quinta-feira, 19 de março de 2026

 Uma perspectiva diferente sobre o que se passa no mundo.

















The Spectator - Donald Trump is confronting a reality that Europe has ignored

 (personal underlines)


Donald Trump is confronting a reality that Europe has ignored

Donald Trump’s rendition of Nicolas Maduro was a brilliantly executed coup. It was also an exhibition of America’s hard power, power that has underpinned the rules-based international order that protected America’s allies for decades. Now those allies fear that the rules-based order is as much a smoking ruin as Maduro’s Caracas compound. European hysteria is, however, misplaced. President Trump has not inaugurated a new era of disorder, he has responded to realities about which European elites have been in denial.

The post-war international order has been crumbling for more than a decade. And British governments have been enablers of that process. One of the most determined users of hard power in subverting every restraint has been communist China. British policy, accelerated under this government, has supported China’s economic rise and acquiesced in its suppression of freedoms.

We were cheerleaders for China’s accession to the World Trade Organisation, assuming that would tame Beijing’s authoritarianism. Instead, China turned our naive belief in free trade and our faith in trans-national institutions into a mechanism for transferring jobs, intellectual property and wealth into their hands.

Our drive towards net zero and attachment to the Kyoto Protocol have allowed us to become dependent on Chinese technology manufactured by slave labour in Xinjiang. And we have proved false friends to those actually invested in democratising China. Britain had promised Hong Kongers autonomy through the Basic Law. Instead Beijing was able to subvert the city, eventually subsuming it into the mainland.

Whether it was misplaced post-colonial guilt, or wilful naivete, the same instincts are also in play in our surrender of the Chagos islands to China’s ally Mauritius. We think we are adhering to the international law rule book. China sees a shrivelled, cuckolded nation trying to hide its impotence behind the fig leaf of Richard Hermer’s legal opinion.

Prior to Trump’s return to the White House, Joe Biden’s America displayed similar evidence of exhaustion. The fall of Kabul and the collapse of American might in the face of teenagers with Kalashnikovs was no triumph of rules-based order. Rather, it was a demonstration of hypocrisy and infirmity. The Taliban was able to overrun 20 years of US occupation in just a few weeks.

For those who argue that Europe offers a brighter alternative to either British or American statecraft, consider the failure of the 2015 Minsk II Agreement in guaranteeing Ukrainian sovereignty. A defence pact orchestrated by France and Germany collapsed in the face of Vladimir Putin’s war machine. Russia has contempt for a continent that spends massively on welfare while flinching from preparation for warfare.

Any notion of an international order works on two conditions. The first is that those who are a part of it choose to enforce it; yet the West has repeatedly failed to uphold its promises. The second is that the adversaries of international order are too scared to defy it. Maduro made clear that he was not scared. He traded oil for loans with China while helping Moscow avoid sanctions. He rigged elections and had opposition activists shot in the street. He allowed fentanyl and weapons to flood across America’s southern border. Trump put an end to that.

Maduro was part of a web of dictators. Thirty-two Cubans were killed in the raid on his compound; they were part of a communist bodyguard corps from another dictatorial regime. Venezuelan oil props up Havana. Marco Rubio, the US Secretary of State, believes that toppling the dictator of Caracas could hasten the end of Cuban misery. Those on the streets of Havana will be watching, hoping for liberation from poverty and dictatorship, rather than worrying that international law has been breached.

The people who have genuine cause for concern, however, are our enemies. Caracas’s air defence systems were mostly Russian-made. They were unable to down a single aircraft or even kill a single American serviceman. Russia now knows the superiority of American weapons systems. That sends a message, one that differs from the fiasco in Kabul that emboldened Putin in his invasion of Ukraine. It also sends a message to Russia’s customers, such as the Belarusians, who use the same Buk-M2 anti-aircraft missile systems as the Venezuelans, and the Iranians, who use the Pantsir-S1s that also failed. Russian defence systems can be overawed.

European leaders saw the supremacy of American technology too. The offer is there from Trump: choose to invest in your militaries, to defend your own homelands, and we’ll sell you the arms. America can grow its domestic defence industries and Europe can fend off its enemies. Trump’s administration has repeatedly expressed its desire to enact this win-win. The White House’s national security strategy, published last month, was explicit: ‘We want to support our allies in preserving the freedom and security of Europe, while restoring Europe’s civilisational self-confidence and western identity.’ This belief in basic western values was evident when, this time last year, J.D. Vance chided European leaders for failing to uphold western freedoms.

Instead of laying claim to a virtue they have scarcely exhibited themselves, British and European politicians should heed the wise words of Peter Mandelson. In his Ditchley lecture last year, and again in our pages, Lord Mandelson displays a clear-eyed assessment of how to work with Trump which is much more acute and constructive than his detractors have offered. If we want to exercise influence, win respect and secure our interests, then we need to invest in our hard power. International law is a palisade of paper; it is by following the iron laws of hard statecraft that we serve our people best.

Série - O poder da Justiça

 



Está a chegar à televisão portuguesa a primeira temporada de O Poder da Justiça, uma série jurídica intensa baseada no romance The Rainmaker, de John Grisham. A história acompanha o jovem advogado Rudy Baylor, que luta contra uma poderosa firma de advogados e descobre uma conspiração que revela até onde os seus adversários estão dispostos a ir para vencer. O Poder da Justiça T1 estreia no dia 22 de outubro, quarta-feira, às 22h10, em exclusivo no TVCine Emotion e TVCine+.

Recém-licenciado em direito, Rudy Baylor tenta encontrar o seu lugar no mundo desigual da lei, confrontando Leo Drummond, advogado veterano de reputação intocável, e Jocelyn “Bruiser” Stone, cuja firma familiar luta para sobreviver enquanto enfrenta escândalos que ameaçam derrubar reputações. Entre conspirações, processos judiciais e dilemas morais, o enredo desenrola-se entre o suspense da sala de tribunal e o drama pessoal daqueles que acreditam que a justiça ainda pode prevalecer. A série aprofunda não só os casos legais, mas também os conflitos internos das personagens: lealdades postas à prova, segredos de família, arrependimentos, ilusões e a constante tensão entre idealismo e realidade.

Tendo sido já adaptado ao cinema por Francis Ford Coppola em 1997, o romance The Rainmaker, de John Grisham, conhece agora uma versão para a televisão pela mão do criador Michael Seitzman. Milo Callaghan, John Slattery, Madison Iseman e Lana Parrilla são os principais nomes do elenco. O Poder da Justiça T1 estreia a 22 de outubro, com novos episódios todas as quartas-feiras, às 22h10, só no TVCine Emotion e no TVCine+

Polemia - Alarmisme climatique : « Physiquement et thermodynamiquement, cela ne tient pas. »

(soulignements personnels)


 



Le Forum de la Dissidence organisé par Polémia et dédié à l’alarmisme climatique s’est tenu à Paris ce samedi 15 novembre 2025. Découvrez l’intervention de Jacques-Marie Moranne, animateur du site laphysiqueduclimat.fr et ingénieur. Passé d’alarmiste climatique à sceptique, via un travail d’ingénieur, il nous livre son témoignage concis mais passionnant.
Polémia

Jacques-Marie Moranne : "je suis un ingénieur, et le climat, c'est de la thermodynamique."

Je suis un ancien alarmiste, mais je suis ingénieur, et le climat, fondamentalement, c’est de la thermodynamique. À partir de ma retraite, j’ai voulu comprendre comment cela fonctionnait. Et il faut le dire : on ne peut pas attribuer l’intégralité du réchauffement climatique actuel au CO₂. Ce n’est pas possible. Physiquement, cela ne tient pas. Thermodynamiquement non plus.

J’ai donc écrit un livre, La physique du climat, consultable gratuitement sur internet. Si cela vous intéresse, vous pouvez le lire : c’est un ouvrage de physique, un peu vulgarisé, mais tout de même rigoureux. J’ai également publié Climat et CO₂, décryptage d’une manipulation, préfacé par Philippe Herlin — dont nous parlions tout à l’heure — et destiné cette fois à un public plus large.

Que montre ce livre ? Fondamentalement ceci — je pourrais le sous-titrer : Comment un optimum climatique a été transformé en catastrophe économique. Car nous vivons bel et bien un optimum climatique. La Terre verdit aujourd’hui dans des proportions considérables, malgré tout ce qu’on peut entendre. On meurt encore dix fois plus du froid que de la chaleur. Nous avons donc une marge de manœuvre.

Il suffirait de regarder les faits — ce que les journalistes devraient faire. Les observations existent partout. Prenons par exemple les données de la NOA : l’évolution des cyclones et des typhons depuis cinquante ans n’a pas augmenté. Contrairement à ce qu’on affirme, il n’y a pas davantage de catastrophes climatiques ou météorologiques. Il n’y a pas non plus plus de feux de forêt qu’avant ; il y en a même plutôt moins. Depuis 2000, il y en a un peu plus parce que les forêts ne sont plus entretenues au nom de l’écologie. Mais globalement, il y en a bien moins qu’au début du XXᵉ siècle.

Il faut regarder les faits. Ils sont disponibles, dans des observatoires officiels, pour tout : les coraux, l’ours polaire, etc. Factuellement, il ne se passe rienà part le verdissement de la planète. Quant au niveau des océans, il augmente de 20 à 25 centimètres par siècle depuis le début du XXᵉ. Cela suit la température, mais cela ne tuera personne. On est loin des 6 mètres annoncés jadis par Al Gore. C’est lui, d’ailleurs, qui a déclenché la vague d’alarmisme et la panique qui l’a accompagnée.

Je vous remercie de m’avoir accordé cinq minutes.

Jacques-Marie Moranne
Intervention lors du Forum de la Dissidence du 15 novembre 2025 – Publiée sur notre site le 27/11/2025

The Spectator - We should all be tree huggers

 

(personal underscores)


We should all be tree huggers

Embracing nature doesn’t make us eco–lunatics

(Picture: iStock)

Recently, I was in my local park when I noticed a young girl staring at me with a puzzled expression. She then turned to her mother and asked: ‘Why is that man hugging a tree?’ It was a good question. Why was an old, cynical, embittered hack like me hugging a tree? The simple answer is: I’ve become a tree hugger. 

There was a time when I laughed at people like me; and many are still laughing. Tree hugger is a term of abuse that everyone seems happy to use. Green politics may have moved closer to the mainstream but we tree huggers have been left out in the cold. We are the friends of the earth who have very few friends. To ‘climate sceptics’ on the right, we’re just lunatics. To left leaning eco-warriors, we are eco-wimps. 

To some in the Green movement, tree hugging is part of their embarrassing past. Don’t mention the hug word around Zack Polanski. According to a recent report in the Telegraph, ‘Greens shun tree hugging and embrace Gaza at Gorton and Denton by-election’. It represents the soft sentimental side of the hard struggle to save the planet. Hug a tree? You might as well pet a puppy. 

When someone calls themselves a tree hugger it’s usually done for comic effect or as a conspicuous act of self-deprecation. Earlier this month in the House of Commons, during a debate on woodland protection, Labour MP Jen Craft announced to the house with a heavy dose of self-mockery: ‘I am a self-confessed tree hugger – I literally will hug a tree.’

Sir Keir Starmer, on the other hand, will not. In 2023, when he was leader of the opposition, Starmer is alleged to have told members of the shadow cabinet that he was ‘not interested in tree huggers’ before saying: ‘In fact, I hate tree huggers.’ 

Despite such widespread disapproval, I go every day to a tree-lined square near my home and hug my tree. (It’s a very tall and thick London plane, with an unruly mass of branches, which juts out of the ground at a slight angle.) And I mean hug. I don’t just touch or stroke my tree or give it a little pat of appreciation. I stretch out my arms as wide as I can and wrap them around as much of the tree that I can, and press my face and entire body against the tree and just stand there, hugging. I listen to the tree hum. I feel its vibrations. I soak up its energy. And yes, sometimes I feel like a twit.

How did my life as a tree hugger begin? I’d walked by this same tree a million times and regarded it as just another tree. But then, one cold sunny day, instead of phone scrolling, I put my phone away and looked at the tree and saw a thing of beauty and wonder. How had I never noticed this tree before? 

I moved closer to the tree and put my hands on it. A voice inside my head said: ‘Oh no! Please, don’t do any of that tree hugging shit for heaven’s sake.’ And before you could say, ‘piss off, Sting’, I had my arms wrapped around it. And it felt good. I squeezed tighter and a smile spread across my face.

At first, I was worried by what people passing by might think of me. One thing I enjoy about tree hugging is that it teaches you not to worry about such things. I’ve had local youths laugh and mock me. ‘Get a room!’ said one wit. Male friends all crack the same joke about getting wood. I get stared at by joggers, bin collectors, pram-wheeling mums and pot-smoking delinquents. I suspect that some feel sorry for me, thinking: ‘Look at that poor old bloke. Obviously, he has no one to hug!’

Why do I do it? I’m not really sure. All sorts of medical and psychological claims are made for tree hugging – it reduces stress, anxiety and lowers your blood pressure. Maybe. (I certainly feel better after a tree hug.) But maybe that’s due to the uplift you get from being away from your screen, walking in a park and inhaling fresh air, and has nothing to do with the actual hug or healing energies that comes from the tree itself. 

For me it has something to do with wanting to get closer to nature, really close. It appeals to that longing that many modern, secular-minded people have for a connection with something bigger than themselves. No, I don’t feel one with the universe, but I do feel one with my tree. If you listen carefully during your tree hug you can hear God or Nature – call it what you will – whispering in your ear. 

To some this might sound like a lot of mushy mysticism or woo-woo spirituality. And yes, it’s such a white, middle-class thing to do! In modern times, tree hugging began as a form of social protest in 1973 in northern India to save local forests. Now it’s slowly becoming a part of the wellbeing movement. I certainly feel better for my tree hugs.

terça-feira, 10 de março de 2026

The Spectator - Why are Parisians so awful?

 

(personal underlines...voilá!)

Why are Parisians so awful?

Failure to live up to Parisian standards is a punishable offence

I have recently returned from a fleeting visit to the City of Light. As usual, Paris itself was a delight. It is an architectural and historic marvel that nevertheless manages to offer the best food and wine in the world at all kinds of prices, and somehow also has a respectable number of quirky and interesting independent shops and boutiques amidst the more anticipated international names. In other words, any trip to the French capital should be an alloyed pleasure. So why, when I arrived back at St Pancras, did I all but sink to my knees in gratitude that I was once back in rainy old Blighty, and that the land of the Belle Époque was a distant memory?  

The answer, as usual, comes in the extraordinary awfulness of the inhabitants of the world’s finest city. Other similar places have their flaws. New Yorkers are brusque, Romans prone to lascivious wolf-whistles, and Londoners are a grim, glum bunch on the whole, until you steer them into the nearest pub and watch them light up. But it is hard to think of any bunch of types as rude, arrogant and generally obstreperous as the Parisians. If you do not live up to their self-appointed standards of beauty, sartorial chic and – this is the crucial part – fluency in their native language, then you will be treated with as much disdain as la merde beneath their ever-elegant chaussures.  

Sometimes, this just takes the form of straightforward hostility. I attempted to visit a brasserie for lunch one day, on the tourist hellhole that is the Boulevard de Sébastopol. My presence was noted, I was brusquely sent to a table in a miserable, practically Arctic corner of the room, and then that was the end of that. The closest that the staff came to communicating was when one waiter dropped a fork on my wife’s face, an outrage for which no apology was forthcoming. Instead, when she tried to pick up the offending item, he waggled a finger at her, as if she were a naughty child, and said ‘Non!’. We left shortly afterwards, unfed and insulted.  

But then this was the same trip as when, after queuing for half an hour in the rain to see the glories of the Louvre, we were denied entry because we had booked le mauvais billet, and would have been sent back to the ticket desk, there to shell out another thirty-odd euros and to queue, in the rain, for another half an hour or more. Even the Mona Lisa isn’t worth that amount of effort. If this information had been communicated with the slightest kind of compassion, or even a shrug, a smile and a ‘desolé’, then the disappointment might not have been so grave. But instead, it was presented with a sneer and a look of contemptuous incredulity at how un rosbif could have been quite so stupid to fall foul of the institution’s byzantine website.  

On and on it went. We stayed at a hotel with a swimming pool, which was located on the top floor. (There was no view but never mind.) In order to visit the swimming pool, you had to leave your room, head down to the reception, obtain another ticket from the sullen receptionist, head back to another floor, get changed, leave, and then head two floors up to the pool. It was a staggering task, and I am afraid to say that, when the news about Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s arrest broke, I simply abandoned the idea of a relaxing dip altogether and instead immersed myself in an altogether different kind of deep water.  

Paris is a city where those who live and work there seem to take a perverse pleasure in making the lives of tourists and visitors less pleasant. There are endless queues, countless miserable examples of pettifogging bureaucracy that make no sense – on my way out of Gare du Nord, I counted no fewer than three separate queues at one point, none of which were making any progress – and a pervasive sense that the Parisians would be perfectly happy if they never had to speak to anyone who was not French ever again. If they deign to utter a few words to you in English, it is done with the withering disdain of someone lowering themselves to vulgarity. It comes as a faint surprise that they do not spit at you in the process.  

I shall, of course, be back before too long. The awfulness of the locals cannot take away the great aesthetic, artistic and culinary glories of Paris, and even if, like a character out of the Wodehouse novel, I must adopt the look of furtive shame, the shifty hangdog look which announces that an Englishman is about to speak French, I shall bone up on Duolingo and attempt to take on the escargot-munchers on their own turf. But the next time I visit, it will be with a sense of grim determination to restore British honour in a fashion not seen since the glory days of Agincourt. The Louvre, and that mediocre little bistro on the Boulevard de Sébastopol, had better watch out. 

Observador - A culpa é sempre de Israel… e já agora dos EUA (Rodrigues do Carmo)

 (sublinhados pessoais)



A culpa é sempre de Israel… e já agora dos EUA

Para estes comentadeiros e especialistas parece que a gramática depende da direcção do míssil. Se vem de Teerão é resistência. Se vai para Teerão é agressão, escalada, crime de guerra, quiçá genocídio

Há teses do comentariado televisivo português   que, pelos seus méritos, entram directamente, para a grandiosa antologia do disparate nacional.

PUB • CONTINUE A LER A SEGUIR

A guerra em curso no Médio Oriente tem o imenso mérito de expor a curiosa cosmovisão de boa parte dos comentadores nacionais. Uma cosmovisão que mistura sociologia de café com geopolítica às três pancadas, da qual resulta uma simples e reiterada ideia: a culpa ontológica de qualquer conflito no Médio Oriente é sempre de Israel ou dos Estados Unidos ou, na linguagem do mexerico coscuvilheiro de uma certa “especialista” da SIC, do “Bibi” e do “Trump”. Idealmente dos dois, para não haver dúvidas.

O país dos aiatolas pode bombardear vizinhos, financiar milícias, promover atentados, construir milhares de mísseis, procurar activamente a bomba atómica e jurar a destruição de um Estado inteiro. Nada de especial. A verdadeira questão é sempre a resposta de Israel e dos EUA.

A fascinante e revolucionária tese central repete-se com hipnótica regularidade. Israel está a cometer “genocídios” e crimes de guerra, a provocar escaladas “desproporcionais” que ameaçam a paz regional e outras infindáveis maldades. Já um regime de alucinados, cujo objectivo é destruir Israel e mandar na região para preparar a vinda do Mhadi está, no fundo, apenas a participar num sofisticado exercício diplomático ligeiramente mais barulhento.

As “escaladas incontroláveis” começam apenas quando Israel opta por não morrer educadamente ou os EUA por acabar com a baderna. Ou seja, os primeiros murros não contam, o problema são os socos de quem se farta de servir de saco.

Mas há mais. Segundo alguns analistas televisivos, o plano militar contra o Irão já estaria a falhar antes mesmo de começar. Passou uma semana e Teerão vai disparando cada vez menos mísseis e drones, depois de ter esguichado centenas sobre os vizinhos do lado. Naturalmente, isto é apresentado pelos suspeitos do costume como prova de que a operação está a correr mal. É como opinar que um incêndio está fora de controlo porque as chamas estão a diminuir. Ou que uma intervenção cirúrgica falhou, porque o paciente ainda tem a barriga aberta. De alguma maneira, isto parece fazer sentido nas estranhas cabecinhas opinadoras.

O comentário ganha então um tom quase ansioso, ai Jesus, afinal a campanha que estava prevista para quatro semanas pode demorar cinco. Que horror! Que falhanço! O tempora! O mores!

 Os EUA, garantem-nos estes génios, sem se rir, foram surpreendidos pelos fantásticos drones iranianos, uma espécie de maravilha tecnológica com motor a dois tempos que, pelo menos em estúdio, parece capaz de derrotar metade da NATO.

E, claro, surge sempre a afirmação indispensável, pescada na vala comum dos tesourinhos deprimentes do antissemitismo: Israel controla os Estados Unidos! Trata-se de uma velha teoria da conspiração, constantemente reciclada e muito popular em certos círculos da cretinice, onde a geopolítica é explicada com a mesma convicção do terraplanismo.

Nada disto estaria completo sem a referência contumaz ao direito internacional, essa entidade metafísica que sofre “violações grosseiras” sempre que Israel dispara um míssil e desaparece misteriosamente, assobiando para o ar, quando o Irão dispara 100 e mata milhares com galhardia e intenção.

Mas mesmo neste fértil ambiente de criatividade analítica, alguns comentadores conseguiram elevar o debate a um nível superior. Um deles, figura larga e omnipresente numa televisão, decidiu explicar ao público português que as manifestações no Irão e na Europa, de um lado meia dúzia de alegados apoiantes do regime, do outro multidões que protestam espontaneamente contra a repressão, seriam, no fundo, equivalentes. A simetria perfeita, tudo perfeitamente normal e democrático. Garantiu aliás que o processo de escolha das lideranças iranianas decorre num ambiente institucional perfeitamente regular. Uma vulgaríssima assembleia parlamentar com um ligeiro toque teológico.

Convém recordar alguns pormenores. O sistema político iraniano é uma teocracia onde o poder simbólico último pertence a um aiatola vitalício. Os funcionários do regime são previamente filtrados por um conselho clerical e por sombrios círculos da Guarda Revolucionária, organização militar, terrorista, repressiva e económica que combina devoção religiosa com pistolas, mísseis e uma apreciável vocação para o negócio de petróleo, narcóticos e bombas. Descrever este mecanismo como um processo político banal é mais ou menos como descrever a Inquisição como um simpático tribunal administrativo.

Ainda assim, houve quem conseguisse ir mais longe. O general Agostinho Costa, entre dois gargarejos, três visões de russos em Kiev, e dez F-35 abatidos em Teerão pela “melhor defesa aérea do Médio Oriente” ( sic), decidiu oferecer ao público uma analogia histórica de assinalável subtileza: matar o aiatola seria equivalente a matar o Papa! A comparação tem o seu “je ne sais quois” de não sei quê. É verdade que o Papa não dirige um regime que financia terroristas no Médio Oriente, não dispara mísseis balísticos sobre os países vizinhos e não possui uma guarda encarregada de matar a própria população com pundonor e exportar revoluções religiosas à bomba. Mas, tirando esses insignificantes detalhes, a analogia é praticamente perfeita.

O teatro moral do absurdo está montado. Ditaduras teocráticas surgem como actores políticos normais. Grupos terroristas transformam-se em heroicas forças de resistência. Ataques contra Israel são interpretados como episódios compreensíveis de frustração geopolítica. Até o Engenheiro António Guterres, somou o seu peso, quando lembrou ao mundo que certos ataques, como os massacres de milhares de civis israelitas por um grupo terrorista às ordens do “Papa”, “não surgem no vazio. Foi uma observação profunda. De facto, nada surge no vazio. Nem sequer as inanidades que sistematicamente saem da boca do Secretário-Geral das Nações Unidas. E, já agora, os entusiasmados parabéns ao aiatola, perdão, papa, pelo aniversário da Revolução.

Para Israel fica reservada uma posição singular na moral internacional: é o único país do planeta que só pode responder a ataques com comunicados diplomáticos, gestos penitenciais e um suspiro resignado. Se possível acompanhado por uma declaração de boas intenções e uma sessão de auto-crítica.

Talvez seja apenas uma questão de geografia moral. Para estes comentadeiros e especialistas, aparentemente a gramática depende da direcção do míssil. Se vem de Teerão é resistência. Se vai para Teerão é agressão, escalada, crime de guerra, quiçá genocídio e certamente criminosa violação do direito internacional.

No meio de tudo isto, o público português tem o privilégio de assistir ao espantoso espectáculo de comentadores que falam de estratégia militar como se fosse filosofia moral de cordel e de regimes autoritários e assassinos como se fossem juntas de freguesia com problemas de gestão. O mais notável é a solenidade com que tudo isto é apresentado. Há mapas, gráficos, vozes graves e um ar catedrático de quem está a revelar ao país os segredos mais profundos da geopolítica mundial.

Na verdade, o que os telespectadores presenciam nada tem a ver com comentário geopolítico, e tudo a ver com um forma particularmente sofisticada de entretenimento pelo ridículo. Uma mistura de catequese ideológica, má-fé e ignorância confiante.

O curioso é que muitos destes comentadores parecem sinceramente convencidos de que estão a explicar o mundo quando, na realidade, estão apenas a demonstrar, em directo e ao vivo, até que ponto paramos para ver um desastre.

The Spectator - It’s all been downhill since Concorde

 (personal underlines)

It’s all been downhill since Concorde

There’s no glamour in the era of economy air travel

[Alamy]

Half a century ago today, the Duke of Kent, Anthony Hopkins and 97 other diners had a meal of caviar and lobster canapés followed by grilled steak, all washed down with Dom Perignon. There was nothing too unusual about this slightly ostentatious menu, one that was a typical example of 1970s British fine dining. But it was a lunch that cost more than £1 billion to serve up. It was the first meal on board the very first scheduled flight on Concorde – the plane that, for close to three decades, made it possible to have breakfast in Belgravia, a meeting in Manhattan and still be home for supper in Soho. 

That’s not a schedule that appeals to me (there’s nowhere decent to eat of a morning in Belgravia). But thinking of Concorde, 50 years on from it going supersonic on its first flight to Bahrain, is one of the few elements of the past which trigger a deep and irritable jealousy. 

I’ve worked as a travel journalist for the past 20 years and, in that time, I’ve been lucky enough to have secured more than my fair share of complimentary flights, many of them in the relative sanctuary of business class. But I’ve also taken hundreds and hundreds of economy flights. Even on so-called legacy carriers, I’m hardly stepping on heterodox territory by declaring that the standard of service, comfort and, yes, food, has markedly declined across the board since the millennium. The nadir came for me when I put down my tray table on a Royal Air Maroc flight a few years back, only to have a child’s soiled nappy slide on to my lap. I didn’t much fancy the pasta after that.

I do find myself wondering if there should be a shift in my Overton window. Is flying the exception where I should depart from my usual bromide that for every one joyful thing about the past compared to now, there was always something else that was comparatively worse? 

Concorde, and flying in the 1970s in general, seems, to a 47-year-old who was only born at the fag end of the Callaghan era, to have been a truly glorious exercise in glamour, style and copious daytime drinking. Cigars were handed out on the first Concorde flight after that blow-out meal and, although I imagine the smell on board must have been mephitic to non-smokers (few as they were in number back then), I assume that I would have gratefully inhaled the odour of a lit Cohiba if pressed to choose between that and the septum-burning whiff of a modern-day on-board chemical toilet.

So this is an open call to all readers who were regular flyers on Concorde, or any airline, in the era of Wombles, wedge shoes and Rick Wakeman. Can you tell me if jetting off anywhere from Lagos to Los Angeles really was a more pleasant experience 50 years ago?

I’ve tried hard to think of the negatives. If you forgot to bring your paperback (I imagine The Day Of The Jackal by Frederick Forsyth and anything by Tom Robbins would have been an appropriate in-flight read in that era) then there would be little to do on board except get monumentally drunk – no bad thing of course. 

And what if the sybaritic menus of the era didn’t actually taste as good when flying at supersonic speed? The New York Times story from 22 January 1976, detailing the maiden flight, reported that passengers weren’t asked if they would like their steak rare or medium; every one came out overcooked, according to the reporter on board. And they say nurses have it tough…

Concorde wasn’t perfect, of course. From the outset, travellers complained that the extra speed did not make up for the small seats and narrow aisle space. But who cares about supreme comfort when you could be on the other side of the world in the time it takes to watch Oppenheimer

My favourite story about the first Concorde flight all those years ago concerns a passenger called Philip Croucher. He took on board 6,000 first-day covers in order to get them stamped in Bahrain before flogging them back in the UK. He told reporters he expected to make £12,000 in profit, an ambition that rendered him more than happy to pay £200 in excess baggage charges.

What happened to Mr Croucher’s scheme? These are the kind of tales from the ‘golden age of travel’ which make me feel resentful that my parents didn’t bother having me until 1978. By the time I came of age and took to the skies on a regular basis in my mid-twenties, the caviar had been replaced by crisps and I was more likely to have an actor from Hollyoaks than Anthony Hopkins as an on-board companion. Concorde was retired in 2003 without me ever getting the chance to try it for myself. 

‘The past is a foreign country,’ wrote L.P Hartley. And it seems, as far as flying is concerned, they didn’t just do things differently there. They did them a whole lot better. 

The Spectator - The gangs terrifying the countryside

 (personal underlines, silent reflexions)


The gangs terrifying the countryside

Sergeant Rob Goacher was on patrol recently when the radio crackled with a tip-off. Two men were hare coursing – chasing and killing hares with greyhounds or lurchers – in the fields near Winterbourne Monkton, a small village in Wiltshire. When Goacher arrived, a silver Subaru with the exhaust hanging off edged out of a field and accelerated through the country lanes, hitting 60mph before reaching the M4.

‘The driver then suddenly decided to exit the motorway,’ says Goacher. ‘Over a verge, through a fence, and out through the farm. The field was full of cattle, which could have easily escaped onto the motorway. Then we’d be looking at a massive pile-up and fatalities.’

‘I still have nightmares about that,’ says Constable Simon Gomm, as the three of us look out over Salisbury Plain on a freezing February night. This was just one incident in a chaotic ten-day period when Wiltshire Police seized ten cars linked to hare coursing, which is banned under the Hunting Act 2004. ‘We got invaded,’ says Goacher.

Back in the police station at Trowbridge, Inspector Andy Lemon, head of Wiltshire Police’s rural crime team, shows me a video of a local farmer surrounded by a group of hare coursers. His truck gets catapulted and rammed and a car is driven directly at him. ‘Get straight to him,’ shouts one of the men. He was lucky. A few years ago, a gamekeeper in Hampshire was dragged behind a vehicle and broke both his legs after confronting trespassers. ‘The level of hostility can be extreme,’ says Lemon. ‘They’re coming out here with machetes and air rifles,’ adds Goacher.

These are not local lads out for a night of cheap entertainment. Hare coursing is linked to criminal gangs and can be big business. The chase is often livestreamed to illegal gambling sites, with tens of thousands of pounds wagered on which dog will catch the hare. ‘I am told that you can even watch hare coursing being live-streamed into China and people there bet huge amounts on it as it is happening,’ says Philip Wilkinson, Wiltshire’s Police and Crime Commissioner.

The recent spike in hare coursing across Wiltshire – up 21.8 per cent between September 2024 and August 2025 – forms part of a bleaker picture. Rural crime, from machinery and livestock theft to badger baiting and fly-tipping, is scarring the countryside. Any quaint ideas of England’s green and pleasant land are slowly being eroded.

The National Farmers’ Union (NFU) estimates that the cost of rural crime in 2024 was £44.1 million, but the real figure is likely to be far higher, as the police struggle to keep up. ‘There are many crimes that don’t get reported because farmers are basically shrugging their shoulders and asking: “What’s the point?”’ says the NFU vice president Rachel Hallos. ‘And were the farmer to go out with a shotgun, it’s likely to be them who ends up in court, not the people responsible for the original crime.’

Rural crime was once largely opportunistic. A quadbike or a trailer might occasionally go missing. Increasingly, however, it is the work of organised crime groups (OCGs), many with links to eastern Europe and China, who are stealing farm machinery and GPS systems on an industrial scale. Tractor thefts were up 17 per cent in 2024; trailer thefts up 15 per cent.

OCGs will often use drones to recce an area and can export even the heaviest machinery out of Britain within hours. Tractors, quad bikes and combine harvesters stolen in the south of England have been traced, within 24 hours, to eastern Europe and Africa. ‘Back of a lorry, straight through the ports,’ says Inspector Lemon. ‘Straight across the Channel and into mainland Europe.’

The war in Ukraine has also seen a surge in demand for machinery parts. ‘It’s very organised, very cross-border,’ says Deputy Chief Constable Nigel Harrison, the National Police Chiefs’ Council lead for rural and wildlife crime.

The incentives are obvious. The price of a tractor ranges from £25,000 to £100,000; a combine harvester could be four times that. ‘Traditionally, OCGs would focus on drug running,’ says Harrison. ‘But you’re definitely seeing them move into theft of farm machinery.’ Security measures ‘can be quite lacking’ in rural communities, he explains, and ‘before you know it, you’ve got a rash of crime. A lot of the time it’s easy pickings.’ The effect is devastating for farmers: -‘Ultimately, they might not be able to harvest that year.’

Most of these thefts are done to order. The problem for the police is finding out who is directing the OCGs. ‘A combine harvester takes some getting rid of,’ says Hallos. ‘So if you’re going to steal one, you’ve got a home for it already. The plan to get it out of the country is there.’

A feeling of helplessness is seeping into many rural communities. Eighty-six per cent of those surveyed for the latest NFU Rural Crime Report said they knew farmers who had been repeat victims; 96 per cent stated that rural crime was negatively affecting farmers’ mental wellbeing. ‘They feel isolated and afraid,’ says Hallos. ‘The farm is their family home.’

In the time I spent on patrol with Wiltshire Police, it was clear how determined they are to put a stop to rural crime. We drove for hours, checking in on farmers, speaking to local people and looking for signs of hare coursing. The police here are trying to rebuild trust with a community that feels forgotten. When a man called in to say his dog had killed a sheep, Constable Gomm immediately knew which shepherd it belonged to, and the situation was resolved amicably.

But the reality is that three patrol vehicles and a handful of officers simply cannot cover the whole of Wiltshire at any one time. It is a crisis mirrored across the countryside, as already stretched resources are sucked into towns and cities.

‘It’s down to underinvestment in policing,’ says Lemon. ‘You can write white papers and have all the rhetoric around bringing police into your communities. Absolute rubbish. [The government] is not funding the police adequately. So [police chiefs] are having to make cuts to meet the financial pressure they’re under, which means centralising everything and taking officers further away from the countryside. It’s easy for a criminal to come into our county and not get caught.’

The Rural and Wildlife Crime Strategy, led by DCC Harrison, is an ambitious attempt to change this. It is hoped that gr(eater intelligence-sharing between forces will disrupt OCGs, while investment in technology such as drones and thermal cameras will help to identify criminals operating in some of the remotest parts of the UK.

Harrison has also introduced increased DNA analysis to support investigations. ‘It’s a constantly changing war,’ he says, ‘and one we’re trying to keep pace with.’ Rural affairs minister Angela Eagle is optimistic: ‘New powers to seize stolen assets, improved access to data and technology, and increased collaboration will help police forces in Britain’s rural communities [in the fight] against organised crime.’

Fine words. But for the officers on the ground it can feel futile. They know they are outnumbered and, in the vast expanses of countryside across Britain, criminals are making hay.

Livro - Ensaios Escolhidos (António Sardinha)

 




Observador - Exijam ter um Primeiro-ministro (Gonçalo Poças)

 

(sublinhados pessoais)

Exijam ter um Primeiro-ministro

Passos tinha razão: o Governo não tem agenda de reformas, não tem uma ambição e nenhum projecto, nem uma estratégia partidária.

Na hora da despedida de Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, o País político não escondeu um facto inegável: de certa forma, Marcelo venceu. Não deixa um legado substantivo enquanto Presidente, mas antes uma herança que o antecede no exercício do cargo. Marcelo triunfou depois de anos como comentador político, função que cumpriu com zelo e diligência em Belém. Sucede que o comentário político marcelista nunca foi substantivo. Depois de cinquenta anos de frequência contínua e assídua do espaço público, liderando audiências, opinando sobre tudo, não sobra de Marcelo uma ideia. Tornou-se uma presença constante, uma sombra permanente sobre a política portuguesa, deixando a todo o tempo a sua visão não sobre o conteúdo das políticas, mas sobre a forma como os actores políticos poderiam ou não ser interpretados pelos portugueses em função daquilo que diziam, quando diziam, como diziam, a que horas diziam. O País político, dos novos protagonistas ao jornalismo e ao comentariado, seguiu-lhe os passos e parece, hoje, só conseguir olhar para a política sob a marcelista forma. Só isso pode justificar o deslumbramento com que durante tanto tempo uma santola oca como António Costa foi, e é, admirado por tantos, elevado ao patamar do génio político. Ou, por outro lado, que Pedro Passos Coelho continue ainda hoje a deixar confusos todos aqueles que o ouvem.

Passos, depois de uma série de intervenções públicas e de uma longa entrevista onde tocou vários temas, deixou atónitos os observadores da política portuguesa. O que quererá ele? Quando? Como?, pergunta-se, numa sucessão de cenários hipotéticos elaborados que só adensam dúvidas e a nenhum dos problemas levantados pelo ex-Primeiro-ministro respondem. Passos Coelho disse coisas concretas, susceptíveis de debate, naturalmente. Pode concordar-se ou discordar-se do que ele disse. O seu próprio partido podia, e devia, ter agradecido as sugestões – eu acho, até, que Passos deu o sinal claro de como o PSD pode voltar a ser um partido maioritário e arrumar o Chega no balcãozinho do protesto, mas o País político pode não estar preparado para essa conversa. Ao invés, o partido do Governo começou por colocar o líder parlamentar a sugerir que Passos estava errado na crítica, numa posição que seria também legítima e justa se fosse suportada por factos e evidências. Não foi. Hugo Soares provou que Passos tinha razão: o Governo não tem agenda de reformas, não tem uma ambição e nenhum projecto, nem uma estratégia partidária que pudesse estar ao serviço dele. A táctica é tudo, princípio, meio e fim, serve o propósito da conquista e manutenção do poder, não serve para mais nada, acenando-se, aqui e ali, com promessas de reformas para deslumbramento de algum eleitorado mais fiel, sempre inconsequentes e absolutamente presentistas.

Ora, aborrecido e incomodado com a sombra de um líder, o chefe em exercício, Luís Montenegro, tirou as garras de fora. Não demonstrou que Passos estava errado. Não provou, com factos, que o Governo não se encontra num marasmo. Não agradeceu a crítica. E também não a ignorou, como podia ter feito. Montenegro, sinal bastante de que o País se encontra num pináculo de deselitização, de supremacia da banalidade e da mediania, reagiu como um velho cacique de concelhia e convocou eleições no PSD. Na sua cabeça de contador de votos e listagens, não compreendeu que não vai resolver problema algum. Um líder confirmado por eleições internas perante um aparelho canino e por si controlado pode, em teoria, reconquistar legitimidade e pôr fim a um desafio. Não percebeu que as críticas se manterão no ar, sem resposta, porque eleições internas não são resposta a argumentos, não explicam decisões, não resolvem défices de políticas públicas, não geram estratégia, servindo apenas para assegurar que o chefe da turma continua a mandar na manada partidária. Será útil para quem cresceu politicamente a ganhar eleições internas. É ligeiramente insuficiente para quem quer liderar um País. Passos Coelho teve de esclarecer tudo e todos, mandando o Luís trabalhar. O que resta de tudo isto é que ficou evidente para quem quis ver que, perante o aparecimento de um homem com a autoridade que lhe é dada pela história e pelas ideias que tem na cabeça, o que temos no lugar de Primeiro-ministro é uma mão cheia de coisa nenhuma. Não sei se perceberam, mas parece-me evidente que, neste momento, o País tem formalmente um Governo, mas materialmente ele acabou.

quinta-feira, 5 de março de 2026

Youtube - Conversa acabada ( Como Preparar o País para Catástrofes - Conversa Acabada

Entrevista de Camilo Lourenço ao eng. Fernando Santo sobre os recentes acontecimentos (fenómenos atmosféricos) em Portugal, sobretudo na zona de Leiria.






https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoyWfe3Z09k

The Spectator - Arctic role: what does Trump really want from Greenland?

 (personal underlines)

Arctic role: what does Trump really want from Greenland?

Donald Trump has probably not read Machiavelli, even the short one, The Prince. Machiavelli’s most famous advice was that it’s better for a prince to be feared than loved. But above all, he said, a ruler should strive not to be hated. Nobody likes a bully. The US President, however, clearly doesn’t care about any of this in his attempt to intimidate Denmark into handing over Greenland. 

Why does Trump want Greenland? A clue lay in his meeting at the White House last week with the Florida Panthers ice hockey team. The team lined up for a photo: red ties and muscle-bound torsos bursting out of suit jackets, Trump in front of them at a lectern. ‘Good-looking people, young, beautiful people, I hate them. You hate standing here with all this power behind you.’ He went on: ‘But I got power too, it’s called the United States military. I don’t care.’

Trump saw one of the team hovering with gifts, a hockey shirt – with ‘Trump 47’ on the back – and a gold hockey stick: ‘Ooh, that looks nice. I hope it’s a stick and not just a shirt. That stick looks beautiful… Maybe I get both. Who the hell knows. I’m President, I’ll just take them.’ Whatever rationalisations Trump’s officials come up with, there’s a similar reason he wants to take Greenland: because he can.

Thomas Dans, the US Arctic commissioner, told USA Today that some kind of American action could happen within ‘weeks or months’. Dans said he hoped a deal could be done, so it may be just a coincidence that the 11th Airborne Division, based in Alaska, has been put on a few hours’ notice to move. The public story is that they may be needed to help immigration agents in Minneapolis, but they are trained in Arctic warfare and are the closest American unit to Greenland. Sending them to the US base there would ratchet up the pressure on Denmark. 

Rasmus Jarlov, chairman of the Danish parliament’s defence committee, believes an American invasion can’t be ruled out. ‘We wake up every morning to new threats and new false accusations from the US administration,’ he says. ‘Very little would surprise me at this point.’ Danish politicians give off an air of befuddlement. They are hurt to be treated this way after years as one of America’s most loyal allies, shoulder to shoulder in Iraq and Afghanistan, and think American officials have taken leave of their senses.

Jarlov tells me: ‘We’re struggling to understand. We keep asking the Americans why they want Greenland and we’re not getting logical answers. If they would tell us what it is that they would gain from annexation, then we could talk about how we could achieve that in other ways. But they’re not. They’re not really coming up with a reason. We’re willing to give them access to what they think they need, but we can’t do that if they don’t tell us what it is.’

According to Mike Waltz, Trump’s former national security adviser, what they want are rare earth minerals. Greenland certainly has a lot of them, but getting them out of the frozen ground is difficult and expensive. American companies can already buy mining rights, but there’s been no rush to do this because it’s far from certain they would make any money: there’s a reason rare minerals are not yet being mined in Greenland. Even if they were to be extracted, they would have to be sent to China to be processed.

Trump’s declared rationale is national security. He has said: ‘Greenland is covered with Russian and Chinese ships all over the place.’ It is possible, however, that he is muddling up different parts of the Arctic.

Professor Elana Wilson Rowe, of the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs, tells me the real worry for the US ought to be the Bering Strait, just off Alaska, 8,000 miles from Greenland. Russia and China have carried out joint naval exercises there on America’s northern doorstep. ‘For sure, the Arctic is a strategic location,’ she says, but Trump and his officials were ‘transposing’ the threat from their own bit of the Arctic to Greenland. ‘The idea of an immediate threat [there] is significantly exaggerated.’

If there is a new Arctic ‘Great Game’, it is around, not on, Greenland. As polar ice melts, new shipping lanes are opening. Chinese vessels have started to make voyages between China and Europe, and China and Russia, using this northern sea route. They may want to do much more of this in years to come, a polar Belt and Road strategy. But despite claiming to be an Arctic power, China is 1,000 miles distant. It has no permanent military presence in the Arctic.

It’s a different story with the Russians – and here the real danger lies. They have even planted a Russian flag, made from titanium, on the seabed at the geographic North Pole. The Danish government has repeatedly pointed out that Nato would break if the US invaded Greenland. But there is another way Trump might destroy the alliance. Moscow has been militarising its Arctic coast. As the ‘rules-based international order’ melts like the polar ice, Vladimir Putin might decide to seize the Norwegian territory of Svalbard.

Svalbard is an archipelago of islands about 500 miles off Norway. Russia has long coveted it. The islands would be part of Russia’s ‘Bastion Defence’, giving Moscow the kind of ‘strategic depth’ used as the justification to invade Ukraine. Svalbard controls the Bear Gap, the chokepoint that Russian submarines must cross to reach the Atlantic. It is the gateway to Russia’s submarine bases on the Kola Peninsula, and in a war could be critical for protecting its nuclear deterrent.

Russia already has two settlements on Svalbard, under a 100-year-old treaty. In normal times, if Putin flooded the islands with ‘little green men’, Norway would invoke Article 5 of Nato’s founding treaty and call for US help. It’s hard to see Trump sending that help now, as Europe confronts him over his threats to Denmark. Putin – always a gambler – might take a chance on this. 

Cracking open the Nato alliance has been a Russian goal since Soviet days. But Putin could never have imagined this happening because of something so outlandish as American threats to seize Greenland. Perhaps the end of Nato wouldn’t bother Trump. He has never much liked the alliance. He could certainly get everything he wants in Greenland by asking the Danes nicely.

One of the wilder theories is that Trump has been persuaded of Greenland’s potential as the base for a massive bitcoin mining operation (which doesn’t involve any actual mining). Trump was initially sceptical of cryptocurrency, calling it a scam, but he’s since been converted, making as much as $1 billion from his own meme coin. He got big campaign contributions from new tech money, some of which is also behind a scheme to set up a libertarian ‘network’ state somewhere in the world, possibly Greenland.

In November Dryden Brown, a twentysomething crypto bro, went to Greenland to try to buy it. He posted photos on X of himself swimming in the near-frozen waters there. This might be the place, he said, where the West could achieve its destiny, ‘reaching ever higher towards spiritual heights and physical mastery’. It would be ‘a society of portly merchants, muscular warriors, and very thin priests… a heroic society reminiscent of Rome, Athens, and Sparta, but with spacefaring ambitions’. He went on: ‘If humanity is going to build Terminus on Mars, we should practise in Greenland.‘

It would be easy not to take this seriously. But Brown claims to have $525 million in initial funding from, among others, Peter Thiel, one of Trump’s leading Silicon Valley backers. Brown believes that Greenlanders haven’t achieved independence – despite ‘97 per cent’ of them wanting it – because Denmark pays half a billion dollars a year in salaries for government officials. He would replace that money with Thiel’s and build Eden in the Arctic.

Trump has never given any hint of buying into this. Seizing Greenland isn’t about the 22nd century but the 19th. He has his version of the Monroe Doctrine, the Donroe Doctrine, which claims a sphere of influence in America’s backyard. Professor Klaus Dodds says Trump wants the whole western hemisphere, including Canada and possibly Iceland too. Dodds has written a book, Unfrozen: The Fight for the Future of the Arctic, but thinks psychology, not strategy, explains much of what the US government is doing.

‘This isn’t geopolitics – it’s ego politics,’ he says. ‘He wants to be the president who has expanded the United States.’

A huge factor is Trump’s volcanic resentment over not winning the Nobel Peace Prize. On Sunday, he sent Norway’s Prime Minister surely one of the strangest messages ever written from one nation’s leader to another: ‘Dear Jonas: Considering your Country decided not to give me the Nobel Peace Prize for having stopped 8 Wars PLUS, I no longer feel an obligation to think purely of Peace, although it will always be pre-dominant.’ He concluded: ‘The World is not secure unless we have Complete and Total Control of Greenland. Thank you! President DJT.’

But a takeover of Greenland isn’t a new idea for Trump. In his first term, he pointed at it on a map and said to his staff: ‘Look at the size of this. It’s massive. That should be part of the United States.’ As he told two US writers, Peter Baker and Susan Glasser, this was his background in New York real estate. ‘I love maps. I’m a real estate developer. I look at a corner, I say, “I’ve got to get that store for the building that I’m building”… It [Greenland] is not that different.’

At 836,000 square miles, Greenland is about a quarter of the size of the continental United States. It would be an impressive addition to anyone’s real estate portfolio. In that first term, Trump suggested taking federal money from Puerto Rico and using it to buy Greenland. He also suggested trading Puerto Rico for Greenland. It’s not clear if Puerto Rico is still on the table. 

One repercussion for Keir Starmer’s government is that Trump has withdrawn his support for the expensive and bad deal to give Mauritius the Chagos archipelago, which includes the US military base at Diego Garcia. He posted on Truth Social this week that the UK was doing this ‘FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER… There is no doubt that China and Russia have noticed this act of total weakness. These are International Powers who only recognise STRENGTH’.

He added: ‘The UK giving away extremely important land is an act of GREAT STUPIDITY, and is another in a very long line of National Security reasons why Greenland has to be acquired.’

On Tuesday, asked how far he was willing to go to get Greenland, Trump said: ‘You’ll find out.’ Thomas Dans told the FT: ‘It may sound like American chauvinism… and it is. We’re done apologising about that.’

Trump revealed the thinking that underpins this new age of American imperialism at his photo-op with the hockey team: a foreign policy based on ‘STRENGTH’ – naked power shorn of hypocritical moralising. British readers might understand the current moment using a different sport, football. You could call it the Millwall approach to foreign policy: ‘Nobody likes us – we don’t care.’