quarta-feira, 29 de abril de 2026

The Spectator - White port is the new G&T

 

(personal underlines)

White port is the new G&T

Spring is here and, as the garden blooms, readers might find themselves reaching for the Pink Diesel to enjoy in the sunshine. But I have another idea: white port and tonic will make you thank God for inventing Portugal and being so good as to align it with England.

The great promulgators of white port in Portugal nowadays can be found in the Symington Family Estates. In 1882, 19-year-old Andrew James Symington boarded a boat from Glasgow and headed for opportunities beyond the Clyde. On arrival in Portugal, he worked for Graham’s Port, before breaking out to do his own thing. Symington soon became one of the defining names in Portuguese wine production.

A.J., as he’s known in the family, had such success that his descendants were able to acquire Graham’s in 1970. Today, Symington Family Estates own four major port brands – Graham’s, Warre’s, Dow’s and Cockburn’s – and a smattering of smaller ones. They’re among the largest vineyard owners in the Douro Valley, and one of the last remaining British-descended families involved in producing port. Five generations on, Symingtons are still in the driving seat of the company.

Of course, people have been enjoying white port – mostly straight and usually on the rocks – for a long time. But it was only in 2019 that Graham’s launched the first ever white port blended specifically for mixing, either with tonic or as part of another cocktail. Charles Symington, the head winemaker, was challenged to produce a drink that would attract new people to appreciate the old wine, something that might be able to take on the tyranny of the spritz.

The result was Graham’s Blend No.5. Light, crisp and aromatic, it’s comprised of two main grape varieties: Malvasia Fina, bringing freshness and acidity; and Moscatel Galego, rarely used in white port production, adding fruity notes. All the grapes are hand-picked at a higher than usual altitude in the valley. Unlike sherry, which is fortified after fermentation, the fortification here happens during the cold fermentation process. The payoff is a fruitier rather than nutty drink, perfect for mixing with tonic. It’s more exotic than G&T and served with lemon and mint brings a deep sense of refreshment. The marketers would probably say at 19 per cent ABV it’s a lighter choice than gin or vodka, but I’d argue it allows you to have double the amount before asking the Cardinal Archbishop of Lima to dance.

For those seeking a slightly more traditional spring port, I’d suggest Graham’s 20-year-old Tawny: a carefully crafted blend of wines aged in oak. Through this ageing in wood, it provides notes of dried fruit, nuts and subtle spice, and the mix of older and newer wines makes for a pleasing complexity. Serve straight from the fridge on a warm day.

Here we find another nod to the innovation Graham’s has led in recent years. It transformed the aged tawny market in the early 2000s by moving its range into clear glass bottles, designed to showcase colour. The rest of the industry has followed suit, so we can better assess the contents before choosing which port to enjoy in the garden.

Yes, the angels may be whispering in your ear to go pink, but these options allow you to support a fabulous Anglo-Portuguese family still producing excellence alongside innovation. If, as Tolstoy wrote, spring is the time of plans and projects, then let us come together and also make it a time for port.

The Spectator - How the army can rediscover its fighting spirit

personal underlinings, silent reflections 

How the army can rediscover its fighting spirit

The seemingly endless debate about the hollowness of our armed forces has concentrated on size, technical capability and sustainability – never more so than in recent days when the UK’s unreadiness for war, or even to defend its own bases overseas, has been exposed. But there has been no mention of the moral component of fighting power (morale, spirit, will), which is the most important element of combat effectiveness. Napoleon is often quoted as saying that in war, ‘the moral is to the physical as three to one’, and history is littered with examples showing this to be true.

The most recent was the evaporation, within days, of the Afghan army on which the US had spent around $20 billion. It was technically very capable but it lacked a willingness to fight. Vietnam was another example.

So, when discussing the state of our own armed forces, the question must be asked whether the moral component of our fighting power is sufficiently robust or has it become as depleted as our combat supplies? There is evidence to suggest that the latter is true, and in my view the main cause of this has been the erosion of our traditional military ethos where individual needs are always subordinate to the common good.

The demands of war are clearly quite different from those of civilian life and consequently servicemen and women require very different disciplines, psychologies and training in peacetime if they are to prevail on the battlefield – even one dominated by drones. They must accept that one day they may be called upon to deliberately sacrifice their lives in pursuit of a common cause, and this requires a unique military ethos quite distinct from today’s social values where rights predominate over duty. We need to create the necessary mental and physical resilience in our service people to enable them to sustain the rigour of battle – and this requires a complex system of education, training and a sometimes harsh, but always fair, discipline.

Of course, our armed forces should reflect the society from which they come. As the Chief of the General Staff, General Sir
Roly Walker, rightly says, the army must stand out as an inclusive employer that values diversity and embraces equality of opportunity – but only to an extent. In any combat–effective force, inclusion must mean excluding the mentally and physically unfit; diversity must refer only to the multiple talents needed to improve lethality and sustainability; equality of opportunity can never mean lowering standards. Yet ‘gender fair’ physical tests at Sandhurst to accommodate women have resulted in a 20 per cent increased failure rate among officers attending the subsequent mandatory battle course.

Walker’s predecessor, General Sir Patrick Sanders, once announced that he was ‘proud to be the army’s LGBT champion and a straight ally’. By contrast, when, as Field Army Commander, I visited the mortar platoon of a famous regiment known to be populated by people from that community, the only thing the soldiers were interested in was: why was the British Army so short of training ammunition? These were very tough soldiers indeed who would have given me a very odd look if I had announced that I wished to be their champion. Times may have changed, but the demands of the battlefield have not.

The alterations to the courts martial procedure – arising from successive decisions made by the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) – have seriously undermined the integrity of the chain of command in the military and significantly reduced the powers of a commanding officer. Yet, as Brigadier Allan Mallinson recently pointed out in this magazine, regimental identity is a key element in what makes soldiers fight. Regiments are family organisations, with successive generations joining the same one, and soldiers fight primarily for their own regiment. The replacement of the army recruiting system by a civilian recruiting agency, Capita, has not only resulted in a failure to meet recruiting targets, but it has greatly weakened the close-knit nature of regiments by stuffing them with Commonwealth soldiers who come from very different backgrounds. My own regiment, the Coldstream Guards, which last year celebrated its 375th anniversary, is a case in point. Non-UK soldiers now amount to 25 per cent.

Elsewhere, the intrusion of complicated health and safety rules into training is producing a generation of risk-averse service people who are usually required to produce a mass of paperwork before any military activity. Prior to departing for an operational deployment to Iraq, an officer had to produce a lengthy health and safety risk assessment. But as Lord Esher commented in 1904 after the failures of the British Army in the Boer war: ‘The natural results of an inordinately centralised system have been the destruction of initiative throughout the army… and minds brought up to attend to a minutia of administrative detail can scarcely be expected to take bold decision in war.’

Not long ago, I asked a student at the Joint Services Staff College how they debated diversity, equity and inclusion, and was told that it was forbidden to question MoD policy on such matters and that if anyone did, their career would be ended. If this is true, then I fear for the future of our armed forces and this country. It was only because people in the 1920s questioned the supremacy of the horse on the battlefield and argued in favour of tanks and aircraft that Britain was able to defeat Germany in the second world war.

The ways to put the fighting spirit back into our armed forces aren’t hard to identify: derogate from the ECHR, bring back military summary jurisdiction and recalibrate courts martial, put recruiting back into the hands of regimental recruiting officers, make safety the function of minor tactics where it belongs, and bring back single service Staff Colleges where open debate is encouraged. And always remember Major Birdie Martin,
who was ignored when he wrote a paper in 1973 saying that the battlefield one day would be dominated by small, remotely controlled planes carrying cameras and bombs.

General Sir Michael Rose is former Director of Special Forces and Adjutant General.

Cartoon - Jim Unger

 













Almoços - CatoldUniv

 

Com Jorge Orestes, Luis Miranda e Mário Guerra em 14 de Abril no Fragateiro



The Spectator - Trump has underestimated the Pope

 

(personal underlines)

Trump has underestimated the Pope

Donald Trump’s latest clash with the Catholic Church stunned even the most hardened veterans of culture-war Twitter. According to the President of the United States, the Chicago-born Pope Leo XIV, the conspicuously holy spiritual leader of 1.3 billion people, is ‘WEAK on crime and terrible on foreign policy’. He also claimed that ‘if I wasn’t in the White House, Leo wouldn’t be in the Vatican’.

For commentators accustomed to the fog of modern diplomatic platitudes, such trash-talk was the equivalent of a Holy Roman Emperor hurling insults at a medieval pontiff. In the year 963, for example, the Emperor Otto I accused Pope John XII of fornicating with his own niece, ‘making the sacred palace a whorehouse’ while he drunkenly murdered his enemies and consecrated a ten-year-old bishop.

Trump’s rhetoric may have been mild in comparison, but the fact remains that not once in the 250-year history of the United States has a Commander in Chief launched a personal attack on the Supreme Pontiff.

Trump didn’t stop there. Less than an hour after eviscerating Leo, he posted an AI-generated image of himself dressed like Jesus, healing a sick person with his messianic touch, the Stars and Stripes billowing, onlookers gazing adoringly, American eagles and planes flying overhead. It was as if the President, not content with outraging Catholics by lashing out at the Vicar of Christ, was also determined to alienate Protestants with a blast of outright blasphemy.

All this just months away from midterm elections that no one expects to be a GOP landslide, in which the President’s party must cling on to Catholic voters, among whom the Pope enjoys an 84 per cent approval rating.

The uproar was predictably deafening. ‘Not even Hitler or Mussolini attacked the Pope so directly and publicly,’ said Massimo Faggioli, an Italian church historian and former professor at the Catholic Villanova University in Pennsylvania. That wasn’t surprising: Faggioli, once close to Pope Francis, is a seasoned Trump-hater. More significantly, the president of the US Catholic bishops, Archbishop Paul Coakley, said he was ‘disheartened that the President chose to write such disparaging words about the Holy Father’ – a carefully worded statement that failed to conceal his cold fury.

Meanwhile, conservative Catholics, already split by the Iran war into isolationist and interventionist camps, issued anguished denunciations. CatholicVote.org, the conservative nonprofit credited with delivering millions of votes for Trump in successive elections, declared that the image of Trump as Jesus ‘is blasphemous and we condemn it’. Its president, Kelsey Reinhardt, tweeted that: ‘President Trump’s post insulting Pope Leo crossed again a line of decorum that plays an important part in diplomacy and sets the temperature for interactions between the two. Calls for an apology are well founded.’ Trump refused to apologise, though he did delete the post with the image.

Yet what has become clear is that Trump’s outburst, while startling, was not out of the blue. In fact, the reaction from CatholicVote speaks volumes about the dramatic breakdown in relations between the Vatican and the White House. The organisation was co-founded by the Catholic political activist Brian Burch, its president until last year. He’s now the American ambassador to the Holy See. ‘He has been very nervous recently,’ says one insider. ‘This has put him in a really horrible position.’

It’s not just Burch, however. The events of the past week have reminded us that Catholics wield unprecedented influence in the administration of this most secular of presidents. Vice-President J.D. Vance is a passionate convert and Secretary of State Marco Rubio is a devout Mass-goer. But they are also rivals who attract support from different factions in the fractured world of conservative American Catholicism.

Last week an article in the Free Press by the Italian journalist Mattia Ferraresi broke the story of a heated closed-door meeting between Pentagon officials and the papal nuncio to the United States, Cardinal Christophe Pierre. Details were sparse, but US sources described ‘frank exchanges’ over American foreign policy and the Vatican’s perceived meddling. Democrats immediately spun it into conspiracy theories about the Pentagon threatening military action against the Holy See. No such threat was made, of course. But Vatican diplomats are telling colleagues in Rome that Pentagon officials lost their temper with Pierre.

According to one source, relations between the White House and the Holy See have been deteriorating since Leo’s election last May and took a nosedive in December when the administration updated its National Security Strategy. This unveiled the so-called ‘Donroe Doctrine’ – a new, hard-edged emphasis on the Monroe Doctrine that asserts American political and economic supremacy over the entire western hemisphere.

This is where we shouldn’t dismiss President Trump’s belief that Pope Leo was elected in order to clip his wings. The Latin American cardinals knew that Robert Prevost, for decades a missionary and then a bishop in Peru, identified as much with South as North America. ‘The political and philosophical aggressiveness towards a part of the world very dear to the new Holy Father went down very badly,’ says a source.

Paradoxically, matters were hindered, not helped, by the sophisticated Catholic orthodoxy of J.D. Vance. The Vice President has talked extensively about the inspiration he draws from St Augustine. Leo is an authority on the saint and a former head of the Augustinian order. Vance appears to have believed that he was uniquely qualified to handle the new pontificate. If so, he was soon put right. Even before Leo was elected pope he had clashed with Vance on the subject of how Augustine’s teaching applied to Christian ethics. In February last year he retweeted from his (now defunct) private X account @drprevost an article with the headline: ‘JD Vance is wrong: Jesus doesn’t ask us to rank our love for others.’

Undeterred, when the Vice President visited the Pope in May he presented him with copies of Augustine’s City of God and On Christian Doctrine – a curious gesture, all things considered. And, according to one insider with contacts within both the White House and the Vatican, the meeting with Cardinal Pierre reflected Vance’s continuing ambition to handle relations with the Holy See. That is why it was held in the Pentagon, where he wields far more influence than in the Secretariat of State.

The leak of the disastrous ‘frank exchanges’ at that meeting, followed immediately by Trump’s anti-Leo tirade, must have been excruciating for the Vice President. Worse was to come. On Monday it was Vance, not Rubio, who was wheeled out to defend the President’s criticism of the Pope. ‘I certainly think it would be best for the Vatican to stick to matters of morality, to stick to matters of, you know, what’s going on in the Catholic Church and let the President of the United States stick to defending American public policy,’ he said.

On Tuesday Vance dug the hole even deeper. Drawn into a discussion about Leo’s admittedly hard-to-interpret statement that Jesus ‘is never on the side of those who once wielded the sword and today drop bombs’, he opined that: ‘It’s very, very important for the Pope to be careful when he talks about matters of theology.’

To grasp how agonising this must have been for the Vice President, we need to understand that he belongs to the so-called ‘post-liberal’ school of Catholic thought that treats papal authority with extreme reverence. Presumably, Trump decided that it was Vance who should sweat in front of the cameras. If so, he was really twisting the knife.

Making sense of this chaos is quite a challenge. If Trump’s strategy is mysterious, so is Leo’s, even if he does express himself with infinitely greater subtlety. Why has he said so little about Iran’s slaughter of tens of thousands of its own citizens? His opposition to the Iran war, and especially Trump’s horrifying threat to wipe out a whole civilisation, enjoys overwhelming support among the world’s Catholics. But before this conflict, at a time when Trump was playing the role of peacemaker, the Vatican appeared to interpret every action by the United States in the worst possible light, reawakening memories of Pope Francis’s crude anti-Americanism.

But here we risk falling into the trap of lumping together Francis and Leo. This Pope is more theologically orthodox than his predecessor, and brighter. On Tuesday the website Catholic Culture carried a perceptive article by Peter Wolfgang, a Catholic advocate for family values, under the headline ‘Memo to Trump and the non-Catholic Right: Leo isn’t Francis’.

Wolfgang, an opponent of the Iran war, wrote that he understood some of Trump’s frustration with the Pope, and especially with his baffling decision to meet the Obama cheerleader David Axelrod – a move that is thought to have made Trump apoplectic. Combine that with intriguingly timed leaks about diplomatic spats between the Vatican and Washington, plus a big interview on CBS’s 60 Minutes (a show Trump watches) featuring three left-wing American cardinals criticising the war on Iran, and it’s not surprising that senior Republicans spy a Democratic ‘op’ to woo back Catholic voters ahead of the midterms. 

Wolfgang’s main point, however, was that ‘attacking Leo is not like attacking Francis, because conservative Catholics actually like and respect Leo. What Trump and the right assumed would play like their long-running disputes with Pope Francis instead misfired. Leo’s moral emphasis on peace, service and Gospel teaching resonates with a broad range of Catholics, including many on the right… His moral authority cuts across traditional partisan lines, which is why attacks on him are a form of political malpractice’.

In other words, Leo is more formidable than Francis, whose juvenile sniping at the United States was easy for Trump to exploit. The American Pope is completely unruffled by middle-of-the-night outbursts from the West Wing. Cynics might say that, having surreptitiously poked the bear in the White House, he is enjoying the opportunity to exhibit his Christian serenity.

What is beyond doubt is that global enthusiasm for the Pope extends far beyond his own gigantic constituency. He may even win the Nobel Peace Prize. Just imagine the Truth Social post if that happens.


quinta-feira, 23 de abril de 2026

Cartoon - Jim Unger

 








Almoços vários

Em 07.04.2026 com os VetVals1: Carlos Amorim, Daniel Machado, João de Deus, João Francisco, Luis Costa, Luis Miranda, eu, José Azevedo e Alfredo Duarte.



Em 24 de Março com IST2 - Zé Morgado (há 45 anos que o não via), o Fernando Freitas, o Jorge Matos e o João Cruz no Fragateiro na Trafaria.






Com o Alfredo Duarte (e família) na Amadora em 07.03.2026


Com Jorge Basílio e Isabel no XS Lounge (22.03.2026)


Livro - Le Sport-Spectacle de compétition de Jean Marie Brohm

Apesar da tendência progressista do autor, é inegável o talento para elencar e denunciar o que de mal o desporto actual tem. Incluindo um exemplo nacional como a invasão da academia do Sporting...

Por cá, para lá de continuar tudo bem (...), não tenho conhecimento de ensaios desta natureza.











Observador - Da família para o safe space (Nuno Lebreiro)

 


(sublinhados pessoais)

Da família para o safe space

Imagine-se, por exemplo, Péricles declamando sobre qual a regulamentação adequada do teor de gordura no leite, ou sobre a quantidade de sal no pão

Em A Condição Humana, Hannah Arendt observa que a sociedade moderna dissolveu a separação entre o público e o privado que definia a família na sociedade clássica. Na Grécia antiga, o lar era acima de tudo um espaço privado. Dentro dela, os filhos deviam obediência aos pais que, em troca, lhes providenciavam educação, protecção e sustento, numa relação directa e soberana face ao colectivo. Essa reciprocidade assentava em amor, sangue, responsabilidade, respeito, orgulho e hierarquia, nunca em “direitos”, menos ainda em regulamentação tutelar por parte de um Estado central. A polis, pelo outro lado, configurava o espaço político onde os cidadãos elegíveis podiam participar no debate público, decidindo assuntos comuns, políticos, sociais e económicos, onde não se misturavam as miudezas da economia doméstica, naturalmente relegada para dentro das quatro paredes que compunham o mundo privado da família.

Essa fronteira público-privado era, naturalmente, essencial na formação dos indivíduos. Na medida em que os assuntos “domésticos” ficavam fora da política, bem como do “regulamento”, ou da “administração pública”, a sociedade clássica, uma sociedade, paradoxalmente, muito menos individualista do que a moderna, garantia efectiva separação entre o indivíduo — parido, nutrido, acarinhado, educado no recesso do seu lar — e o Estado. Arendt nota, com pertinência, que a modernidade inverteu o processo: ainda que em nome do interesse do indivíduo e dos seus “inalienáveis direitos”, a sociedade de massas acabou “socializando” em larga medida aquela componente outrora privada da sociedade.

Desde logo, o indivíduo sai a perder, e por uma razão simples: a família governa no concreto; o Estado, no geral e abstracto. Assim, onde a família, bem como a pequena comunidade, lida, trata, se relaciona com pessoas de carne e osso, ao Estado, gerindo todos, em massa, sobra apenas a abstracção do modelo teórico, do algoritmo, ou da tendência social. Como Aristóteles lembrava a propósito daquilo que é público, no estado moderno, o indivíduo, interessando abstractamente a todos, não interessa, de facto, a ninguém, transformando-se num número, uma insignificância estatística, um grão transportado numa imensa engrenagem.

Pior ainda, é que foi todo o mundo privado doméstico que se esvaiu para dentro da própria política. É por essa razão que no mundo moderno grande parte do debate público gira necessariamente em torno de questões outrora domésticas, pouco dignas de qualquer debate inflamado na ágora: imagine-se, por exemplo, Péricles declamando sobre qual a regulamentação adequada do teor de gordura no leite, ou sobre a quantidade de proteínas na carne, a quantidade de sal no pão — tudo temas que, por incrível que pareça, junto com vírgulas orçamentais, compõem hoje em dia as manchetes dos jornais que entretêm a população. Aliás, do mesmo modo doméstico, prático, se mede também a “felicidade” nacional através do número de televisores, ou Bimby, por habitante, número de automóveis por agregado familiar, computadores, telemóveis, etc., etc. — assim se decretando científica e estatisticamente sobre os sucessos, ou insucessos, de cada governação.

Em suma, no mundo moderno, o poder político, e não a sociedade através das suas instituições — família, comunidade, empresa, corporação —, é aquele que se preocupa “efectivamente com os reais problemas das populações”, tratando, acima de tudo, da “qualidade de vida” das pessoas, assim garantindo e certificando que estão todos em segurança, entre outras, alimentar. Todos, atente-se, e por igual — assim funciona a sociedade de massas no conforto do geral e abstracto.

Consequentemente, porque o poder não pode propriamente cair na rua, muito mais despercebido que a regulamentação estatal sobre cápsulas de garrafas passa o debate sobre os essenciais desígnios nacionais, ou civilizacionais. Esses grandes objectivos geracionais, tal como no mundo clássico, separam-se dos outros assuntos mais comezinhos, apenas que agora não para o espaço de cidadania, como em Atenas, mas para fora dele, no caso, para o multilateralismo global das grandes organizações internacionais, das ONG, dos simpósios com oradores ex-primeiro-ministros pagos a preço de ouro e transportados por aviões a jacto. Aí, nos corredores da grande finança e negociata internacional, em espaços neutros de soberania, ficam os destinos do mundo convenientemente arrumados, bem acima do alcance dos narizes rasteiros de quem apenas trata da sua vida doméstica. E assim se mantém uma conveniente segregação entre o essencial e o acessório, mesmo que apenas no campo prático, real, já que no teórico, bem como na TV, todos são iguais, todos votam e todos decidem por igual.

O Estado não se limitou, no entanto, a gerir a sociedade de forma prática e realista. No seu afã utilitário, para o bem de todos, e em nome de todos, assumiu também o papel de educador moral e higiénico da sociedade. Vai daí que, por estes dias, toda uma classe política, desde os líderes máximos até ao mais humilde presidente de junta, se ocupe a fechar vias ao automóvel, reduzir limites de velocidade para 30 km/h e pintar faixas verdes e cor-de-rosa para bicicletas, trotinetas, patins, skates e demais traquitanas eléctricas, assim “mudando comportamentos”, implementando “estilos de vida alternativos” para, enquanto se “salva o planeta”, aplicar com zelo as portarias, financiar a ASAE e estafar milhões em propaganda capaz de curar os cidadãos dos malefícios tenebrosos do sal, do açúcar, da nicotina, do álcool e do sedentarismo. É, assim, com gentil benevolência, que o poder tutelar, ora tornado absoluto, molda estilos de vida “saudáveis”, tudo para gáudio do povoléu, desde que devidamente certificados e recomendados por especialistas de bata branca que apareçam na TV.

No final, o resultado é simples: onde as fronteiras que defendem o direito ao privado,  à privacidade, ao íntimo, soçobram e se quebram, como foi o caso do reduto familiar, logo o todo inunda o particular, tudo massificando, igualando, nivelando — destruindo —, assim impondo, pela força de um gigantesco rolo compressor, o grande desígnio do liberalismo moderno: a igualdade estandardizada, garantida, imposta, certificada, carimbada, de uma sociedade massificada, gerida por um Estado massificado, numa união de mentes e vontades também elas massificadas — todos sonhando a paz perpétua, fraterna, universal.

De facto, o Estado já pouco tem do velho Leviatão autoritário que exigia uma alegórica fusão de soberanias individuais. Hoje, é muito mais o triunfo de um novel, moderníssimo, soberano: não tanto o célebre Grande Irmão de Orwell, mas uma síntese hermafrodita entre o Grande Pai, que tudo limita, controla, fiscaliza, punindo uns com multas, todos assustando com a sua autoridade, e a Grande Mãe que, protegendo do mundo inseguro e hostil lá de fora, vem acariciar, prometer apoios e  garantir que “vai ficar tudo bem”, estando sempre presente, carinhosa, nutrindo o súbdito obediente pelo colo e mama, prometendo segurança, desde o berço até à cova.

Este fenómeno, obviamente, não surgiu do nada. Olhando para trás, foi precisamente o declínio da família ocidental enquanto instituição que criou um vazio que o Estado veio diligentemente preencher: à medida que a família perdeu a capacidade e autoridade para educar, proteger e dar sentido à vida dos indivíduos, o Estado — e a sociedade de massas que o sustenta — absorveu essas funções. Reordenando-se a fronteira entre público e privado do binómio Estado-Família para o Estado-Indivíduo, o mundo moderno escancarou as portas dos castelos privados que compunham uma sociedade livre e independente que, desde então, se foi, progressivamente, esvaindo para esse novo super-estado, essa entidade supra-tutelar que, para todos os efeitos, se sente legítima e constitucionalmente dona dos “seus” cidadãos.

Nada disto, no entanto, preocupa grandemente o homem moderno. Afinal, a família, em particular a sua formação, defesa e propagação, é tarefa de pessoas, pessoas essas que entre a responsabilidade árdua, bem como a capacidade de abnegação, altruísmo e sacrifício que a tarefa, ou missão, implica, tendem a escolher outros caminhos mais fáceis, prazenteiros, certamente mais convenientes no imediato. A missão árdua, convenhamos, não é a escolha típica do homem moderno — e se o é, não tem o vínculo de responsabilidade que, outrora, foi capaz de manter a instituição familiar acima dos devaneios, abandonos e arremessos emocionais dos momentos presentes. Afogado num mar de promessas de facilidades, bem como assustado perante o peso de responsabilidades para as quais não está preparado, o homem moderno, seja pela TV, seja pelo novel telefone táctil armado de “inteligência” artificial, no conforto da “civilização mais avançada e rica da história”, de modo “seguro e eficaz”, tende a deixar largamente a condução da sua vida e das suas escolhas para terceiros.

Desse modo, abastado em conveniência, os dias sucedem-se, preferencialmente sem surpresas, sustos ou particulares ansiedades, vestindo-se aquilo que o especialista de moda sugeriu na TV, comendo-se o que o especialista de nutrição prescreveu para perder peso e, claro está, ingerindo-se os medicamentos que os especialistas da grande indústria farmacêutica garantiram tudo vir melhorar — desde a constante luta contra a depressão até à conquista máxima, mesmo que estéril, da pujança sexual.

Desse modo, o telemóvel, que já faz tudo menos telefonar, rouba a agência e a responsabilidade individual da escolha e decisão: é o telefone, por exemplo, que, de manhã, decide se se justifica a gabardine ou o cachecol; se é mais rápido ir de transporte público ou de carro eléctrico; ou até, a qualquer momento de exasperante espera — o homem moderno pode tudo menos esperar sozinho, consigo mesmo —, é o telefone que entretém, faz rir, chorar e, claro está, vende a narrativa consensual, comunitária, que, entre heróis louvados e vilões vilipendiados, acaba motivando, consoante as ocasiões, o ódio raivoso, ou a celebração frenética, que guiarão as bem treinadas multidões rumo às grandes conquistas do progresso e da modernidade.

Consequentemente, na base da destruição do núcleo fundador da identidade individual — a família — estão os próprios indivíduos que, progressivamente alienados, assim proporcionam um novo território de expansão e colonização para o Estado — o seu próprio espaço mental. Gera-se um ciclo vicioso: família enfraquecida gera indivíduos fracos e dependentes; estes, por conseguinte, a gerarem, geram também eles famílias fracas e facilmente dissolúveis — e assim sucessivamente. Nos entretantos, o Estado torna-se cada vez maior, e mais poderoso, bem como cada vez mais exigente, cada vez mais tutelar, justificando todo este processo — ainda que profundamente desumano no desrespeito que revela perante os princípios fundamentais da vida — como sendo do interesse das pessoas. No final, explicam-nos, “é tudo para o nosso bem”.

Eis, então, a expressão máxima do liberalismo progressista contemporâneo: em nome dos maiores princípios tolerar as maiores atrocidades, inclusive onde a vida e a morte são trocadas por patacos, sempre em nome da conveniência, sem qualquer outro intuito que não seja o slogan cada vez mais gasto e repetido da liberdade: aborto? É a liberdade da mulher. Eutanásia? É a liberdade face à dor. Ultra-securitarismo? É a liberdade face ao risco e ao incerto. Esbulho fiscal? É a liberdade da justiça social. Hiper-vigilância? É a liberdade face ao crime. Controlo da liberdade de expressão? É a liberdade face às ofensas e os sentimentos magoados — e ai daquele que recalcitrar, apóstata herege, negacionista radical, que urge expurgar, limpar e expulsar do corpo social.

Nesta perspectiva, e analisando bem os frutos da grande marcha dos últimos 200 anos, a “libertação” promovida pelo Estado “liberal” apenas revelou um rosto já há muito conhecido — o do déspota. Ao usurpar o papel da família — educar, proteger, alimentar, moralizar —, o Estado falhou por completo na libertação do indivíduo para uma existência mais plena, feliz e completa. Libertou-o, no entanto, da responsabilidade ao prometer, de forma enganadora, livrá-lo da angústia, do risco e da incerteza. Ora, como esse momento de absoluta segurança, uma vez abandonado o útero materno, nunca retorna, o esforço de “libertação” do indivíduo apenas gerou um processo sem fim onde o Estado, a troco de mais poder, e custando cada vez mais liberdade, pretende aplacar as angústias e incertezas mais banais nos seres humanos — no fundo, realizar uma utopia onde a impossibilidade de sucesso reside precisamente nas características intrínsecas das pessoas que sonham com a utopia.

O resultado é, como é óbvio, o famoso safe space: um espaço progressivamente menor onde o indivíduo se “liberta” progressivamente de mais e mais coisas. Liberta-se da família, ora substituída por apoios estatais e “novas formas de parentalidade”; liberta-se da comunidade onde o outro, pela mera opinião, pode ofender e ferir susceptibilidades; liberta-se do corpo, com cirurgias, amputações, castrações, hormonas e identidades fluídas, inventadas e geridas por especialistas; liberta-se da liberdade, pois que sem responsabilidade ninguém pode ser livre para decidir seja o que for; liberta-se, até, da realidade — afinal, “mulheres podem ter pénis”, garantem os especialistas. No limite, liberta-se da própria existência incómoda: através da eutanásia, assistida, em cápsulas de design futurista, controlada, planificada a tempo e horas de acordo com a conveniência do calendário familiar. No fim, sobram apenas homúnculos e o cumprimento literal, absoluto, dos desígnios do liberalismo progressista: “libertação” — eufemismo para “abdicação” — extrema, igualdade completa. Quem diria que a máxima Kantiana da paz perpétua se realizaria na cela exígua e solitária do safe space da alienação mental?

Quanto aos outros — os resistentes —, resta apenas uma conclusão, tão evidente quanto necessária: o safe space, e a destruição do indivíduo que tal ideal consigo acarreta, configura, não apenas o resultado prático da utopia progressista liberal, como é também o antónimo perfeito de uma família bem-sucedida. E, por essa mesma razão, perceber a família como o coração palpitante, vibrante, fundador de indivíduos fortes, saudáveis, integrados, adultos e independentes, homens e mulheres capazes de gerar uma sociedade livre, esse é o único antídoto para o veneno que nos nossos dias vai corroendo, e matando, a sociedade dita liberal.

___

Nota do A.: No próximo Sábado, dia 18 de Abril, terei o prazer de estar presente no III Simpósio do SALL – Constituição e Senso Comum, em Lisboa, no auditório CUF Tejo, para uma conversa sobre a importância do papel da família na sociedade. Pode ver o programa e inscrever-se aqui.


The Spectator - The real reason VAR has ruined football

 

(personal underlines)

The real reason VAR has ruined football

The two main harms of government regulation, to be balanced against any benefits, are cost and delay. But there is another harm, rarer but lethal when it happens. Sometimes regulation perversely increases risk by lulling the regulated business or people into a false sense of safety.

I had this thought last weekend as I watched a football match on television. My beloved Newcastle United beat Aston Villa in the FA Cup fourth round, but the match made headlines because of five bafflingly bad decisions taken by the referee and his linesmen: failing to award two clear penalties, failing to give a red card for a dangerous tackle and failing to spot two offsides that led to goals.

Four of the five decisions went against my team but that is not my point. Because it was the FA Cup, there was no Video Assistant Referee (VAR) to check and overrule the ref. Whereas some say this proved the need for VAR, Alan Shearer made a more perceptive comment: ‘If you ever needed any evidence of the damage VAR has done to the referees, I think today is a great example of that. These guys I think look petrified to make a decision today because they didn’t have a comfort blanket. For me, they’re actually getting worse.In other words, the introduction of new technology to help referees has made them less good at their job.

The same thing happened in the run-up to the financial crisis. There was plenty of regulation of banks, indeed the volume and detail of regulation increased significantly before the crash. The Financial Services Authority (FSA) crawled all over banks, demanding to see how they handled various risks. The widespread notion that deregulation caused the crash is nonsense. It was the under–regulated hedge funds that came through the crisis in best shape precisely because they had no comfort blanket.

As the 15 authors of one 2009 study, led by Philip Booth of the Institute of Economic Affairs, concluded: ‘Though [we find] that statutory regulation failed, and that market participants took more risks than they should have done, it appears that statutory regulation made matters worse rather than better.’ This is partly because regulators were obsessed with one kind of risk and neglected another. Credit risk (whether borrowers could pay back money they had borrowed) was the constant concern of the regulator. Liquidity risk (whether lenders might stop supplying funds) was often barely mentioned. Yet it was mainly liquidity drying up that brought down the mortgage banks and many other institutions.

Credit risk in Britain turned out to be roughly as the banks had calculated; liquidity risk turned out to be much higher. Why had the boards of banks not taken more notice of the risks they were running on the borrowing side? Because the regulator inadvertently reassured them by neglecting the topic. Said the bulls to the bears on the boards: ‘The FSA’s not worried, so why are you?’

Moreover, as John Kay and Mervyn King pointed out in their book Radical Uncertainty, the regulated banks had got into the habit of putting a number on every risk, to indicate probability multiplied by impact. They did this to satisfy the regulator. In effect, this turned regulation into a box-ticking operation. But some risks were unquantifiable, so putting numbers on them misled the risk committees of these banks and the regulators too. ‘The biggest mistake governments made was to pretend they knew more than they did,’ said Kay and King.

In America, regulators made a worse and rather less subtle mistake in the early 2000s. The American government decided that sub-prime lending should be encouraged in order to help more poor people and minorities to get mortgages. They did this mainly by ordering two huge, government-backed entities, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, to drive up the proportion of sub-prime mortgages.

With a government guarantee behind their borrowing, the two went out and bought portfolios of mortgages off lenders, who happily responded by abandoning almost all restraint on sub-prime lending. Why do we care whether this chap can repay his loan, they asked themselves, if others are going to take the loan off our books? Why do we care, said Fannie and Freddie, if the taxpayer is guaranteeing us? By 2008, when the music stopped, Freddie and Fannie held more than $2 trillion of such loans with high default rates and high loan-to-value ratios. They had spent $175 million lobbying to defend their government guarantee.

The late John Adams of University College London wrote a book about a general human tendency for ‘risk compensation’: if you make our lives safer, we will take more risks. People wearing seat belts drive faster, other things being equal, than those not wearing them. American states that brought in laws mandating the use of motorcycle helmets saw relatively more motorcycle accidents than those that did not. A spot where a rural road crossed a railway in Canada, with no gates or warning lights, was rendered ‘safer’ by cutting down trees so cars could see if trains were coming – the result was an accident for the first time, because cars slowed down less.

Conversely, Sweden’s ‘Hogertrafikomlaggningen’ in 1967 – when, overnight, drivers switched to driving on the right – caused a temporary reduction in accidents, as drivers compensated for the expected increased risk by driving more carefully.

Of course, this argument shouldn’t be taken too far. Regulation does help reduce risk: speed limits, drink-driving laws, bans on texting while driving all help. Yet if you try to explain to a regulatory body that badly designed regulations might sometimes make things less safe, they just don’t get it. For regulators, human beings are automatons that obey or disobey rules, not thinking creatures that respond in subtler ways to incentives. Give referees the comfort of knowing a video replay will confirm or overrule their decisions and you don’t make their decisions better, you make them worse.

The Spectator - Why the best holidays are taken alone


 (personal underlinings)

Why the best holidays are taken alone

Be selfish, ditch the tourist traps and find a new side to yourself

(Picture: iStock)

It’s because I was on my own in Los Angeles, smoking weed on Venice Beach, that I ended up at Coachella Festival with two girls I’d barely met and the DJs Belle and Sebastian. It was because I was on my own in Nashville that I woke up with a Texan soldier and never had to tell anyone. And it’s because I was on my own driving up the west coast of England that I could take a spontaneous detour to Anthony Gormley’s ‘Another Place’ – just for the wonder of seeing those mossy, iron sculptures lapped by the waves. 

Hell is other people – especially on holiday. Group trips give me chills. Words like ‘minibus’, ‘group tour’ or ‘kitty’ make me nauseous. Once I ended up in hospital with acute pancreatitis when I was supposed to be on a group ski-trip in Switzerland. Frankly, I considered the smell of antiseptic and microwaved meals a relief.  

The final blow came during one especially horrendous group holiday to Ibiza when we rowed over plans and bills every day. In the blazing Spanish sun of the strip, I vowed: never again! 

If, like me, you are an intensely curious commitment-phobe, then there is no greater pleasure than solo travelling.  This summer I stepped off the train on a burning hot day in Berlin and was reminded of a particular joy Julie Burchill has described as the thrill of being somewhere where no one knows you, perhaps not even yourself. 

The problem with travelling with friends is that they keep reminding you who they think you are when, somewhere in Germany, a whole new side of yourself could be waiting to be found. Perhaps this is the weekend you’ll discover a love of sauerkraut, techno or try out bondage with two daddies from the KitKatClub. Who knows? You certainly never will unless you let yourself explore. 

Little wonder, then, that solo travel is booming. The global solo travel market is expected to exceed $1 trillion by 2030 – driven by the rise of digital ‘nomadism’ and, of course, that pleasure of doing nothing. Tour operator Jules Verne said solo travellers accounted for 46 per cent of bookings for its trips this year – with the majority of those bookings from women. 

Solo travel is becoming a feminine conceit. A survey by the Hostelworld travel platform last year found 60 per cent of its solo travellers were women. Of that number, many would have been younger women: two-thirds of all solo travellers are aged between 18 and 30.

Even as a woman above that range though, I’m not surprised. When travelling alone, I don’t feel unsafe but rather unobserved. I can wear comfortable shoes, no make-up and can happily vanish for days at a time. In my middle age, I have a firm idea of what I like on holiday: sleeping late, sea-swimming, a bit of culture, a lost afternoon. Maybe I’ll walk across a city at night and – in the right mood – go dancing. I don’t want to waste my limited time doing things I don’t like. On my own, I don’t have to. 

I like to unravel when travelling, unlimited by other’s expectations. In California I was amazed to find myself chanting on a grief yoga retreat – only because no one I knew could see.  

My kind of travelling means not making plans. I spent summer driving my dog around France, detouring to towns I recognised from drinking –  from Cognac to Saint-Émilion – booking Airbnbs and staying for days without being nagged to move on. In Jerusalem, I felt so moved at Yad Vashem I went back the next day without worrying I was boring a friend. 

I am a confident traveller and my worst nightmare is being with someone insistent on seeing tourist traps. I want to experience how somewhere feels. In New York, I ignored the Empire State Building, going vintage clothes shopping in the East Village. In Paris, I was a flaneuse: getting lost in pretty back streets, swimming in the Seine and gorging on cheese. In San Francisco, I indulged my nerd-ophilia by going on Tinder dates with coders. 

I am a people-pleaser and so holidays give me one space to be selfish. Alone, I’m beholden to no-one. In Italy, I could decide off the cuff to take a train from Florence to Venice, stopping at Padua just because there was a 14-century fresco I was curious to see. In Thailand, I could ditch the beach for the jungle, swerve tourist night markets to eat at dodgy local shacks – without being responsible for someone getting food poisoning. 

Perhaps I’ve just not ‘found’ the right travel companion, some might suggest. But, as a travel writer, even when I’m asked if I want to bring a ‘plus one’, I often decline – lying to boyfriends as I wheel my suitcase out the door. After all, when surrounded by the noise and social demands of every day life, it’s easy to get lost. How grounding to be freed from all that in a place where you have no ties.

It surprises me when people equate solo travelling with running away from yourself. If anything, it’s when travelling alone that I get the clearest sense of who I am. 

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.