Laura Thornton is the senior director for democracy programs at the McCain Institute. She spent more than two decades in Asia and the former Soviet Union with the National Democratic Institute. Earlier this month, I spoke at a conference in Bucharest for Eastern Europe’s democracy activists and leaders. I was discussing foreign malign influence operations, particularly around elections, highlighting Russia’s hybrid war in Moldova, when a Hungarian participant pointed out that U.S. President Donald Trump had offered Hungary’s illiberal strongman Viktor Orbán a one-year reprieve for complying with U.S. sanctions for using Russian oil and gas. With Hungarian elections around the corner and this respite being a direct relief to Orbán’s economy, “Is that not election interference?” she asked. The next day, while at the Moldova Security Forum in Chișinău, a Polish government official expressed his deep concern about sharing intelligence with the current U.S. administration. While he had great respect for the embassy in Warsaw, he noted a lack of trust in some leaders in Washington and his worry that intelligence would get leaked, in the worst case to Russia — as had happened during Trump’s first term. My week came to an end at a two-day workshop for democracy activists, all who described the catastrophic impact that the U.S. Agency for International Development’s (USAID) elimination had on their work, whether that be protecting free and fair elections, combating disinformation campaigns or supporting independent media. “It’s not just about the money. It’s the loss of the U.S. as a democratic partner,” said one Georgian participant. Others then described how this withdrawal had been an extraordinary gift to Russia, China and other autocratic regimes, becoming a main focus of their disinformation campaigns. According to one Moldovan participant, “The U.S. has abandoned Moldova” was now a common Russian narrative, while Chinese messaging in the global south was also capitalizing on the end of USAID to paint Washington as an unreliable ally. Having spent a good deal of my career tracking malign foreign actors who undermine democracy around the world and coming up with strategies to defend against them, this was a rude reality check. I had to ask myself: “Wait, are we the bad guys?” It would be naive to suggest that the U.S. has always been a good faith actor, defending global democracy throughout its history. After all, America has meddled in many countries’ internal struggles, supporting leaders who didn’t have their people’s well-being or freedom in mind. But while it has fallen short in the past, there was always broad bipartisan agreement over what the U.S. should be: a reliable ally; a country that supports those less fortunate, stands up against tyranny worldwide and is a beacon of freedom for human rights defenders. America’s values and interests were viewed as intertwined — particularly the belief that a world with more free and open democracies would benefit the U.S. As the late Senator John McCain famously said: “Our interests are our values, and our values are our interests.” At the Moldova Security Forum in Chișinău, a Polish government official expressed his deep concern about sharing intelligence with the current U.S. administration. | Artur Widak/Getty Images I have proudly seen this born out in my work. I’ve lived in several countries that have had little to offer the U.S. with regards to trade, extractive industries or influence, and yet we supported their health, education and agriculture programs. We also stood up for defenders of democracy and freedom fighters around the world, with little material benefit to ourselves. I’ve worked with hundreds of foreign aid and NGO workers in my life, and I can say not one of them was in it for a “good trade deal” or to colonize resources. But today’s U.S. foreign policy has broken from this approach. It has abandoned the post-World War II consensus on allies and the value of defending freedom, instead revolving around transactions and deal-making, wielding tariffs to punish or reward, and defining allies based on financial benefit rather than shared democratic values. There are new ideological connections taking place as well — they’re just not the democratic alliances of the past. At the Munich Security Forum earlier this year, U.S. Vice President JD Vance chose to meet with the far-right Alternative for Germany party rather than then-Chancellor Olaf Scholz. The Conservative Political Action Committee has also served as a transatlantic bridge to connect far-right movements in Europe to those in the U.S., providing a platform to strongmen like Orbán. The recently released U.S. National Security Strategy explicitly embraces this pivot away from values toward more transactional alliances, as well as a fondness for “patriotic European parties” and a call to “resist” the region’s “current trajectory” — a clear reference to the illiberal, far-right movements in Europe. Meanwhile, according to Harvard University’s school of public health, USAID’s closure has tragically caused hundreds of thousands of deaths, while simultaneously kneecapping the work of those fighting for freedom, human rights and democracy. And according to Moldovan organizations I’ve spoken with, while the EU and others continue to assist them in their fight against Russia’s hybrid attacks ahead of this year’s September elections, the American withdrawal is de facto helping the Kremlin’s efforts. It should have come as no surprise to me that our partners are worried and wondering whose side the U.S. is really on. But I also believe that while a country’s foreign policy often reflects the priorities and values of that nation as a whole, Americans can still find a way to shift this perception. Alliances aren’t only built nation-to-nation — they can take place at the subnational level, creating bonds between democratic cities or states in the U.S. with like-minded local governments elsewhere. Just like Budapest doesn’t reflect its anti-democratic national leadership, we can find connections and share lessons learned. Moreover, partnerships can be forged at the civil society level too. Many American democracy and civic organizations, journalists and foundations firmly believe in a pro-democracy U.S. foreign policy, and they want to build communities with democratic actors globally. At a meeting in Prague last month, a former German government official banged their hand on the table, emphatically stating: “The transatlantic relationship is dead!” And I get it. I understand that the democratic world may well be tempted to cut the U.S. off as an ally and partner. But to them I’d like to say that it’s not our democracy organizations, funding organizations and broader government that abandoned them when national leadership changed. Relationships can take on many shapes, layers and connections, and on both sides of the Atlantic, those in support of democracy must now find new creative avenues of cooperation and support. I hope our friends don’t give up on us so easily.

Mathias Döpfner is chair and CEO of Axel Springer, POLITICO’s parent company. America and Europe have been transmitting on different wavelengths for some time now. And that is dangerous — especially for Europe. The European reactions to the new U.S. National Security Strategy paper and to Donald Trump’s recent criticism of the Old Continent were, once again, reflexively offended and incapable of accepting criticism: How dare he, what an improper intrusion! But such reactions do not help; they do harm. Two points are lost in these sour responses. First: Most Americans criticize Europe because the continent matters to them. Many of those challenging Europe — even JD Vance or Trump, even Elon Musk or Sam Altman — emphasize this repeatedly. The new U.S. National Security Strategy, scandalized above all by those who have not read it, states explicitly: “Our goal should be to help Europe correct its current trajectory. We will need a strong Europe to help us successfully compete, and to work in concert with us to prevent any adversary from dominating Europe.” And Trump says repeatedly, literally or in essence, in his interview with POLITICO: “I want to see a strong Europe.” The transatlantic drift is also a rupture of political language. Trump very often simply says what he thinks — sharply contrasting with many European politicians who are increasingly afraid to say what they believe is right. People sense the castration of thought through a language of evasions. And they turn away. Or toward the rabble-rousers. My impression is that our difficult American friends genuinely want exactly what they say they want: a strong Europe, a reliable and effective partner. But we do not hear it — or refuse to hear it. We hear only the criticism and dismiss it. Criticism is almost always a sign of involvement, of passion. We should worry far more if no criticism arrived. That would signal indifference — and therefore irrelevance. (By the way: Whether we like the critics is of secondary importance.) Responding with hauteur is simply not in our interest. It would be wiser — as Kaja Kallas rightly emphasized — to conduct a dialogue that includes self-criticism, a conversation about strengths, weaknesses and shared interests, and to back words with action on both sides. Which brings us to the second point: Unfortunately, much of the criticism is accurate. Anyone who sees politics as more than a self-absorbed administration of the status quo must concede that for decades Europe has delivered far too little — or nothing at all. Not in terms of above-average growth and prosperity, nor in terms of affordable energy. Europe does not deliver on deregulation or debureaucratization; it does not deliver on digitalization or innovation driven by artificial intelligence. And above all: Europe does not deliver on a responsible and successful migration policy. The world that wishes Europe well looked to the new German government with great hope. Capital flows on the scale of trillions waited for the first positive signals to invest in Germany and Europe. For it seemed almost certain that the world’s third-largest economy would, under a sensible, business-minded and transatlantic chancellor, finally steer a faltering Europe back onto the right path. The disappointment was all the more painful. Aside from the interior minister, the digital minister and the economics minister, the new government delivers in most areas the opposite of what had been promised before the election. The chancellor likes to blame the vice chancellor. The vice chancellor blames his own party. And all together they prefer to blame the Americans and their president. Instead of a European fresh start, we see continued agony and decline. Germany still suffers from its National Socialist trauma and believes that if it remains pleasantly average and certainly not excellent, everyone will love it. France is now paying the price for its colonial legacy in Africa and finds itself — all the way up to a president driven by political opportunism — in the chokehold of Islamist and antisemitic networks. In Britain, the prime minister is pursuing a similar course of cultural and economic submission. And Spain is governed by socialist fantasists who seem to take real pleasure in self-enfeeblement and whose “genocide in Gaza” rhetoric mainly mobilizes bored, well-heeled daughters of the upper middle class. Hope comes from Finland and Denmark, from the Baltic states and Poland, and — surprisingly — from Italy. There, the anti-democratic threats from Russia, China and Iran are assessed more realistically. Above all, there is a healthy drive to be better and more successful than others. From a far weaker starting point, there is an ambition for excellence. What Europe needs is less wounded pride and more patriotism defined by achievement. Unity and decisive action in defending Ukraine would be an obvious example — not merely talking about European sovereignty but demonstrating it, even in friendly dissent with the Americans. (And who knows, that might ultimately prompt a surprising shift in Washington’s Russia policy.) That, coupled with economic growth through real and far-reaching reforms, would be a start. After which Europe must tackle the most important task: a fundamental reversal of a migration policy rooted in cultural self-hatred that tolerates far too many newcomers who want a different society, who hold different values, and who do not respect our legal order. If all of this fails, American criticism will be vindicated by history. The excuses for why a European renewal is supposedly impossible or unnecessary are merely signs of weak leadership. The converse is also true: where there is political will, there is a way. And this way begins in Europe — with the spirit of renewal of a well-understood “Europe First” (what else?) — and leads to America. Europe needs America. America needs Europe. And perhaps both needed the deep crisis in the transatlantic relationship to recognize this with full clarity. As surprising as it may sound, at this very moment there is a real opportunity for a renaissance of a transatlantic community of shared interests. Precisely because the situation is so deadlocked. And precisely because pressure is rising on both sides of the Atlantic to do things differently. A trade war between Europe and America strengthens our shared adversaries. The opposite would be sensible: a New Deal between the EU and the U.S. Tariff-free trade as a stimulus for growth in the world’s largest and third-largest economies — and as the foundation for a shared policy of interests and, inevitably, a joint security policy of the free world. This is the historic opportunity that Friedrich Merz could now negotiate with Donald Trump. As Churchill said: “Never waste a good crisis!”

THE TRUMP EFFECT: HOW ONE MAN’S POLITICS REWIRED EUROPE From defense to trade to climate policy, Trump’s second term has shaken Europe’s foundations and forced leaders across the continent to adapt to a new transatlantic reality. By POLITICO Illustration by Jiyeun Kang for POLITICO Even with an ocean apart, there isn’t an industry in Europe that hasn’t been impacted by President Donald Trump’s actions.   Businesses and consumers alike are reeling from Trump’s tariffs. Climate advocates are reeling from the U.S. pulling out of major treaties, including the Paris Agreement. National budgets are being strained by Trump’s demand for more defense spending from European countries, while militaries are rebuilding their ranks and rethinking their strategies. Politicians are seizing the opportunity to stand out in this moment of crisis — some as protectors against Trump’s rampage and others as acolytes of MAGA-style populism.   It’s difficult to even track the impact of Trump 2.0 due to its scope, which is why POLITICO Magazine reached out to eight different thought leaders in Europe and the U.S. and asked: What’s the biggest way Trump has changed Europe? Answers varied from the demise of NATO to changing political identities to setbacks in climate action. A common sentiment, however, is that this is a sink-or-swim moment for Europe.   Here’s what they said.   ‘THE STRATEGIC HOLIDAY FOR EUROPE IS OVER’   Attila Demkó is a security policy analyst and writer based in Hungary.  Trump shattered the illusion that what many believe to be “common values” in Europe are, indeed, common. As it turns out, some of these mostly liberal, left and far-left values are not shared by all. The emphasis on multiculturalism, Wilkommenskultur (the German term for a welcoming culture, especially toward refugees), excessive focus on political correctness and gender issues has created a rift, and the deep divide is not only between Europe and the U.S., but also within Europe itself. While smaller European countries (such as Hungary or Slovakia) and non-mainstream parties (such as France’s National Rally, Poland’s PiS and Germany’s AfD) that oppose Wilkommenskultur, European federalism, and propose a Europe of nations, could be ignored and quarantined as fringe, Trump and the American right cannot be ignored. The rift is real and goes through right in the middle of most Western societies.  Trump also made it clear that the strategic holiday for Europe is over. The continent must pay full price for its own defense, and almost full price for the support for Ukraine. So far, in both cases, the bloc has talked the talk but hasn’t walked the walk. Trump may finally teach Europe to walk — or if it can’t walk, at least get it to stop dreaming and preaching.  ‘TRUMP MAY BE DOING EUROPE A FAVOR’  Kay Bailey Hutchison is a former U.S. Ambassador to NATO.  By challenging Europe to do more in its own defense, President Trump may be doing Europe a favor. If Europeans can adopt a plan to work together to provide military equipment and technology, they will emerge stronger. Increasing defense capabilities, with each country contributing, will also enable significant economic benefits.  Since World War II, Europe has depended on the U.S. for many security guarantees. Like previous American presidents — Republican and Democrat — President Trump has said it is time to make security responsibility more evenly divided among our allies. For maximum results, a more equal share of security must also produce interoperable assets. Organized by NATO, all willing allies and trusted partners could share in building and manufacturing equipment and hardware, while military training and increased exercises could prepare all NATO countries and trusted partners for joint defense when there are attacks of varying severity.   If Europe wisely uses the 5 percent of GDP it promised for defense priorities and works in concert with the U.S. and trusted allies, the world will be safer for those who seek freedom — and Europe will be regarded as a significant and reliable global leader.  ‘ONE OF THE STRONGEST ALLIANCES IN MODERN TIMES HAS WEAKENED’  Manfred Elsig is professor of international relations at the World Trade Institute of the University of Bern.   From an international relations perspective, the biggest way Trump has changed Europe is by destabilizing the U.S.–European partnership. Over the course of Trump’s two presidencies, the bloc has come to realize that the U.S. is no longer a reliable and close partner. Trump has eroded the most important political capital in the transatlantic cooperation: trust — the bedrock of the post-World War II partnership between the U.S. and Europe. The transregional security pact, with NATO at its core, has been badly weakened, denting Karl Deutsch’s infamous “security community” built on a shared sense of values and “we-ness.” And as a result, Europe must quickly rethink its security architecture and take more independent action.  Andrew Harnik/Getty Images Another area where we’re witnessing negative effects of the Trump presidency is the transatlantic marketplace. Primarily, the “trade community” is no longer a model of relatively free, fair and stable trade, and investment relations are leading to less growth and innovation. The secondary effects are trade diversion and growing pressures to protect markets from foreign competition. As a result, Europe will look elsewhere for trade partners that believe in a rules-based system in an attempt to de-risk and secure its supply chains. Economic security considerations will be increasingly mainstreamed into Europe’s international economic agenda, and more stimulus for bloc-building can be expected as well.   Finally, Europe’s investments in climate diplomacy and development cooperation are suffering a setback due to the U.S. “withdrawal doctrine” that started in 2016. The U.S. is either bypassing or selectively instrumentalizing international law, eroding global solidarity and sidelining the ambitious policies the planet urgently needs. As a result, Europe will struggle to find partners at the global level, and will continue on its path to act unilaterally on both climate and development policies.  ‘EUROPE NEEDS TO FACE THE REALITY OF BEING A RESOURCE-POOR CONTINENT’  Heather Grabbe is a senior fellow at Bruegel, a Brussels-based economic think tank.   When it comes to climate and the environment, Trump has distracted Europe from addressing its long-term resource vulnerabilities by creating panic over defense and trade. By creating crises around U.S. military support against Russian aggression and tariffs that hit the trade-dependent European economy, Trump has Europe’s leaders on the defensive and has forced them to focus on short-term security. Of course, these are important issues, but they divert political attention and public budgets away from measures that would bring longer-term security from climate impacts, volatile commodity markets and fragile supply chains by investing in climate resilience and enhancing resource productivity. Russian President Vladimir Putin may or may not invade Europe, and Trump may or may not help protect us, but climate change and resource insecurity will certainly damage the European economy.  Europe needs to face the reality of being a resource-poor continent, not only in fossil fuels but also in many other raw materials. And while Trump is trying to maintain Europe’s dependence on U.S. LNG as a replacement for Russian gas, that is the most expensive way of fuelling the economy it also slows down our transition to true energy security. Fossil fuel subsidies of more than €100 billion a year keep Europe vulnerable to the U.S. and other exporters, rather than spending taxpayers’ money on electrification, enlarging renewable energy production and building the grids and interconnectors that would bring us independence.  ‘THE TURBULENCE THE U.S. HAS UNLEASHED GLOBALLY HAS FORCED MANY EUROPEANS TO GROW UP’   Aliona Hlivco is founder and CEO of St. James’s Foreign Policy Group and a former Ukrainian politician.   The turbulence the U.S. has unleashed globally has forced many Europeans to grow up. They have finally realized they can no longer rest in the comfort of predictable trade deals or rely on the continent’s famously slow but steady regulatory machinery to keep things ticking along. Europe has woken up to the fact that it must shift from the pace and mentality of an aircraft carrier — vast, heavy and resourceful, lumbering toward a destination set out years in advance — to that of a maritime drone: fast, agile, nimble and capable of striking with precision at exactly the right place and time.   This new agility is felt unevenly across the continent but is unmistakably emerging. Germany is finally, and understandably, overcoming its post-World War II paralysis, reclaiming its role as an economic power as well as the “Eastern flank of NATO,” as one Bundeswehr official put it to me earlier this year. France, long a champion of “strategic autonomy,” has at last found the space to act on it. The Northern European nations — Scandinavia and the Baltics — are leading Europe’s defence innovation, rearmament and the next generation of deterrence, including by taking the lead in supporting Ukraine. They also built a sustainable and crucial bridge with the U.K. through the Joint Expeditionary Force — keeping Europe’s only nuclear power other than France closely tied to the continent after Brexit. Military strength may well become the decisive factor determining who leads Europe in the next 50 years, and in that regard, Poland is rapidly emerging as one of the EU’s most powerful members.   Europe is changing. It can no longer afford inertia or the illusion that statements can substitute for action. While Brussels continues to grapple with Washington’s unpredictability — possibly beyond Trump’s second term — European countries are seizing the moment. In an era of uncertain geopolitical multilateralism, they are playing their best cards, hoping to secure the breakthroughs that redefine Europe’s future.  ‘TRUMP’S PRESIDENCY HAS HAD A PROFOUND AND CONTRADICTORY EFFECT ON EUROPEAN POLITICAL IDENTITY’  Aleksandra Sojka is an associate professor of European politics at the University Carlos III in Madrid.   Trump’s biggest impact on Europe has been forcing the bloc to confront its strategic dependence on the U.S. His second presidency has fundamentally shaken the transatlantic alliance, exposing Europe’s critical weakness: the absence of genuine defense and security capabilities independent of American support. Trump’s wavering commitment to NATO and inconsistent support for Ukraine have made European rearmament an urgent necessity, shifting public opinion beyond the political elite. And this pressure has created remarkable convergence among European leaders, enabling decisions that were previously politically impossible — such as excluding defense spending from budget deficit calculations and allocating funds for coordinated European military procurement and shared defense initiatives. While disagreements remain over specific strategies, this fundamental shift is undeniable.  Kay Nietfeld/picture alliance via Getty Images Beyond defense, I consider Trump’s presidency has had a profound and contradictory effect on European political identity. His administration’s divergence from traditional European support for multilateralism as well as the EU’s positions on climate, trade and democratic norms have energized both sides of Europe’s political conflict. On the one hand, it has emboldened Euroskeptic and populist parties, providing external validation for their narratives on issues like national sovereignty and migration. On the other hand, it has triggered a sort of rally-around-the-flag effect with Europeans who increasingly value the achievements of integration and the protections of their democracies. Trust in EU institutions has recovered to pre-crisis levels, and support for bloc-wide policies stands at an historic high. In essence, Trump could inadvertently become a catalyst for European unity and self-reliance, even as he amplifies divisions within European societies.  ‘GIVING US A DIFFERENT DYSTOPIAN VISION OF ONE OF OUR POSSIBLE FUTURES’   Sunder Katwala is director of British Future.    Trump may have changed Europe most by giving us a different dystopian vision of one of our possible futures. Our leaders and the public alike lack a mental map or language for this unfamiliar world in which an American government appears to present a new threat from the West to our peace, prosperity and democracy. While that persists, it means hard work rethinking our assumptions across foreign policy and defense, trade and economics, technology and democracy.  The most significant impact may be political. The Trump administration’s effort to export this particular vision of conflict and polarization has turned America’s traditional soft power to attract into a deterrent, as it is a form of populism unpopular enough to create a boomerang effect. By reframing the choices on offer in our domestic politics, the challenge has catalyzed the search for antidotes among the anti-Trump majorities of our societies, and an appetite among citizens to coalesce around the most viable anti-Trumpist choices when choosing our own governments in these fragmented times.  ‘TRUMP’S ERA HAS HIGHLIGHTED THE EU’S SOVEREIGNTY CRISIS’   Thiemo Fetzer is an economist and professor at the University of Warwick and the University of Bonn.   Trump’s era has highlighted the EU’s sovereignty crisis, most visible in the digital and financial domains. Now is the time for Europe to choose how it will build out its economic future: Will it align with the U.S. or China, or is it capable of reimagining an even more ambitious but autonomous path forward?   By controlling key digital platforms and payment systems, the U.S. holds enormous power over global data and finance, being able to grant or deny access to entire countries or industries. This U.S. economic model — built on services, financialization, and energies like natural gas and crude oil — has powered innovation but also created deep inequality and social dysfunction. For Europe, aligning with this model promises access to capital and technology but risks dependence and division, as the U.S. may pit member states against one another. China offers an alternative model rooted in data sovereignty and a strong industrial base. Its strategy to electrify everything is an added bonus to addressing the shared climate crisis. Yet following Beijing’s path could weaken Europe’s manufacturing.   There is a third path, though: Europe can build its own economic and technological independence instead of choosing between Washington and Beijing. That would mean completing the single market so that goods, capital and digital services can move freely across borders — creating scale, cutting red tape and helping homegrown tech companies compete globally. A truly borderless European business environment would keep talent and investment within Europe, rather than letting it flow to the U.S. or Asia. Pooling defense resources could also make Europe stronger and more efficient, freeing up money and industrial capacity for new sectors such as clean energy and advanced manufacturing. Expanding the euro’s international role would also make Europe less dependent on the dollar and strengthen its financial influence abroad.   This path would tie Europe’s growth to its core values — dignity, privacy, data protection, accountability, and the rule of law — embedding them into its digital and economic systems. In doing so, Europe can continue work pragmatically with the U.S., China and others to set global rules. It is for Europeans to shape their own destiny. 

Iris Ferguson is a global adviser to Loom and a former U.S. deputy assistant secretary of defense for Arctic and global resilience. Ann Mettler is a distinguished visiting fellow at Columbia University’s Center on Global Energy Policy and a former director general of the European Commission. After much pressure, European leaders delayed a decision this week amid division on whether to tighten market access through a “Made in Europe” mandate and redouble efforts to reduce the bloc’s strategic dependencies — particularly on China. This decision may appear technocratic, but the hold-up signals its importance and reflects a larger strategic reality shared across the Atlantic. Security, industry and energy have all fused into a single race to control the systems that power modern economies and militaries. And increasingly, success will hinge on whether the U.S. and Europe can confront this reality together, starting with the one domain that’s shaping every other: energy. While traditional defense spending still grabs headlines, today’s battlefield is being reshaped just as profoundly by energy flows and critical inputs. Advanced batteries for drones, portable power for forward-deployed units and mineral supply chains for next-generation platforms — these all point to the simple truth that technological and operational superiority increasingly depends on who controls the next generation of energy systems. But as Europe and the U.S. look to maintain their edge, they must rethink not just how they produce and move energy, but how to secure the industrial base behind it. Energy sovereignty now sits at the center of our shared security, and in a world where adversaries can weaponize supply chains just as easily as airspace or sea lanes, the future will belong to those who build energy systems that are resilient and interoperable by design. The Pentagon already understands this. It has tested distributed power to shorten vulnerable fuel lines in war games across the Indo-Pacific; it has watched closely how mobile generation units keep the grid alive under Russian attack in Ukraine; and it is exploring ways to deliver energy without relying on exposed logistics via new research on solar power beaming. Each of these cases clearly demonstrates that strategic endurance now depends on energy agility and security. But currently, many of these systems depend on materials and manufacturing chains that are dominated by a strategic rival: From batteries and magnets to rare earth processing, China controls our critical inputs. This isn’t just an economic liability, it’s a national security vulnerability for both Europe and the U.S. We’re essentially building the infrastructure of the future with components that could be withheld, surveilled or compromised. That risk isn’t theoretical. China’s recent export controls on key minerals are already disrupting defense and energy manufacturers — a sharp reminder of how supply chain leverage can be a form of coercion, and of our reliance on a fragile ecosystem for the very technologies meant to make us more independent. So, how do we modernize our energy systems without deepening these unnecessary dependencies and build trusted interdependence among allies instead? The solution starts with a shift in mindset that must then translate into decisive policy action. Simply put, as a matter of urgency, energy and tech resilience must be treated as shared infrastructure, cutting across agencies, sectors and alliances. Defense procurement can be a catalyst here. For example, investing in dual-use technologies like advanced batteries, hardened micro-grids and distributed generation would serve both military needs and broader resilience. These aren’t just “green” tools — they’re strategic assets that improve mission effectiveness, while also insulating us from coercion. And done right, such investment can strengthen defense, accelerate innovation and also help drive down costs. Next, we need to build new coalitions for critical minerals, batteries, trusted manufacturing and cyber-secure infrastructure. Just as NATO was built for collective defense, we now need economic and technological alliances that ensure shared strategic autonomy. Both the upcoming White House initiative to strengthen the supply chain for artificial intelligence technology and the recently announced RESourceEU initiative to secure raw materials illustrate how partners are already beginning to rewire systems for resilience. Germany gave the bloc one such example by moving to reduce its reliance on Chinese-made wind components in favor of European suppliers. | Tan Kexing/Getty Images Finally, we must also address existing dependencies strategically and head-on. This means rethinking how and where we source key materials, including building out domestic and allied capacity in areas long neglected. Germany recently gave the bloc one such example by moving to reduce its reliance on Chinese-made wind components in favor of European suppliers. Moving forward, measures like this need EU-wide adoption. By contrast, in the U.S., strong bipartisan support for reducing reliance on China sits alongside proposals to halt domestic battery and renewable incentives, undercutting the very industries that enhance resilience and competitiveness. This is the crux of the matter. Ultimately, if Europe and the U.S. move in parallel rather than together, none of these efforts will succeed — and both will be strategically weaker as a result. The EU’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Kaja Kallas recently warned that we must “act united” or risk being affected by Beijing’s actions — and she’s right. With a laser focus on interoperability and cost sharing, we could build systems that operate together in a shared market of close to 800 million people. The real challenge isn’t technological, it’s organizational. Whether it be Bretton Woods, NATO or the Marshall Plan, the West has strategically built together before, anchoring economic resilience with national defense. The difference today is that the lines between economic security, energy access and defense capability are fully blurred. Sustainable, agile energy is now part of deterrence, and long-term security depends on whether the U.S. and Europe can build energy systems that reinforce and secure one another. This is a generational opportunity for transatlantic alignment; a mutually reinforcing way to safeguard economic interests in the face of systemic competition. And to lead in this new era, we must design for it — together and intentionally. Or we risk forfeiting the very advantages our alliance was built to protect.

Wies De Graeve is the executive director of Amnesty International Belgium’s Flemish branch. Tomorrow, Seán Binder will stand trial before the Mytilene Court of Appeals in Lesvos, Greece for his work as a volunteer rescuer, helping those in distress and at risk of drowning at sea. Alongside 23 other defendants, he faces criminal charges including membership in a criminal organization, money laundering and smuggling, with the risk of up to 20 years in prison if convicted. I first met Seán in 2019. A bright, articulate Irish activist in his twenties, he was our guest at the Belgian launch of Amnesty International’s annual end-of-year campaign. And there, he shared his equally inspiring yet shocking story of blatant injustice, as he and others were being prosecuted for saving lives. Two years earlier, Seán had traveled to Lesvos as a volunteer, joining a local search-and-rescue NGO to patrol the coastline for small boats in distress and provide first aid to those crossing from Turkey to Greece. Since 2015, the war in Syria has forced countless individuals to flee their homes and seek safety in Europe via dangerous routes — including the perilous journey across the Aegean Sea. In 2017 alone, more than 3,000 people were reported dead or missing while attempting to cross the Mediterranean, and when authorities failed to step in, many volunteers from across Europe did so instead. Seán was one of them. He did what any of us would hope to do in his position: save lives and help people. Yet, in 2018, he was arrested by Greek authorities and held in pretrial detention for over 100 days before being charged with a range of crimes alongside other humanitarian workers. These charges aim to portray those who help people on the move as criminals. And it’s part of a trend sweeping across Europe that’s criminalizing solidarity. In Malta, three teenagers from West Africa stand accused of helping to bring more than 100 people rescued at sea to safety, and are facing charges that carry a lifelong sentence. In Italy, ships operated by search-and-rescue organizations are being impounded. And in France, mountain guides have faced prosecution for assisting people at the border with Italy. European governments are not only failing people seeking protection, they’re also punishing those who try to fill that dangerous gap. I met Seán again in 2021 and 2023, both times outside the courthouse in Mytilene on Lesvos. In 2023, the lesser misdemeanor charges against him and the other foreign defendants — forgery, espionage and the unlawful use of radio frequencies — were dropped. Then, in 2024, the rest of the defendants were acquitted of those same charges. While leaving the courthouse that day, still facing the more serious felony charges along with the other 23 aid workers, Seán said: “We want justice. Today, there has been less injustice, but no justice.” As Amnesty International, we’ve been consistently calling for these charges to be dropped. The U.N. and many human rights organizations have also expressed serious concerns about the case, while thousands across Europe and around the world have stood by Seán’s side in defense of solidarity with migrants and refugees, signing petitions and writing letters. This trial should set off alarms not only for Europe’s civil society but for any person’s ability to act according to their conscience. It isn’t just Seán who is on trial here, it’s solidarity itself. The criminalization of people showing compassion for those compelled to leave their homes because of war, violence or other hardships must stop. This trial should set off alarms not only for Europe’s civil society but for any person’s ability to act according to their conscience. | Manolis Lagoutaris/AFP via Getty Images Meanwhile, a full decade after Syrians fleeing war began arriving on Europe’s shores in search of safety and protection, Europe’s leaders need to reflect. They need to learn from people like Seán instead of prosecuting them. And instead of focusing on deterrence, they need to ensure the word “asylum,” from the Greek “asylon,” still means a place of refuge or sanctuary for those seeking safety in our region. People who save lives should be supported, not criminalized. This week, six years after our first encounter, Seán and I will once again meet in front of the Mytilene courthouse as his trial resumes. I will be there in solidarity, representing the thousands who have been demanding that these charges be dropped. I hope, with all my heart, to see him finally receive the justice he is entitled to. Humanity must win.

Heidi Kingstone is a journalist and author covering human rights issues, conflict and politics. Her most recent book is “Genocide: Personal Stories, Big Questions.” Slavery is alive and thriving, and it’s wrapped inside shiny chocolate bars that promise to be “fair trade,” “child-labor free” and “sustainable.” In West Africa, which produces more than 60 percent of the world’s cocoa, over 1.5 million children still work under hazardous conditions. Kids, some as young as five, use machetes to crack pods open in their hands, carry loads that weigh more than they do and spray toxic pesticides without protection. Meanwhile, of the roughly 2 million metric tons of cocoa the Ivory Coast produces each year, between 20 percent and 30 percent is grown illegally in protected forests. And satellite data from Global Forest Watch shows an increase in deforestation across key cocoa-growing regions as farmers, desperate for income, push deeper into forest reserves. The bitter truth is that despite decades of pledges, certification schemes and packaging glowing with virtue — of forests saved, farmers empowered and consciences soothed — most chocolate companies have failed to eradicate exploitation from their supply chains. Today, many cocoa farmers in the Ivory Coast and Ghana still earn less than a dollar a day, well below the poverty line. According to a 2024 report by the International Cocoa Initiative, the average farmer earns only 40 percent of a living wage. Put starkly, as the global chocolate market swells close to a $150 billion a year in 2025, the average farmer now receives less than 6 percent of the value of a single chocolate bar, whereas in the 1970s they received more than 50 percent. Then there’s the use of child labor, which is essentially woven into the fabric of this economy, where we have been sold the illusion of progress. From the 2001 Harkin-Engel Protocol — a voluntary agreement to end child labor by the world’s chocolate giants — to today’s glossy environmental, social and governance (ESG) reports, every initiative has promised progress and delivered delay. In 2007, the industry quietly redefined “public certification,” shifting it from a commitment to consumer labeling to a vague pledge to compile statistics on labor conditions. It missed the original 2010 deadline to eliminate child labor, as well as a new target to reduce it by 70 percent by 2020. And that year, a study by the University of Chicago’s National Opinion Research Center found that hazardous child labor in cocoa production increased from 2008 to 2019. “We covered a story about a ship carrying trafficked children,” recalled journalist Humphrey Hawksley, who first exposed the issue in the BBC documentary called Slavery: A Global Investigation. “The chocolate companies refused to comment and spoke as one industry. That was their rule. Even now, none of them is slave-free,” he added. As it stands, many of the more than 1.5 million West African children working in cocoa production are trafficked from neighboring Burkina Faso and Mali. Traffickers lure them with false promises or outright abduction, offering children as young as 10 either bicycles or small sums to travel to the Ivory Coast. There, they are sold to farmers for as little as $34 each. And once on these farms, they are trapped. They work up to 14 hours a day, sleep in windowless sheds with no clean water or toilets, and most never see the inside of a classroom. Last but not least, we come to deforestation: Since its independence, more than 90 percent of the Ivory Coast’s forests have disappeared due to cocoa farming. In 2024, deforestation accelerated despite corporate commitments to halt it by 2025, as declining soil fertility and stagnant prices pushed farmers farther into the forest to plant new cocoa trees. But as Reuters Correspondent for West and Central Africa Ange Aboa described them, such labels are “the biggest scam of the century!” | Lena Klimkeit/Picture Alliance via Getty Images Certification labels like “Rainforest Alliance” and “Fairtrade” are supposed to prevent this. But as Reuters Correspondent for West and Central Africa Ange Aboa described them, such labels are “the biggest scam of the century!” Complicit in all of this are the financiers and investors who profit. For example, Norway’s sovereign wealth fund is the world’s largest investor, and Norges Bank Investment Management (NBIM) is a shareholder in 9,000 corporations, including Nestlé, Mondelez, Hershey, Barry Callebaut and Lindt — all part of the direct chocolate cluster. NBIM also has shares in McDonald’s, Starbucks, Unilever, the Dunkin’ parent company and Tim Hortons — the indirect high-volume buyer cluster. “The richest families in cocoa — the Marses, the Ferreros, the Cargills, the Jacobs — are billionaires thanks to the exploitation of the poorest children on earth,” said journalist and human rights campaigner Fernando Morales-de la Cruz, the founder of Cacao for Change. “And countries like Norway, which claim to be ethical, profit from slavery and child labor.” The problem is, few are asking who picks the cocoa. And though the EU’s Corporate Sustainability Due Diligence Directive, which was adopted last year, requires large companies to address human rights and environmental abuses in their supply chains, critics say the directive’s weaknesses, loopholes, and delayed enforcement will blunt its impact. However, all of this could still be fixed. Currently, a metric ton of cocoa sells for about $5,000 on world markets, but Morales-de la Cruz estimates that a fair farm-gate price would be around $7,500 per metric ton. To that end, he advocates for binding international trade standards that enforce living incomes and transparent pricing, modeled on the World Trade Organization’s compliance mechanisms. “Human rights should be as binding in trade as tariffs,” he insisted. The solution isn’t to buy more “ethical” bars but to demand accountability and support legislation that makes exploitation unprofitable. “We can’t shop our way to justice,” he said. So, as the trees in the Ivory Coast’s forests fall, the profits in Europe and North America continue to soar. And two decades after the industry vowed to end child labor, the cocoa supply chain remains one of the world’s most exploitative and least accountable. Moreover, the European Parliament’s vote on the Omnibus simplification package last month laid bare the corporate control and moral blindness still present in EU policymaking, all behind talk of “cutting red tape.” “Yet Europe’s media and EU-funded NGOs stay silent, talking of competitiveness and green transitions, while ignoring the children who harvest its cocoa, coffee and cotton,” said Morales-de la Cruz. “Europe cannot claim to defend human rights while profiting from exploitation.” However, until the industry pays a fair price and governments enforce real accountability, every bar of chocolate remains an unpaid moral debt.

Steven Everts is the director of the EU Institute for Security Studies The intense diplomatic maneuvering to shape an endgame to the war in Ukraine has revealed a troubling reality: Even when it comes to its own security, the EU struggles to be a central player. The ongoing negotiations over Ukraine’s future — a conflict European leaders routinely describe as “existential” — are proceeding with minimal input from the bloc. And while others set the tone and direction, Europe remains reactive: managing the fallout, limiting the damage and hoping to recuperate its influence. This marginalization isn’t the result of a single decision or down to one person — no matter how consequential U.S. President Donald Trump may be. Rather, it reflects a deeper vulnerability and an unsettling pattern. Anyone looking at Europe’s choices in recent months can see a psychology of weakness. It paints the picture of a continent lacking courage, unable to take decisive action even when it comes to its core interests and when policy alternatives are within reach. Europe is losing confidence, sinking into fatalism and justifying its passivity with the soothing thought that it has no real choice, as its cards are weak. Besides, in the long run, things will work out. Just wait for the U.S. midterms. But will they? And can Europe afford to wait? Ukraine certainly cannot. Simply commenting on others’ peace plan drafts in some form of “track-changes diplomacy” isn’t enough. Decisions are needed, and they’re needed now. Europe is a continent of rich countries with ample capabilities. But while its leaders insist Ukraine’s security and success are essential to Europe’s own security and survival, its actual military assistance to Kyiv has declined in recent months. On the financial end, Europe is flunking the test it set for itself. Ukraine requires approximately €70 billion annually — and yes, this is a large sum, but it amounts to only 0.35 percent of the EU’s GDP. This is within Europe’s collective capacity. Yet for months now, member countries have been unable to agree on the mechanisms for using frozen Russian assets or suitable alternatives that could keep Ukraine afloat. Instead, we’ve seen dithering and the triumph of small thinking. It’s also rather telling that the U.S. attempt to simply impose how these assets are to be used, with 50 percent of the profits going to Washington instead of Kyiv, is finally jolting Europe into action. Regrettably, Europe’s psychology of weakness is equally visible in the economic domain, as the EU-U.S. trade agreement struck this July was a classic case of how frailty can masquerade as “pragmatism.” Brussels had the tools to respond to Washington’s tariffs and coercive measures, including counter-tariffs and its anti-coercion instrument. But under pressure from member countries fearful of broader U.S. disengagement from European security and Ukraine, it chose not to use them. The result was a one-sided “deal” with a 15 percent unilateral tariff, which breaks the World Trade Organization’s rules and obliges Europe to make energy purchases and investments in the U.S. worth hundreds of billions of dollars. Even worse, the deal didn’t produce the stability advertised as its main benefit. Washington has since designated Europe’s energy transition measures and tech regulations as “trade barriers” and “taxes on U.S. companies,” signaling that further retaliatory steps may follow. Just last week, the U.S. upped the pressure once more, when its trade representatives met EU ministers and openly challenged existing EU rules on tech. Regrettably, Europe’s psychology of weakness is equally visible in the economic domain, as the EU-U.S. trade agreement struck this July was a classic case of how frailty can masquerade as “pragmatism.”. | Thierry Monasse/Getty Images More than on defense, the EU is meant to be an economic and regulatory superpower. But despite decades of leveraging its economic weight for political purposes, the EU is now adrift, faced with a widening transatlantic power play over trade and technology. Similar patterns of retreat mark the EU’s actions in other areas as well. As Russia escalates its hybrid warfare operations against the bloc’s critical infrastructure, Europe’s response remains hesitant. As China dramatically weaponizes its export controls on critical mineral exports, Europe continues to respond late and without clear coordination. And in the Middle East, despite being one of the leading donors to Gaza, Europe is peripheral in shaping any ceasefire and reconstruction plans. In crisis after crisis, Europe’s role is not only small but shrinking still. The question is, when will Europeans decide they’ve had enough of this weakness and irrelevance? This is, above all, a matter of psychology, of believing in one’s capabilities, including the capacity to say “no.” But this is only possible if Europe invests in its ability to take major decisions together — through joint political authority and financial resources. There is no way out of this without investing in a stronger EU. This basic argument has been made a hundred times before. But while insisting on “more political will” among member countries is, indeed, right, it’s also too simplistic. We have to acknowledge that building a stronger EU also means having to give somethings up. But in return we will gain something essential: The ability to stand firm in a world of Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin and Xi Jinping. This is both necessary and priceless.

Christopher Silvester is a freelance journalist, author and consultant. U.S. President Donald Trump intends to sue the BBC for defamation in Florida over a documentary broadcast during the 2024 presidential campaign. Aired as part of the broadcaster’s flagship current affairs program “Panorama,” questionably edited footage from the president’s speech on Jan. 6, 2021 gave the impression he had urged his supporters to storm the capitol in Washington, DC. Trump only discovered this after the statute of limitations for libel action in the U.K. had passed, so he can’t sue there. Had he known in time, he may have received a settlement or award for damages worth tens of thousands of pounds — especially now the BBC has issued a public apology. But suing in the U.S. is different. On the one hand, Trump could make a vast claim for damages — somewhere between $1 billion and $5 billion, he says. On the other, there’s no easy path for his lawyers to claim jurisdiction, as the offending documentary was never made available in the U.S. `They also face the substantial hurdle of proving his reputation has been materially damaged and that the program’s makers were guilty of express malice. The BBC, for its part, has made clear it will defend itself against any such claim. We’ve been here before. Long before Trump became a politician, an earlier edition of “Panorama” similarly plunged the BBC into an existential crisis — and it offers some crucial lessons. Back in the mid-1980s, when Margaret Thatcher was prime minister, the show found itself in similar turmoil. The controversy was over a program that, among other errors, manipulated footage to make several tendentious claims that a handful of backbench Conservative MPs were “racialists” or quasi-fascists. Margaret Thatcher being filmed by television crew at Chequers. | Jeff Overs/BBC News via Getty Images Entitled “Maggie’s Militant Tendency,” the program was a humdinger of a political knifing. The title alone was guaranteed to raise hackles on the right, as the Militant Tendency was a hard-left subsect that had used infiltrationist tactics to get a few of its followers elected as Labour MPs. Put plainly, “Panorama” was suggesting a similar sprinkling of right-wing extremists had been gaining ground in the Conservative Party. Writing about the incident in 2002, former “Panorama” reporter Tom Bower called it “a woefully misconceived programme … To consider equating a handful of alleged Tory racists with the widespread Marxist infiltration of the Labour party was lunacy, especially in the aftermath of Thatcher’s virulent criticism of the BBC during the Falklands war.” In the program, an interview with Conservative MP Harvey Proctor was “edited so crudely that it showed me in three different suits in what was presented as a single meeting,” Proctor recalled in a recent article. “John Selwyn Gummer, the Conservative Party Chairman, commented that he knew I was many things, but a quick-change artist I was not. It was not satire, it was broadcast reality.” In another sequence, footage of a uniform-clad MP Gerald Howarth was shown with simultaneous commentary, claiming he had attended a fascist meeting in Italy, implying he was wearing a fascist uniform. In fact, he had been wearing a train driver’s uniform while attending a rally of steam railway enthusiasts. It was certainly not investigative journalism’s finest hour. After airing in January 1984, “Maggie’s Military Tendency” eventually led to defamation actions from five Conservative MPs. While some dropped their suits, the actions brought by Howarth and Neil Hamilton came to court a little over two years later. And the BBC, rather than apologize for some of its errors, sought to fight them tooth and nail. I was a junior reporter at Private Eye magazine at the time, where I specialized in political gossip, and I had already met Hamilton and his wife Christine. After speaking to them at length, I had challenged the program’s thesis in print soon after it aired. To use an earthy phrase, it appeared Hamilton and Howarth had been stitched up like kippers. Once the trial began, it lasted a mere four days — and those four days had a touch of the absurd about them. One of the claims against Hamilton was that he’d done a Hitler impersonation after visiting the Reichstag in Berlin with a group of Conservative MPs. And in order to show that his impersonation had been satirical rather than a serious political commitment, he was asked to give a performance in the witness box not once but twice, as the judge had been taking notes the first time. “I would be staggered if anybody could possibly be upset by it,” Hamilton said. Another claim was that in 1973, he’d attended a convention of the Italian fascist party, MSI, in the company of two fellow members of the Monday Club — a British right-wing pressure group. There, Hamilton had “thought it was jolly good fun if I did a speech in Italian because I could do a Charlie Chaplin Great Dictator speech which they would not recognize but would give us a lot of enjoyment.” Whether it had worked as comedy or satire, one probably needed to have been there, but as proof of a genuine fascist mentality, it fell short by a substantial measure. Then, four days into proceedings, before the BBC defense could take the floor, the organization’s management, under pressure from its Board of Governors — which was, in turn, under pressure from Conservative ministers — made substantial settlements. The BBC apologized for falsely claiming that Hamilton and Howarth were members of a “virulently racist and anti-Semitic” extreme right-wing group called Tory Action, for falsely claiming they had misled the Conservative Party chairman by denying links to Tory Action, and for falsely claiming they had made racist remarks or goose-stepped while on a visit to Bonn in 1983. Tory MPs Neil Hamilton (left) and Gerald Howarth with their wives after winning their libel case against the BBC at the High Court in London. | PA Images via Getty Images Hamilton and Howarth each received £20,000 — a fair whack back then, and libel damages were tax-free. After the verdict, Hamilton reacted to their victory by channeling one of Winston Churchill’s wartime speeches: “This is a magnificent victory of David over Goliath, and represents, for us, the end of the beginning, but for some on the BBC probably the beginning of the end.” Later, Hamilton and Howarth sought a meeting with the new BBC Chairman Duke Hussey to ensure the organization’s “integrity can be restored, its political impartiality re-established, and its legitimate editorial independence protected.” Then, as now, there was a crisis of governance at the BBC. Then, as now, there was a wider context of BBC travails. And then, as now, there was an impending political challenge for the BBC to obtain charter renewal and an extension of its jealously guarded license fee. All media organizations fight to defend against defamation actions, and the BBC is no exception. But while the broadcaster may justifiably contend it has no case to argue against Trump, it would serve us well to remember that in the 1980’s, the BBC was excoriated for wasting license-payers’ money in defending indefensible claims for almost two years — and rightly so. 

Cameron Brown is a former special adviser at HM Treasury and is now a senior adviser at Charlesbye Strategy. Anyone who believes Christmas starts earlier each year should spend some time inside the U.K. Treasury. When the country hears the first faint echoes of Mariah Carey drifting through the supermarket PA system in mid-November, retailers call it the “Christmas creep.” Westminster gets something far less jolly: the “budget creep.” The annual moment when rumors fatten, hints mutate, and half the fiscal package appears to be public before the chancellor has typed a single word. I saw this more closely than most. Within a single extraordinary fortnight, I went from serving Liz Truss’ first Chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng to working with his successor Jeremy Hunt, moving from the budget that blew up the bond markets to the one built to calm them. Few advisers get to serve a chancellor who detonates a budget, as well as the one brought in to steady the ship only days later. And there is no better crash course in the life cycle of a budget: the whispers, the over-interpretation, the panic, the denial and the sudden transformation of every think tanker with a spreadsheet into a clairvoyant. Once that ambiguity takes hold, human nature does the rest. We aren’t built to tolerate secrets. Tell people they will hear nothing until a fixed date, and every stray comment starts to glow with imagined significance. A throwaway remark from a minister becomes a coded signal; an economist’s speculative prediction on X becomes an afternoon of fiscal sleuthing. But the problem isn’t journalism or the widespread speculation, it’s a system that asks the country to stare at a locked door for months and then expresses surprise when people try the handle. And when you can see the real-world consequences — from hiring freezes and delayed investment decisions to families cutting back their groceries — watching the country whip itself into a frenzy over phantom tax measures isn’t charming. Inside the Treasury, meanwhile, things look stranger still. Budgets appear to be grand set pieces, but the real action begins six weeks earlier, with the Office for Budget Responsibility’s (OBR) first forecast. Hidden inside is the number everyone fixates on: the sacred “headroom.” In theory, this figure shows what the chancellor can spend without breaching her fiscal rules. In practice, it behaves like musical chairs, constantly shifting until the music stops and everyone solemnly treats the final figure as destiny despite the fact that it is based on projections five years out — as though pandemics, wars and global shocks politely submit advance notice. During one budget under Hunt, for example, the initial OBR forecast suggested we might have extra breathing space. A senior official murmured: “We might be able to do something interesting” — which, in Treasury culture, counts as reckless hedonism. Then, only days later, gilt yields twitched, growth was revised down, and the headroom shrank like a wool sweater in a boil wash. Outside commentators insisted the chancellor had changed strategy, while it was simply the arithmetic tightening its grip. By the time the country reaches peak excitement, however, the budget is pretty much at the printers. Two weeks before the speech, the Treasury must submit its major measures to the OBR, so they can be modeled. And once that happens, the concrete sets. Chancellor Rachel Reeves isn’t hunched over a laptop rearranging tax bands like chess pieces at 3 a.m. the night before. Still, the theater endures. Hence the lasting allure of the so-called “budget rabbit” — a move former Chancellor George Osborne had perfected with a “one more thing, Mr. Speaker” flourish. Kwarteng, on the other hand, attempted the same trick with a cut to Britain’s top tax rate, only to conjure the only rabbit in history that bit the magician and set fire to the stage. This is why pitch-rolling has become so routine and normalized. It is the quiet art of easing people toward an unpopular measure, so that nobody falls off their chair when it appears. Not because the Treasury loves theatrics, but because surprise decisions can jolt markets. Contentious measures are now introduced gently over time, so Bank of England Governor Andrew Bailey doesn’t have to ring the Monetary Policy Committee for an unscheduled catch-up. Much of what looks like leaking is simple deduction. Anyone with a calculator, the Treasury’s publicly available ready reckoners and a feel for the political weather can narrow the options. Rule out the unaffordable, cross out the implausible and what remains points in one or two directions. But silence is no safer. Each year someone proposes the Treasury adopts a genius strategy of saying nothing at all. And while ideal in theory, in practice, this creates a vacuum for paranoia to rush into. Deny one rumor and its opposite becomes gospel; deny nothing and silence becomes a knowing wink and a nudge. Leave a wild claim like “doubling VAT” unchallenged for a day, and you will spend the next week hosing down hysteria from MPs and the public — and rightly so. Treasury officials are right about one thing, though: Some tax ideas should never be aired, even when they’re being actively developed. Certain measures trigger such powerful behavioral responses that the responsible course is to deny them outright. Whisper “stamp duty cuts,” and the housing market freezes. Float a hint about dividend reform, and accountants begin rearranging client affairs before the budget team has even met. And as Reeves is discovering, even the faintest suggestion of a wealth or exit tax sends globally mobile individuals browsing one-way flights to Dubai. This reveals a deeper problem. Our tax system is being contorted to satisfy arbitrary five-year windows built on forecasts nobody can honestly pretend to believe. Chancellors end up ratcheting up the tax burden not because the policy case demands it, but because the spreadsheet does. As long as fiscal policy is chained to these crystal-ball projections for 2029, we will keep making real-world decisions to appease an unknowable future. And yet, as flawed as the current system is, it is still preferable to what came before. Former Labour Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s era of fiscal optimism involved forecasts for an economy that existed only in the minds of ministerial speechwriters, as growth, investment, tax receipts — everything floated serenely and implausibly upward year after year. The OBR was designed to bring sobriety. Having lived through the best and worst of this process, I can say the real problem isn’t the speculation itself but a system built on projections that collapse at the smallest market movements. We keep trying to deliver tax policy inside an artificial window, dictated by a forecast that’s out of date before the ink dries, and then act surprised when ministers reach for ever higher taxes to satisfy a number that was never real in the first place. Until that changes, the ritual will repeat. The numbers will wobble, rumors will swirl and the budget creep will appear early. My advice is simple: Abandon the crystal balls, stop pretending the future can be modeled to the nearest decimal place, and let the chancellor get on with governing before the music stops.

Yvette Cooper is U.K. secretary of state for foreign, commonwealth and development affairs. A teenager raped by multiple men on the side of a road. A mother stripped naked and threatened with the rape of her small child if she didn’t comply. A woman whose child was murdered in front of her, then caught and gang raped by other soldiers after she escaped. These are just some of the horrendous stories emerging from El Fasher and across Sudan where rape is being used deliberately and systematically as a weapon of war. But it isn’t just Sudan. Evidence of sexual violence in conflict has been increasing at the same time as international focus on it has diminished. With more of the world now in conflict than at any time since the Second World War, women are paying a devastating price. From Syria to Sudan, from Yemen to Ukraine, it is estimated that up to 30 percent of women and girls in conflict zones worldwide have experienced sexual violence – including appalling ordeals of systematic gang rape, abduction and sexual slavery.  Yet shamefully their plight has too often been ignored and their voice in building peace has too often gone unheard. Twenty-five years on from the landmark Women, Peace and Security resolution at the United Nations, the prospects for women caught up in conflict are more perilous than ever before. That must change. As foreign secretary I am determined that the U.K. will shine a new spotlight on women in war, so that at the heart of U.K. foreign policy we recognize women not just as victims of conflict but as architects of peace.   For many years, the U.K. has played a leading international role to redress these injustices – whether reflected in commitments from Robin Cook, Clare Short or William Hague. And this year marks a milestone for our contribution and for global efforts, as we commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of a landmark UN agreement, Security Resolution 1325, which for the first time recognized the need to better protect women from sexual violence during conflict, as well as the pivotal role of women in shaping and building peace.   As we intensify international pressure urgently needed to tackle humanitarian catastrophe in Sudan, we must not look away from the sexual violence being used as a terrorizing tactic in that brutal war. | Martin Pope/Getty Images Yet in recent years, as conflict has raged around the world, the plight of women has been seen as peripheral and progress has stalled. But the scale of the problem is deeply disturbing and it is growing. In 2024, the UN documented 4,600 reported cases of conflict-related sexual violence, up 25 percent from just a year before. And more than 600 million women across the world now live within 50km of armed conflict, a staggering increase of 74 percent since 2010.   So it is time to bring new momentum to the commitments captured in Resolution 1325 a quarter of a century ago. As we intensify international pressure urgently needed to tackle humanitarian catastrophe in Sudan, we must not look away from the sexual violence being used as a terrorizing tactic in that brutal war. And as we work to sustain the ceasefire and reconstruction of Gaza we must make sure women’s voices are heard in the pursuit of peace.   That’s why we are radically stepping up efforts to end impunity for sexual crimes in conflict and to support women peace builders around the world. The U.K. is providing expert technical support to Ukrainian police, prosecutors and judges to support war crimes investigations. We have funded specialist sexual investigators to assist UN fact-finding missions in Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Myanmar. And we are working to tackle the silence and stigma faced by survivors of sexual violence, building an international coalition to combat reprisals that all too often follow when women speak out.   We are also going further through our humanitarian work in Gaza, funding special support for pregnant women and new mothers.    And whilst tackling impunity and meeting immediate needs is clearly vital, women also have to be central to securing lasting peace. Women like Monica McWilliams and Pearl Sagar who campaigned for women’s voices to be heard in ending the troubles in Northern Ireland; or Leymah Gbowee, who led a movement to end Liberia’s civil war. And the many women of Ruta Pacífica de las Mujeres who helped broker the peace deal that ended Colombia’s protracted conflict. Here at home, this government has set an unprecedented mission to tackle the epidemic of violence against women and girls — including work to halve violence against women and girls within the next decade. As foreign secretary, I am determined to ensure that mission is reflected in our foreign policy too — standing with women across the globe in resisting violence, expanding opportunity and boosting political participation.   We will step up international collaboration to address these horrific harms that should have been consigned to the history books. Because we know there cannot be peace, security or prosperity without women playing their full part, free from violence and free from fear.