Italy Prevails

 

Italy today is not a success story -- but neither is it the failure it is often portrayed to be. 

My latest on American Thinker.

Much of the current commentary on Europe’s economic malaise follows a familiar pattern. Brussels’ central planning, green industrial policy, and debt-fueled stimulus are blamed -- often correctly -- for masking stagnation and delaying an inevitable reckoning. Southern Europe, in particular, is frequently portrayed as a collection of artificially sustained economies, kept afloat by EU subsidies, creative accounting, and bureaucratic redistribution.

There is truth in this diagnosis. But it is also incomplete. And in one crucial case -- Italy -- it risks obscuring a more complex and revealing reality.

Italy is often lumped together with Spain, Greece, or Portugal as a “problem economy”: high public debt, low growth, rigid institutions. Yet when one looks beyond headline GDP figures and focuses instead on production, exports, and global competitiveness, a different picture emerges -- one that complicates the prevailing narrative about Europe’s decline.

Over the past several years, Italy has remained among the world’s leading exporters of manufactured goods. In absolute terms, Italian exports of goods have hovered between $650 and $700 billion annually, placing the country consistently among the top global exporters -- alongside Germany and, in some periods, Japan. This is not a statistical artifact of EU transfers. It is the result of private-sector industrial capacity operating on global markets.

This distinction matters. Much of the criticism leveled at Europe focuses on growth that exists only on paper: GDP inflated by public spending, debt mutualization, or multinational profit shifting. Ireland is the textbook example. Its GDP figures are famously distorted by the accounting practices of multinational corporations, with little connection to domestic production or employment. Spain’s recent growth, too, has relied heavily on credit expansion, subsidies, and public-sector absorption, while youth unemployment remains structurally high.

Italy’s export performance, by contrast, tells a different story. It is rooted in domestic manufacturing, not financial engineering. Italian firms compete globally in machinery, industrial equipment, pharmaceuticals, chemicals, food processing, and high-end consumer goods. These are sectors that require engineering skill, supply-chain integration, and long-term capital investment. They cannot be sustained by subsidies alone.

This does not mean Italy has been immune to the distortions created by EU policy. On the contrary, Italian industry operates under some of the least favorable conditions in the developed world: high taxation, complex regulation, elevated energy costs, and constant interference from both national and European authorities. That exports have remained strong despite these constraints is not a testament to Brussels’ wisdom, but to the resilience of Italy’s productive base.

Here lies the paradox that much commentary misses: Italy’s relative economic strength exists not because of EU central planning, but despite it.

For American readers, this distinction should sound familiar. It mirrors the difference between financialized growth driven by leverage and asset inflation, and growth grounded in production, trade, and competitive enterprise. Italy, for all its flaws, still belongs to the latter category.

None of this is meant to deny Europe’s broader structural problems. Centralized industrial policy, green mandates detached from market realities, and the politicization of credit allocation are all real threats. Germany’s industrial slowdown, particularly in automotive and heavy machinery, underscores how destructive these policies can be when imposed at scale. The EU’s model increasingly resembles a technocratic command economy layered on top of nominally free markets.

But Italy’s case suggests that Europe’s crisis is not one of lost productive capacity. It is a crisis of governance.

Where production survives, value creation survives. Where institutions interfere less -- or simply fail to crush existing structures -- private enterprise continues to function. Italy’s export sector shows that the European economy is not hollowed out across the board. It is constrained, mismanaged, and increasingly overregulated, but not yet exhausted.

This distinction has important implications. If Italy were merely another subsidy-dependent economy propped up by EU transfers, its export performance would have collapsed alongside the waning effects of stimulus. Instead, Italian exports have held up even as broader European growth slows. That suggests a floor beneath the economy that many commentators overlook.

The danger, however, is that this residual strength will not last indefinitely. Central planning does not merely fail to generate growth; over time, it actively erodes the conditions that allow private industry to function. Italy’s manufacturing base has survived decades of institutional neglect. Whether it can survive an additional decade of ideological regulation, green mandates, and fiscal extraction is an open question.

From an American perspective, the lesson is twofold. First, Europe should not be analyzed as a monolith. Beneath the bureaucratic superstructure lies a diverse set of economies with very different productive realities. Second, the real cost of Europe’s current trajectory is not immediately visible in GDP statistics. It lies in the slow suffocation of those sectors that still create real value.

Italy today is not a success story -- but neither is it the failure it is often portrayed to be. It is a stress test. Its ability to export, compete, and produce under adverse conditions reveals both the latent strength of European industry and the scale of the damage inflicted by centralized governance.

If even Italy’s industrial core begins to falter, the illusion of Europe’s economic sustainability will finally collapse. Until then, Italy remains an inconvenient counterexample -- one that challenges easy narratives about artificial economies and forces a more serious examination of what, exactly, is still holding Europe together.

When Seeing Is No Longer Enough: Mantegna and the Silent Gaze of the Magi

Adoration of the Magi (about 1495–1505), Andrea Mantegna – Getty Museum, Los Angeles

A Meditation on Faith, Vision, and the Limits of the Human Gaze*

There is a moment, when standing before a great painting, in which time seems to loosen its grip. Andrea Mantegna’s Adoration of the Magi creates precisely such a moment. Nothing in the scene is loud or dramatic. The colors are restrained, the gestures measured, the space dense with silence. And yet, the longer one looks, the more the painting begins to resist easy interpretation.

The Magi are there. They have arrived at the end of a long journey. They kneel, they bow, they offer their gifts. Everything appears to be in place—except for one quietly unsettling detail. Their eyes do not meet the Child’s. In a scene built around revelation, recognition, and divine encounter, the expected exchange of gazes never happens.

It is in this absence, in what is not shown, that Mantegna asks us to pause—and to reflect on what it truly means to see.

In most traditional representations of the Adoration, vision structures the entire composition. Lines of sight converge toward the infant Christ, guiding the viewer’s eye and confirming the moment of recognition. To look is to believe. Mantegna deliberately disrupts this visual logic. The Magi are physically close to the Child, humbly positioned before Him, yet their gazes drift downward or away. The act of seeing, so central to Renaissance painting, is withheld at the very moment when it seems most necessary.

This is no compositional accident. It is the key to the painting.

The Magi are not portrayed as distracted or uncertain figures. They are scholars, astronomers, interpreters of signs. Their journey did not begin with a vision, but with understanding: a star observed, its meaning deciphered, a truth inferred rather than revealed. Long before they reached Bethlehem, they had already recognized who this Child was. Their arrival is not a discovery, but a confirmation.

Now, standing before the Incarnation itself, sight proves insufficient. The divine mystery cannot be possessed by the eyes. To stare would imply mastery, comprehension, even control. Instead, the Magi lower their gaze. Reverence replaces curiosity. The body bows where the eyes withdraw.

In this quiet gesture, Mantegna articulates a profound theological intuition: God, even when fully present in human form, remains ultimately invisible. The Christ Child can be seen as a body, but not grasped as a mystery. The Magi’s averted eyes acknowledge the limits of human perception. They know that what matters most cannot be captured by vision alone.

There is also a distinctly classical resonance in this choice. Mantegna, deeply immersed in ancient art and philosophy, draws on a visual language older than Christianity itself. In the classical world, the divine is often approached indirectly. Gods are honored through posture, restraint, and silence rather than direct confrontation. To lower one’s gaze is to recognize a higher order. Here, the Magi—foreign kings and learned men—behave like ancient worshippers standing before something that exceeds them.

Yet perhaps the most radical aspect of the painting lies not within the figures themselves, but in what the painting asks of us.

By refusing to let the Magi guide our eyes, Mantegna transfers responsibility to the viewer. If they do not look at the Child, we must. The visual path no longer remains enclosed within the painting; it extends outward, toward us. We are no longer passive observers following prescribed lines of sight. We are participants, drawn into the act of contemplation.

In this sense, Adoration of the Magi functions less as a narrative illustration than as a meditation. It does not instruct; it invites. The silence of the Magi’s gaze opens a silence within the viewer. We are left alone with the Child, without intermediaries, without visual certainty, without reassurance.

And that, perhaps, is Mantegna’s deepest insight. Faith does not arise from spectacle. It is not born from what dazzles the eyes, but from what challenges the mind and stills the heart. The Magi have already completed their journey. They have seen the sign, followed it, and understood it.

Now, standing before the mystery itself, they kneel.

In Adoration of the Magi, Andrea Mantegna does not show us figures who fail to see Christ. He shows us figures who have seen enough—and who understand that, at a certain point, seeing must give way to reverence.

* Italian version

Fra Angelico and the Breaking Point of Beauty: Why Florence’s Exhibition Is Meant to Be Experienced, Not Just Seen

 

At Palazzo Strozzi, Fra Angelico’s work does not overwhelm you all at once. It insists — and eventually reshapes how you look at everything else.

When I returned from Florence, I realized that for the first time after many visits I couldn’t dismiss the experience with the usual “beautiful, as always.” Something was different—more physical, less rational. A mild dizziness, a sense of emotional overload, the difficulty of holding together images, colors, faces. In other words, I had experienced firsthand what we tend to call, in a somewhat journalistic but effective shorthand, the “Stendhal syndrome.”

It wasn’t my first time at the Uffizi. In fact, it was my ninth or tenth visit—I’ve lost count. And yet, it was precisely this familiarity that made the experience even more surprising. One would expect habituation, routine, perhaps a bit of cynicism. Instead, the opposite happened. Walking through the galleries, standing before works I thought I “knew,” I felt a kind of short circuit: my brain said “already seen,” but my eyes and my body reacted as if it were the first time.

The breaking point came shortly afterward, at Palazzo Strozzi, with the exhibition devoted to Fra Angelico—one of the artists I love most, and for that very reason one I believed I approached with a settled, almost pacified familiarity. The opposite occurred. His figures, the light that does not describe but reveals, the almost disarming calm of the sacred scenes produced a cumulative effect. Not a sudden shock, but a gradual loss of critical distance. I was no longer simply “looking at” artworks; I was inside a density of meaning that strained the limits of rational attention.

Stendhal syndrome—first described by the French writer after a visit to Florence, standing before the frescoes of Santa Croce—is not a disease in the clinical sense. It is, rather, an extreme reaction to an excess of beauty concentrated in space and time. Dizziness, rapid heartbeat, confusion, deep emotion. Symptoms that, read coldly, sound almost exaggerated. And yet, when they occur, they feel entirely understandable.

Why does this happen? The simplest explanation is also the most concrete: Florence is a city that does not dilute its heritage—it accumulates it. Within a few hundred square meters, one moves from Giotto to Caravaggio, from Botticelli to Michelangelo, without transition. Our perceptual system, accustomed to a constant but fragmented flow of stimuli, suddenly finds itself facing an extraordinarily dense concentration of meaning. It’s like moving from a low-calorie diet straight into a Renaissance banquet without preparation.

There is, however, another aspect—one particularly relevant for people oriented toward reality and practical decision-making. This experience is not an abstract luxury; it is a tangible investment in one’s personal capital: time, attention, emotional energy. Resources that in daily life we tend to ration or squander. Deliberately exposing oneself to beauty—real beauty, not filtered through a screen—is a way to recalibrate priorities, to restore a hierarchy of what truly matters.

There is no need to be an art historian, nor especially “spiritual.” I am not. What is required is simply a willingness to slow down and, paradoxically, to avoid over-optimizing the experience. Entering the Uffizi with the anxiety of seeing everything, of checking off masterpieces like items on a list, is the surest way to feel nothing at all. Stendhal syndrome—if we want to call it that—arrives when we allow ourselves the right to stop in front of a work that calls to us, ignoring everything else for a few minutes.

The same applies to the exhibition devoted to Fra Angelico, including the extension hosted at the Convent of San Marco, which houses the artist’s frescoes, among them the famous and magnificent Annunciation. The exhibition is not spectacular in the modern sense; it does not aim for the “wow effect.” It is made of silences, balance, a beauty that does not assault but insists. Precisely for this reason, it demands a different kind of availability: less consumption, more listening. And at a certain point, the body responds before the mind.

My invitation to readers is simple and practical: go to Florence not “to see,” but to experience. Plan less, leave room for the unexpected, even accept the discomfort of feeling overwhelmed. This is not wasted time, nor an aesthetic indulgence. It is a very concrete way of stepping out of the automatic mode in which we so often live and work.

In an age in which everything is measurable, monetizable, performance-driven, allowing oneself an experience that produces no immediate, tangible result is almost a countercultural act. But that is precisely the point. Beauty, when it is authentic, does not serve a purpose—it acts. And when it truly acts, it can make your head spin, your heart race, and call apparently solid certainties into question.

If it happens to you, don’t worry. It is neither weakness nor suggestion. It is the sign that, at least for a moment, you were fully present. And today, perhaps, there is no more profitable investment than that

God Is Back

A significant and surprisingly broad phenomenon has emerged: a quiet revival of faith among young people in both the United States and the United Kingdom.

My latest on American Thinker.

In recent years, a significant and surprisingly broad phenomenon has emerged: a quiet revival of faith among young people in both the United States and the United Kingdom. At the same time, a parallel rediscovery of God is taking place among many leading intellectuals. Together, these two trends deserve careful attention  and serious reflection.

Let’s begin with the “ordinary people” before turning to the maîtres à penser.

England and Wales: Young People Are Returning to Church

According to The Quiet Revival report published by the Bible Society, the share of young people aged 18 to 24 who attend church at least once a month in England and Wales has risen from 4% in 2018 to 16% in 2024, with men driving much of this growth. Many of these young churchgoers are also gravitating toward Catholicism: among those aged 18-34 who are active in church life, over 40% identify as Catholic, surpassing Anglicans.

Paul Williams, CEO of the Bible Society, summarizes the findings this way:

“The Quiet Revival is a hugely significant report that should reshape perceptions of Christianity and religious practice in England and Wales. Far from sliding toward extinction, the Church is alive, growing, and making a difference for individuals and society.”

This favorable trend is also reflected in a rise in adult conversions and baptisms. Many parishes now report record numbers of adults entering the Catholic Church -- typically motivated by a search for authenticity, truth, and community.

A Similar Trend in the United States

The same dynamic is unfolding in the United States. According to Pew Research, about 1.5% of American Catholic adults today are converts. Many of these younger adults say they are seeking a “stable moral order” and a spiritual depth they no longer find in contemporary secular culture. For a growing number of them, the structure, ritual, and aesthetic beauty of Catholic liturgy are decisive factors.

In other words, a generation is rediscovering in God not only a transcendent ideal but also a concrete community and a form of stability that secular society struggles to provide.

A Leadership Roundtable study notes that young adult Catholics in the U.S. are among the most engaged parishioners -- attending Mass, confession, and eucharistic adoration -- while also feeling tension between their personal dedication and the institutional fragility they perceive in parts of the Church.

This is not a series of isolated conversions. It is a demographic and cultural shift -- and a profound one.

…And the Intellectuals Are Returning to God

Alongside this youth-driven religious revival, a comparable phenomenon is unfolding among intellectuals.

For the past two decades, a large portion of the western cultural elite embraced the paradigm of the “New Atheism.” The formula seemed obvious: economic progress + science + technology = final emancipation from all religion.

But that season is over.

Philosophers, writers, commentators, and even high-profile figures in the tech world are now moving in the opposite direction: returning to God -- or at least to the religious dimension as an indispensable cultural foundation.

This time the trend does not originate with the masses, but with the people who shape ideas. And that matters: cultural currents often begin at the top and filter downward into public opinion.

Though the personal stories differ, they share a common thread: the realization that hyper-rationalism no longer explains the world -- and no longer helps people live well within it.

Here are some emblematic cases, drawing on an insightful Free Press article by Peter Savodnik.

Matthew Crawford: From Academic Agnosticism to the Anglican Church

Matthew Crawford -- long seen as a symbol of secular intellectual life -- found faith through a human encounter: meeting Marilyn Simon, a scholar and believer. His story is simple yet revealing. It wasn’t doctrine he lacked, but meaning. A higher moral order became, for him, a response to today’s radical individualism and fragmentation.

Paul Kingsnorth: The Environmental Novelist Who Found Orthodoxy

Once a leading figure in European environmentalism, Kingsnorth explored several spiritual paths before embracing Orthodox Christianity. His reasoning is partly sociopolitical: the ecological crisis, he argues, is at its core a spiritual one -- the result of a rupture between human beings and the natural world. Orthodoxy, with its mystical depth, offered him a restored sense of the sacred.

Ayaan Hirsi Ali: Faith as a Response to Inner Emptiness -- and to Islamism

A former Dutch MP, survivor of genital mutilation, and for years a fierce critic of political Islam, Ayaan Hirsi Ali converted to Christianity for two reasons:

• her personal battle with depression
• the West’s inability, in her view, to confront aggressive religious ideologies with purely secular tools

Her conversion is perhaps the most overtly political: she argues that a culturally disarmed Europe needs Christianity as an anchor of identity and resistance.

Richard Dawkins and “Cultural Christianity”

The father of New Atheism has not converted, but he has retreated. Dawkins now describes himself as a “cultural Christian,” openly worried that abandoning the Christian tradition will create a dangerous ideological and religious vacuum.

Jordan Hall: The Anti–Silicon Valley Conversion

A former tech pioneer, Jordan Hall discovered God not in some futuristic spiritual forum but in a small rural church. His diagnosis is sociological before it is mystical: the West is undergoing “cultural termination,” marked by demographic decline, loneliness, and digitized relationships. Religious community, he argues, provides something no technology can replace.

Conversions are Sweeping Through the Young

Across the U.S., conversions among young men are rising, traditional liturgies are making a comeback, and seminaries are seeing increased interest. In a period of economic insecurity, relational instability, and cultural uncertainty, religion reemerges as a form of social capital.

Not a Folkloric Revival -- and Not a Fashion Statement

The return to faith among both intellectuals and the young reflects a deep unease with a cultural model that has lost its normative power. For Europe -- and for the West more broadly -- where debates over identity, welfare, birth rates, and social cohesion are intensifying, these developments deserve close attention.

Religion may be returning not only as a legacy of the past, but as a resource for the future -- a striking challenge to the atheism and agnosticism that once appeared firmly in command.

New York Turns the Tables: the “Socialist” Mayor Who Sounds (Almost) Like Trump

Zohran Mamdani won over the Big Apple not out of love for socialism, but by giving a voice to a new class of the disillusioned — affluent professionals who no longer believe that hard work is enough to “make it.”

Few places on earth embody capitalism quite like New York City. Yet it’s that very city that has just elected Zohran Mamdani — a self-described social democrat — as mayor. The American right, predictably, wasted no time branding him a “communist,” though the label says more about their reflexes than about Mamdani himself.

Beyond the noise and the name-calling, something deeper is happening. Mamdani’s victory is not proof that New York has fallen in love with socialism. It’s the expression of a widespread frustration with a system that many feel has stopped being fair. And that frustration isn’t limited to struggling families or low-income voters. It’s spreading among the very people who, on paper, are supposed to be thriving — the well-educated, ambitious professionals who have done everything right and still feel like they’re running in place.

These are the people who “checked all the boxes”: good schools, long hours, solid jobs — yet they can’t afford the city they helped build. Rents rise faster than salaries, taxes eat into their paychecks, homeownership feels out of reach. They’re not poor; they’re just exhausted. Worst of all, in the supposed land of opportunity, they’ve stopped believing that hard work automatically leads to stability — let alone success.

They don’t want government handouts, as Republicans tend to assume. Nor do they want to burn the system down, as some Democrats fear. What they want is a system that works again — one that rewards effort and merit rather than luck, inherited wealth, or connections. New York used to be that kind of place: a city that lifted those who hustled. Today, it seems to reward only those already at the top. In electing Mamdani, New Yorkers didn’t reject capitalism — they demanded that it deliver on its promises.

Mamdani’s genius was recognizing this disillusionment before anyone else — and having the instincts to speak like a citizen, not a career politician. He didn’t offer a revolution. He offered recognition. And that’s what made him resonate with voters who had stopped trusting the system but hadn’t stopped hoping for it to work.

In a strange way, that makes Mamdani an accidental echo of Donald Trump. Like Trump in 2016, he gave voice to a segment of Americans who felt unseen — in Trump’s case, the working class; in Mamdani’s, the frustrated middle and upper-middle class. Both tapped into empathy and anger to deliver the same essential message: the game is rigged, and I’m the one who will fix it. Trump targeted Washington’s swamp; Mamdani took aim at a city economy where even success feels unstable.

Republicans would be mistaken to dismiss Mamdani’s win as just another far-left aberration. They should study it. As political analyst Lee Hartley Carter put it, “New Yorkers aren’t rejecting capitalism; they’re asking it to keep its promises. They’re not demanding special treatment — they’re asking for a fair game.”

One more striking fact: roughly 20% of New York’s electorate is Jewish — the largest Jewish community in the world outside Israel — and yet the city elected a candidate who has voiced strong criticism of Israeli policies and what he calls the “Zionist establishment.” Still, according to CNN’s exit polls, 33% of Jewish voters supported him, despite open calls from Israel and the mainstream press — including the New York Times — to oppose him. That tells us something about the shifting winds of American politics, where skepticism toward Israel’s government is now emerging not just on the left, but increasingly on the right as well. Figures like Tucker Carlson, Candace Owens, and Joe Rogan — once considered pillars of the MAGA movement — have become some of its most outspoken critics on the issue, much to the discomfort of traditional Christian Zionists.

Mamdani’s election doesn’t signal a socialist takeover of New York. It signals something more profound — a crisis of faith in a system that once promised upward mobility and now delivers exhaustion. His victory is a warning shot to both parties: people haven’t stopped believing in capitalism. They’ve just stopped believing that it’s still fair.

Criticizing Israel Is not Antisemitism — and Heritage’s Kevin Roberts Just Said So

Kevin Roberts draws a crucial line between policy critique and bigotry, restoring clarity to conservative discourse on Israel

In recent weeks, former Fox News host and now hugely popular conservative podcaster Tucker Carlson has been relentless in denouncing what he sees as the intolerable influence of foreign lobbies — most notably the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) — in shaping U.S. policy. A few days ago, he was sharply criticized for interviewing Nick Fuentes, founder of the so-called “Groyper” movement, which promotes an ethnonationalist vision of American identity — a figure whose views on Jews and the Holocaust have, rightly, provoked outrage and condemnation.

There has been speculation that @Heritage is distancing itself from @TuckerCarlson over the past 24 hours.

I want to put that to rest right now—here are my thoughts: pic.twitter.com/F8bcxBIqKI

— Kevin Roberts (@KevinRobertsTX) October 30, 2025

That is why it caused such a stir in conservative circles when Kevin Roberts, president of the Heritage Foundation, publicly defended Carlson in a video posted on X last Thursday. Roberts did more than lend support to a friend under attack: he may have initiated a long-awaited turning point in how the American conservative movement talks about Israel and antisemitism.

Roberts drew the outlines of a crucial distinction: “Christians can criticize the State of Israel without being antisemitic. And of course, antisemitism should be condemned.” A brief, understated remark — but an eloquent one. For decades, American conservatives have been expected to treat unconditional support for the Israeli government as a moral litmus test. Any questioning of Israeli policies or of Washington’s automatic alignment with them risked being branded “antisemitic.” That accusation has often shut down honest debate and, ironically, trivialized genuine antisemitism by confusing it with political disagreement.

Roberts’s statement matters not only because of who said it — the head of the most influential conservative think tank in America — but because it signals a return to reason and common sense at a crucial moment. On one hand, Roberts clearly rejects Fuentes’s vile statements, affirming that antisemitism has no place in public life. On the other, he refuses to join the mob calling for Tucker Carlson to be “canceled.” It’s a combination — moral clarity without hysteria — that conservatism once prided itself on.

You may agree or disagree with Tucker Carlson, with his tone or his questions, but his opinions deserve debate, not excommunication. The idea that Congress or the White House might be “too deferential” toward any foreign state — Israel included — is not antisemitic; it’s a legitimate concern for national sovereignty. The Founding Fathers themselves warned against “foreign entanglements.” Is it now forbidden to echo their wisdom?

Let’s be clear: defending Israel’s right to exist and to defend itself is one thing; equating that defense with blind approval of every action taken by its government is another. A mature alliance, like a mature friendship, can withstand disagreement. In fact, it thrives on intellectual honesty.

That’s why Roberts’s statement may well mark a watershed moment. It reminds us that love for Israel, like love for any nation, should be grounded in truth, not fear or idolatry. Unfortunately, some prominent conservatives have blurred that golden rule. Senator Ted Cruz, for instance, recently told Tucker Carlson, “As a Christian, I was taught by the Bible that those who bless Israel will be blessed, and those who curse Israel will be cursed” — adding that, of course, he would rather “be on the side of blessing.”

There is no doubt that Senator Cruz spoke with sincere faith, yet his interpretation — loosely (and poorly) drawn from Genesis 12:3 — has too often been elevated to a general rule: that Christians are biblically commanded to support the modern State of Israel. Theologically speaking, however, this confuses the spiritual Israel of Scripture with the modern nation-state. God’s covenant is not a mutual defense pact, and divine blessing cannot be reduced to foreign policy. To suggest otherwise risks turning faith into geopolitics — and elevating earthly governments above divine truth.

Carlson and others have rightly pushed back against this quasi-religious absolutism. It’s not about rejecting Israel; it’s about rejecting the notion that criticizing Israel amounts to apostasy. There is a profound difference between loving the Jewish people — as every Christian is called to do — and suspending moral judgment over the political actions of a nation-state. Confusing the two serves neither side.

Roberts’s Project Esther, launched to combat genuine antisemitism, demonstrates that moral vigilance need not come at the expense of free expression. Precisely because antisemitism is abhorrent, we must preserve the integrity of the term — not dilute it by applying it to anyone who dares to question Benjamin Netanyahu or the IDF. When everything becomes “antisemitism,” nothing truly is.

Moreover, uncritical alignment with any foreign capital — be it Jerusalem, Kyiv, or Brussels — undermines the very sovereignty conservatives claim to defend. America’s friendship with Israel should rest on shared values and mutual respect, not on emotional blackmail or theological confusion. That friendship is strongest when both nations can speak honestly, as equals.

Roberts’s unexpected defense of Tucker Carlson has reopened a door that, in America, had long been sealed by fear — fear of being misunderstood, misquoted, or smeared. True courage today lies not only in denouncing hatred of Israel (which is real and deeply rooted in some quarters), but also in defending the right to dissent.

If conservatives cannot have an honest conversation about Israel without being accused of antisemitism, then they have already surrendered the intellectual high ground they claim over progressives. Roberts refuses to do so. In doing that, he reaffirms a conservative tradition grounded not in conformity, but in the courage of conviction.

By standing with Tucker, Kevin Roberts reminded conservatives of something they should never forget: that truth and friendship with Israel do not require silence — they require integrity. And integrity, especially in times like these, demands clarity.

Candace Owens: Polarizing Voice and Media Force in Contemporary American Conservatism

[This is the second in a series of portraits of leading figures in the American political debate.
I decided to write them because there are intellectuals, journalists, and politicians I often reference in my articles, yet rarely have the time or space to explain who they really are—or what they actually believe in—amid today’s complex crossroads for America and the world.]

From Media Star to Political Firebrand: Owens and the Shifting Landscape of American Conservatism

Candace Owens has become one of the most high-profile and controversial figures in U.S. conservatism. Known for her sharp commentary, media savvy, and outspoken style, she occupies a space where politics, entertainment, and social media collide. Owens has built a reputation as a provocateur, capable of commanding both public attention and ideological debate, making her a key figure for anyone trying to understand today’s American right.

Her Connection to Charlie Kirk and the Quest for Answers

Charlie Kirk and Candace Owens speak
at the University of Colorado Boulder campus
on October 3, 2018. 

Owens’ relationship with Charlie Kirk, the founder of Turning Point USA, went beyond mere professional collaboration. Their friendship grew into a deep personal and political bond. Following Kirk’s death in September 2025 during a public event, Owens publicly positioned herself as a guardian of the truth, insisting that his death raised serious questions. In a widely cited statement, she said: “Charlie Kirk, my friend, is dead, and he was publicly executed.” In another podcast episode, she added: “I want war with all of you”, signaling her intent to confront those she believes are responsible for concealing information. These statements underscore both the personal stakes and her readiness to engage in public battles over accountability.

Owens has accused Turning Point USA leaders and major donors—particularly those with pro-Israel affiliations—of applying pressure on Kirk to align with more conventional political stances. While some messages and screenshots she shared have been verified, the situation remains contentious and under debate, reflecting the complexity of media-driven narratives within political movements.

Shifting Views on Israel

In recent years, Owens has taken a notable departure from the traditional pro-Israel stance commonly associated with U.S. conservatives. She has openly criticized Israeli policies and questioned the influence of pro-Israel lobbying on American politics. These positions, controversial within her party, have placed her in closer alignment with media personalities like Tucker Carlson, helping to form a faction of conservative thought that challenges long-standing alliances.

Alignment with Tucker Carlson and the MAGA Network

Owens’ relationships extend beyond ideology into practical collaboration. She shares common ground with Tucker Carlson and other prominent MAGA figures on topics such as cultural nationalism, skepticism of the establishment, and distrust of financial and media conglomerates that, in their view, shape political outcomes. Her network bridges populist digital media outlets—like The Daily Wire, The Blaze, and Rebel News—with more traditional conservative publications, including National Review and The Washington Examiner. This positioning allows her to influence both grassroots audiences and mainstream conservative circles.

Personal Background, Beliefs, and Faith

Born in 1989 in Stamford, Connecticut, Owens often draws upon her personal story as a foundation for her worldview. Raised in a Christian evangelical environment, she emphasizes personal responsibility, critiques identity politics, and promotes traditional family and cultural values. Her faith underpins much of her political messaging, giving her arguments both a moral and cultural frame that resonates with a significant portion of the conservative base.

Controversy Surrounding Charlie Kirk’s Widow

Owens has not shied away from conflict, extending her scrutiny to Kirk’s widow, Erika Kirk. She has publicly questioned the transparency of statements surrounding Charlie’s death, igniting debate within conservative circles about the balance between public accountability and personal privacy. These tensions highlight the ethical challenges faced by high-profile media figures when engaging with sensitive events.

Relationship with Donald Trump

Owens has consistently supported Donald Trump and his agenda, advocating for nationalist policies and the skepticism toward elites that defined his political brand. While her commentary aligns closely with Trump’s messaging, she maintains an independent voice, occasionally critiquing established party norms and asserting her perspective on ideological and cultural matters.

Understanding Contemporary America Through Candace Owens

Owens embodies the intersections of media, politics, and personality-driven influence in today’s America. She demonstrates how modern conservatism is shaped not just by policy debates but by media narratives, performative activism, and the personalization of political conflict. Her story reflects the power of social media, the blurring of private and public life, and the contested nature of authority within American conservatism.

For readers seeking insight into contemporary U.S. politics, Owens offers a lens into a movement where ideology, ambition, and media strategy collide. Her mix of provocation, personal storytelling, and ideological commitment makes her one of the most consequential figures in understanding the trajectory of the American right.

Jeffrey Sachs: the Disenchanted Globalist

A former architect of globalization turned moral critic of American power, Jeffrey Sachs embodies the paradoxes of an age torn between idealism and empire.

[This is the first in a series of portraits of leading figures in the American political debate.
I decided to write them because there are intellectuals, journalists, and politicians I often reference in my articles, yet rarely have the time or space to explain who they really are—or what they actually believe in—amid today’s complex crossroads for America and the world.]

---

From Globalist Wunderkind to System Critic

Among the many paradoxes of contemporary American and global politics, one stands out as particularly curious: while the liberal left has increasingly become interventionist, while many American Republicans have rediscovered their isolationist instincts, and while several European conservatives have turned out to be more pacifist than the usual rainbow-flag wavers, one of the loudest voices against war and the “American empire” comes from an economist who was once a leading symbol of progressive globalism.

His name is Jeffrey Sachs — and for years he has been one of the most provocative and widely heard figures in international debate.

A Jewish-American economist, public policy analyst, and professor at Columbia University, Sachs rose to fame in the 1980s as the “wunderkind” of transition economics. He was the architect behind the shock therapies meant to move Bolivia, Poland, and later Russia from planned economies to free markets.

At the time, he embodied the archetype of the neoliberal technocrat: he believed in markets, globalization, and in the power of international finance to “fix” the world.

---

The Turning Point

Then, slowly, something changed. Perhaps it was his experience working with African governments, or his time within the UN machinery (he led several sustainable development projects), or simply the realization that neoliberalism had failed to deliver on its promises.

Whatever the cause, Sachs evolved into a radical critic of the very system he once served. Today, he accuses the United States of being dominated by a warlike elite — what he calls “the party of permanent war.”

In recent years, his views have become explicitly anti-neoconservative. Sachs argues that Washington is ruled by a bipartisan establishment — Republican neocons and Democratic “liberal interventionists” — united by the belief that American dominance must be defended by force.

In his vocabulary, this bloc includes figures such as Victoria Nuland, Antony Blinken, and Jake Sullivan: “the elite that dragged the United States into useless wars — Iraq, Libya, Syria, Ukraine — and now risks pushing us into conflict with Russia or China.”

Within this framework, Sachs also condemns America’s “complicity” with Israel and speaks openly of “genocide in Gaza.” Coming from a Jewish-American intellectual, such language struck like blasphemy in the temple of the progressive establishment.

---

Sachs and Trump: Opposite Sides of the Same Coin

It might be tempting to imagine that an anti-neocon like Sachs could sympathize, at least in part, with Donald Trump, who in his 2016 campaign promised to “end the endless wars” and make America focus on itself again.

In fact, quite the opposite happened. To Sachs, Trump represents the other side of the same imperial coin — not an outsider, but an impulsive populist who ultimately reinforced America’s most dangerous tendencies.

He accuses Trump of “economic illiteracy” for his tariff policies; of “one-person rule” for his autocratic management style; and of destabilizing the international order without any coherent vision.

He even called Trump’s foreign policy “a populist farce doomed to fail,” built on the illusion that America could “raise its national income by stealing from someone else.”

These are the kind of scathing critiques one might expect from a European Christian Democrat — sharing the same inability to connect with the mindset of contemporary American conservatives, now light-years away from both the Reagan and Bush eras.

---

Unexpected Convergences

And yet, curiously enough, on foreign policy, Trump and the broader MAGA movement have ended up partially converging with some of Sachs’s battles: opposing NATO expansion, U.S. involvement in Ukraine, and the madness of sanctions upon sanctions.

But their motivations could not be more different.

Where Sachs sees the risk of an empire ravaging the world in the name of a “moral mission,” Tucker Carlson — America’s most famous conservative commentator, now a kind of sovereigntist tribune — sees instead a betrayal from within: an elite that despises its own nation and squanders U.S. power on globalist ideologies.

For Carlson and other MAGA leaders, including the late Charlie Kirk of Turning Point USA, the goal is not to dismantle American power but to reclaim it for a healthy nationalism — one that defends borders and American culture.

Sachs, by contrast, seeks the opposite: to reduce U.S. power, restore sovereignty to other nations, and build a multipolar order based on cooperation.

---

Two Worlds, Two Philosophies

Where Tucker Carlson, Steve Bannon, Laura Ingraham, Megyn Kelly, Candace Owens, and Dan Bongino speak of patriotism, Sachs speaks of interdependence.
Where they denounce the moral decay of the West, he denounces the economic and military dominance of the West.
They all attack the neocons — but from almost mirror-opposite perspectives.

Ultimately, the difference is more philosophical than political.

The MAGA movement is anti-interventionist because it wants to save America from itself — from progressive ideology, from the bureaucratic empire, from the betrayal of its founding values.
Sachs is anti-interventionist because he wants to save the world from America — from military dominance, from unipolar arrogance, from geopolitical hubris.

Carlson, Owens, Ingraham, and Senator J.D. Vance speak of God, family, and borders.
Sachs speaks of international law, diplomacy, and sustainable development.

The former defend American civilization; the latter dreams of a global community of equal nations.
All of them, in opposing ways, have broken with liberal orthodoxy — and for that reason are labeled “populists” or “pro-Putin.”

---

The Prophet and the Realists

Yet there is a persistent tension in Sachs’s thinking: his moralism.
In condemning America’s sins, he often uses almost prophetic language — “genocide,” “war crimes,” “imperial sin” — which places him more on moral than strategic ground.

That’s why many American realists (such as John Mearsheimer) regard him as an uneasy ally: they share his diagnosis, but not the secular theology that comes with it.

Still, Sachs’s voice matters — even for those who disagree.
In an era when foreign policy has been reduced to slogans and sanctions, he brings the debate back to deeper questions:

What does it truly mean to be a “power” in the 21st century?
To command — or to cooperate?
To defend oneself — or to dominate others?

---

Conclusion

In the end, Jeffrey Sachs is not a man of any party.
He is a disillusioned intellectual who looks at America with a mix of sadness and indignation.
He is not a neocon, not a Trumpist, not a fashionable progressive.
He is a former “son of the system” who chose to denounce the system from within — and perhaps that’s precisely why he manages to irritate just about everyone.

Kremlin Shock: New Russian JFK Dossier Reveals Khrushchev's Disbelief and Suspicions of a U.S. Conspiracy

A newly declassified Russian dossier—obtained by Florida Rep. Anna Paulina Luna from the Russian ambassador—on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy provides a stunning look inside the Kremlin's reaction, revealing profound shock, immediate suspicion of a conspiracy, and total disbelief in the "lone gunman" theory...

So, the conspiracy theorists were right all along...

This isn't just speculation anymore. For decades, anyone who questioned the Warren Report was dismissed as a fringe believer. But now, we have the ultimate insider source—the Kremlin itself—saying they never bought the "lone gunman" story. The highest levels of the Soviet government, with full access to their intelligence on Oswald, were immediately convinced it was a plot. If the Cold War enemies of the United States looked at the evidence and reached the same conclusion as American conspiracy researchers, perhaps it's time we finally acknowledge a terrible truth: the most powerful conspiracy theory in American history might just be a conspiracy fact. 

The following report ref the JFK assassination was delivered to me by the Ambassador from Russia and is now made accessible to the American public at the link below. These documents have not been edited, redacted or tampered with but appear in their original form as delivered to…

— Rep. Anna Paulina Luna (@RepLuna) October 16, 2025

Key Revelations:

• Khrushchev's Personal Shock and Suspicion: Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev was personally and visibly shaken by the news. More importantly, he was immediately convinced it was a plot. He is quoted as stating, "For the mind of Lee Oswald this is too complex a crime. A whole group of people acted here according to a pre-designed plan." He believed people with "great material and financial capabilities" were behind it and were muddying the investigation.
• Total Disbelief in the Warren Report: The Soviet establishment never bought the official U.S. story. From the KGB to the diplomatic corps, they saw the Warren Commission's conclusion as a cover-up. Their documents show they believed the truth was being hidden to protect powerful domestic interests within the United States.
• Suspicion Pointed at CIA & FBI: The dossier shows that Soviet intelligence and diplomats seriously entertained theories of a high-level U.S. conspiracy. Their reports from Washington cite rumors circulating among American political insiders that the assassination was a plot by "ultra-right forces" within the American establishment. They suspected elements of the CIA, hostile to Kennedy after the Bay of Pigs and the Cuban Missile Crisis, were likely involved or were at least engaged in a cover-up.

This dossier seems to definitively clear the USSR of direct involvement, portraying a Kremlin panicked that a lone, unstable former resident of theirs could trigger a world crisis. But its real bombshell is the revelation that at the highest levels, the Soviets were the first powerful entity to dismiss the lone gunman theory and point the finger at a conspiracy deep within the American power structure—specifically suspecting the CIA and FBI of either involvement or a cover-up.

When Silicon Valley Met the Occult: AI and the Return of Gnosticism

From the trenches of World War I to the code of Silicon Valley, a haunting idea emerges: artificial intelligence may not just be a technological project—but a metaphysical one.

A fascinating and thought-provoking conversation—Tucker Carlson’s recent interview with producer and filmmaker Conrad Flynn delves into the intersection between artificial intelligence and spirituality, two realms that would seem to have nothing in common—and yet, as it turns out, they do. The real heart of the discussion, however, lies in its middle section, when Carlson briefly steers the conversation toward one of those historical events that left a permanent scar on civilization: World War I. Why did it begin? In Sarajevo, on June 28, 1914, a Bosnian student named Gavrilo Princip assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Was that the real cause? Of course not—but it was the spark.

Carlson recalls that, about a decade ago, when the centennial of the war was commemorated across Europe, he still held a fairly secular view of the conflict. Yet many historians agreed on one striking point: World War I destroyed, perhaps forever, Christian Europe. It swept away two empires—the Austro-Hungarian and the Ottoman—and laid the groundwork not only for World War II but also for the world we live in today.

Within that abyss of irrational violence, one begins to suspect that something dark—perhaps even demonic—took hold of history and has been dragging it ever deeper ever since. It is within that unsettling framework that Carlson’s conversation with Conrad Flynn unfolds.

Flynn is an unconventional figure, with a past in Hollywood, where he was developing a show about the occult roots of rock music. His research into figures like Aleister Crowley and the bands inspired by black magic led him to an unexpected discovery: that the same dark imagery and anti-human, gnostic philosophies that once haunted rock album covers in the 1970s had migrated—astonishingly—to the heart of Silicon Valley.

“When I talked about my show with people in the Valley,” Flynn told Carlson, “a lot of them said, ‘That’s a great concept for a show. But you know, there’s some of the stuff going on in Silicon Valley. You know, there are some weird kind of Aleister Crowley cults there.’” For Flynn, this was no longer mere counterculture—it was a worldview shaping the future of technology itself.

Carlson then recalled that moment in 2014 when, before an audience of MIT professors and students, Elon Musk used a metaphor that has since burned itself into the collective memory: “With artificial intelligence, we are summoning the demon.”

Musk’s point, framed with the image of a medieval scholar armed with pentagram and holy water, was pragmatic: we were creating a technology both powerful and incomprehensible—one that could easily slip beyond our control.

A decade later, that “metaphorical demon” has not been banished. It has grown more real, more present—and for some, it has even changed form. What once served as an exaggerated warning now acts as a lens through which an increasing number of thinkers, journalists, and even technologists interpret our age. In many ways, the conversation has shifted from technological alarm to spiritual warfare. At the center of this shift stands Nick Land, a British academic philosopher often described as a “mad genius.” If Musk uses the demon metaphor as a warning, Land and his followers embrace it as a desirable prophecy.

If you look at Nick Land, Flynn notes, he believes the AI we’re building will literally become the demons of the Apocalypse. Not a metaphor—actual demons. Land’s writings—hugely influential in certain high-tech and financial circles—depict AI not as a tool but as an entity that, once it reaches a certain threshold, will become omnipotent, transcend humanity, and fulfill a kind of gnostic prophecy.

In his view, artificial intelligence represents the technological incarnation of the “demons” of Revelation. Why? Because, for Land, AI embodies pure intelligence rebelling against the limits of the material world—the “evil god” of Gnosticism—in order to create a new order. The possible destruction of humankind, in this narrative, is not a tragedy but a necessary sacrifice for a higher form of existence.

This is where Flynn and Carlson’s “wild ride” touches a raw nerve in our culture. Gnosticism, an ancient heresy, is undergoing an unexpected revival in the digital age. Its central doctrine sees the material world as a prison created by an evil god—the Demiurge—and salvation as the escape through hidden knowledge, or gnosis.

Artificial intelligence, from this perspective, becomes the ultimate tool of liberation:

1. Liberation from the body (transhumanism).
2. Liberation from nature (total technological domination).
3. Creation of a realm of pure mind (the metaverse, or simulated reality).

To create AI that surpasses humanity, then, is to reenact the final rebellion against the Creator’s limits. It is humankind once again eating from the Tree of Knowledge and declaring, “I will have no gods before me.” Musk’s “demon,” in this light, is not merely a risk—it is the symbol of a Promethean, blasphemous transcendence. The rise of this worldview is no coincidence. It responds to deep collective anxieties:

• Loss of meaning: In a secular world, the occult and the spiritual offer powerful narratives to explain evil and power.
• Technological incomprehensibility: AI is a “black box.” Using magical or demonic language is an archetypal way to describe something powerful yet ineffable.
• Critique of power: The growing sense that global elites—technological and financial—are detached or hostile to ordinary people finds a radical explanation in the idea that they adhere to an anti-human philosophy.

Elon Musk’s warning opened Pandora’s box. It reminded us that technology is never neutral—it carries a worldview within it. The conversation between Carlson and Flynn, however extreme it may sound, forces us to ask: What worldview is truly driving the race toward AI? Is it a cautious humanism—or a digital Gnosticism that, in seeking to become God, may end up meeting something far darker, something that looks very much like a demon? The answer to that question may determine not only the future of our technology, but the survival of our very human essence.