St. Lambertus Church in Münster (Germany)

St. Lambertus Church in Munster (Germany).

The St. Lambertus Church in Münster stands as a striking testament to the city's rich and turbulent history. This Gothic masterpiece, with its towering spires and intricate stonework, dominates the skyline of Münster, inviting visitors to step back in time and explore the deep-rooted spiritual and historical significance that this sacred site holds.

St. Lambertus, for whom the church is named, was a 7th-century bishop of Maastricht, known for his zealous missionary work and unwavering dedication to his faith. Born into a noble family, Lambertus chose a life of religious service and quickly became a prominent figure in the early Christian Church. His fervor for spreading Christianity, however, led to conflict with local pagan leaders, and he was ultimately martyred for his beliefs. His legacy of devotion and sacrifice deeply resonates within the walls of St. Lambertus Church, which was built to honor him.

But the history of St. Lambertus Church is not just one of piety; it is also intertwined with the dramatic events of the Reformation and the rise of Anabaptism. In the early 16th century, Münster became the epicenter of a radical religious movement that sought to create a new, theocratic society. The Anabaptists, who believed in adult baptism and a strict adherence to their interpretation of the Bible, took control of the city in 1534, proclaiming it the "New Jerusalem." St. Lambertus Church, like many other religious sites in Münster, was caught in the middle of this upheaval.

During the Anabaptist rule, the church was repurposed to fit the new regime's vision, but their reign was short-lived. After a brutal siege by forces loyal to the Catholic Church, the Anabaptist leaders were captured and executed. Their bodies were displayed in iron cages hung from the tower of St. Lambertus Church as a grim warning to others who might challenge the established order. These cages remain visible today, a chilling reminder of the city's violent past and the lengths to which people will go in the name of faith.

The St. Lambertus Church today is a symbol of Münster's resilience and the enduring power of belief. Its ornate interior, with soaring arches and stained glass windows, offers a serene contrast to the tumultuous history it has witnessed. As visitors walk through its hallowed halls, they are enveloped by the echoes of centuries of devotion, conflict, and reconciliation, making St. Lambertus Church not only a place of worship but also a profound historical monument.

St. Lambertus Church in Munster (Germany).

Authoritarian Roots in a Shifting World

In a world that feels increasingly chaotic—where political lines blur, identities shift, and truths are constantly contested—some people long for something solid. Certainty. Order. A firm hand. That longing isn’t new, but our understanding of it has evolved. Two major works, written over 50 years apart, help us understand why this desire for order can turn dangerous—and why it’s often rooted not in ideology, but in anxiety.

The first is The Authoritarian Personality (1950), a pioneering work by Theodor W. Adorno and a team of social scientists. It explored how certain personality traits—rigid thinking, submission to authority, hostility to outsiders—predispose people to fascist or authoritarian ideologies. Crucially, it linked these traits to early family environments: strict parenting, emotional repression, and punishment-based discipline. One example of how these traits were measured is the "F-scale" (F for fascism) questionnaire, which included statements such as "Obedience and respect for authority are the most important virtues children should learn"—respondents who agreed with such items were more likely to score high in authoritarian tendencies. In short, authoritarianism, they argued, is often born at home.

The second is Liquid Modernity (2000), a concept developed by sociologist Zygmunt Bauman. Unlike the structured world of the mid-20th century, Bauman described today’s society as fluid and unstable. In this “liquid” modernity, nothing—jobs, identities, relationships, institutions—feels permanent. Individuals must constantly adapt, reinvent themselves, and navigate life without reliable anchors. It’s liberating for some, disorienting for many.

So what happens when a personality shaped by a craving for structure confronts a world that refuses to offer it?

The Authoritarian Longing for Solidity

In The Authoritarian Personality, Adorno and his colleagues weren’t just asking why people supported fascism—they were trying to identify the psychological roots of intolerance. They developed what became known as the F-scale, a questionnaire designed to detect authoritarian tendencies.

Their findings revealed a pattern: individuals who feared uncertainty and complexity often clung to rigid ideologies and strong authority figures. They needed clearly defined roles, moral absolutes, and a sense of superiority over perceived outsiders. And they had often grown up in homes where obedience was valued more than understanding, where questioning was punished, and where love was conditional.

This early emotional environment fostered a deep insecurity—one that later attached itself to authoritarian movements as a way of regaining control and coherence.

Life in Liquid Modernity

Bauman’s Liquid Modernity describes a world where those traditional sources of coherence—nation, class, religion, family, work—no longer provide stability. Change is constant. Identities are fluid. Relationships are short-lived. We are, Bauman argues, “individuals in a state of permanent reinvention,” always adapting, always uncertain.

In contrast, the "solid modernity" of the early 20th century was defined by stable careers, lifelong marriages, clear social roles, and a sense of predictable life progression. People knew their place, followed established paths, and leaned on institutions for identity and meaning.

This isn’t just a cultural shift—it’s a psychological one. The modern individual is told they are free, but that freedom comes with overwhelming responsibility. There are fewer rules, but also fewer guarantees. The old scaffolding is gone, and many people are left to float—or sink—on their own.

For those already predisposed to fear ambiguity, this can be terrifying.

When Two Worlds Collide

What happens when people who were raised to seek stability and obey authority are thrown into a liquid world of endless change?

They react. Sometimes quietly—through withdrawal, anxiety, or cynicism. Sometimes more visibly—by clinging to strongman leaders, rigid ideologies, conspiracy theories, or identity-based movements that promise clarity and protection. The authoritarian reflex doesn’t disappear in liquid modernity; it intensifies. It adapts.

Today’s authoritarianism doesn’t always wear a uniform or fly a flag. It may spread through digital echo chambers, filter bubbles, or emotionally charged ideologies that offer simple answers to complex problems. But the underlying psychology—fear of uncertainty, intolerance of ambiguity, and a need for control—remains the same.

In a liquid world, authoritarianism is not a relic of the past. It is a symptom of modern instability.

Rethinking Responsibility

The combined insights of Adorno and Bauman reveal something vital: authoritarianism is not just about ideology or education. It is also about how people are raised—and what the world demands of them.

Authoritarian personalities may develop in rigid, fearful households. But when these early patterns of emotional insecurity meet a broader culture of instability—where roles, identities, and institutions are constantly shifting—the effects can compound. The longing for certainty planted in childhood is only magnified in adulthood by a world that offers few reliable structures. In this way, the intersection of early family dynamics and societal fluidity creates a potent breeding ground for authoritarian reflexes. In this sense, both too much structure and too little can breed the same reaction: the desire for someone—or something—to take control.

If we want to foster democratic, open societies, we must begin not with politics, but with people. That means:

  • Parenting that balances guidance with autonomy

  • Education that embraces complexity and ambiguity

  • Institutions that provide security without rigidity

  • Public discourse that values doubt, curiosity, and empathy

Final Thought: Two Theories, One Warning

Adorno showed us how authoritarian personalities are shaped. Bauman showed us the kind of world in which they may thrive. Together, they offer a chilling but powerful insight: authoritarianism grows not just from strength, but from fear—especially the fear of navigating life without clear direction.

Our task, then, is not to reimpose old certainties or to abandon all structure, but to help people—especially the young—learn how to live in a world that doesn’t come with instructions.

If we can build resilience in the face of uncertainty, we may yet resist the call of those who promise false order in exchange for our freedom.

Further Reading:

  • Theodor W. Adorno et al. – The Authoritarian Personality

  • Zygmunt Bauman – Liquid Modernity

  • Karen Stenner – The Authoritarian Dynamic

  • Erich Fromm – Escape from Freedom

  • Jason Stanley – How Fascism Works

The Roman Temple of Vic (Spain)

The Roman Temple of Vic (Spain).

Vic, a historic town in Catalonia, Spain, has a past that stretches all the way back to Roman times, when it was known as Ausona. Founded sometime between the late Republican period (2nd–1st century BC) and the early days of the Roman Empire (1st century AD), Ausona was an important settlement in the province of Hispania Tarraconensis. Thanks to its location along key trade and communication routes, the town developed into a thriving community with well-planned streets, public buildings, and temples.

One of the most striking remains from this period is the Roman Temple of Vic. Built in the 1st or 2nd century AD, this well-preserved structure gives us a glimpse into the city’s ancient past. Historians are still unsure which god or goddess the temple was dedicated to, but it stood in a sacred area (temenos) where people gathered to make offerings and take part in religious ceremonies. Sitting on one of the highest points of Auso, the temple would have been a significant part of the city’s landscape.

The temple only survived thanks to the way it was reused over the centuries. During the Middle Ages, it was completely enclosed within the Castell dels Montcada, a fortress built by the influential Montcada family. Over time, it was used as a noble residence, a granary, and even a prison. Its true identity was forgotten until 1882, when restoration work uncovered its original structure. Since then, it has been recognized as one of the best-preserved Roman temples in Catalonia, offering a direct link to Vic’s Roman past.

It's a Coup

Carole Cadwalladr

In her powerful TED Talk, journalist Carole Cadwalladr delivers a chilling diagnosis of our times: Western democracies have been quietly and methodically undermined. What looks on the surface like voter choice, she argues, is increasingly being shaped by forces hidden from public scrutiny. In telling the story of the Brexit referendum, Cadwalladr uncovers not just a political scandal, but a systematic attack on the foundations of democracy—one driven by Big Tech, fuelled by big data, and thriving in the shadows where privacy has been stripped away.

Cadwalladr’s investigation into the Brexit Leave campaign—most notably its relationship with Cambridge Analytica—exposed how millions of Facebook profiles were harvested without consent. That data was used to craft psychological models, which in turn were deployed to micro-target voters with messages designed to manipulate their emotions and decisions. It wasn't debate or persuasion—it was precision-guided information warfare. And it worked.

This is where the role of Big Tech becomes central. Companies like Facebook (now Meta) provided the tools and infrastructure for these campaigns. Their platforms allowed hyper-targeting of users, often with zero transparency or accountability. And because these tech giants are profit-driven advertising machines, their algorithms prioritized engagement over truth, outrage over nuance. The more incendiary the message, the more clicks—and the more money. This business model did not merely enable disinformation; it thrived on it.

In her follow-up reporting, including her thread-turned-essay “The First Great Information War,” Cadwalladr reframes the issue in geopolitical terms. She describes a slow, rolling coup—a sustained campaign to weaken and divide Western democracies, with Russia acting as a key instigator but tech companies as unwitting collaborators. The battlefield isn’t a physical one—it’s our minds, our newsfeeds, our sense of reality itself.

Privacy, once seen as a personal right, is now collateral damage in this new kind of conflict. As we willingly surrender data for convenience—liking a post, installing an app, sharing our location—we create a digital profile of ourselves. This profile can be sold, stolen, or weaponized. And because there are almost no effective regulations in place, the people and entities using this data are largely untraceable and unaccountable.

Cadwalladr’s work, then, is not just an exposé—it’s a warning. The systems we rely on for truth and democratic participation are broken. Big Tech companies hold more influence than many governments, yet they operate with far less scrutiny. Our data has become a commodity, traded in invisible markets. And our privacy is the price we pay for ‘free’ services that in reality cost us our autonomy.

If we are to make sense of what’s happening—and resist it—we must do more than reform electoral laws or increase ad transparency. We need to fundamentally rethink the relationship between data, power, and democracy. This isn’t just a glitch in the system. As Cadwalladr insists: It’s a coup.

Signals and Noise

Why Trust is Hard to Find Online in 2025

In 2007, MIT researcher Judith Donath wrote an influential paper asking a simple but profound question: Can we trust each other online? At the time, social media platforms like MySpace were just starting to shape the way we present ourselves and connect with others. Donath saw potential in these networks—not just for sharing memes and status updates, but for something deeper: helping us understand who to trust.

She used a concept called signaling theory to explain how online behavior could function like real-world social cues. Just as a firm handshake or an expensive watch might signal confidence or wealth in person, things like friend lists, profile photos, and comment histories could serve as signals of identity and reliability online.

Nearly two decades later, we live in a world where social media is everywhere. But instead of creating clarity, it often creates chaos. Fake profiles, AI-generated content, political polarization, and performative posting have blurred the line between real connection and manipulation. Donath’s framework still helps us understand what’s happening—but it also shows how far we’ve strayed from the original promise of trustworthy digital communities.

What Is a Signal, and Why Does It Matter?

Let’s break it down. A signal is something we show or do to communicate a hidden quality—something others can't directly see. For example, someone might wear a military uniform to signal bravery and service, or post a photo volunteering to signal compassion.

Online, these signals are even more important, because we can’t meet face-to-face. Instead, we rely on digital signals: bios, posts, photos, friend connections, likes, and shares. These become the building blocks of how others see us.

But there’s a catch: Not all signals are reliable. Anyone can say they’re successful, smart, or generous online. So how do we separate truth from performance?

That’s where cost comes in. In signaling theory, a signal is more trustworthy if it’s costly to fake. If it takes time, effort, or risk to display something—like earning a degree, maintaining a long-term account, or being vouched for by others—it’s harder to fake and more likely to be real. The more “expensive” it is to send a signal, the more credible it becomes.

The Problem: Signals Are Too Easy to Fake

In 2025, it's easier than ever to look like someone you’re not. You can use AI to generate flawless bios, create fake images, even simulate conversations. Want a thousand followers? Buy them. Want to look trustworthy? Just post some photos of charity events (real or fake). With the right tools, anyone can craft an impressive online identity—without actually being impressive.

This flood of easy-to-fake signals has created a crisis of trust. We’re surrounded by content, but we don’t know who or what to believe. And platforms often make the problem worse by rewarding content that’s popular, not content that’s honest.

Fashion, Risk, and the Game of Online Identity

Judith Donath also explored another side of online behavior: how people use social media to show off in ways that seem strange or risky. Posting edgy jokes, constantly updating your profile, or sharing personal secrets might seem like oversharing—but they can actually be signals of status.

Why? Because these actions show you’re confident enough (or attention-hungry enough) to take risks. Just like wearing a bold outfit in public, being “loud” online can signal that you’re in the know, part of a trend, or socially fearless. This behavior mirrors how fashion works—it’s about knowing what’s hot right now and showing that you’re ahead of the curve.

Some even use risk to signal invulnerability—posting things that could get them in trouble as a way of showing they don’t care about consequences. It’s a kind of power move: “I’m untouchable.”

When Social Media and Politics Collide

This dynamic isn’t limited to personal branding—it’s central to politics, too. Consider the rise of the MAGA movement.

Wearing a MAGA hat, posting about election fraud, or confronting school officials on video are all political signals. They say, “I belong to this group” or “I reject mainstream values.” And because some of these actions come with social risk—getting criticized, losing friends—they’re powerful tools for building loyalty and identity.

The same goes for influencers, politicians, and online communities across the spectrum. The more controversial or defiant your content, the more attention you get. And attention, in the social media economy, is currency.

In a sense, politics has become another form of digital fashion—where identity is signaled not just by what you believe, but by how publicly and provocatively you express it.

The New Battle: Meaningful Connection vs. Viral Noise

What does this mean for our digital lives today?

Donath hoped that social media would help us build larger, more meaningful networks—places where weak ties could become trustworthy, and honest signals would help people find their place in society.

But we now face a major challenge: Can platforms actually support real trust, when they’re designed to make money from our attention?

The sad truth is that social media companies earn more when we stay online longer—and the easiest way to do that is to show us outrage, fear, or gossip. Honest, thoughtful communication often takes a backseat to whatever goes viral.

So even if we want to build genuine communities, the system itself may be working against us. Would platforms like Facebook, TikTok, or X (formerly Twitter) ever choose less engagement if it meant better conversations and deeper relationships?

That’s the question we need to ask—not just of the companies running these platforms, but of ourselves. Because in the end, we’re not just users—we’re also signalers, receivers, and creators of our digital world.

Conclusion: What Can We Do?

If we want to fix the way we connect online, we need to rethink the way we signal who we are—and what we value.

Judith Donath’s core insight still holds true: the best signals are hard to fake, and easy to understand. That means designing platforms that prioritize history over hype, context over clicks, and relationships over reach.

And for each of us, it means paying attention not just to what people say online, but why they say it—and what it might be costing them to do so.

In a world flooded with noise, choosing to be real might just be the most powerful signal of all.

Further Reading

  • Judith Donath – The Social Machine: Designs for Living Online
    A deeper dive into how digital platforms shape identity, trust, and community.

  • Danah Boyd – It’s Complicated: The Social Lives of Networked Teens
    A thoughtful look at how young people navigate social media, privacy, and identity.

  • Shoshana Zuboff – The Age of Surveillance Capitalism
    A groundbreaking critique of how tech companies profit from our personal data and behavior.

  • Michael Spence – Market Signaling: Informational Transfer in Hiring and Related Processes
    The economic roots of signaling theory, written by a Nobel Prize-winning economist.

  • Eli Pariser – The Filter Bubble: What the Internet Is Hiding from You
    A classic book on how personalized algorithms can isolate us from diverse perspectives.

 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Faith, Resistance, and Moral Clarity in Dark Times

In an age marked by moral confusion and political unrest, the life and legacy of Dietrich Bonhoeffer offer rare clarity. A German theologian, pastor, and member of the anti-Nazi resistance, Bonhoeffer was executed in April 1945—just weeks before the fall of Hitler's regime. His story is not just a chapter in history; it is a mirror held up to our own time.

A Faith that Refused Compromise

Bonhoeffer's most enduring legacy lies in his insistence that faith must not retreat into private piety or abstract theology. For him, Christianity without discipleship was not Christianity at all. His famous work, The Cost of Discipleship, warned against what he called "cheap grace"—forgiveness without repentance, communion without confession, grace without the cross.

He called instead for "costly grace": a faith so rooted in Christ that it transforms one's life and choices, even under threat. His own commitment would eventually lead him into active resistance against the Nazi regime.

The Moral Obligation to Resist Evil

Bonhoeffer’s opposition to Hitler was not merely political—it was theological. To remain silent in the face of mass injustice, he argued, was to be complicit. “Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” This moral imperative led him to abandon the safety of academia abroad and return to Germany, fully aware of the risks.

Though raised in the traditions of Lutheran obedience to authority, Bonhoeffer came to believe that civil disobedience was not only permitted but required when the state became lawless and unjust. He joined the Abwehr resistance and supported the plot to assassinate Hitler, a move that has sparked ongoing debate among theologians and ethicists.

Community as Resistance

Bonhoeffer also taught that Christian community could itself be a form of resistance. His seminary at Finkenwalde, though later shut down by the Gestapo, became a model of counter-cultural fellowship, rooted in prayer, discipline, and mutual responsibility. In a world disfigured by propaganda and fear, such spaces for honest living became lifelines for truth.

His posthumous work Letters and Papers from Prison remains a powerful testament to the possibility of faith in the darkest hours. Written in a Nazi prison cell, his words are hauntingly relevant: "The church is the church only when it exists for others."

Lessons for Today

Bonhoeffer’s life compels us to ask hard questions:

  • Are we willing to speak up when others are silent?

  • Can our faith withstand the demands of our time?

  • Do we see the ethical dimension of public life as central to our spiritual life?

In an era when authoritarianism is on the rise and moral language is often hollowed out by partisanship, Bonhoeffer’s witness reminds us that integrity, sacrifice, and courage are not optional for people of conscience.

His lesson is not that martyrdom is inevitable, but that true discipleship demands a reckoning—with ourselves, with our institutions, and with the world as it is.

Further Reading

  • The Cost of Discipleship – Dietrich Bonhoeffer

  • Letters and Papers from Prison – Dietrich Bonhoeffer

  • Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy – Eric Metaxas

  • Strange Glory: A Life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer – Charles Marsh

  • Ethics – Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Rodemack (France)

Rodemack is a small, picturesque village in the Lorraine region of northeastern France, often referred to as "La Petite Carcassonne Lorraine" due to its impressive medieval fortifications. Surrounded by nearly 700 meters of ancient ramparts, Rodemack offers a glimpse into its rich history, dating back to the 12th century. The village is known for its cobbled streets, charming stone houses, and the remnants of its castle. With its well-preserved architecture and historic ambiance, Rodemack is recognized as one of the "Most Beautiful Villages in France," attracting visitors who seek to explore its medieval heritage and tranquil atmosphere.

Eros Has Left the Chat

Eros, after Eros from the Shaftesbury Memorial Fountain.

In our fast-changing, hyperconnected world, love seems everywhere—liked, shared, declared, performed. Yet philosopher Byung-Chul Han warns that something essential is quietly vanishing: our capacity for deep, transformative desire. In The Agony of Eros, he argues that we are losing not just love, but the very ability to long for another human being in a meaningful way.

Sociologist Zygmunt Bauman helps set the stage. He called our era liquid modernity—a time when stability is replaced by constant change. In liquid society, nothing is built to last: jobs, relationships, even identities are flexible, disposable, and ever-shifting. In such a world, love becomes not a safe haven, but a high-risk investment. And so, we adapt. We scroll instead of wait, swipe instead of wonder. We reduce risk—and with it, depth.

It is in this context that Han’s diagnosis becomes urgent: eros, the longing for the Other, is in crisis.

What Is Eros, and Why Does It Hurt?

For Han, eros is not about quick attraction or consumer-style “likes.” It is a deep pull toward someone or something other than the self—a movement beyond comfort, beyond control. True eros confronts us with difference. It challenges, transforms, and sometimes wounds us. But it is also what makes love profound. Without eros, there is no real encounter, no growth, no mystery.

So Why is it in Agony?

Han sees today’s culture as a world of mirrors: we are surrounded by images of ourselves, curated and repeated. From social media to dating apps, we don’t seek the Other—we seek a flattering reflection. We desire what is like us, what reassures us, what doesn’t disturb us. In doing so, we avoid the risk that true eros demands.

But this critique, while powerful, also begs a deeper question: Is eros truly dying—or simply changing?

Liquid Love, or New Ways of Desire?

Bauman’s Liquid Love offers a bleak portrait: love in modern society is fragile, uncertain, even disposable. He suggests that people today “collect” relationships as one might collect experiences—without surrendering to any. Commitment feels threatening in a world built on the value of freedom and choice.

Yet perhaps this diagnosis, like Han’s, risks too much nostalgia. If love is now more fluid, more plural, is that always a loss? Could we be seeing new expressions of intimacy and eros, even if they don’t look like the past?

For instance, communities built through shared creativity, humor, or vulnerability online may still carry seeds of the Other. People fall in love through stories, images, shared playlists, and memes. Some of these bonds are fleeting—but others are real, even life-changing. Could it be that eros isn’t disappearing but migrating?

Han’s essay doesn’t explore these possibilities, and perhaps that’s its limit. His view is poetic and piercing, but also deeply pessimistic. His warning may be vital—but so is asking what forms of eros remain, or could still be cultivated, in the digital age.

Making Room for Mystery

What both Han and Bauman agree on is that eros cannot survive in a world obsessed with clarity, control, and speed. Love requires mystery. Desire needs time. The Other must remain strange—at least partly—if love is to stay alive.

In a society that demands transparency and performance, this is difficult. We are encouraged to present ourselves, brand ourselves, share everything—except uncertainty. But love, at its core, is about opening to what we cannot predict or fully know. It asks us to step outside ourselves and be changed.

To reclaim eros, then, is not to retreat into the past, but to protect space for difference. It means resisting the constant demand to optimize, to explain, to expose. It means allowing room for silence, for distance, for longing.

In Conclusion

The Agony of Eros in a Liquid World is not just a tale of decline—it’s a question: Can love still thrive in a world built on speed and self-reference? Han and Bauman offer us powerful critiques, but the story is not yet finished. If eros is suffering, it may still be alive. And perhaps our task is not to mourn its loss, but to notice where it still flickers—and to protect it.

In doing so, we might begin to imagine new ways of loving, desiring, and truly encountering the Other—even in liquid times.

Further Reading:

  • Byung-Chul Han – The Agony of Eros (2012)

  • Zygmunt Bauman – Liquid Love: On the Frailty of Human Bonds (2003)

  • Zygmunt Bauman – Liquid Modernity (2000)

  • Eva Illouz – Why Love Hurts: A Sociological Explanation (2012)

  • Bell Hooks – All About Love: New Visions (2000)

  • Laurie Essig – Love, Inc.: Dating Apps, the Big White Wedding, and Chasing the Happily Neverafter (2019)

The Royal Tombs of the Capilla Real: Two Couples, One Legacy

An impression of the two tombs in the Capilla Real. (On the left, the tomb of Isabella and Ferdinand. On the right: the tomb of Joanna and Philip.

In the heart of Granada, within the Capilla Real, two grand marble tombs rest beneath the towering Gothic vaults. Built between 1505 and 1517 by order of Queen Isabella I, the chapel was meant to be the final resting place of Spain’s Catholic Monarchs. Their beautifully sculpted tombs were set in place in 1521, crafted from Carrara marble by the Italian artist Domenico Fancelli. One holds Queen Isabella I of Castile (1451-1504) and King Ferdinand II of Aragon (1452-1516), the monarchs who united Spain. The other belongs to their daughter, Joanna I of Castile (1479-1555), known as "la Loca", and her husband, Philip I of Castile (1478-1506), called "the Handsome".

In the chapel, their tombs are masterpieces of Renaissance sculpture, depicting the royals in peaceful repose. Yet their actual remains rest in plain lead coffins in the crypt below, a stark contrast to the grandeur above. These two tombs contain rulers who shaped Spain’s destiny—though their lives took very different paths.

Isabella and Ferdinand: The founders of Spain

Married in 1469, Isabella and Ferdinand united Castile and Aragon, laying the foundation for modern Spain. Together, they completed the Reconquista, reclaiming Iberian lands from Moorish rule. Their greatest victory came in 1492, when they conquered Granada. That same year, Isabella financed Columbus' voyage, launching Spain’s global empire.

Deeply involved in governance, Isabella was a skilled strategist, while Ferdinand expanded Spain’s influence in Europe. Their reign also saw the establishment of the Spanish Inquisition, enforcing religious unity. Isabella died in 1504, and Ferdinand ruled alone until 1516. As planned, they were laid to rest in Granada, the city of their triumph.

Joanna and Philip: A Tragic Love Story

Unlike her parents, Joanna I of Castile lived a life of turmoil. She married the Flemish Philip of Habsburg in 1496, and their passionate but troubled relationship was filled with jealousy and scandal. Philip became King of Castile in 1504, but his sudden death in 1506 sent Joanna into deep despair. Overcome with grief, she was declared mentally unfit to rule.

For nearly fifty years, Joanna was confined in Tordesillas, while her son, Charles V, ruled in her place. She died in 1555, never truly recognized as queen.

Two Tombs, One Legacy

Though their lives were vastly different, these two royal couples remain forever linked in the Capilla Real. Isabella and Ferdinand rest as Spain’s greatest monarchs, while Joanna and Philip’s tombs remind us of a dynasty’s troubled succession. Standing before these tombs, history feels close—the victories, the tragedies, and the power struggles that shaped Spain’s past.

Why Europe Must Wake Up Now

Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, and Xi Jinping.

In a time when the rules-based global order is eroding, Europe stands at a dangerous crossroads. Confronted by external “predators” such as Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, and Xi Jinping, and challenged internally by political disillusionment and ideological extremism, the European Union risks falling behind — not due to lack of capacity, but due to a lack of self-belief.

This was the central argument of a recent discussion hosted by Le Figaro, featuring Benjamin Haddad, French Minister for European Affairs, and political writer Giuliano da Empoli. Their exchange revealed a profound truth: while others see Europe as a formidable force, Europeans themselves often fail to recognize their own strength.

The era we’ve entered is not one of compromise, but confrontation. As da Empoli notes, the "new" predators — whether political populists like Trump or tech moguls reshaping public discourse — thrive by rejecting norms, undermining regulation, and exploiting the fragmentation of liberal democracies. Europe, with its commitment to the rule of law, social cohesion, and multilateral cooperation, stands as their natural opponent. Not because it is weak, but precisely because it is one of the few remaining bastions of rule-based order.

But this fortress is under siege — not only from the outside, but from within. Citizens disillusioned by stagnant economies, unresolved migration issues, and political inertia increasingly flirt with populist alternatives. These movements promise control, identity, and order — and find oxygen in the algorithmic echo chambers of TikTok and X (formerly Twitter). Yet, as both Haddad and da Empoli argue, the problem lies less with the technology than with the failure of mainstream politics to respond convincingly to legitimate concerns.

The specter of Trump’s possible return to the White House in 2025 was rightly treated not as a freak accident but a symptom of deeper structural shifts. His worldview — transactional, inward-looking, and openly hostile to NATO and the EU — has already transformed American politics and reverberates across Europe. Worse still, as Haddad pointed out, these are not isolated phenomena — even President Biden has embraced protectionist policies that echo those of Trump.

The question now is: what can Europe do?

Firstly, acknowledge reality without panic. The liberal dream of eternal peace and convergence — the Fukuyaman fantasy — is over. We are not moving toward a post-ideological consensus but re-entering a world governed by force, identity, and asymmetry.

Secondly, Europe must become a geopolitical actor, not merely a regulatory one. That means serious investment in defense, controlling its technological future, and setting clear, enforceable rules for migration — not as a concession to populism, but to rebuild democratic legitimacy.

Thirdly, Europe must stop outsourcing its political and security agency. As Haddad pointed out, relying indefinitely on American protection is no longer viable. A stronger, more confident EU must emerge — one that can defend its borders, innovate economically, and act decisively in crises.

Lastly, Europe must win back its own people — not just through rhetoric, but through performance. Delivering prosperity, security, and identity is not a populist demand; it is a democratic imperative.

In sum, the predators are real. But so is the possibility of European renewal — if we stop underestimating ourselves.

Further Reading

  • Giuliano da Empoli, L’Heure des prédateurs (2024)

  • Ivan Krastev & Mark Leonard, The Age of Unpeace (2020)

  • Anne Applebaum, Twilight of Democracy (2020)

  • Luuk van Middelaar, Le Réveil géopolitique de l'Europe (2023)

  • Ivan Krastev, After Europe (2017)

The Disconnected Society

On what we learn from Noreena Hertz and Jonathan Haidt.

Noreena Hertz and Jonathan Haidt.

In a time of unprecedented digital connectivity, a paradox has emerged: we are more networked than ever, yet increasingly alone and emotionally unwell. This paradox lies at the heart of two deeply resonant works—Noreena Hertz’s The Lonely Century and Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation. Though writing from different perspectives—Hertz as an economist and Haidt as a social psychologist—both diagnose a profound crisis of connection in contemporary society. Their work converges on a central truth: the digital and economic architecture of modern life is undermining our basic human need for community, stability, and meaning.

The Human Cost of Disconnection

Noreena Hertz argues that loneliness is not simply a personal feeling but a widespread social phenomenon, driven by systemic forces: neoliberal economics, technological isolation, urban design, and political alienation. In The Lonely Century, she shows how atomized labor markets, precarious work, and digital communication have eroded the public square. Even before the pandemic, rising numbers of people reported feeling isolated. Hertz documents the impact of loneliness on mental and physical health, linking it to increased rates of anxiety, depression, and even early death.

Jonathan Haidt echoes these concerns in The Anxious Generation, but zooms in on a specific demographic catastrophe: the mental health collapse among Generation Z, particularly teenage girls. He identifies the years between 2010 and 2015 as a critical turning point, when smartphones and social media became deeply embedded in adolescent life. The data is clear: since that time, rates of depression, anxiety, self-harm, and suicide among youth have sharply increased. Haidt sees this as a result not only of screen time, but of the replacement of real-world interaction with virtual engagement, and the loss of free play, risk-taking, and physical autonomy.

Technology: From Tool to Cage

Both thinkers point to digital technology as a powerful agent of social transformation—one that has reshaped not only our habits but our psyches. Hertz focuses on how social media and algorithmic content foster comparison, polarization, and superficial connection. In online spaces, people are “seen” constantly but rarely known. The result is a type of simulated intimacy, which cannot substitute for face-to-face human contact.

Haidt takes this further, arguing that adolescence—a time of immense neurological sensitivity—has been colonized by smartphones. Girls, in particular, suffer from curated comparison and relational aggression online, while boys retreat into virtual worlds of video games and porn. He shows how these platforms are designed to hijack attention, reduce resilience, and fragment identity. Technology, once a tool for empowerment, has become a disruptive presence, rewiring childhood and adolescence in ways that society has barely begun to comprehend.

The Loss of the Commons: From Playgrounds to Platforms

Another key insight that unites Hertz and Haidt is the disappearance of shared physical and social spaces. Hertz laments the decline of community hubs—local shops, libraries, churches, and unions—that once grounded people in a collective life. In their place, individualized consumption and digital engagement have taken hold, weakening social bonds.

Haidt similarly emphasizes the loss of outdoor, unsupervised play, which has been replaced by screen-based entertainment and increased parental control. Without the ability to test boundaries, resolve conflict, or build self-efficacy through real-world interaction, children grow up underdeveloped in social and emotional capacities. This shift from the commons to the screen, from the real to the virtual, has left a generation adrift.

Responsibility, Resistance, and Renewal

Despite the gravity of their diagnoses, neither Hertz nor Haidt is fatalistic. Both offer concrete paths forward—and both recognize the need for collective, not just individual, solutions.

Hertz calls for a Compassionate Revolution: policies that rehumanize the workplace, urban design that encourages interaction, education that fosters empathy, and regulation of tech platforms. She emphasizes the importance of civic renewal and economic justice, arguing that loneliness flourishes in societies marked by inequality, alienation, and commodification.

Haidt, meanwhile, focuses on cultural norms and education policy. He advocates for phone-free schools, delayed social media use, and the revival of free play and risk-taking. Most powerfully, he calls for a collective action response to what he sees as a “tragedy in two acts”—the overprotection of children in the real world and their underprotection online. Young people themselves, Haidt notes, often resent the role of smartphones in their lives but feel powerless to opt out without support.

What We Learn: A New Ethics of Connection

Together, Hertz and Haidt help us see the current crisis not as a series of isolated issues—mental health, loneliness, digital harm—but as symptoms of a deeper breakdown in how we structure human life. Their work urges us to reconsider what it means to be human in a time of distraction, commodification, and social fragmentation. They remind us that connection is not optional—it is a core human need, as vital as food or shelter.

If their diagnoses differ in emphasis—Hertz’s more macroeconomic, Haidt’s more developmental—they arrive at a shared imperative: we must reclaim our social environments. This means building policies, technologies, and cultures that honor attention, presence, trust, and belonging.

Conclusion

In an anxious and lonely century, the work of Noreena Hertz and Jonathan Haidt serves as a warning and a guide. They expose the cost of ignoring human needs in the name of efficiency, innovation, or freedom. But they also light a path toward renewal—one grounded not in nostalgia, but in the enduring truth that we thrive when we are connected, seen, and needed. Whether we follow that path will determine not only the mental health of our youth, but the very future of our societies.

Barbara F. Walter: How Civil Wars Start — And Why America Is at Risk

In a sobering yet surprisingly hopeful conversation held as part of the Democracy First speaker series, political scientist Barbara F. Walter laid bare the growing threat of political violence in the United States. Walter, author of the bestseller How Civil Wars Start, draws on decades of conflict research and her work with the CIA’s Political Instability Task Force to sound the alarm: America is slipping into dangerous territory.

The Warning Signs: Enocracy and Identity-Based Parties

Walter explains that the Task Force, using global data, found only two reliable predictors for civil conflict:

  1. Enocracy — countries that are neither full democracies nor full autocracies.

  2. Political parties organized around identity — particularly race, religion, or ethnicity.

Nations that fall into this grey zone are uniquely vulnerable. “Almost all political violence,” she said, “happens in the middle,” between democracy and autocracy.

When she applied this model to the U.S. (unofficially, as the CIA is barred from domestic surveillance), she saw a troubling trend: the U.S. had been downgraded from a full democracy in 2016 to a partial democracy by 2020, entering what she calls the “anocracy zone.” At the same time, the Republican Party had become increasingly defined by white identity and evangelical Christianity, while the Democratic Party had become a multi-ethnic coalition.

“By the Task Force’s definition,” Walter concluded, “the U.S. would likely have gone on the watch list in December 2020”—a list of nations at high risk of political instability or violence within two years. “And then,” she added, “January 6th happened.”

What Civil War Would Look Like Today

Walter is quick to dismantle outdated notions of civil war. Modern internal conflicts rarely resemble 1860s-style battles between uniformed armies. Instead, they look like what’s happening in places like Northern Ireland or Sri Lanka: insurgencies, guerrilla warfare, and terrorism. Civilians become the primary targets—especially minorities and perceived supporters of the state.

In the U.S., that could mean attacks on judges, election officials, law enforcement, or marginalized groups such as African Americans, Jews, Latinos, and LGBTQ communities.

Who drives this violence? Not the most oppressed, Walter explains, but “groups that were politically and economically dominant and are now in decline.” They experience loss of status, still have resources, and resist change. In the U.S., she suggests, the rise of white nationalist groups fits that pattern.

The Role of Social Media and Disinformation

Another accelerant? Social media. Walter calls it a “backdoor” for authoritarian regimes like Putin’s Russia to undermine democratic societies. Algorithms designed to trigger anger and fear have polarized citizens, amplified misinformation, and made viral hate easy and instant. She calls for one modest reform that could drastically reduce the spread of destabilizing content: temporarily disable the reshare button on platforms like Facebook during key democratic moments, such as elections.

“If I had one wish,” she says, “it would be to regulate the algorithms—not the content, just the algorithms.”

Can Democracy Be Saved?

Walter is not fatalistic. “I’m an optimist,” she insists. Despite structural flaws in American democracy—gerrymandering, the electoral college, and executive overreach—she sees potential for reform. She places hope in independent voters, especially immigrants and younger generations, who are less tied to partisan histories and more open to centrist politics.

She also calls for renewed attention to voting rights. Bills like the Freedom to Vote Act and the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act are not radical, she says—they simply restore protections that were standard a decade ago.

Further Reading

  • Barbara F. Walter – How Civil Wars Start: And How to Stop Them, Crown Publishing, 2022.

  • Barbara F. Walter — the author of "How Civil Wars Start" — explains the threat of Trump 2.0
    Hosted by Democracy First, available on YouTube: Watch the full video here

  • Peter Pomerantsev – This Is Not Propaganda: Adventures in the War Against Reality

  • Freedom to Vote Act – Overview via the Brennan Center for Justice

  • John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act – Summary from Congress.gov

The Capitulare de villis: Charlemagne’s Vision of Agricultural Order

Capitulare de villis vel curtis imperii.

The Capitulare de villis vel curtis imperii, commonly referred to simply as the Capitulare de villis, is a remarkable administrative document issued during the reign of Charlemagne (circa 800 AD). More than a list of rules, it reflects the Carolingian emperor’s ambitious effort to standardize and manage the vast imperial estates that sustained his empire. Among its many concerns—ranging from justice and governance to inventory management and household conduct—one section stands out for its enduring cultural relevance: a detailed list of plants to be cultivated in the royal gardens.

This list, found in chapter 70 of the document, names 94 plants, including vegetables, herbs, fruits, and medicinal species. It reads almost like a blueprint for a medieval kitchen garden: leeks, onions, cabbages, parsnips, fennel, mint, rosemary, and many others. It even includes exotic items like ginger and costmary, showing the reach and ambition of Carolingian horticulture.

The Capitulare offers more than botanical curiosity; it illustrates Charlemagne’s desire to exert control over nature and the economy through order, uniformity, and self-sufficiency. By prescribing which plants were to be grown, he ensured that each estate would be equipped not only to feed itself but also to serve the health and needs of the court and army. In a time of limited infrastructure and communication, such detailed regulation helped stabilize resources across a sprawling empire.

Today, the Capitulare de villis is regarded as a cornerstone of medieval agronomy and early European statecraft. It bridges the worlds of governance, agriculture, and cultural transmission—testifying to a ruler who understood that an empire's strength lay not only in armies and alliances but in well-managed gardens and kitchens.

The Capitulare de villis in English.

On Freedom: A Vision for Our Times

Timothy Snyder.

In a world grappling with political upheaval and the erosion of democratic norms, Yale historian Timothy Snyder offers a compelling redefinition of freedom. In his 2023 talk in Kyiv, titled Freedom as a Value and a Task, Snyder challenges conventional notions of liberty and presents a framework that resonates deeply with contemporary struggles for democracy.

From 'Freedom From' to 'Freedom To'

Snyder critiques the prevalent Western concept of negative freedom—defined as the absence of constraints—and advocates for a shift towards positive freedom, which emphasizes the capacity to act and make meaningful choices. He argues that true freedom is not merely about being left alone but about having the agency to shape one's life and society. This perspective is particularly poignant in the context of Ukraine's resistance against authoritarian aggression, where the fight is not just for survival but for the right to determine one's future.

The Five Pillars of Freedom

In his book On Freedom, Snyder outlines five essential dimensions of freedom:

  1. Sovereignty: The ability of individuals and nations to self-govern without external domination.

  2. Unpredictability: The openness to new experiences and the capacity for innovation and change.

  3. Mobility: The freedom to move and the access to opportunities beyond one's immediate environment.

  4. Factuality: A commitment to truth and the rejection of misinformation, which is vital for informed decision-making.

  5. Solidarity: The recognition that individual freedom is interconnected with the freedom of others, fostering a sense of collective responsibility.

These pillars underscore that freedom is not an isolated endeavor but a communal one, requiring mutual support and shared values.

Freedom in Practice: Lessons from Ukraine

Snyder's engagement with Ukraine offers a real-world illustration of his theories. He observes that Ukrainians' pursuit of freedom is not abstract but grounded in daily acts of resilience and solidarity. Their struggle exemplifies how freedom involves active participation in democratic processes and the defense of human rights against oppressive forces.

Reclaiming Freedom in the Modern World

Snyder warns that the misinterpretation of freedom as mere individualism can lead to societal fragmentation and vulnerability to authoritarianism. He calls for a reinvigoration of democratic institutions and a recommitment to the collective aspects of freedom, such as education, healthcare, and civic engagement. By doing so, societies can build resilience against the forces that threaten liberty.

Further Reading

  • Timothy Snyder: Freedom as a Value and a Task – Watch the full talk delivered in Kyiv: YouTube link

  • Timothy Snyder, On Freedom

  • Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century

  • Timothy Snyder, The Road to Unfreedom: Russia, Europe, America

  • Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin

Vitteaux (France)

Driving through the villages of France in November feels like moving through a quiet, almost forgotten landscape. The skies, heavy with clouds, cast a dull, grey light over the narrow roads and aging buildings. Many of the houses show signs of wear—peeling paint, cracked walls, and shutters left hanging askew—evidence of a middle class struggling to keep up. The streets are almost empty, with only the occasional car passing by or an elderly resident hurrying through the cold. Shops are often closed, and the few that remain open seem to do so more out of habit than business. The trees are bare, and the damp chill in the air adds to the sense of isolation, as if these once-bustling villages are caught in a moment of quiet endurance, waiting for better days.

Nationalism in 19th Century Europe: Unity, Identity, and Conflict

Angling in Troubled Waters, by Fred W. Rose (1899).

The 19th century was the age in which nationalism emerged as one of the most transformative political ideologies in Europe. Sparked by the French Revolution and fueled by the Enlightenment’s ideals of popular sovereignty, equality, and reason, nationalism promoted the idea that people sharing a common language, culture, and history should form self-governing nations. As the century unfolded, nationalism reshaped the political map of Europe, unifying fragmented states, challenging empires, and redefining what it meant to belong.

The Roots of Nationalism

The French Revolution introduced the radical concept that sovereignty should reside not with monarchs, but with "the nation"—an entity representing the collective will of the people. Philosophers like Jean-Jacques Rousseau emphasized the "general will" as the moral and political authority of a united people. This idea was powerful and dangerous: it justified the fall of monarchies, the creation of republics, and eventually, wars of national liberation. Though the French revolutionaries failed to fully unify the population of France, they demonstrated the potential of nationalism to mobilize mass support, challenge traditional hierarchies, and inspire change​.

Unification and Resistance

Nationalism played a decisive role in the unification of Germany and Italy, two major new states that did not exist in modern form before the 1860s.

In Germany, the nationalist sentiment had been culturally nurtured by Romantic thinkers such as Fichte and Arndt, who emphasized the German language and collective identity, especially in opposition to foreign influence (notably France). Politically, unification was driven by Otto von Bismarck, the Prussian chancellor, who used a pragmatic and militaristic strategy (Realpolitik) to isolate Austria, defeat France in the Franco-Prussian War, and unite the German-speaking states under Prussian dominance in 1871. The newly formed German Empire became a powerful and industrialized state, but its unification came at the cost of suppressing internal diversity and fostering external rivalries​.

In Italy, unification efforts were more ideologically fragmented. Giuseppe Mazzini championed a republican and democratic vision, while Camillo Cavour, Prime Minister of Piedmont-Sardinia, worked to expand northern Italy through diplomacy and war. Giuseppe Garibaldi added southern Italy to the fold through popular uprisings. Italy was formally unified in 1861, though it wasn’t until 1870, with the capture of Rome, that the peninsula was fully consolidated. Despite unification, deep economic and cultural divides between the industrial North and the rural South remained, and tensions with the Catholic Church lingered for decades​.

Nationalism and the Multinational Empires

While nationalism unified some regions, it posed existential threats to others—especially the Austrian, Ottoman, and Russian empires. These vast, multi-ethnic states were increasingly unstable as various ethnic groups—Hungarians, Czechs, Poles, Serbs, Bulgarians, and others—demanded autonomy or independence.

In Austria, the monarchy was forced to grant limited self-rule to Hungary, creating the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy in 1867. Even this compromise failed to ease all ethnic tensions. In the Ottoman Empire, nationalist revolts, like the successful Greek War of Independence (1821–1830), were followed by others in the Balkans. Russia, meanwhile, responded to nationalist dissent with repression and policies of Russification, imposing Russian language and culture on its diverse populations, and conducting violent pogroms against Jews​.

Cultural and Political Implications

The spread of nationalism had profound implications for how people understood identity, citizenship, and state power. Where earlier generations had tied loyalty to monarchs or religious authorities, nationalism demanded loyalty to the nation—often defined in ethnic or linguistic terms. National identity became something to be cultivated through public education, literature, historical memory, and symbolic acts like the adoption of national flags, anthems, and holidays.

However, this also meant that those who didn’t fit the national mold—minorities, immigrants, or religious outsiders—were increasingly marginalized. Nationalism encouraged the construction of “us vs. them” dynamics. As the century progressed, this fostered antisemitism, especially in places like Germany and Russia, where Jews were cast as the internal “other.” Nationalism could therefore empower and liberate, but also divide and persecute​.

Looking Forward

By the end of the 19th century, nationalism had become a dominant political force across Europe, influencing liberal and conservative regimes alike. It enabled the formation of new states and inspired oppressed peoples to claim self-rule. But it also laid the groundwork for international rivalry, ethnic conflict, and imperialist ambitions, which would explode catastrophically in the 20th century.

Nationalism in the 19th century was thus a double-edged sword: a source of hope and unity, but also of exclusion and division. Its legacy continues to shape modern politics, making it one of the most enduring and complex ideologies of the modern era.

Rethinking Migration and Citizenship in the 21st Century

An impression of the statue of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing.

In a time when migration policy dominates political debates across Europe, philosopher and political theorist Lea Ypi stands out as a compelling voice calling for a radical rethinking of what citizenship means—and for whom it serves. In her public lecture “Migration and Citizenship in the Twenty-First Century,” delivered in May 2025 at the historic Judenplatz in Vienna, Ypi challenged not just governments and institutions, but all of Europe, to examine its conscience.

Who is Lea Ypi?

Lea Ypi is an Albanian-British political theorist and professor at the London School of Economics. Born in Tirana, Albania in 1979, she came of age during the collapse of the communist regime and the tumultuous transition to liberal democracy. These formative experiences shaped her personal and philosophical outlook, which she explores in her internationally acclaimed memoir Free: Coming of Age at the End of History, a finalist for the 2021 Baillie Gifford Prize and winner of the Royal Society of Literature’s Ondaatje Prize.

Ypi’s academic work covers political theory, Enlightenment thought, Kant, Marxism, and contemporary questions of justice, freedom, and migration. Her voice is not only academic but deeply personal. When she speaks of borders, identity, and the struggle for belonging, it is from both a theoretical vantage point and lived experience.

A Statue, a Story, a Statement

Ypi opened her speech not with statistics or policy recommendations, but with a symbol: a statue of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, the Enlightenment thinker, whose figure stands in Judenplatz with an open hand and a gentle gaze. Lessing’s Nathan the Wise, a plea for interreligious understanding set during the Crusades, provides the moral and philosophical lens through which Ypi reflects on the migration crisis.

In the play, Nathan—himself a displaced Jew living under Muslim rule—resists all narrow labels and asks simply: “Isn’t it enough to be human?” For Ypi, this is the heart of the matter: the tendency to divide migrants into categories like "deserving" and "undeserving," "legal" and "illegal," "good" and "bad"—is a betrayal not just of humanism, but of Europe’s own Enlightenment ideals.

Beyond Good Migrants

Ypi tells the story of a childhood friend’s father in 1990s Albania—“Ben the Lame,” a dockworker turned smuggler, who helped people escape to Italy after the fall of the communist regime. Once celebrated as a facilitator of freedom, he died at sea and was later mourned by families who saw him as someone who enabled survival and dignity. “He wasn’t Nathan,” Ypi reflects. “He wasn’t a good migrant. He was a bad one.”

This dichotomy—between acceptable and unacceptable migrants—is at the heart of Ypi’s critique. She challenges the notion that migration is primarily a cultural problem. Rather, it is the consequence of global injustice: wars funded by the same Western states that deny asylum, economic collapse induced by neoliberal reforms, and health inequalities exacerbated by vaccine patents.

The Myth of Free Movement

Western nations have long preached the virtues of “freedom,” including the right to move. During the Cold War, dissidents who fled East Germany or the Soviet bloc were welcomed as heroic symbols of liberty. But when similar people—fleeing post-communist instability or Western-sponsored conflicts—arrive today, they are met with fences, patrols, and suspicion.

As Ypi argues: “Just when former socialist states stopped shooting their citizens at the border, capitalist states started patrolling the seas.” The uniforms changed, the logic of exclusion remained.

Capitalism, Class, and Commodification of Citizenship

One of Ypi’s most searing observations is how citizenship has become a commodity. The very rich can buy their way into almost any country through investor visas and golden passports. At the same time, the poor—those without the right education, income, or "cultural fit"—face impossible hurdles.

This two-tiered system, she argues, turns democracy into oligarchy: a regime where money buys belonging. “When citizenship is bought and sold, it ceases to be a tool for emancipation and becomes one of exclusion,” she says. It is not migration that undermines democracy, but the marketization of political membership.

What’s Really at Stake

For Ypi, the real crisis is not one of borders or integration, but of democratic failure:

  • A failure of representation, where politicians respond more to donors and polls than to public interest;

  • A failure of social justice, where inequality continues to rise;

  • A failure of international solidarity, where global institutions fail the vulnerable.

Migration becomes a scapegoat for these deeper problems. “The migrant did not bring this crisis,” Ypi warns. “The migrant merely reveals it.”

A Call for Enlightenment—Not Nostalgia

In closing, Ypi returns to the Enlightenment, not as a Eurocentric relic, but as a critical, universalist project—one that urges us to think beyond borders, beyond identity, beyond obedience. “Obedience always requires ignorance,” she says. “And we are becoming used to not thinking.”

True cosmopolitanism, in Ypi’s view, isn’t about charity or humanitarianism. It’s about political transformation: building societies in which no one is forced to migrate because of war, hunger, or exclusion.

Her message is clear: Europe’s future cannot be built on walls, nor on nostalgia for greatness. It must be built on justice, equality, and critical thinking—on the courage, as Lessing once wrote, “to think for yourself.”

Further Reading: