The EU’s top sports official has sharply criticized FIFA President Gianni Infantino for saying that world football’s governing body should lift its ban on Russia competing in international tournaments.  Infantino said Monday that Russia, which was banned by FIFA following the country’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, should be allowed to compete again, claiming that bans and boycotts “create more hatred.” It would send a positive message to have “girls and boys from Russia” participating in football tournaments across Europe, he added.  European Sport Commissioner Glenn Micallef pushed back Wednesday, calling for the ban to remain in place in a social media post with the hashtag #YellowCardForFIFA.  “Sport does not exist in a vacuum. It reflects who we are and what we choose to stand for,” Micallef said. “Letting aggressors return to global football as if nothing happened ignores real security risks and deep pain caused by the war.”  Infantino’s remarks also drew a furious response from Ukraine.   “679 Ukrainian girls and boys will never be able to play football — Russia killed them,” said Ukraine’s Foreign Affairs Minister Andrii Sybiha on social media. “And it keeps killing more while moral degenerates suggest lifting bans, despite Russia’s failure to end its war.”  Moscow, unsurprisingly, embraced Infantino’s suggestion. “We have seen these statements [by Infantino], and we welcome them,” Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov said. “It’s high time to think about this.”  The U.S. is hosting the men’s World Cup this summer together with Mexico and Canada. Even if the ban were lifted, Russia could not compete as it did not take part in the qualifying rounds.  Infantino maintains close ties with Donald Trump and in December gave him the newly created FIFA Peace Prize — widely seen as a token honor — after the American president was not awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. The sporting world is increasingly softening in its stance on Russian participation in tournaments, with International Olympic Committee President Kirsty Coventry signaling that Russian athletes shouldn’t be held responsible for the actions of their government.

FIFA President Gianni Infantino said Monday the world football governing body should lift its ban on Russia competing in international tournaments. Russia was banned from taking part in international football tournaments by FIFA immediately following the country’s invasion of Ukraine in the winter of 2022. The ban has remained in place, though youth teams have been allowed to compete since 2023. “We have to,” Infantino told Sky News in an interview when asked if he would look into lifting the ban. “I’m against bans, I’m against boycotts as well,” he added, saying they just “create more hatred.”  It would send a positive message to have “girls and boys from Russia” participating in football tournaments across Europe, he said.   Infantino maintains close ties with U.S. President Donald Trump and awarded him the newly created FIFA Peace Prize — widely seen as a token honor after the American president did not get the Nobel Peace Prize despite campaigning heavily for it — in December. FIFA also opened an office in New York’s Trump Tower in July and appointed Trump’s daughter Ivanka to the board of an education charity project co-funded by 2026 FIFA World Cup ticket sales.  The U.S. is hosting the World Cup this summer together with Mexico and Canada and has faced calls for boycotts from some quarters of politics and society over the Trump administration’s foreign policy. Russia hosted the tournament in 2018.

Donald Trump said he will launch legal action against comedian Trevor Noah after the comedian joked about the U.S. president visiting convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein’s island.  Noah, who hosted the Grammy Awards for the sixth time, triggered Trump’s ire Sunday night with a jibe about the president’s connection to Epstein, which could have been taken to imply he had visited the financier’s infamous island.  “Song of the year, congratulations Billie Eilish, wow. That is a Grammy that every artist wants, almost as much as Trump wants Greenland,” Noah said. “Which makes sense, I mean, because Epstein’s island is gone, he needs a new one to hang out with Bill Clinton.”  Trump, in turn, blasted Noah on his social media platform Truth Social as a “poor, pathetic, talentless, dope of an M.C.” who had “better get his facts straight, and get them straight fast.”  “Noah said, INCORRECTLY about me, that Donald Trump and Bill Clinton spent time on Epstein Island. WRONG!!!” Trump wrote. “I can’t speak for Bill, but I have never been to Epstein Island, nor anywhere close, and until tonight’s false and defamatory statement, have never been accused of being there, not even by the Fake News Media.”  The president added he would “be sending my lawyers to sue” Noah “for plenty$ … Get ready Noah, I’m going to have some fun with you!” He did not indicate whether he planned to sue CBS Television Network or streamer Paramount+, which aired the awards show. The Grammys will move to ABC in 2027.   Trump has denied wrongdoing in relation to the Epstein allegations. No evidence has suggested that Trump ever visited Epstein’s island or took part in his trafficking operation. The president has also maintained that he and Epstein, with whom he socialized during the 1990s and the early 2000s, had a falling out many years ago. Clinton has also not been accused of wrongdoing in connection with Epstein and has called for all government files related to Epstein to be released. The former president and his wife, former Secretary of State and presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, defied a subpoena to testify in Congress before a panel investigating Epstein. The Justice Department released a major tranche of investigative materials related to Epstein on Friday. More than three million pages, photographs and videos show how Epstein, who died in 2019, courted a vast web of relationships with world leaders, CEOs and government officials.  Among them were former Trump strategist Steve Bannon, former Secretary-General of the Council of Europe Thorbjørn Jagland, tech billionaire Elon Musk, and Slovak politician Miroslav Lajčák, who resigned from a government position after disclosures that he exchanged messages with Epstein.  

Norwegian Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre said the country’s Crown Princess Mette-Marit showed “poor judgment” in her extensive contact with convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein, after correspondence with her was included in a new release of documents by the U.S. Department of Justice. “The crown princess herself has acknowledged that she exercised poor judgment, and I agree,” Støre told Norwegian broadcaster TV 2 on Sunday. Mette-Marit came under intense scrutiny over the weekend after her name appeared hundreds of times in correspondence with Epstein included in the latest batch of files released Friday. The documents include emails dating from 2011 to 2014 and reveal a familiar tone in the exchanges, as well as the fact that the crown princess spent four days at Epstein’s Palm Beach residence in January 2013. The crown princess on Saturday apologized for her relationship with Epstein and described her contacts with him as “embarrassing,” according to a statement issued by the Norwegian royal palace. “I showed poor judgment and regret having any contact with Epstein at all,” Mette-Marit said in the statement. “Jeffrey Epstein is solely responsible for his actions. I must take responsibility for not having investigated Epstein’s background more thoroughly, and for not realizing sooner what kind of person he was. I deeply regret this, and it is a responsibility I must bear,” the crown princess said. She went on to express her “deep sympathy and solidarity with the victims of the abuses committed by Jeffrey Epstein.” Several of the exchanges with Epstein have drawn particular attention. In one of the messages, Mette-Marit referred to Epstein as “such a sweetheart.” In another exchange, after Epstein said he was on a “wife hunt” in Paris, she replied that “Paris is good for adultery” and added that “Scandis [are] better wife material.” In another email, Mette-Marit asked if it was “inappropriate for a mother to suggest two naked women carrying a surfboard for my 15 yr old sons wallpaper?” The revelations come at a sensitive time for the Norwegian royal family. Mette-Marit’s 29-year-old son, Marius Borg Høiby — who does not hold a royal title — is due to stand trial in Oslo on Tuesday, accused of committing 38 criminal offenses, including the rape of four women and drug-related charges. He denies the most serious accusations and could face up to 10 years in prison if convicted. Mette-Marit’s sister, Princess Märtha Louise, made headlines in 2024 after she married an American self-proclaimed shaman, who, among other things, claimed he predicted the 9/11 attacks on the U.S. Their unusual love story is the subject of a Netflix documentary “Rebel Royals.” The latest release of Epstein files includes references to several prominent politicians and business figures, among them U.S. President Donald Trump, Elon Musk, Bill Gates and former U.K. Ambassador to the U.S. Peter Mandelson, who on Sunday resigned his membership of the Labour Party over his friendship with Epstein. Slovak diplomat Miroslav Lajčák, who also is mentioned in the files, stepped down over the weekend from his role as an adviser to Slovak Prime Minister Robert Fico following the disclosures.

OPTICS SERBIANS PUSHED OUT AS CHINA TAKES OVER A MINING EMPIRE Beijing’s investment is transforming the landscape in Bor — and the lives of the people who call it home. Text and photos by MATTEO TREVISAN in Bor, Serbia Ixeca, a farmer, observes a landslide in his orchard in Slatina, which he believes was caused by irregular operations at the underground mine owned by China’s state-owned group Zijin Mining. In northeastern Serbia, the town of Bor rose around some of Europe’s most significant copper and gold deposits. From the 1940s, the region quickly drew workers from all over Yugoslavia. Majdanpek, located just 70 kilometers away, expanded around another massive reserve, estimated at more than 600 million tons of ore. For decades, these mining centers sustained Yugoslav heavy industry, but today that legacy is increasingly fragile. Since 2018, the mining complex has been taken over by Chinese state-owned group Zijin Mining, which has invested €2.3 billion to increase production. The expansion goes far beyond industry — it is transforming the land and the lives of its inhabitants. Whole families are watching their homes, properties, and memories disappear as settlements are engulfed by the mine. The Serbian government has failed to provide meaningful alternatives for resettlement. Advertisement The environmental toll is profound: forests and rivers are being destroyed, wildlife is under threat, and residents endure some of the most polluted air in Europe. Meanwhile, a growing Chinese workforce — now numbering in the thousands — remains largely segregated in closed camps, seldom mixing with locals, leaving behind a vast yet intangible presence. Bor and Majdanpek illustrate a broader pattern. In 2022, Chinese investment in Serbia equaled the combined input of all 27 EU countries for the first time, raising questions about sovereignty and neocolonial influence. The debate grew sharper after the collapse of a Chinese-renovated railway station in Novi Sad that killed 16 people in 2024, sparking waves of protest. As Zijin Mining continues to expand its footprint, the region and its people are left suspended in a battle between economic profit and the slow erosion of collective memory — the disappearing homes, traditions and history of threatened communities. Feeling the change: Once a small village, the Serbian town of Bor experienced dramatic growth last century following the discovery of large gold and copper deposits. Above, Željko, who has worked at the mine for more than a decade, says that safety regulations have worsened and accidents have increased since China’s state-owned Zijin Mining bought the complex. Željko lost 40 percent of mobility in his right arm following a workplace accident in 2023. Also in the photos above, the Zivkovic family inside their home in Slatina, near Bor. The family’s main source of income is agriculture. In recent years, their land has been expropriated due to the expansion of Zijin Mining’s operations. The son now works as a driver for the mine, like many others in the area who can’t find other employment. CHAPTER 1 THE CHINESE New audience: A Chinese cook in a Chinese restaurant in Bor. The text on her apron could be translated as “I make money by the shovelful.” Next, large screens outside the Zijin Mining headquarters in Bor display videos promoting the company’s activities in the region. The company has brought in thousands of workers from China, housing them in camps within the mining area and preventing them from integrating with the local population. “This is colonization,” says Ixeca, whose family has lived off farming for generations. Now, the expansion of mining activity threatens their livelihood. Some of their lands have already been expropriated and they are suing Zijin Mining. Neighbors? The Chinese and Serbian flags inside a Chinese restaurant in Bor. The contract between Serbia and Zijin Mining remains classified, raising concerns over its legality. The Chinese presence in the area is overwhelming but often invisible. Only Zijin Mining managers and senior staff are allowed to leave the company’s camps, unlike regular workers from China. Leaving a mark: Top, one of the buildings used as offices by Zijin Mining in Bor. Serbia stands out as a focal point of the Chinese footprint not only in the Western Balkans but also across Central and Eastern Europe. Beijing has emerged as the largest individual investor in Serbia. Health risks: Above, an X-ray of the lungs of a woman from Krivelj, a village near Bor, who died of lung cancer at a young age. Her family blames pollution from mining activities. The effects of intensive extraction and smelting are felt across the region. Air quality is a major concern: A report from January 2024 revealed frequent spikes in sulfur dioxide levels around Bor, contributing to both acute and chronic respiratory issues, as well as acid rain. The study also found fine particulate matter containing heavy metals such as lead, cadmium, nickel and arsenic. No systematic assessment of public health has been carried out since Zijin took over operations. Hard at work: Next, a view of the copper and gold mine in Majdanpek. Bor and Majdanpek hold one of the largest copper reserves in the world and one of the biggest gold deposits in Europe. In 2023, Serbia exported approximately 1.06 million tons of copper ores and concentrates, worth $1.46 billion. The main buyer was China. Advertisement CHAPTER 2 THE SERBIANS Perspective: “It’s become like we’re sleeping on gold but dying of cancer,” says 73-year-old Joleht, seen inside her home in Slatina, right. Neighbors say that their homes are slowly collapsing due to the underground copper and gold mining operations. They face cracks and water infiltrations throughout the walls. Anger: People protest against the central government and widespread corruption march through the streets of Majdanpek in February 2025. Dead river: Bottom, the Borska Reka River, notoriously known as one of the most polluted waterways in Europe. It is the main tributary of the Veliki Timok River. Sediment analysis has shown high concentrations of copper, arsenic, and nickel, exceeding remediation thresholds, particularly near mining areas. As a result, the Borska Reka is considered a “dead river,” devoid of aquatic life, with severe environmental impacts that extend to the Danube via the Timok. The Batut Institute of Public Health published a study showing an increased mortality risk for both men and women in Bor across all age groups. Local NGO Ne damo Jadar was founded to demand that the Majdanpek mine comply with environmental regulations and to advocate for solutions for residents whose homes are threatened by the mine’s expansion. Over the years, several incidents of violence have occurred between the NGO’s members and the private guards patrolling the mine. Hunter: Miodrag, a farmer from the village of Slatina, hunts near the land now occupied by Zijin Mining. His family relied heavily on agriculture, but their property has now been reduced to just a few hectares. Miodrag is currently suing the Chinese company, claiming the land was unfairly expropriated. “One day, we’ll have a mine under our house.” He also says that hunting has become impossible due to constant noise and explosions: “I can feel my house shake.” Family business: Father, son, and grandfather from the Jovic family in the yard of their home in Slatina. Some of their farming lands have been expropriated. “It’s over, there’s nothing else to be done,” says Ivica Jovic. “At this point, I accept they’ll take my land, but at least give me another place and let me continue farming.” Jovic has received cease-and-desist letters from Zijin Mining, after allegedly verbally confronting Chinese workers operating on what was once his land. Expansion: One of the many facilities owned by Zijin Mining, near the village of Slatina, just outside of Bor. The city, born thanks to the mine, and the nearby villages are now at risk of disappearing due to its expansion. Advertisement CHAPTER 3 THE FUTURE Staying put: Jasna Bacilovic, with her daughter Katarina Tomić, inside their home in the village of Krivelj. The village is slowly disappearing due to the expansion of the mine, but both Jasna and her entire family are committed to preserving their home, which has belonged to them since the 1800s, and to defending the village. “I don’t want to live anywhere else. This is home. I remember when I was a child, I used to play with my friends on a hill not far from here, but now that hill doesn’t exist anymore. My children may never even see this village because it might disappear forever,” says Tomić. Krivelj used to have up to 22 kafane —family-run taverns and restaurants. Today, only one remains and the village is slowly disappearing. “The village sounds are disappearing. I no longer hear shutters opening, the radio coming from my uncle’s house, or my neighbors talking. I open the window and hear nothing,” says Bacilovic. The departed: The bus stop in Majdanpek covered with death notices of local residents. Today, the municipality of Bor is one of the wealthiest in Serbia, despite local salaries remaining low, as in the rest of the country. The mine has expanded to the point of becoming one with the town. There are plans to relocate the entire community to Metovnica, an undeveloped area with only a few scattered farms, but nothing has been confirmed yet. Keeping watch: Bottom, a resident of Majdanpek looks toward the mine owned by the Chinese company Zijin Mining. An activist who has been fighting for years against pollution and the uncontrolled expansion of the mine, he has received both verbal and physical threats for his social engagement. Last train: A glimpse inside the train station of Bor, now abandoned after a fire that some locals believe was intentional. They suspect Zijin is interested in acquiring the railway land and expanding its operations in the area. Past lives: Below, the black and white photos show houses abandoned due to the expansion of the mine. Many families have sold their homes to Zijin Mining, as the company continues to buy land. The expansion of its activities threatens to wipe out entire villages. Next chapter: “This is not the end of the world, but from here you can see it,” says Aladin Zekypy, pictured with his two children, aged 10 and 7, inside their home, which stands just a few dozen meters from the open-pit mine in Bor. He dreams of one day being able to afford a healthier place for his family.

BRUSSELS — Several EU lawmakers have declared they have a side income but didn’t reveal how much extra money those gigs bring in. According to the MEPs’ code of conduct, lawmakers are supposed to declare any money they make outside of the European Parliament if it’s over €5,000 a year. MEPs earn €8,088 a month after tax and insurance contributions are deducted. The actual provision in the code of conduct says: “If [a remunerated activity undertaken alongside the exercise of the member’s office] generates income, Members shall indicate for each separate item the respective amount of that income and, where relevant, its periodicity.” However, Transparency International shared with POLITICO’s EU Influence newsletter the names of 14 MEPs who had not listed that income. The information was verified by POLITICO and all 14 MEPs were contacted. Raphaël Kergueno, senior policy officer at Transparency International, said: “Without proper monitoring of MEPs’ declarations, and sanctioning for breaches to the code of conduct, EU citizens are left relying on MEPs’ promises alone. The results of this speak for themselves.” Those on the list include Alvise Pérez, a Spanish far-right lawmaker who moonlights as a corruption-hating influencer. He wrote in a declaration to the Parliament last year that the “exact generated income” from his influencing would be updated at the end of each year. However, the amount that he earned since being voted in as an MEP in 2024 has not been revealed — although his records show he was getting €20,000 per month from the side job in the months running up to the election. His team said: “All income received has been duly declared in accordance with the applicable rules.” Then there’s Mario Mantovani, an Italian MEP for the European Conservatives and Reformists, who has had three consulting roles in addition to his parliamentary post; Transparency International says he promised to declare the sums by the end of 2024. He has yet to do so (and didn’t respond to a request for comment) but we know from his records that he was regularly pulling in six-figure sums annually from these roles before this term began. Meanwhile, Michał Wawrykiewicz, a long-time EU lawyer from the European People’s Party who has had clients in the retail, property, telecoms and rail sectors, said he didn’t think he had to declare the earnings with the European Parliament because he had already done so with the Polish parliament. He told POLITICO he had “misunderstood” the rules and added: “I inquired about this with my assistant several times” and “despite her very broad experience in the EP,” she was unaware that he also was supposed to submit declarations to the European Parliament. He said it was “in no way intentional.” Far-right Czech lawmaker Jana Nagyová said she had been “wrongly informed” by her office about income declarations. She added that she did have some side income from regional politics: around €150 per month for being elected to a local parliament and approximately €300 a month from a regional parliament, although the latter stopped last January.  A few of the lawmakers sent info after POLITICO got in touch. Sibylle Berg, a German non-aligned lawmaker, was an author and playwright before joining the European Parliament. Her office sent a document that said she makes €120,000 per year outside of her work as a parliamentarian. “We value transparency and believe that publication obligations support public scrutiny,” said her head of office, Dustin Hoffmann. Greens lawmaker Lena Schilling, who made some extra money via the book she published in 2024 and who flagged her potential earnings to the Parliament ahead of its release, said she hadn’t declared it because it fell below the €5,000 threshold. Her office added that they would update the register nevertheless and also sent over a breakdown of her earnings. Esteban González Pons, a Spanish EPP parliamentarian, said he had published two books in 2025 but wouldn’t be able to confirm the royalties earned until May.  Those who didn’t respond to a request for comment include Domenico Lucano, a lawmaker for The Left group, who flagged that he had done some work for a film production company; and Vladimir Prebilič, a Greens lawmaker who lectures in Ljubljana. Also not responding were Katri Kulmuni, a Renew lawmaker who has various municipal roles in Finland (as well as being a paid board member of a Christian foundation) and Pekka Toveri, a Finnish EPP lawmaker who lists himself as the CEO of his own company. François Kalfon, a French S&D parliamentarian, said he had “not received any remuneration or income from any professional activity,” and that “all necessary steps” had been taken to ensure “full compliance” with the Parliament’s rules on transparency and financial declarations. In Kalfon’s declaration it says “dividends for 2024 not yet defined”. Riho Terras, an Estonian EPP lawmaker who had flagged some potential dividends, told POLITICO: “Everything has been declared.” Socialists and Democrats MEP Elisabeth Grossmann was on the Transparency International list but told POLITICO that she hadn’t worked as a lecturer in Vienna since being elected and hadn’t updated her parliamentary records. Max Griera contributed to this article.

Jamie Dettmer is opinion editor and a foreign affairs columnist at POLITICO Europe. Today’s angry and discombobulating geopolitical landscape is giving rise to noticeably more acrimonious diplomatic exchanges than seen in preceding decades — even sharper than during U.S. President Donald Trump’s first term. This is likely just a reflection of the times we live in: Roiled by shocks and uncertainty, even world leaders and their envoys are on edge. And social media doesn’t help keep exchanges calm and respectful either. Measured speech doesn’t go viral. If you want attention, be disparaging and abrasive. Let’s take Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney’s carefully crafted speech at Davos last week. Carney earned a standing ovation from global and corporate leaders as he bewailed the unfolding great-power rivalry, urging “middle powers” to act together “because if we’re not at the table, we’re on the menu.” Yet, it was Trump’s free-wheeling, sharp-edged speech with its personal criticism of fellow Western leaders — including a jab at French President Emmanuel Macron — that roared on social media. This shift away from traditional diplomatic etiquette toward more confrontational, seemingly no-nonsense and aggressive public-facing communication is very much in keeping with populist styles of leadership. And it’s now shaping an era where antagonistic communication isn’t just tolerated but celebrated and applauded by many. Trump is very much a man of his times. And it’s time Europe finally caught on. Aside from Trump, Russian President Vladimir Putin is also often known to use colloquial and crude language to attack Western and Ukrainian leaders — though noticeably, he never uses such language with Trump. In an address last month, Putin referred to European leaders as podsvinki — little pigs. And before invading Ukraine in February 2022, he used a vulgar Russian rhyme to insinuate Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy needed to be raped. China, too, has been noticeably more menacing in its diplomatic speech in recent years — though it tends to eschew personal invective. The shift began around 2019, when Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi instructed envoys to display a stronger “fighting spirit” to defend Beijing from supposed Western bullying. The abrasive style led to the more aggressive envoys being dubbed “wolf warriors,” after a blockbuster movie in which Chinese commandos vanquish American mercenaries. But driving the trend are Trump and his aides, who can go toe-to-toe with anyone when it comes to put-downs, slurs or retaliation. And if met with pushback, they simply escalate. Hence the avuncular counsel of U.S. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent to Europeans on the Greenland-related tariff threats last week: “Sit back, take a deep breath, do not retaliate.” But here’s the curious thing: While the Russians and Chinese use such language to target their foes, Trump and his senior aides reserve much of their invective for supposed allies, namely Europe with Canada thrown in for good measure. And they’re utterly relentless in doing so — far more than during his first term, when there were still some more traditionally minded folks in the White House to temper or walk back the rhetoric. This all seemed to reach its pinnacle in Davos last week, where it seemed belittling European allies was part of virtually everything the U.S. delegation said in the Swiss ski resort. Bessent couldn’t even restrain himself from insulting Swiss-German fare. And U.S. Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnik appeared almost gleeful in infuriating Europe’s leaders with his combative remarks at a VIP dinner which, according to the Financial Times, not only sparked uproar but prompted European Central Bank President Christine Lagarde to leave the event early. “Only one person booed, and it was Al Gore,” said the U.S. Commerce Department in a statement to media. But others at the event — around 200 people — said there was, indeed, some heckling, though not so much because of the content of Lutnik’s criticism, some of which Europeans have also made about net zero, energy policy, globalization and regulation. According to two attendees, who asked to be granted anonymity to speak freely, it was in reaction to the contemptuous tone instead. Likewise, Trump’s delegation — the largest ever brought from Washington to Davos — didn’t miss a beat in pressing America First themes, making it clear the U.S. would prioritize its own economic interests regardless of how it affects allies. “When America shines, the world shines,” Lutnik said. China, too, has been noticeably more menacing in its diplomatic speech in recent years — though it tends to eschew personal invective. | Pool photo by Vincent Thian/EPA As the forum unfolded, however, U.S. Vice President JD Vance insisted that what was fueling such criticism wasn’t hatred for the old continent, but that it was more a matter of tough love. “They think that we hate Europe. We don’t. We love Europe,” he said. “We love European civilization. We want it to preserve itself.” That in itself seems pretty condescending. Tough love or not, Europe-bashing plays well with the MAGA crowd back home who feel Europeans are the haughty ones, lacking gratitude, freeloading and in dire need of subordination — and squeals of complaint merely incite more of the same. To that end, Zelenskyy made a telling a point: European leaders shouldn’t waste their time trying to change Trump but rather focus on themselves. Time to stop complaining about America First and get on with putting Europe First.

OPTICS HOW SOVIET SOLDIERS BECAME THE LATEST CASUALTIES OF RUSSIA’S WAR ON UKRAINE The World War II fallen Moscow won’t claim — and Latvia can’t lay to rest. Text and photos by BENJAMIN MACK-JACKSON in Riga Only the dead, it’s often said, have seen the end of war. In Latvia, thousands of Soviet soldiers killed in World War II are still waiting for that certainty. In a field outside Priekule, in the country’s rural Courland region, volunteers from Legenda Military Archaeology fan out across the soil in search of the missing. The group — an international network of enthusiasts and supporters — has spent years recovering the remains of the fallen from World War II and providing them a proper burial. On a chilly morning, the volunteers sweep the ground with metal detectors, acting on a tip from a landowner. The devices hum constantly: spent bullets, twisted shrapnel, fragments of ordnance. Then a shout goes up across the field. A rusted Soviet helmet has appeared in the churned earth. The diggers kneel and clear away soil until a jawbone emerges, followed by the full skeleton of a soldier who died here more than 80 years ago. Advertisement Until recently, this discovery would have set in motion a familiar bureaucratic chain, ending with remains repatriated to Russia or interred in a Soviet military cemetery in Latvia. But now the diggers stop with a different understanding. This soldier is not going anywhere. The war that killed him ended generations ago; the war that keeps him from resting peacefully began on February 24, 2022. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has frozen the system for transferring Soviet war dead to the Russian Federation, the legal successor to the Soviet Union. Moscow no longer responds to notifications. Latvian authorities no longer receive instructions. As a result, thousands of recovered bodies remain in limbo — unclaimed by Russia, unburied by Latvia and trapped in a conflict that did not exist when these soldiers died. The departed: Tālis Ešmits, 61, seen above, is the founder of Legenda Military Archaeology. When his volunteer group finds the remains of German Army soldiers in Latvian soil, it stores the bodies in small black coffins (top) and regularly buries them with guidance from the German War Graves Commission. Remains of Soviet soldiers are a different story. Ešmits estimates that since the Russians cut ties in 2022, Legenda has recovered the remains of more than 3,000 Red Army soldiers that Moscow refuses to take. What to do with them remains an open question. Aftermath: Western Latvia’s Courland region still bears the scars of one of World War II’s most brutal battlegrounds. From late 1944 to Germany’s surrender in May of 1945, Soviet forces encircled nearly 300,000 German soldiers here, in what would become known as the Courland Pocket. Fighting was relentless, with tens of thousands of casualties on both sides. Many of those who perished were never recovered and are deemed “missing in action” to this day. Due process: When a body is found, it’s carefully exhumed and placed in a plastic bag. Anything found on or near the body — medals, insignia, rings, watches — stays with the bones. Unlike the German soldiers that Legenda recovers, Red Army soldiers did not carry identification discs that can be traced in archival records. As a result, putting a name to the body is often quite difficult. Sometimes makeshift plaques or markers are found near a body, acting as temporary grave markers with details about the soldier and when they died. However these objects are often found above mass graves that can contain dozens of soldiers. Backyard surprise: Viktors Duks, 56, one of Legenda’s founding members, got involved after finding several Soviet soldiers buried on his countryside property. “In 1994, I contacted the Russian Embassy, but they said they weren’t interested,” he said. “They told me all their soldiers were already buried. I didn’t know what to do with the soldiers buried in my yard.” His dilemma wasn’t unique. Across Latvia, others were searching for answers too, leading to the formation of Legenda. Task force: The group employs the same methods that civilian cemeteries use to exhume bodies. Ešmits says it’s the only way that they will be able to make an impact. Today, Legenda has dozens of eager volunteers from across the European Union, the United Kingdom or the United States. Most have no professional archaeological experience. Above, Krzysztof Gernand, 23, one of Legenda’s youngest members. He travels to Latvia from Poland for the organization’s international expeditions. “I simply haven’t met people from all over the world who were so close-knit, so united, and did their work out of passion, not for money,” he said. “There is no other solidarity like this.” Advertisement Past lives: Much of why history is so visible and divisive in Latvia lies in its experience of two occupations. The Soviet Union invaded and annexed Latvia in 1940. Nazi Germany’s invasion a year later was seen by many Latvians as a liberation, only for the new arrivals to impose their own brutality. When the Red Army returned throughout 1944 and 1945, most Latvians saw it as a renewed occupation, not a liberation — a view sharply at odds with Moscow’s triumphant mythology. Since regaining independence from the Soviet Union in 1991, Latvians have worked to rebuild a truthful account of the war, free from Soviet censors. Resentment: Roberts Sipenieks, above, a council member in Saldus, a city at the heart of the Courland region, believes that Russia is effectively engaged in a hybrid war with Latvia. “We don’t have any illusions about Russia,” he said. “Maybe somewhere in the Western world, especially in the United States, some people have illusions that they could change and somehow end this war now. They are naive about Russia. They don’t know Russia.” Memories: When Latvia was under Soviet control, numerous political and military monuments were erected that glorified the regime and the Red Army. Many are now being removed.  Legacy: “The war in Ukraine revived collective memories of past Soviet occupation among many Latvians,” said Jānis Tomaševskis, historian of the War and Military History Research Section at The Latvian War Museum. “As a result, political elites and public institutions have framed Russia’s aggression not only as an attack on Ukraine — but as part of a broader Russian imperial legacy that also victimized the Baltic states.” Storage: Since 2022, the question of what to do with the remains of Soviet soldiers has been unresolved. Enter the “Bone Depot,” as the Legenda team likes to call it. On a small farm in rural Latvia, a large barn houses the remains that are in limbo, waiting to be buried or repatriated. It’s no state-of-the-art facility, but it’s the best Legenda volunteers can muster. Once an expedition is complete, the bagged bodies are transported here to be inventoried and examined. Femurs and clavicles are measured, teeth are cleaned to look for dental work, and the cranium is examined. Detailed notes are made and kept with the body. When the time comes, such information could prove vital to identifying the soldier. Below, a volunteer looks at a medallion from World War I. Next, a Red Army badge from World War II. Advertisement The future Classified: At Legenda’s “Bone Depot,” stacks of bagged bodies containing the remains of Soviet soldiers (right), and small coffins with the remains of German soldiers, are spread throughout the barn. They are separated based on when and where the remains were uncovered or what unit of the Red Army or German Army they were likely serving in when they were killed. By the numbers: “The numbers say that up to 500,000 soldiers died during the two world wars on Latvian territory,” explained Ešmits. “But fewer than half of them ended up in cemeteries.” Since Legenda Military Archaeology was founded in 1999, they have recovered an estimated 25,000 fallen soldiers. An estimated 20,000 have received a proper burial on Latvian soil or were repatriated to their countries of origin. Carry on:  While the fate of the remains of thousands of Red Army soldiers has yet to be determined, Ešmits, Legenda’s founder, says the politics of today matter less than the humanity of the soldiers he recovers. “Humans are humans,” Ešmits said. “We have to show care and respect to the dead … I come from a family of Latvian farmers,” he explained. “You start working on one side of the field, and no matter what, you finish on the other side.” Closure: “Most of these soldiers were conscripted against their will,” Ešmits said. “And their fate was to die in Latvia.”

BRUSSELS ― EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas privately told lawmakers the state of the world meant it might be a “good moment” to start drinking. Kallas told leaders of the political groups in the European Parliament that while she is not much of a drinker now may be the time to start given events around the globe, according to two people who were in the room. She was speaking around the same time as foreign ministers from Greenland and Denmark were meeting U.S. Vice President JD Vance and Secretary of State Marco Rubio over Donald Trump’s threats to seize the Arctic island. The EU’s top diplomat ― who coordinates the bloc’s foreign policy on behalf of the 27 governments and the European Commission ― cracked the joke in a meeting of the Conference of Presidents, a meeting of the Parliament’s group leaders. Her comments came after top MEPs started wishing each other a happy new year. The same MEPs added that global events meant it wasn’t that happy, according to people in the room. With fears in Europe that Trump might annex Greenland, mass protests against the Islamist regime in Iran, as well as the ongoing conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza and the U.S. operation in Venezuela, geopolitics has become the EU’s most pressing issue. One of Kallas’ most recent moves was to tell POLITICO that she was prepared to propose fresh sanctions against Iran following the government crackdown that has reportedly killed hundreds of people. Kallas’ spokesperson did not immediately respond to a request for comment.

Andrea Carlo is a British-Italian researcher and journalist living in Rome. His work has been published in various outlets, including TIME, Euronews and the Independent. Last month, UNESCO designated Italian cuisine part of the world’s “intangible cultural heritage.” This wasn’t the first time such an honor was bestowed upon food in some form — French haute cuisine and Korean kimchi fermentation, among others, have been similarly recognized. But it was the first time a nation’s cuisine in its entirety made the list. So, as the U.N. agency acknowledged the country’s “biocultural diversity” and its “blend of culinary traditions […] associated with the use of raw materials and artisanal food preparation techniques,” Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni reacted with expected pride. This is “a victory for Italy,” she said. And prestige aside — Italy already tops UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites — it isn’t hard to see the potential benefits this designation might entail. One study even suggests the UNESCO nod alone could boost Italian tourism by up to 8 percent. But behind this evident soft power win also lies a political agenda, which has turned “Italian cuisine” into a powerful weapon for the country’s right-wing government. For Meloni’s government, food is all the rage. It permeates every aspect of political life. From promoting “Made in Italy” products to blocking EU nutrition labelling scores and banning lab-grown meat, Rome has been doing its utmost to regulate what’s on Italian plates. In fact, during Gaza protests in Rome in September, Meloni was sat in front of the Colosseum for a “Sunday lunch” as part of her government’s long-running campaign to make the coveted list. Clearly, the prime minister has made Italian cuisine one of the main courses of her political menu. And all of this can be pinpointed to a phenomenon political scientists call “gastronationalism,” whereby food and its production are used to fuel identitarian narratives — a trend the Italian far right has latched onto with particular gusto. There are two main principles involving Italian gastronationalism: The notion that the country’s culinary traditions must be protected from “foreign contamination,” and that its recipes must be enshrined to prevent any “tinkering.” And the effects of this gastronationalism now stretch from political realm all the way to the world of social media “rage-bait,” with a deluge of TikTok and Instagram content lambasting “culinary sins” like adding cream to carbonara or putting pineapple on pizza. At the crux of this gastronationalism, though, lies the willful disregard of two fundamental truths: First, foreign influence has contributed mightily to what Italian cuisine is today; and second, what is considered to be “Italian cuisine” is neither as old nor as set in stone as gastronationalists would like to admit. Europe, as a continent, is historically poor in its selection of indigenous produce — and Italy is no exception. The remarkable variety of the country’s cuisine isn’t due to some geographic anomaly, rather, it is the byproduct of centuries of foreign influence combined with a largely favorable climate: Citrus fruits imported by Arab settlers in the Middle Ages, basil from the Indian subcontinent through ancient Greek trading routes, pasta-making traditions from East Asia, and tomatoes from the Americas. Lying at the crossroads of the Mediterranean and home to major trading outposts, Italy was a sponge for cultural cross-pollination, which enriched its culinary heritage. To speak of the “purity” of Italian food is inherently ahistorical. This wasn’t the first time such an honor was bestowed upon food in some form — French haute cuisine and Korean kimchi fermentation, among others, have been similarly recognized. | Anthony Wallace/AFP via Getty Images But even more controversial is acknowledging that the concept of “Italian cuisine” is a relatively recent construct — one largely borne from post-World War II efforts to both unite a culturally and politically fragmented country, and to market its international appeal. From north to south, not only is Italy’s cuisine remarkably diverse, but most of its iconic dishes today would have been alien to those living hardly a century ago. Back then, Italy was an agrarian society that largely fed itself with legume-rich foods. Take my great-grandmother from Lake Como — raised on a diet of polenta and lake fish — who had never heard of pizza prior to the 1960s. “The mythology [of gastronationalism] has made complex recipes — recipes which would have bewildered our grandmothers — into an exercise of national pride-building,” said Laura Leuzzi, an Italian historian at Glasgow’s Robert Gordon University. Food historian Alberto Grandi took that argument a step forward, titling his latest book — released to much furor — “Italian cuisine does not exist.” From carbonara to tiramisù, many beloved Italian classics are relatively recent creations, not much older than the culinary “blasphemies” from across the pond, like chicken parmesan or Hawaiian pizza. Even more surprising is the extent of U.S. influence on contemporary Italian food itself. Pizza, for instance, only earned its red stripes when American pizza-makers began adding tomato sauce to the dough, in turn influencing pizzaioli back in Italy. And yet, some Italian politicians, like Minister of Agriculture Francesco Lollobrigida, have called for investigations into brands promoting supposedly misleadingly “Italian sounding” products, such as carbonara sauces using “inauthentic” ingredients like pancetta. Lollobrigida would do well to revisit the original written recipe of carbonara, published in a 1954 cookbook, which actually called for the use of pancetta and Gruyère cheese — quite unlike its current pecorino, guanciale and egg yolk-based sauce. Simply put, Italian cuisine wasn’t just exported by the diaspora — it is also the product of the diaspora. One study even suggests the UNESCO nod alone could boost Italian tourism by up to 8 percent. | Michael Nguyen/NurPhoto via Getty Images What makes it so rich and beloved is that it has continued to evolve through time and place, becoming a source of intergenerational cohesion, as noted by UNESCO. Static “sacredness” is fundamentally antithetical to a cuisine that’s constantly reinventing itself, both at home and abroad. The profound ignorance underpinning Italian gastronationalism could be considered almost comedic if it weren’t so perfidious — a seemingly innocuous tool in a broader arsenal of weaponry, deployed to score cheap political points. Most crucially, it appeals directly to emotion in a country where food has been unwittingly dragged into a culture war. “They’re coming for nonna’s lasagna” content regularly makes the rounds on Facebook, inflaming millions against minorities, foreigners, vegans, the left and more. And the real kicker? Every nonna makes her lasagna differently. Hopefully, UNESCO’s recognition can serve as a moment of reflection in a country where food has increasingly been turned into a source of division. Italian cuisine certainly merits recognition and faces genuine threats — the impact of organized crime and the effects of climate change on crop growth biggest among them. But it shouldn’t become an unwitting participant in an ideological agenda that runs counter to its very spirit. For now, perhaps it’s best if our government kept politics off the dinner table.