Archives: Newsletters

“We are home,” reads the faded yellow cover of the newspaper I have carefully kept in a box under a shelf for the last 20 years. Its publication date – 1 May 2004 – is symbolic for two reasons: it was the day when Hungary joined the European Union, and the day when I started working as a journalist.

In fact, one of the papers I kept is the special edition of Magyar Hírlap, where I started my career as a foreign affairs reporter.

Much has changed in the 20 years since that cover was published. For one, Magyar Hírlap has been turned into a radical right-wing propaganda outlet, while Népszabadság, the other newspaper I kept, shut down under government pressure.

It is not only my profession that the government has captured, but Hungarian society as a whole.

When I see official posters on the streets of Budapest, depicting ‘Brussels’ throwing bombs or the president of the European Commission as a puppet of the Soros family, I wonder if people have forgotten what it means to be part of the EU.

Government propaganda is having an impact, as support for the EU in Hungary has fallen by 10 per cent in recent years.

Still, the cover story of two decades ago was not wrong: joining the EU felt like a homecoming for most Hungarians. For us, enlargement was not only about free travel and more chances of a job abroad, but also about finding our place as a nation on this borderland between East and West. Of course, membership came with its own obligations, which both sides had to respect. But I also firmly believe that disagreement on some issues, be it migration, agriculture or foreign policy is good for the European community.

And waging war against where we have always belonged is not.

In 2005, the French rejected the adoption of the European Constitution, with a 54.6 percent No vote. The referendum was supposed to be a foregone conclusion. The right and the left campaigned for a Yes vote ― only the nationalist far right and the radical left were opposed.

One figure derailed the campaign: “The Polish plumber”.

A year after the largest enlargement of the EU, sovereigntists constantly used this expression to inflame fears of immigration by eastern Europeans who would work for lower wages. This was one of the main factors in the No vote. Yet foreign workers had nothing to do with the European Constitution. No wave of Polish plumbers or Latvian bricklayers ever arrived in France.

Now, in light of another possible EU enlargement, politicians and the public in different member countries are expressing fears that workers and goods from future EU members may flood local markets. Just like in France, some of these fears may never come true.

In last December’s EU summit in Brussels, Germany’s Olaf Scholz pulled a fast one. After a brain-numbing debate on Ukraine’s accession talks, he invited Hungary’s Viktor Orbán to grab a coffee. As soon as he left, the other member states voted for Ukraine’s EU accession to proceed.

Many in North Macedonia were flabbergasted.

Could no one have offered a freddo espresso to the Greek PM and the Bulgarian leader, in order to unblock their countries’ intransigence at granting North Macedonia the start of EU accession talks for almost three decades?

We have been stuck since 2005 in candidate country status. The Greek Euro-Atlantic blockade precedes even that, and dates back to the early 1990s.

Athens prevented Skopje’s aspirations for twenty years over what many have described as an ‘irrational’ name dispute.

Sofia now keeps both Albania and North Macedonia at bay, in an even more illogical dispute based on history, language and identity issues, in which Sofia claims that Macedonian is a Bulgarian dialect and the roots of the Macedonian people are Bulgarian.

“The EU allows its members to use their place in the bloc as leverage against their neighbours. It is the most anti-European thing one can imagine,” said Albanian PM Edi Rama at the Munich Security Conference, frustrated that his country, which is partnered-up with North Macedonia, is also blocked from launching EU accession talks.

In light of Putin’s aggression, in which Hungary blatantly misused its right to veto, embarrassing and blocking Brussels from action, a group of nine countries last year declared they want to ditch the veto from foreign policy decision making. Germany and France were among them.

They argue the veto rule has forced weak compromises and made the EU ineffective on the global stage.

Western Balkan candidates, who have been left to suffer instability, corruption, populism and foreign influences, have no reason to celebrate.

While the way out of unanimity lies within the EU acts in the form of qualified majority, there is a catch 22. In order to allow non-unanimity, Brussels would need, you guessed it ― unanimity.

Meanwhile, Scholz’s coffee trick can only work once.

“We will open the Rule of Law Reports to those accession countries who get up to speed even faster. This will place them on an equal footing with Member States”

Ursula von der Leyen

In her last State of the Union speech, the EU Commission president touched on the issues of enlargement and democracy. The subject is far from marginal: at present the EU is failing to enforce the rule of law even among its member states.

Von der Leyen, who is seeking a second term in office, has played a part in this unsuitability. She waited after the Hungarian elections in April 2022, before triggering the “conditionality mechanism”, a leverage that makes the disbursement of EU funds conditional on compliance with the rule of law. More recently, von der Leyen unfroze ten billion euro for Viktor Orbán on the eve of a European Council summit, as if values could be negotiable.

If the EU wants to keep a balance between opening borders and empowering democratic values, it should start by enforcing the rule of law inside its own bloc.

Estonia’s prime minister Kaja Kallas warns that some reforms Ukraine must initiate to join the EU will be unpopular at home.

Where would Estonia be now, if we had not had the chance or readiness to join the EU?

We would be in quite a different place. Firstly, our well-being would not be the same. Since the 1990s, our pensions have risen 65 times and salaries 35 times. The other dimension is security. Membership has an effect – as a member of this club, each one of us is not alone. We meet with other leaders so often that we become friends.

What are the fears among EU leaders about the accession of Ukraine or the western Balkan countries?

Years ago I talked with Portugal’s now-prime minister António Costa, who remembered that when their accession was on the agenda, there was a fear [among existing member states] of the “Portuguese plumber”. When we joined, the fear was the “Polish plumber” and now it is the “Ukrainian plumber”. This has not been the case because economic convergence will raise living standards and there will not be a need for large-scale migration.

There is of course the fear of corruption. Will the [prospective member states] be able to carry out reforms? In the case of the western Balkans, there is also the issue of crime. Another fear is what we see in Hungary today. We wrestle with them a lot. If so many new countries join, what will that mean for EU decision-making?

How should politicians in these countries calibrate the hopes of their people? Some leaders of future member states claim they could be ready in two years’ time.

Our accession took eight years. It requires tough reforms, which are unpopular. And they require an understanding among the people that these need to be done for the sake of a better future. We know from our experience that this will not be easy.

If you want to know an autocrat’s fate, you should look at his propaganda. The ever-shouting illiberal Viktor Orbán has never been silent for so long as during the recent resignation of his country’s president Katalin Novák.

The head of state resigned after it emerged that she had granted a presidential pardon last year to Endre Kónya, a former deputy director of a childcare institution, where he had been trying to silence victims in a paedophile case. Judit Varga, former Fidesz justice minister and a leading candidate for the upcoming European Parliamentary election, also retired from public life, as she had countersigned the pardon. Viktor Orbán’s confidante and former human resources minister, Zoltán Balog, was also forced to apologise. A Reformed Christian bishop, Balog was an adviser to Novák, and supported the presidential pardon that sparked the scandal.

This wave of resignations is unprecedented in Fidesz-ruled Hungary. Even more embarrassing was that Péter Magyar, Judit Varga’s ex-husband, gave an interview about state contracts and the Orbán government’s communication machinery. More than two million people watched his incendiary allegations. Orbán’s nightmare came true. On 16 February, tens of thousands demonstrated in Budapest.

Weeks after the scandal broke, and following the breathtaking demonstration, the prime minister delivered his state of the nation speech. He appeared uncomfortable, and said this election year could not have started worse.

Will Orbán`s power falter? Perhaps. It is disturbing that the crisis was not caused by opposition or criticism of the government, but by information that came to light by accident. The hypocrisy of Orban’s pro-family propaganda exposed government corruption and repression criticised by an insider, in the case of Magyar.

The Hungarian opposition is not prepared for an eventual takeover, but Orbán still has two real adversaries: chance, and his own collapsing propaganda machine.

Former French president Nicolas Sarkozy has just been sentenced to a year in prison, including a six-month suspended sentence, for illegal campaign financing. In 2012 he spent almost twice as much as the legal maximum for a presidential bid, which he covered up by using a system of double billing.

No ex-French president had ever been sentenced to a prison term before. This is the second time for Sarkozy. Last year, he received a three-year term for trying to obtain confidential information from a magistrate about another court case in which he was also being prosecuted.

In total, Sarkozy has been sentenced to four years behind bars. However, he still influences the government. In the latest reshuffle, several of his protégés became ministers.


Serbian strongman Slobodan Milosevic was a beloved leader to many of his people in the early 1990s. Masses adored his patriotic speeches and melodramatic cries about Serbia against all, and his promises of economic prosperity.

By 2000 his legacy included defeat in war, human suffering, economic crisis, sanctions, isolationism, and the brutal suppression of free thought. During the ‘October revolution’ of that year, he was done for.

But democracies don’t start with only a decree. Declaring a victory over an authoritarian or populist regime is not enough, as they leave behind a societal desert in which good democratic practices find it hard to take root.

Initial euphoria gave way to the feeling that the criminals in power had already switched sides, the judiciary continued to be run by the same self-serving structures, and the media landscape was dominated by Milosevic’s clientele.

Reforms in every sphere were hard to pull off, as institutions were rotten from inside, the youth and intelligentsia had fled from the country, and some of the newly appointed officials turned out to be ‘bad apples’.

Political bickering over which path the country should follow raged. Subsequent governments failed to bring prosperity and fresh corruption scandals piled up. However the state no longer had control over a robust propaganda machine to force rose-tinted spectacles on people.

If the narrow chance for true change is missed, the impetus dissipates, and people start preferring to see through pink lenses rather than confront the chaos around them. All conditions are set for a new “great leader” to emerge.

Today’s Serbia reminds us of the Milosevic era. There’s a lack of media freedom and corruption is rampant. Good practices and checks and balances do not have a chance.

Only, since 2014 there is another great leader, Aleksandar Vucic, pumping up the national sentiment, engaging in melodramatic rants, opening and closing news bulletins and keeping pink glasses over people’s eyes.

“I had a choice: to stay on a legislative path that would last months or even years and allow hatred to spill further, or put an end to it.”

Bartłomiej Sienkiewicz, Polish minister of culture.

This is how Sienkiewicz justified his decision to liquidate Polish public television. According to many experts, including those at Freedom House, Polish public television (TVP) had become a propaganda tool under the previous Law and Justice party-led government.

The incoming minister’s move to dismiss the current TVP management was against the law, as the members’ terms of office were due to last for several more years.

This is a risky path, as not all courts want to agree to register the new TVP company’s authorities. In 2015, when PiS came to power, it also replaced the entire TVP management, which was in defiance of the law. The PiS then established a new institution that ensured the party’s control over TVP for years to come.

The new government faces a dilemma: restoring the rule of law and the independence of the media in Poland may be necessary, but might not be entirely legal.

In the 22 years under President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s AK Party, Turkey has suffered an earthquake claiming over 50,000 lives and an ongoing economic crisis which sent inflation to its highest level in 2022 in the last 24 years.

Neither crisis has resulted in the fall of the regime.

The results of last year’s Presidential election held three months after the earthquake is a further indication of Erdoğan’s strength. Support for the Turkish head of state reached 76 percent in earthquake-hit Kahramanmaraş city, and 52 percent in the country as a whole. For his supporters, even if Erdoğan makes mistakes, only he can correct them. According to a poll conducted last year, 90 percent of AK Party voters thought the government’s post-earthquake performance was successful.

Erdoğan is perceived as a powerful leader who takes care of the needy. His supporters deeply trust him. Many conservative people feel accepted and respected under the Erdoğan regime for the first time.

Trust among the majority for Erdoğan has been engendered by the economic prosperity of the AK Party’s first years in office, and social welfare for the poor. Investment in highways and airports have contributed to the image of a “powerful Erdoğan”. Developments in defence manufacture, such as the production of the Bayraktar drone used by Ukraine, and the news in local media about its praise in foreign countries is a source of pride among Erdoğan supporters.

At the same time, the government has cracked down on the opposition and free media, and the AK Party has built a huge media machine which acts as a mouthpiece for Erdoğan. With such limits on freedom of expression, it is hard to persuade an electorate that the end of Erdoğan is not the end of the world.

Over the phone, the voice of Léa Marco, 29, sounds confident. “I don’t feel the need to have a child. I feel complete without becoming a mother. I want time for myself.” Almost one in ten French citizens, most of whom are in their twenties and thirties, share her opinion.

“If we still lived in the world I grew up in, I might think about having a child without having to worry all the time about the planet’s future,” says Zelda Hogrel, a 27 year-old teacher, who loves children. “I work in summer camps with kids, but I don’t feel the need to have a child of my own.”

Never since WWII have there been so few births in France. President Macron has called for “demographic rearmament”, making the low birth rate a national struggle. This patriarchal injunction to start a family has angered many women.

“As a teacher, I already feel I’m doing my social duty. I’m not the one who’s going to ‘rearm’ France,” says Léa Marco. “We all know that having a child brings out the inequalities in a couple. Women have to think of everything, take care of their baby and their partner. Moreover, the pressure to be a ‘good parent’ is much stronger than a few decades ago: you have to invest yourself completely in your child.”

Like her friend Zelda Hogrel, she believes there are ways of being part of a family other than having children in a heterosexual couple.

“For the past four years, I’ve been taking a foster child on vacation, and I even considered adopting her when she had problems with her mother,” explains Hogrel. “Investing in the education of a child you love is also something that makes sense to us.”

The number of financial benefits for families in Hungary is unprecedented. Married couples where the wife is under 30 are entitled to an interest free loan of 11 million HUF (30,000 euros) which they don’t have to pay back if they have three children. They can also take out a subsidised loan of 50 million HUF (130,000 euros) to buy a house, as a few examples.

The problem? The plan is not working. 2023 saw an all-time low in Hungarian births.

It appears Hungarian couples prefer good schools, proper healthcare and fair wages over hand-outs for babies. None of these alternatives seem to be on offer by the government.

I have been a journalist in North Macedonia for 16 years and for two thirds of that time, my work has been hampered by outdated and wrong official data.

Up until 2022, when the country finally completed an overdue census, not even the head of the statistics office could tell me the exact population. Officially it was 2.1 million, but that number was from 2002, as the country scrapped the 2011 headcount.

In most countries, headcounts are regular operations carried out for practical reasons at ten year intervals. Here, the process raises delicate ethnic issues about the size of the ethnic Albanian community versus the Macedonian majority.

Macedonian nationalists always wanted a result that would show the country’s Albanians were less than 20 percent of the population. It is the threshold that gives Albanians certain rights under the 2001 accord. The Albanian side, as expected, wanted the opposite and has been pushing for including its diaspora members in the census.

In 2011 the country scrapped the census mid-process, realising that nationalists on both sides had probably doctored the numbers so much that nobody would believe the results.

How did that leave us for over a decade? With wrong policies derived from those wrong numbers. So whenever I wrote about the fertility or mortality rate, gross domestic product, economic or social policies, migration, I and everybody else guessed at the true picture.

Now we have the new data. The country has lost nine percent of its population over two decades and now has 1.8 million. Projections say by 2050 we will fall to 1.4 million due to migration and a low fertility rate. Unsurprisingly, the ethnic ratio has not changed much as all equally seem to want to leave.

At the end of the day, ethnic bickering has discredited the process and many do not fully trust the new data. By politicising ethnic ratios we have forgotten why we need a headcount in the first place.

“I have been strongly opposed to so-called ‘forced solidarity’ for years, and while I was still head of the European Council,” said Donald Tusk at the beginning of this year.

The Polish Prime Minister, in power since last December, has the same restrictive view on migration as the previous national-conservative Law and Justice government.

‘Forced solidarity’ is a name given to the EU’s asylum deal where member states are obliged to take asylum seekers to the EU or pay fines.

Poland’s two largest parties are opposed to the migration agreement. The majority of the Polish population is against immigration. At the same time, Poland has invited 100,000s of foreigners from distant countries to work in recent years, due to labour shortage. A visa-scandal has erupted, which is currently being investigated by the Polish parliament. Former government members are suspected of taking bribes to allow easier access to visas for migrants from Africa and Asia.

“What is cooler than a family of 44 million?” asks a phrase on a mural in central Kyiv. 44 million was the estimated Ukrainian population before Russia’s full-scale invasion, and the mural, painted after it started, rhetorically appeals to national unity. Despite Ukrainians answering this question with “nothing”, the figure is far from correct – and may always be unreachable.

In almost two years of all-out war, about six million Ukrainians have left the country. Before the invasion, three million were working abroad, where they have mostly stayed since. Each new day they strengthen their ties with their host countries, and lower the chances of ever coming back.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy understands the negative effects of depopulation. In his New Year’s speech, traditionally perceived as policy-setting, he said a rather controversial phrase: “I wish everyone who is still hesitating [about whether to come back] to make a bold choice next year ― […] to find themselves here, because it’s the only place on earth where we can all say: we are at home.”

Many will probably do otherwise. According to the leading Ukrainian demographer, Ella Libanova, most of those abroad will never come back. During the Balkan wars of the 1990s, a third of the refugees never returned ― and most of those wars ended in less than two years. It’s worth noting that Ukrainian refugees are mostly well-educated. “70 percent of women refugees have finished university. Do you think aging Europe is interested in keeping them there? It definitely is!” Libanova said in a recent speech.

What can be done? A postwar baby boom is not expected: since the 1960s Ukrainian women haven’t been leaning towards having many children. So the key to making a family of 44 million again lies in tolerance of other nationals. Hopefully economic growth will attract people from faraway cultures ― and Ukrainians will have to kindly accept them, says Libanova.

“James Bond is romanticised. Real life is much tougher. There is no happy end,” Alexey Vasilev told me.

It was late summer six years ago and we were talking between a glass wall in a prison in north-east Estonia, where Vasilev was serving a four year sentence for spying against Estonia on behalf of the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB).

He wasn’t a master spy. In fact, he was caught trying to conduct the first task his coordinators had given him. He had lost his income, his mother had been forced out of her apartment in St Petersburg, and he had legal bills to cover. Only 21 years old, he had lost his perspective in life.

I have interviewed people like Vasilev before and since, but this was the only time I actually felt sad about a Russian intelligence agent.

I remembered about Vasilev when we broke the news last week about how Latvia’s MEP Tatyana Zhdanok worked on behalf of the FSB’s Fifth Service. The contrast between Zhdanok and Vasilev couldn’t be larger.

Whereas Vasilev was a naive student hoping to become James Bond, Zhdanok has been blatantly pushing and promoting Kremlin ideology in the heart of the European Union for decades. She was not motivated by money, but by ideology. Throughout that time, the European Parliament’s impunity and Latvia’s inadequate legal system have protected her from prosecution.

Luckily, the outcry from fellow MEPs and the president of the European Parliament, Roberta Metsola, has been vocal (unlike when we revealed a few months ago that Russia’s top diplomat at the EU is suspected of carrying out Russian intelligence functions in Brussels).

Still, Zhdanok will probably come out of this scandal with barely any condemnation. Hopefully, being outed as an FSB agent will at least deter someone else from chasing  Bond-like dreams that never come true.

Hundreds of Russian diplomats have been expelled from the EU since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Some 70 had to leave Germany for another shady reason: it’s claimed they used their diplomatic immunity to illegally gather information for the Russian secret services.

The presence of Russian agents disguised as diplomats in Germany has been an open secret for years. For a long time, however, the government in Berlin didn’t dare act against them, fearing Russia would retaliate by expelling real German diplomats.

It comes as no surprise that Germany, as an arms supplier to Ukraine and a training centre for Ukrainian soldiers, is a main target of Russian espionage. Experts estimate there are as many agents working in Germany today as during the Cold War. They will increasingly resort to undercover methods again.

A common view of a spy is someone highly intelligent, successful, ambitious and, due to their side hustle, rich. 

This may be true in peace-time or in movies, but when the enemy is at the gates, or has already invaded, most spies are different. They aren’t dolled up in tuxedos, sipping Vodka Martinis and driving a gadget-decked Aston Martin, but opportunistic misfits sensing  injustice, fearing poverty and prone to greed.

This is what happened in Ukraine when Russia invaded in 2022.

While the Ukrainian military was on the move, the occupiers had to assess the best targets around the country, so needed eyes on the ground. They enlisted hundreds of locals, focusing on those who felt disadvantaged since Ukraine’s independence.

These were Soviet nostalgists, prone to conspiracy theories, and those who were successful many years ago, but had since lost their wealth and influence. Russians promised to bring them from rags to riches as soon as they came to power.

In the occupied areas, such people became collaborators. The last two years of the temporarily occupied regions of Ukraine are dotted with such examples. Here are two of them.

Kyrylo Stremousov used to be a fringe journalist in Kherson, pushing USSR nostalgia and spreading Covid denialism. In spring 2022, he became deputy governor of the occupied Kherson region. Six months later, while the town was still under Russian control, he died in a suspicious car crash.

Liudmyla Byeloushchenko used to be a cinema director in Kakhovka, a now-occupied town on the Dnipro. In the 1990s, Kakhovka couldn’t afford a municipal cinema, so Liudmyla started selling apples on the local market to get by. When the Russians came, she agreed to lead the town’s cultural centre, to help spread Russian propaganda.

The takeaway for other countries is short: paying attention to the disenfranchised pays off, so they won’t become your enemy’s allies in the future.

While Russian embassies in neighbouring countries shrunk due to the expulsion of diplomats suspected of breaching protocol, Moscow’s mission in Serbia has grown since the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine. 

Moreover, a Radio Free Europe investigation in March 2023 suggested that at least three diplomats who were blacklisted by EU member states had resurfaced in Serbia. Leaked documents appeared to show these diplomats had ties to Russian intelligence.

They are still recognised by the Serbian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which means they’re still in Serbia.

Since the beginning of the war, Russia has increased its staff in Belgrade from 54 diplomats in February 2022 to 68 in February this year, Serbian Foreign Affairs Ministry data shows.

“Increasing the number of diplomats usually means that this country is very important and the activities in that country are increasing, whether they are legal or illegal,” says Predrag Petrovic, research director at Belgrade Center for Security Policy.

Another RFE revelation alleges that a Russian diplomat and alleged spy expelled by the European Union for “illegal and disruptive actions” was serving as a long-term election observer of the Belgrade OSCE mission.

After the Serbian early parliamentary and local elections in December 2023, the opposition held protests because of irregularities in the vote, which were also confirmed by the domestic NGO CRTA and the OSCE election observation mission. 

Serbian PM Ana Brnabic said the state had collected information about these demonstrations from foreign intelligence agencies, especially the Russians.

“This sends the message that Serbia is closely tied to Russia in terms of intelligence as well,” says Petrovic.

These examples back up claims that Serbia is Moscow’s regional proxy and a “small Russia in the Balkans”, which is certainly bad, Petrovic adds.

The scenes were unruly: earlier this month, demonstrators heckled German economic affairs minister Robert Habeck as he returned by ferry from the island of Hooge off the country’s northern coast, and prevented him from disembarking. Hundreds turned out to voice their grievances, and while the situation did not escalate, it set the scene for a month of intense protests.

Farmers across Germany are angry over government plans to cut their tax breaks, particularly on diesel fuel and vehicle registrations. But while most of the protests, which began in December last year, have been peaceful, some have crossed a line. In cities such as Kassel, Stuttgart and Berlin, a traffic light, symbolising the ruling three-party coalition, was seen hanging from a gallows.

Linking both these incidents is a group known as ‘Landvolk’ – a movement originally founded in the 1920s in northern Germany in response to the agricultural crisis of the time. Their activism ranged from tax boycotts to planting explosives, and helped pave the way for the Nazis.

Today, the Landvolk is back in fashion in some circles. Its flag has been waved at the growing number of agricultural protests.

Far-right parties such as the AfD are trying to capitalise on the farmers’ discontent. They are joining the protests and expressing solidarity. Meanwhile, the German Farmers’ Association has distanced itself from “idiots with fantasies of overthrowing the government”.

For now, experts and authorities see no serious signs of a radicalised farmers’ movement. But even if the extremists remain at the fringe, the situation appears more dire in parts of the German east. In recent years, several villages have been taken over by so-called “ethnic settlers”, who, under the guise of organic farming and nature conservation, propagate the superiority of the German race, while rejecting democratic society. With three eastern German states holding elections this year, vigilance is key.

Farmers in France work around 55 hours a week, compared with 37 hours for the “average” worker. No other profession labours as hard as them.

Their working and living conditions have deteriorated in recent years. They face falling incomes, high debt, rising production costs, farm closures and a lack of free time.

In an attempt to win concessions from the government, farmers have been blocking several roads around Paris since Monday. Among other measures, they are hoping for a law prohibiting the purchase of agricultural products for less than cost price. But by blocking roads, farmers also risk losing the support of the public.

For almost a year, Ukraine’s Western border checkpoints haven’t offered a clear passage to the EU: from time to time, they are taken over by protesters.

Firstly, these were Polish farmers who blocked control points between the two countries during last April.

In November, truckers in Poland built a blockade that grew longer and larger, then the farmers joined them. For weeks they only allowed humanitarian cargo and a limited number of commercial trucks to pass through to Ukraine, causing significant delays to supplies for the Ukrainian military. This resulted in about $1.5 billion in losses for the Ukrainian economy, just in November-December.

Both farmers and truckers demanded stronger regulation on their Ukrainian counterparts. At the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, these groups had de facto equal rights with the EU truckers. Ukraine’s neighbours felt this strongly. They feared price-dumping for goods and services. Cheap grain and logistics disrupted their markets. For example, due to an influx of Ukrainian grain, wheat on a Polish agricultural exchange in 2023 was sold for half as much as in 2021.

Emotions of Polish farmers are best described by the name of their initiative group – “Deceived village”. Similar feelings were expressed by their Romanian, Slovak and Hungarian colleagues. In the last three months, all these countries’ border crossing points with Ukraine were blockaded for hours ― or weeks.

This is the beginning of the story. As Kyiv is already in accession talks with Brussels, the Ukrainian market will someday merge with the EU. And Ukraine is an agricultural powerhouse. Wheat is just one item. For corn, barley or rapeseed, it’s among the top world exporters. The country also produces tomatoes, honey and poultry, so there are reasons for EU farmers to worry.

An intricate process of aligning two economies is required. Otherwise there will be more protests ― even louder ones.

One of Romania’s best-known scandal-mongers, far-right senator Diana Soșoaca, was stranded in Bucharest’s Constitution Square after organising a demonstration to support the country’s farmers.

Romanian farmers have been protesting across the country since 10 January, demanding control of Ukrainian grain transits through Romania. In addition, they called on the government to maintain the reduction of excise duty on diesel used in agriculture. They also protested against the authorities’ tightening of nature conservation standards for agriculture.

The far-right parties AUR and Soșoaca’s SOS RO wanted to join the protesters. However, the farmers distanced themselves from both. Though Sosoaca’s party received a permit for a march of 5,000 people, 100 tractors and 100 tractor-trailers in the capital, it was all in vain. The farmers preferred to demonstrate in the suburbs of Bucharest, in order to avoid association with the Romanian far-right

The caption beside the post above ironically mocks the situation: “Tens of thousands of patriots protested today alongside farmers and SOS leader Diana Sosoaca in Constitution Square”.

Farmers are protesting across Europe, and the far right is championing their cause. In reality, the protectionist narrative of the protestors clashes with the neoliberal economic agendas of some examples of the extreme right, explains Guillermo Fernández-Vázquez, author of ‘What to do with the extreme right in Europe. The case of the National Front’.

We are seeing widespread protests among farmers across Europe. How is the far right exploiting these protests?

Almost all European far-right groups are proposing what they call ‘protecting’ the sectors of the economy which they consider strategic from a national or purely electoral point of view. They complain that the EU imposes too many controls, which makes the primary sector uncompetitive in respect to third countries.

What is the situation in Spain?

In Spain it is quite striking: [far-right party] Vox, in its attempt to become the party of the farmers, is the one most publicly highlighting the demands of the agriculture sector, which complains about competition from North Africa. In the last elections, Vox electoral posters in the countryside, apart from the general slogan ‘Vote what matters’, there was another that said ‘Vota Vox, vota campo’ (Vote Vox, vote for the countryside). 

It was very obvious that Vox wanted to be identified as a party of the farmers. But this is a protectionist narrative that clashes with the liberal economic measures in their party programme.

How does this duality between protectionism and liberal economic measures clash?

The European radical right (with the exception of France), has put much more emphasis on cultural identity than on economy. The economy was an excuse to talk about their main problem: immigration. And this is still happening.

For example, in Castilla y León, where Vox holds the vice-presidency, on the one hand they publicise this protectionist discourse and at the same time they push for classically neoliberal measures in parliamentary votes, such as eliminating subsidies to employers and trade unions. 

In reality, it is a project that is still quite incoherent economically. It creates difficulties between the more clearly liberal wing and other discourses that sometimes emerge. There is a discordant polyphony.

“For every tricky problem, there is a simple, appealing and wrong solution.” This phrase by policy strategist Yevhen Hlibovytsky describes the typical Ukrainian reaction to Donald Trump’s promise “to end this war in 24 hours”. It’s clear that even a politician as unconventional as Trump cannot stop a strong and determined aggressor like Russia overnight.

A quick solution can be provided only by negotiations in which Ukraine accepts significant territorial losses, as the Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelenskyy recently stated. This not just dooms three million Ukrainians living in occupied territories to prolonged persecution, but also doesn’t prevent this war from flaring up again in a couple of years, as it is unlikely Putin’s objective to subjugate Ukraine will change.

This is obvious to anyone ankle-deep in the origins of the Russo-Ukrainian war. Once people realise how significant and symbolic this conflict is, effort and a call to action are necessary. An easy way to avoid this? Believe Trump.

Even if Trump only says this in his election campaign, the effects of such rhetoric are already visible. The Republican party can’t ignore Trump’s simple “solution”, which appeals to many US voters, and hardens its position against allocating money for military help for Ukraine. The crucial decision of giving Ukraine $61 bn is getting postponed for the third month already. Without Trump, there would probably be no such crisis.

Under Trump, it’s clear that US help to Ukraine will hardly be more generous than it has been. This has awakened Ukrainian arms factories, which are now scaling up production, making the Ukraine war effort more sustainable. Also, this stirs the EU awake. Now it is making its commitments to Ukraine more substantial, realising the US may not help. This is a viable strategy for the future. However, 2024 promises to be harder than it has to be.

Indrek Kannik, director of the International Centre for Defence and Security says Trump’s White House could help Ukraine more than Biden’s second term.

How would Donald Trump’s victory impact the security of Estonia and Europe?

People who claim today they know what the impact would be are ruthlessly bluffing. One of Donald Trump’s special treats is that he is very unpredictable. One potentially negative impact is that it would bring even more confusion and confrontation in U.S. society than at present. Secondly, Trump’s win could have an irritating effect on our Western Europe allies and transatlantic cooperation may become worse. 

Some security analysts also point to possibly positive outcomes. Do you see any?

Trump’s win could accelerate faster Europe to invest into its defence. The current administration’s actions – especially in the second year of the war – have been reactive in a bad sense, and they have always been far off the pace. This raises the question about who would be worse in office. I don’t see any reason to think that Biden in his second term would be more determined, energetic and capable to act more forcefully.

So, in essence having Trump in the White House could turn out to have a positive impact on European security?

It is not excluded, but the risks and unpredictability are high. Remember that when Trump was in office, the US presence in central and eastern Europe grew. Also, Barack Obama never agreed to deliver larger armaments to Ukraine, but this [process] started during Trump’s time and continued with Biden. These weapons were of tremendous help to Ukraine at the beginning of the war. Without it perhaps Ukraine wouldn’t have been able to survive. The best we can get from the current administration is the continuation of the static situation in Ukraine as it is now. With their unwillingness and fears of escalation they do not want to see Ukraine win the war.

After a reluctant start, Germany has become the second-largest international donor of military support to Ukraine, behind only the USA. For 2024, Berlin promised to double its military aid to Kyiv to eight billion Euro.

Other economically powerful EU members France, Italy and Spain are not supporting Ukraine against Russian aggression consistent with their previous declarations. Chancellor Olaf Scholz is trying to pressure his European colleagues to engage more, as it becomes clearer that Europe cannot rely on the security backing of the USA.

Some use a no-holds-barred style, such as Matteo Salvini, leader of Italy’s populist party Lega. Others prefer to disguise their intentions: this is the case of current Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni. Either way, Italy’s far-right politicians have a strong bond with Donald Trump.
 
“Congratulations to Trump on the landslide Iowa caucuses victory!” Salvini tweeted last week. Lega’s leader became excited about Trump’s campaign back in spring 2016, when he took selfies with the tycoon. The latter reciprocated by wishing Salvini would become prime minister.

Even back then, the two had much in common, from the aggressive populist style to the plan to unite the sovereignist right. In 2017, when he was Trump’s chief strategist, Steve Bannon promoted a European network of far-right organisations. In 2021, Salvini was still trying to form a single right-wing group in the European Parliament. 

A few years and elections later, Italy actually has an extreme right-wing prime minister: not Salvini, but Meloni. Although she also shares a common past with the Trumpians, her present status prompts her to be less outspoken. Meloni has exhibited support for Ukraine and a pro-American political line (so far, Joe Biden’s line) in exchange for her normalisation. So until Trump returns to the White House (assuming this happens), the premier is keeping silent. 

This does not mean that the channels connecting her to Trump have dried up. In November, Meloni’s Brothers of Italy colleague, MEP Andrea Di Giuseppe, met Trump. Meloni was aware of this meeting in Mar-a-Lago, and received a gift, as Trump declared her “trustable”. Italy’s PM has frequented the National Prayer Breakfast and the Conservative Political Action Conference, and has historical links to Bannon and Trump. Behind Meloni’s “Washington-washing” was an attempt to reassure international observers with Washington’s umbrella. Despite this, her nonreassuring connection remains to the Trumpian world that participated in the assault on Capitol Hill.

Hungary’s government has never made a secret of supporting Donald Trump. Prime minister Viktor Orbán also openly endorses the former U.S. president in his attempt to regain power. “I am sure that if President Trump were President, then today, Ukraine and Europe would not be stricken by any war. Come back, Mr. President! Make America great again and bring us peace!” he said last year at CPAC Hungary.

The real reasons might be more complicated. Unlike other EU members, the relationship between Hungary and the U.S improved under the Trump administration. While the former president was willing to turn a blind eye to Hungary’s declining rule of law under the Orbán government, the current U.S. administration is the opposite. Hungary’s adoption of Kremlin-style narratives and its failure to ratify Sweden’s NATO membership also do not help.

A few days before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, my daughter Maria turned 13. We celebrated in a restaurant in the centre of Lviv. Everything was typical ― cake, balloons, gifts ― except that we, the parents, knew the war would start in a few days, and Maria didn’t. We thought that a child could be protected from war by simply isolating her from news about the threat, and then from shelling. In a few weeks, she and I left for France, to visit our close French friends.

In two months, Maria returned to Kyiv ― to a city that had been under siege and suffered from constant shelling. It was her conscious decision. In France, it became clear to both of us that geographical borders didn’t really save us from war ― only physically. In our heads, we lived through every shelling and murder. But from a distance we felt guilty for not being in Ukraine, close to our people.

An invaded country is a bad place for any person to live, and outright terrible for a teenager trying to find their way in the world. When everything seems to be against you, war destroys the last strongholds. But Maria leans on a few that cannot be ruined by rockets.

Firstly, she believes in victory. These are not just words: she has decided to be a doctor and to enrol in medical college to treat, protect and save people after Ukraine wins. Studying takes up almost all her time.

Secondly, she stays close to her loved ones ― who cannot and don’t want to leave Ukraine. The war breaks up families every day, and keeping hers together is more valuable than a peaceful life in a neighbouring country.

Finally, Maria simply lives at home. If you ask her about the happiest days of her life, she will say without hesitation: her sister’s birth a year and a half ago and the day she returned from peaceful France. 

To understand her, you just have to once feel (and almost believe) that the place you grew up in has disappeared forever, and then walk back inside your bedroom.

“I was ten years old when the war broke out. At first, I mistook the gunshots for firecrackers. But soon there was no doubt, as our home was literally in the middle of the frontline.

I will always remember the dread when the first shell hit nearby. How our house shook, and the windows smashed. I will never forget the beast-like cry of the wounded soldier, who was dragged down our street by his comrades.

I kept imagining being torn to pieces by an explosion. The thought that this could happen to my parents or my sister felt even worse. After a month, when we were evacuated, I was not the same girl. I developed a stutter and experienced episodes of extreme anxiety.

Now I’m 34. I still have to cope with moments of anxiety. During the countdown to New Year, when I hear fireworks, I freeze. They sound like explosions. I don’t like thunder either.“

War came to little Emilija in March of 2001. She had no idea why her town of Tetovo in North Macedonia came under siege, nor what the armed insurgency was all about. Now she knows.

49.63% of British adults reported feeling lonely in 2022 occasionally, sometimes, often, or always and 3.83 million people reported experiencing chronic loneliness, according to the Campaign to End Loneliness.

Loneliness was declared by the World Health Organisation a global threat in November 2023. In the UK, loneliness in society has increased since the pandemic.

Former prime minister Theresa May’s government instituted the Ministry of Loneliness in 201​8, implementing the recommendations of Jo Cox’s Commission on Loneliness (a cross-party commission established in 2016 by the Labour MP, who was murdered that year) and while the Ministry has produced research on loneliness and launched strategies to mitigate it, it is not comprehensive. There is a lack of understanding about how the policies of austerity and the cost of living crisis’ have impacted communities and individuals’ social cohesion, and mental health in general.

This is evident in the guidelines for the government’s recent campaign to tackle loneliness in universities. They are so vague that they fail to consider the costs of university for students, and inequality, as 55% of students are doing paid work to support their studies (compared to 45% in 2022).

Over the last 14 years, Tory governments have continued to implement austerity measures, impacting the most vulnerable in society and seeing the closure of community hubs, from playing fields to community centres and libraries.

The impact of loneliness in the UK cannot be separated from over a decade of cuts to social welfare and their impact on society, and this can also be applied to mental health.

“Mental health-washing” is not the answer here. As the country looks to a general  election this autumn, it will be up to charities and grassroots groups to start conversations and advocate for future campaigns that consider the damaged texture of British society, beyond sanitised narratives, buzzwords and wishful thinking.

Last Wednesday, the mother of German journalist and doctor Gilda Sahebi read research by investigative outlet Correctiv, and was worried about her future. 

Correctiv uncovered a meeting of top politicians of far-right party AfD, wealthy businessmen and fascist activists, including Martin Sellner from Austria’s Identitarian Movement. Sellner reportedly presented a so-called “masterplan” on how to deport millions of people from Germany should the AfD come to power: migrants, as well as German citizens.

Like Gilda Sahebi, many concerned people posted on social media their stories, and how they could be a target of AfD’s deportation plan. 2024 will be crucial: elections will be held in three German federal states. In all, AfD is leading the polls. In Thuringia, Björn Höcke, an extremist even within the AfD, may become Prime Minister.

Millions have a reason to worry.

Some youngsters are worried about the state of the planet in 2100 ― and, according to the climate predictions, this won’t look good. Environmentalist Andreu Escrivá advises on how to cope with climate anxiety.

A striking 82% of the young in Spain has suffered some level of eco-anxiety, as noted in a report presented to the Parliament. How much are the young affected by this phenomenon?

There is very little data on this issue. There are several studies on the concern on climate issues, but most are not segregated by age or with a specific question about the psychological effect. But I would be very cautious: everybody agrees that the climate has to be protected, but the problem appears to be how to change our behaviour.

Nevertheless, experience shows that concern about the climate is growing, and the most worried groups are the youth and, curiously, the elderly. Perhaps intergenerational alliances can be forged. 

How does this eco-anxiety in the young manifest itself?

In frustration, anger, fear. There are two types of this: anxiety and discomfort provoked by seeing the future we are heading towards, and anxiety because of the fact that climate change is an enormous problem which requires global and immediate action, but nothing is done. The latter is more common among the young. They feel this should be a global problem, but the pressure is put on individual behaviour, especially on the younger generation.

The story of climate change is going to be the story of their lives. But what worries me most is that it also generates apathy, and a feeling that “nothing can be done”.

So what are the options to help the young tackle this anxiety?

Just today, a girl writing her thesis wrote to me, genuinely worried about what to do. She wrote to the Spanish government, and other institutions. I don’t have perfect answers, but I recommend doing everything as a collective. To scrape off the individualism of climate blame. When your forces are exhausted, it’s not a failure, because you have like-minded colleagues who keep fighting. And vice versa.

What Pavlo Kazarin never lacked is the skill to find the right words at the right time. Born and raised in Crimea, he left his job as a radio host in the peninsula after the Russian annexation in 2014, and moved to Kyiv. In a few years, he became one of the country’s top columnists, combining a sober style with a bitter attitude, but still rooted in realism. In late 2021, he published an award-winning collection of essays, “Eastern Europe’s Wild West”, about his experience of living in the Ukrainian South, of foreign occupation, realising his Ukrainian identity and building a new life.

On the second day of the full-scale Russian invasion, Pavlo joined the Ukrainian armed forces. “This was a postponed necessity,” he explained. “I didn’t do it in 2014, and spent the time that was given to me by my compatriots who defended Ukraine, and got killed, on building a career [for myself] and various self-reflections. Now it’s my turn to give something back.”

He didn’t stop writing. When numerous Ukrainian businessmen and artists said they would not fight at the frontline, because they were defending the “economic” or “cultural” fronts, he wrote last July: “There is no other front than the real one.”

Now, as the counter-offensive has disappointed many and Western resolve to support Kyiv is wavering, the public mood in Ukraine seems grim. After almost two years of heavy fighting, most soldiers and civilians are exhausted. As a reaction to the challenges, political disputes have returned. Kazarin’s dry, realistic and well-informed perspective is timely, again.

“This winter might be harder than the last,” he wrote recently. “Now it’s not about missiles and electricity. We are entering [the season] with a smaller reserve of psychological resilience and greater collective fatigue. It may be easier to divide us. And there’s nothing worse than that, as this is how we all may lose.”

The French government has long concealed the exact amount of its military aid to Ukraine. Officially, the aim was to avoid giving the Russian army any indication of the type of weapons the French were supplying Ukraine.

In November, a parliamentary report finally revealed the precise figure: since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, France has given Ukraine 0.1 percent of its GDP in military aid, or 3.2 billion euros. To compare: Estonia spends 1.2 percent of its GDP on weapons for Ukraine.

The transfer of military equipment as such represents only 1.7 billion euros. Moreover, this price does not represent the value of the weapons sent, but the cost of replacing them with more modern equipment.

As Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine approaches the two-year mark, the government of President Volodymyr Zelenskyy finds itself in deep water. The counter-offensive has proved far less decisive than expected, and domestic criticism is mounting. To make matters worse, international support for Ukraine is also waning.

According to a study by the Kiel Institute for the World Economy (IfW) Western aid to Ukraine has fallen to its lowest level since January 2022. In the last quarter, Kyiv’s allies pledged just over two billion euros – a year-on-year drop of almost 90 per cent. Ukraine, the IfW points out, is now increasingly dependent on a small group of core donors. At its heart are just two countries: the US and Germany.

Berlin’s emergence as one of Kyiv’s most steadfast supporters seems almost paradoxical. Public attention has declined to a level that Germany’s foreign minister has recently bemoaned the apathy as “fatal”. In addition, Chancellor Olaf Scholz has repeatedly come under international pressure in the past for not providing more of his country’s military arsenal. But the numbers don’t lie: While other major European players have signalled their commitment to Ukraine’s defence, they fall far short of what Berlin is prepared to give.

Last month, Germany announced it would double its military aid to Ukraine from four to eight billion euros in 2024. Conveniently, this extra spending will push the once stingy NATO contributor above its defence spending target of at least two per cent of its annual GDP. But just days later, the government was plunged into a budget crisis. Austerity hawks were quick to single out social spending as the sacrificial lamb, conjuring up images of Ukrainian refugees as undeserving beneficiaries of Germany’s welfare system.

In this anxious political climate, Scholz used decisive words when he addressed his Social Democratic Party’s convention last weekend. “There will be no cuts in social spending,” he proclaimed to rapturous applause. And when it came to Germany’s commitments abroad, he wanted the message to be clear to the Russian president: “Don’t expect us to back down. We will give Ukraine what it needs to defend itself.”

“Ukraine is known to be one of the most corrupt countries in the world,” said Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán last week in Paris, where he joined French President Emmanuel Macron for talks, ahead of the EU summit. “It’s a joke,” he added, that the country is ready to join the EU. 


The French head of state tried to persuade the Hungarian prime minister to change his mind, but Orbán has stubbornly insisted on rejecting Ukraine’s membership application.

By blocking Ukraine’s EU ambition, Viktor Orbán is once again telling his electorate that “Hungary comes first” and arguing that a quick accession would be “bad” for Hungarians. Ukrainians will ruin European agriculture the next day if they are allowed into the common market, the Hungarian prime minister said.


At the same time, he stressed that Hungary expects the rights of the Hungarian minority in Ukraine to be fully guaranteed, and that the efforts made so far by Ukraine in this regard have been unsatisfactory.

Hardly any military expert had illusions that Ukraine’s bid to liberate its territory would be a walk in the park. Many warned ahead of this year’s summer offensive that progress could be slow and the war could turn into a grind.

However, encouraged by Ukraine’s astonishing successes in 2022, many were hoping for another big breakthrough.

This did not happen. Last year, when the Ukrainian army was fighting an overstretched and fragmented Russian war machine, it had the element of surprise on its side. This year, the area of the counter-offensive, towards the Sea of Azov, was telegraphed way in advance, and the means to achieve it were trumpeted via the public haggling between the allies, who fought over who would send which weapon first. Moscow had time to prepare a formidable line of defence.

Not accomplishing the main goal of cutting off Russia’s land bridge to Crimea is a setback that worries many Ukrainian fighters and disheartens some in Europe.

But is it time for despair? No.

Every war has its setbacks. But determined fighters use the lows to rethink, regroup and push harder.

Only this time, I’d advise Ukraine and its allies to show off less about their tanks and missiles, and court more wisdom to provide what is needed to shape a new strategy for a breakthrough, when the next chance comes.I do not doubt Ukraine’s determination. But is Europe equally resolved to defend its principles, and its promise to be there for “as long as it takes”?

“I have no idea. This is a party you can only attend once,” 46-year-old constitutional lawyer Dániel Karsai answered journalists, when they asked him about his future. A future that, in his case, will last no more than a few years, leading to total paralysis and loss of speech, while leaving his mental faculties intact, and inevitable death.

In 2022, Karsai was diagnosed with ALS, a rare genetic disease brought to the world’s attention by legendary physicist Stephen Hawking. While he may not live to Hawking’s age of 76, he is using the time he has left to fight for the right to die, or, in his own words, “To die like the trees, standing”.

Hungarian law allows terminally ill patients to refuse life-saving treatment, but this does not apply to people suffering from ALS, as there is no treatment to refuse. If he wanted to travel to Switzerland, where euthanasia is legal, to end his life, even family members driving him there could be imprisoned on their return to Hungary.

Besides, Karsai does not wish to die in a room overlooking the Swiss Alps.

“If they teach us in school: ‘here you must live and die’ [in a poem by Vörösmarty Mihály], at least let me do it with dignity”.

As one of the most successful human rights lawyers in Hungary, he has represented hundreds of clients before the European Court of Human Rights. It is a dark twist of fate that he has launched a case for his own end-of-life decision in Strasbourg.

By sitting in a wheelchair in front of the panel of judges, he did much more than plead his case: he united a country torn apart by politics. Dying – he admits – “sucks”, but nobody can avoid it. To his surprise, Hungarians rallied behind him. From doctors to priests to philosophers, many have understood that Karsai is fighting for them all.

Should his case succeed in Strasbourg, the government will be obliged to change the law, making his struggle for human rights immortal.

France has been examining whether to change its law on euthanasia. Denis Berthiau, a lecturer at Université Paris-Cité, specialising in Bioethics Law, looks into this issue.

What is the situation regarding the right to die in France?

More than a year ago, Emmanuel Macron expressed the desire to change the current law (euthanasia as active assistance in dying is still prohibited by the Penal Code). To this end, a citizens’ convention was convened in early 2023.

It came to two conclusions. On the one hand, it recognised the need to improve dying in France by guaranteeing better access to palliative care. On the other, it recognised the need to take into account certain situations in which requests for assistance are made, and to develop a legal framework for assisted dying, either in the form of assisted suicide or “euthanasia”.

What’s the difference between “assisted suicide” and “euthanasia”?

With “assisted suicide”, the patient initiates the act that causes their death. In this sense, it is indeed a suicide. In “euthanasia”, the lethal act is carried out by the doctor and his team. It always takes place at the patient’s request, in the framework of medical assistance in the dying process. The difference, then, lies in the degree of medical involvement in the act of accompanying a patient to death. And it is precisely this point which is undoubtedly delaying the government’s project.

Macron speaks of an “ethical vertigo” regarding this issue. Why?

Most medical issues provoke an “ethical vertigo”. Reducing end-of-life issues to whether or not to allow euthanasia or assisted suicide is far too simplistic. But it is certain that the new law will not solve all the problems. It will only benefit a few people. The vast majority of patients do not want to hasten their death. Nor will the law concern people at the end of their lives who are incapable of expressing their wishes. But the fact that the ethical challenge may seem vertiginous doesn’t mean we shouldn’t tackle it.

Dr. Paul Tammert thought he had found a loophole in Estonian law, allowing him to perform assisted suicide. He even presented a gas-based device on an evening TV show that provided this service.

Two of his patients ended their lives using it, but a third attempt stalled as the machine ran out of gas. While he drove to another town to procure more lethal gas, the police arrested him. He is now on trial for illegal business activities.

While Tammert will be punished for his amateurish stunt, three quarters of Estonian doctors think there should be legislation for the currently unregulated ‘right to die’.

Euthanasia, or a ‘good death’, is a heated topic in the Netherlands, which is known for its liberal views. The Dutch approach reflects a strong belief in freedom and personal choice. The Netherlands was the first country to legalise euthanasia in 2002, and has one of the most progressive euthanasia laws in the world.

Euthanasia is allowed under strict conditions: the patient must endure unbearable suffering with no prospect of improvement, the request must be voluntary and well-considered, and the patient must be fully informed. The decision must be supported by at least two doctors to ensure a thorough and ethical process. The same criteria apply to euthanasia for patients who suffer unbearably from dementia or for psychiatric reasons, such as major depression or personality disorders, which are rare and subject to strict safeguards.

However, the debate doesn’t stop there. A social and political discussion is currently underway about extending the right of euthanasia to the elderly who feel their lives are complete, even in the absence of severe illness. This is groundbreaking, even for the Netherlands.

Critics worry this could put pressure on older people, who feel they are a burden, to choose euthanasia. Supporters argue that it’s all about personal freedom: a person’s sense of a fulfilled life, devoid of suffering, should be respected and the right to a dignified end is a fundamental aspect of personal freedom. Research commissioned by the government found that over 10,000 Dutch people aged 55 and over (out of 21,000 participants in the study) would consider euthanasia when they feel their lives are completed.

This debate shows how the Netherlands continues to push the boundaries when it comes to personal freedom. It’s a complex issue, as it highlights the delicate balance between safeguarding vulnerable individuals and honouring the deeply-held Dutch value of self-determination. As this debate continues, the Netherlands remains at the forefront, navigating the complex interplay of ethical, moral and personal freedoms.

“I will do all I can to protect little Indi’s life,” Italy’s prime minister Giorgia Meloni tweeted, along with a picture of the eight-month-old Indi Gregory, an English baby girl with an incurable mitochondrial condition. Doctors and UK judges repeatedly said there was no way to save the baby, but the family had been fighting to keep the girl’s life-support machine running.
As part of her pro-life narrative, Meloni jumped on the story: she offered Italian citizenship to the baby, and to bring her to Italy before her life support was removed. British judges described Italy’s intervention as “wholly misconceived”. The baby died in mid-November, a week after this tweet.

After Indi’s death, Meloni has kept on posting her support for pro-life organisations. Even before taking over the government, Meloni’s far-right party limited the right to abortion in the Marche region, which is run by her party, Brothers of Italy.

Nicolas Quénel is a specialist in the intelligence services and disinformation wars. He has recently written Allo Paris? Ici Moscou, Plongée au cœur de la guerre de l’information (Hello, Paris? This is Moscow. A dive into the heart of the information war). 

Is France particularly targeted by Russian influence operations? 

Along with Germany, France is one of the EU member states most affected [by Russian influence ops], and has been for a long time. French authorities have been confoundingly naive in their dealings with Moscow. In 2006, President Jacques Chirac decorated Putin with the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor [France’s highest distinction], and in 2011 President Nicolas Sarkozy signed a contract to deliver helicopter carriers to Russia while the Russian army was occupying northern Georgia. In 2017, the first thing Macron did once he was elected was to receive Putin at Versailles. Two years later, in a speech in France alongside the Russian president, he said that Russia was “profoundly European” and a “great Enlightenment power”. The obsession was to normalise relations with Moscow. 

How do you explain the extent of Russian influence in France?

There are several historical reasons. The anti-Americanism of the French elite played a role, as did the presence of a long-standing and powerful French Communist party and the existence of a press that emphasised opinion articles and was therefore more permeable to Russian discourse.

But just recently, France was the subject of an interference operation probably directed by Russia… 

That’s right, a Moldovan couple were paid to paint Stars of David on the walls of Paris to stir up trouble in French society, and Russian bot networks relayed the images. It was a low-cost operation, but it worked. The media covered it extensively before it became clear that it was a remote-controlled operation from abroad. Intelligence services are noticing a return to these modes of operation, reminiscent of those used during the Cold War. In 1960, the KGB did exactly the same thing in West Germany, painting swastikas on walls to suggest that Nazism was returning to Germany and to undermine Western confidence in their partner.

A party needs to surpass five percent of the popular vote to be elected to the Estonian parliament, but a threshold of two percent is enough to qualify for state funding. This is the proportion the pro-Russian Left Party achieved in elections this year, after a campaign by their candidate Aivo Peterson.

The political figure became known for his trips to the Russian-occupied Donbass region and his blatantly pro-Kremlin rhetoric. It didn’t take long for Estonian authorities to discover that he has received instructions from Russia. 

Peterson is now in jail awaiting trial, accused of treason. Despite this, the Left Party will continue to receive money from Estonian taxpayers.

“We have to, you know, live even before joining the European Union, and we have to think about our country, our children and our future,” Serbian president Aleksandar Vucic told media in Beijing in mid-October prior to his ministers signing a free trade agreement between the two countries.

Vucic’s statement was a reaction to EU Commission spokesperson Peter Stano, who said Serbia would have to withdraw from all bilateral agreements with third parties on the day it joins the EU.

According to data published by Serbia’s Statistical Office, China was Serbia’s second-largest import partner between January and September 2023. The report, however, also notes that Serbia’s corresponding exports are not high, and the country’s biggest trade deficit is with China.

This agreement is a step forward in deepening the economic relations between the two countries.

China has been financially present in Serbia since before Vucic’s Serbian Progressive Party came to power, but this relationship deepened in the last couple of years. It helped Serbian authorities to “keep jobs”, such as in the Smederevo Ironworks, which was bought by China’s Hesteel Group (HBIS) in 2016, and to build kilometers of highways, which leaders have declared is a great success and a sign of progress.

At the same time, these projects did not conform to the country’s legal system, and were a direct deal between the state and its Chinese partners. In practice, this meant that Serbia did not consider other offers. The subcontractors on these projects are domestic companies, but, in some cases, those were close to the ruling elite.

Serbian institutions never reacted to serious allegations of violation of workers’ rights in Chinese companies and problems with pollution.

According to an analysis by BIRN, in 2021 there were at least 61 projects in various stages of completion in Serbia that had been or were being implemented by or in cooperation with Chinese entities over a decade, with a value of at least 18.7 billion euros.

Sovereignty is the new buzzword of the Hungarian government. Not only did they submit a so-called sovereignty protection bill to parliament, but they also launched a national consultation and a poster campaign.

The bill would establish an authority to detect and monitor any risks of political interference. It would also punish foreign funding of parties or groups standing for election with up to three years in prison.

The poster campaign gives the impression that foreign interference in Hungary partly comes from the European institutions, and shows Alex Soros, son of Hungarian-born billionaire, George Soros, behind European decisions. Similar billboards against George Soros and former European Commission president Jean-Claude Juncker have appeared before. What’s ironic is that the Hungarian government has praised Juncker’s successor, Ursula von der Leyen.

Times have changed, believes the populist Fidesz leadership, and the EU has become a target. The message of Zoltán Kovács, international spokesman of the government is: Hungary does not dance to their tune.

“Go to Berlin!” shouted Law and Justice (PiS) MPs when Donald Tusk, the future prime minister of Poland, appeared in the Polish parliament this summer. The narrative that the opposition leader was “in the pocket of Brussels” and pursuing anti-Polish interests permeated the election campaign in October 2023.

The PiS propaganda suggested that the opposition’s win would result in Poland losing its sovereignty. The Poles, strongly in favour of EU membership, didn’t buy it. Moreover, the European Commission has already announced it will unblock billions for Poland from its Recovery and Resilience Funds this year.

This money had been frozen because the nationalist-conservative Law and Justice (PiS) government would not withdraw its widely criticised justice reform. In Tusk’s case, his visit to Brussels and announcement that he would shelve this reform were enough. Tusk, while not yet prime minister, already has a major success to his credit, that neither the PiS nor the outgoing government of Mateusz Morawiecki can boast about.

The PiS government’s anti-EU policy was primarily intended to dampen criticism of Brussels at home because of the government’s authoritarian inclinations. Over the past years, Morawiecki’s government took a drastic turn to the right and Poland became a Trojan horse of extremist ideas in the EU. Neither Warsaw nor the Poles have benefited in any tangible way from this.

However, by stirring up conflict between the European Union and Poland, the Morawiecki government was fostering the interests of the Russians, who were seeking to weaken the bloc. Signs are multiplying among opposition figures and journalists that some PiS politicians were aware of this, and may have openly favoured Russia. These links should be investigated by the politicians who are about to take power very soon.