Imported right-wing extremism by Emma Schneider

Europe has wrestled with far-right and fascist movements for decades, but what we are witnessing now is not merely a continuation of an old disease. It is an escalation, sharpened and globalized, fed by an ideological supply chain that increasingly runs through the United States. The last thirty years laid the groundwork; the present moment has poured gasoline on it.

European far-right movements once wore local costumes. They spoke the language of national grievance, historical humiliation, economic neglect, and cultural anxiety specific to each country. Their myths were homegrown, their symbols rooted in local pasts. Dangerous as they were, they remained fragmented, often marginal, occasionally restrained by social shame and political isolation. That containment has cracked.

Today’s far-right is louder, slicker, and more coordinated, borrowing narratives, tactics, and aesthetics from across the Atlantic. The American culture war has become an export product, shipped wholesale into European debates. Concepts like “deep state,” “fake news,” “globalist elites,” and “stolen democracy” now circulate fluently in languages that once had their own political vocabulary. This is not organic evolution; it is ideological importation.

The United States perfected a style of radicalization that thrives on spectacle. Rage is monetized, outrage is algorithmically rewarded, and politics is reduced to permanent performance. European extremists have eagerly adopted this model. They livestream provocations, manufacture scandals, and treat democratic institutions as stages rather than safeguards. The goal is not governance but disruption, not persuasion but domination of attention.

What makes this imported extremism especially corrosive is its simplicity. Complex European realities are flattened into crude binaries: patriots versus traitors, people versus elites, tradition versus “wokeness.” Nuance becomes suspect, compromise becomes betrayal, and expertise is reframed as conspiracy. This mindset erodes the foundations of pluralistic societies that depend on disagreement without dehumanization.

There is also a psychological shift. Older European far-right movements often framed themselves as tragic losers of history, nursing resentment. The new wave presents itself as victorious, inevitable, and unapologetic. This confidence is learned. It mirrors American far-right bravado, where losing elections is rebranded as proof of persecution and violence is rhetorically sanitized as “resistance.”

Social media accelerates this transformation. Platforms do not care about borders, but democracies still do. An influencer in Texas can radicalize a teenager in Turin by lunchtime. Memes cross frontiers faster than laws can respond. European political cultures, built around slower deliberation and institutional trust, are ill-equipped for this velocity.

The danger is not only electoral success, though that alone is alarming. The deeper threat is cultural normalization. When far-right talking points dominate conversation, even their opponents begin to frame debates on their terms. Immigration becomes panic. Gender becomes threat. Journalism becomes enemy. Democracy becomes conditional.

Europe bears responsibility too. Decades of austerity, political technocracy, and social alienation created fertile ground. When people feel unheard, they become susceptible to those who shout. But acknowledging internal failures does not mean ignoring external accelerants. The American far-right ecosystem functions like an amplifier, taking European grievances and turning them into identity warfare.

What is particularly tragic is how this imported ideology distorts European history. A continent scarred by fascism now flirts again with its language, while pretending it is something new, something rebellious, something “anti-establishment.” In reality, it is a recycled authoritarianism with a fresh accent.

The response cannot be performative outrage or shallow moralizing. It requires reclaiming democratic confidence, investing in social cohesion, and refusing to let imported paranoia dictate public life. Europe must remember that democracy is not weakness, complexity is not decadence, and solidarity is not surrender.

If this moment is allowed to pass unchecked, Europe will not simply face stronger far-right parties. It will face a hollowed political culture, where fear replaces policy and spectacle replaces truth. Imported extremism thrives where societies forget their own hard-earned lessons. Europe learned those lessons once, at an unbearable cost. Forgetting them now would not be innocence. It would be negligence.

This is not a call for censorship or moral panic, but for clarity. Europe must name what it is facing without euphemism. Fascism does not always arrive in uniforms; sometimes it arrives as a podcast, a meme, or a smirk. Resisting it demands courage that is quieter than outrage and stronger than nostalgia. It demands citizens who refuse easy lies, media that refuses lazy amplification, and leaders who understand that democracy is defended not by shouting louder, but by governing better, fairer, and with memory intact. Anything less invites history to repeat itself, this time faster, louder, and dressed as entertainment for everyone.

The Yen and the flag by John Reid

Imagine a Japan where Sanae Takaichi has just walked into the Kantei as prime minister with a single, almost technocratic promise: fix the economy. Stagnation, deflationary psychology, a shrinking workforce, and a nervous yen were supposed to be her battlefield. Instead, her first month has played out like a geopolitical detour, one that risks turning an economic mandate into a diplomatic liability.

Takaichi entered office branded as a nationalist reformer with sharp elbows and sharper rhetoric. Supporters expected bold fiscal moves, regulatory disruption, and a decisive break from the managerial drift of recent administrations. What they did not expect was how quickly China would become the defining issue of her opening chapter. Within weeks, carefully balanced ties with Beijing were strained by blunt statements, symbolic gestures, and an unmistakable tone of ideological confrontation.

Japan’s relationship with China has never been warm, but it has long been pragmatic. Trade, supply chains, tourism, and regional stability all demanded a careful dance. Takaichi chose instead to stomp. Her language on security, Taiwan, and “values diplomacy” may have thrilled domestic hardliners, yet it landed in Beijing as provocation rather than principle. The result was predictable: diplomatic frost, economic unease, and rising tension in a region that already has too many sparks and too much fuel.

What makes this turn especially puzzling is how little it helps her stated economic mission. Japan’s economy does not exist in a vacuum. China remains one of its largest trading partners, a critical market for exporters, and a central node in regional manufacturing. Alienating Beijing does not punish China nearly as much as it injects uncertainty into Japanese boardrooms already struggling with weak growth and demographic decline.

Rather than calming markets, Takaichi’s first month has rattled them. Investors dislike surprises, and geopolitical bravado is the worst kind. The yen does not strengthen on speeches about resolve, and wage growth does not materialize because a prime minister sounds tough abroad. Economic revival requires predictability, coordination, and confidence, none of which thrive amid diplomatic theatrics.

Adding to the unease is Takaichi’s apparent faith in Donald Trump’s shadow. Her posture suggests a belief that American backing, especially from a possible future Trump administration, will insulate Japan from the consequences of regional tension. This is a dangerous gamble. Trump’s support has always been transactional, personal, and volatile. Betting Japan’s strategic stability on the favor of an unpredictable ally is not realism; it is wishful thinking dressed up as strength.

The irony is that Japan does need a firmer strategic voice. The region is changing, and passivity is not a policy. But strength without strategy is noise. Takaichi’s early moves confuse volume with vision. By foregrounding confrontation, she has sidelined the quieter, harder work of economic reform: tax restructuring, labor market flexibility, immigration debates, and innovation policy. These issues do not generate headlines, but they determine futures.

Domestically, this misalignment carries political risk. Voters who tolerated nationalist rhetoric did so expecting economic dividends. If prices rise, wages stagnate, and exports suffer under the weight of diplomatic chill, patience will evaporate quickly. National pride is a poor substitute for household stability, especially in a country where economic anxiety runs deep.

A first month does not define a premiership, but it does set a tone. Takaichi’s tone so far suggests a leader more comfortable fighting symbolic battles than managing structural ones. Japan does not need a culture war with its neighbors; it needs growth, confidence, and relevance in a crowded, competitive Asia.

If the yen continues to wobble while flags are waved ever higher, the verdict will be harsh. History rarely rewards leaders who confuse confrontation for competence. Fixing the economy was the promise. So far, the politics have arrived early, and the economics are still nowhere in sight.

There is still time for recalibration, but time is not infinite. Japan’s challenges are structural, not theatrical, and they demand humility as much as resolve. A prime minister serious about reform must lower the temperature abroad to raise productivity at home. Otherwise, the administration risks becoming a case study in misplaced priorities, where noise replaces nuance and posture replaces policy. Economic renewal is unglamorous, slow, and often politically unrewarding, yet it is the only path that delivers lasting legitimacy. If Takaichi cannot pivot from symbolism to substance, her tenure will be remembered less for revival than for distraction, a moment when Japan looked outward for enemies while its real problems quietly deepened within. History, voters, and markets tend not to forgive misjudgments.

Peace at any price? By Sabine Fischer

When President Volodymyr Zelenskiy reportedly floated the idea of dropping Ukraine’s NATO aspirations during marathon talks with U.S. envoys in Berlin, the headline wrote itself. After years of bloodshed, displacement, and defiance, the man who became the global symbol of Ukrainian resistance appeared to gesture toward compromise. But compromise toward what end? And more importantly, at what cost?

At first glance, the offer sounds pragmatic, even statesmanlike. NATO membership has long been one of Moscow’s declared red lines, real or rhetorical. Removing it from the table could, in theory, lower the temperature, unlock negotiations, and give weary diplomats something tangible to work with. Wars, after all, do not usually end with total victory; they end with exhaustion and bargaining. From this perspective, Zelenskiy’s move can be read as an acknowledgment of reality rather than surrender.

Yet reality cuts both ways. Ukraine’s desire to join NATO was never merely about military alignment. It was a declaration of identity, a civilizational choice pointing westward, away from the gravitational pull of Russian dominance. To abandon that aspiration under the pressure of war risks validating the very logic that launched the invasion in the first place, that powerful states can dictate the sovereign choices of their neighbours through force. If that logic is rewarded, even indirectly, it sets a precedent far beyond Ukraine.

The deeper question is whether dropping NATO ambitions would actually bring peace, or merely pause the violence. Russia’s war aims have never been fully transparent, but its actions suggest goals that go far beyond alliance politics. Territory has been seized, populations displaced, infrastructure destroyed, and Ukrainian statehood itself routinely questioned in Kremlin rhetoric. In that context, NATO looks less like the cause of the war and more like a convenient justification. Remove the justification, and the underlying ambition may remain untouched.

There is also the matter of security guarantees. NATO membership is not a symbolic badge; it is a hard deterrent anchored in collective defence. Without it, Ukraine would need alternative guarantees robust enough to prevent future aggression. History offers little comfort here. Assurances, memoranda, and diplomatic promises have a poor track record when tanks cross borders. Asking Ukraine to trade a concrete, if distant, security framework for vague guarantees is asking it to gamble its future on the goodwill of others.

From Washington’s perspective, Zelenskiy’s signal may be tempting. The war has become an open-ended drain on political capital, resources, and global attention. Elections loom, alliances are strained, and strategic focus is increasingly pulled toward other theaters. A negotiated settlement, even an imperfect one, could be framed as responsible statecraft. But responsible for whom? For voters at home, perhaps, but Ukrainians will live with the consequences long after headlines move on.

Zelenskiy himself is caught in an impossible bind. Continue fighting indefinitely, and Ukraine risks demographic collapse and economic ruin. Seek compromise, and he risks fracturing domestic unity and betraying the sacrifices already made. His leadership has been defined by moral clarity under fire. Any pivot toward concession, however tactical, inevitably muddies that clarity.

There is also a psychological dimension. Ukraine’s resistance has reshaped European security thinking, reminding the continent that peace cannot be assumed. If Ukraine, after paying such a staggering price, is still denied the right to choose its alliances, what message does that send to other states living in the shadow of larger powers? Deterrence is as much about perception as hardware, and perceptions matter.

In the end, the question is not whether Zelenskiy can offer to drop NATO aspirations. It is whether such an offer would actually buy the peace it promises, or simply legitimize coercion dressed up as diplomacy. Peace achieved by narrowing a nation’s future under threat is not reconciliation; it is management of conflict. And managed conflicts have a habit of erupting again.

If Ukraine is to compromise, it should do so from a position that preserves its agency, security, and dignity. Otherwise, the war may end on paper, only to continue in the shadows, waiting for the next moment of weakness.

Enter General Christopher Gwabin Musa as Defence Minister by Tunde Akande

General Christopher Musa

For Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, the appointment of General Christopher Musa means a repudiation of his policy of appeasement of the bandits and terrorists.

When on October 30 it was suddenly announced that General Christopher Gwabin Musa had been removed as the Chief of Defence Staff, a position he had held since June 2023, not a few Nigerians were suspicious of his retirement. The General had been seen to have performed creditably. Information later filtered in that General Christopher Musa had been removed because he had disagreed with the Federal Government’s position to ‘kiss the bandits.’

Kiss the bandits was the code name given by the government to the policy of appeasing the bandits and terrorists in the Northwest, Northeast, and Middle Belt regions of the nation. A fierce critic of President Tinubu’s government, Nasir El-Rufai, a former governor of Kaduna, had leaked the code name in a television appearance. But when General Musa was invited into the office of the president on December 2, it was clear to many people he was the new defence minister promised to replace the former minister, Alhaji Mohammed Badaru Abubakar, who was said to have resigned a day before due to health reasons.

Nigerians are not persuaded by the subterfuge resorted to by the Special Adviser (Information and Strategy) to the President, Bayo Onanuga. If the witch that cried the day before killed the child that died the next day, Badaru’s resignation could not have been because of health reasons. It was compelled by the American government, whose president, Donald Trump, had issued a dire threat of fire and brimstone should President Bola Tinubu not take urgent actions to revamp the nonperforming security architecture of Nigeria. It is likely that the American government had demanded the removal of Alhaji Badaru and the immediate appointment of General Christopher Gwabin Musa to replace him.

So when General Musa walked majestically into the Senate chambers on December 3, not in the army uniform but in mufti, it was with his usual confidence heightened a little more. He had just put off his Army uniform some weeks before and was back in the Senate, being recommended again for a higher appointment by the very president that removed him. It is not difficult to realize that some power was behind the reinstatement of the general and that power was one President Tinubu could not resist. That power, discerning analysts have concluded, is President Donald Trump. President Trump had demanded the immediate appointment of the man who will not ‘kiss the bandits’ but will crush them. In a saner clime, that somersault in policy, that defeat of the Fulani oligarchy-inspired policy that the president bought hook, line, and sinker because of fear, would have meant the resignation of President Bola Tinubu. Like Prince Adewole Adebayo, SDP presidential candidate in 2023, told the president, he had two options: either to kill the bandits with a bullet or to resign. Prince Adebayo alleged that the administration has been using the insecurity issue to loot the Treasury of Nigeria.

Even as President Bola Tinubu has taken the option of killing the bandits rather than negotiating with them for bribes whose exact amount cannot be determined, it is obvious that the power of the president is ebbing away. It is obvious that the talk about sovereignty in Nigeria is a big ruse. First, it said that the country is not sovereign because it is under two parallel laws: the laws made by its representatives and the Sharia law, which is an imposed Islamic law that is not passed by any representative. Second, as Prince Adewole Adebayo has said, Nigeria should forget about sovereignty because under international law, any nation that is killing its people or undermining the rights of its people can be invaded by another more powerful nation. Nigerians in some regions are being killed by Fulani bandits and terrorists, from another region.

General Christopher Musa may have derived his confidence from the assurance of this ebbing power of the president. Assured that he holds the ace in Nigeria’s security architecture, General Christopher Musa is no longer an underdog to Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, who had led the Nigerian delegation to the US and had been one of the pillars behind the “kiss the bandit” policy, a policy that is the brainchild of Sheik Ahmad Gunmi, a cleric who was deported from Saudi Arabia and was not allowed to perform this year’s hajj because the Saudi authority suspected he is a terrorist sympathiser. Sheikh Ahmad Gunmi has been meeting the terrorists and bandits in the forest to negotiate with them. For Mallam Nuhu Ribadu, the appointment of General Christopher Musa means a repudiation of his policy of appeasement of the bandits and terrorists. Ordinarily, were Nigeria to be a real democracy, we should have been discussing the resignation letter of Nuhu Ribadu. From now until things perhaps change, General Christopher Musa is the de facto security chief in Nigeria.

Alhaji Mohammed Badaru Abubakar, former Minister of Defence, and Dr. Bello Mohammed Matawalle, Minister of State for Defence, had earned their positions not out of competence but out of the roles they played as regional supporters for President Bola Tinubu in the 2023 elections. They stood behind him and foiled even the attempt of former president Muhammadu Buhari to stop Bola Tinubu during the 2023 presidential elections. Badaru delivered his state of Jigawa, where he had been governor two times, to the APC. Matawalle did not win his second term but was able to give Tinubu a significant vote in Zamfara state, where Matawalle was governor. Matawalle cannot be said to be a competent governor. Zamfara State is the lowest in the country in all indices of development. Matawalle is obviously one of the architects of the “kiss the bandits” policy. He was seen on Channels Television recently saying that the bandits are not criminals, a statement that Nigerians see as one of the reasons responsible for the failure of the military to crush the terrorists. An observer said statements such as Matawalle’s may mark him out as one of those alleged to be putting obstacles in the way for the soldiers for an aggressive move against the bandits and terrorists. It has been said in the media that sometimes when the soldiers were close to the terrorists and would have finished them off, signals from ‘high quarters’ had stopped them. Nigerians who comment are not ruling out the possibility that Matawalle may be part of these alleged “high quarters.”

Cognizant of his de facto power, General Christopher Musa stood boldly before the Senate to tell them that he will probe the death of Brigadier General Musa Uba, who was killed in battle by the ISWAP and for whom the president only gave no more than a line of mention in a general speech that was meant for the people. It has been said that such a treatment for a high-ranking officer can never build confidence or patriotism in the nation. Who will want to join the Army and sign for death if the death of a brigadier general is treated with such levity? Again, an indication that the president is not really ready to provide effective governance to Nigeria. General Musa told the Senate that Brigadier General Musa Uba was not supposed to be alone; he's supposed to be with his troops. Where was his troop? Musa said the nation deserves to know that answer and that he will provide it and give justice. He will also probe the movement of the soldiers who moved away from their guard duties at the Government Girls Comprehensive School, Maga, Kebbi State, forty-five minutes before the bandits arrived and carted 24 girls away. Until General Christopher Musa, Badaru, and Matawalle thought of no probe to unearth that infraction, perhaps because they did not deem it important or some other untouchables like them were involved. Now Nigerians will have the opportunity to know who did what. It is also possible that in the time of General Christopher Musa, Nigeria may see those who sponsored the terrorists whose list was said to have been given to the late former president, Muhammadu Buhari, who did nothing about it. Daniel Bwala, the Special Adviser to President Tinubu on political communication, promised to release the names, a promise Nigerians are saying is not necessary. “If the government wants the public to know these sponsors, it should take them to court.”

General Christopher Musa will not have it rosy with the president. He is imposed on the unwilling president, who had to bow to superior American power. But with determination, General Christopher Musa may just be the break Nigerians are expecting to trash the security problems once and for all. The General will do battle with apostles of “kiss the bandits.” He has the domineering Fulani tribe to contend with. His own security may also be at risk. We must not forget that a Chief of Army Staff, Lt. General Ibrahim Attahiru, died in an air crash in the time of former president Muhammadu Buhari. Up till today some Nigerians, including retired military personnel, are still suspecting foul play. As General Christopher Musa settles down to work at the Ministry of Defence, Nigerians are not expecting him to act just as an administrator; he is brought in at a very crucial time, a time of make-or-break war over the nation, a war that can be won and must be won. He must remain a general. The general is still every inch a soldier, and he must remember that. The terrorists must be killed to the last man. This is the billing that got him the support of America and the job. History is behind him, and victory beckons.

First Published in METRO

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Tunde Akande is both a journalist and pastor. He earned a Master's degree in Mass Communication from the University of Lagos.

Puppi & Caesar #36 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Another cartoon with a mean and know-all of a bully cat, Puppi and her intellectual, pompous companion categorically-I-know-all, Caesar the squirrel!  

For more Puppi & Caesar, HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

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The limits of tolerance by John Reid

For too long tolerance has been treated as a sacred unbreakable rule, a moral shield that protects all voices equally regardless of their intent. And yet in recent years tolerance has become the very tool by which extremist ideologies, particularly those of the far-right, have clawed their way from the fringes into the mainstream. We have watched in disbelief as groups openly espousing Nazi and fascist rhetoric parade on social media, in public forums, and even on national stages, all under the guise of free speech and societal tolerance. It is a bitter irony, the very principle designed to protect democracy and pluralism has been turned against them, exploited to amplify hatred and division.

Tolerance, in its purest form, is a cornerstone of liberal societies. It is what allows differing opinions to coexist, what ensures that minority voices are not silenced, and what binds diverse communities together under a shared commitment to civility. But tolerance is not a blank check. It is not and should never be indiscriminate acceptance of ideas that seek to dismantle the freedoms that make tolerance possible in the first place. And yet, that is exactly the trap we have fallen into.

Far-right movements have become masterful at exploiting the limits of our patience and our principles. They speak in coded language, dress their rhetoric in the neutral tone of debate, and cloak outright bigotry in the sanctity of “discussion.” And the response? Endless tolerance. Endless invitations to dialogue. Endless hesitancy to name things as they are, lest we appear intolerant ourselves. Meanwhile, they do not reciprocate. They have no interest in dialogue. Their tolerance for others’ views ends the moment those views challenge their own. They demand a platform but offer nothing but suppression, fear, and control in return.

History is not on their side; yet, remarkably, they have succeeded in normalizing ideologies that should have been permanently relegated to textbooks and warnings. Holocaust denial, xenophobia, authoritarian nationalism, all once universally condemned, now find sympathetic ears. And why? Because tolerance has been misapplied, interpreted as passive acceptance rather than active engagement. Because we have feared confrontation more than we have feared the resurgence of old evils.

The argument often presented is that opposing these movements risks infringing on freedom. But freedom is not freedom when it is weaponized against the very people who defend it. Freedom of speech, when exercised to incite violence or hatred, is no longer an abstract right, it is a threat. And the time for polite warnings and measured debate is over. It is time to draw the line. Tolerance is not about standing aside while the foundations of a free society are dismantled. It is about creating space for dialogue where dialogue is possible and defending that space fiercely when it is under attack.

We are at a crossroads. To continue in the name of unchecked tolerance is to invite further erosion of our social fabric. To confront and limit extremist ideologies is not intolerance; it is the application of tolerance with boundaries. Tolerance without limits is a weapon turned inward, a tool that allows those who would destroy us to flourish. The far-right thrives not because their ideas are compelling, but because our restraint has been mistaken for weakness, our civility for consent.

This is not a call to silence opposing voices, nor a plea to embrace authoritarianism in response. It is, instead, a call to recognize that principles are only meaningful when applied with discernment. Just as a society does not permit arsonists to freely carry matches in crowded streets, we cannot allow ideologies that threaten human dignity, democracy, and life itself to roam unchecked under the banner of “tolerance.” There is a point where restraint becomes complicity, and we are dangerously close to that edge.

It is time to reclaim tolerance, not as a passive ideal but as an active defense. We must protect it, shape it, and yes, limit it when necessary. Because tolerance was never meant to protect the intolerant; it was meant to protect society from them. And now, more than ever, it is society’s duty to demonstrate that there is a line that cannot be crossed, that civility does not extend to those who seek its destruction.

Tolerance has served us well, but only if it has limits. And the far-right, for all its cunning, has no right to exploit what was never theirs. We must act, not with fear, not with hatred, but with unwavering clarity, some ideas do not deserve a platform. Some voices must be opposed. Some lines must never be crossed. History will not forgive us if we fail to set them.

Frozen fortunes by Robert Perez

Kiev is a city of whispers these days. In cafes, in the corridors of power, in the quiet hum of late-night apartment buildings, the word “corruption” floats like smoke, twisting and lingering, impossible to ignore. Ukraine has been fighting a war on two fronts: one against an external aggressor, another against the internal rot that seems as stubborn and pervasive as the winter fog along the Dnieper. And now, with Europe’s gaze fixed and its wallets tentatively opening, the stage is set for a bold move: frozen Russian billions are poised to be deployed. But as Brussels debates the mechanics, Kiev watches nervously. Because with frozen assets come unspoken questions, and with billions come both opportunities and pitfalls that no bureaucratic spreadsheet can predict.

The sums involved are staggering, numbers that shift the imagination into dizzying realms of influence. In theory, this money could transform Ukraine, rebuild infrastructure, fortify the battered economy, and provide lifelines to the citizens enduring the hardships of war. Yet the reality is more tangled. In a city where even minor public contracts spark suspicion and accusations, the arrival of massive, foreign-frozen funds risks lighting a firestorm of both expectation and envy. Money, after all, is a double-edged sword: it can heal, but it can also corrupt, and in a country where rumors spread faster than official statements, the difference is perilously thin.

Europe’s stance is pragmatic but cautious. The EU is not blind to the optics: unleashing frozen Russian wealth is a symbolic victory, a way of striking back without firing a single shot. Yet, for all its symbolism, it comes with strings, conditions, and the patient scrutiny of Brussels’ bureaucracy. Kiev may celebrate, but it cannot afford to simply spend without thought, for friends are watching and so are skeptics. Allies will demand accountability; adversaries will circle for every misstep. Every euro spent in Kyiv will echo far beyond the city’s historic streets, interpreted not just as investment, but as a reflection of the city’s ability to govern itself.

The more cynical might see this as yet another example of a larger geopolitical theater: frozen assets as a chess piece, Ukraine as the board. But even in cynicism, there’s a hint of optimism. If deployed wisely, these funds could mark a turning point, a tangible sign that Europe is willing to back Ukraine not just rhetorically, but financially, against a backdrop of aggression and corruption. The challenge, however, is monumental. One misallocated contract, one news story about graft, and the narrative could shift overnight from “EU support” to “Kiev squandered the aid.”

It is also worth considering the domestic angle. Ukrainian leaders, already walking a tightrope between reform and survival, will now face an amplified scrutiny. Every ministry will be under the microscope. Civil society, journalists, and even ordinary citizens will judge every decision. In a city where corruption rumors are practically civic folklore, the stakes are as much about perception as they are about policy. Mismanagement or even the mere hint of it—could be as damaging as an actual leak of funds. And in an age where reputation travels faster than money, the risks multiply exponentially.

Yet amid all these concerns, one truth remains: this moment is unprecedented. Frozen billions are not just numbers in a ledger, they are a statement. Europe is sending a message: that the war may have stolen much, but it has not stolen the possibility of a sovereign, functioning Ukraine. And for Kiev, that message is both opportunity and warning. The challenge is to harness this injection of capital while resisting the temptations of short-term politics, personal enrichment, or the inertia of old habits.

Ultimately, the deployment of frozen Russian assets is more than an economic man oeuvre. It is a test of maturity, governance, and vision. Will Kiev rise to the occasion, transforming suspicion into strategy, rumor into reform, and opportunity into lasting impact? Or will the city’s age-old dance with corruption turn this moment of potential triumph into yet another story of squandered chances? The questions are many; the answers remain uncertain. But one thing is clear: history will not wait for the slow, cautious, or indecisive. It rewards boldness, but only when coupled with wisdom.

For now, Kiev waits, whispers buzzing louder, eyes on Brussels and Moscow alike. The frozen billions are ready to flow but whether they will build, or merely melt away, depends not on Europe, nor on Russia, but on the city’s own ability to navigate the treacherous waters of its reputation, its governance, and its relentless rumor mill.

The strongman mirage by Mia Rodríguez

Jose Antonio Kast’s victory in Chile’s presidential election does more than tilt one country’s political compass; it thickens a continental fog in which nostalgia, fear, and theatrical certainty replace democratic patience. Chile, long treated as South America’s disciplined exception now steps onto a stage crowded with strongmen, culture warriors, and reactionary prophets promising order while flirting with chaos. The far right’s advance is no longer a fringe murmur. It is becoming a shared language, spoken with local accents but bound by the same grammar of resentment.

Kast’s rise feeds on a familiar trend, insecurity sold as emergency, morality packaged as law, and history flattened into slogans. His supporters do not simply vote for policies; they vote for an identity that feels besieged and therefore entitled to strike first. In this sense, the election is less about Chile and more about a regional mood. From the Southern Cone to the tropics, the far right has learned that fear travels faster than facts and that anger is a renewable resource.

What makes this moment unsettling is not just ideology but imitation. South America has seen authoritarian temptations before, yet today’s versions arrive wearing democratic costumes. Ballots legitimize instincts that would once have required boots. Kast’s triumph strengthens a far-right front that borrows freely from global playbooks while insisting on local authenticity. The result is a patchwork of leaders who denounce elites while courting power, who praise the nation while hollowing its institutions, and who promise stability while rehearsing conflict.

Chile’s symbolic fall from “model democracy” matters. Symbols instruct behavior. When a country associated with institutional seriousness embraces a politics of cultural purification and punitive nostalgia, it grants permission elsewhere. The message is clear, if Chile can do it, why not us? The danger lies less in any single administration than in the normalization of a governing style that treats opponents as enemies and compromise as weakness.

Kast’s base reveals another contradiction. Many who cheer his hard lines also embrace the aesthetics of the banana republic they claim to despise. Flags become costumes, history becomes myth, and governance becomes theater. The strongman is adored not for competence but for posture. This is politics as performance, where the appearance of decisiveness outweighs the substance of policy, and where shouting “order” excuses the dismantling of safeguards that actually produce it.

The consequences for the continent are unpredictable precisely because this movement thrives on volatility. Markets may flinch, neighbors may recalibrate, and social fabrics may fray. Yet unpredictability is not an accident; it is a strategy. Constant crisis keeps supporters mobilized and critics defensive. In such an environment, every debate becomes existential, and every election feels like a final battle.

There is also a cultural cost. Far-right victories harden borders not only between states but within societies. They reward suspicion, punish empathy, and elevate a narrow definition of belonging. In Chile, a country shaped by exile, return, and reckoning, this turn risks reopening wounds under the banner of strength. Memory becomes selective, and accountability is reframed as persecution.

Still, the story is not finished. Opinion writing must resist fatalism as much as it resists naivety. The same voters who elevate hardliners can abandon them when promises curdle into governance. Civil society, battered but alive, remains a counterweight. The question is whether institutions can hold long enough for disappointment to do its quiet work.

Kast’s victory is a warning flare, not a prophecy. It signals how easily democracies can be seduced by simple answers to complex problems and how quickly banana republic identities can masquerade as national revival. South America stands at a crossroads where imitation competes with imagination. The continent can either rehearse old authoritarian scripts with new actors or write something braver, messier, and genuinely democratic. The mirage of the strongman is powerful, but mirages fade when people walk toward reality together.

The international community often misreads these shifts as isolated quirks, yet they are connected by algorithms, media ecosystems, and a shared impatience with liberal time. Reform is slow; anger is fast. Kast’s ascent will be studied, copied, and simplified into memes and mantras. The risk is contagion by caricature, where nuance dies and extremes prosper. If the region allows this moment to pass without reflection, it may wake to a politics that feels familiar, loud, and strangely empty, ruled by men who confuse dominance with destiny and mistake applause for consent.

Democracy demands endurance, humility, and memory, virtues unfashionable today but indispensable tomorrow for any society seeking lasting dignity together.

Crisis Management and CrisisCommunication Management: Guidance for Leaders in the Global South by Silvie Drahošová

In today’s interconnected and unpredictable world, no government, corporation, or public institution is immune to crisis. Natural disasters, cyber-attacks, economic shocks, public scandals, and misinformation campaigns can emerge suddenly, threatening stability, credibility, and public confidence. For leaders, particularly in the Global South, where governance systems often face chronic resource constraints, limited institutional capacity, and fragmented decision-making, the ability to manage crises decisively and communicate effectively is not just beneficial, it is essential for survival and legitimacy.

Inspired by the work of luminaries such as Olga Algayerova (former UN Under-Secretary-General), Adnan Shihab-Eldin (former OPEC Secretary-General), Ana Birchall (former Prime Minister Deputy) and Dimitris Avramopoulos (former EU Commissioner), as well as Brussels-based specialistslikeAnna Meusburger – to mentioned but few,the following lines examine the core principles of crisis management and crisis communication,  as outlined by the Global Academy for Future Governance (GAFG) under the guidance of Professor Anis H. Bajrektarević and Dr.Philipe Reinisch. Their framework aims to strengthen leadership capacity and institutional resilience in these critical areas, particularly in contexts where public institutions and key private sectors are under pressure from unforeseen events, rapid socio-economic and technological change and weaker institutional infrastructures.

Understanding Crisis Management

Crisis management involves preparing for, responding to, and recovering from unexpected events that disrupt operations or threaten an organization’s reputation. It is not merely reactive; it encompasses systems and practices that allow leaders to anticipate risks, act decisively, and recover with minimal damage. In the Global South, these crises often intersect with systemic challenges, including limited technological infrastructure, uneven regulatory oversight, and vulnerabilities in public service delivery.

Crisis management typically unfolds in three stages: Preparation, Response, and Recovery. The preparation stage occurs before a crisis, encompassing risk identification, vulnerability assessment, emergency planning, and staff training. In many Global South contexts, preparation also requires prioritizing low-cost, high-impact interventions that can compensate for limited resources.

Response involves swift actions during the crisis to protect people, assets, and reputation. Recovery focuses on learning lessons, repairing relationships, and rebuilding trust after the occurrence of the crisis. In contexts where public trust may already be fragile, recovery strategies must prioritize transparent communication and visible accountability to reinforce institutional legitimacy.

A notable illustration of effective crisis management is Johnson & Johnson’s response to the 1982 Tylenol poisoning incident. The company withdrew products nationwide, communicated transparently, and prioritized public safety over profit. Although prior preparation was limited, the effectiveness of the response and recovery phases transformed a potential catastrophe into a benchmark of responsible corporate leadership.

Similarly, Iceland’s management of the 2010 Eyjafjallajökull volcanic eruption demonstrates effective governance under pressure. Rapid coordination, clear public communication, and strong international cooperation enabled Iceland to mitigate disruption while maintaining public confidence. These cases underscore the assertion that preparedness, transparent communication, and decisive action form the backbone of successful crisis management. However, the author notes that while these two cases offer universal lessons, leaders in the Global South often face additional constraints, such as fragmented governance structures and weaker emergency coordination networks, that make even straightforward interventions challenging.

Conversely, several high-profile crises illustrate the consequences of poor preparation and flawed communication. The 2010 BP Deepwater Horizon oil spill was exacerbated not only by technical failures but also by slow, inconsistent messaging, which undermined public trust and escalated reputational damage. The 2015 Volkswagen “Dieselgate” scandal revealed how delayed, hesitant responses to internal ethical lapses can escalate into global reputational crises. The 2003 European heatwave, which caused over 15,000 deaths in France, highlighted the fatal consequences of inadequate preparation and weak public communication.

Effectively, these examples show that strong crisis management and communication are foundational to building resilience, especially in the Global South. Clarifying roles, improving collaboration, and accessing reliable data must be prioritized to avoid confusion, delays, and reputational damage during crises.

Understanding Crisis Communication Management

Crisis communication is the public-facing dimension of crisis management. It involves how institutions convey information to citizens, partners, investors, employees, and the media during moments of uncertainty. The tone, timing, and clarity of communication often determine whether one recovers swiftly or suffers long-term loss of public trust. In the Global South, effective communication is often complicated by limited media penetration, low public literacy rates, and rapid spread of misinformation via informal channels, making clarity and credibility even more critical.

Effective crisis communication relies on four principles:

1. Clarity – Messages must be precise, consistent, and free of technical jargon.
2. Credibility – Communication should be truthful, evidence-based, and transparent. Misleading information erodes trust.
3. Empathy – Leaders must acknowledge the human and social impact of crises.
4. Timeliness – Information should be shared early and regularly, even if all facts are not yet known. Silence fosters uncertainty, which fuels fear and rumor.

In the age of social media, where misinformation spreads rapidly, these principles are more crucial than ever. Timely, transparent communication is both an ethical imperative and a strategic necessity. For Global South leaders, these principles must be adapted to resource-constrained and socially diverse environments, where miscommunication can quickly exacerbate public fear and distrust.

The Situational Crisis Communication Theory (SCCT) offers guidance for tailoring communication strategies to the type of crisis. External crises, such as natural disasters, require empathy and solidarity, whereas internal failures, such as negligence or corruption, demand accountability, apology, and corrective action. In all cases, actions and messages must align: strong communication reinforces effective decisions, but cannot compensate for poor ones. In contexts where institutional failures are magnified by systemic resource limitations, SCCT principles must be applied with pragmatic sensitivity to local capacity and public expectations.

Integrating Management and Communication

Crisis management and communication are inseparable: management determines what an organization does, while communication shapes how it explains and justifies those actions. When the two are disconnected, confusion spreads, and public trust erodes. This dynamic is especially pronounced in the Global South, where multiple ministries, local governments, and private actors must coordinate within often fragmented systems. Here, communication acts as the critical connective tissue, ensuring coherence in both action and messaging.

An example illustrating this principle is the BP oil spill. The technical teams worked diligently, but insensitive leadership statements exacerbated public outrage. In contrast, New Zealand’s response to the 2019 Christchurch shootings showed how empathetic, transparent communication can strengthen societal cohesion and earn international respect.

The stakes are particularly high in the Global South. Effective crisis response depends on coordination among ministries, public agencies, private actors, and communities. Communication is essential not only for conveying decisions but also for aligning diverse actors and scarce resources, while maintaining credibility under intense public scrutiny. The author argues that crisis preparedness should be viewed as a strategic investment rather than a cost, as it prevents far greater losses associated with delayed or uncoordinated responses.

The Role of GAFG

The Global Academy for Future Governance (GAFG) provides tailored support to governments, institutions, and corporations. Through capacity-building, advisory services, and leadership development, GAFG strengthens your crisis management and communication capabilities.

GAFG’s mission is to build better governance systems for the future, helping leaders anticipate challenges, respond effectively, and maintain credibility during turbulent times. This is realized through training, leadership development, advisory services, and international networking.

a. Capacity Building and Training

GAFG’s executive programs integrate academic insights with practical simulations to enable leaders to:

• Build crisis response systems within ministries, agencies, or companies.
• Develop crisis communication protocols and leadership messaging.
• Coordinate responses across multiple stakeholders.
• Communicate calmly, credibly, and compassionately during emergencies.

b. Advisory and Strategic Support

GAFG provides direct advisory services, helping organizations:

• Design crisis management frameworks tailored to local realities.
• Establish crisis communication offices or spokesperson systems.
• Create early-warning and response mechanisms linking operational, reputational, and communication responses.
• Review and improve governance structures post-crisis to rebuild trust and resilience.

In many parts of the Global South, where responsiveness is low and institutional coordination is often fragmented, these advisory services provide the clarity and structure necessary to act effectively under pressure.

c. Leadership Development and Global Networking

Through programs like the Future Governance Leadership Programme, GAFG connects leaders across the Global South. These programs foster peer learning, expert mentorship, and international cooperation. This network helps leaders gain context-specific strategies for both crisis management and communication.

d. Cost-Saving and Value Creation

Crisis preparedness is not an expense but an investment. Political fallout, social disruption, environmental damage, and reputational loss are far more costly than prevention. Capacity building and credible communication reduce long-term risks while enhancing resilience. In Global South contexts, early preparedness prevents disproportionately high political, social, and financial costs due to weak institutional barriers.

Building a Culture of Preparedness – Reputational Crisis Resilience

Investing in crisis management and communication is not optional butnecessary. For governments and corporations in the Global South, where institutional fragility can amplify the impact of crises, embedding a culture of readiness is critical for legitimacy and social stability.

With support from the Global Academy for Future Governance (GAFG), leaders gain the knowledge, frameworks, and networks required to anticipate, manage, and communicate effectively in moments of uncertainty. Such preparation is not a cost but an investment that reduces the political, social, financial, and ethical consequences of poor decisions, delays, or miscommunication. Importantly, it also strengthens resilience against reputational crises, which can be severe, persistent, and deeply damaging to long-term public trust. This proactive approach is particularly vital in resource-constrained environments, where delayed responses can rapidly escalate into political, social, or reputational crises.

Embedding preparedness into governance and corporate culture enables institutions to enhance responsiveness, safeguard legitimacy, and ensure continuity even in the face of unexpected challenges. Organisations that cultivate a culture of readiness do not merely survive crises; they learn from them, adapt, and emerge stronger, transforming potential threats into opportunities for resilience and sustainable value creation.

Conclusion

Crisis management concerns what an organisation does. Crisis communication concerns how the organisation explains what it does. Together, they form the foundation of credible and competent leadership.

In regions where governance systems may lack responsiveness and resources can be limited, effective crisis leadership depends on preparation, knowledge, and moral authority. Through training, advisory support, and international networking, GAFG equips decision-makers with the tools required to lead responsibly under pressure.

Engaging with GAFG is not an expenditure — it is an investment in institutional resilience. Crises are inherently costly: financially, socially, politically, environmentally, and ethically. Poor crisis handling often leads to reputational crises, whose consequences can be long-lasting and damaging to public confidence and stakeholder relationships. Preparednessreduces risks, preserves trust, and prevents avoidable losses.

By supporting leaders in contexts with systemic governance challenges, GAFG transforms reactive crisis handling into proactive resilience, turning potential threats into opportunities for strengthened institutions and sustainable governance.

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Silvie Drahošová is a Vienna-based, Central European Universityfellow (CEU Culture, Politics, and Society) with experience in research, strategy, communications, and project coordination across international organizations. She recently joined the GAFG as a Project and Information Officer, where she supports research activities, conference development, and stakeholder engagement.Silvie is fluent in Czech, English, German, and proficient in French. Her work is driven by a strong interest in sustainability, youth engagement, and fostering initiatives that strengthen dialogue across cultures and institutions.

2nd opinion, quarantined! 25#19 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

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

For more 2nd opinion, quarantined!, HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

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Dec 16, 1773; The Boston tea party

The Boston Tea Party was not a festive gathering, but a deliberate and defiant act of political protest. More than just the destruction of property, it was a watershed moment in American history, a point of no return that escalated tensions between Great Britain and its Thirteen Colonies and set the stage for the American Revolutionary War.

The Roots of Discontent: A Series of Taxes and Tyranny

To understand the Tea Party, one must look at the decade of conflict that preceded it. The British Empire, victorious in the French and Indian War (1756-1763), was saddled with enormous debt. To help pay for the cost of stationing troops in the newly acquired North American territories, the British Parliament passed a series of taxes on the colonies.

• The Sugar Act (1764) and the Stamp Act (1765) ignited the first major waves of protest under the rallying cry of, "No taxation without representation." The colonists argued that as they had no elected representatives in Parliament, it was unjust for Parliament to tax them.
• While the Stamp Act was repealed, Parliament passed the Townshend Acts (1767), which placed duties on imported goods like glass, lead, paint, paper, and, most notably, tea. Colonial resistance, including boycotts and smuggling, led to the repeal of most of these duties by 1770, but the tax on tea was intentionally left in place to assert Parliament's right to tax the colonies.

This lingering tax on tea was a symbolic thorn in the side of the colonists. However, the situation reached a boiling point with the Tea Act of 1773.

The Tea Act: A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Paradoxically, the Tea Act was not designed to raise new revenue but to bail out the floundering British East India Company, one of Britain's most powerful corporations, which was sitting on massive surpluses of unsold tea. The act granted the company a monopoly on the American tea trade and a tax break, allowing it to sell its tea in the colonies for less than even smuggled Dutch tea.

To the British government, this was a shrewd business move: it would save the East India Company, undercut smugglers, and still collect the small Townshend duty on tea.

To the American colonists, however, it was a blatant trap. They saw it as a corrupt maneuver to trick them into accepting the principle of Parliamentary taxation by offering cheaper tea. If they paid the tax, even on cheap tea, they would be acknowledging Parliament's right to tax them. Prominent voices like Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and the Sons of Liberty argued that this monopoly would crush colonial merchants and smugglers and establish a dangerous precedent.

The Protest Unfolds: Crisis in Boston Harbor

In the fall of 1773, seven ships carrying East India Company tea were sent to major American ports. In New York and Philadelphia, protests forced the ships to turn back. In Charleston, the tea was seized and stored in warehouses. But in Boston, the royal governor, Thomas Hutchinson, was determined to stand his ground.

Three ships, the Dartmouth, the Eleanor, and the Beaver, arrived in Boston Harbor. Governor Hutchinson refused to grant them permission to leave without first paying the duty. According to British law, the tea had to be landed and the tax paid within 20 days, or the cargo would be seized by British authorities. The deadline was December 17.

For weeks, thousands of colonists attended mass meetings at the Old South Meeting House, demanding the tea be sent back to England. As the deadline loomed, it became clear Governor Hutchinson would not relent.

The Night of December 16, 1773: "This Meeting Can Do Nothing More to Save the Country"

On the cold, final night of the deadline, over 5,000 people gathered at the Old South Meeting House. When a report confirmed that the governor had refused to let the ships depart, Samuel Adams is famously reported to have declared, "This meeting can do nothing more to save the country."

This was not a signal of defeat, but a pre-arranged signal for action. A war whoop sounded from the porch, and a group of 30 to 130 men, some loosely disguised as Mohawk warriors to conceal their identities and symbolize their identity as "American" rather than British, marched from the meeting house to Griffin's Wharf.

The operation was remarkably disciplined and orderly. The "Indians" boarded the three ships swiftly and efficiently. Over the course of three hours, they used axes and hatchets to smash open 342 chests of tea, weighing over 92,000 pounds (over 46 tons), and dumped the entire contents into Boston Harbor. The value of the destroyed tea was estimated at £9,659 (roughly $1.7 million in today's currency). The crowd onshore watched in silent support.

Crucially, the protesters were careful to cause no other damage. They took no other items from the ships, and one man who was caught stealing tea was promptly punished. They even swept the decks clean before leaving. This precision demonstrated that the action was a principled political protest, not a mindless riot.

The Aftermath: The Coercive Acts and the Path to War

The reaction in London was one of fury. The British government saw the Boston Tea Party as an act of wanton destruction and outright rebellion that could not go unpunished.

In the spring of 1774, Parliament passed a series of laws known in Britain as the Coercive Acts and in the colonies as the Intolerable Acts. They were designed to punish Massachusetts and make an example of it:

1. The Boston Port Act: Closed the port of Boston** until the destroyed tea was paid for.
2. The Massachusetts Government Act: Revoked the colony's charter and placed it under direct British control, severely restricting town meetings.
3. The Administration of Justice Act: Allowed British officials accused of crimes in Massachusetts to be tried in England or another colony.
4. The Quartering Act: Required colonists to house British troops in their homes.

Rather than isolating Massachusetts, the Intolerable Acts united the colonies in sympathy and outrage. Food and supplies were sent to Boston from other colonies, and colonial leaders saw the acts as a threat to the liberty of all Americans. In September 1774, the First Continental Congress met in Philadelphia to coordinate a unified response, including a continued boycott of British goods. The path to Lexington and Concord, and ultimately to independence, was now firmly laid.

Legacy

The Boston Tea Party stands as a powerful symbol of grassroots protest and defiance against unjust authority. It demonstrated that the American colonists were willing to move beyond words and petitions to direct action. It was the moment when a dispute over taxes transformed into a struggle for fundamental rights and self-government, proving that a handful of determined citizens, willing to take a stand, could change the course of history.