The Two Americas: A Comparison of Political Models in America

 

I revisited the topic of an article I published a few days ago in Italian on Money.it to write a post for English-speaking readers.

In American political debate – as in European – two opposing visions on the role of the state have confronted each other for decades. On one side, those who call for a strong, regulatory and redistributive presence; on the other, those who hope for a leaner and more limited function, centered on security, individual rights and the market. In the United States, this opposition is concretely reflected in the policies of individual federal states, each with broad fiscal and administrative powers. And if we look at the relationship between public spending and results achieved – in key sectors like education, healthcare, infrastructure and security – interesting, sometimes surprising data emerges.

Partisanship aside, it's worth asking: which model works better? Who manages to do more with less? The answer, with due caution, is that Republican administrations – despite exceptions – are on average more efficient: they spend less, but often achieve more, thanks to administrative models inspired by pragmatism, decentralization and accountability.

Take the case of education. According to Census Bureau and Department of Education data, New York State spends over $29,000 per year per student, while Florida spends less than $11,000. Yet the results are comparable, sometimes favoring the "low cost" model: Florida has invested over the years in voucher systems, charter schools (autonomous public schools, funded with public money but managed by private or non-profit entities), performance evaluations and competition between public and private schools. Utah, another Republican-led state, has the lowest per-student spending in the country, but achieves high-quality educational results, with literacy rates and STEM (Science – Technology – Engineering – Mathematics) preparation in constant growth.

Florida Governor Ron DeSantis

The same applies to healthcare. While progressive states aim for extensive public healthcare, with substantial investments, some Republican states prefer a mixed approach: fewer subsidies, more competition, greater access to private providers and freedom of choice. The result? In many cases, good levels of public health and patient satisfaction, with lower public costs. Florida, for example, while not excelling in "universal access," has avoided the structural crisis of other more centralized systems, maintaining good hospital efficiency. South Dakota and Utah (both Republican-led) consistently rank among the best in the ratio between spending and quality of health services.

Even in the field of infrastructure, the difference is noticeable. Utah today has one of the most reliable transportation systems in the USA, well-maintained roads, extensive broadband and efficient electrical networks, despite having one of the most contained public spending on infrastructure. Other Republican-led states, like Tennessee and North Carolina, are investing in a targeted and sustainable way, focusing on public-private partnerships and responsible fiscal models.

The security aspect is even more emblematic. In many East Coast Democratic-led states, urban crime rates remain high despite consistent investments in public safety. GOP-administered states like Texas (excluding some large Democratic cities like Austin) or New Hampshire (often considered among the safest in America) show how a mix of good governance, widespread legality and preventive policies can reduce crime with well-calibrated resources.

However, no model is perfect. Some Southern Republican states, like Mississippi or Louisiana, have contained public spending but also poor results in education, healthcare and social inclusion. In these cases, however, the problem is not so much the political color, but rather a weak economic fabric, limited human capital and low administrative capacity. Conversely, liberal states like Massachusetts or Minnesota show excellent performance in many indicators, despite a high and "progressive" spending model. This shows that a public administration can be efficient even if it spends a lot – but only if it does so well.

What emerges clearly is that efficiency doesn't depend only on the level of spending, but on the quality of governance. And in this, Republican administrations seem to have developed, at least in certain contexts, a competitive advantage: ability to better allocate resources, attention to public service performance, trust in local autonomy, merit incentives and reduction of bureaucracy.

Let's say things work properly when a non-ideological, but pragmatic vision prevails. The risk of some right-wing movements – as well as certain left-wing ones – is to transform governing philosophy into a symbolic battle instead of a tool to solve concrete problems. Citizens rightly want schools that teach, hospitals that work, taxes that serve a purpose, livable cities and digitized services. They want a state that is not invasive, but not absent either. A state that doesn't do everything, but does well what it must do.

In this sense, the most virtuous Republican model – that of states like Utah, Florida and Tennessee – can offer an interesting path for the future: a sober state, that invests where needed, doesn't waste, values private initiative, but doesn't completely give up a social safety net. A model that focuses on efficiency and responsibility, without abandoning the idea of the common good. The point, in fact, is not to cut welfare, but to make it sustainable, selective, effective. It's not about reducing the state on principle, but rethinking it in function of contemporary challenges: digitalization, mobility, security, skilled work, protection of rights. And it's here that politics, to be truly useful, should exit ideological cages and return within the boundaries of reality.

President Ronald Reagan delivering his
first inaugural address

In his inaugural address as President of the United States on January 20, 1981, Ronald Reagan uttered a famous phrase: "In this present crisis, government is not the solution to our problem; government is the problem." Those words represented a watershed in American politics, especially in relation to the legacy of the "Big Government" of the Lyndon B. Johnson era and his Great Society. They were also a cultural turning point, which profoundly influenced subsequent administrations, even Democratic ones (Clinton, for example, declared in 1996: "The era of big government is over").

In today's world, marked by growing debt and high expectations, the real line of demarcation is no longer between those who want to demonize the state and those who idolize it, but between those who want a state that works and those who settle for rhetoric. The future belongs to those who will have the courage to govern with numbers, with transparency and with vision. And in this, at least today, the most intelligent Republican administrators are charting the course.

Rethinking Humanity in the Age of AI

Algorithms and ancient voices. Talking about Artificial Intelligence is practically unavoidable these days... What do we really have to be afraid of? It’s not the robots.
My latest on American Thinker.

Summer, at least in theory, is supposed to be the best time of year to reflect on ourselves and on the big questions of our age.  Maybe it’s the warm weather, which is often more suitable for thinking than for acting, or maybe it’s simply the fact that many people are on vacation and finally have time to ponder things.  Either way, talking about artificial intelligence (AI) these days is practically unavoidable.

For every intelligent and insightful thing we read or hear about this vast and complex topic, there are countless foolish or banal statements multiplying like the Gremlins in the 1984 movie.  A novel like Klara and the Sun (2021) by Kazuo Ishiguro, with its humanistic take on AI, is an example of the former; the constant oversimplifications that flood both old and new media are a perfect example of the latter.

One thing is certain: Talking about A.I. ultimately means talking about human beings.  Because no technology, not even the most advanced, is ever just lines of code or clever algorithms.  It always ends up reflecting our desires, our fears, our limits, and our hopes.  It’s no surprise that in this era, where AI is rapidly permeating every part of our lives, we’re witnessing both excitement and dread, rooted in the age-old questions philosophers and poets have been asking for millennia: Who are we?  What can we become?  What is our destiny?

And so, looking back to the great thinkers and writers of the past feels not just interesting, but necessary.

Nietzsche, for instance, would probably smirk at some of the fear surrounding A.I.  He spent his life urging mankind to fulfill its true potential — “Become who you are!” he said — and he’d likely argue that if it takes A.I. to free us from tedious chores, repetitive work, bookkeeping, or endless emails, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.  It might even be a kind of Dionysian liberation: Let the machines handle the paperwork so we can dance, create, or watch the sun go down.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, the great voice of American transcendentalism — a thinker whom Nietzsche greatly admired — would likely agree.  He wrote, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”  Emerson’s faith in the power of the individual and in human progress would not have been shaken by the challenges of A.I.  He probably would have seen it as a tool to amplify human potential — so long as we remain true to our inner voice.  Used wisely, A.I. could be an ally in our journey toward self-determination, not a tyrant.

Still, we can’t ignore the risks of intoxication — or of hubris.  Technology, as Plato well knew, is a beautiful siren.  But it can deceive us.  It makes us believe we can do anything — even recreate consciousness itself.  And yet it’s amusing to think that Plato, for all his brilliance, could never have imagined ChatGPT, deepfake videos, or algorithms that can write poetry or love letters.  Even so, his question still floats in the air like a soul hovering in the realm of ideals: What is man?  And what will we become when the machine speaks with our voice?

Let’s be clear, though: A.I. itself isn’t frightening.  What’s frightening is humanity.  Shakespeare understood this well.  In Hamlet, he wrote, “What a piece of work is man!”  Yes, marvelous and noble...but also treacherous, petty, and cruel.  Deep down, we all know that the real monsters aren’t inside machines — they’re inside people.  Nietzsche would call it our will to power.  Or perhaps it’s simply our bloated ego, like that of the Roman emperor Tiberius, whom Montaigne mocked for caring more about his posthumous reputation than about living well among his contemporaries.

Dante knew this, too. He mapped out an entire journey through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise to show that human beings lose themselves — and find themselves again.  If today we’re getting lost among bits and bots, perhaps it’s simply the same old selva oscura, where the right path is easy to lose.  Who knows if an algorithm could ever serve as our Virgil and lead us out?  Maybe so — at least when it comes to giving us directions home on Google Maps.

Of course, we need to stay vigilant.  The danger is that we become so accustomed to comfort that we start outsourcing not only our tasks, but also our thinking, our critical spirit, and our memory of history — that we start treating the machine as an infallible oracle.  It’s at moments like this that we hear Montaigne’s slightly melancholic humor reminding us, “I do not teach; I tell a story.”  Well, A.I. tells stories, too.  The problem is that it doesn’t necessarily tell the truth.  And there lies a vast abyss, one that belongs less to the realm of technology and more to the domain of human judgment.

We shouldn’t buy into the idea of an AI-driven apocalypse.  But we should absolutely be worried about an apocalypse of the human spirit — about people who stop asking questions.  That’s the real danger.  The biggest risk is giving up on asking who we are, why we live, and what we truly want.  And if there’s one lesson that the classics — from Plato to Shakespeare, from Dante to Montaigne — teach us, it’s that doubt is life.  That there’s no truth without contradiction.  And that sometimes, as Sophocles said, “not knowing anything is the sweetest life.”

Perhaps AI will force us to redefine what it means to be human.  Maybe it will make us smarter.  Or lazier.  Or both at once.  But I’d like to believe we’ll learn to use it as a mirror in which to see ourselves more clearly, much like Montaigne in his tower, surrounded by his thousand books and the Greek and Latin maxims carved into the beams.

And there, perhaps, we’ll finally realize that if the future frightens us, it’s not AI’s fault.  It’s ours.  Because of our arrogance.  Or our laziness.

It must be said that humanity has never been closer to becoming truly master of itself.  We must just remember that machines can imitate many things — but not the sudden quickening of a human heart at the sight of a sunset, nor the mystery of a soul wondering why it exists.

Blogs, Social Media, and the Cultural Growth of Public Opinion: from Montaigne to Our Time

I revisited the topic of an article I published yesterday in Italian on Money.it to write a post for English-speaking readers.

In an era in which digital connectivity has reshaped every aspect of communication, it’s worth pausing to reflect on the role that blogs and social media play in the cultural growth of public opinion. These are not merely technological tools; they are channels that have inherited—and partly revolutionized—an ancient tradition: that of individual thought opening itself to the world. A tradition that, quite surprisingly, takes us back more than four centuries to the time of Michel de Montaigne, the French philosopher whom many consider a “proto-blogger” of the 16th century. In his Essays, Montaigne laid himself bare before the reader, revealing his thoughts, fears, and idiosyncrasies. He didn’t write to pontificate but to understand himself—and, through that self-exploration, to help others question themselves as well. It’s precisely this spirit that animates many contemporary blogs: virtual spaces where writers reflect publicly on personal matters, in the hope of sparking dialogue, debate, and ultimately a shared culture. From Pen to Keyboard: The Continuity of Personal Thought

While Montaigne lived in the age of print, today’s digital world infinitely amplifies that same human urge to tell one’s story and reflect. In the end, every blog is a modern-day “essay,” written with the conviction that one’s ideas can meet, challenge, or enlighten the ideas of others. And, like Montaigne’s Essays, blogs can range from the personal to the political, from the philosophical to the everyday. Social media, on the other hand, have made this exchange even more immediate. Whereas a blog is usually a more meditative space where thoughts are structured in longer form, social media thrive on speed, brevity, and reaction. Yet even in these shorter formats, we find the same drive toward sharing ideas—what we might call the “publication of the self.” Recent Events and the Cultural Role of New Media

Take, for example, the recent European elections of 2024, which saw intense polarization and lively online debates. Independent blogs, social media accounts run by journalists, intellectuals, or everyday citizens offered alternative viewpoints, often challenging the official narratives presented by mainstream media. In some cases, these digital spaces brought attention to underrepresented issues, like youth voter abstention or the role of artificial intelligence in political communication.

Or consider the war in Ukraine, where blogs by geopolitical analysts and on-the-ground reporters have helped inform public opinion about aspects that might otherwise have been overlooked. While social media can indeed be tools of propaganda or disinformation, it’s undeniable that they also make valuable cultural contributions by diversifying sources and stimulating critical thinking. The Challenge of Quality and Critical Thinking

Of course, not everything about the digital world is golden. It’s also a realm filled with superficiality, fake news, and toxic dynamics. And here we return once again to Montaigne, who wrote in his Essays: “I do not teach, I tell a story.” A simple yet powerful phrase. Montaigne never positioned himself as an absolute authority but as a man who, through writing “en chair et en os” (in flesh and blood), shared his doubts with others. Perhaps this is the most important lesson for today’s digital world: not to replace complexity with slogans, not to give in to the temptation of always being right, but to cultivate doubt and curiosity.

Blogs and social media can indeed be extraordinary tools for cultural growth—but only if used critically: if writers take responsibility for researching, arguing their points, and respecting complexity, and if readers exercise both the right—and the duty—to verify, compare, and dig deeper. A New Public Sphere

In this sense, blogs and social media are reshaping what the philosopher Jürgen Habermas once called the “public sphere.” It’s no longer a one-way space where a few speak and many listen. Instead, it’s an arena where anyone can participate. True, this creates chaos, an overabundance of voices, and sometimes confusion. But it also offers everyone the chance to contribute to collective culture, breaking through geographical, social, and even linguistic barriers.

This is why comparing today’s digital world with Montaigne isn’t merely an intellectual game. The man who wrote to understand himself and share his thoughts four centuries ago was already anticipating the fundamental dynamic of the digital world: the construction of public opinion through personal storytelling. Umberto Eco once said of his own books that they were “a fabric of texts, a book made of books.” The same is true of Montaigne—and today, of the internet itself. Blogs and social media are, in fact, an endless conversation, made up of cross-references, quotes, links, and comments—a collective weaving of texts, images, and ideas, where each piece of content generates new content in turn. In a passage from his Essays, Montaigne pushes his reflections on reality so far that he ventures into what we might now call a “metaphysics of blogging,” offering contemporary people yet another of his extraordinary lessons:

I cannot keep my subject still. It goes along befuddled and staggering, with a natural drunkenness. I take it as it is, at the moment when it interests me. I do not describe the being; I describe the passage (…). I must adapt my story to the moment. I could change soon, not only in condition but also in intentions. It’s a record of various and shifting events and uncertain ideas—and sometimes contradictory ones: whether because I myself am different or because I view things from different aspects and perspectives. So much so that I may perhaps contradict myself, but I never contradict the truth, as Demades said. If my soul could settle, I would not be testing myself; I would be resolved. It is always in training and on trial.

In much the same way, we could say, online communication moves in countless directions, with scattered fragments connecting and transforming. Yet amid this apparent chaos lies a profound value: the possibility of surfacing new perspectives, personal experiences, and micro-stories that enrich our collective culture. Ultimately, blogs and social media are powerful tools for the cultural growth of public opinion—but only if they serve as spaces for genuine dialogue rather than megaphones for shouted certainties. And Montaigne reminds us that the true driving force of culture is curiosity, doubt, and the courage to expose ourselves without pretending always to be right. If the 16th century witnessed the birth of Montaigne’s Essays, our age has multiplied those voices a thousandfold. It’s up to us—readers and writers alike—to ensure that this incredible wealth doesn’t turn into mere noise but remains the lifeblood for cultural (and existential) growth for all.

Northern Ireland in Flames

I revisited the topic of an article I published yesterday in Italian on Money.it to write a post for English-speaking readers.

Ballymena riots highlight deeper racial and social frictions in the UK

It started ten days ago in Ballymena, a town in County Antrim, Northern Ireland. Two 14‑year‑old boys, reportedly of Romanian origin, were charged with the attempted rape of a local teenage girl. The accusation quickly ignited four nights of rioting, with roughly 2,500 residents hurling Molotov cocktails, setting vehicles and buildings ablaze, and attacking neighborhoods inhabited by immigrants. Dozens of police officers were injured. From the very outset, authorities framed the events as racially motivated hate crimes.

For many Britons, the crisis brought to mind the Rotherham scandal — a dark chapter that came to light in 2011 following an investigation by The Times of London. Between 1997 and 2013, gangs comprised largely of Pakistani men subjected roughly 1,400 girls, mostly white and from disadvantaged areas, to systematic sexual abuse. The victims were groomed, drugged, raped, and forced into prostitution. The scandal exposed a catastrophic institutional failure, with police and social services ignoring credible reports for fear of being accused of racism and stoking ethnic tensions. In some instances, authorities even attempted to shift blame onto the victims, implying that they were “consenting.” Earlier this year, the case resurfaced when Elon Musk openly criticized the British government for its reluctance to fully investigate. Musk was quickly joined by conservative figures and Nigel Farage, while Labour leaders expressed discomfort, wary of what some framed as an “extreme right” campaign. Yet in the end, a review led by Baroness Casey was announced in January, and when it became clear that the report would recommend a formal national inquiry, Prime Minister Keir Starmer acted preemptively, approving it in recent days.

For many, the events in Ballymena carry echoes of the institutional failures exposed by Rotherham. As The Guardian observed, Ballymena reflects a familiar pattern: an influx of migrants, rising tensions with the local population, denial of racism, and an eventual spark that triggers indiscriminate violence. Yet this depiction overlooks another significant dynamic. In many communities across the UK — especially those far from wealthy neighborhoods — tensions arise precisely because migration is felt acutely, often concentrated in remote, deprived areas that are largely ignored by national discourse. Meanwhile, many Britons living in more privileged areas fail to comprehend these tensions simply because immigration has little direct impact on their daily lives.

The recent clashes are far from unprecedented. The Guardian recalled earlier outbreaks of race-related violence, from North Shields and Liverpool in 1919 — when a Black sailor drowned after being chased by a mob — to attacks on a Liverpool sailors’ dormitory in 1948 and a mixed residential complex in 1972. The housing crisis has long been a flashpoint, too: just last year, eight African families — half of them comprised of medical staff — were forced to flee a neighborhood in Antrim. Similar tensions surfaced in Nottingham and Notting Hill in 1958, while even Scotland and Wales have witnessed comparable incidents. In 1919, a rumor that a “foreigner” had assaulted a local woman ignited riots across South Wales, spreading from the valleys to Cardiff and its diverse Tiger Bay district.

More recently, in 2024, racial and religious tensions surged across the UK, with riots and attacks on mosques in Belfast, Bristol, London, and numerous other cities across the Midlands and North, including Blackpool, Hull, Leeds, Manchester, Middlesbrough, Stoke‑on‑Trent, and Sunderland. Home Secretary Yvette Cooper announced urgent security measures in response, stating: “In light of the disgraceful threats and attacks that local mosques have also faced in many communities, the government is providing rapid additional support through the Protective Security for Mosques Scheme, alongside the support from local police forces.” Meanwhile, Prime Minister Keir Starmer, freshly installed, was forced to convene the government’s top crisis committee, COBRA, as his Labour administration worked to regain control of the situation.

While the United States is often criticized for its struggles with racism and xenophobia, the United Kingdom is hardly in a better position — if anything, it has a long, deeply rooted history of racially charged violence that shows little sign of abating. What differentiates the US from the UK may be that, across the Atlantic, the MAGA movement have refused to turn a blind eye, allowing many Americans to feel less abandoned when grappling with a crisis of this magnitude. 

Something similar to what is happening in the United States is also taking place in Italy, where Giorgia Meloni’s government — despite countless challenges and setbacks, including judicial ones — is trying to give the public a sense that the migration crisis is, in some way, under control. At the very least, it aims to demonstrate the political will to limit, if not eradicate, illegal immigration and its impact on people’s daily lives. It is an immense task, undoubtedly, especially given that the European Union appears to be moving in a different direction. Recently, however, there have been signs of a shift in attitude, thanks in part to Giorgia Meloni’s persistence and tenacity. Only time will tell.

Which immigrants get the shaft in Starmer’s UK?

A big recent agreement between the U.K. and the E.U. showcases the serious problems plaguing Albion.

My latest on American Thinker, in which I explain how U.K. Prime Minister Keir Starmer executed two contradictory U-turns within.

This is a time of major shifts in the United Kingdom’s relationship with the rest of the world.  Following recent trade deals with the United States and India, significant changes are also taking shape in U.K.-E.U. relations.  In particular, the Common Understanding signed in London last Monday by British prime minister Keir Starmer, European Council president Antonio Costa, and European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen has sparked intense debate.  The shift, coming just nine years after the Brexit referendum, is a significant development on multiple fronts.

The agreement, described as a “wide-ranging reset,” covers security, defense spending, energy trade, pharmaceuticals, fishing, food exports, and — crucially — immigration and mobility, particularly for students.  While largely a statement of intent, leaders on both sides of the Channel have emphasized its importance.  Starmer called it “the dawn of a new era” in U.K.-E.U. relations and a “win-win deal,” while von der Leyen stated, “We are turning the page and opening a new chapter.”

Many of the issues addressed will require further negotiation, including the regulation of student and skilled worker visas.  Although restrictions are likely to slacken, the benefits may apply only to E.U. citizens.

This marks yet another pivot in the U.K.’s immigration policy — one that initially made legal migration harder, not illegal immigration.  Under the May 12 announcement, prospective students and workers faced stricter language requirements, while skilled job applicants needed a university degree.  Starmer justified these measures with familiar rhetoric: “taking back control of our borders” and “ending the failed experiment of open borders.”

Critics argued that the move was a thinly veiled attempt to counter the rising popularity of Nigel Farage’s populist Reform U.K., which dominated this month’s local elections, securing control of 10 out of 23 councils and winning 677 of 1,600 contested seats.  The government’s declining approval — following cuts to elderly benefits, tax hikes, and scandals over political donations — likely fueled the crackdown.

Starmer’s lofty rhetoric suggested a heavy reliance on emotional appeal.  “Nations depend on rules, fair rules,” he said.  “Sometimes they are written down, often they are not, but either way, they give shape to our values, guide us towards our rights, of course, but also our responsibilities, the obligations we owe to each other.”  “In a diverse nation, like ours, and I celebrate that,” he added, “these rules become even more important.  Without them, we risk becoming an island of strangers, not a nation that walks forward together.”

Nigel Farage blasted the plan, telling Sky News, “Starmer is in serious, serious trouble.  He lacks sincerity entirely.  He’s obsessed with power — not what to do with it.” Even within Starmer’s own Labor Party, dissent emerged.  Sarah Owen, M.P. for Luton North, argued,

“The best way to prevent the UK from becoming an ‘island of strangers’ is to invest in thriving communities — not pit people against each other.”

The business sector also raised alarms, warning that the restrictions could stifle economic growth, worsen the U.K.’s skills crisis, and exacerbate labor shortages in key industries — unless paired with an overhaul of vocational training.

The British Chambers of Commerce and Confederation of British Industry (CBI) echoed these concerns, noting that student visa limits could cripple university finances.  International students contribute £9.8 billion annually in tuition fees alone (per HESA, 2021/22), with their total economic impact exceeding £41.9 billion (Universities UK, 2023). Their spending on housing, transport, and services fuels local economies, making higher education a pillar of Britain’s global economic standing.

It must also be said that everything about London contradicts the prime minister’s rhetoric: the kindness and willingness to help foreign visitors — people who spontaneously stop to help you find your way, Tube staff who anticipate your questions before you even ask, and countless other signs of open-minded hospitality.  I say this from firsthand experience, having recently returned after years away.

Starmer likely conflated different types of immigration and their related challenges.  Or, as Farage suggests, it’s just intellectual dishonesty.

Here in Europe, we know all too well the damage caused by uncontrolled, chaotic migration — with waves of drifters, lacking skills or purpose, camping out in our historic city centers, in parking garages, under bridges, and in train stations.  But Starmer’s measures disproportionately — and needlessly — targeted a different kind of immigrant: the very people who helped make London a “capital of the world,” surpassing Paris, Rome, and Amsterdam, perhaps even outshining the Big Apple itself.  It’s a magnetism that gets under your skin and never lets go.

Did the government have a last-minute change of heart, or was this softening always part of the plan?  Only time will tell.  But as Shakespeare wrote, “all’s well that ends well.”  Or at least it seems that way for now.

Rest in Peace, Your Holiness

 

My reflections on  Pope Francis's death, published today in Atlantico Quotidiano. This is my English translation of the original Italian text. 

A practicing Catholic would never wish for it to happen, yet it happens anyway, and you’re always caught off guard. Statistically, the event of a pope’s death occurs multiple times in a Catholic’s lifetime, and the emotions are always powerful. I wouldn’t want to make comparisons—almost always inappropriate—but I can say that, at least in my case, the intensity with which one experiences the event is never the same. This, of course, depends on many factors, both subjective and objective. 

Pope Francis’ death, however, is the most surprising. Almost everyone had done their best to convey relative optimism about the pontiff’s illness—doctors and the media had given us false hope. So, the news yesterday morning left us unprepared and stammering. “Francis is dead,” you repeat it to yourself almost to believe it. 

Was he a great pope, like—for different reasons, to varying degrees—his predecessors from Pius XII onward? Time will tell. Certainly, to us conservatives, he was never particularly dear, unlike for progressives. 

Memorable was his association with left-wing secularists like Eugenio Scalfari, which seemed to suggest, if not an outright alignment, at least a particularly bold and perilous leaning. His gestures “in that direction” were many, theologically speaking. Politically, we won’t even go there. Those in the opposite direction, in matters of theological doctrine, could be counted on one hand. 

It’s impossible not to recall his outburst against the “faggotry” (frociaggine in the original Italian) in the clergy (hierarchy included) and his repeated warnings about the existence of the devil. No pope, as far as I remember, had gone that far. Personally, I loved him in those moments. Just as I always appreciated his call for simplicity, in prayer as in life. But his worldview, in the opinion of many—and rightly so, I believe—was very much that of a “pope from the ends of the earth,” to quote his first words. 

Argentina is far away, perhaps too far for us Europeans, despite the blood ties for us Italians. The German pope was more “ours” (and then Joseph Ratzinger had become Roman…), just like the Polish pope—but in that case, we’re talking about a giant, Karol the Great, one of a kind, the man who changed the world. 

It would be neither fair nor correct to compare Jorge Mario Bergoglio to his predecessors, but if, as they say, the heart wants what it wants, reason too has its own paths and bonds that aren’t easily shaken off. In short, comparisons shouldn’t be made—yet they are. But always with goodwill, never “with a hatchet,” always with moderation and good taste. 

What matters, for a Catholic, is that the Pope is the Pope, always and no matter what. Before him, the believer kneels to receive his blessing, even if they disagree with much of what he says and teaches. And before death, all judgment is suspended, and one prays. In silence, even amid the deafening noise of these occasions. 

Rest in peace, Your Holiness.

 

Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years ago, Saint John Paul II the Great left this world. What he was for humanity and in the eyes of history is well known to all, and it is hardly debatable that he was a giant—one of those men who leave an indelible mark.

What he was for me, however, is almost impossible to put into words. He was—and still is—an emotional tsunami, capable of transforming words, gestures, facial expressions, and the tone of his voice into a living miracle of faith, greatness, beauty, and spiritual strength.

His memory is one of the very few things that can still bring a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. For years, even from afar, I witnessed the pages of history he wrote with his own hands. I had this incomparable privilege, and I remain deeply grateful to the Lord for it.

The least I can do is try not to be entirely unworthy, in hindsight, of the gift I was given. An impossible task, I know—but I'm doing my best...

If I Ever Found Myself Sinking into Depression

 

Cistercian Abbey of Follina (Tv, Italy)

My take on Marcello Veneziani's heartfelt oration in defense of Vittorio Sgarbi—now ravaged by depression—in the hope that he may rediscover his will to live and passion for all that made him famous. Click here for an Italian version of this post.

Marcello Veneziani has gifted us with a heartfelt oration in defense of Vittorio Sgarbi—a moving and intelligent tribute to the great art critic, now ravaged by depression—in the hope that he may rediscover his will to live and passion for all that made him famous. An exhortation that will likely linger in the minds of Marcello’s readers, as well as Sgarbi’s admirers, tailored so precisely to its subject that it holds no universal value. Because Sgarbi is truly one of a kind—an Oscar Wilde-like figure, a Po Valley Dorian Gray, both carnal and spiritual, a hedonist yet open to the sacred all at once.

Yet beyond the merits of Veneziani’s article and the truths so vividly evoked, I found myself reflecting—in a way that mirrors my own inner world. In short, I wondered what I would need to hear from a friend, ideally one as inspired as Veneziani, if it were me falling into depression. After all, I’m around the same age, with my own share of aches and pains. By the grace of God, though, I’m not depressed.

Hermitage of Camaldoli (Ar, Italy)

Well, the answer comes to me easily: I’d want to hear a heartfelt plea for silence. The silence I’ve known and revered since my youth—ever since I was fortunate enough to cross the threshold of a Benedictine, Cistercian, or Trappist monastery, or a Camaldolese hermitage, and savor their stillness, broken only by Gregorian chant and the measured, monotonous footsteps of monks pacing the cloisters. And those scents, those stones, those Romanesque columns, the well at the center, the chime of a bell calling the faithful to the Liturgy of the Hours before dawn or at twilight.

   Cistercian monks

I’ve told myself a thousand times that, by some miracle, there’s a silent monastery within me, enclosed within the walls of my body and soul. And inside it, there’s profound peace—even if only for a moment, before being overtaken by a loud, overwhelming wave of reality. But only temporarily, because sooner or later, that inner hermitage inevitably resurfaces and restores the silence. And in that absence of noise, somehow, everything around me regains meaning, becoming something worth caring about again. A Camaldolese monk once gave me a definition of that mystery: a silence inhabited by God.

Yes, I believe that if I were to plunge into depression, the only exhortation with any real chance of reaching me would be an invitation to let myself be enveloped by a silence inhabited by God.

 

A Friend for Trump in Italy

Between the Two Sides of the Atlantic... searching for the West.

Why we must hope that the efforts of the Italian Prime Minister are crowned with success.

My latest on American Thinker, in which I explain to American readers how Europe views the latest developments in Trump's peace initiative—including the spat with Zelenskyy in the Oval Office—and the role Giorgia Meloni could play in restoring unity within the West.

Never in recent history have relations between the United States and Europe been as tense as in this period —  that is, since the Trump administration began taking its first steps and revealing its foreign policy orientation.  Over the last few days, the situation has worsened further, or more accurately, it has reached a boiling point, due to the approach — deemed too aggressive by the Europeans — taken by President Trump to the Russo-Ukrainian war and especially to Volodymyr Zelensky.  The final straw was the tense public confrontation with President Trump and Vice President Vance in the Oval Office.  It was the most heated public exchange of words between world leaders in the Oval Office in memory.  The meeting, as we all know, ended with Trump reportedly abruptly instructing his aides to ask Zelensky to leave the White House.

The event, shocking in and of itself — though essentially due to Zelensky’s presumptuous behavior — also sent shockwaves through Europe, where political leaders immediately rallied to Ukraine’s side, forgetting that it is only thanks to Donald if, after three years of war and slaughter, peace is finally being discussed.  “There’s an aggressor, which is Russia, and a people attacked, which is Ukraine.  We must thank all those who helped and respect those who have been fighting since the beginning,” French president Emmanuel Macron told reporters, after reportedly talking to Zelensky.  Germany’s likely next chancellor, Friedrich Merz, reaffirmed his country’s stance, declaring, “We must never confuse aggressor and victim in this terrible war.”  He also accused Trump of “deliberately escalating” tensions with Zelensky.  U.K. prime minister Keir Starmer said: “Three years on from Russia’s brutal invasion of Ukraine, we are at a turning point.  Today I will reaffirm my unwavering support for Ukraine and double down on my commitment to provide capacity, training and aid to Ukraine, putting it in the strongest possible position.”

The leaders of Spain, Poland, and the Netherlands were among those who posted social media messages backing Ukraine.  There were also supportive messages from political leaders in Austria, Belgium, Croatia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Ireland, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Moldova, Romania, Sweden, and Slovenia.  European Union chiefs António Costa and Ursula von der Leyen assured Zelensky in a joint statement that he was “never alone.”  “We will continue working with you for a just and lasting peace,” they said.

Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán was the only one who didn’t join the chorus of support for Zelensky.  “Strong men make peace, weak men make war,” he said.  “Today President Donald Trump stood bravely for peace,” he continued, “even if it was difficult for many to digest.  Thank you, Mr. President!”

What about Italy?  Where does Europe’s second-largest manufacturing country and one of the E.U.’s founding members stand?  Italy’s prime minister, Giorgia Meloni, merely expressed “sympathy” for Zelensky, carefully avoiding distancing herself from Trump.  “She cannot — and doesn’t want — to turn her back on Ukraine because she has gone too far in supporting Kyiv and Zelensky.  On the other side, she doesn’t want to give any hint of criticism of Trump, who has attacked Zelensky,” Stefano Stefanini, Italy’s former ambassador to NATO, told the Financial Times.

“She is hedging — she hasn’t decided which way to go,” said Beniamino Irdi, an Atlantic Council senior fellow and former Italian government security policy adviser.  “She still thinks that the special relationship she has built with Trump and Musk may be of more value than her relationship with European allies.”

However, on Tuesday, Meloni rejected a plan by France and the United Kingdom to support Ukraine’s war against Russia by sending Italian soldiers.  “Italy has expressed doubts regarding the proposal of France and the UK on sending European troops,” she told Italian TV channel Rai1.  “I think it is very difficult to implement, I am not sure about its effectiveness, that’s why we announced that we will not send Italian soldiers to Ukraine,” she added.  Moreover, speaking on Sunday at Downing Street, she stressed the need of unity between the two sides of the Atlantic:

The only thing that we really cannot afford is a peace that does not remain, and this cannot be afforded.  Ukraine cannot afford it, Europe cannot afford it, the United States cannot afford it.  For God’s sake, everything can explode.  It’s not good news.  So everything I can do to keep the West united and to strengthen it, I will do.

Meloni also proposed hosting a summit between European leaders and the U.S., to build bridges after the relationship between the longtime allies strained over the war in Ukraine.

On the day Donald Trump suspended military aid to Ukraine, Giorgia Meloni’s attempt to remain equidistant between Trump and the European Union was put to the test during a special summit that saw all 27 countries agree to Ursula von der Leyen’s “Rearm Europe” plan, but which also highlighted a serious divide over the approach to take.  The final text — signed by 26 and hailed as a watershed moment — speaks about “peace through strength,” military assistance and security guarantees for Kyiv, all of which the Hungarian prime minister has strongly opposed.  Orbán, who prior to the summit had signaled his intention to veto the E.U. statement, argued that it ran contrary to U.S. president Donald Trump’s deal-making initiative, to which he has firmly aligned himself.  The European Council president, António Costa, who called the meeting, said, “Hungary has a different strategic approach on Ukraine, but that means Hungary is isolated among the 27. ... We respect Hungary’s position, but it’s one out of 27.  And 26 are more than one.”

As for the rearmament plan, Meloni’s stance is a “yes” but with reservations that could be refined at the formal European Council on March 20–21. “That’s where the decisions are made,” Meloni reminded everyone.  There is time to fine-tune the points important to Rome, she said in a press briefing on Thursday.  The first is to “change the name,” shifting the focus from weapons to defense and security.  The second is to clearly state in advance that Italy will not use the clause allowing Cohesion Funds to be converted into spending on weapons.  “Italy will not deprive itself of these precious resources,” said Meloni, announcing that this will be the “deal” she will propose to Parliament ahead of the next European Council.

Moreover, at a press briefing in Brussels, she suggested that NATO’s Article 5 protection could be extended to cover Ukraine even if it is not a full member-state.  This would be better than options such as the deployment of peacekeeping forces to monitor a ceasefire, she explained: “Extending the same coverage that NATO countries have to Ukraine would certainly be much more effective, while being something different from NATO’s membership.”

All in all, despite her best intentions and her ideological stance — along with her strong ties to U.S. Republicans — Meloni has had a tough time mediating between Washington, D.C. and Brussels.  Yet no leader of a major European country is better suited for that role than she is.  Not for nothing was she the only E.U. head of government invited to Trump’s inauguration in January.  Earlier the same month, she visited him at Mar-a-Lago, where Trump defined her as a “fantastic woman” who has “really taken Europe by storm.”

If all mediation attempts fail, then an extremely complicated, if not dramatic, phase will open in the history of relations between the two sides of the Atlantic.  For this reason, we must hope that the efforts of the Italian prime minister are crowned with success.