quinta-feira, 16 de abril de 2026

Fotos - gatos (Xuxu e Tri)






 

Observador - O maior crime contra a matemática (Diogo Quintela)

 

(sublinhados pessoais)

O maior crime contra a matemática

Terá sido uma questão de gosto? Como na Miss Universo? O júri considerou que o tráfico transatlântico de escravos fica melhor em biquíni do que o Holocausto, e por isso deu-lhe a coroa?

Na semana passada, após votação na Assembleia-Geral, a ONU declarou o tráfico transatlântico de escravos como o maior crime contra a humanidade. A declaração foi aprovada com 123 votos a favor e apenas 3 votos contra (EUA, Israel e Argentina). Portugal absteve-se, juntamente com 52 outros países, incluindo os membros da União Europeia e o Reino Unido.

O Governo português foi fortemente criticado. Quer por parte de quem acha uma vergonha não ter votado a favor, quer por parte de quem acha que não ter votado contra é uma vergonha. À primeira vista, parece uma abstenção sonsa. Das duas, uma: ou Portugal considera que participou no maior crime de sempre e votava a favor; ou considera que o tráfico transatlântico de escravos não foi o maior crime de sempre e votava contra. Posto perante estas duas hipóteses, optou por não se decidir.

Fez bem. Portugal é um país com níveis razoáveis de numeracia, portanto sabe que não se tratou do maior crime de sempre. Por outro lado, como lhe dá jeito a fama de ter entrado no maior crime de sempre, deixou passar. Isto é o que se faz na prisão: mesmo sendo uns choninhas, convém que os outros prisioneiros julguem que somos o bad boy do refeitório.

A votação está envolta em polémica. O principal problema é que não se conhecem os critérios usados para avaliar o conjunto de todos os grandes crimes contra a humanidade e, cotejando-os, decidir que o tráfico transatlântico foi o maior de todos.

Terá sido uma questão de gosto? Como na Miss Universo? O júri considerou que o tráfico transatlântico de escravos fica melhor em biquíni do que o Holocausto e por isso deu-lhe a coroa? Relegou a patifaria de Hitler para Miss Simpatia? Nesse caso, suponho que o tráfico transaariano de escravos para o mundo árabe tenha recebido a faixa de Miss Fotogenia, por ser tão parecido com o seu congénere transatlântico. Se tiver sido esse o caso, não há muito a dizer. Os padrões de beleza são subjectivos e mudam consoante as culturas.

Ou, pelo contrário, será que se estabeleceram métricas rigorosas para comprar os diferentes crimes, avaliando o número de vítimas? Nesse caso, é capaz de já haver razão para protesto. É que, segundo as estimativas dos historiadores, o tráfico de escravos no Atlântico, realizado pelas potências marítimas europeias e suas colónias (alô, Brasil! Tamo junto!) terá afectado 12.5 milhões de africanos, dos quais perto de 2 milhões morreram na travessia. É muito. Ainda assim, menos do que os 17 milhões de escravos transportados por mercadores muçulmanos pelo deserto do Saara e por portos do Índico e Mar Vermelho, viagens em que terão morrido perto de 3 milhões. E muito menos do que os mortos noutros grandes crimes, ainda que de espécies diferentes: só no Grande Salto para a Cova, os comunistas chineses mataram 40 milhões de compatriotas. Também em fomes, gulags e purgas variadas, a URSS de Lenine e Estaline liquidou entre 12 a 15 milhões de inimigos do povo.

Posto isto, como é que os membros da ONU terão decidido atribuir o primeiro lugar da infâmia a um crime que teve muito menos vítimas que a concorrência? Admito que possa ser difícil aceitar a discrepância. Mas só para quem não segue o futebol europeu e não está a par das regras para atribuição da Bota de Ouro. O troféu que premeia o maior goleador do continente não é ganho pelo jogador que marca mais golos. Nada disso. Há uma ponderação consoante a importância do campeonato em que joga. Se jogar num dos campeonatos mais competitivos, como o inglês ou o espanhol, os golos valem a dobrar. Se joga numa liga intermédia, como a nossa, os golos multiplicam por 1.5. E se joga num dos campeonatos mais fracos, é atribuído o valor nominal. Assim, um avançado pode marcar 50 golos no Chipre, mas perder para outro que marque apenas 30 em Itália.

Há de suceder algo parecido com os Grandes Crimes. Os mortos têm uma valorização diferente, conforme o verdugo. Se tiver sido um ocidental, multiplica por 2; se não, divide por 5. É injusto, admito. Um tirano comunista bem pode esforçar-se e, ainda assim, nunca ter o reconhecimento merecido. Teria de chacinar toda a sua população 3 ou 4 vezes para poder ter uma chance contra os reinos europeus dos séc. XVI a XVIII, que não precisam de matar tanto para serem considerados os melhores facínoras.

Só isto explica que um crime com menos impacto seja considerado o maior de todos. E que a ONU, uma criação ocidental, inspirada em leis e direitos estabelecidos pelo ocidente, consiga afirmar que a escravatura, uma prática de todas as civilizações, foi o pior crime de sempre, mas apenas a parte cometida pelo ocidente. Que, por acaso, até foi o primeiro a pará-lo e a fazer os outros pararem de o praticar.

Entretanto, o proponente desta resolução é o Gana. O que é uma coincidência gira: o Império Axânti, antepassado do Gana, foi um dos mais bem sucedidos abastecedores de escravos aos europeus. Capturava inimigos nas tribos vizinhas, armazenava-os no seu território e vendia-os para exportação. Portanto, temos aqui o fornecedor a censurar moralmente o retalhista. Isto é o Pablo Escobar a apontar o dedo ao dealer do Casal Ventoso. São espertos, os ganeses: lucraram a vender escravos e ainda vão tentar ganhar algum com as reparações que se preparam para pedir. O proverbial homem que mata os pais e depois pede ajuda ao Estado por ser órfão.

Percebe-se a incoerência, é um tema sensível. Na verdade, muitos dos escravos que foram traficados no Atlântico seriam hoje ganeses. E custa aceitar que isto aconteça a compatriotas, mesmo que apenas a um. Por exemplo, eu estou maçado porque António Guterres é um vendido.

ARTE - Les cinq éléments du tao

Uma reportagem muito interessante sobre a China actual 

https://www.facebook.com/santeetmedecinesdouces/videos/les-cinq-%C3%A9l%C3%A9ments-du-tao-%C3%A9lixirs-de-vievoyage-%C3%A0-travers-la-chine-contemporaine-e/596648252262196/






The Spectator - England’s rugby team and Labour are both set to lose

 

(personal underlines)

England’s rugby team and Labour are both set to lose

We’re beset by leadership problems in sport and politics

(Picture: Getty)

Humiliated, disparaged and the object of global scorn for their lily-livered incompetence. But enough about the England rugby team. Last week was also deeply embarrassing for Sir Keir Starmer and his government. As President Donald Trump said of Britain’s Prime Minister: ‘This is not Winston Churchill we’re dealing with.’ One might say something similar about Steve Borthwick, England’s head coach. This is not Clive Woodward we’re dealing with. You remember Woodward, the man who in 2003 guided England to World Cup glory. 

Those were the days when the England rugby team were the envy of the world; now they are the inept of the world. Pummelled by Scotland, thrashed by Ireland and mugged by Italy, England wrap up their Six Nations campaign with a visit to Paris tomorrow evening to face the tournament leaders. 

If the humiliation heaped on the Royal Navy last week by their French counterparts was painful, just wait and see what their rugby team will do to England tomorrow. Put it this way: England have as much chance of success in Paris as Labour do in May’s local elections

On reflection, the Labour government and the England rugby team have much in common. Let’s start with their leadership. 

Borthwick and Starmer are out of their depth. They are robotic, over-promoted men incapable of inspiring their underlings. Both got where they are by default; Starmer was elected to office because voters were so desperate to get the Tories out; Borthwick was nominated head coach because the Rugby Football Union (RFU) was so desperate to get Eddie Jones out. Jones coached England from 2016 to 2022, and in that time the irascible Australian guided the team to a Grand Slam success in 2016 and a World Cup final three years later. His win ratio was 73 per cent; Borthwick’s is 59 per cent. 

Under Borthwick’s leadership, England have lost for the first time to Fiji and Italy, and suffered record home defeats to France and Ireland. If – sorry, when – England lose to France on Saturday it will be the first time they have lost four matches in a Six Nations championship. 

Neither Starmer and Borthwick are intuitive. The former makes his decisions according to international law and the latter ‘is driven by data’. Indecision racks the pair. It’s 16 policy U-turns so far for the Prime Minister (at least it was at the time of writing), and Borthwick’s team selections have become notoriously erratic. 

After Ireland hammered England last month, Borthwick dropped nine players for the trip to Italy. He chops and changes players in key positions, such as hooker, fly-half and full-back. There is no stability and continuity to the team, and this has led to a lack of confidence within the squad. 

Likewise, the cabinet don’t appear to have much confidence in the judgment of the PM. Starmer wanted to support Trump in his attack on Iran, according to reports, but he was overruled after a cabinet revolt. This is a sign of a weak leader. One of the mutineers was Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor who is unfailingly upbeat about the state of the economy despite all the evidence to the contrary. Following last week’s spring statement, Reeves was accused of being ‘delusional’ and ‘in denial’. 

Those words sprang to mind after some of the England team defended their demoralising defeat to Italy. Ben Earl claimed that ‘large parts of the performance were brilliant’. A job in the Treasury awaits. Earl is a good player, and a veteran of the England side. He was one of three players who chose not to ‘take the knee’ at the height of the Black Lives Matter mania in 2020. The RFU left the decision to the players and most dropped a knee to the Twickenham turf, just as Starmer had done earlier in the year as leader of the opposition. 

‘Wokeness’ is another thing that the Labour party and the England team have in common. The Prime Minister rebuked Sir Jim Ratcliffe last month after the tycoon suggested Britain was being ‘colonised’ by migrants. England’s captain, Maro Itoje, also rubbished Ratcliffe’s remarks, calling them ‘ridiculous’. Itoje is entitled to his opinion but is it wise in a team sport for a captain to air his views on such a divisive issue? Reading some of the thousands of comments left online by readers of the Times and the Telegraph, it was evident that most wished Itoje had kept his thoughts to himself. Team sports and politics are not a good mix. 

England actually played well in their opening match of the Six Nations, a rollicking 48-7 win over Wales, but that was before Itoje responded to Ratcliffe. One wonders if some of Itoje’s teammates wished he had kept quiet? Who knows. But the most astonishing aspect of England’s collapse in the last month has been the evaporation of the team’s spirit. 

Sam Warburton, the former British Lions captain turned BBC pundit, said last weekend: ‘Something is going on, I think, behind closed doors. [It] is not a camp which is all on the same page, who know what they are doing. It is very disjointed.’ This government and this England rugby team are so hopeless that people are voting with their feet. Record numbers of Brits are fleeing the country to escape what the Mail describes as ‘Starmer’s Socialist chaos’. 

Rugby fans are running from Borthwick’s strategic chaos. Hundreds streamed out of Twickenham before the end of England’s abject defeat to Ireland last month. Some of them may have kept on going, running dementedly down Whitton Road to Twickenham train station and from there to Heathrow. 

A one-way ticket, please. Anywhere will do. Except Paris on Saturday night. 

The Spectator - Woke isn't dead – and here's the proof

 (personal underlines)


Woke isn't dead – and here's the proof

Taxpayers are funding a music festival which bans white people from its leadership (Alamy)

In one respect, the scaremongers are right: Racism is alive and well in this country, being imbedded in our institutions and abetted by the arms of the state. But this scourge manifests itself not in the hackneyed and often illusionary variety forever invoked by the liberal-left. This is the benevolent, ‘nice’ form of racial discrimination, one which bizarrely presents itself as an extension of anti-racism.

Race obsessives not only remain a real presence, but those with a morbid fascination with skin colour are being actively encouraged in their hobby. Taxpayers are now funding a music festival which bans white people from its leadership. The annual Decolonise Fest, a London event for ‘punx [sic] of colour,’ one which aspires to undo the damage of colonialism and ‘dismantle white supremacy’ in the punk scene, not only forbids whites from its hierarchy, but has received money from the Arts Council, National Lottery and the Department for Culture, Media and Sport.

In the words of the festival’s organisers, ‘white people cannot join the organising group’, as the event seeks to ‘focus on people of colour’ and the ‘contribution punx of colour have made to the punk scene since its inception.’ The festival has featured the most infamous hard-left punk band of our times, Bob Vylan, whose mixed-raced lead singer, Pascal Robinson-Foster, led chants of ‘death to the IDF’ during their Glastonbury set last summer. As Decolonise Fest’s manifesto elaborates: ‘We are uncompromising and strong and will dismantle the white supremacy, patriarchy, classism, ableism and Islamophobia that infests the punk scene’.

This roll-call of right-on causes. The turgid verbiage. The hope of introducing an edgy-sounding neologism ending in ‘-x’ to the lexicon. These are tell-tell signs of an event whose organisers remain beholden to the language of wokery, who believe that they can cajole and blindside the gullible by simply invoking its mantras and regurgitating its slogans. As the festival organisers continue, the event aspires to ‘talk about racism but not in a way that centres on whiteness or priorities the feelings of white people. No white tears.’

We shouldn’t therefore be surprised to read about the existence of such a festival. If Piers Morgan is to be believed, ‘woke is dead’. But it isn’t. This festival is evidence that this philosophy is very much alive.

One of the most persistent legacies of wokery is the the idea that colour-blindness is a complacent, impossible and even oppressive delusion. This ideology said instead that people of white pigmentation should become attuned to the original sin of ‘whiteness’. It also explained that those with dark skin should be taught that ‘black’ represented a fixed, essential entity which needed to be capitalised accordingly. Declaring yourself ‘colour-blind’, or denying one’s racism, became for white people a thought-crime, merely damning proof of innate, subconscious racism.

According to one of the gurus of hyper-liberalism, Ibram X. Kendi, it was no good being ‘non-racist’: we all had to be pro-actively ‘anti-racist’. According to the similarly-influential Robin DiAngelo, author of the best-selling 2018 book White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk about Racism, all white people are guilty. As Nellie Bowles wrote in her 2024 expose of hyper-liberal excess, Morning After The Revolution: ‘In the DiAngelo doctrine, there are not individual racists doing singular bad acts. All white people are racist, because racism is structural…To fix one’s inherent racism requires constant work and it requires white people to talk about their whiteness. They must identify as white.’

The u-turn among activists on the left, from progressives of all hues, has been something to behold. Sixty years ago, good, decent, liberal voices urged us not to judge people by the colour of their skin. Thirty years ago, those at the vanguard of liberalism could dismiss race as a chimera and ‘social construct’. But now we’re back where we started, seeing skin colour as something that determines one’s thinking and one’s moral worth.

This thinking is in rude health today. The increased ‘racial awareness’ of recent years has entailed more recruitment policies in the workplace based on race, more officially-sanctioned segregation. The Decolonise Fest carnival represents merely the extension of this tendency. ‘Black Out’ theatre productions, which effectively advise against the attendance of white people, have been with us in this country since 2019, while the Decolonise Fest has been in existence for even longer, founded in 2016.

If racism of the old-fashioned variety seen in the 1970s is resurgent, and if ‘ethnonationalism’ has become a force to be reckoned with today, it shouldn’t surprise us. It’s the new racialists who have helped to re-racialise our society and even our very thinking. Much like those cranky European taxonomists of the 19th century, it’s today’s hyper-liberals, with their unsubstantiated and corrosive theories on race, who are driving everyone mad.

The Spectator - Italian food is revolting

(private underlines)  

Italian food is revolting

Why does the world revere it?

[iStock]

About a week into an open-ended early pandemic stay in Ortigia, the antique, tourist-beloved spit off Siracusa on Sicily’s eastern coast, I had an epiphany. I hated the food. I’d just had a few bites of a clammy aubergine parmigiana, and a plate of oily tuna steak dressed with a bit of lemon was on its way to me. I felt sick and couldn’t face another bite – and yet, supposedly, I was right in the heartlands of the finest continental gastronomy.

This, at least, is the orthodoxy of the world, of tourists low- and high-end and home cooks everywhere – and especially in Italy itself. And now their devotion to the deep-fried rice ball, the breadstick, the sickly spicy sausage paste, the bloodless tomato carpaccio and the watery cream-topped bun has paid off: last month Unesco awarded Italian cuisine ‘special cultural heritage status’. Giorgia Meloni is satisfied, having campaigned for this honour since her election. ‘For us Italians, cuisine is not just food or a collection of recipes,’ she said. ‘It is so much more: it is culture, tradition, work, wealth.’

She’s all too right about the last two: Italy’s dependence on a menu of unchanging greatest hits speaks to the relative poverty and economic hopelessness of the swathes of the country whose food is most famous, particularly south of Rome. I happened to be in Sicily as the notorious second Italian lockdown came into force in November 2020, and it was sad seeing not just the cafes and restaurants but the whole economy dying without the ability to sell tourists plates of prosciutto and pizza after 6 p.m. 

Every country has a cuisine, but the best ones American, Israeli, Greek, even French – allow for a little cultural importation, a little change; new spices, textures, combinations. But the Italians clearly know that they must guard the provinciality of their fare at all costs, and have perfected the savvy use and marketing of cheap ingredients to starry-eyed foreigners desperate to try pizza margherita and pasta alla norma under Caesar’s skies. It’s a formula that works and works and works, and can be translated to suit all segments of the market.

But that September evening in that highly-regarded Ortigia restaurant, it felt to me that this cuisine seemed to always be fundamentally composed of clammy, cloying ingredients, all the wrong textures, all the wrong flavours, all the wrong ingredients, unwholesome, overpriced. I like tomatoes and aubergines, I just don’t like them shivering and oily on a plate together – and the Italian custom for bone-dry bits of bread, either in stick form or of stale loaves, does little to save the day. In short, Italian food is wildly overrated. 

Rejecting the most-vaunted cuisine on Earth was incredibly freeing. No more overspending on fatty food for simpletons and tourists! I shopped in the local Spa and ate fennel, yoghurt and fruit (though most supermarket fruit in Italy is appalling), feeling richer, thinner and entirely less sick.

Coming to my decision about Italian food wasn’t a quick process, though. For all the bad experiences – including begging a wine bar in Trieste to find me just one single vegetable (they eventually found two sundried tomatoes at the bottom of a jar) – there were some less terrible ones. In Ragusa, following in Inspector Montalbano’s footsteps, I went to a Michelin-starred restaurant for lunch one dreary October day and had a nutty green pasta (nice) and, admittedly, some very tender duck. On another trip, in Bologna, I dutifully found out the trattorias most beloved of local foodies, walking far outside the centre in the broiling heat to try the tagliatelle al ragu famous in the city, and, another night, met my Italian-speaking cousin for a repast of local mortadella and tortellini in broth. It was all fine, and even impressive in that way that the Italian restaurant experience can be. But it was not a patch, food-wise, on the delicious and exciting type of meal you can have in a good Melbourne, Bangkok, Jerusalem, London or Mumbai eatery.

Italian food is a fundamentally static cuisine, toggling between unchanging family recipes and eternal crowd-pleaser fare. In a sense it’s a victim of its own success, which has made it afraid of change that would be as bad for business as for Italy’s sense of cultural identity. In this sense, the Unesco award fits perfectly, as it does for ancient, crumbling structures that stay above ground for hundreds and thousands of years.

What the world laps up is the fantasy of Italy – land of Romans, mafia, beautiful babes, gangsters, romantics, Romeo and Juliet. The food doesn’t matter, not really – it’s just part of the stage-set. At least, this would be the honest view of anyone – sufficiently liberated from pro-Italian mythology – who has sampled well-made dishes from almost any other, superior, cuisine.

The Spectator - The Neapolitan Horowitz

 


The Neapolitan Horowitz

Maria Tipo's Scarlatti – flawlessly transparent even at the speed of light – was unsurpassed by any of her rivals

‘You play Bach your way, and I’ll play it his way.’ That remark by the Polish harpsichordist Wanda Landowska is often described as an ‘infamous put-down’, but it was really just a playful quip directed at Pablo Casals after they disagreed about trills. Anyway, the line has been running through my head all week because I’ve been listening to a recording of the Goldberg Variations – Wandowska’s signature piece – by a pianist who was quite determined to play them her way, not Bach’s.

Maria Tipo was born in 1931 and died last year – the same dates as Alfred Brendel, though it’s hard to think of two pianists with less in common. In her heyday she was promoted as ‘the Neapolitan Horowitz’. That wasn’t quite so wide of the mark, since both artists were celebrated for their quicksilver virtuosity, but the truth is that nobody in recorded history sounded like Tipo. And if that strikes you as a back-handed compliment, well, she had only herself to blame.

In January 1955 the New York Times critic Harold Schonberg reported that a ‘blonde, sultry-looking 24-year-old Italian pianist’ had startled a Town Hall audience with the clarity and vivacity of her playing. In 1991 he wrote a profile of her in advance of her first New York solo recital for 32 years. He wondered what had kept her away. Tipo talked vaguely of wanting to concentrate on her European career and Schonberg didn’t press the point. ‘When she makes up her mind, her chin juts forward, steel comes into her eyes, and she is immovable. Period. Subject closed.’

Perhaps it had something to do with the snootiness of American critics. Tipo’s 1986 Goldbergs were dismissed as a gloopy anachronism on one side of the pond while winning the Diapason d’or on the other. But then she was a puzzling artist. She could certainly sound old-fashioned. I first encountered her in some Bach-Busoni transcriptions that slipped down as smoothly as tiramisu. Then I was blown away by a disc of Scarlatti sonatas whose fingerwork – flawlessly transparent at the speed of light – was unsurpassed by any of her rivals, including Horowitz.

Tipo’s Scarlatti, wrote Schonberg, was ‘very un-Horowitzian’. Her clean, détaché fingering created ‘a bracing rhythmic vitality far removed from the fluctuations of tempo that were the Horowitz trademark.’ That makes Tipo’s approach sound modern, so why the reputation for anachronism? The answer lies in her phenomenal but idiosyncratic control of dynamics: perfect for her fellow Neapolitan Scarlatti but not so well suited to the master of Leipzig.

Scarlatti’s sonatas offer us a lopsided, relentlessly surprising universe in a grain of sand. It’s a paradox that music written for an instrument with fixed dynamics acquires such explanatory power when subjected to tricks of texture on a concert grand. And no one mastered more of those tricks than Maria Tipo, though she preferred to conjure with volume rather than tempo.

You’d think that Tipo’s knack of bringing out inner voices would pay similar dividends in Bach’s Goldberg Variations. The problem is that she applies it unsystematically, which is fatal when you’re grappling with the ultimate masterpiece of musical symmetry. In places the sforzandi rain down randomly while those inner voices play peek-a-boo – and this, together with her habit of omitting second-half repeats, infects some variations with the spirit of Scarlatti. Others are strung together as loosely (and pedalled as generously) as Beethoven bagatelles; the ‘Black Pearl’ could almost be a Chopin nocturne.

And yet… I’d rather hear the miscalculations of an inspired maverick than another disc of pyrotechnics from the competition circuit. To mark the anniversary of her death, Warner is issuing a boxed set of Tipo’s Erato recordings. If you still play CDs I’d advise snapping it up, if only because streaming services have uploaded a mangled copy of her exhilarating Beethoven Piano Sonata Op. 109 and I don’t trust them to fix it.

As you’d expect, it’s a mixed legacy. There are lots of piano sonatas by Clementi that, shall we say, make the best possible case for the music. There are also Mozart concertos with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra in which Tipo employs all manner of quirky devices in an attempt to jump-start the accompaniment. Luckily she succeeds and they end up as a joyous affairs with, inevitably,
idiosyncratic cadenzas.

We won’t hear the likes of Maria Tipo again. Whether you think that’s a good or a bad thing is a matter of taste – though surely only the most purse-lipped purists could fail to respond to her Scarlatti. Personally I’m delighted to have the opportunity to dip into the discography of an artist who never failed to discover unanticipated beauties in a score – even, or perhaps especially, if they weren’t there in the first place.

Maria Tipo: The Complete Warner Classics Recordings is out on 6 February.

segunda-feira, 13 de abril de 2026

The Spectator - If only Britain was as important as Iran thinks we are

 


(personal underlinings, silent reflections and LAUGHS!)

If only Britain was as important as Iran thinks we are

I am becoming rather fond of Prime Minister Starmer’s major foreign policy announcements. In early January, after US forces swooped into Venezuela and took President Maduro to New York to face trial, Keir Starmer was keen to get straight out in front of the cameras. There he said that he wanted to stress that ‘the UK was not involved in any way in this operation’. As though the whole world had been expecting to hear that the British armed forces were indeed central in snatching the narco-terrorist from Caracas.

This week it was again Starmer’s turn to stand behind a podium, British flags behind him, and deliver another statement that absolutely no one thought necessary. Speaking about the US-led strikes on Iran, he announced solemnly: ‘I want to set out our response.’ What could it be? The world wondered. ‘The United Kingdom played no role in these strikes,’ he declared.

A day later the Prime Minister could be found speaking to the camera from a corridor of Downing Street – the Union flag behind him. Again in a tone of the utmost gravity, this time he said: ‘Yesterday I spoke to you about the situation in the Gulf and explained that the United Kingdom was not involved in the strikes on Iran.’ What on earth could be coming next? The world was waiting. And then the big one: ‘That remains the case,’ the Prime Minister said.

This is all starting to remind me of one of those internet memes when someone famous is accused of sleeping with some beautiful celebrity and a denial has to be issued, after which a lot of internet wags tend to chime in with formal public statements confirming that they too have not slept with the gorgeous celebrity in question.

The point being that Starmer speaks as though he is a man of far greater significance than he is. It saddens me that this is the case, but in fact Britain’s role in the world is so diminished that nobody any longer believes that the British are somehow leading the way in all world affairs.

As it happens, about the only place in the world where some people did still believe that was Iran. The late regime leaders in Tehran had for decades been fond of claiming that Britain was behind almost everything nefarious in their region and the wider world. Adopting the old Jewish joke from 1930s Germany, I have often told British friends that if they want to feel good about our country during its decline in the world, they need only read the Iranian government’s media organs. There they would have learned that we are central to absolutely every-thing. The Iranian government professed to believe that there is not a thing that America does that they are not manipulated into by the wickedhand of the British state. MI5 and MI6 gained particular credit for world affairs in Tehran’s media outlets.

Alas that has not been the case for years, and it is not the case now. So it is strange that Starmer should choose this moment to reflect the ayatollahs’ views back at them. For a long time Britain has managed to punch somewhat above its weight internationally by means of the ‘special relationship’ with Washington. Starmer himself has been keen to look after this fluttering flame. But when America asked Britain for permission to use its military bases if it needed them during this mission, the British government said ‘no’ – which suggests that the special relationship isn’t all that special. Or at least that is how Washington is going to read it.

Some observers think that Starmer is pivoting away from Washington in order to tack his foreign and economic policies more tightly towards the EU. One problem with that is it means in the direction of inertia.

Starmer’s carefully worded statement about Venezuela mentioned that the UK was opposed to the criminal regime in that country. It’s just that we are not willing to do anything about it. Likewise his statements on Iran have stressed that the UK government does not like the Ayatollah’s regime, or its plans for nuclear weapons. But again, like our European neighbours, we just weren’t willing to do anything much about it.

During one of his statements this week, Starmer mentioned that the Iranian government has been caught trying to carry out 20 terrorist plots in the UK in the past year alone. Ordinarily, that is the sort of thing that would offend a country – the sort of thing that might make a country seek to act. It is at least the sort of thing that would allow you to say that although you haven’t joined in the attack by your allies, you wish them well and wish them success – as Germany has.

The reasons why Starmer can’t and won’t do that seem to be twofold. The first reason is that he knows that all such foreign conflicts – particularly in the Middle East – now have the potential to cause serious domestic disturbance. Anyone doubting that need only read what Ministry of Defence sources told the Guardian a decade ago, when they stressed that, thanks to mass migration, there were now multiple foreign theatres of conflict which the UK could not risk getting involved in. Or they might take note of the number of planned events in the UK to commemorate the deceased Ayatollah Khamenei.

The second reason is that this government is run by international lawyers. As The Spectator has noted before, Starmer, Lord Hermer and the rest of them really do seem to believe that there is no such thing as a sovereign government. International law – of an especially nebulous, if left-wing variety – reigns supreme above mere national governments, let alone electorates. And so Starmer and the rest cannot make judgments based on Britain’s national interests or even their preferred policy. They simply sit back, wait for the legal advice – and then do nothing.

It is a strange place for a once-great world power to find itself in. But it makes for a logic of a kind. An island of strangers busily trying to set an example that absolutely none of the rest of the world is looking to follow.


Observador - A Divina vitória do Irão nos estúdios de televisão

 


(sublinhados pessoais)

A Divina vitória do Irão nos estúdios de televisão

O Irão continuará limitado, perigoso e fanático. E certos comentadores continuarão a fazer por ele aquilo que o seu aparelho militar já não consegue: fabricar poder a partir de fumo

Durante semanas, Israel e os EUA esmurraram militarmente o regime iraniano até este aceitar um cessar-fogo provisório, precário, condicional, com aroma intervalo táctico. Mas em numerosos painéis a República Islâmica está a dar uma espantosa lição aos aliados israelitas e americanos

Convém começar pelo elementar, que hoje parece ausente nestes areópagos televisivos: se Teerão estava a ganhar, porque aceitou falar com o Grande Satã?

Um vencedor não vai conversar a Islamabad entre discordias de personalidades do regime, enquanto a sua margem de manobra estratégica encolhe a cada dia. O cessar-fogo prova, não a força do Irão, mas que a continuação da guerra lhe parecia pior.

Há pois que separar propaganda de realidade. O Irão está nesta  guerra com o estatuto de  sobrevivente. Mas sobreviver não é vencer. Os ataques iranianos com mísseis e drones caíram cerca de 90% desde o início da guerra, foram danificadas ou destruídas dois terços das instalações de produção ligadas a mísseis, drones e meios navais; foram atingidos dezenas de milhares de alvos militares e afundada quase toda a marinha iraniana. Não houve aniquilação total, mas muitos menos a gloriosa resistência estratégica que certos sacerdotes da nuance andam a vender na praça pública. A degradação da capacidade militar  foi incompleta, mas severa.

Israel logrou, até agora, uma redução concreta da ameaça futura. Não a eliminou, porque guerras reais não se resolvem com passes de mágica,  e o inimigo continua a ter meios, homens e vontade. Sobretudo vontade. Mas reduziu-lhe a liberdade de acção. Os lançadores balísticos são mais difíceis de repor do que muita gente imagina e o simples facto de o Irão não conseguir disparar grandes salvas mostra que a sua capacidade utilizável encolheu. O erro de concentrar meios em instalações subterrâneas profundas permitiu aos EUA e a Israel manter vigilância persistente sobre esses locais, tornando muitos desses sistemas  inúteis

Os EUA, apesar de não saírem imaculados, conseguiram impor custos pesadíssimos ao regime, forçaram-no a aceitar tréguas, mantêm a iniciativa coerciva e várias opções em aberto,  e levaram Teerão a admitir a  entrega do stock de 400 kg  de urânio enriquecido a 60%, que poderia dar para cerca de dez bombas. Por outras palavras,  Washington não derrotou ainda o regime, mas ganhou uma posição de força negocial que simplesmente não existiria sem o castigo militar. Agora ameaça um golpe de jiu jitsu sobre os navios que transitam de e para o estreito de Ormuz, acabando com a extorsão mafiosa implantada pela Guarda Revolucionária.

Onde está então a tal “vitória”  de que tantos falam com o entusiasmo húmido de quem descobre um Che Guevara em cada aiatola? Na imaginação de parte do comentariado ocidental. E em Portugal, a imaginação de parte do comentariado tem uma graça particular, porque se apresenta sempre com ar de superioridade civilizacional. Na nossa fauna prolifera o especialista que acha sempre que Israel exagera, os EUA  estragam, e o inimigo dos dois deve conter, algures, uma racionalidade secreta, uma dignidade ferida, um trauma histórico, uma metafísica da resistência. Se o Irão perde meios, perdeu apenas material. Se perde influência, ganhou moral. Se aceita negociar, fê-lo por sabedoria. Se recua, está a redefinir os termos do conflito. Nunca lhes ocorre a hipótese óbvia de o regime islamista estar, simplesmente, a apanhar pancada.

A doença intelectual  é antiga. Olha-se para um regime teocrático, repressivo, imperial, patrocinador de proxies armados, com um historial vasto de terrorismo e extorsão, e evidentes ambições nuclearee, e trata-se o zote como se fosse uma espécie de Vaticano com turbante.

Mas o Irão não é uma potência normal com irritações normais e apenas com objectivos tangíveis. O regime assenta numa fusão entre cálculo de Estado e impulso ideológico-religioso. A Guarda Revolucionária é uma máquina de poder, repressão, exportação revolucionária, guerra irregular e intimidação.

Não se trata apenas de geopolítica, mas de jihad. A geopolítica trabalha com interesses, equilíbrios, custos e ganhos. A jihad trabalha com missão, sacralização do conflito, tempo longo e legitimação metafísica da violência. Claro que o Irão faz cálculos. Claro que mede riscos. Claro que pode negociar. Mas sem abandonar a matriz que o faz ver o poder como instrumento de uma causa. É por isso que a velha cantilena ocidental da diplomacia, apaziguamento e  janelas de diálogo, produz sempre o efeito contrário ao prometido. Em Teerão, a contenção alheia é lida como fraqueza a explorar. Cada hesitação ocidental, cada eufemismo, cada recusa em chamar as coisas pelo nome educa o regime na convicção de que o Ocidente prefere sempre adiar o confronto até o preço ser impossível de pagar.

A atitude europeia recente face a esta guerra, reforçou precisamente essa ideia. A França, o Reino Unido, a vergonha espanhola, a Alemanha e até a Itália, que recusou enviar meios navais para patrulhamento sem mandato da ONU e negara já o uso de Sigonella para operações americanas, são exemplos de autismo. Cada uma das suas decisões pode ter racionalidade táctica e política interna mas passa  um  sinal estratégico agregado de que, mesmo perante uma guerra  desta dimensão, a Europa está mais preocupada em parecer prudente do que em ser dissuasora. E o Irão toma nota.

Entretanto, a realidade insiste em estragar a ficção. O estreito de Ormuz continua sequestrado. O bloqueio iraniano provocou a pior perturbação de sempre no abastecimento global de energia.  Isto é importante porque desmonta outra fantasia muito repetida: a de que o Irão “mostrou controlo” e saiu fortalecido.

Não. O Irão mostrou que pode causar dano, o que é muito diferente. Um assaltante que ainda consegue incendiar a casa antes de fugir não passa a dono do bairro. Continua apenas a ser perigoso.

Também é intelectualmente fraudulento fingir que a ameaça iraniana é uma abstracção distante, confinada ao Levante e aos nervos de Israel. Relembro que só o Reino  Unido respondeu, desde 2022, a vinte conspirações apoiadas pelo Irão que representavam ameaças potencialmente letais a cidadãos  britânicos. E um relatório de 2025 descreveu a ameaça iraniana como significativa e crescente.

Não estamos portanto a falar de um problema exótico para especialistas em tapetes persas. Estamos perante um regime cuja agressividade extravasa a região e toca directamente a segurança europeia.

Que futuro próximo se desenha, então, para um Irão efectivamente limitado?

Há dois cenários plausíveis, ambos desagradáveis para os adoradores da retórica vazia. No primeiro, há acordo. Mas um acordo digno desse nome teria de incluir monitorização intrusiva e duradoura, tanto do programa nuclear como do vector balístico. A questão não é o que o Irão promete no papel, mas como se vigia e como se pune o incumprimento. Sem inspecções intrusivas e sem prontidão americana e israelita para voltar a atacar, não há caminho sério em frente. A própria Casa Branca já fixou como linha vermelha a remoção do urânio enriquecido. Um acordo frouxo, ornamental, cheio de parágrafos e vazio de dentes, seria apenas a preparação metódica da próxima guerra.

No segundo cenário, não há acordo satisfatório. Mas a ausência de acordo não significa necessariamente o apocalipse; pode significar apenas um Irão mais fraco, mais vigiado, mais incapaz de reconstruir rapidamente a sua ameaça. Mesmo sem mudança de regime, Teerão pode ser forçado a modificar posições sob pressão existencial, a beber de novo o seu “cálice de veneno”. E, se não conseguir governar-se eficazmente, isso não é pior do que antes. Haverá uma entidade política menos apta a perseguir armas nucleares e mísseis balísticos mais sofisticados. O instrumento para isso não é o optimismo, é a coerção sustentada: vigilância aérea persistente, linhas vermelhas claras, prontidão para raides temporários e ataques imediatos se o regime tentar reconstituir capacidades proibidas.

E aqui regressamos ao vício português da análise engajada.  Em demasiados estúdios, o que se ouve, não é uma avaliação fria dos resultados da guerra, mas a velha liturgia de ressentimento. Se Israel resiste, irritam-se e descobrem um genocídio em cada esquina; se os EUA agem, escandalizam-se; se o Irão aguenta, romantizam. Como se a principal obrigação de um comentador não fosse perceber quem ameaça, quem agride e quem procura limitar essa ameaça, mas sim encontrar sempre uma forma de atribuir culpas simétricas ao incendiário e ao bombeiro. Não é sofisticação, é apenas preguiça mental e activismo.

No fim, o que esta guerra mostrou até agora é simples. A ameaça iraniana foi seriamente degradada; os EUA ganharam capacidade de coerção e margem negocial; o regime iraniano sobreviveu, mas mais ferido, mais vigiado, mais limitado e menos livre do que antes; a Europa hesitou, como sempre; e uma parte do comentário português, fiel à tradição de tomar a pose por inteligência, correu a proclamar vitórias persas com a mesma fúria com que Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa distribuía medalhas

Mas a realidade, reaccionária como sempre, tem o péssimo hábito de reaparecer. E quando reaparece, a poeira assenta e costuma humilhar os vaidosos. Talvez alguns dos nossos especialistas descubram que “resiliência” não é sinónimo de vitória, que sobreviver a um castigo não equivale a prevalecer, e que chamar génio estratégico à mera capacidade de continuar a arder é uma forma requintada de estupidez.

Até lá, o Irão continuará limitado, perigoso e fanático. E certos comentadores continuarão a fazer por ele aquilo que o seu aparelho militar já não consegue: fabricar poder a partir de fumo.


Desporto - Andebol

 Onde, com 1,98m, se deve "pôr correctamente a mão"... (Wolff)



ou... a solidão dos excepcionais (Gidsel).



Cartoon - Charlie Hebdo

 Imagine-se como seria uma capa com o que aconteceu com os iranianos...




Cartoons - Jim Unger

 

















Livro - Trifecta