Putin’s Puppet Show: Europe’s Cowardice is Russia's Greatest Weapon

 

Europe's spineless diplomacy has emboldened Putin to play the continent like a chessboard; it's time for Europe to take a stand and put an end to Russian rogue tactics once and for all. In plain English, Putin's war in Ukraine thrives on Europe's collective indecision; the continent must shed its diplomatic masks, show its teeth, and confront Russia head-on—anything less would be a betrayal of European unity.

Is it money or is it leadership that Europe lacks more? Perhaps, it's hard to tell given the staggering pile-up of both problems. Germany’s Olaf Scholz, a leader known more for his caution than vision, seems to be holding his country hostage in a bubble of inertia. The country, once Europe’s economic powerhouse, is splintering internally. The industrial sector has been groaning under the weight of rising costs, and with Scholz at the helm, Germany seems to be tiptoeing through an era when bold leadership is direly needed.

Germany’s energy crisis, exacerbated by its rushed transition away from nuclear power and overreliance on Russian energy, shows just how far down the rabbit hole a single misstep can lead. The irony? Germany’s decision to abandon nuclear energy in the wake of the Fukushima disaster in 2011 now seems like a shortsighted move that has left it scrambling for options. Scholz’s leadership, marked by ambiguity, has only served to deepen the country’s crisis—his small-scale thinking an answer that neither Germany nor Europe needs.

Across the Rhine, the situation in France doesn’t look much better. President Emmanuel Macron, once seen as the beacon of progressive European leadership, now struggles to keep his minority government afloat. Enter Marine Le Pen—whose far-right influence has grown over recent years. She is now propping up Macron’s government like a shadow regent, wielding more influence than her non-presidential title suggests. Le Pen, a well-known advocate of Putin and Russia, has positioned herself as an influential figure, gaining ground among those disenfranchised with Macron’s economic reforms. It’s not the Élysée Palace Le Pen needs to influence, but rather, the broader political sphere, as she strategically bides her time for the 2027 presidential elections.

If anyone thinks Macron has the luxury of time, they are mistaken. History teaches us that hesitant leaders are soon overtaken by crises. For Le Pen and her like-minded colleagues, the EU’s strategy regarding rogue nations like Russia is nothing more than an exercise in futility. Remember the saying, "You cannot teach an old dog new tricks"? Well, Europe cannot keep pretending that appeasement and sanctions are going to bring a thug like Vladimir Putin to heel. The lessons of appeasement are written in the dark chapters of history, with Neville Chamberlain’s name etched on every failed effort to stop a dictator.

Jumping over to the Channel, Britain remains caught up in a political circus of its own making. The Labour Party, under the leadership of a freshly elected government, seems absorbed in a fumbling bid to reform the country internally. Like a toddler playing with an oversized jigsaw puzzle, the new Labour government is trying to piece together a cohesive strategy, but domestic challenges—ranging from healthcare reform to immigration issues—appear too vast for their inexperience. No one seems interested in looking beyond their domestic backyard.

Yet, Britain, like much of Europe, cannot afford to focus solely inwards while crises brew on its doorstep. Russia's aggression isn’t a local issue; it's a matter of survival for European democracies. In the 21st century, when digital and economic warfare have replaced swords and spears, Europe’s lack of unity against rogue states like Russia reveals a dangerous complacency. Russia's war in Ukraine has been dragging on for years, and Europe, with its disjointed response, looks more like a hesitant bystander than a collective power ready to take action. Sanctions have their place, but when oligarchs find creative ways around them, one has to ask—where’s the bite?

The lack of cohesion in Europe’s leadership brings to mind an old African proverb: "When there is no enemy within, the enemies outside cannot hurt you." But Europe does have enemies within—fractured leadership, economic disparity, and differing national interests have hollowed out the political willpower to confront external threats. Germany, France, and Britain are all preoccupied with their domestic squabbles, failing to see that their greatest strength lies in unity. Olaf Scholz is tinkering around trying to fix Germany's waning economy while avoiding direct confrontation with Russia—a policy that looks a lot like turning one's back on a brewing storm.

Emasculating rogue countries like Russia will require Europe to summon a level of leadership and courage that it currently lacks. Think of Winston Churchill, who rallied the nation with fierce defiance against Nazi Germany. Europe needs leadership of that caliber today—unapologetic, bold, and ready to make difficult decisions. When NATO was formed in 1949, it was clear that a united Western bloc was essential to face down the Soviet threat. Today, the EU cannot afford to forget why these alliances exist. Russia isn’t interested in "constructive dialogue" or appeasement. Moscow wants chaos; it wants disunity. Every time Europe hesitates, it plays into Putin's hands.

Money might be scarce, but true leadership could still be Europe’s saving grace. It’s telling that while European leaders debate the extent of sanctions, Russia has already learned to sidestep many of the financial penalties. Recent reports showed that energy exports have continued through shadowy channels, and with the Middle East's shifting alliances, Europe risks being outmaneuvered on the world stage. The year 2024 is no different from the past, where financial might and political strength go hand in hand. Yet, Europe seems determined to navigate this storm with a broken compass and no captain.

The West has often prided itself on moral superiority. When Russia invaded Ukraine, Europe quickly imposed sanctions, then sat back and waited for Putin to blink. The result? A drawn-out conflict, a humanitarian disaster, and an energy crisis that has crippled economies across the continent. In this game of high-stakes chess, Putin isn’t simply playing with Europe—he’s playing them. It’s time for Europe to wake up. There’s an old Russian proverb that says, "He who chases two rabbits catches neither." Europe’s pursuit of domestic reform and vague diplomatic appeasement has left it failing on both fronts.

What’s needed is decisive action. Strengthening NATO, enforcing real financial barriers, supporting Ukraine—not just in words, but with tangible military aid. Stop feeding the Russian bear with olive branches when it's clearly not interested in peace. Europe has the capacity for greatness, but it must first find its courage. It's not enough to mutter threats under one’s breath while hoping for the best. The world expects leadership, not just talk of budgets and incremental reforms.

The truth is Europe is standing at a crossroads. Continue down the road of timidity and watch as history repeats itself, or chart a new course—one defined by strength and conviction. The time for dithering is over. Europe needs to confront the rogue elements that threaten its very existence. Playing the diplomat may win applause at summits, but it does little to stop the tanks rolling across borders.

If Europe is to survive this new era of geopolitical confrontation, it must grow a spine and stop playing games. Olaf Scholz, Emmanuel Macron, and Britain’s Labour government must put away their domestic squabbles and unite against a common threat. Because while Europe hesitates, Putin plots—and as we all know, he who laughs last laughs best.

 

Ceding to Evil: If Zelensky Bargains with Putin, He Surrenders Ukraine’s Future

 

Any territorial concession to Putin would not be a strategic compromise but an unforgivable betrayal of every Ukrainian soldier lying in the grave after defending their homeland. Simply put, Zelensky entertaining any deal with Putin is akin to negotiating with a serial killer about which of your family members he should keep – it's morally reprehensible and strategically suicidal.

It seems President Zelensky is considering giving a few pawns to the devil in hopes of saving the queen, but that might just be a recipe for checkmate by Russia. President Zelensky should never cede an inch of Ukraine to Putin, even if it comes with the promise of NATO membership. The prospect of giving up Ukrainian land for a seat in NATO is like being offered a shiny life jacket in the middle of a flood – after half your house has already been washed away. What's the point of fighting, bleeding, and suffering if, in the end, your tormentor still walks away with a prize?

Ukraine’s sovereignty has always been sacred, enshrined in its very Constitution, which prohibits any cession of national territory. For Zelensky, or any Ukrainian leader, to entertain thoughts of “concessions” isn’t just a breach of legal duty – it's a betrayal of the hopes, dreams, and the very blood of countless Ukrainians who have fought tooth and nail against Russia’s aggression. When Vladimir Putin started this war, invading Ukraine under the pretext of “liberating” Russian-speaking regions, the Ukrainian people had to defend not only their land but also the spirit of independence they had fought for since the collapse of the Soviet Union.

Now, almost three years into a war of devastation, to even think of negotiating away parts of Ukraine is like spitting on the graves of those who made the ultimate sacrifice. The recent talks about NATO membership being dangled as a carrot in exchange for Ukraine’s acceptance of the current territorial status quo should be a non-starter for any self-respecting leader who values the blood spilled for the nation's independence. What message would it send to the families of those soldiers who defended Mariupol, Bakhmut, and Kherson if those sacrifices end up meaning absolutely nothing in the diplomatic back rooms?

The Budapest Memorandum of 1994 already serves as a haunting historical reminder of what happens when promises are made on paper but backed by nothing but words. When Ukraine gave up its nuclear arsenal – then the third largest in the world – they were given assurances by Russia, the United States, and the United Kingdom that its borders would be respected, its sovereignty protected. We all know how that turned out. Russia ripped up that guarantee when it invaded Crimea in 2014, proving once and for all that agreements made with aggressors are scarcely worth the paper they are printed on.

So why does anyone believe that Vladimir Putin, a man who has repeatedly defied international law, sanctioned war crimes, and presided over atrocities, would honor any kind of new agreement involving Ukrainian land? Are we to think that, just because NATO membership is now being promised, Putin would somehow transform into a trustworthy partner? Let’s not be naive. He who sups with the devil, after all, must use a long spoon. But with Putin, even the longest spoon might not be enough. Any form of land concession would be an irreversible step toward validating the legitimacy of Russia’s occupation, essentially rewarding aggression with territory.

More than 450 days into this war, we’ve seen cities reduced to ashes, civilian infrastructure torn apart, and mass graves filled with Ukrainian citizens in places like Bucha. More than 9,000 civilians have died, including hundreds of children, who will never get to grow up in a free Ukraine, never get to see a nation untouched by the boots of Russian invaders. The pain of mothers who lost their sons and daughters and the anguish of entire families destroyed by Russian missile strikes – what value do we place on their suffering? To talk about ceding territory now, after all the pain, is tantamount to saying that their sacrifice was all for nothing.

Western democracies may be tempted to view the situation as one of pragmatic compromise. After all, Ukraine in NATO would mean fewer European security headaches in the long run, as long as someone can freeze the current lines and stop the fighting. But the problem with this calculus is that it views land merely as squares on a geopolitical chessboard, while ignoring the real lives that live there and the principles that have guided Ukraine's fight. Accepting Russian control over the occupied territories not only normalizes invasion as a tool of policy, but it fundamentally shatters the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity that have underpinned international peace since World War II.

Imagine if, back in the 1940s, a similar argument had been made: let’s allow Hitler to keep a portion of Europe for the sake of stability. Peace at any cost isn’t peace – it’s capitulation. And when you give a tyrant an inch, he takes a mile. We’ve seen this movie before. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain thought he had achieved “peace for our time” by appeasing Hitler and allowing Nazi Germany to annex the Sudetenland. Within a year, Europe was plunged into the most devastating conflict in human history.

Zelensky’s appeal as a wartime leader has always been his uncompromising stance. He has become an icon of resistance, famously rejecting offers to evacuate Kyiv by stating, “I need ammunition, not a ride.” To soften his stance now, for whatever pragmatic reasons, would be to tarnish that image, to let down the millions of Ukrainians who look up to him as the embodiment of their collective fight against tyranny. It would also mean bowing to Putin’s narrative that Ukraine is nothing but a “failed state” that can be split up and sold off.

And what of NATO? If Ukraine were to give up its occupied regions in exchange for NATO membership, what would that say about the alliance’s commitment to its core values? Is NATO willing to bend the rules, accept territorial losses, and grant Putin his prize, just for the convenience of an “end” to hostilities? It’s a slippery slope – today, it’s Ukraine; tomorrow, perhaps, it could be a Baltic state, or even an assault on Poland. The entire purpose of NATO is collective defense, to prevent aggressors like Putin from gaining an inch of leverage. If concessions are made here, what’s to stop the next tyrant from carving up smaller nations on the periphery of Europe?

Ukrainians deserve peace, but they deserve a just peace – not one built on their knees. They deserve to walk back into Crimea, back into the Donetsk and Luhansk regions, with their heads held high, and with the world at their back. Peace cannot come from merely letting Putin hold on to what he has stolen. Peace cannot be bought by sacrificing core values on the altar of expediency.

This is not the time for Zelensky to go soft, not after all the sacrifice, not after the Ukrainian resistance has proven itself against a supposedly superior enemy. Putin must be confronted with strength, not concession. He must be made to understand that Ukraine will not be sliced up like a loaf of bread at the negotiating table.

To cede Ukrainian land to Russia is to accept a world where might makes right, where the principles of sovereignty and freedom are negotiable when convenient. President Zelensky must remember that in dealing with a devil like Putin, there are no deals – only traps. The only way forward for Ukraine is complete liberation, not accommodation. Peace must be earned, but never by selling out the hopes, dreams, and sacrifices of an entire nation.

So, to those thinking that cutting a deal with Putin will somehow bring stability, I say this: you don’t douse a fire by handing the arsonist your matchbox.

 

From Europe to Igboland: The Crumbling Wall of Simon Ekpa's Failed Revolution

 

Simon Ekpa's arrest is just the first domino to fall—soon, the house of lies built by Biafra's so-called liberators will collapse under its own weight of hypocrisy and violence.

Cracks appear even in the toughest of walls, and when they do, the whole structure is at risk of collapse. The recent arrest of Simon Ekpa in Finland is more than just a crack; it’s a gaping fissure in the foundation of the Biafra secessionist movement that he leads after the incarceration of Nnamdi Kanu. As an Igbo man, I understand the profound grievances that have fueled the calls for secession, but what these agitators are doing is nothing short of turning a home into a battlefield—with Igbos paying the price. My question to Simon Ekpa and those who follow this crusade is simple: is the destruction of our land, the violence against our people, and the fear that grips our mothers and fathers worth the supposed freedom you claim to offer?

Nnamdi Kanu rose to prominence not because he was a skilled diplomat or even an eloquent speaker. He emerged as a figure of defiance, tapping into a deep well of resentment held by the Igbo people against decades of marginalization, particularly since the aftermath of the Nigerian Civil War that ended in 1970. Back then, an estimated one to three million lives were lost, mostly Igbos, and the scars left by starvation and suffering remain unhealed. Many families still remember what it was like to be labeled "rebels," and the word Biafra invokes a tragic reminder of those dark times. However, rather than learn from this history, Nnamdi Kanu and his protégé Simon Ekpa have been stoking the embers of discontent, believing the best path forward is backward—towards more division, more suffering, and more death.

The central claim of these agitators is that Igboland has no future in Nigeria due to systematic discrimination and economic suppression. And yes, the frustrations are real. The lack of federal presence in the Southeast, limited infrastructure development, and poor political representation are legitimate issues that need addressing. But where Kanu and Ekpa miss the mark is in believing that violence, threats, and isolation are the answers to these challenges. Their version of freedom is built on burnt schools, closed markets, and communities living in fear. Every Monday, residents of Anambra, Enugu, Ebonyi, Imo, and Abia cower indoors, under the threat of violence for defying the enforced curfew. This is not freedom. This is tyranny masquerading as liberation.

Imagine children trying to go to school on Mondays and being beaten by thugs claiming to fight for their future. How ironic is that? Education, the foundation of any hope for a better tomorrow, is halted in the name of a misguided rebellion. Schoolchildren who should be learning about mathematics, history, and literature are instead learning about fear, hiding, and survival. The irony runs deep: in fighting against perceived injustice, the Biafra agitators are inflicting the very injustice they claim to oppose—but this time, it is against their own people.

Simon Ekpa’s recent arrest by Finnish authorities shines a light on the hypocrisy and criminality that runs deep in this so-called movement for liberation. Ekpa, who sits comfortably in Finland, has been issuing orders for destruction back home in Nigeria. The luxury of distance has given him the audacity to dictate how people should live their lives in Igboland, while he is far removed from the chaos he creates. It’s like throwing stones from a glass house, except the stones are bombs, and the glass house is a fortress in Europe.

The Finnish police, with their intervention, have acted on something that should’ve been clear to all—you cannot claim to be fighting for the welfare of your people while inciting violence that ruins their lives. Ekpa’s arrest isn’t just a blow to his campaign; it’s a reality check that actions have consequences. Finland, a country known for its welfare, peace, and stability, won’t allow one of its residents to be a conductor of chaos thousands of miles away. Once the wall begins to crack, the whole illusion of invincibility that these agitators carry quickly crumbles.

Meanwhile, back home, the unknown gunmen—a by-product of the Biafra agitation—continue to make Igboland nearly uninhabitable. These so-called protectors of the people engage in extortion, arson, and kidnapping. They’re not targeting corrupt politicians or abusive soldiers; they’re kidnapping businessmen, traders, school teachers, and even priests. They’re burning down shops belonging to people who are just trying to make ends meet in a difficult economy. They claim to be protecting Igboland, but how do you protect what you destroy? A popular Igbo proverb says, “A na-agu nwa nkita onu ka o tuo onu n’oru” (The puppy is taught to bark so it can guard the house). The question is, what good is the barking if, in its rage, the dog bites the very people it’s supposed to protect?

Kanu and Ekpa have both failed to answer this essential question—what is their endgame, and who stands to benefit from it? The road to Biafra, as they envision it, is lined with fear, coercion, and suppression of dissent. If they cannot tolerate dissent now—to the point of beating and extorting their own kin—what kind of government would they establish if Biafra were ever realized? Would they imprison anyone who dared question their authority? Would they burn down businesses that refused to pay tribute? The truth is, the character of these so-called leaders is revealed not in grand speeches but in the small, daily actions they take—and those actions reveal them to be nothing but opportunists, exploiting old wounds for personal gain.

Take the case of Monday sit-at-home orders, for example. Ekpa issues these directives with the ease of someone ordering take-out, oblivious to the real consequences. Traders lose a day’s income, families can’t afford food, and daily wage earners are left stranded. In cities like Onitsha and Aba, which are hubs of economic activity, the impact has been devastating. What kind of freedom movement destroys its own economic base? What kind of liberation strategy is built on impoverishing those you claim to want to uplift? These agitators are not revolutionaries; they are wrecking balls, demolishing whatever progress we manage to build.

Furthermore, this struggle for Biafra is not even representative of all Igbos. Many Igbos—both in Nigeria and in the diaspora—want peace, investment, and progress. They want better roads, functioning schools, and reliable healthcare. They want the chance to vote in elections that matter, and to have their voices heard at the federal level. They do not want to be ruled by the whims of a man issuing commands from a cushy apartment in Finland, nor do they want to be subject to the brutal enforcement of so-called ‘Unknown Gunmen.’ The struggle of the common Igbo person is not with their Hausa or Yoruba neighbors; it’s with poverty, lack of opportunity, and an indifferent government.

And here lies the greatest tragedy of all—in their obsession with secession, Kanu and Ekpa have taken the focus away from real, tangible change. Where are the demands for improved infrastructure in the Southeast? Where is the pressure on political leaders to deliver the dividends of democracy? Instead of channeling the legitimate grievances of the people into productive political action, they have chosen the path of destruction. They’ve turned our beloved Ala Igbo into a battleground, not against any external oppressor, but against ourselves.

Simon Ekpa’s arrest marks a turning point. Perhaps it’s time for Igbos to realize that these false prophets of liberation are leading us astray. Perhaps it’s time to tear down the walls of hatred they’ve built and focus on dialogue, on development, and on finding a place for Igboland within a united Nigeria. Once the wall begins to crack, it can come tumbling down—and in this case, that’s exactly what we need.

 

Wake Up, Europe: Putin’s Hollow Empire Is Crumbling—Strike Now or Regret Forever

 

Europe's failure to act now against Putin, when Russia has been reduced to begging North Korea for weapons, is a staggering failure of leadership that threatens the very future of Western democracy. In plain English, if Europe can't find the courage to confront a hollowed-out Russia today, it should prepare for the inevitability of falling prey to tomorrow's autocrats, who are surely watching with eager eyes.

The bear that poked the hive has found itself stung repeatedly, but the beekeeper remains distracted. Russia, under Vladimir Putin, has found itself mired in a quagmire in Ukraine, a place it expected to control in mere days. Instead, it has been two long, punishing years of war, with thousands of lives lost and countless weapons expended. Putin's ambitions are larger than Ukraine, and his motives, while darkly simplistic, carry an existential urgency in his own eyes. He seeks to shatter the Western-led global order, challenging NATO, the European Union, and the values of democracy that form the core of Western credibility. For Europe, this is no less a fight for its survival, but you would hardly know it by the lack of unified outrage and urgency.

Since February 2022, Putin has failed to secure a quick victory in Ukraine. His forces were met not with cheers and an easy occupation, but with Molotov cocktails hurled from the hands of defiant grandmothers and urban resistance that has held firm. As Putin continues his campaign, the illusion of Russian military invincibility has shattered like ice under spring sun. Russian mothers have buried sons who should have been planting fields or building the future of Russia instead of dying in a futile war. The Kremlin's optimism in February 2022 has given way to a desperate attempt to plug the gaps, including reaching out to Iran for drones and artillery shells, and even seeking ammunition from North Korea—a far cry from the world power that Putin wanted Russia to appear to be.

Putin's motives are existential. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 left Russia feeling humiliated and unable to find its place in the new world order. In a system that embraced democracy, openness, and market economies, Russia found itself struggling to adapt. The West, led by the United States, stood as a monolithic example of success through these principles, and the new nations that had once been part of the Soviet empire moved quickly to distance themselves from Moscow's orbit. NATO expanded eastward, taking in Poland, the Baltic States, and others. Meanwhile, the European Union flourished, growing into an economic power that challenged Russia's influence over its former satellite states. For Putin, the only way to reclaim greatness was not to join this new order, but to undermine and destroy it.

The war in Ukraine is a flashpoint in this larger struggle. For Putin, Ukraine's desire to align with Europe and NATO was an affront to his vision of a renewed sphere of Russian influence. To him, the independence of countries like Ukraine, and their ability to thrive without Moscow, signaled the waning of Russian power. The message was clear—if Russia could not have Ukraine, it would wreck it. Yet, Putin gravely miscalculated, assuming he could replicate the swift land grabs of Crimea in 2014, or Georgia in 2008. Instead, he found himself confronting a Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who refused to flee, and a populace who took up arms. Instead of capitulation, he was met with grit, determination, and the support of Western countries who had, until then, largely underestimated the Kremlin’s audacity.

For Europe, the stakes are existential, too. The collapse of Ukraine under Russia would signal to the world that aggression works, and that borders are meaningless—a notion that Europe, shaped by the horrors of the two World Wars, cannot afford to accept. And yet, here lies the irony. While nations like Poland and the Baltic States rush to reinforce their defenses and supply Ukraine with weaponry, many European nations seem distracted by their own domestic affairs. Germany, while providing military aid, initially hesitated, worried more about the implications for its energy supply than the urgency of confronting Putin's assault on democracy. French President Emmanuel Macron initially called for dialogue with Putin—a misplaced faith in diplomacy with a man who believes only in strength and submission. It was Churchill who once said, "An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last." Europe risks feeding that crocodile with its hesitancy.

Europe must wake up to the reality that Putin is not just after Ukraine; he wants to upend the entire Western order. He is aware that Russia, with its stagnant economy and shrinking population, cannot compete with the West economically or culturally. Instead, he aims to drag the world into a pit of chaos where Russia, in its dysfunction, can thrive amid the instability it helps create. Look at how Russian propaganda machines fuel far-right and far-left movements across Europe, sowing discord and creating divides that make a unified response to his actions more difficult. Russia has funded political parties, hacked into elections, and spread disinformation—all aimed at weakening Europe from within, softening it for a time like this.

And yet, even as Putin's military bogs down and sanctions cripple the Russian economy, the European response is inconsistent. The United Kingdom, though no longer part of the European Union, has shown leadership, but the rest of Europe needs to follow suit without ambiguity. A continent that gave us the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, and some of the world's greatest technological advancements should not stand idly by while an autocrat seeks to drag it into the dark. This is not just Ukraine's war; it is a test of Europe’s commitment to its values, to the principle that no nation has the right to trample over another’s sovereignty, and that brute force has no place in shaping the 21st century.

The stakes are made all the more obvious by Russia's increasing desperation. Recently, Putin visited Pyongyang to request ammunition and military assistance from North Korea. North Korea! This is a far cry from the image of a powerful Russia that Putin wants to project. Russia has been seen purchasing drones from Iran, a partnership of necessity rather than power. It exposes the fragility and isolation of Russia—a country whose glory, once defined by its powerful Red Army and space exploration, is now reduced to begging for weapons from rogue states.

Yet, amidst this weakness, Putin's threat should not be underestimated. A wounded bear is perhaps more dangerous than a healthy one; Putin is unpredictable, and he has already shown he will sacrifice the lives of thousands of his own people to fulfill his vision. Europe must, therefore, abandon any remaining illusions that there is a path to appeasement here. Every hesitancy, every sign of weakness, is something Putin will exploit. NATO must strengthen its eastern flank. Western countries must continue to provide Ukraine with the resources it needs—not just to survive, but to win. As the Ukrainian military continues to reclaim territory, the message must be clear: Europe stands united against aggression.

The old adage holds true: "If you want peace, prepare for war." Europe, through its lethargy, risks emboldening not just Russia, but every autocrat watching to see how far they can push their luck. The likes of Xi Jinping are undoubtedly paying close attention to Europe's response, drawing lessons that will shape the future balance of power. Putin wants Europe divided, paralyzed by internal squabbles and distracted by its comforts. He wants a Europe that will talk endlessly about diplomatic solutions while he sends more conscripts to die in a foreign land.

Now is the time for Europe to confront the uncomfortable truth: it cannot afford to play the role of the distracted beekeeper while the bear tears apart the hive. The era of complacency must end. The time for action, for standing together, is now. Putin’s Russia is weaker than it has ever been, hollowed out by corruption, incompetence, and the loss of its best and brightest. If there is any moment to confront Russia’s existential threat to European stability, it is now.

And so, as Putin's dreams of a grand Russian empire collapse under the weight of reality, Europe must step up—lest it find itself bargaining with a desperate autocrat who grows more dangerous with every failure. As they say, "A stitch in time saves nine," and Europe cannot afford to be left sewing together the tatters of peace after the bear has already stormed through the door. If Putin keeps digging, perhaps one day, he’ll find himself so deep in the ground that he’ll be too buried in his own failures to surface again.

 

 

 

Friendship for Rent: Trump’s Worldview That Puts a Price Tag on Loyalty

 

Donald Trump sees alliances like NATO as mere business agreements—if allies can't pay the bill, he's prepared to send them the eviction notice, regardless of historical ties or mutual security interests.

Just when you thought global diplomacy couldn't get more unpredictable, Donald Trump is getting ready to return to the White House, promising a performance that might best be described as 'The Art of the Deal, Season Two.' But make no mistake, while much of what Trump plans for the world is unclear, a few of his core beliefs are as unshakeable as the gold plating in his penthouse. Some people see this as a form of consistency—others see it as a freight train heading straight for the delicate balance of global alliances.

Trump has always viewed international alliances not as friendships forged in blood or diplomacy, but as simple contracts, where America offers security for a price. And if you're a nation that happens to sit under the American security umbrella, buckle up. Because in Trump’s world, everything—and I mean everything—has a price tag. NATO, which has been the cornerstone of European defense for decades, is set to become just another item on Trump's list of "bad deals." Trump has never been shy about his skepticism of NATO. Back in 2018, he described the alliance as "obsolete" until people started paying what he deemed their fair share. Now, with his return to power looming, it seems highly likely that European leaders may once again find themselves summoned to "negotiate" their security bills.

Joe Biden's administration worked hard to rebuild transatlantic ties that were left frayed after Trump's last term, but Trump's return will likely shift everything—again. To Trump, alliances like NATO are less about mutual protection and more like an insurance policy where, if you don't pay your premium, you lose your coverage. In recent months, sources have indicated that Trump has been consulting his old foreign policy advisors and mulling over the possibility of demanding direct payments for American military bases. Imagine, the U.S. Army acting like a neighborhood security firm, ringing doorbells to ask for contributions—except the neighborhood happens to be the entire European continent.

Nowhere is this transactional worldview more evident than in Trump's attitude towards Ukraine. Joe Biden has been a stalwart supporter of Kyiv, providing billions in aid and rallying Western nations to stand against Russian aggression. But for Trump, Ukraine has always been a potential bargaining chip rather than a partner deserving of support. It is not difficult to imagine a scenario where Trump and Vladimir Putin engage in a backroom deal to divide Ukraine's future, much like two businessmen negotiating over a plot of land. After all, during his presidency, Trump showed a curious affinity for Putin, once stating that he believed the Russian president's denials over his own intelligence agencies' conclusions regarding election interference.

There is an undeniable danger in Trump's unpredictability, but there is also a thread of consistency running through his foreign policy—he values deals that make America appear to "win." If America is to continue supporting Europe, Trump will demand something tangible in return—whether it’s more favorable trade terms, exclusive military contracts, or even direct payments for military aid. This approach ignores the soft power benefits that America has long reaped from alliances: diplomatic influence, global stability, and a united front against authoritarianism. Trump's logic, however, is that if American tanks are stationed in Germany, then Germany should be picking up the tab, no questions asked.

One possible flashpoint could be a renewed push to demand that NATO members spend more on defense. Trump was notoriously dissatisfied with the number of countries meeting the 2% of GDP target, a goal set by NATO itself. He famously berated allies like Angela Merkel, and it is likely that a second Trump administration would be even more forceful. In Trump's mind, Europe has been riding on the coattails of American power for far too long, and it's time for them to pay up or risk losing American support—a threat that has always loomed large in his rhetoric. Forget about the collective memory of World War II and the importance of keeping Europe stable—for Trump, it’s all business, and business must be profitable.

His approach to foreign policy is likely to extend beyond Europe, and his transactional mindset may affect the U.S. stance in Asia as well. South Korea and Japan, both critical allies in the region, were pressured during Trump’s first term to pay more for the U.S. military presence on their soil. Trump even floated the idea of pulling U.S. troops out of South Korea altogether if Seoul didn’t cough up more cash. As tensions simmer between China and Taiwan, the prospect of Trump’s brand of "security as a service" foreign policy should give Asian allies considerable pause. Could he, in typical Trump fashion, turn around and suggest a deal with Xi Jinping, cutting off Taiwan's support in exchange for trade concessions? Such unpredictability is part of his playbook, where nothing is sacred, and everything is up for negotiation.

Then there's Russia. Donald Trump's relationship with Vladimir Putin has always been controversial, to say the least. During his first presidency, Trump famously refused to condemn Putin at a press conference in Helsinki, choosing instead to heap praise on the Russian leader. The idea of Trump and Putin carving up Ukraine is not just a fantasy cooked up by his critics—it's a genuine fear among European leaders. Putin, emboldened by a potential Trump return, could see an opportunity to strike a deal that would benefit both leaders. For Trump, it could mean fewer American commitments and costs in Europe, while for Putin, it would be a chance to further his imperial ambitions with the tacit approval of the world’s most powerful country.

Trump's disregard for long-term strategic alliances, combined with his willingness to make bold, dramatic moves, makes for a dangerous cocktail. His return could easily destabilize the very Western order that America helped build after World War II. When America pulled out of Afghanistan in 2021 under Biden’s watch, the chaos that ensued showed what happens when careful planning is absent. With Trump, it’s not just about a lack of planning—it’s the intent to dismantle what he perceives as unfair agreements, no matter the cost.

The fact is, Trump sees the world in stark transactional terms. Friends are only friends if they are paying customers, and enemies are potential business partners if the right deal can be struck. This mindset will guide his foreign policy in his upcoming administration, likely turning allies into anxious clients and turning geopolitical rivals into negotiable partners. It’s a worldview devoid of nuance—where every handshake is just the beginning of haggling over the bill.

Europeans, in particular, should prepare for the reality that America under Trump will not be the steadfast partner they may hope for. His view of alliances as contracts means that loyalty and shared history are secondary to immediate gain. If the numbers don’t add up, Trump won’t hesitate to pull out. And while some may see this as a refreshing dose of realism in international relations, the risks of such an approach—alienating allies, emboldening adversaries, and destabilizing regions—cannot be ignored.

In plain English, when it comes to international relations, Trump’s upcoming administration promises a return to chaos dressed up as straight talk. His allies will have to get used to the idea that friendship is conditional and that, in Trump's America, there are no free rides. And as for his detractors? Well, they can expect a rollercoaster—one where the track is being built even as the train is barreling forward. They say the devil is in the details, but in Trump's world, the devil might just be in the deal itself.

 

Deportation Politics: Trump Was Just Louder, but Obama Was Much More Effective at Removing Immigrants.

 

Behind the façade of progress and reform, Democratic administrations have deported more than anyone else. Trump may have bragged about it, but the Democratic presidents did the real deportation work. If actions speak louder than words, then Obama's silent efficiency in deporting more than 400,000 people in a single year says much more than Trump’s campaign promises ever could.

When it comes to deportation, it's a tale of hidden truths and shifting narratives. Just as a magician never reveals all his tricks, American presidents, both Democratic and Republican, have practiced the craft of deportation while concealing its true extent behind the curtain of public rhetoric. The Democrats may continue to play "holier than thou" on immigration, but the truth is that deportation is the secret obsession of most U.S. presidents.

Take Barack Obama, for instance, often celebrated as a liberal and empathetic leader on immigration issues. The compassionate mask that the Obama administration wore is well remembered—think of his appeals to the so-called “Dreamers” and his push for Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA). The public message was one of empathy, but behind closed doors, Obama presided over more deportations than any other president in U.S. history. At the height of his administration in 2013, Obama oversaw the deportation of more than 438,000 undocumented immigrants, earning him the not-so-endearing title "Deporter-in-Chief" from immigrant rights groups. The cumulative total during his two terms reached almost 3 million deportations—a figure that casts a long shadow over his rhetoric of compassion.

This stark contrast between what was said and what was done forms the paradox of Obama’s presidency. Yes, he spoke with warmth about creating a pathway to citizenship, but his deportation statistics told another story—one of systematic removal of hundreds of thousands of people, many of whom had little to no criminal history. Obama’s "Priority Enforcement Program" was meant to focus on criminals, but the real figures reveal that a significant number of those deported were simply caught without documentation, regardless of any criminal history. His policies, cloaked in progressive language, effectively left a legacy of mass deportations while carefully maintaining the appearance of humanitarian concern.

But Obama wasn't the first to get his hands dirty. Farther back in history, President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s "Operation Wetback" in 1954 forcibly deported over 1 million Mexicans. This was a full-scale enforcement action that openly used law enforcement, intimidation, and heavy-handed tactics to physically remove individuals from the country. Eisenhower's operation was in response to rising concern among American citizens over job competition and resource pressure—a familiar refrain that echoes even today. The message was clear: securing jobs for Americans meant getting rid of the competition. Operation Wetback represents an early and brutal instance of presidential involvement in immigration enforcement, long before our modern debates on border security.

Fast forward to President Donald Trump, who campaigned in 2016 with bold promises of mass deportation and strict border enforcement. Trump’s rhetoric was so forceful and blunt that it seemed like he would indeed carry out "the largest deportation operation in American history," as he proclaimed. Yet, despite all his loud proclamations, the reality didn’t quite match the threats. Between 2017 and 2020, the Trump administration deported approximately 935,000 individuals—substantially fewer than Obama managed in a comparable timeframe. Ironically, while Trump's tone was arguably the harshest, the actual numbers were lower than Obama’s, showing that rhetoric does not always correlate with action.

Even Trump's infamous "zero-tolerance policy," which led to the deeply controversial family separations at the border, was ultimately halted after fierce public outcry. This demonstrates the constraints any president faces—even one as seemingly impervious to criticism as Trump—when the political and human costs become too high. The vivid images of crying children in cages fueled public outrage and forced the administration to scale back its harsh stance, leaving deportations on a smaller scale than expected.

The current administration under President Joe Biden also walks this delicate line. Biden, who served as vice president under Obama, promised to undo many of Trump's harsh immigration policies, including family separations and the "Remain in Mexico" program. His campaign rhetoric was laced with language of hope and change, reminiscent of Obama’s approach. Yet, as of 2022, deportations continue—though Biden has focused efforts more on those considered to be national security threats or those convicted of serious crimes. However, deportations are still deportations, and the hope-filled language Biden employed to win votes doesn’t erase the fact that thousands have been forced to leave under his administration. By October 2023, Biden's administration had faced criticism for continuing Title 42, a pandemic-era policy originally used by Trump to quickly expel migrants without the opportunity for asylum. The difference, as always, is in the framing—a softer tone, more appealing to the ears, but fundamentally the same actions.

What becomes clear through all these presidencies is that deportation is, in fact, a bipartisan sport, even if Democrats prefer a polished presentation while Republicans go for the jugular. The numbers do not lie: Obama deported more than Trump, Eisenhower deported over a million in 1954, and Biden continues the trend. If one imagines each presidency as an act in a long play about immigration, it would be hard not to see a repeating plotline, regardless of which party was in power. It would be a tragicomedy if it weren't so painfully real for the individuals and families caught in the crossfire.

The myth of Trump as the ultimate "Deportation Tsar" crumbles under the weight of facts and figures. To be clear, Trump wasn't the deportation champion he wanted to be; he was more like an understudy in a play where the leading roles had already been performed by others—most notably Obama. While Trump tried to add a new twist, perhaps even dramatize it for effect, the story remained largely unchanged. Deportations continued, immigrants were removed, and borders remained, quite literally, fortified. Yet, Trump alone was not the architect of this policy—he inherited it from a legacy that includes both Republican and Democratic presidents. He may have been willing to be the public face of tough immigration policies, but the groundwork had already been well laid by his predecessors.

The real deception here is that deportation policies, despite their deep impact on countless lives, are hidden behind lofty promises of reform and empathy. Democrats and Republicans alike have contributed to the creation of a deportation machine that functions irrespective of the party in power. The only real difference has been in how openly they speak about it. Democrats cloak their deportation efforts behind talks of “humane treatment” and “immigration reform,” while Republicans are more inclined to call it like they see it—brutal honesty, for better or worse.

To borrow an old saying: "The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree." And in this case, the tree is the consistent deportation practices of every recent administration, regardless of which political side they profess loyalty to. It’s a political slight of hand that leads one to believe only the Republicans are the bad guys, while the Democrats act as saints—until you look at the data.

Perhaps the final irony is this: those presidents whose rhetoric was the kindest often carried out the harshest policies in practice. Obama spoke the language of progress, of hope and of change. Yet, his administration became synonymous with mass deportation. Trump spoke with threats and bluster, but under his watch, deportations were not at record highs. Maybe the true story here is less about who deported the most, and more about the disconnect between what is said and what is done—a game where public statements are as carefully crafted as any magic trick, designed to distract, amaze, or comfort the audience, while the real action goes on behind the scenes.

So, before we christen Trump the king of deportations, maybe it's time to pull back the curtain on the real truth. The Democrats, it turns out, have been masters of deportation, simply opting to perform their magic behind closed doors rather than in front of a cheering—or jeering—crowd. It’s not the person who screams the loudest who does the most; it’s the one who works quietly when the spotlight turns away.

 

Denial at the Gates: How Europe's Cowardice Risks Repeating the Mistakes of the 1930s

 

European nations, aside from Ukraine, have turned "strategic autonomy" into nothing more than an empty phrase, using diplomatic jargon to hide their reluctance to confront Russia directly—preferring inaction to actually challenging threats on their doorstep.

The reality of Europe's defense stance is as subtle as a foghorn—loud but insubstantial. Ukraine’s ongoing conflict with Russia is casting a long shadow over the continent, revealing deep-rooted flaws in European security. It is unsettling, but no less true, that even thirty years after the Cold War's end, Europe continues to lean heavily on American hard power. This has become painfully evident with the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022. American tanks, funding, and support rushed across the Atlantic, while Europe found itself fumbling through NATO meetings, holding press conferences, and offering tepid assistance, all the while shielding their heads from the uncomfortable reality—a reliance that has long outlived its convenience.

The United States, meanwhile, is a stretched thread on the loom of global power. From its commitments in the Indo-Pacific to tensions with China and the ever-prevalent complexities in the Middle East, America is over-extended. And while it still carries the burden of European security—an aging and costly commitment—it is becoming clear that America’s focus is drifting elsewhere, specifically to the rising Asian sphere. President Biden’s administration, even as it champions transatlantic unity, is attempting to allocate precious resources toward curbing China's influence in the Indo-Pacific. If one scratches below the surface, it becomes evident that the Democrats' rhetoric of solidarity can only stretch so far before snapping under the weight of geopolitical necessity.

The situation is likely to become far worse should the leadership change to someone like Donald Trump. Under his previous tenure, Trump made it clear that he saw NATO as an outdated, costly venture for the United States—a Europe-first security blanket that no longer justified the hefty American price tag. The transactional nature of his politics meant a lot of “what's in it for us?” rather than the selfless commitment NATO once pretended to be. A return to such leadership could easily push Europe further into the deep end of strategic loneliness. This isn't mere conjecture—Trump previously threatened to pull the United States out of NATO, demanding European countries pay a larger share for their defense. And who is to say such threats will not evolve into stark realities if he takes office again?

At the heart of it, European countries continue to be weak and distracted, a political flaw that’s all the more glaring in times of crisis. Many European leaders, particularly in France, Italy, and Germany, are grappling with problems on their home fronts that leave them no room to deal with continental security. Inflation is still biting hard. Energy insecurity, exacerbated by a reduction in Russian supplies, is stinging Europe like a thousand wasps, prompting national leaders to place focus on local constituents rather than an elusive “common European cause.” President Macron of France, despite his sweeping statements on "European sovereignty," continues to face weekly protests domestically, which leaves his rhetoric often floundering for solid footing. Germany’s Chancellor Olaf Scholz, similarly, finds himself balancing a precarious coalition government and a hesitant stance on providing military hardware to Ukraine, lest the Russian bear turns its ire more decisively westward. Germany’s hesitancy cost Europe, with critics arguing that it emboldened Russia in the early days of its invasion.

This phenomenon is not unlike the appeasement mentality of the 1930s when Europe, hesitant to provoke Hitler, paved the way for the Second World War through inaction. The eerie echoes of history reverberate today. As one watches European leaders dither and debate endlessly, one can almost hear the forlorn tones of British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain declaring “peace for our time,” only for that promise to crumble spectacularly months later. It is as though the lessons of the past—of how inaction and appeasement lead to greater catastrophe—have conveniently faded away.

And then there’s the matter of the European defense spending promise. When NATO members committed in 2014 to spend 2% of their GDP on defense, few countries took this seriously. The latest data reveals that, as of 2023, only seven out of the thirty-one NATO countries are hitting this 2% benchmark. Even rich countries like Germany continue to fall short, spending around 1.5% of GDP on defense, far less than what the alliance expects. Words, promises, and grand statements without action have left the continent vulnerable. There is little to suggest that these spending targets will be consistently met or maintained, especially as European governments face competing fiscal demands amid an energy crisis and rising social costs.

Of course, there are some exceptions. Ukraine stands as an outlier in European resolve. Their bravery, mobilization of resources, and grassroots defense efforts are lessons that Europe should not only heed but emulate. Ukrainians have demonstrated the kind of resolve that European countries have, for too long, relegated to the pages of their history books. It is a sobering irony that Ukraine, a non-NATO member, has shown the most determination and defiance in the face of Russian aggression. Meanwhile, other European nations—who are beneficiaries of NATO’s Article 5 mutual defense guarantee—seem content to let their national security rest in the hands of American forces stationed in Europe and in the words printed in treaties.

This reluctance to take responsibility for defense in Europe isn’t simply a political failing; it is a cultural and generational issue. Since the Cold War ended, an entire generation of Europeans has grown up accustomed to peace as the default, to American bases in Germany as a guarantee, and to military threats as something that happened somewhere else—in the sands of Afghanistan or the jungles of Vietnam. Even the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and Russia's war against Ukraine from 2022 seemed, to many, as tragic, but still someone else’s tragedy. The bitter truth is that Europe has largely forgotten how to fight for itself, blinded by the comfortable belief that someone else, somewhere else, will do the fighting for them.

Not since the days leading up to World War II have European leaders needed to demonstrate such courage and statesmanship in the face of real existential threats. They must face facts—neither the United States nor anyone else will forever guarantee European security, especially with the shifting power dynamics globally. Relying indefinitely on American largesse is no longer a sustainable option. European countries must bolster their militaries, increase defense spending, and perhaps most importantly, foster the political will necessary to confront rogue states like Russia, head-on, and without hesitation.

Yet, what we’re more likely to witness is an even deeper immersion into denial—a further burying of heads in the sand. Take Hungary’s Viktor Orbán, for example. While Western Europe rallied behind Ukraine, Orbán’s Budapest administration cozied up to Moscow, highlighting fractures within European unity. When a continent cannot even agree on a common stance regarding blatant aggression on its doorstep, one cannot help but wonder about the depth of the so-called European unity. And let’s not forget Italy, whose leaders continue to speak out against sanctions on Russia due to fears of their economic impacts. It is a unity riddled with contradictions and half-hearted commitments.

The clock is ticking, but instead of facing the threats head-on, European leaders seem more adept at arguing over who pays the bill for the next gas shipment than on forming a cohesive defense policy. The vultures of complacency have long circled over Europe, and today they are coming home to roost. If Europe’s leaders fail to wake up to this new reality, the continent may soon face a grim reckoning—a descent into a security crisis it is wholly unprepared for. After all, as the old proverb goes, "Those who sleep in a storm must be prepared to wake up in ruins." And it seems, in true European fashion, they’ve decided that denial is far cozier than preparation.