A summer afternoon in a French city centre, seven years ago. A man in a red shirt talks with his hands, mid-argument, while the crowd behind him drifts across the square. Fifty metres away, a riot squad in black moves up behind a shield wall, and a handful of demonstrators push a homemade barricade of tarpaulin and umbrellas across the tram tracks. Off to one side, students carry a red banner in Italian about Sicily and war, which has nothing to do with the local grievance and everything to do with the fact that these crowds have started to share a circuit.

No issue has stressed the internal coherence of European identity more than migration. Not the euro, not Brexit, not Russian aggression — migration. Because migration makes the identity question concrete in a way that abstract debates do not: who belongs, what belonging requires, and who decides. The liberal position on migration and European identity is coherent but demanding. If European identity is grounded in values rather than ethnicity — in commitment to rule of law, democratic participation, individual rights — then membership is in principle open to anyone who adopts those values, regardless of origin.

Secretary of State Marco Rubio offered what may be the clearest articulation yet of the Trump administration’s transactional NATO doctrine — and its implicit breaking point. Speaking publicly, Rubio reframed the alliance’s foundational logic: the United States didn’t join NATO merely to serve as Europe’s security guarantor. It joined, in part, because a permanent military footprint on European soil advances American strategic interests — forward deterrence, power projection, logistical depth. The bases in Germany, Italy, the United Kingdom, and elsewhere are not charity.

The current state of European defense infrastructure is the result of a decades-long “peace dividend” that has effectively hollowed out the continent’s military capabilities. Following the Cold War, most European nations systematically dismantled their armed forces, reducing troop numbers, decommissioning heavy armor, and allowing domestic ammunition production to atrophy. Despite the clear warning of 2014, the response from European capitals was largely performative, characterized by a continued refusal to meet basic NATO spending targets or modernize aging stockpiles.

The joint statement by the foreign ministers of Germany, France, Italy, and Britain is precisely the kind of performative multilateralism that has made European foreign policy increasingly irrelevant to the realities of the Middle East. Let’s be precise about what the bill actually does: it expands the possibility of capital punishment for terrorists in specific, extreme circumstances. It does not mandate it. It does not apply to ordinary criminals. It targets perpetrators of mass atrocities — the architects and executors of violence on a scale that, one would think, Europe above all should understand.

The argument put forward by Tony Blair lands in an uncomfortable space, precisely because it forces a confrontation between ideals that are usually treated as compatible. His warning about an “unholy alliance” between segments of the political left and Islamist movements is not about conspiracy or coordination—it’s about contradiction, and the growing willingness to ignore it. At the center of this tension sits a simple but difficult question: can a political movement grounded in secularism, equality, and individual rights afford to align—even indirectly—with actors whose ideological frameworks often challenge those same principles?

In the ever-evolving landscape of French politics, recent polls have painted a tumultuous picture for Emmanuel Macron’s centrist faction. The data indicates a potential collapse of support for Macron’s La République En Marche, a scenario that has significant implications for the future governance of France. This decline in support is not just a typical ebb and flow but rather a pronounced shift that could fundamentally alter the political dynamics of the country.

The recent surge in support for right-wing parties within the European Parliament electorate reveals a significant shift in the political landscape, reflecting a growing impatience and demand for changes in immigration laws. This trend underscores the frustration of a substantial portion of the population who feel that current policies have failed to address their concerns about immigration’s social and economic impacts. Across various European nations, right-wing parties have capitalized on this sentiment, promoting stricter immigration controls and policies aimed at preserving national identity and security.