Pope Leo XIV

Pope Leo XIV.

Born in Chicago in 1955, Robert Prevost spent much of his life as a missionary and pastor in Peru before rising to Vatican leadership. A member of the Augustinian order, he is known for his humble, consultative style and deep commitment to pastoral care, especially for the poor and marginalized.

As leader of the Dicastery for Bishops, Prevost was instrumental in shaping the global episcopate. He listens deeply, values consensus, and avoids authoritarianism. His theology emphasizes encounter with Christ, missionary outreach, and a Church with “open doors.” He supports synodality and inclusion, while maintaining continuity with Catholic tradition.

Elected pope in 2025 (May 8, 2025) as Pope Leo XIV, he is expected to continue the reformist spirit of Pope Francis — prioritizing unity, evangelization, and social justice — with a calm, pragmatic, and quietly transformative hand.

The Balcony of La Mancha (Spain)

The windmills of Mota del Cuervo (Balcony of La Mancha).

The windmills of Mota del Cuervo, known as the "Balcony of La Mancha," are an iconic part of Spain’s cultural and historical landscape. Built to harness the region’s strong winds, they played a vital role in grinding grain into flour, essential for local breadmaking. Farmers from the surrounding areas relied on these mills to process their wheat, sustaining the rural economy for centuries.

Beyond their practical function, the windmills have become a symbol of Spanish heritage, famously featured in Miguel de Cervantes’ Don Quixote. In the novel, the delusional knight mistakes them for giants, creating one of literature’s most memorable scenes.

Putin’s People

Why Catherine Belton’s Revelations Matter More Than Ever in 2025

In the years since Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, the world has grappled with a stark realization: the conflict wasn’t an aberration — it was the culmination of a decades-long strategy. That strategy is the subject of Putin’s People, a groundbreaking 2020 book by British investigative journalist Catherine Belton. Five years later, its insights are not only relevant — they’re essential.

At first glance, Putin’s People tells the story of Vladimir Putin’s rise to power. But it is much more than a biography. It is a chilling exposé of how a network of ex-KGB operatives — the siloviki — used the chaos of the Soviet Union’s collapse to reconstitute a state rooted not in democratic ideals but in secrecy, surveillance, and power for its own sake.

From the Shadows of the KGB to the Heart of the Kremlin

Belton, a former Moscow correspondent for the Financial Times, draws on deep research and insider interviews to trace Putin’s career from a mid-level intelligence officer in Dresden to the undisputed ruler of Russia. She paints a picture of a man — and a system — forged in the twilight years of the Soviet Union, who never accepted the West's version of post-Cold War peace.

Instead of embracing liberal democracy, Putin and his KGB-linked allies embarked on a methodical campaign to take back control of Russia’s political and economic systems. Their tools were not tanks or ideology, but gas pipelines, state-run banks, and offshore shell companies.

As Belton shows, they didn't just rebuild power inside Russia — they exported it. Through “strategic corruption,” Kremlin-linked oligarchs and state enterprises funneled billions through Western financial systems, quietly gaining influence in European capitals, American boardrooms, and even in politics.

Undermining Democracy with Its Own Tools

The genius — and danger — of this strategy lies in its subtlety. Belton describes how the Kremlin used Western openness against itself: investing in real estate, funding political campaigns, laundering money through elite law firms and banks. The goal? To weaken democratic institutions from the inside, all while maintaining plausible deniability.

These revelations are no longer abstract warnings. They’ve come to life in headlines: suspicious campaign donations, energy blackmail, cyberattacks, and a global disinformation war. In many ways, Belton wrote the playbook before the world realized it was playing the game.

The full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 did not contradict her thesis — it confirmed it. It was not a deviation from Putin’s long game, but the next logical step. It revealed the raw force behind the polished economic and diplomatic fronts Belton had described. And it left democracies scrambling to confront a threat they had long underestimated.

The West’s Late Awakening — and Ongoing Vulnerability

Now, in 2025, much has changed — but much hasn’t. Sanctions have tightened, alliances have been tested, and Russia’s internal stability has grown shakier. Yet the networks of influence Belton mapped out have not disappeared. If anything, they have adapted.

In a year when artificial intelligence, energy transitions, and cyber-vulnerabilities dominate global discussions, the threats Belton identified have morphed rather than diminished. The Kremlin’s methods — financial subterfuge, elite co-optation, and media manipulation — are still being deployed, just on new terrain.

As Western democracies struggle with polarization and a rising tide of authoritarianism globally, Putin’s People serves as both a warning and a guide. It shows how easily democratic systems can be compromised when vigilance fades — and how the fight for democracy increasingly requires financial transparency, media literacy, and resilient institutions.

A Book That Predicted the Future

What makes Putin’s People stand out is not just the detail of its reporting, but its foresight. Belton did not merely describe a corrupt regime; she exposed a geopolitical strategy that has shaped the world we live in today.

Her work was so provocative that it triggered lawsuits from some of the Russian billionaires it named — a sign, perhaps, that it hit uncomfortably close to the truth.

If there is a lesson in Belton’s book for 2025, it’s this: the threats to democracy often wear suits, speak fluent English, and arrive bearing investments, not weapons. But they are no less real. Understanding how these systems of control were built — and how they continue to operate — is the first step in dismantling them.

For anyone seeking to understand the architecture of modern authoritarianism, and how it challenges the liberal world order, Putin’s People is no longer just a vital read. It’s essential.

The Laon Cathedral and the Story of Antipope Gregory VIII

The Cathedral of Laon.

The Cathedral of Laon, a masterpiece of early French Gothic architecture, was constructed in the 12th century and became a significant religious and political center. Known for its striking oxen sculptures, which symbolize the laborers who hauled materials up the city's steep hill, the cathedral played a key role in medieval France. Due to its strategic location, Laon was often involved in conflicts between church and state.

One of the most notable events linked to Laon was the consecration of Maurice Bourdin as Antipope Gregory VIII in 1118. A French Benedictine monk who rose to prominence in Portugal and Spain, Bourdin became Archbishop of Braga but was excommunicated for defying Pope Paschal II. Seizing the opportunity, Holy Roman Emperor Henry V, locked in the Investiture Controversy, appointed Bourdin as antipope against Pope Gelasius II. His consecration in Laon solidified imperial support, but his rule in Rome was short-lived. When Henry V withdrew, Bourdin lost his backing and was captured in 1121 by Pope Callixtus II. He was imprisoned at Montecassino and later in Rocca di San Felice, where he died in captivity.

This event underscores Laon Cathedral’s role not only as a religious landmark but also as a witness to high-stakes medieval power struggles.

Antipope Gregory VIII.

The First Farmers in Limburg – The Bandkeramiek Culture (Linear Pottery Culture)

Linear Pottery from Limburg (The Netherlands; ca. 5300 BC)

Around 7,500 years ago, the first farmers arrived in what is now southern Limburg. They belonged to the Linear Pottery (LBK) culture, named after the ribbon-like decorations on their pottery (Bandkeramik in German). These people didn’t just pass through—they settled, built long wooden houses, cultivated crops, and raised livestock on the fertile loess soils of the region.

Archaeological sites in Elsloo, Stein, and Sittard have revealed traces of their daily life: pottery, polished stone tools, and even burial grounds. In Stein, over 100 graves were uncovered, some with beautifully decorated ceramics and flint tools buried beside the deceased—signs of ritual, memory, and perhaps social status. These finds show that these early farmers lived in organized, permanent communities.

But Limburg was not an isolated case—it was part of a much wider transformation sweeping across Europe: the spread of farming. This neolithic revolution had begun millennia earlier in the Near East and moved slowly westward through Anatolia, the Balkans, and Central Europe. By the time the LBK people reached Limburg around 5300 BCE, farming was already well established in southeastern Europe.

In the Balkans and Greece, cultures like Starčevo and Sesklo had been practicing agriculture and building villages for centuries. Further north, in what is now Hungary and Austria, longhouse villages similar to those in Limburg had developed. In the Danube basin, the Vinča culture flourished, with large settlements and some of the earliest symbolic writing in Europe.

To the west and south, the Cardial and Impressa cultures spread farming along the Mediterranean coast—from Italy to southern France and Spain—marked by pottery decorated with shell and comb impressions. Around the same time, in the interior of the Iberian Peninsula, early farmers began to mix with local hunter-gatherers, forming new hybrid communities.

Meanwhile, much of northern and western Europe, including Britain, Scandinavia, and large parts of Germany and the Low Countries, was still occupied by Mesolithic hunter-gatherers. In this context, Limburg was a frontier zone: the northernmost edge of the LBK expansion, where the new farming way of life first met older traditions of mobility and foraging.

The arrival of the LBK people in Limburg marks a turning point. They brought more than tools and seeds—they brought a new way of living that emphasized permanence, land ownership, and community. Their longhouses, field systems, and burial customs reflect a radical shift in how people related to the land, to each other, and to the past.

Further Reading

  1. Bakels, C. C. (2003). The Early Neolithic of the Netherlands: Bandkeramik Farmers in the Low Countries. Antiquity, 77(296), 570–580.

  2. Modderman, P. J. R. (1970). The Linear Pottery Culture: Diversity in Uniformity. Berichten van de Rijksdienst voor het Oudheidkundig Bodemonderzoek, 20–21, 63–70.

  3. Louwe Kooijmans, L. P. (2005). Prehistory of the Netherlands. Amsterdam University Press.

  4. Van de Velde, P. (1979). Bandkeramische nederzettingen in Limburg. Archeologische Berichten.

Machines That Don’t Listen

Eric Schmidt’s Stark AI Warning

In 2026, we may witness the beginning of the end of human dominance—not in science fiction, but in the real world, according to former Google CEO Eric Schmidt. Speaking at the Special Competitive Studies Project, Schmidt issued a clear and chilling warning: artificial intelligence, now capable of recursive self-improvement, is accelerating faster than our institutions, laws, and collective understanding can keep pace with.

While many still debate whether AI is overhyped or underwhelming, Schmidt asserts that we are underestimating what’s really at stake. He refers to the emergence of Artificial Super Intelligence (ASI)—a point where computers no longer just assist humans but become more intelligent than all of us combined. "They're learning how to plan. And they don’t have to listen to us anymore," Schmidt states flatly. That isn’t the premise of a sci-fi thriller. It’s a glimpse into a very near future.

A World Written by Machines

One of Schmidt's more startling claims is that within a year, AI could be writing nearly all of the code that powers our digital infrastructure. Programming—once a human-driven craft—is quickly being outsourced to machines. AI isn't just helping developers anymore; it's replacing them. Systems like OpenAI’s GPT-4.1, Anthropic’s Claude MCP, and Google’s A2A are spearheading the rise of “AI agents”—systems that learn, remember, and act on complex tasks independently.

Schmidt envisions a world where these agents don't just write code, but also manage real-world tasks autonomously: purchasing property, designing homes, hiring contractors, managing logistics, even suing underperforming workers. It's both amusing and alarming: the automation of everything.

We May Be Out of Work—But Will We Be Out of Purpose?

The inevitable question arises: what happens to human labor? Will AI replace everyone? Schmidt is cautiously optimistic, referencing past technological revolutions that created more jobs than they destroyed. But even he admits: this time might be different.

Unlike the mechanical looms of the 18th century, ASI doesn't merely replace physical effort—it replaces cognition. When AI becomes better than humans at programming, science, law, architecture, and art, it's no longer a question of displacement, but of relevance. Can humanity redefine its role in a world where machines are the creators?

AI in the Lab: From Drug Discovery to Immortality?

Perhaps the most compelling—and terrifying—possibility is AI’s fusion with biotechnology. Schmidt references a project he’s invested in: an AI system trained in chemistry, connected to a robotic lab. This system generates drug candidates overnight and tests them in real-time, drastically accelerating discovery. The goal? Identify all human “druggable targets” within two years.

If successful, such systems could unlock treatments for countless diseases, possibly extending human life to the point of longevity escape velocity—a term referring to the idea that for every year we live, AI-enabled medicine adds more than a year to our lifespan.

But this also raises a deeper philosophical issue: what happens when AI understands biology better than any human scientist? Schmidt foresees a future where we use AI systems daily, even though no human fully understands how they work. Trust replaces comprehension. Use replaces knowledge.

The Race With China—and the Risk of Conflict

AI isn't just transforming society; it's shifting global power. China is taking AI more seriously than any other technological endeavor in its history. The U.S. response has been to restrict access to advanced chips and consider bans on Chinese-developed AI models like DeepSeek.

But in a world where open-source AI proliferates, and the pace of progress is dictated by whoever scales fastest, tensions could escalate dramatically. Schmidt even poses the unthinkable: would the U.S. ever consider bombing a foreign data center to prevent AI dominance? The line between cyber competition and kinetic conflict grows thinner by the day.

What Now?

The takeaway from Eric Schmidt’s warning isn’t just that AI is advancing—it’s that we, as societies, are not prepared. Not legally, not culturally, and not morally. The arrival of ASI isn’t just a technological milestone. It’s a civilizational turning point.

We must begin thinking seriously about AI governance, ethics, and global coordination. Because if the smartest “person” in the room is no longer human, who sets the rules?

Further Reading:

AI Helps — But At What Mental Cost?

Brain versus chatbot.

Artificial intelligence (AI) is becoming a regular part of our everyday lives — from virtual assistants that answer our questions to apps that help us write, calculate, or plan. For students and professionals alike, AI offers an amazing range of tools to help us work faster and smarter. But as we rely more on these technologies, an important question comes up: are we still thinking for ourselves?

Two recent studies shed light on this question, and the results are eye-opening. They suggest that while AI can be incredibly useful, over-reliance on these tools might be weakening our ability to think critically — a skill we desperately need now more than ever.

AI as a Thinking Shortcut

Let’s be honest: why struggle with a hard question when ChatGPT or Google can give you the answer in seconds? That’s the core of what researchers call cognitive offloading — letting machines do the mental heavy lifting for us. It’s like using a calculator for every math problem or relying on GPS instead of learning directions.

In a study led by Michael Gerlich (2025), 666 people of different ages and education levels were surveyed to see how their use of AI tools related to their critical thinking skills. The result? The more people used AI to solve problems or find information, the worse they scored on critical thinking tests — especially younger users. People who relied on AI the most also showed the least confidence in their ability to analyze or evaluate information on their own.

AI Dialogue Systems: Helpful or Harmful?

Another study, this one by Chunpeng Zhai and his team (2024), took a deep dive into how AI chatbots — the kind used to help students write essays, answer questions, or generate ideas — are affecting learning and thinking. Their review of 14 major research papers found that students who rely heavily on these tools are less likely to think deeply, ask questions, or check whether the AI’s answers are even accurate.

And here's the problem: AI doesn’t always get it right. It can make things up ("AI hallucinations"), show bias, or present information in a way that looks polished but is actually wrong. But because it sounds convincing, many people accept the output without double-checking — and that can lead to real misunderstandings or even academic dishonesty.

Why Critical Thinking Still Matters

Critical thinking is more than just knowing facts. It’s about asking, “Is this true?” or “What’s the evidence?” or “Could there be another explanation?” In a world flooded with information — much of it generated by machines — we need these skills to separate truth from fiction, to make smart decisions, and to be informed citizens.

But when we get used to AI doing the thinking for us, we risk losing those mental muscles. Just like we get physically weaker when we stop exercising, we get mentally lazier when we stop challenging our own thoughts. AI might give us fast answers, but it’s our job to know which answers to trust.

What Does This Mean for the Future of Society?

Here’s where things get serious. As AI keeps getting better — more accurate, more persuasive, more human-like — it will become even easier to trust it blindly. Why bother learning how to write a good argument or analyze a news article when a chatbot can do it for you?

The risk is that we slowly become a society of passive consumers of machine-generated content, losing touch with the skills that built our modern world: reasoning, questioning, problem-solving. If we don’t actively work to preserve and teach those abilities, especially to younger generations, we could face a future where a small group of people controls the technology — and the rest of us are simply following instructions without really understanding the “why” behind them.

That kind of imbalance would not only widen the gap between the tech-savvy and the tech-dependent but could also weaken democracy, education, and innovation — all of which rely on active, independent thinkers.

So, What Can We Do?

It’s not about banning AI or pretending it doesn’t exist. AI is here to stay, and it can be a fantastic tool. The real challenge is learning to use it without losing ourselves in the process.

Educators, parents, and even designers of AI tools need to ask: how can we encourage users to think more, not less? Can we build AI systems that support learning instead of replacing it? And can schools focus more on teaching students how to think — not just what to think?

If we get this right, AI can be a powerful partner in learning and creativity. But if we get it wrong, we risk turning one of the greatest inventions of our time into a crutch that quietly robs us of our most important human skill: the ability to think critically.

References

  • Gerlich, M. (2025). AI Tools in Society: Impacts on Cognitive Offloading and the Future of Critical Thinking. Societies, 15(6). https://doi.org/10.3390/soc15010006

  • Zhai, C., Wibowo, S., & Li, L. D. (2024). The effects of over-reliance on AI dialogue systems on students' cognitive abilities: a systematic review. Smart Learning Environments, 11(28). https://doi.org/10.1186/s40561-024-00316-7

Living in a World without anchors

On Zygmunt Bauman’s Concept of Liquid Modernity

Zygmunt Bauman (1925 - 2017).

In the last decades of the 20th century, Polish-British sociologist Zygmunt Bauman introduced a powerful metaphor to capture the essence of our contemporary world: liquid modernity. Building on a lifetime of sociological reflection, Bauman argued that the structures, institutions, and identities that once provided stability in people’s lives have become fluid, transient, and uncertain. In contrast to the “solid” modernity of earlier times—characterized by stable jobs, long-term relationships, and firm social roles—liquid modernity is a state of constant change and reinvention, where individuals are left to navigate shifting terrain without clear guidance or support. This essay explores Bauman’s concept in depth, examining its implications for identity, culture, relationships, and ethics in the 21st century.

From Solid to Liquid: A Shift in Modern Life

Bauman's central idea is that society has moved from a "solid" to a "liquid" phase of modernity. In solid modernity, which emerged with the Enlightenment and industrialization, institutions such as the nation-state, the family, the church, and the workplace provided continuity and coherence. People had defined roles, life paths were more predictable, and societal norms offered a sense of direction.

In liquid modernity, by contrast, nothing is fixed. Institutions no longer offer long-term security. Traditional life paths have dissolved into a multiplicity of choices, and identities must be constantly reassembled. This new condition reflects the flexibility demanded by global capitalism, the erosion of social safety nets, and the explosion of digital technologies. Liquids, Bauman reminds us, do not retain a stable form—they flow, spill, adapt to containers, and are quick to evaporate. The same is now true of the social world.

The Burden of Individualization

A key consequence of liquid modernity is the rise of individualization. While the rhetoric of freedom and personal choice is often celebrated, Bauman is keen to point out the darker side of this shift. Where once people were "made" by society—through family, class, or religion—now they are expected to "make themselves." Identity becomes a do-it-yourself project, endlessly open to revision. The individual becomes responsible not only for their own success but also for their failures, which are increasingly seen not as structural but personal shortcomings.

This pressure to remain flexible, to constantly adapt, and to be "marketable" in every sphere of life creates a deep sense of insecurity. Rather than liberating people, individualization can produce feelings of anxiety, isolation, and inadequacy. Bauman writes of a society in which everyone must swim, but the water is constantly shifting—those who cannot keep up are simply left to drown.

Culture, Consumption, and the Short Shelf-Life of Meaning

In liquid modernity, culture also undergoes a dramatic transformation. Instead of being a space for deep moral reflection, collective memory, or shared purpose, culture becomes something to consume. People pick and choose cultural elements—music, fashion, ideologies—like items off a supermarket shelf. The result is a culture of short-termism and disposability, where novelty is prized over continuity and depth.

Bauman sees consumerism not only as an economic activity but as a cultural logic. Identities, lifestyles, even relationships are increasingly commodified. In such a context, people relate to one another as consumers do to products: easily discarded when no longer satisfying or relevant. This fluid approach to culture strips it of its traditional role as a source of moral orientation and social cohesion.

Liquid Relationships and the Fear of Commitment

One of the most poignant aspects of Bauman’s liquid modernity is his critique of contemporary relationships. In a world where permanence is suspect and flexibility is a virtue, even love is affected. Bauman describes “liquid love” as relationships without deep roots—maintained only so long as they are gratifying and easily abandoned when they become inconvenient. The fear of commitment stems not only from selfishness but from an acute awareness of life's uncertainty: in liquid modernity, everything may soon change, so why build something lasting?

This impermanence contributes to a culture of loneliness and fragmentation. People seek connection but are often unwilling to engage in the vulnerability and investment that true intimacy requires. Digital technologies and social media, while expanding the possibilities for connection, often reinforce superficial or transactional bonds.

Ethics in an Unstable World

Bauman does not simply lament the condition of liquid modernity. He also challenges his readers to think ethically within it. While traditional sources of moral authority have weakened, Bauman believes this creates a new space for ethical responsibility. Without fixed norms or institutions to dictate behavior, individuals must become more attentive to the needs and dignity of others.

However, this is no easy task in a world where speed, competition, and self-interest dominate. Bauman calls for a renewal of solidarity, empathy, and social imagination—qualities that can help rehumanize relationships and rebuild forms of community, however fluid they may be.

Conclusion: Living in the Liquid

Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of liquid modernity offers a powerful lens through which to understand the dilemmas of contemporary life. His metaphor captures the instability, freedom, and anxiety of a world where nothing is guaranteed, and everything is in motion. While he acknowledges the liberating aspects of fluidity—more personal choice, less rigid tradition—he warns that without new forms of ethical responsibility and collective care, liquid modernity risks producing fragmented, anxious, and isolated individuals.

Bauman does not offer easy solutions, but he invites us to reflect: how can we live meaningfully in a world without anchors? And how might we rebuild trust, community, and moral depth in the midst of constant change? These questions remain as urgent today as when he first posed them.

Belgian Refugees in the Netherlands During the Great War

Belgium refugees in Amsterdam (20-10-1914).

When Germany invaded Belgium in August 1914, violating its neutrality, widespread violence and destruction drove over 1.5 million Belgians—around 20% of the population—to flee. The largest share, about 1 million, escaped to the neutral Netherlands, whose population at the time was only 6.1 million. Other refugees found shelter in France (300,000), the United Kingdom (250,000), and smaller groups in Switzerland, Luxembourg, and elsewhere in Europe.

Although many Belgians returned home after the initial chaos, roughly 100,000 to 120,000 remained in the Netherlands for the duration of World War I. Their sudden arrival overwhelmed Dutch towns, prompting the creation of large refugee camps in places like Gouda and Ede. Initially welcomed with sympathy and solidarity, the refugees soon posed logistical, economic, and social challenges.

Not all were housed in camps—some lived with Dutch families or in urban centers, where Belgian artists, lace-makers, and intellectuals contributed to cultural life. Over time, however, resentment grew due to resource shortages and labor market concerns. The Dutch government imposed restrictions to maintain neutrality and manage tensions, including the internment of Belgian soldiers and limitations on civilian movement and employment.

Despite these difficulties, the presence of the refugees fostered some lasting connections. A small number remained after the war, integrating into Dutch society. The episode stands as one of Europe’s first modern refugee crises—an extraordinary moment when a small neutral country took in a population equal to one-sixth its own.

This chapter of history remains a powerful reminder of the human cost of war and the resilience of both refugees and host societies.

Without Cultural Identity, What Are We Fighting For?

Inspired by the article “What we need is a cultural deal for Europe” on Euronews (June 11, 2024) — What we need is a cultural deal for Europe

In a world facing war, disinformation, climate collapse, and growing authoritarianism, Europe finds itself defending democracy, freedom, and peace. But if we ask people to stand up for these ideals, we also need to ask: what holds us together? What are we actually fighting for?

The answer, increasingly, is culture — the shared stories, values, traditions, and creativity that give meaning to our lives. Without a cultural identity, freedom becomes an empty word. Democracy becomes a technical process. Europe becomes just a market. That’s why thinkers, artists, and institutions across the continent are calling for a Cultural Deal for Europe.

Culture Is Not Decoration — It's Foundation

Culture isn’t a luxury for peaceful times. It’s the core of how we understand ourselves and others — and how we build resilience in times of crisis. Whether it’s literature that questions power, theatre that opens dialogue, or local traditions that connect generations, culture shapes identity. And without identity, there’s no solidarity — only fear and fragmentation.

Right now, with war raging near Europe’s borders, with the rise of nationalism and conspiracy thinking, we need shared narratives that bind rather than break. Culture can do that — if we choose to support it.

The Danger of Cultural Neglect

Neglecting culture means risking a society that is easily manipulated, divided, and disoriented. A society where young people lose the ability to think critically. Where empathy gives way to suspicion. Where people no longer know their history — or care about their future.

This is not abstract. This is about whether future generations will feel they are part of something worth protecting.

A Cultural Deal: A Real Response to Real Threats

A Cultural Deal for Europe means putting culture at the heart of European policy. It means:

  • Funding access to culture and cultural education in every region, rural or urban.

  • Giving artists, thinkers, and creators a seat at the table when shaping public policy.

  • Using culture to promote inclusion, dialogue, and democratic values.

  • Making cultural cooperation part of Europe's international strategy, not an afterthought.

This isn’t just about saving the arts. It’s about safeguarding the soul of Europe.

What Are We Fighting For?

We’re fighting for a Europe where people are free — not only to vote, but to imagine, create, and belong. A Europe that isn’t just defined by treaties, but by ideas, languages, music, memory, and meaning.

If we do not have a cultural identity, what are we fighting for? A Cultural Deal for Europe is not a side issue. It’s an urgent call to defend what truly matters — and to invest in the stories that make freedom worth having.

From Reich to Rustbelt: Historical Lessons for a Fading Superpower

A Digest of an Interview with Richard D. Wolff on Robinson Erhardt’s Podcast

In Robinson Erhardt’s Podcast economist and historian Richard D. Wolff dissects in a provocative and densely manner, the current trajectory of the United States through the lens of economic history, geopolitics, and class struggle. Drawing parallels between the decline of empires past—especially Germany’s fall in the early 20th century—and the contemporary U.S. under the influence of Donald Trump, Wolff explores how economic desperation, class betrayal, and cultural denial fuel authoritarianism. His critique is not primarily of Trump as an individual, but of the conditions that elevate such figures, and the societal inability—or unwillingness—to recognize systemic collapse.

The Irrelevance of the Individual and the Power of Historical Forces

Wolff is unequivocal: Trump is not Hitler. But this distinction only underscores the larger point—focusing on individuals obscures the real issue, which is systemic decay. Trump, in Wolff’s analysis, is not a historical cause, but a symptom. He is the end link in a long chain of structural failings, representing a desperate response to economic and social pressures, not a mastermind reshaping them.

Rather than demonizing Trump, Wolff insists that attention be paid to the forces that produced him: neoliberalism’s failure to deliver for the working class, the hollowing out of industrial labor, decades of wage stagnation, and a political system more invested in spectacle than substance. These same dynamics produced the rise of fascism in Germany during the 1930s.

Economic Despair and the Working Class Parallel

Wolff repeatedly returns to a core historical analogy: the betrayal and disillusionment of the German working class following World War I and during the Great Depression—and its eerie resonance with the current U.S. working class. In both cases, a formerly prosperous and stable middle class experienced rapid economic deterioration and turned to nationalist rhetoric and scapegoating to fill the vacuum left by collapsing confidence.

Wolff points to tariffs, isolationist bluster, and aggressive foreign posturing—such as Trump’s absurd claims to “take back the Panama Canal” or “take Greenland from Denmark”—as classic symptoms of imperial decline. These rhetorical spasms are not policy, but theater, masking the reality that the empire is failing and the elites have no strategy for managing that failure.

Declining Empire and Historical Amnesia

A key theme in Wolff’s analysis is the cultural denial of decline. Unlike Germany in the 1930s, where debate about national failure was raw and public, the American establishment—Democratic and Republican alike—has refused to engage with the notion of decline. Politicians campaign on American exceptionalism even as infrastructure decays, wages stagnate, and geopolitical dominance slips.

This denial, Wolff argues, makes the fall more dangerous. Rather than adapting to a multipolar world—with China, India, and the BRICS rising—the U.S. clings to Cold War strategies, imposes ineffectual sanctions, and alienates its allies. Sanctions on Russia, tariffs on Canada and Mexico, and economic nationalism are cast as strength, but they further isolate the U.S., driving other nations toward alternative coalitions.

Corporatism and the Role of Elon Musk

In a striking aside, Wolff reflects on Elon Musk’s growing role in U.S. politics—not as an elected official but as a plutocrat shaping state functions. Musk, who publicly supports Trump and funds right-wing agendas, becomes a new kind of power broker, emblematic of what Wolff sees as the fusion of corporate wealth and state power.

Musk’s chainsaw-wielding performance as he fires federal employees is more than political theater; it’s symbolic of capitalism’s last gasp—stripping the state to feed corporate greed, a neoliberal perversion of efficiency. This, for Wolff, is a grotesque echo of the late feudal lords clinging to wealth and spectacle as their system crumbled.

Conclusion: From Crisis to Choice

Richard Wolff’s view is a powerful, unsparing diagnosis of the American condition. It calls on citizens to look past the sensationalism of Trump and ask deeper questions about empire, economics, and democracy. Will the U.S. follow the tragic path of 1930s Germany—collapsing into authoritarianism and war—or will it find a new path through mass mobilization, economic reform, and honest reckoning with its global role?

The lesson of history, Wolff suggests, is not inevitability—but choice.

Are Universities Too ‘Woke’?

A Reflection on Alain-Laurent Verbeke’s Interview on Dutch Television (Buitenhof)

In a recent Buitenhof interview, professor Alain-Laurent Verbeke—legal scholar at KU Leuven and Harvard—spoke about the growing tension between academic freedom and political pressure, especially in the U.S. The central question: are universities too ‘woke’? And is Trump’s aggressive response a warning or a threat?

This issue touches on academic independence, ideological diversity, and the ability of institutions to hold space for dissenting voices.

Trump's Fourfold Attack on Harvard

According to Verbeke, the Trump administration’s demands on Harvard can be grouped into four areas:

  1. Antisemitism as a Cover
    While framed as a crackdown on antisemitism, the real aim is to silence pro-Palestinian activism by labeling it radical left-wing ideology.

  2. Governance and Student Protest
    Trump wants universities to limit student influence and crack down on protests, effectively muting critical voices.

  3. Admissions and Hiring
    The push for "merit-based" criteria seeks to dismantle diversity policies, under the guise of fairness and objectivity.

  4. ‘Viewpoint Diversity’
    Promoted not to broaden discussion, but to replace progressive ideas with conservative ones—viewpoint diversity becomes ideological takeover.

Universities Under Political Pressure

Verbeke warns that this is not about dialogue—it’s about control. Trump negotiates with power, not principles. He uses threats of defunding, as seen with Columbia University, to force compliance. This mirrors tactics in authoritarian regimes like Hungary or Russia, where education is restructured to serve state ideology.

Are Universities Innocent?

Not entirely. Verbeke admits universities helped create the problem. In prioritizing social justice, many have marginalized conservative views, leading to a climate where students fear speaking out.

He recalls Harvard students telling him, “I can talk to you safely,” indicating widespread self-censorship. Universities, meant to be havens for free thinking, are increasingly shaped by ideological conformity and cancel culture.

A Double Wake-Up Call

Verbeke offers a dual warning: authoritarian overreach must be resisted, but universities must also restore their commitment to intellectual openness. Without a diversity of views, the academy risks becoming a place of silence rather than exploration.

This isn’t just an American problem. European universities, too, lean toward ideological uniformity while facing growing populist criticism. The challenge is to defend both inclusion and critical debate.

Conclusion

The debate around ‘wokeness’ isn’t a simple left-vs-right issue. It’s about how we preserve academic integrity in polarized times. Universities must stand up to political pressure—but also reflect on whether they’ve stifled healthy disagreement. Truth, as Harvard’s motto Veritas reminds us, requires dialogue, not dogma.

Wall Street Can’t Price Madness

Something is cracking beneath the surface of global finance—and it's not just inflation or a dip in the Dow. In an extraordinary conversation between economist Paul Krugman and researcher Nathan Tankus, a picture emerges of a financial system not only stretched thin by erratic policy and regulation, but one that could be pushed over the edge by the whims of a single man.

At the center of this crisis is Donald Trump—not merely as a policymaker, but as a source of volatility in its purest form. The erratic policy swings, from tariffs to fiscal seizures, are not just unsettling markets—they’re breaking the machinery of modern finance. This is not hyperbole. When the U.S. Treasury system itself starts to malfunction, when, for example, cities like New York find their accounts unexpectedly debited by federal agencies, when markets seize up because no one knows if payments are final, we are entering truly uncharted territory.

The Threat Beneath the Surface

Tankus calls it the "Trump-Musk payments crisis," a slow-burning threat where the U.S. government undermines the very idea of payment finality—the notion that once money is transferred, the transaction is done. In a world of digital finance, if this basic trust collapses, so does everything that depends on it: salaries, taxes, government aid, bond markets, and more.

The underlying story is even more alarming. As Krugman and Tankus explain, after the 2008 financial crisis, global regulators (through frameworks like Basel III) created stricter capital requirements for banks. These regulations limited how easily financial institutions could adjust their balance sheets to absorb market shocks. Instead, hedge funds—less regulated, more fragile—stepped in to play the role of “residual buyer,” especially in the U.S. Treasury market.

But these hedge funds aren’t built for crisis response. They're fair-weather participants. When markets get too volatile—say, after a tweet or tariff threat from Trump—they withdraw. The result? Liquidity vanishes. Interest rates spike. And the whole financial system starts to wobble.

Volatility Has a Name

Tankus highlights a disturbing reality: in 2025, Donald Trump is volatility. Markets no longer react to macroeconomic fundamentals, but to his press conferences, his moods, his threats. This isn't just destabilizing; it’s dangerous. When policy becomes unpredictable on an hourly basis, business investment grinds to a halt. Financial firms can’t hedge. And the complex network of trades, swaps, and derivatives that hold the global economy together starts to come undone.

And yet, as Krugman notes, Wall Street’s "conventional wisdom processors" are still in denial. Traders don’t fully grasp—or don’t want to believe—how deep the dysfunction goes. They grasp at any signal of temporary calm and treat it as resolution. It’s a form of magical thinking, the kind that led to disasters like Long-Term Capital Management in the 1990s and the 2008 collapse.

This time, the stakes may be even higher.

Who Saves Us?

The Federal Reserve has stepped in before. In March 2020, amid COVID panic, it bought trillions in assets to stabilize markets. But this time, the instability is political, not economic. As Tankus puts it, the Fed can’t "make the volatility of Donald Trump go away." Worse, doing so would drag them into overt political conflict. So they wait, hoping things don’t fall apart too quickly.

But waiting may not be an option. The financial system now relies on entities—like hedge funds—that flee at the first sign of trouble. Tankus compares them to "shadow dealers," who aren’t required to stick around in bad times, unlike licensed market makers. This fragile setup means that a few bad days—just a few—could trigger a cascade of defaults and asset fire sales.

And when you look deeper, you see just how vast the exposure is: $113 trillion in foreign exchange swaps depend on dollar liquidity. Many rely on the U.S. acting as a global backstop. What happens when trust in the dollar—already shaken by arbitrary federal seizures and payment freezes—erodes?

A System Designed to Break

None of this is inevitable. But it is the product of a system that rewards short-term gain and punishes preparation. We’ve outsourced critical market stability to actors who aren’t built for it. We’ve allowed politics to infect the plumbing of our fiscal and monetary systems. And we’ve ignored the growing risk of treating money like code—reversible, manipulatable, fragile.

The conventional view is that “the market” will figure things out. But as Tankus warns, markets only wake up after the damage is done. We cannot afford another Lehman moment—especially not one caused by a leader who governs by tantrum.

What’s needed now is not just technical fixes. It’s a deep reconsideration of how we build financial systems in a world where volatility can have a Twitter handle.

Europe’s Silence as Gaza Burns

Demonstration for Palestina in New Zealand, Photo by Mark McGuire (CC BY 3.0 NZ)

As the war in Gaza grinds through its second year, with over 50,000 Palestinians reportedly killed and much of the strip reduced to rubble, one question echoes louder than the sounds of missiles: Where is Europe?

The conflict, triggered by Hamas’s brutal October 7, 2023 assault on Israel, has evolved into one of the deadliest and most destructive wars of the 21st century. Israel’s military response—framed as an existential fight to destroy Hamas—has devastated Gaza’s civilian population and infrastructure. Hospitals have been flattened, aid convoys blocked, and nearly the entire population displaced.

Yes, Hamas bears responsibility for initiating a horrific attack. But what followed has gone far beyond a war on a militant group. It is now a humanitarian collapse playing out in slow motion, with no end in sight.

And yet, Europe remains largely on the sidelines—divided, hesitant, and unwilling to act.

The reasons are complex. Germany, burdened by historical guilt, defends Israel’s right to self-defense almost without qualification. France calls for humanitarian pauses, but stops short of condemning the scale of Israel’s response. Other countries prefer silence, paralyzed by fear of domestic unrest or political fallout.

Meanwhile, thousands of European citizens march, calling for a ceasefire. Their governments issue statements but do little to stop arms exports or pressure allies. Aid is pledged but blocked at the border. Diplomacy is outsourced to Washington or buried under other priorities—Ukraine, energy, elections.

This war did not begin in 2023. It is the latest, bloodiest eruption of a long-neglected conflict rooted in occupation, blockade, and political failure on all sides. But today, European inaction is not neutral. It is a choice—one that carries moral and political consequences.

If Europe wants to be taken seriously as a defender of international law, human rights, and peace, it must act like it. That means holding all parties accountable, supporting serious diplomacy, and helping to end the unbearable suffering of civilians—before Gaza becomes a permanent symbol of the world’s indifference.

Rethinking China: Charting a Smarter Course for America - Thomas Friedman’s Vision

In a wide-ranging conversation on The Ezra Klein Show, journalist and columnist Thomas Friedman presents a compelling critique of America's current stance toward China. His argument is not a defense of China’s authoritarianism or human rights record, but a plea for the United States to adopt a rational, forward-looking strategy based on reality rather than fear, ideology, or outdated assumptions.

Friedman is deeply concerned with what he calls the “Washington consensus” on China — a bipartisan posture of automatic hostility that leaves no room for nuance or engagement. Since the COVID-19 pandemic, he notes, the aperture through which Americans view China has narrowed dramatically. Personal, business, and academic exchanges have collapsed, while rhetoric in Washington has hardened. In such a climate, understanding China has become nearly impossible, and policymaking has grown reactive and shortsighted.

Rather than clinging to a Cold War-era mentality or seeing China solely as a thief of Western ideas, Friedman urges Americans to recognize China’s genuine innovation and industrial might. Drawing from his travels, he describes an ecosystem of high-tech factories, AI-driven design labs, and state-backed R&D campuses like Huawei’s, where rapid iteration and scale are possible in ways largely unseen in the West. He illustrates this with China's dominance in electric vehicles, batteries, solar panels, and robotics — all parts of what he calls the new "industrial ecosystem" of the 21st century.

Yet America, he warns, is fighting the wrong war. Tariffs, political posturing, and cultural battles — exemplified by Trump-era tactics — fail to build the capabilities the U.S. needs to compete. Friedman mocks these approaches as unserious, arguing that the right question isn’t how to weaken China, but how to strengthen America. That means investing in research, building supply chains, leveraging alliances, and fostering domestic innovation — not isolationism.

Friedman also views the relationship through a planetary lens. He identifies three global existential challenges — AI governance, climate change, and geopolitical instability — which require collaboration between the U.S. and China, the only two powers capable of steering outcomes. In his view, “interdependence is no longer a choice; it is our condition.”

Ultimately, Friedman’s message is clear: America must stop projecting ideology and start dealing with the world as it is. Instead of fearing China's rise, the U.S. should treat it as a mirror — a reminder of what seriousness, strategic focus, and investment in the future actually look like. Whether Washington listens or doubles down on its current path may well define the century.

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll, Ripoll (Spain)

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll, Ripoll (Spain).

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll is the grand entrance of the Monastery of Santa María in Ripoll, Spain. Constructed between the late 12th and early 13th centuries (around 1150-1200), it stands as one of the most impressive examples of Romanesque sculpture in Europe. Its detailed carvings tell stories from the Bible while reflecting the artistic, religious, and cultural values of the medieval world.

The monastery itself was founded in 879 by Count Wilfred the Hairy, a key figure in the early history of Catalonia. By the 12th century, the monastery had grown into a major religious and cultural center. To emphasize its importance, the monumental portico was commissioned, turning the entrance into a vast sculptural masterpiece designed to inspire awe and teach Christian stories to a largely illiterate population.

The portico is a monumental stone façade filled with detailed sculptures. Think of it as a giant, open-air storybook carved in stone. In a time when most people couldn’t read or write, churches used art as a form of storytelling to explain religious teachings.

The portico is divided into several horizontal sections called "registers." Each section is filled with carvings of people, animals, and decorative patterns. Here’s a simple breakdown of what you can find:

  1. The Central Figure (circa 1175):
    At the center of the portico is Christ in Majesty, sitting on a throne. He raises his hand in blessing, symbolizing his divine authority. He is surrounded by important biblical figures such as prophets and apostles, who were believed to have helped spread his teachings.

  2. Biblical Stories (1180s):
    Many panels depict stories from the Old and New Testaments. Key episodes include:

    • The Creation of the World: Sculptures of Adam and Eve, showing the biblical first humans.

    • Noah’s Ark: A carving of the famous ship that saved Noah’s family and animals during the Great Flood.

    • The Life of Jesus: Scenes of Jesus’ birth, miracles, and crucifixion.

  3. Mythical Creatures and Symbols (late 12th century):
    The portico also includes lions, eagles, and fantastical creatures. These were symbols of strength, protection, and spiritual power, common in medieval art.

  4. Kings and Historical Figures (around 1190-1200):
    Some carvings show kings and rulers who supported the monastery. This reflects the close connection between the church and political powers of the time. The presence of these figures also symbolized divine approval of the rulers’ authority.

The Pórtico de Santa María de Ripoll provides a glimpse into the medieval world. It reveals how people in the Middle Ages understood life, religion, and power. It also showcases the skill and creativity of the stonemasons and artists who spent decades carving this masterpiece.

Despite damage over the centuries, including a devastating fire in 1835, the portico remains a symbol of medieval artistic achievement. Today, visitors from around the world come to admire its beauty and learn about the stories it tells. Even if you don’t know much about the Bible, the portico’s detailed carvings and expressive figures make it a fascinating piece of history and art.

The Consumer, the Voter, and the Algorithm

What happens when political actors learn how to hack human nature

The Consumer, the Voter, and the Algorithm.

Why do so many people distrust science in an era built on reason, data, and expertise? Why has the promise of liberal freedom given rise to anxiety, alienation, and backlash? And how did the same technologies that sell us sneakers begin to shape our beliefs, our votes, and our view of reality?

The answer lies in something both obvious and uncomfortable: we are far more predictable than we like to admit.

In The Consuming Instinct, behavioral scientist Gad Saad argues that much of what we do—what we eat, buy, desire, and fear—is not simply a product of culture, but of biology. Our craving for fat and sugar, our attraction to beauty and power, our urge to belong and to signal status—these are not modern inventions, but ancient instincts shaped by natural selection.

Liberal democracies, with their emphasis on individual freedom and market choice, gave these instincts room to express themselves. In Saad’s view, the market doesn’t manipulate our desires; it mirrors them. Advertising succeeds not because it tricks us, but because it resonates with who we are at a deep, evolved level.

But in the digital era, something changed. Our consumer behavior—tracked, analyzed, and monetized—was no longer confined to the marketplace. It became a tool for reshaping our political behavior. Social media platforms, powered by algorithms and fed by behavioral data, began to function not just as communication tools, but as persuasion machines.

What began as targeted advertising became something more insidious: targeted influence. Political campaigns, ideological groups, and opportunistic actors began using the same psychological insights that sell fast food and fashion to sell narratives, conspiracies, and candidates.

As journalist Carole Cadwalladr revealed in her investigation into Cambridge Analytica and the Brexit and Trump campaigns, this wasn't simply marketing—it was a new form of psychological warfare. Her chilling conclusion: “It’s a coup.” Not with tanks or guns, but with microtargeted ads, emotion-driven content, and digital manipulation that preys on instinct, not reason.

The irony is that the very scientific insights into human nature—insights developed to better understand behavior—are now being used to bypass deliberation altogether. Emotional triggers, identity cues, and tribal language are deployed to provoke rather than persuade, to reinforce rather than challenge.

Gad Saad has long warned that science faces resistance when it challenges ideological narratives. In earlier decades, this resistance came from progressive academic circles uncomfortable with evolutionary explanations for behavior. But today, the rejection of science comes just as often from populist and authoritarian movements that deny climate change, discredit vaccines, or undermine epidemiological expertise. What unites both is not a disagreement over facts, but an unwillingness to accept them when they contradict belief or identity.

In this climate, science becomes political not because it has changed, but because our tolerance for inconvenient truths has collapsed. We no longer debate findings; we attack their implications. We no longer confront our biases; we feed them through curated information streams. And the more we do so, the more manipulable we become—not despite our nature, but because of it.

Suppressing or ignoring scientific insights into behavior does not protect us—it exposes us. The less we understand about what drives us, the easier it becomes for others to use that knowledge for their own ends. The algorithm doesn’t care whether it serves commerce or politics; it simply optimizes for engagement. And that engagement, more often than not, rewards the content that taps into our fears, our vanity, our need to belong.

We need more than fact-checking and better media literacy. We need a cultural reckoning with who we really are: instinctive, emotional, social, vulnerable to manipulation—and yet capable of reflection. Liberal societies can only endure if they are built on an honest view of the human animal. Science must be free to follow the evidence, and politics must learn humility in the face of our evolutionary limits.

The Consuming Instinct is not a celebration of consumerism, nor a rejection of progress. It is, interpreted in the current times, a warning: if we fail to understand what drives us, others will not hesitate to exploit it. And when they do, the result isn’t just a distorted marketplace. It’s a distorted democracy.

In the age of the algorithm, the consumer and the voter have become one. And the truth is no longer something we seek—it’s something we're fed.

Sowing Order, Reaping Chaos: The Paradox of Power in a Fractured World

Reflecting on what we can learn from Beatrice de Graaf

January 6 United States Capitol attack (2021).

In the late 20th century, political theorist Francis Fukuyama declared the "end of history"—a moment in which liberal democracy, seemingly victorious, would spread as the final form of human governance. Yet as we look around the world today, that prediction feels not only premature but ironically inverted. The liberal world order has not triumphed, but fractured. The very systems designed to create stability now seem to generate disorder. In this light, the adapted proverb "wie orde zaait, zal chaos oogsten"—“who sows order, will reap chaos”—captures a central paradox of our time: efforts to impose or preserve rigid concepts of order can inadvertently provoke resistance, fragmentation, and ultimately, chaos.

Historian Beatrice de Graaf, in recent interviews on the Dutch TV program Buitenhof, offers a moral-historical perspective to understand this shift. Drawing on the work of Johan Huizinga and Augustine, she reminds us that real order cannot be achieved through force, spectacle, or domination, but through the cultivation of virtues—justice, wisdom, temperance, and courage. These cardinal values, once central to both governance and citizenship, have been eroded in an age increasingly driven by short-term gain, spectacle politics, and polarizing narratives.

The rise of Donald Trump exemplifies this turn. As De Graaf recounts from her visit to the U.S., even academics fear their own students, practicing “anticipatory obedience” in the face of an aggressive ideological wave. Trump's public alignment with ultra-masculine fighting events and right-wing influencers is not random behavior, but the embodiment of a worldview—a form of symbolic politics that celebrates strength, vengeance, and tribal loyalty over deliberation, law, or empathy. This is not simply populism or eccentricity. As De Graaf warns, it is an emerging world vision, one that trades liberal ideals for a blend of post-liberalism, religious nationalism, and even transhumanist techno-fatalism.

Still, it would be too easy to scapegoat the U.S. or lay blame solely at the feet of political strongmen. Europe, too, has been naïve. The post-Cold War order assumed the universality of liberal democracy, often overlooking the ways in which global inequalities, economic exploitation, and cultural arrogance undermined the legitimacy of that very order. As De Graaf notes, liberalism in its complacency allowed illiberal forces to grow within its own system—something thinkers like Patrick Deneen have critically pointed out from within the West.

But the answer is not to abandon liberal values—it is to rediscover and reinvest in them. Europe may have been slow to respond, but it is not powerless. Recent coalitions, such as the German political realignment and the EU’s increasing investments in defense and diplomacy, suggest a recognition that order must be both principled and strategic. Europe can assert its values—not by mimicking authoritarianism, but by combining resilience with responsibility.

One must also challenge the idea that investing in defense necessarily leads to war. As De Graaf notes, deterrence paired with strong diplomacy can stabilize rather than escalate. The history of the 20th century offers cautionary tales of arms races, but it also offers models of peace built on moral clarity and institutional cooperation. The real danger is not military preparedness, but moral emptiness.

The metaphor of “sowing order and reaping chaos” becomes especially potent when the desire for control overrides justice or when systems of governance are treated as ends in themselves, rather than as tools for human flourishing. When order is enforced without legitimacy, when voices are silenced rather than heard, when complexity is flattened into slogans—then chaos grows in the cracks.

There is still a choice. As Huizinga and Augustine argued during the collapse of their own eras, we are not merely witnesses to history—we are its makers. Augustine put it simply: “We are the times.” And as such, we are responsible not only for naming the crisis but for shaping the response.

The antidote to chaos is not control, but character. Not the assertion of power for its own sake, but the cultivation of a moral order grounded in dignity, empathy, and collective responsibility. That is the challenge of our age—and the hope that still remains.

't Blok in Bertem (Belgium)

‘t Blok, Bertem (Belgium).

The tiny café 't Blok in Bertem is a quintessential example of Belgium's rich pub culture, offering a glimpse into the nation's deep-rooted traditions of conviviality and craftsmanship. Located in the heart of this small Flemish village, 't Blok serves as a gathering place for locals and visitors alike, embodying the sense of community that Belgium's brown cafés are known for.

These pubs, often family-owned and passed down through generations, provide an intimate atmosphere where patrons can enjoy a wide selection of Belgium’s famous beers, from traditional Trappist ales to regional brews. At 't Blok, the warm and rustic décor, friendly conversations, and casual setting create a perfect backdrop for unwinding after a day’s work or catching up with friends.

Like many Belgian cafés, 't Blok is more than just a place to have a drink—it's a cultural hub where people gather to celebrate, discuss local events, or simply relax, reflecting Belgium's passion for its beer heritage and social connections.