough time discovering the unreliability of US political commitments to understand that Washington cannot remain the unquestioned foundation of European security. NATO, Ukraine, defence spending and strategic autonomy are no longer theoretical discussions conducted by diplomats over expensive dinners. They have become urgent political necessities.

Nevertheless, US politics still matters enormously. A Democratic-controlled Congress could complicate Trump's attempts to abandon Ukraine, restrict presidential freedom over military assistance, challenge certain tariff policies and introduce greater scrutiny into his international adventures. Congress cannot magically reverse every presidential decision, but it can become an uncomfortable obstacle to presidential improvisation. For Kyiv, that distinction could prove existential.

For Brussels, it is another reminder that European independence cannot be built on the assumption that US political weather will always remain favourable.

But the most important consequences of this election are domestic. Trump has inflicted damage across institutions that Democrats will eventually have to repair, immigration enforcement increasingly resembling political intimidation, the ideological contamination of federal administration, attacks on educational institutions, scientific hostility, weakened public confidence and the continuing assault on healthcare affordability and accessibility.

ICE has become an emblem of the administration's coercive politics. The defence establishment embarrassingly has been dragged into ideological and cultural battles. Universities and schools have become targets in a cultural war that treats intellectual independence as suspicious and historical complexity as an enemy.

Meanwhile, ordinary Americans continue to confront healthcare costs, economic insecurity and the absurd spectacle of a government preaching national greatness while making everyday life increasingly difficult for millions.

The Democrats therefore face something considerably more demanding than defeating Trump at the ballot box. They must demonstrate that democratic government can actually function, that institutions can be repaired, that accountability is not merely a campaign slogan and that political opposition does not mean permanent national paralysis.

And they must do it before 2028. This is where the Democratic victory could become its own trap. Electoral enthusiasm is not political competence. Anger against Trump is not a governing programme. The party cannot survive another cycle merely presenting itself as the respectable alternative to an increasingly dysfunctional Republican leadership.

It needs reconstruction, not revenge; legislation, not theatrical investigations; institutional restoration, not another round of political performances designed for television. Trump's America has exposed the fragility of democratic safeguards when a president treats constitutional limits as inconveniences. The Democrats now have an opportunity to prove that those safeguards can still work.

The blue tsunami has shaken the Trumpian fortress. But the fortress still has a president, an administration, executive powers and several months before the new congressional majority takes office. And perhaps that is the most uncomfortable lesson of this election.

The real test begins in January, when the Democrats must decide whether they are prepared to govern a damaged democracy or merely celebrate having inherited the opportunity to repair one.

Because by 2028 Americans will not simply ask whether the Democrats stopped Trump. They will ask whether they managed to stop the damage.


Securing Europe Without Sacrificing Regulatory Certainty by Dr Mayelinne De Lara

Europe’s Security Imperative:
Protecting Critical Infrastructure Without Undermining Regulatory Certainty

Cybersecurity and geopolitical security measures must not undermine regulatory certainty, technical standards, and investment confidence. When Geopolitics Enters Technical Rules: Europe Needs Security—and Must Preserve Certainty and Its Standards Advantage

Geopolitical tensions are increasingly reshaping global trade, technology and industrial cooperation. For the European Union, growing supply-chain dependencies, foreign interference and cyber threats have made the security of critical infrastructure a strategic priority. Europe therefore has legitimate reasons to strengthen its ability to identify and address risks that extend beyond the technical security of individual products and systems.

The challenge, however, is to ensure that stronger security measures do not come at the expense of the regulatory certainty that underpins the Single Market. In recent years, Member States have adopted different approaches to non-technical supply-chain risks and high-risk suppliers, creating the risk of fragmentation. The European Commission's proposed revision of the Cybersecurity Act—CSA 2.0—in January 2026—seeks to address this through a common EU framework for trusted ICT supply chains.

Alongside strengthening ENISA and reforming the European Cybersecurity Certification Framework, the proposal adds a binding “trusted ICT supply chain framework”. This would bring factors such as third-country legislation, foreign influence, ownership and control structures into EU cybersecurity governance.

The regulatory question would therefore no longer be limited to whether a product is technically secure. It would also encompass whether a supplier is considered trustworthy from a geopolitical and institutional perspective.

That shift responds to genuine concerns. Critical infrastructure cannot be protected solely by addressing software vulnerabilities and product performance. Europe must also consider the risks of foreign interference, malicious control and systemic supply-chain dependency.

Yet security policy must answer more than one question. It must define the risks Europe seeks to prevent—but it must also allow European businesses to know whether the technologies they select, the equipment they purchase and the investments they make today will remain lawful, usable and valuable ten years from now.

The key question is therefore not whether Europe should strengthen security, but how it can do so while preserving the clarity, predictability and standards-based system on which long-term investment and the competitiveness of the Single Market depend.

How would CSA 2.0 work?

CSA 2.0 would establish a common EU mechanism for assessing and mitigating ICT supply-chain risks.

The Commission, or a group of at least three Member States, could trigger a coordinated EU-level supply-chain security assessment. The Commission could subsequently designate “third countries posing cybersecurity concerns”, identify “key ICT assets” used across the 18 sectors covered by NIS2, and determine high-risk suppliers on the basis of factors including establishment, ownership and control.

The Commission could then require relevant entities to implement measures such as audits, restrictions on data transfers and contractual relationships, and supplier diversification. It could also prohibit the use of components from specified suppliers in key ICT assets and, in certain circumstances, require the phase-out of components already deployed. European Commission proposal for CSA 2.0

The objective is legitimate: to prevent fragmented national responses and build a more resilient Single Market. But the current design raises a fundamental concern:

The proposal creates a potentially powerful decision-making mechanism without providing businesses with equally clear decision-making standards.

The greatest industrial risk is an inability to price the future

The proposal contains criteria for concepts such as “key ICT assets”, “significant cybersecurity risks” and “serious and structural non-technical risks”. Yet these criteria do not currently provide sufficiently granular or measurable thresholds for businesses operating across very different sectors.

Which components will ultimately be considered key? Which suppliers may face restrictions? What level of risk will trigger an audit, diversification requirement, procurement restriction or outright prohibition? Much of this would be determined later through risk assessments and implementing acts.

Consequently, even a product that complies with European technical standards and has obtained cybersecurity certification may not remain eligible for use in critical infrastructure. Market access could depend not only on the product’s technical characteristics, but also on its supplier’s ownership, the legal environment of its home country and an evolving geopolitical assessment.

The costliest regulatory burden is not the price of compliance. It is the inability to know whether compliance will still secure access to the market.

Critical infrastructure is normally planned over ten- or twenty-year investment cycles. If companies cannot assess the long-term eligibility of suppliers, installed equipment or entire technology pathways, they will respond before any formal restriction is imposed. They may freeze procurement, shorten contracts, reduce research spending, redesign systems or relocate factories, data centres and R&D programmes to jurisdictions offering greater regulatory predictability.

Uncertainty itself creates a regulatory overhang. Corporate boards will avoid technologies that might be restricted in the future. Banks will price additional risk into financing. Insurers will reassess exposure, while smaller suppliers will follow the location decisions of major investors.

The eventual cost is not limited to replacing equipment. It includes stranded assets, factories that are never built, research centres that are located elsewhere, and the talent and supply-chain ecosystems that move with them.

Capital can absorb risk. It cannot price discretion whose boundaries continue to move.

Annual business investment in the EU is roughly €2.4 trillion. An ECB study estimates that a typical economic policy uncertainty shock reduces euro-area business investment by around 1.2% at its trough, with the impact persisting for some time. This is not an estimate of the cost of CSA 2.0. It does, however, demonstrate that even a small uncertainty effect across 18 critical sectors could place tens of billions of euros of investment at risk. European Central Bank

Global evidence also shows how quickly investment reacts to geopolitical signals. IMF research finds that, since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the number of announced FDI projects between geopolitically distant blocs has declined by roughly 20% relative to investment within the same bloc. Investment losses often occur before formal restrictions are adopted—and once an industrial ecosystem has been established elsewhere, attracting it back is difficult. International Monetary Fund

Nor does excluding suppliers automatically create new European capacity. In markets already characterised by a limited number of specialised vendors, exclusion may further concentrate supply, raise prices, reduce innovation and increase dependence on the remaining suppliers.

A policy designed to strengthen resilience may, if it reduces choice, competition and investment, remove one risk only to create a larger one.

Standards are a foundation of Europe’s global competitiveness

Europe competes globally not only through the size of its Single Market, but through its ability to turn technical excellence into common rules.

Over several decades, common technical standards, certification and mutual recognition have helped build the Single Market. Through organisations such as ISO, IEC, ITU and ETSI, Europe has also shaped global industrial development. For European companies, early participation in standard-setting can create technological leadership, facilitate market access and support entire industrial ecosystems.

Standards may be Europe’s most successful invisible export.

Studies cited by the European Commission have estimated the macroeconomic contribution of standardisation at around 0.8% in France and 1% in Germany. In Germany alone, standardisation has been estimated to generate annual economic benefits of up to €17 billion. European Commission material on the economic role of standards

The value of standards, however, cannot be measured only in direct economic gains. Their deeper value lies in the expectation they create: comparable risks should be subject to comparable requirements, and products meeting those requirements should receive broadly consistent treatment in the market.

The authority of a standard does not rest simply on the rule-maker’s power to demand compliance. It rests on the rule-maker’s willingness to be bound by the same rule.

If products that comply with European standards and pass European certification can nevertheless be excluded through non-technical assessments whose boundaries are not clearly defined, technical compliance will no longer provide a predictable route to market.

Once compliance and market access become disconnected, standards cease to function as a common market passport. They risk becoming technical reference documents that can be overridden by political decisions at any time.

The consequences would extend well beyond individual suppliers. Companies would have less incentive to invest in shared standards and certification. Other regions would accelerate the development of their own standards, assurance regimes and supply-chain ecosystems. The global market could fragment into parallel technical systems that duplicate research, testing and certification while trusting one another less.

European exporters would face the same duplication abroad—and potentially reciprocal restrictions justified by other governments on geopolitical and national-security grounds.

A standard can be overridden by a single political decision. Rebuilding trust in the standards system may take a generation.

When rule-makers begin to bypass the rules they have built, the first casualty is not a particular product or supplier. It is the credibility of the rules themselves. If Europe weakens technical standards to gain short-term political discretion, it risks consuming one of its most valuable—and least easily replicated—sources of global competitiveness.

Making security and certainty mutually reinforcing

CSA 2.0 does not need to disregard non-technical risk. It does, however, need clearer limits.

Technical assessment should come first, with non-technical factors serving as a complementary layer. Intervention should focus on the highest-risk scenarios capable of producing systemic consequences. A transparent risk-to-measure framework should distinguish between risks that justify monitoring, auditing or diversification and those exceptional cases that warrant prohibition or phase-out. Clear thresholds, proportionality requirements and realistic transition periods should provide businesses with the greatest possible degree of certainty.

Europe does not need unlimited security discretion. It needs a bounded security capacity capable of addressing the most serious risks with precision.

Geopolitical judgement may be necessary to manage exceptional cases. It should not replace technical rules as the normal basis of market governance. Europe must de-risk—but it must not de-rule.

If regulatory certainty and technical standards lose credibility, Europe will lose far more than individual investments or suppliers. It will weaken one of the deepest foundations of the Single Market—and one of the Union’s most valuable sources of influence and competitiveness in the global economy.

By adressingnon-technicalcriteria in the CSA2 the cybersecurity act that originally was based on technical security standards, by design, can become a trade instrument. Whether this was intently or not is not relevant. It deviates significantly from its main objective, reinforcing Europe’s cybersecurity.


Dr Mayelinne De Lara is the Publisher and Founder of Diplomat Magazine Netherlands, an independent publication dedicated to diplomacy, international relations, and the work of diplomatic missions and international organisations. Based in The Hague, she has been connecting the diplomatic community, policymakers, and international institutions through journalism and editorial initiatives since 2013.


The Tsar’s African circus by Robert Perez

Africa has never lacked visitors promising liberation, friendship and prosperity. It has lacked the luxury of believing them and the Kremlin is rolling out its familiar propaganda carpet: Russia as the trustworthy partner, the anti-colonial liberator, the misunderstood alternative to a hypocritical Western establishment. Africa, apparently, is expected to applaud.

Putin's African pitch is simple, seductive and deliberately dishonest. The West colonised Africa, exploited its resources, humiliated its populations and continues to lecture its governments about democracy, governance and human rights while conveniently forgetting its own historical crimes. Russia, by contrast, claims to offer partnership without moral conditions, political lectures or colonial baggage.

But this is precisely where the African political establishment should start asking uncomfortable questions. Russia is not an innocent historical spectator. The absence of a comparable African colonial empire does not magically transform Moscow into an international humanitarian organisation. Russian imperialism has its own bloody history, its own traditions of domination and its own contemporary appetite for territorial expansion. Ukraine is hardly an advertisement for respect towards sovereignty, independence or the right of nations to determine their own future.

And yet, Moscow understands something that Western capitals repeatedly fail to understand: resentment is political capital. For decades, Western governments treated Africa as a continent to be instructed rather than listened to, a collection of problems to be managed rather than societies with legitimate ambitions. Development assistance became entangled with political conditionality, commercial exploitation continued behind respectable diplomatic language, and European governments occasionally discovered their humanitarian conscience only when African resources became strategically inconvenient.

Putin exploits that arrogance with considerable calculation. Russia's expanding African influence is not simply a diplomatic curiosity. It is a strategic investment in governments, military relationships, security arrangements, mineral concessions and political alliances. Moscow seeks votes in international institutions, access to resources, opportunities to weaken Western influence and the prestige of appearing indispensable in a multipolar world. Its security relationships and mercenary networks have also demonstrated how easily the language of sovereignty can become a convenient cover for dependency.

The uncomfortable truth is that African governments are not necessarily innocent passengers in this arrangement. Some actively welcome Russian involvement because it offers weapons, political protection and fewer uncomfortable questions about authoritarianism. Others see Moscow as leverage against Western partners. That is understandable realpolitik, but it is not automatically liberation.

Africa deserves better than choosing between Western paternalism and Russian opportunism. The continent is not a geopolitical orphan waiting for a powerful uncle in Washington, Brussels or Moscow. Its population, resources, economic potential and diplomatic weight should make it an independent force rather than a bargaining chip in somebody else's imperial nostalgia.

The real question is not whether Russia is more reliable than the West. Both have interests, and neither should be confused with charity.

The question is whether African leaders can transform competing foreign ambitions into genuine African advantages, without selling their independence to the highest bidder.

Putin may arrive in Moscow with the language of anti-colonial solidarity, but beneath the diplomatic smiles lies an old imperial instinct wearing a new ideological costume. The Tsar has discovered Africa. Africa should make certain that the Tsar does not discover its throne.


Berserk Alert! #128 #Cartoon by Tony Zuvela

 

Tony Zuvela and his view of the world around us in a constant berserk alert!
For more Berserk Alert! HERE!
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Fika bonding! #132 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Fika is a state of mind and an important part of Swedish culture. It means making time for friends and colleagues to share a cup of coffee and a little something to eat.

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Land, Revenue, and Authority: The Making of Bengal's Zamindari System By Habib Siddiqui

The history of Bengal's zamindari and talukdari systems is neither a purely Mughal creation nor a purely British invention. Rather, it is the story of a long institutional evolution spanning more than a thousand years. What began as a decentralized arrangement of local chiefs, samantas, bhuiyans, and hereditary revenue collectors gradually transformed into one of the most powerful systems of landed aristocracy in South Asia. Along the way, political authority shifted from Hindu kings to Muslim sultans, from Mughal emperors to Nawabs, and eventually to the East India Company. Yet throughout these transitions one feature remained remarkably consistent: the state's dependence on local intermediaries for extracting agrarian surplus from Bengal's fertile countryside.

By the twentieth century, the zamindari system had become deeply unpopular. Leaders such as A. K. Fazlul Huq regarded it as an instrument of oppression that impoverished peasants while enriching absentee landlords. Yet the system Huq fought against was very different from the agrarian order that existed under the Palas, Senas, Bengal Sultans, or even the early Mughals. The decisive turning point came under colonial rule when the British transformed revenue collectors into legally protected proprietors and converted customary agrarian relationships into rigid property rights.

To understand why the zamindari system became such a contentious issue in modern Bengal, one must trace its development from its earliest foundations.

The Early Foundations: Bengal under the Palas and Senas

The roots of Bengal's agrarian structure stretch back to the Hindu-Buddhist kingdoms of the Pala (750-1162 CE) and Sena (1070-1204 CE) periods. Agriculture formed the basis of economic life, and villages constituted the primary units of production. The cultivator tilled the soil, while the king claimed a share of agricultural output through taxation.

The dominant political institution was the samanta system. Samantas were local chiefs and subordinate rulers who controlled territory, administered justice, collected taxes, and provided military support to their overlords. In return they enjoyed considerable autonomy within their domains.

This arrangement created the first layer of agrarian intermediaries between cultivator and king. Copperplate inscriptions from the period reveal a sophisticated taxation system involving various levies on agricultural produce, trade, forests, and fisheries. The state also distributed tax-free lands to Brahmins, monasteries, temples, and other institutions. Such grants contributed to the gradual emergence of local landed elites whose authority rested on control of revenue rather than outright ownership.

Thus, centuries before the arrival of Muslim rule, Bengal already possessed hereditary intermediaries who stood between the peasant and the state.

Bengal under the Sultanate: Continuity More Than Change

When Bakhtiyar Khalji conquered Bengal in 1204, political sovereignty changed dramatically, but agrarian relationships did not.

The new Muslim rulers quickly discovered that effective administration required cooperation with existing local elites. Their primary concern was not religious transformation but revenue extraction and political stability. Consequently, they retained much of the existing agrarian structure.

Throughout the Bengal Sultanate period, local Hindu and Muslim chieftains continued to manage lands and collect revenues on behalf of the state. Many established Hindu landed families retained influence because they possessed local knowledge and administrative experience. Simultaneously, new Muslim elites emerged through military service, migration, and royal patronage.

It would therefore be inaccurate to describe this period as one of systematic Hindu domination over Muslim peasants or vice versa. The principal divisions remained political and economic rather than communal.

The Sultanate rulers relied heavily on local intermediaries, allowing considerable autonomy in exchange for regular revenue payments. The state cared primarily about loyalty and fiscal performance.

As a result, continuity rather than disruption characterized Bengal's agrarian history during these centuries.

The Afghan Interlude and the Consolidation of Revenue Authority

An important but often overlooked stage in the evolution of Bengal's zamindari system occurred during the period of Afghan rule in the sixteenth century (1538-76 CE). Sher Shah Suri and his successors did not fundamentally alter Bengal's traditional reliance on local intermediaries, but they introduced more systematic methods of revenue assessment and administration.

Sher Shah's reforms emphasized land measurement, written record-keeping, and more regularized taxation, reducing the arbitrary exactions that often characterized earlier systems. While local chiefs and hereditary landholders continued to collect revenue, they became increasingly integrated into a centralized fiscal structure.

The Afghan rulers also strengthened the position of military-landholding elites. Afghan commanders, frontier chiefs, and local political leaders acquired extensive landed interests throughout Bengal, especially in its eastern regions. Many of these men combined military authority with revenue rights, creating a class of powerful regional magnates whose wealth rested upon control of land and agricultural surplus.

Following the decline of the Sur Empire and the emergence of the Karrani dynasty, large numbers of Afghan military families settled permanently in Bengal. Their descendants became influential zamindars, taluqdars, and regional chiefs. When the Mughals conquered Bengal in 1576, many of these Afghan landholders refused to submit fully to imperial authority and instead formed alliances with existing Hindu and Muslim local elites.

Thus, the Afghan period served as a critical transitional phase between the decentralized agrarian order of the Bengal Sultanate and the more organized zamindari system that emerged under the Mughals. It strengthened revenue administration, expanded the role of military-landholding intermediaries, and helped create the class of regional powerholders from which the Baro Bhuiyans would later emerge.

The Bhuiyans and the Rise of the Military Landholding Aristocracy

By the sixteenth century, Bengal witnessed the emergence of powerful regional chiefs known as Bhuiyans.

The most famous among them were the Baro Bhuiyans who resisted Mughal expansion following the collapse of the independent Bengal Sultanate in 1576. Led by Isa Khan, they formed a confederacy of military-landholding chiefs whose power derived from local control, naval strength, and extensive agrarian resources.

Significantly, many of the leading Bhuiyans were Muslims, often descendants of Afghan military elites who had settled in Bengal after the decline of Afghan power in North India. Their prominence suggests that by the late Sultanate and early Mughal periods, a substantial segment of Bengal's military-landholding aristocracy was Muslim, although influential Hindu chiefs such as Kedar Rai and others remained important regional figures.

The Baro Bhuiyans represent an important stage in Bengal's agrarian evolution because their authority combined military command, territorial control, and revenue collection. They were not merely landlords; they were semi-sovereign rulers exercising powers later associated with states.

In many ways, they represented the culmination of the medieval political-military zamindari tradition.

Mughal Bengal: The Institutionalization of Zamindari

Mughal conquest brought Bengal under a more centralized administrative framework.

The Mughal state sought to regularize revenue collection through land surveys, assessment systems, and bureaucratic record keeping. Under Akbar and Todar Mal, land measurement became more systematic, taxation more standardized, and revenue administration more sophisticated.

Yet the Mughals rarely attempted direct taxation of individual cultivators. Instead, they relied on local intermediaries known as zamindars.

Contrary to later British interpretations, Mughal zamindars were not absolute landowners. They were hereditary local magnates whose authority rested upon custom, political influence, and imperial recognition. They collected revenue, maintained local order, mediated disputes, and sometimes commanded military forces.

Both Hindus and Muslims served as zamindars.

The Mughal state was fundamentally pragmatic. Religious affiliation mattered far less than administrative competence and political loyalty.

Meanwhile, profound demographic changes were occurring in eastern Bengal. Through agricultural expansion into the riverine delta and the spread of Islam among newly settled agrarian communities, much of eastern Bengal gradually became Muslim in population.

This created an important demographic distinction. Increasingly, large segments of the peasantry became Muslim, while many established landed and revenue-collecting families remained Hindu. However, the distinction was neither universal nor politically decisive during the Mughal period.

What mattered most remained revenue and authority.

Murshid Quli Khan and the Restructuring of Bengal's Elite

One of the most significant turning points in Bengal's history occurred during the administration of Murshid Quli Khan in the early eighteenth century. Born into a Brahmin family before his conversion to Islam, Murshid Quli Khan rose through the Mughal administrative system, eventually becoming Bengal's most powerful official and, by 1717, its Nawab.

Although he was not officially appointed Subahdar or Naib Subahdar before 1713, Murshid Quli Khan already wielded supreme authority in Bengal. Recognizing the province's immense economic potential, he implemented sweeping revenue reforms and established Murshidabad as the new administrative capital. His central objective was absolute centralization: as Diwan, he headed the revenue administration, while simultaneously serving as the Faujdar of multiple districts, thereby exercising executive and judicial powers over more than half the province.

Prior to his rise, many of Bengal's major zamindaris, military offices, and administrative positions were controlled by Muslim aristocratic families tied to Mughal and Afghan traditions. While influential Hindu zamindars existed throughout Bengal and exercised considerable local influence, Murshid Quli Khan fundamentally altered this socio-political balance.

Seeking to centralize provincial power and reduce the autonomy of entrenched Iranian and Turani Muslim nobles, he reorganized Bengal's revenue machinery around a new class of bureaucratic and financial intermediaries. In place of military aristocrats, he increasingly relied on revenue specialists, accountants, and administrators. Many members of this emerging elite were high-caste Hindus—particularly Brahmins, Kayasthas, and Baidyas—who possessed the literacy, accounting skills, and local administrative experience invaluable to an expanding revenue bureaucracy.

Simultaneously, Murshid Quli Khan encouraged the active participation of powerful commercial and banking families from outside Bengal. Marwari financiers, Jain merchants, and other prominent business communities were deeply integrated into the financial machinery of the state. The most famous among them was the House of Jagat Seth. Through their close involvement in revenue remittance, banking, and mint operations, the Jagat Seth family accumulated extraordinary wealth and influence, eventually becoming one of the most powerful financial dynasties in the world.

By the middle of the eighteenth century, this transformation presented a striking structural shift in the region's political economy. The Bengal of Isa Khan had been ruled by warrior-landlords; the Bengal of Murshid Quli Khan increasingly depended upon accountants, financiers, and revenue bureaucrats. Consequently, while formal political sovereignty remained firmly in the hands of the Muslim nawabs, substantial control over finance, credit, commerce, and day-to-day revenue administration shifted toward this newly empowered, predominantly Hindu financial-bureaucratic elite. This critical systemic transformation effectively laid the groundwork for the socio-economic developments that unfolded under later colonial rule.

Plassey and the Triumph of Financial Power

The Battle of Plassey in 1757 was not merely a military confrontation. It represented the culmination of tensions within Bengal's evolving political economy.

Robert Clive did not defeat a united Bengal. Rather, he capitalized upon divisions among competing elites.

Powerful banking and revenue interests, including the House of Jagat Seth and other influential figures, viewed Siraj ud-Daulah as a threat to their interests and collaborated with the East India Company.

The consequences were catastrophic.

For the first time, Bengal's enormous agrarian surplus came under the control of a commercial corporation whose primary objective was profit rather than governance.

Revenue extraction soon became more important than social stability or agrarian welfare.

From Revenue Farming to the Permanent Settlement:
The Sunset Law and the Transfer of Landed Wealth

The period between 1772 and 1793 proved deeply transformative for Bengal's agrarian economy. Seeking ever-greater revenues, the East India Company experimented extensively with annual settlements, lease-farming arrangements, and open revenue auctions. The results were devastating to the existing social fabric. Traditional landholders suddenly found themselves forced to compete for revenue rights against an influx of urban merchants, moneylenders, bankers, gomastas (agents), banians (brokers), and speculative investors – all of whom were Hindu, mostly living in Kolkata. Backed by substantial liquid capital, these new players increasingly displaced long-standing hereditary landholders. Contemporary observers noted a massive, unprecedented transfer of land away from the old landed aristocracy and into the hands of a rising commercial class closely aligned with the colonial economy.

This period of volatile experimentation culminated in the introduction of the Permanent Settlement of 1793.

While the traditional Mughal system treated zamindars primarily as conditional revenue collectors, the British system legally transformed them into absolute proprietors of the soil. This structural shift was revolutionary, institutionalizing rigid revenue obligations that fundamentally reshaped provincial wealth distribution.

To ensure strict compliance, the administration enacted a stringent provision known as the "Sunset Law". Under its uncompromising terms, fixed land revenues had to be paid by a specified deadline on a designated day; any delay triggered the immediate forfeiture and public auction of the estate. Numerous contemporary Muslim writers and later historians argued that estate managers, diwans, creditors, and revenue officials—the majority of whom were Hindu—frequently exploited the rigid mechanics of this new system. Documented cases and records from the era reveal instances where valuable estates defaulted due to deliberate financial manipulation, calculated negligence, or complex legal technicalities weaponized by dishonest agents. Once these properties were forced into public auction, they were swiftly acquired at a fraction of their true value by well-capitalized urban investors, including the former Hindu employees of the defaulting Muslim zamindars.

Many Muslim landed families, unversed in the intricacies of English property law and stripped of their former political influence, saw their ancestral holdings slip away. In their place, wealthy merchants, provincial bankers, and urban investors possessing both liquid capital and sophisticated legal expertise emerged as the primary beneficiaries of the new regime. Regardless of the precise micro-level mechanisms in each case, the macro-level outcome remains clear. This single legal transformation altered Bengal's social order more profoundly than perhaps any administrative measure before it, engineering one of the largest and most consequential transfers of landed wealth in the region's history. Within a few decades, vast tracts of landed property permanently passed from older, historically dominant aristocratic families into the possession of a new class of commercial, absentee landlords concentrated in Calcutta and other rapidly growing urban centers.

The British conquest produced consequences that extended far beyond the immediate restructuring of land ownership, dismantling the entire socio-political foundation of Bengal’s old ruling class. British rule did not merely dispossess individual zamindars; it systematically destroyed the existing Muslim administrative, military, and landed elites. Beyond losing their ancestral estates, Muslims were rapidly displaced from administrative offices, military commands, and traditional judicial positions. This displacement was further accelerated as Persian lost its privileged status as the language of administration and law, effectively stripping the elite of their long-standing educational and cultural advantages.

Simultaneously, the institutional foundations of Muslim civil society collapsed. Waqf (religious endowments) estates and lakheraj (tax-free) land grants, which had historically financed and sustained mosques, madrasas, Islamic scholars, and charitable institutions, came under aggressive colonial legal pressure. As these endowments were dismantled or heavily taxed, the traditional avenues of social, financial, and educational support within the community rapidly eroded.

Meanwhile, the evolving colonial economy heavily favored those who could quickly adapt to English law, British commercial finance, and East India Company administration. In this new economic theater, Hindu banians (brokers), gomastas (agents), bankers, and revenue collectors associated with the colonial enterprise found unprecedented opportunities for advancement and capital accumulation. As historian Dr. K. M. Mohsin observed, the resulting marginalization left Bengal's Muslims "politically subjugated, economically impoverished and culturally ruined."

This dramatic inversion of fortune was captured memorably by W. W. Hunter in his famous nineteenth-century observation: "A hundred and seventy years ago it was almost impossible for a well-born Mussalman in Bengal to become poor; at present it is almost impossible for him to continue rich."

By the nineteenth century, these shifting economic structures increasingly aligned with religious identities, giving rise to a deeply fractured society. While the newly empowered landlord class was predominantly Hindu, the vast agrarian peasantry—particularly in eastern Bengal—was overwhelmingly Muslim. What had initially begun as a political and economic hierarchy ultimately acquired a distinctly communal dimension, reshaping the region's social dynamics for generations to come.

The Peasantry and the Growth of Rural Oppression

The greatest burden ultimately fell upon the cultivator.

Most of Bengal's peasants owned little beyond their labor, cattle, and tools. To meet increasing rent demands they commonly relied upon village moneylenders.

Indebtedness became widespread.

Absentee landlords residing in Calcutta or district headquarters frequently viewed estates primarily as sources of income rather than communities requiring stewardship. Layers of intermediaries multiplied between landlord and peasant.

The result was chronic insecurity, recurrent indebtedness, and periodic rural unrest.

In eastern Bengal this acquired an increasingly communal character because much of the peasantry was Muslim while many landlords, moneylenders, and revenue intermediaries were Hindu.

The issue was fundamentally economic, but religious identity often coincided with economic position.

Fazlul Huq and the Final Challenge to Zamindari

By the twentieth century, opposition to zamindari had become one of Bengal's defining political causes.

A. K. Fazlul Huq emerged as the most effective advocate of peasant interests. He recognized that Bengal's agrarian structure concentrated wealth and power in the hands of intermediaries while leaving cultivators perpetually vulnerable.

His challenge to zamindari resonated especially strongly among Muslim peasants, but its underlying message was economic rather than communal.

The demand was simple: those who tilled the land should enjoy greater security and protection than those who merely collected rent.

The movement eventually culminated in the abolition of zamindari after Partition, particularly through the East Bengal State Acquisition and Tenancy Act of 1950.

Conclusion

The history of Bengal's zamindari system spans more than a millennium. Its origins lay in the samanta structures of the Pala and Sena periods. It evolved through the localized power networks of the Bengal Sultanate, the military-landholding aristocracy of the Bhuiyans, and the revenue administration of the Mughal Empire. Murshid Quli Khan reshaped the system by empowering bureaucratic and financial elites, while the East India Company completed its transformation by converting revenue collectors into legal proprietors.

The British did not create agrarian intermediaries. They transformed them.

In doing so, they converted a flexible and historically evolving system into a rigid regime of private property, accelerated a massive transfer of wealth and land, weakened traditional Muslim institutions, empowered a new commercial landlord class, and deepened the divide between landlord and peasant. By the nineteenth century, these economic disparities increasingly overlapped with communal identities, creating tensions that would shape Bengal's politics for generations.

Thus, the story of Bengal's zamindari system is not merely a history of land. It is a history of power, taxation, social transformation, economic dispossession, and the profound consequences of colonial rule.


Dr Siddiqui is an author of several books, including Bangladesh: A Polarized and Divided Nation?(Amazon, 2021) and 'Modi-Fied' India: The Transformation of A Nation (Peter Lang, 2026).


The Netanyahu Trump manual by Kingsley Cobb

Benjamin Netanyahu, Israel’s political Houdini, has built an entire career around turning political disasters into personal survival. With more than 90% of the vote counted and his bloc holding 53 of the Knesset’s 120 seats, the arithmetic is brutally simple: Netanyahu has neither a mandate nor a comfortable parliamentary majority. Yet counting his political obituaries has become one of the most dangerous occupations in Israeli politics.

The question is no longer whether Netanyahu has won. It is how he might survive losing. Israel’s electoral system, with its proportional representation and fragmented parliamentary landscape, offers endless opportunities for political bargaining, ideological prostitution and coalition gymnastics. A few desperate partners, some carefully distributed ministerial chairs, a handful of political promises and the familiar invocation of national security can transform parliamentary weakness into governmental survival. Netanyahu understands this machinery better than almost anybody. He has spent decades mastering the art of making political desperation look like leadership.

But the implications extend beyond Israel. Donald Trump, who has developed his own peculiar relationship with democratic legitimacy, political accountability and the inconvenient arithmetic of elections, might eventually find Netanyahu’s survival strategy instructive. Not because the American system is identical to Israel’s, but because the underlying political instinct is remarkably familiar: when institutions become obstacles, bend them; when allies become liabilities, bargain with them; when legitimacy becomes questionable, manufacture a crisis that makes the question appear irrelevant.

Netanyahu and Trump share something more consequential than political friendship. Both understand that personal power can be maintained by converting every political confrontation into an existential battle. Every defeat becomes persecution. Every investigation becomes conspiracy. Every opponent becomes an enemy of the nation. Politics stops being a competition over policies and becomes a permanent struggle over who has the right to rule.

The danger is that Netanyahu’s possible survival could reinforce precisely this model of political leadership. If a leader can remain in power despite a fractured electoral mandate, mounting public distrust and an increasingly exhausted political environment, then the lesson for ambitious authoritarians is obvious: winning elections is desirable, but controlling the political aftermath is considerably more important.

Of course, Israel is not America, and Netanyahu is not Trump. The Israeli parliamentary system permits coalition arrangements that the American constitutional system does not. Trump cannot simply assemble a congressional coalition of ideological extremists and bargain his way into another presidential term. But constitutional limitations have never stopped political ambition from testing the boundaries of democratic institutions.

Ultimately, the Netanyahu question is bigger than Netanyahu himself. It concerns whether democracy is merely the mechanism through which leaders acquire power or the principle that determines when they must surrender it.

A political leader who treats defeat as a temporary inconvenience rather than a democratic verdict is not simply negotiating a coalition. He is negotiating with democracy itself.

And if Netanyahu finds another parliamentary escape hatch, Trump may discover that the most useful political manual is not about winning elections. It is about surviving them.


The Cockroach that won’t disappear by Avani Devi

When political empires begin to crack, the most dangerous thing for their masters is not necessarily an army, a revolution or even an angry...