Europe: The political indifference of the citizens and the mediocrity of the leaders

Europe and Democracy: The Dual Crisis of Indifference and Dependency

Victor Ângelo

It could be said that Europe is going through a period of crisis. Across much of the EU, citizens appear to have lost confidence in the political class and institutions. The reason is clear: a lack of satisfactory responses to social issues deemed essential. These include affordable housing, the growing malfunction of public services—especially in the areas of health, education, justice, and security—and political opportunism. More generally, all of this is compounded by the negative impact of the rising cost of life, which is linked to decisions made on the other side of the Atlantic. In the view of many citizens, the leaders of our Europe appear to lack sensitivity and courage.

When hope is lost, democracy does not collapse—it deteriorates silently. Byung-Chul Han, a Korean thinker long based in Germany, states that our societies have reached a phase of "fatigue": citizens are saturated, overwhelmed, and alienated by the digital flow, whether true or false. They feel isolated and incapable of mobilizing the energy required to carry out the changes that politics demands. The incompetence of institutions and the incoherence of politicians push citizens toward egocentrism, toward the solitary management of survival, and toward withdrawal from the public sphere. When the State fails, each individual retreats into their own microcosm. Politics ceases to be a space where hope is built. For many, it is merely a distant noise.

Digital disinformation is one of the instruments of democratic erosion. Algorithms optimized to maximize emotional reactions and content manufactured by artificial intelligence corrode public trust in a structural way. A survey from Special Eurobarometer 568 (2025) leaves no room for doubt: 79% of Europeans fear that voters will cast ballots based on false information, and 70% fear foreign interference. The credibility of national parliaments and governments hovers around 35%. In the case of political parties, the figure is even lower. In Portugal, the European Union maintains some credit, but the Assembly of the Republic and the parties follow the same downward trajectory seen in other European states.

In several societies, immigration, managed for years without a coherent strategy, has become the catalyst for social anxiety. Over time and with mass entries, unease has turned into resentment. It is in this terrain that the Rassemblement National (France), the AfD (Germany), Fratelli d'Italia, Vox (Spain), and Chega (Portugal) thrive. They grow because they exploit the vacuum left by traditional parties—yet they offer no realistic alternatives. Merely demagoguery. Furthermore, they generally ignore the axis that determines the viability and autonomy of the modern State: technological sovereignty. They discuss symbols, borders, and identities while the infrastructure sustaining democracy is in the hands of third parties.

Europe operates today based on digital systems that it does not control. Technological sovereignty means that a State controls the essential elements for its proper functioning: data, networks, software, hardware, AI platforms, and sources of information regarding major events with global impact. Europe is far from mastering these pillars.

The risk is not theoretical. If access to Microsoft and Google services were to fail—due to technical causes or even external retaliatory decisions—or if the supply of microchips from Taiwan's TSMC were interrupted—even if only for a short period—hospitals, businesses, schools, and public administration would grind to a halt. If Chinese electric vehicles were remotely shut down—for a political motive or diplomatic tension—logistics and our daily lives would collapse. A democracy dependent on foreign infrastructure and hardware is not sovereign: it is simply vulnerable. This fragility does not result from geopolitical fatality, but from decades of omission and false priorities in European policy.

Gaia-X, launched in 2019, is the European attempt to recover some control. It is not a "European Google." It is fundamentally a framework of rules, certifications, and standards. In parallel, the Regulation on the Development of Cloud Computing and AI seeks to build physical capacity—data centers, common infrastructures, and requirements for public administration. Gaia-X defines the protocols; the Regulation tries to build the material support.

However, these steps are insufficient. They are slow, timid, and decided by people from the legal field rather than from engineering, mathematics, or economics. They do not reduce, in the short term, the dependency on hardware, submarine cables, semiconductors, and base software originating from abroad. And the political problem is even more serious: these are orphan projects, forgotten, much like the Draghi report (2024). Neither traditional parties nor populists treat technological sovereignty as a priority. They prefer the comfort of easy narratives to the effort of building the strategic capacity that the present and future demand.

Thus, Europe remains a hostage—not by imposition, but due to flawed policies. Technological submission is not a mere backdrop to democratic fatigue: it is one of its most relevant causes. And this situation drags down the discredit of democracy and politics.

Reserves of resilience still exist—visible, for example, in the relative trust that the European Union maintains in countries like Portugal. But the future of our democracies demands clear and urgent decisions on two fronts: in the human dimension—housing, immigration, public services, functional governance, social protection for the most vulnerable, and the promotion of a democratic culture; and in the technological dimension—accelerating Gaia-X, building a sovereign cloud, investing in cutting-edge infrastructure, and mobilizing financial and technical resources at a supranational level.

The fatigue or indifference of citizens and the technological submission of States are the two sides of the same coin of crisis. Political incompetence generates social atomization; social atomization feeds political incompetence and populism. This is the vicious circle that we will have to break.

Today's Iran: and tomorrow?

 

The Rubicon is Crossed: From the "Farsa" of Geneva to the Fire of the Gulf

Victor Ângelo
International Security Advisor. Former UN Under-Secretary-General

 

When I wrote in these pages yesterday that the clock for an intervention in Iran was measured in "hours or days," I did so with the heavy heart of someone who has spent several years trying to prevent precisely this kind of diplomatic bankruptcy. Today, as the first reports of explosions in Isfahan and near the Strait of Hormuz confirm that the "Sentinel’s Wrath" (or whatever branding the White House chooses for this tragedy) is underway, the "Cantinflas" theatre has officially closed. The masks are off, and the stage is now set for a conflict of unpredictable proportions. 

The collapse of the Geneva talks—which I previously described as a "farsa"—was the final signal. Sending real estate investors to discuss nuclear enrichment with a millenary power was not an act of naivety; it was a deliberate provocation designed to fail. Their message was an ultimatum. 

By presenting the Iranians with an ultimatum disguised as a "deal," Washington ensured that the path to war was paved with a veneer of "having tried diplomacy." As I warned, it was a crass error to underestimate the pride of Tehran, but perhaps the greater error was believing that this administration ever intended for those talks to succeed. 

The immediate implications are now twofold. First, we face the inevitable economic blowback. The Strait of Hormuz is not just a geographical feature; it is the jugular vein of the global energy market. Any Iranian retaliation there—which their doctrine of "asymmetric response" practically guarantees and it is now closed—will send oil prices into a spiral that will make the inflationary crises of 2025 look like a minor market correction. The "triunfalismo" of the White House may soon be dampened by the reality of ten-dollar-a-gallon petrol. 

Second, we are witnessing the final decapitation of the Rules-Based Order. By bypassing the UN Security Council and ignoring the "patient persistence" that Gorbachev, Reagan and Kofi Annan once championed, the superpowers have effectively declared that International Law is a relic of a dead century. We have entered the era of "Transactional War," where the strongest decides the "deal," and the weakest pays the price in blood and sovereignty. 

The regime in Tehran is now at its most dangerous. While it is true that many Iranians yearn for an end to the theocratic dictatorship, history teaches us that foreign bombs rarely foster internal revolution; they more often unify a nation under the flag of "divine protection." 

We are no longer debating whether a "deal" is possible. We are now in a race to see if the world can contain a fire that was started by people who believe the globe can be managed like a luxury hotel chain. Churchill believed in the power of summits; today, we are left only with the power of the bunker.

Beyond the Algorithms: the Human Dimension

An Open Letter to my Readers: Human Diplomacy or Machine Algorithms?

07 February 2026

We find ourselves at a historical juncture where the traditional architecture of peace is not merely fractured—it is being rendered obsolete by a new and more insidious form of absolutism.

My recent analysis of the precipice upon which the United States and Iran now stand reveals a void where leadership ought to be. From the "lack of vigour" in the United Nations’ current leadership to the self-serving populism of regional autocrats, the "adults in the room" have effectively vacated the premises.

However, the peril we face extends beyond the formidable steel of the USS Abraham Lincoln or the multiple ballistic defiance of Tehran. We are witnessing the birth of a conflict defined by "the weaponisation of perception". We have entered the age of Digital Absolutism: a system where power no longer relies solely on the crude decree of a monarch, but on the "Black Box" of algorithmic certainty. It is a regime where those who control the data harvest the experience of the many to engineer the behaviour of all—transforming the citizen from an agent of history into a mere "vector of probability" to be predicted, nudged, or silenced.

In this "Century of Fear," as Albert Camus might have termed it, the battlefield intelligence has migrated to the digital architecture of our minds. Warfare is now waged through "false algorithms"—systems designed to saturate the decision-making process with noise, GPS spoofing that distorts the sovereignty of borders, and the mass production of misleading digital information that erodes the very possibility of a shared truth.

When I speak of the Iranian regime residing in the "Dark Ages," I refer to a fanaticism that has successfully harnessed 21st-century digital tools to enforce 16th-century repressions. Conversely, when I critique the Western response, I am inviting you to consider the "decline of courage" diagnosed by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. By outsourcing our diplomacy to data-driven models and "humanitarian causes" devoid of political stature, we have allowed the human spirit to be categorised as a mere variable in a zero-sum game.

To counteract this paralysis, we must urgently pivot toward a "Diplomacy of Resolve." This is not the absence of war, but the active presence of a principled boundary. It rejects the passive "humanitarian-only" stance, moving instead toward a posture where negotiation is backed by a clear-eyed readiness to defend universal values. Unlike the "Diplomacy of Accommodation," which often descends into the appeasement of autocrats, a "diplomacy of resolve" operates on the understanding that peace is only sustainable when the cost of aggression is made unacceptably high—not just militarily, but morally and economically.

It is a commitment to "Truth-Telling" in an era of digital deception. It means calling a "Dark Age" regime by its name while simultaneously keeping the door to the negotiating table open. It is the courage to ensure that when we speak of "red lines," they are drawn in the ink of international law and defended with the collective will of nations that refuse to be bullied by either ballistic missiles or algorithmic manipulation and fake news.

The leadership required in the digital era is one that possesses the technical literacy to decode the "Permanent Lie" of digital propaganda, yet maintains the moral autonomy to override the cold, escalatory logic of the machine. We need leaders who understand that in an age of total surveillance, the most radical political act is the protection of Human Unpredictability. By this, I mean the preservation of the individual's capacity to act outside of a predetermined data set—the "divine spark" of spontaneity and moral choice that no algorithm can anticipate.

Algorithms optimized for escalation, for war and victory, see the closing of a trade artery as a logical necessity; they do not feel the "incalculable number of victims" of repression. If we are to escape this trap, we must move beyond the "shadow war" of digital deception. We require a diplomacy that is human-centric. 

To be clear, we must support the digital dissidents who use Obfuscation as a shield. Far from being a mere technical trick, Obfuscation is the deliberate injection of noise and "useful misinformation" into the surveillance engine; it is a vital act of digital guerrilla warfare that blinds the Demoniac Leviathan by making the individual's data unreadable and unpredictable, thereby reclaiming the right to a private, interior life.

As Simone de Beauvoir understood, "to will oneself free is also to will others free." Our freedom today depends on our ability to resist the Demons of both theocracy and technocracy. Sovereignty must begin with the dignity of the citizen, defended not just against Tomahawk missiles, but against the algorithmic erosion of the will and the soul. Let us demand a return to this diplomacy of resolve—one that prioritises the lived reality of individuals over the strategic abstractions of the codes defined by digital experts and extremists billionaires.

Respectfully,

Victor Ângelo

Lao Zi, founder of Taoism, reacts to Nietzsche's and my views: an imaginary letter

 If Nietzsche represents the Will to Power and Gandhi the Will to Truth, Lao Zi, the founder of Taoism, born in China in 531 a.C., represents the Will to Flow.

From the perspective of Taoism, the "death" of an international order is neither a tragedy nor a triumph of the strong (as Nietzsche might see it). It is simply the natural result of a system that became too rigid, too heavy, and too far removed from the Tao (the Way).

Here is how Lao Zi might respond to my correspondence:

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From the Banks of the Nameless River

To the Honorable Weaver of Nets, Victor,

You write with great concern about a "shattered stage" and the "death of order." You are like a man who stands by a frozen river in mid-winter and laments that the water has stopped moving. And your friend, the German with the hammer, is like a man who wants to smash the ice with a heavy blow to prove he is stronger than the cold.

Both of you fail to see the river.

You call the "International Order" a cathedral. I tell you it was a dam. For eighty years, you tried to hold back the Great Current with walls of paper, treaties, and ink. You thought that if you wrote enough laws, the world would stop being the world. But the nature of the Tao is to flow. When a dam becomes too rigid, it does not "perish"—it simply breaks because it can no longer yield. This is not the end of the world; it is the water returning to its path.

You speak of Political Nihilism. You fear the "law of the strongest." But tell me: does the oak tree fear the wind? The oak is stiff and strong, and so it snaps. The willow is soft and yielding, and so it survives. You seek "Strategic Autonomy" and "Coordinated Defense." You want to build a bigger, stiffer oak. I tell you: the more you sharpen the blade, the sooner it will grow blunt. The more you amass gold and weapons, the more you invite the thief.

You look to Davos and seek a "Spirit of Dialogue." Why so much noise? Why so many words? When the mouth is open, the heart is often closed. You sign an Agreement in Paraguay and call it a bridge. If the bridge is made of genuine need, it will stand. If it is made of cleverness and grasping, it will wash away in the first storm.

Nietzsche speaks of the Abyss. I speak of the Valley. The abyss is a place of falling; the valley is a place of life. Do not try to "overcome" the vacuum with your will. Empty yourself of your plans, your "paradigms," and your "architectures." A vessel is useful only because of the emptiness inside it.

The world is not a thing to be "managed." It is a living spirit that cannot be interfered with. If you try to fix it, you will ruin it. If you try to grasp it, you will lose it.

You say the world is a "perilous place." It has always been so. But the peril lies not in the "Kremlin's and other forces," but in your own refusal to be like water. Water does not struggle against the rock; it flows around it, and in time, the rock is gone and the water remains.

Stop trying to reconstruct the dam. Instead, learn to swim in the river.

With a quiet heart,

Lao Zi

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