sábado, 25 de julho de 2026

Cartoon - Hermann (Jim Unger)

 






Almoço - Quinta do Feno






Em 18.07.2026, na Quinta do Feno do José António Monteiro e da Manuela, reuniram-se alguns da turma do IST: João Cruz, Jorge Matos (Hortense), Jacinto (Elisa), Monteiro (Manuela), Zé Morgado, Fernando Freitas (Céu), Fernando Costa Pereira (Fátima) e eu.

Tem de ficar registado, antes de tudo o mais, aquilo que hoje em dia, e conforme digo noutros palanques, está em extinção: o informalismo e a (já conhecida) genuinidade dos anfitriões. Ainda há gente desta que quer receber quem gosta e tem um particular prazer nisso. Definitivamente, em extinção!

Depois, o espírito que perpassa por quem, há 50 anos, teve um contacto, uma experiência e uma amizade que se não perdeu, nem desvaneceu no tempo. Independentemente de ter sido um "outsider", tenho de reconhecer ter sabido manter intermitentemente alguns contactos que permitiram, agora, ter estas oportunidades. Únicas, porque o são. 

Sei que "elogio em boca própria é vitupério", mas já temos idade para estes e outros disparates...

Seguidamente, a seguir, logo na sequência, vem, e sem exaustividade nem preferencialismos, na ordem:

- as capacidades gastronómicas e "cozinheirais" do Jacinto e do Monteiro. Eles são as bifanas, o arroz, o pão congelado, as aguardentes. Sinto-me (ainda mais...) pequeno, perante o desfile das potencialidades que estes engenheiros exibem. É caso para dizer: esposas felizes!



- o brinquedo do Zé António. Regressou à meninice!, definitivamente. Cuidado com a evidente, descarada e flagrante (foste tu que disseste Zé António!!) planura do terreno...


- Que grande Rosé, Manuela! Parabéns!


- João e Manuela, continuam a encantar as vossas histórias verdadeiras, nostálgicas, mas que por vezes, e por muito que não queiram, transportam - silenciosamente -, uma amargura contida. Obrigado por nos fazer lembrar um passado recente que se insiste em fazer esquecer!

- Fernando e Céu, obrigado pela boleia!




- a madeira da espectacular mesa dos doces. (Ainda há marceneiros??) 


- Zé Morgado, tens de te pôr ok para irmos correr, com o Jim, que estava definitivamente "OFF", a maratona do deserto de Alenquer...


 

- e, claro, as recordações de juventude no IST.




 







The spectator - Andy Burnham is comically out of touch

 

(personal underlines)

Andy Burnham is comically out of touch

(Photo: Getty)

It can be hard sometimes to understand the progressive mind. The new Prime Minister’s first speech yesterday was intended to show that he is going to ‘do politics differently’. The first sign of this was his dispensing with the lectern used on such occasions for the last few years. Was this innocent object really the problem with his string of short-lived predecessors? I can’t imagine Liz Truss sat watching at home kicking herself, muttering ‘of course! If only I’d junked that lectern’.

The problem for Andy Burnham is bigger than that. This is, after all, a man who can look at Britain in 2026 – overtaxed, crippled with debt, riven by uncontrolled mass immigration – and diagnose that its key problem is… Mrs Thatcher. This is more of a psychosis than an opinion.

Progressives like Andy and his (retained) Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy regularly accuse their detractors of being the victims of online misinformation. The thinking goes that if only the poor, benighted impressionable souls knew the truth about how wonderful Labour are, they’d be brimming over with glee and gratitude. Large sections of the public, they claim, are being misled by wicked villains like Elon Musk stirring up ‘divisive’ lies about ‘our communities’. 

But I have a horrible feeling that it may be the other way around. That it is progressives who are horribly misinformed, and by each other.

A rare insight into this syndrome was the recent appearance of Alastair Campbell on the Triggernometry podcast. I found this a very hard watch, as Campbell makes my body go into fight-or-flight mode, but I forced myself through the whole long thing, in the hope that I might learn something. And thankfully, I did.

Hosts Francis Foster and Konstantin Kisin were exasperated by Campbell, but gave as good as they got with patience and good humour. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my rag if Campbell was in the same room. (A progressive TV writer friend of mine, after having a few too many, once encountered Campbell socially and delivered the incredible line ‘you destroyed everything that I ever pretended to believe in’. You won’t be surprised to hear that my chum has a wall full of Baftas.)

It’s tempting for us to look at the likes of Campbell and flinch. But the interview turned out to be worth my time because it exposed something quite shocking, that perhaps helps to explain the comical inappropriateness of Burnham’s prescriptions for sick Britain.

At one point, it turns out that Campbell has simply never heard of the police’s barmy Race Action Plan. He cannot accept that it is a key, current document from the College of Policing. His mind freezes and he cackles sceptically. He cannot register or retain the information. He seriously seems to assume it’s something the hosts have made up, or are exaggerating. This happens a lot in the interview, about nearly everything they discuss. Campbell, it turns out, is laughably uninformed.

We can see this progressive naïveté elsewhere. Look also at the BBC’s excruciating new advert for itself and the wonders of the license fee. Among the many, many dubious claims made in this tawdry spectacle is the astonishing boast that the BBC ‘verifies every news story’. This, from an organisation that has repeatedly served up dodgy news about the world: editing the January 6th footage, accusing the Jewish child victims of a racist attack of being racist, simply ignoring the resistance to genderism until there was absolutely no alternative – and treating the women who were against it like something they stepped in on the way to Broadcasting House.

The horrifying thought occurs – the BBC aren’t technically lying about their ‘trustworthy’ news. No, they genuinely believe in it. (As does Lisa Nandy, who wants to push its content to the top of everybody’s social media timelines.)

We hear a lot today about how people live in political echo chambers. But it is better to live with echoes of reality than echoes of fantasy.

Which brings us back to Burnham. I suspect that, at his core, he simply cannot accept that it is not 30 April, 1997. Nothing much can have happened since, because if things are bad in Britain well, it must be Thatcher’s fault. For Andy, Mrs Thatcher is a live issue, because she only left office a few years ago, and he has to put an end to the 18 long years of Tory rule that have just gone by.

Burnham literally cannot see the current staggering debt and immigration figures, and he has had almost nothing to say about them. They have been put behind the ornamental dog on the mantelpiece of his mind.

Progressives like Campbell, the BBC and Burnham have hornswoggled themselves, pulled the wool over their own eyes. It is they who are the misinformed.

This matters, because it means that Burnham cannot hope to succeed. His world view is almost comically out of true. Yes, this self-delusion is funny. But it is also terrifying. 

The Spectator - My Paris neighbourhood has become a no-go zone

 


(personal underlines - silent sadness)

My Paris neighbourhood has become a no-go zone

(Getty Images)

When I moved into Paris’s seventh arrondissement, I was not expecting to find myself living in one of the city’s dreaded no-go zones.

My neighbourhood, admittedly, is not one of the notorious districts on lists of forbidding no-go zones in the French capital’s bleak north end, plagued with crack houses and criminal gangs. I live in one of Paris’s poshest areas. The seventh arrondissement is known for its burnished boulevards and grand monuments. Every morning, I walk my two dogs on the Champ de Mars in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

World famous for the annual fireworks display to celebrate Bastille Day, the Champ de Mars boasts a glorious past. As suggested by its name, evoking the Roman god of war, it faces the École Militaire whose graduates include a young officer called Napoleon Bonaparte. For centuries, the Champ de Mars was a symbol of order and grandeur. In 1889, the Eiffel Tower was constructed on the site as the centrepiece of the Paris world fair that year. Over the past century, the lush gardens have been admired as an urban sanctuary of bucolic beauty with sculpted lawns, quaint bosquets, and spraying fountains. Old photos of the Champ de Mars show ice cream stands, children holding candy floss, and mothers pushing prams along promenades with the Eiffel Tower soaring in the background.

That’s the dreamy picture postcard. Today, the Champ de Mars is a desolate zone swarming with thieves and predators. After the terrorist attacks in 2015, a ten-foot-high, bulletproof glass wall was constructed around the Eiffel Tower. Near the turnstiles for ticket-buying tourists, pickpockets hover in search of easy prey. Swindlers crouched on the pavement lure gullible foreigners with shell games and three-card monte confidence tricks. Africans illegally selling trinkets spread out on carpets quickly gather up their cheap merchandise and scamper at the first sight of police.

Worse, the Champ de Mars is notorious for sexual assaults and rapes. The victims are usually female tourists enjoying evening festivities on the wide lawns at the foot of the tower. Every year, the French media report shocking sexual aggressions on the Champ de Mars. Three years ago, a 35-year-old man from the Paris suburbs was arrested for raping a 23-year-old British policewoman at knifepoint. Last year, an adolescent from Libya was charged with sexually assaulting a Ukrainian woman at the same location.

Under pressure, police claim they are reinforcing foot patrols. But they can do little to control the underlying problem: overtourism. 

Paris is the world’s most popular destination city with more than 40 million annual visitors. Seven million of them visit the Eiffel Tower. Overwhelmed with tourist traffic, the overtrodden Champ de Mars lawns have been turned into barren patches of dirt and mud. In the darkness before dawn, rats can be seen darting between overflowing rubbish bins. Nothing seems to function for visitors. There are few lavatories and no drinking fountains. Many of the old stone benches are cracked and crumbling. The Belle Époque fountains and basins, handy in a heatwave, are dry as a bone. But the tourists keep coming, carrying cash and getting intoxicated at night on the lawns — easy targets for petty criminals and sexual predators. The Champ de Mars’s reputation is so bad that Le Point magazine observed that ‘France is dishonoured by the state of the Champ de Mars’.

The Paris council seems indifferent to the degradation. In fact, it deliberately aids and abets the deterioration. With a massive debt of €10 billion (£8.5 billion), the city manages the Champ de Mars like a vast amusement park to maximise revenues. One source of cash comes from events and spectacles. From March till October, the Champ de Mars is virtually monopolised by a constant cycle of entertainments – rock concerts, football fan zones, fashion catwalks, equestrian show jumping events. Before the Paris Olympics two years ago, the merry-go-rounds and children’s marionette theatre on the Champ de Mars were shut down to make way for an 8,000-seat stadium. It often takes weeks to set up these events with bulldozers and giant trucks, and more weeks to dismantle them after the crowds go home. Local residents, unwanted intruders in their own neighbourhood, are confined to fenced-off strips along the edges of the gardens to stroll and walk their dogs.

The knock-on effects of this mismanagement have been catastrophic. The city has cut down hundreds of old trees battered by the constant commotion of trampling tourists and live events. The Paris council announced a redevelopment plan that involved massacring 42 trees, one of them two centuries old, to construct buildings for a ticket office, luggage storage, souvenir shops and takeaway food outlets for tourists visiting the Eiffel Tower. That €72 million scheme – drawn up by the London firm Gustafson Porter & Bowman – was cancelled after a storm of protest.

For local residents, constant vigilance is requerida to thwart these ill-advised plans of city bureaucrats and commissioned architects. An association called Friends of the Champ de Mars was created as a citizen watchdog against the relentless mutilation of the gardens. Many constructive proposals have been made – for example, more policing, fencing off the lawns, more public lavatories, and better management of rubbish collection. Above all, instead of the wall surrounding the Eiffel Tower, gates should be constructed at access points to the Champ de Mars to control entry and impose, as at other Paris parks, strict visiting hours and closure at night.

But complaints have fallen on deaf ears at the city’s Socialist-controlled council. They know that the wealthy residents of the seventh arrondissement overwhelmingly vote for conservative parties. Politics as usual. The show must go on.

When asked, my advice to visitors is to stay away from the Champ de Mars. There is no need for a close-up look at the Eiffel Tower – and you will be in for a shock. I have learned from long experience in the City of Light that the Eiffel Tower is best viewed from a distance.

sexta-feira, 24 de julho de 2026

Cartoon - The Spectator

 


Observador - Ele ainda lá está?

 


(sublinhados pessoais)

Ele ainda lá está?

Sim, Luís Neves continua no governo. Esta semana, porém, explicou ele próprio porque não devia continuar. Foi em Viana do Castelo. O ministro da Administração Interna anunciou que vai recrutar civis para substituir polícias em tarefas administrativas, de modo que haja mais agentes para patrulhar as ruas. Eis uma boa ideia. Mas depois, Luís Neves engrossou a voz: “sei que há quem vá dizer que já ouvimos essa conversa. Esse encolher dos ombros. Esse cepticismo, essa reacção muito nossa de que sempre foi assim. Vai deixar de ser assim. Não tem lugar neste Ministério liderado por mim, nem neste Governo”. Ameaçou: todos os que sejam “um estorvo ou contracorrente de uma decisão benéfica para o país serão afastados”.

Luís Neves acha que há gente que vai resistir. E promete-lhes, muito Robespierre, purgas e sangue. O ministro não quer apenas mandar no ministério. Quer muito mais: mudar comportamentos, transformar mentalidades, criar um mundo novo. Ora, terá espírito e autoridade para tanta revolução quem, neste momento, só inspira dúvidas sobre o seu comportamento no cargo que exerceu antes? Pode Luís Neves, resumido como está ao “caso Luís Neves”, ser o grande reformador que diz querer ser?

O caso tem mudado a cada notícia. Já não se trata apenas de o director da PJ pedir a um fornecedor da instituição para lhe fazer umas obras particulares, mas a um fornecedor com alegados problemas fiscais e judiciais. Já não são apenas obras particulares, mas serviços que diríamos “para-policiais”, que podem ter comprometido provas de uma investigação ao tráfico de droga. Quanto mais sabemos, mais parece haver para explicar.

Há quem ache que estamos a exigir aos governantes uma seriedade de que muitos portugueses, enquanto cidadãos privados, nem sempre dão provas perante a burocracia ou o fisco. Não estará o país, nesta história, na posição dos leitores de Baudelaire? Não, não está. A diferença é aquela que existe entre quem exerce cargos públicos e quem vive como cidadão privado. Quem vive como cidadão privado prevarica usando o seu engenho e arte. Quem exerce cargos públicos prevarica usando o poder do Estado. Por isso, quem exerce cargos públicos, quando prevarica, compromete o poder do Estado, isto é, subverte a sua legitimidade e a sua eficácia: não se limita a beliscar a lei, degrada as instituições.

O que está em causa neste caso não é a probidade de um cidadão privado que por desleixo ou exasperação fugiu a regras ou ignorou procedimentos. O que aqui está em causa é outra coisa: é a idoneidade para exercer funções públicas de quem, numa posição de poder, poderá ter abusado do Estado e permitido a outros abusar também. Notem bem: não estou a dizer que foi isto que aconteceu. Estou a dizer que temos de saber, com toda a certeza, se foi ou não isto que aconteceu.

Desse esclarecimento depende a capacidade de Luís Neves levar a cabo a governação supostamente revolucionária que anunciou. Neste momento, para fazer reformas, até pelas resistências que ele próprio antecipa, Luís Neves é a pessoa errada no lugar errado. Mas para ocupar o poder, ou até, como alguns já sugeriram, para facilitar uma certa promiscuidade entre o governo e a oposição socialista, que tanto demonstra estimá-lo, para isso, sim, talvez ele sirva, mesmo de asa ferida. Por tanto, se Luís Neves continuar no governo, sem este caso estar esclarecido, temos todos os motivos para o ver, não como apenas mais um ministro, mas como a definição política deste governo.


The Spectator - The radical left-wing takeover of the Democrats is nearly complete

 

(personal underlines)

The radical left-wing takeover of the Democrats is nearly complete

Tuesday 4 August could prove to be a turning point in American political history. If Democratic primary voters in Michigan choose Haley Stevens, a moderate, as their Senate nominee, the party establishment should stagger on, perhaps up to and beyond the presidential election of 2028.

It’s more likely, however, that the Democrats will elect Dr Abdul El-Sayed, a pro-Palestine radical who supports Medicare for All and the abolition of Immigration and Customs Enforcement. El-Sayed’s victory would confirm that the hard left is the coming force in national politics, and suggest that the long-anticipated socialist takeover of the oldest party in the US – the party of Andrew Jackson, Harry Truman and Bill Clinton – is finally under way. Just as Donald Trump’s MAGA movement began to devour a rotten Republican party in 2015, a vengeful left-wing populism seems ready to swallow the much-loathed Democratic elite. The only part that’s missing is the element of surprise.

El-Sayed has impeccable credentials for a 21st-century internationalist progressive – or what right-wingers might call ‘a third-worldist’. A practising Muslim from the affluent suburbs of Detroit, the son of an Egyptian engineer, he captained the lacrosse team at Oxford, earned a doctorate in public health, and turned into a podcaster. He has a beard, a buff torso, and walks out on stage to the rap song ‘Changes’ by Tupac Shakur:

Can’t a brother get a little peace?
It’s war on the streets
And the war in the Middle East.

Instead of war on poverty
They got a war on drugs
So the police can bother me.

He insists he’s ‘a scientist not a socialist’ and rejects ideological labels. But that’s what a Trotskyite entryist would say. He has campaigned, done podcasts and even filmed a workout video with the Twitch streamer Hasan Piker, who has said ‘America deserved 9/11’ and praises Mao Zedong as ‘one of the great leaders of this world’.

El-Sayed is not formally aligned with the Democratic Socialists of America (DSA). The group has, however, reportedly sent volunteers and resources to back him in Michigan, as well as to Francesca Hong’s campaign in neighbouring Wisconsin. Hong is an outright DSA member who is bidding to be America’s first socialist governor. She promises to ‘tax the rich, fund our schools, and stop AI data centres’ – and naturally she’s ahead in the polls.

The DSA is on a roll, having transformed in recent years from a club for fringe eccentrics into arguably the most effective political organisation in America. In January, Zohran Mamdani, a dues-paying member since 2017, became mayor of New York. His apparent moderation in office has disappointed hardliners, though he has imposed the rent controls he promised, and this week posted a dramatic face-to-camera address in which he called Bibi Netanyahu ‘a war criminal’ and appealed for his arrest.

Last month, three Mamdani-backed radicals won congressional primaries in his city. Perhaps the most colourful is Darializa Avila Chevalier, a DSA hardliner who wears funky spectacles, attended a pro-Hamas rally and wants to ban borders, the police and prisons.

Darializa, a graduate of Columbia University, is known to be an admirer of Assata Shakur, the late Black Panther, who was Tupac Shakur’s godmother or step-aunt or something (family is a white patriarchal concept).

In 1977, Assata was found guilty of murdering a state trooper in New Jersey. She then escaped prison, found asylum in Cuba and spent her last years in Havana writing impenetrable revolutionary prose. She’s now all the rage in trendy circles, having clearly been the inspiration for the female lead in Paul Thomas Anderson’s multi-award–winning film One Battle After Another. Radical chic never goes out of fashion.

Another DSA darling is the Ethiopian-born lawyer Melat Kiros, who last month won her congressional primary in Denver, having also campaigned for a US arms embargo on Israel, Medicare for All and the annihilation of ICE. At a recent event for the Tigrayan diaspora in Colorado, she called for ‘getting more people who have heritage in the global south into office’ in order to achieve a ‘reckoning’ for America’s ‘exploitative and extractive’ role in the world.

In the past, DSA members tended to emphasise the ‘Democratic’ rather than the ‘Socialist’ part, as if their worldview were informed by the European centre-left. Now, however, American socialists have learnt to ‘lean in’, as the feminists say, to their more native seditious temperament. Last week, the DSA released their new ‘Workers Deserve More!’ online platform. Complete with cutesy cartoons of red roses and clenched-fist salutes, the platform explains to the masses why the ‘capitalist oligarchy’ must be destroyed. ‘We push these demands to their furthest extent today,’ it says, ‘so we can fight for their fullest realisation in a socialist future.’

The platform makes Andy Burnham sound like a neoliberal sell-out. It calls for the closure of all US military bases overseas, the stopping of all sanctions on Cuba, Venezuela and Iran, the abolition of prisons and universal free housing. ‘Establish public ownership of the largest corporations and essential industries,’ it says. ‘Abolish the Senate… replace the President and Supreme Court with an executive and judiciary chosen by and subordinate to Congress.’

Tear up the US constitution, in other words, though interestingly the manifesto includes no mention of restricting the right to bear arms. That’s because guns may be necessary if democratic means don’t work soon. And as this week’s arson attack on an ICE building in New York and other recent outbreaks of left-wing violence show, some activists are done waiting.

The DSA vision is anathema to the vast majority of American voters. The Republican party sees in the group’s frightening rise an opportunity to ward off a humiliating thrashing in the midterms. Hold on to Donnie, for fear of something commie – that, essentially, is Team Trump’s message as November’s elections approach.

‘There is a resurgence of the communist menace in our land,’ averred the President in his 4 July speech celebrating America’s 250th anniversary. ‘It’s like a cancer, you got to cut it out.’

Abdul El-Sayed. Getty

Marco Rubio, the Secretary of State and increasingly the favourite to be Republican nominee in 2028, has also sensed the moment. In a speech last week at his Department’s ‘Ministerial on the Resurgence of Political Terrorism’, Rubio addressed radical leftism: ‘It is a poisonous resentment cloaked in the language of equality, justice, liberation; an overwhelming need to tear down what greater men have built, to wreck what is beautiful and right, on behalf of people who are only filled with ugliness.’ The State Department duly rolled out a new report which portrays the DSA as part of a Cuban-inspired subversion campaign ‘designed to turn America against itself’.

Yet the Trump administration is today best known for starting another unstoppable war in the Middle East, failing to bring down the cost-of-living and the kleptocratic tendencies of the First Family and its cronies. That’s hardly an ideal position from which to launch a noble defence of western values. The Cassandras of Never-Trump Republicanism always warned us that the Donald, with his unique combination of vanity and venality, would open the door to revolution from the left.

There is moreover a parallel, in style if not in substance, between the DSA’s rhetoric and the early radicalism of MAGA in 2016 – an eagerness to say the unsayable, to horrify the elite and shock the liberal media. America’s angry left and right have a symbiotic relationship, which is why DSA leaders are now happy to be grilled on Fox News, just as Trumpist talking heads seek out clashes on MSNBC and CNN. If legacy journalism hates you, you must be right.

Trumpism won by appealing to lower-income voters, especially in rural areas, who felt abandoned by globalism. Today’s New Left, by contrast, taps into something arguably more powerful: the rage of the downwardly mobile metropolitan middle classes, who feel impoverished by inflation and existentially challenged by Artificial Intelligence. The psephologist Nate Silver pointed out this week that some 40 per cent of ‘post-grads’ who earn less than $60,000 a year describe themselves as ‘very liberal’ – which in America means left-wing. ‘The sweet spot for the DSA,’ argued Silver, is among the ‘very college-educated but not particularly well-off’.

According to the horseshoe theory, too, the growing loathing of Israel, and the widespread resentment over Tel Aviv’s influence over Washington, means that populism makes unlikely bedfellows left and right. El-Sayed hinted at that on a podcast this month when he said that he ‘wouldn’t be surprised’ if followers of Marjorie Taylor Greene, the MAGA darling turned furious anti-Zionist who also bemoans the hellacious costs of healthcare, end up supporting him.

Michigan is not New York or Colorado, to put it mildly. It’s a blue-collar swing state which voted for Trump twice. That’s one of the reasons El-Sayed is careful to distance himself from some of the more inciteful leftist rhetoric and emphasise his love of America. It’s also why the attacks against him –many funded by pro-Israel groups – call him a terrorist sympathiser and ‘too radical for Michigan’.

El-Sayed’s views might once have made him utterly unpalatable to the Midwestern bourgeoisie. Today, however, he speaks to the growing number of disenfranchised Americans who have been, as he puts it, ‘working the same job for 20 years and feel like[they’re] on the cusp of losing it to a robot’.

At three well-attended rallies in Detroit, Lansing and Grand Rapids last weekend, El-Sayed was supported by Senator Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the two biggest stars of the American left. Under a ‘The People vs The Powerful’ banner, Bernie, AOC and Abdul together presented a DSA-lite platform that appears to bridge the narrowing gap between the Democratic mainstream and the leftist bank. They railed against the corruption of Trump and Washington, the power of the ‘special interests’, ‘corporate greed’ and ‘dark money’. They accused Israel of genocide in Gaza and denounced ‘unconditional US military aid’ to Tel Aviv, but stopped short of the DSA’s more outrageous positions.

Sanders, 84, is the retiring but not shy grandpa of American socialism. Never affiliated with the DSA, he came close to winning the presidential nomination in 2016, but was scuppered by Hillary Clinton and the Democratic Machine. AOC, by contrast, is now 36, finally old enough to be Commander-in-Chief, and faces no comparable enemy. She refuses to rule out the possibility of a presidential bid (in other words, she’s running).

A proud DSA member, she nonetheless risked the ire of the group by refusing to boycott Israel entirely in 2024. Even Democratic strategists who despise her politics admit that she has become a more capable operator. If El-Sayed and Hong both win in August, and then again in November, her stock will rise higher still.

America’s choice in 2028, then, could well be Marco Rubio, the anti-communist Cuban Latino, or Ocasio-Cortez, the socialist Puerto Rican Latina. In an ever more unhappy age, she would be the change agent. Hasta la revolucion!

The Spectator - The madness of crowds is keeping markets afloat

 

(personal underlines)

The madness of crowds is keeping markets afloat

‘I’m done with Trump,’ fumed a normally MAGA-supportive retail trader as he watched an investment that was particularly Hormuz-sensitive collapse. But, perhaps surprisingly, his frustration at the war is not shared more widely by stock pickers.

Despite the geopolitical turmoil of the war in Iran, equities (shares in listed companies) have been on an upward romp for the past year. Since Donald Trump was inaugurated for the second time, the Standard and Poor’s 500 index is up 25 per cent. Stock markets almost everywhere have been hitting record high after record high.

It doesn’t make much sense. This hasn’t been a good year for the world economy. The constant closing and reopening of the Strait of Hormuz sent oil prices skyward. In turn, expectations of resurgent inflation across the globe have pushed bond yields ever higher. Britain has suffered particularly badly thanks to our structural susceptibility to higher prices. But, oddly, equities have seemed immune.

Why? One answer seems to be thanks to retail investors ‘buying the dip’. The strategy takes the age-old market maxim of ‘buy low, sell high’ and turns weakness into opportunity through the – often blind – assumption that the stock will bounce back. When markets are surging and the rise of a stock looks relentless, the day-to-day news cycle or a quarter of underperformance can cause a share price to dip. Traders then look to buy at the bottom of this dip period and unlock maximum profits when, all being well, the price heads north again. The strategy has become particularly popular with retail investors because there’s an inherent optimism to it. It almost seems community-minded.

And it’s happening more than ever before. According to Citadel Securities, the first half of this year has seen three-and-a-half times the average daily amount of buying on days the S&P has dropped. That’s the most buying of the dip since Citadel began tracking. It’s even higher than in the GameStop meme-stock frenzy of 2021, when buying the stock of a struggling video-game chain became a viral trend which sent shares up by more than 1,500 per cent in a single month and inflicted ruinous losses on hedge funds that had been shorting the stock.

For the time being, buying the dip seems to broadly work. If the market crashes, it’s bouncing back quicker and higher than veteran stock pickers have been used to. When there are market-wide dips, whether it be Covid or the 2022 inflation shock or Trump’s ‘liberation day’ tariff hikes, recoveries have become faster and faster. After the bursting of the dotcom bubble caused the S&P to collapse, it took 1,166 days for the market to return to pre-crash levels. After the Iran war began and markets plunged nearly 10 per cent, the same recovery took just 11 trading sessions.

Trump has played a role in speeding up this process. Before Iran, he had been seen as the stock market’s greatest ally. Even once missiles started flying and mines were laid by the Iranians in the strait, traders took comfort in the Taco (‘Trump Always Chickens Out’) mantra – the idea that when market pressures build enough, the President will back down from whatever action he was taking and markets will rebound. The faith in Taco creates the perfect conditions for dip buying.

Buying the dip has become so prevalent that some veteran market-watchers now believe the phenomenon explains, at least in part, why equities have proved so resilient in the face of what should be gale-force headwinds. A close look at the S&P 500 supports this view.

In truth, most stocks have been hamstrung by the war and oil prices, while the huge AI firms and chip-makers have done extremely well (last week’s wobble aside). Retail investors still chase that momentum. And nowhere is momentum – and optimism – directing trading behaviour more than at Elon Musk’s SpaceX. After its initial public offering last month, the rocket, AI and satellite firm’s market capitalisation passed $2 trillion, compared with revenues of just under $19 billion. That’s a price-to-sales ratio of more than 100 – unprecedented in the history of capitalism.

To justify this kind of valuation on traditional revenue ratios, SpaceX would need to be raking in closer to $200 billion a year in revenues. That imbalance is partly responsible for the collapse SpaceX’s stock has since experienced. But dip buyers are not fussed and instead see opportunity, as do some hedge funds holding the stock. Musk’s ambition is so big that there’s a belief he might really justify the hyper-inflated value. But retail investors will need to be prepared to hold a lot steadier than they normally do – true value is probably decades away.

In London, there’s hope among some UK-focused funds that our own FTSE has a big boom in its near future too. The government believes that part of a British path to prosperity and growth involves getting Britons into investing. But if it succeeds, most of these new stock market players will not be buying the dip. Instead, they will, sensibly, dip their toe in via fully or semi-managed funds where professionals do the picking for them or simply buy an existing index which tracks a basket of usually well-performing stocks.

One UK-focused fund manager explains to me that this increased use of ‘indexation’ could reap massive dividends for the FTSE. UK stocks increasingly feature in those tracked by indexes.

The dip-buying phenomenon, when executed correctly, is clearly working for investors, but the pros believe that success will be short-lived. Our new hordes of retail investors have not lived through a prolonged fall in prices and have not really experienced recession. When they do, the surprise could be nasty, as the dip they think they’re buying turns out to be just a light reprieve before new depths are plumbed. When that happens, retail investors would do well to remember that old, slightly patronising adage: it’s time in the market, not timing the market, that really gets results.

quinta-feira, 23 de julho de 2026

The Spectator - I miss Roger Federer

 

(personal underlines)

I miss Roger Federer

We don't know how good we had it

(Getty images)

Epic figures leave epic gaps when they retire. The generations that follow are doomed to be compared to past heroes by nostalgic fans. So it is with Roger Federer. Novak Djokovic might be the GOAT (greatest of all time, to use the phrase du jour) in terms of sheer numerical achievement. But tennis is art, not science. Ballet, not bookkeeping. For the aesthetes among us who drink in the sight of on-court grace like champagne, Federer will always be number one. 

To answer why, you don’t need words, though heaven knows enough have been written about the grace of Rog. (David Foster Wallace famously called watching the Swiss savant ‘a religious experience’). Click on any clip and watch Fed glide on the court, near-supernatural in his poise. He moves like Wodehouse’s hero-butler did in the Jeeves and Wooster novels. Always ‘shimmering’ in and out of view, exactly where he needed to be. Roger’s lantern jaw and piercing eyes certainly didn’t hurt. 

Still, a note is needed on his backhand. That one-hander is still enough to turn any viewer Italian: Mamma mia indeed. Roger’s precise yet powerful shot, and how it ended with outspread arms, like a vicar saying ‘here endeth the lesson’, are the reason I practice the one-hander myself. This, despite the fact that it’s a dying art. Once, dozens of the top 100 male players used it. Now, it’s been near-eradicated by the reliably mundane double-fisted sledgehammer of the ‘2HBH’ (two-handed backhand). 

But if Roger’s legacy was about mere style, it would have sputtered out already. We miss the Federer years not just because of him, but because of the era itself. And good times they were too — it all looks impossibly rose-tinted now. Roger’s highest peak (commonly agreed to be 2003-2009) was a simpler time. The game itself had space to shine, unencumbered by today’s mountains of onscreen data touting win predictors and serve speeds. 

Nor were the pros hounded by cameras streaming their every move even in warm-up rooms (an Orwellian practice known as the ‘integrated world feed’). In the stands, fans got their kicks by chinning pintfuls of Pimm’s, not mediating the event with selfies. Rabid fandom did exist but had yet to seep into every digital forum. Tournaments today have lost that sanctuary, where you’re allowed to simply bask in athletic play and good sportsmanship. Matches grow rife with politics, as Ukrainian pros face Russians days after their hometown is bombed, or players (like the Paraguayan Adolfo Daniel Vallejo) complain that their match ‘needs to be refereed by a man. It’s very difficult for a woman to do it.’ 

Yet with Roger, you were in safe hands. The game was the thing. He embodied that sense of court as stage thanks to his sublime control and movement, the kind that make grown men moan erotically, and their wives mutter ‘he never makes those sounds with me’. But I also miss him because — whisper it — he was so pleasantly dull. Oh, charming as hell, polite and erudite, but without an ounce of edge or scandal. 

That lack of edge is why we’re unlikely to ever enjoy the comfort of a juicy Federer biopic. It’s hard to compete, drama-wise, against players who despised their sport but loved snorting crystal meth (Agassi). Or who can skewer umpires both for their calls and their fashion sense (Kyrgios, who once told an ump ‘Bro, you are taking the fucking piss mate. The ball was this far out, no joke. […] Your hat looks ridiculous, also.’) 

This spectrum is all to the good — hear me out. Tennis needs a rich cast of characters, the jokers and the kings, to keep its colour. You want people to root against as much as to root for, after all. So when Federer played the volatile but supernaturally gifted Nick Kyrgios in 2019, and cleaned his clock for the seventh time, it was a particularly satisfying victory for decorum over punkish gall. Roger, one suspects, is what the founders had in mind when they decreed, all those years ago, that tennis was the sport of gentlemen.

But for all the talk of his mythic calm, the clockwork Swiss could be sweetly vulnerable. In 2009, after losing the Aussie Open final to Rafa Nadal, his stoic demeanour crumbled. ‘God, it’s killing me,’ he wept in front of an entire stadium. But ‘I don’t want to have the last word,’ he added. ‘So Rafa, congratulations. You played incredible. You deserve it, man.’ This, perhaps, is Roger at his most beautiful — a good man, even when he wasn’t the best player

A confession: it feels a tad redundant to write this hagiography, one that merely adds to the endless toots of Federer praise. Sure, he could act the smarmy popinjay (remember when he strutted into Wimbledon in an all-white suit and military-collared jacket? He looked like a milkman on the razzle). But for the most part, loving Rog is like loving The Beatles — the predictable, unexciting choice. Other fans rib Fed-heads, snorting, ‘Really? But he’s so obvious…’ I suspect they find him unsatisfying because he made perfection look so damn easy: able to slice drop shots like cream from a bowl and quietly construct points with the patience of an engineer. 

Watch him in action, and it’s like hearing ‘Hey Jude’ for the first time. Those operatic highs, built on such simple foundations. The warm flow of note melting into note that floods you with a satori-like awakening: ‘Ah! So this is music.’ Or in Roger’s case, ‘Ah! So that’s what a body is for. This is how humans can move.’ David Foster Wallace was right: a religious experience. 

The Spectator - The real reason for Fifa’s hydration breaks

 

(personal underlines)

The real reason for Fifa’s hydration breaks

No, it’s not about player welfare

(Getty images)

More often than not, controversy over liquid refreshment at a football World Cup focuses on the unsavoury antics of England’s travelling support. But, in the US these past two weeks, the focus has been less on the booze and more on the boos that have greeted that dreaded moment, roughly at the midpoint of each half, when play must stop for a ‘hydration break’. 

These hiatuses were introduced, as so many Fifa initiatives are, with all the good will in the world. The idea was that when the temperature tops 32°C, the players should get a chance to take a short break to get extra fluids on board for fear of dehydration. They were used extensively in last summer’s Fifa Club World Cup in America, at which point US TV advertising execs, for whom 45 minutes of break-less sporting action are anathema, may have taken note. 

In a move that may not be unconnected to this new window of advertising opportunity, Gianni Infantino, the Fifa president, had the brainwave of implementing a hydration break 22 minutes into each half of all 104 matches at the Fifa World Cup currently taking place in the US. No matter the conditions, and no matter the fact they ruin the flow of a game (hence not being welcomed by the boo boys in the stands), play would be stopped for three minutes. 
The move was attributed to ‘fairness’, which on the face of it kind of makes sense – until you realise that no amount of hydration breaks will compensate for playing in the 40°C heat of Santa Clara versus the 20°C climate-controlled environs of the Dallas Stadium. But ‘player welfare’ is the shibboleth of modern football, so no one dared question the reasoning. 

But then, as so often, Infantino invoked that old witticism about being thought an idiot, and opened his mouth. According to him the ‘fairness’ wasn’t actually about the effect on the players’ health – no, the issue was that it would not be fair that coaches in some games get an extra break to talk to their players while in others they wouldn’t. 

In one fell swoop the head of Fifa kindly disabused us of the notion that a hydration break was actually anything to do with, well, hydration. If it was, there would be a 45-second pause at a suitable stoppage in play where a waterboy could jog on with 11 bottles of some kind of water-based refreshment, players could have a swig, catch their breath and the game could crack on with minimal disruption. 

But, no, Infantino sees these three-minute breaks as a chance for managers to make tactical tweaks, issue instructions and rally the side in a far more meaningful way than shouting into the void from the touchline. One might even call it a ‘mini half-time’ in each half, giving us – yes, you’ve got it – a game of four quarters. When in Rome, hey Gianni? It seems that the welfare of the players is actually not as great a consideration as that of the US TV advertisers. Infantino – a man who is either not as clever as he thinks he is, or who thinks everyone else is dumber than they are – will deny this till the cash cows come home, but it is hard to see it as anything else. 

Could this be the future of football? If the current UK heatwave is replicated at the end of August, will there be Premier League hydration breaks? If so, will the integrity of the competition be maintained only if every game then has them? Infantino would probably think so. 

But then, as with most controversial new measures in football, there arises a bonus backlash around its implementation. England’s game against Ghana –  played on a rain-drenched, 20°C kind of evening – was stopped at the 20-minute mark because of an injury. It was more than two minutes before the game began again, only to be stopped shortly after for the hydration break. Why did the break in play not afford a natural opportunity for the hydration break? As the BBC’s man suggested, perhaps the adverts weren’t ready to roll. When even less common sense goes into a rule’s implementation than into its conception, you know you’re in trouble. 

Still, as we watched Harry Kane et al huddled on the touchline to be berated by Thomas Tuchel even as the rain fell upon them, one was reminded of the words of S.T. Coleridge: ‘Water, water everywhere, and still a stop for drinks.’ 

Cartoon - Jim Unger (Herman)

 

How I love these. I wonder why?...








Reflexão - Tempos difíceis

 Rough days...(after lunch with Fontanelas Group)





Livro - La Société de propagande

 






Almoço - Fontanelas

Em 22.07.2026 em Fontanelas, na sociedade, com Pedro Teixeira (deu-me boleia), Paulo Santos e Tó Zé Sardinha. Zé António não pôde ir e Zé Luis e Tótó nada disseram.



quarta-feira, 22 de julho de 2026

The Spectator - What’s the real reason Nigel Farage has never been on Desert Island Discs?

 

(personal underlines)

What’s the real reason Nigel Farage has never been on Desert Island Discs?

Reform UK leader Nigel Farage (Getty images)

Long gone is the time, towards the end of the last decade, when we all laughed off ‘safe spaces’ as the latest, neurotic fad confined to university campuses. Few are laughing now, because in the ensuing years, as this risk-averse mentality has trickled down into mainstream society, the belief in the primacy of ‘safety’ is having outcomes that are proving ever-more authoritarian, frightening and – ironically – dangerous.

The decision last week by the British Museum to postpone a Jewish Culture Month event, citing its responsibility to guest speakers to ‘proceed safely, securely and without intimidation’ is a case in point. This incident followed a now depressingly familiar pattern, of events featuring Jewish speakers, or centred on Jewish themes, being abandoned out of cowardice, out of fear of what far-left activists or Islamists might do. In September last year, the Bristol Brunel Academy postponed a visit from Damien Egan MP due to planned protests by pro-Palestine activists. After Egan’s visit was halted, the Bristol Palestine Solidarity Campaign hailed it as a ‘victory for parents, teachers and the community’. Or in other words: a victory for mafia-like intimidation.

We have observed the same pattern when it comes to those being cancelled owing to their gender-critical opinions, or in the case of Kathleen Stock, leaving their job altogether because they feel their employers weren’t giving them enough protection from the mob.

There’s nothing new, of course, in capitulating to bullies, however you dress it up. What is novel is the emergence in the past ten years of refusing to countenance the mere presence of a person – and the likelihood of having him or her open their mouth, on the excuse that it might make people ‘feel unsafe’.

We saw this development again at the weekend, with the allegation that Nigel Farage has been ‘banned’ from appearing on Desert Island Discs. In his new biography, Lord Ashcroft claims that the Reform UK leader has been effectively barred from appearing on the Radio 4 programme, because it would make staff feel ‘unsafe’, with producers also fearing a consequent boycott from other potential guests on the show. The Corporation denies the allegation and has said it is happy to consider inviting the Reform leader for a future series. The BBC said: “We do not ban any individuals from appearing on Desert Island Discs and that includes Mr Farage.” Yet it does seem odd that such a recognisable figure as Farage has never appeared. Ashcroft quotes a BBC source who says that Farage ‘has effectively been blacklisted’, adding that at least ‘half the staff would think Radio 4 had become an “unsafe space” if he was on Desert Island Discs.’

Using the pretext of ‘safety’ – or the associated avoidance of causing offence, or hurting people’s feelings – in order to silence others has been a conspicuous trait of hyperliberalism. And it is this particular concern for feelings and safety that is behind wokery’s intolerant nature and consequently the authoritarian direction our society has taken since the turn of the millennium.

Whether it be the introduction of hate crimes in the first decade of this century, the rolling out of non-crime hate incidents in the 2010s, or plans to introduce laws and recommendations to punish ‘Islamophobia’ in more recent years, primacy has been consistently afforded to people’s feelings and subjective perceptions.

This preoccupation with emotions has been consistent with wokery itself, whose origins can be found not just in the postmodern theory that was in vogue in the 1990s, but in the therapeutic turn the West took in that decade, the era when we were exhorted to ‘get in touch with our feelings’. This was the time when some of us also started to notice the phrase ‘I find that deeply offensive’ commonly rolled out as if it were a rational counter-argument, rather than an expression of personal distaste. Thus began our era of loud, confessional, victimhood politics, in which the personal had become the political, when any disagreeable opinion could be shouted down – in the emotive and self-righteous manner of a guest on The Jerry Springer Show – with the cry ‘how dare you say that!’

You can gauge how profound this cultural shift has been by seeing how the language used by British Muslims has altered accordingly. Back in 1989, some of their numbers in Bradford took umbrage at The Satanic Verses because they deemed it blasphemous and insulting to the Prophet Muhammad. In 2021, when a teacher in nearby Batley showed a caricature of the Prophet, community leaders couched their complaints in terms of ‘safety and well-being’ and of the school authorities’ failure in their ‘duty of safeguarding’. Our dysfunctional culture has been weaponised against us.

Those students who grew up with ‘safe spaces’ have become today’s narrow-minded adults. These are the cosseted elite who have known little else but their cosy intellectual echo-chambers, a class who have become so unaccustomed to hearing challenging opinions from an outsider that they threaten to throw a wobbly at its mere prospect. Or, failing that, tearfully threaten to silence the nasty man altogether.