Footage broadcast by the Spanish public broadcaster TVE shows several hundred sub-Saharan migrants attempting to advance from the high ground, which is being monitored by dozens of police officers and members of the Royal Moroccan Gendarmerie, as well as by drones. Meanwhile, military vehicles are deployed on the Spanish side of the border. According to TVE, at least 110 people have been arrested following the clashes.

Tighter controls following the surge at the end of July

According to sources at the Spanish Ministry of the Interior, following the influx on 30 and 31 July, when around 80,000 people entered Ceuta, controls have been further tightened. There are currently 880 National Police officers deployed, 270 more than at the end of July; 714 Civil Guard officers, nearly 200 more, as well as a unit of 45 riot police officers, who are joining those already deployed, and 20 specialists from the Central Brigade for Immigration and Borders, to examine applications for international protection that may be submitted by migrants remaining in the exclave. Around 2,000 army personnel also remain deployed. Meanwhile, on the Moroccan side of the border, a total of 5,000 officers are reported to have been deployed, according to local media reports.

According to estimates by the security forces, there are still around 5,000 irregular migrants in the city, whilst an average of 200 voluntary repatriations to Morocco are recorded each day.

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At the Mykola Kulish Theatre, on the evening before the invasion, “Forever and a Day More” was staged – a play in which it was up to the audience to choose the ending

Everyone in the room knew what might happen – if not that very night, then soon; if not a matter of hours, then days. The decision to opt for a happy ending is perhaps more a human choice than a military one. “It was an incredible evening; some journalists even wrote that it seemed like witchcraft. The director, Serhii Pavljuk, did a brilliant job.” And in the midst of her excitement as she described it, Alena added: “Then we woke up to the sound of explosions – the war had begun.” The fiction on the theatre stage the night before had given way to a staggering, surreal reality: hard to put into words, especially in a place like Kherson, where fiction ended and reality began – harsh, pervasive, ready to disrupt everyone’s lives, even those who had taken part in the staging of "Per sempre e un giorno in più"; never has a title been more fitting for that last night of peace.

Alena is a poet; during the occupation, she led the city’s literary resistance: “My son saved me.” She always carried him with her

In war, you cease to be who you were the day before. This applies to people, and it applies to buildings. The Mykola Kulish Theatre became a place of refuge and a centre of resistance, where ordinary citizens, actors, directors, sound and lighting technicians, scriptwriters and set designers gathered, lived and organised themselves. In the theatre’s basement, many of the posters that Ukrainians displayed on the streets of Kherson were created to tell the Russians that they were not welcome and had to leave. The theatre’s director, Oleksandr Knyha, was abducted in the early days of the invasion whilst in his hometown, Oleshki, on the left bank of the River Dnipro, which remains under occupation to this day. “He was taken to a basement, where the Russians asked him to collaborate,” says Alena, who has dedicated a book, “Kherson under Occupation”, to the story of the theatre and its director. Oleksandr Knyha was released, but his hometown of Oleshki remains under occupation, at the mercy of Moscow’s decisions, paralysed and destroyed; it is home to around a thousand people – a thousand survivors held hostage amidst the ruins, without hospitals and with no alternatives. In the midst of the war, Alena, too, ceased to be the person she had been until the day before: “I decided to stay in Kherson, with my husband and my son.” The baby, Dobromir, had been born in January and Alena still needed to regain her strength – she’d had some complications – but her decision to stay was dictated not by her health, but by her determination not to abandon Kherson. Dobromir skips around us; he’s now quite at home in the makeshift theatre that his mother and the old Mykola Kulish troupe are looking after. He’s a lively child, a child of war, who has grown up with the sound of drones and explosions to the point where he no longer takes any notice of them.

In war, you cease to be what you were the day before. This applies to both people and buildings: protests against Moscow were organised at the theatre

Alena lets him play on his own; she doesn’t want her anxiety to rub off on him, so she lets him run about the rooms of the building. “Until recently, I used to let him play in the streets, but then one day, in a small playground near our home, we found a landmine. I can’t let him go out like that anymore.” That’s how she’s got used to being a mother; her first few months were spent under occupation, and her pram, with tiny Dobromir sleeping inside it, also served as a cover. When Alena recounts how she used to wander the streets of Kherson during the months of the invasion, it feels as though you’re right there with her. Her name even ended up on a ‘traitors’ list – a chat group containing full names where someone even posted a photo of Dobromir’s little feet covered in blue and yellow socks. Blonde, with a gentle gaze and very youthful features, an unarmed poet, with her child running around her and showering her with attention – in Moscow’s definition, Alena, too, is one of the ‘Ukrainian Nazis’. In the Kremlin, anyone who betrays is a Nazi; nowhere is the term further removed from its historical meaning than in Russia. Alena betrayed, and she did so proudly. She sought out betrayal on the streets of Kherson. “I used to wander round the city’s cafés, taking Dobromir with me – whom she calls Dobromirchyk, in keeping with the sweet-sounding tendency in many Slavic languages to use diminutives – My husband is a firefighter and sometimes had to work for two days on the trot, so I’d go back and forth across the city with the child. We used to live in the city centre, but it soon filled up with Russians, so we moved a little further out, where my parents were also living.”

In those days, there were quite a few residents of Kherson trying to sabotage the occupiers. One of the reasons Ukrainian soldiers managed to liberate the city was also down to the internal resistance movement: it is difficult to liberate a territory where every citizen could be an enemy spy. There are some, there have been some and there still are some, but the majority of Kherson’s inhabitants were waiting for liberation and carrying out small, everyday acts to ensure that the Ukraine that remained – the Ukraine they felt in their hearts – was not suffocated within that occupied space. Alena, too, was among those building this resistance; with her young child, she did not take part in the protests, nor did she go to the theatre’s basement to draw posters against the occupiers, but she would take the bus to a venue in the city centre to join Zoom meetings and discuss Ukrainian culture. “I didn’t take taxis; I made do with whatever public transport was left. I felt safer that way – in those days we feared the Russians were running the taxi services and it could be dangerous. So I’d go into the city centre and hold online literary meetings.” She spoke about Ukrainian culture, and it might seem like a trivial matter to go to a café to discuss books, but it isn’t if the books being discussed are in a banned language: “People from various parts of Ukraine were connected via Zoom; in Kherson, there was almost no internet anywhere, so sometimes I used the Russians’ networks. Once, a poet from Ivano-Frankivsk started saying: ‘We must kill the Russians just as they kill us’.” A statement which, when uttered in Ivano-Frankivsk, in western Ukraine, represents a widely held view that can be voiced openly, could have cost him imprisonment, a conviction and even his life in Kherson. “The situation was telling: I could see the Russian soldiers right at that moment whilst he was speaking; I could see them sitting in the restaurant next to the café where I was sitting. I was taking part in the conversation; I was wearing headphones and no one could hear what they were saying on the other end, but you could tell from my reactions. I was lucky to be sitting in a café full of people I knew.” Not the café owners, but someone had mentioned Alena’s name to the Russians; moreover, some of her conversations with other authors were posted on YouTube, so tracking her down and finding out what she thought wasn’t difficult.

Alena had been managing the literary scene since the occupation: “At a certain point, I realised I would have to start thinking about what to do in case the Russians came to take me away. My husband worked almost all night; he wouldn’t have got there in time for Dobromir, so I just hoped that if it happened, I’d have time to warn my parents.” The fact that the war and the occupation might not seem real is a recurring theme in the accounts of many Ukrainians. Having lived through, suffered and endured these events does not make this feeling any less strange; the horror seems too unreal to have actually been experienced, despite the nightmares and the wounds, and Alena admits: “I felt a certain sense of responsibility; even when I found out I’d been put on the list of traitors, I carried on with my online meetings. It was as if I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening, even though I was convinced I was, because in that life under occupation, in that slow suffocation of an entire city, I was right in the thick of it. Sometimes I imagined that their weapons were made of plastic, like toys. That’s how my mind works, even though horrible things were happening around me and I knew it.” There were stairwells used as torture chambers; there were Ukrainians who were searched during the night, even just to check their tattoos. “My husband was once called out to put out a fire set on a woman’s body; she was completely naked, with the clothes that had been stripped from her still lying beside her, whilst she was burning.” It was hard not to know: “It was as if you were sitting at home, in your living room, and suddenly someone came in and wanted to make you feel like a stranger.” The whole of Kherson’s life during those eight months of occupation was then brought to the stage.

The Mykola Kulish School is now located in one of the most heavily targeted areas of Kherson; drones circle around it, harassing it; many windows are broken, and parts of the walls have been destroyed. For this reason, after a few months, the company decided to move most of its performances to the school, which no longer functions as a school – lessons are still all online – but has been reborn as a theatre, thanks to a hall with a stage that, whilst lacking the trappings of a true historic theatre, allows theatrical activities to continue. Many plays about the war and the occupation are being staged, and not just those set in Kherson. One of the first productions staged after the liberation was about a refugee from the Donbas, who recounted her decision to leave, to abandon the territories where Moscow has moved in and cast a shadow over everything. “We lived through it; they cut off our communications and the internet. They had closed the banks so that we couldn’t withdraw cash. In September, the Russians tried to open a Russian school and had also set up a job centre; they wanted people to work for them.” Memories from that dark period have begun to resurface, and at the theatre, Ukrainians also want to see their own history and their present reflected. “Reflective pieces, veterans’ stories, accounts from the occupied territories. We currently have two productions running: ‘Hero for a Day’, written and performed by an actor who was wounded and tells the story of a friend of his who died on the very first day of the war, on the front line. Then there’s ‘Nel seminterrato’, also by a veteran. We continue to stage the classics; sometimes we blend them with current events – we’ve combined Hemingway with the tragedy of the explosion at the Kakhovka hydroelectric power station. We do most of our rehearsals online, to minimise risks and because many of us live outside Kherson.”

The first time the Mykola Kulish Theatre reopened after the occupation, a lady went up to Alena and asked her: “Please, don’t stop.” And they haven’t stopped. On stage in uniform, on stage with grief, on stage with drones. There is a secret that Alena does not hold back; she does not confess it aloud, but it slips out as she speaks: Kherson survived because it held on to Ukraine within itself, whilst Russia hung up its flags, imposed its anthems, its schools and its roubles – in the corners of the city, in private conversations, on public transport, in socks hidden inside shoes – Ukraine survived and was preserved. Now that Kherson is free – even if it has been reduced to ashes, even if it has been struck down, even if at times it lies reeling – what the inhabitants are asking for is this: let’s talk about ourselves, let’s take to the stage, let’s shout out our name, our pain, what saved us; let’s take ourselves to the theatre. It is a necessary moment of self-centredness; the present, or what has just passed, takes to the stage.

The reality of the occupation is now taking to the stage; Kherson asks: let’s talk about ourselves, let’s put on a show. A necessary act of self-centredness

Alena hears that sound in the distance – the motor of a scooter buzzing like a drone. She grows worried, pricks up her ears towards the sky and runs off after saying: ‘I think they didn’t take me away back then because I was always with my son; they thought I was just a mother out and about with a child.’ He saved her; she runs off to save him. It’s not just drones that make that drone-like noise: a tractor appears in the distance round the bend. At the theatre in Kherson, there’s even a chance to have a laugh.

His hated father, however, had a profound influence on him, and not merely through a strong genetic predisposition towards stubbornness and authoritarianism. Having fought against the Yankees as a Spanish soldier in 1898, his father – as a large landowner – had, in fact, ample opportunity to quarrel with other Americans whose estates bordered on his own, and thus instilled in him a deep aversion to the United States. He also developed a distaste for Anglo-Saxon culture through the pro-Falangist Jesuits at the Belén secondary school in Havana, where he went to study after being expelled from a college run by the Brothers of the Order of John Baptist de la Salle, accused of hooliganism. However, it was the strict methods of the disciples of St Ignatius of Loyola that ultimately instilled in him a love of learning, as well as a passion for sport and public speaking. The former gave him an athletic physique and led to a few youthful cameos in Esther Williams’s swimming films. The latter led to his enrolment in 1945 at the Faculty of Law in Havana: a sort of Wild West, where a gunshot was considered just as legitimate a means of asserting oneself as a vote. Fidel distinguished himself on both fronts: he was elected as a delegate in his first year of law school, and was accused of double murder.

In his troubled family history, some have glimpsed the origins of his very early rebellious streak. His hated father had a profound influence on him

But by the age of twenty, the simple limelight of Cuba had already become too confining for him. In 1947, he enlisted in an expedition to overthrow the Dominican dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo; in 1948, whilst in Bogotá for a student congress, he joined the uprising sparked by the Colombian liberals following the assassination of their charismatic leader, Jorge Eliécer Gaitán. Both experiences ended in the grotesque: from the police raid that thwarted the Dominican operation, he escaped by slipping away on a small boat he’d kept ready for just such an eventuality; and from Bogotá, he was urgently repatriated on a livestock plane laden with bellowing bulls that ‘kept him awake all night’. But to the press he recounts adventures that begin to build his legend. He escaped the Cuban police, he says, by jumping into the sea and swimming through a stretch infested with sharks. And during the Bogotá uprising, he claims to have ‘killed three priests’.

In that same year, 1948, he took part in the election campaign as a supporter of Eduardo Chibás’s Orthodox Party: a sort of Caribbean version of the Five Star Movement, whose symbol was a broom. But the leader came only third, and then, on 5 August 1951, he shot himself in the stomach during a live radio broadcast. Meanwhile, Fidel had tried to settle down: he got married, had a son, caught up in six months on the exams he’d failed to sit over two years, graduated and, in 1950, opened a law practice. But in three years of practising, only two clients were able to pay his fees.

Following Chibás’s suicide, he therefore threw himself back into politics, announcing his candidacy with the Orthodox Youth. However, the elections would never take place, due to the coup staged by General Fulgencio Batista on 10 March 1952. At the head of 125 militants from the Orthodox Youth, on 26 July 1953 the 27-year-old Fidel attempted to spark the revolution with an assault on the Moncada barracks in Santiago. It was a disaster, with ten rebels killed in action and a further fifty-nine massacred after being taken prisoner. He himself ended up in prison, having attempted suicide. But public opinion and the Church called for clemency, and Fidel had the opportunity to turn his trial into a spectacle that definitively cemented his popularity. “History will absolve me!” he shouted at the end of a two-hour closing speech. Sentenced to fifteen years, he was granted amnesty after just eighteen months, and on 7 July he set sail for Mexico.

It was whilst in exile that the definitive break with the orthodox Party took place, with the formal establishment of the 26 July Movement. This political split was followed by a divorce from his wife, Mirta Díaz-Balart, whom he had discovered whilst in prison to be working as an agent for the Ministry of the Interior. It was a painful affair, not least because of the ensuing dispute over custody of their son, Fidelito.

On 25 November 1956, a small force of 82 men set sail for Cuba from the Mexican port of Tuxpan aboard the Granma. Che Guevara would later describe it as “more of a shipwreck than a landing”, and of the 82 who disembarked, 3 were killed in battle, 22 were executed after their capture, 22 were imprisoned, and a further 19 disappeared without trace. But a small army soon formed around the 16 survivors in the rugged mountains of the Sierra Maestra. Not at a breakneck pace, mind you: 50 men in the early months of 1957; 80 in May; 200 in December; 300 in April 1958; no more than 2,000 by the end of ’58. But this was enough to take on a corrupt regime and a regular army with no desire to fight, whilst the majority of Cubans stood by and watched and the Americans played both sides simultaneously. Whilst the US Air Force aided Batista, the CIA sent Fidel aid worth 50,000 dollars. On 1 January 1959, whilst Batista was fleeing by plane, the vanguard of the Rebel Army entered Havana led by Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara: a globetrotting Argentine doctor who had befriended Fidel in Mexico. The most surprised of all was Fidel himself, who would not arrive until six days later.

Alongside Fidel’s 2,000, however, there are also another thousand guerrillas belonging to separate armed groups, and the composition of the 26 July Movement itself is diverse. Fidel’s younger brother Raúl Castro and Che declare themselves Marxists, but Fidel, on the other hand, speaks of a revolution that is “not red but green like the leaves of palm trees”, in order to mediate with openly anti-communist guerrilla commanders of the calibre of Huber Matos or Humberto Sori-Marín; and following Batista’s flight, the United States was the first country to recognise the new revolutionary government. Of the fifteen members of the provisional government, only three came from the guerrilla ranks. Yet within two years, six of them would be in exile and one would have been executed by firing squad. The symbolic turning point came on 21 October 1959, when Fidel had Huber Matos arrested for ‘treason’ after he had written a letter of protest against the ‘infiltration of communists’.

On 4 February 1960, Soviet Vice-President Anastas Mikoyan visited Cuba and laid the foundations for an alliance between the two countries. In that same year, 1960, Fidel nationalised US-owned property, a move to which Washington responded by providing aid to anti-Castro armed groups who had rebelled in the Escambray Mountains and by imposing a trade embargo. On 31 January 1961, diplomatic relations were severed. Finally, on 17 April 1961, 1,500 anti-Castro rebels armed by the CIA landed at Playa Girón. The operation proved a disaster, and the subsequent American withdrawal also led to the demise of the Escambray rebels, who were wiped out following ruthless round-ups. On that 17 April, Fidel called for the defence of the ‘Socialist Republic’ for the first time. On 3 July 1962, the single party was established, absorbing the historic Cuban communists, and it would take the name Communist Party of Cuba from 3 October 1965. The new Constitution, adopted in 1976, was modelled on the Bulgarian one, on the assumption that the two countries had roughly the same land area, the same population and also the same predominance of agriculture in their economies.

Since then, the single-party system and the communist system have remained unchanged, although there have been some developments in Cuba’s system of international alliances, and most recently an economic opening inspired by the models of China and Vietnam. In fact, at the outset, alignment with the USSR went so far that Fidel offered the island as a base for Soviet nuclear missiles, in order to directly threaten the United States. But when the naval blockade ordered by Kennedy forced Khrushchev to withdraw the missiles – bringing the world to the brink of the Third World War – relations eased for a while: orthodox Cuban communists were subjected to a purge, Che publicly attacked Moscow, and Fidel attempted to stir up guerrilla movements across Latin America to rival the local communist parties. Symbolically, however, this second phase ended with Che’s death in Bolivia in 1967, during precisely such an attempt. Incidentally, the operation was so poorly managed that some suspected the Argentine had been sent to his death deliberately to remove the main obstacle to a rapprochement with the USSR.

From that moment on, alignment was once again complete, and Cuba supplied large numbers of soldiers and military advisers for the Soviet wars in the Third World, in exchange for oil and other subsidies totalling 10 billion dollars over 32 years. This is more than Western Europe received through the entire Marshall Plan and all the Latin American countries through the Alliance for Progress – some see this devastating drain on resources as the cause of the Soviet collapse. Thanks to this aid, Fidel was able to build a base of mass support by turning all Cubans into state employees and providing them with free or subsidised goods and services, even as the economy was in tatters and under a climate of authoritarianism that nevertheless drove at least a tenth of the population to flee the country. After the end of the USSR, a ‘special period’ of rationing began on the island, bringing the regime to the brink of collapse. But, surprisingly, Fidel survived – just as Franco in Spain had surprisingly survived the fall of his fascist allies after the Second World War. One of his assets was the long-standing anti-US sentiment among the Latin American public, who often regarded Fidel as a hero, and which consequently prompted the region’s governments not to press too hard for a transition.

With the collapse of the USSR, a ‘special period’ began for Cuba, and the regime came within a hair’s breadth of collapse. Fidel survived, partly thanks to anti-American sentiment

At one point, Fidel also found a successor in the Venezuelan president Hugo Chávez, who adopted a Soviet-style oil distribution policy. After the collapse of the USSR, Fidel also managed to attract foreign capital, which transformed the island into a tourist paradise, albeit at the cost of reviving mass prostitution – the eradication of which had been a source of pride for the regime. And at the start of the millennium, with the ‘Pink Tide’ sweeping the region with left-wing governments, Fidel regained influence and allies, and even Barack Obama initiated a ‘thaw’. In the meantime, however, old age had begun to take its toll. From 2006, Fidel began to hand over power to his brother Raúl, although the process would not be formally completed until a couple of years later. It was Raúl who initiated the process of economic liberalisation and transition to a market economy, in which Fidel maintained an ambiguous role: indirectly critical in the many writings he continued to publish, but without ever attacking it directly. This was the tone he also adopted regarding Obama’s visit: the culmination of this process, which, however, did not involve any political opening. The ‘Leftist Wave’ in Latin America also passed; Chávez died; allied governments either fell or found themselves in difficulty.

On 19 April 2016, Fidel Castro spoke once again during the closing ceremony of the 7th National Congress of the Communist Party. He said it might be “the last time” he addressed the assembly, and called for communist ideals to be kept alive. He died on 26 November: the same date, the 26th, as his year of birth and the attack on the Moncada Barracks. Following his brother’s death, Miguel Díaz-Canel, born a year after Fidel had come to power, took the helm. But Raúl is said to continue operating behind the scenes, even now at the age of 95. The economy, however, continues to plummet; the island suffers one blackout after another and is becoming depopulated as people leave; protests are on the rise, as is repression; and the proportion of the population in prison is the second highest in the world. Trump has now launched a new offensive, alternating between harsh new sanctions and offers of engagement. Even a CIA director has visited the island to hold talks, and one of Raúl’s grandsons is among the regime figures with whom Washington is negotiating.

The Cuban economy is in freefall, the island is becoming depopulated, protests are on the rise, as is repression. Now Trump has launched a new offensive

As we wrote in the obituary following his death, ‘Fidel Castro was a giant of the 20th century, a figure who brought a small country to the centre of the world’s attention – a country which, without him, would simply have been remembered as a holiday destination. But, in fact, the same argument can be made, mutatis mutandis, for Alexander the Great and Macedonia, or for Napoleon and France, or for Mussolini and our own Italy. That of a jockey who, in his desire to achieve results beyond his horse’s capabilities, ends up causing it to collapse.”

One hundred years after his birth and ten years after his death, the Cuban regime is holding the “First International Colloquium on Fidel Castro: Legacy and Future”, attended by 1,500 delegates from 63 countries, to whom Miguel Díaz-Canel says that “Fidel is not the exclusive heritage of the Cuban people. It is not enough to manage his legacy; we must emulate him’. However, all things considered, these are low-key celebrations, given the country’s extremely difficult circumstances at present. Far more ostentatious is the enormous metal statue of Fidel erected on Avenida Bolívar in Managua at a cost that has not been made public but is estimated to be substantial, shortly after Daniel Ortega’s announcement that there will be no further elections in Nicaragua. As for the call to “emulate Fidel”, many fear that the statement signals an intention to establish a Cuban-style single-party state, although perhaps in the end it will simply result in the exclusion from the ballot of any opposition that is not merely a sham: as has, in fact, already happened. Among the many analyses, one might perhaps recall “Crisis: How Nations Are Reborn”: the 2019 book in which Jared Diamond observes how the coup in Chile in 1973 in particular, but also the whole wave of coups that shook Latin America between the 1960s and 1970s in general, can be explained by the local bourgeoisie’s deep-seated fear of suffering the same fate as the Cuban bourgeoisie, whom the Castro revolution had forced into mass exile.

The Cuban regime is celebrating the first “Fidel Castro International Colloquium”: “It is not the exclusive heritage of Cubans. It must be emulated”

This year, however, sees the publication of “L’internazionale reazionaria. Dall’America Latina all’Europa le reti della nuova destra”; a book by Donato Di Santo, formerly head of Latin American affairs for the PCI, PDS and DS, later Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs with responsibility for Latin America in the Prodi II government, and Secretary of the Italian-Latin American Institute. Although he has a wealth of experience in liaising with left-wing groups across the region, he was arrested in Cuba for having contacts with dissidents. His analysis focuses primarily on the right-wing surge in Latin America, which he attributes first and foremost to quasi-Gramscian strategies of intellectual penetration by certain US circles. However, he also highlights the simultaneous authoritarian drift of the left in Venezuela and Nicaragua, in a spiral in which the two extremes feed off one another, and in which the virus that all too often continues to undermine the democratic credibility of the Latin American left is, precisely, Fidel’s poisoned legacy. And that of those who have ‘emulated’ him.

Faced with his foul-mouthed pages, one imagined a tropical Bukowski. But the only thing they have in common is a monstrous ability to hold the reader’s attention

An interesting story, about which we knew nothing, apart from what had been passed down to us through the scant chronicles, tinged with legend.

Pedro Juan Gutiérrez had held a thousand different jobs, including ice-cream seller and labourer. In the 1990s, during the so-called ‘período especial’ – the first major economic crisis of the Castro revolution, when the Soviet Union collapsed in 1989 and support for the island, regarded as a satellite state, faltered considerably – he found himself unemployed in a top-floor flat in a block of flats in ‘Centro Habana’.

Anyone who’s been to the Cuban capital knows what this is: it’s the most run-down, fascinating and dimly lit part of the city. In any other city in the world, it would be a dreadful place to avoid, but not here, because on one side lies the Malecón seafront promenade, and on the other stands a row of tower blocks whose brutalist concrete clashes with a sky of shifting colours and the vibrant Caribbean vegetation. And beneath the windows, life teems with activity: street stalls, stories, old, battered American cars, and loudspeakers blaring out salsa and boleros. For three years, Gutiérrez – in a vest and with a cigar – wrote the story of a certain Pedro Juan – his namesake – who loves rum, women and, needless to say, doing absolutely nothing. The typewritten manuscript circulates amongst Cuban publishers, who reject it. It is a defeatist and obscene text; it would not pass the regime’s censorship. Let us remember that Fidel Castro and his clan are in power, thousands of dissidents are in prison, for three decades more than a million people have set out in boats and dinghies trying to reach Florida, food is rationed, the chemists’ shelves are empty; with your ration card, you can collect a loaf of bread every morning; and the sugar cane plantations – for reasons that aren’t entirely clear – are producing less and less. But another industry has taken off: tourism. The city is full of Russians, Italians, French and Canadians looking for a bit of fun. In short, there are two Cubes: the official, strict, ideological one, which resists the onslaught of imperialism and the devastating US blockade – for example, by imprisoning homosexuals and students who take to the streets; and then there is the one that nobody sees, which rears its head when the lights go down, and which Gutiérrez chronicles. On the one hand, desperate debauchery: “I don’t know why, but the nurses are all shameless. They’ll shamelessly suck you off, strip in front of you, drink rum, masturbate, and whisper dirty stories in your ear. Autobiographical stories, I mean.” On the other, the daily struggle for survival: “I spend a few days in the countryside and come back loaded down: lobsters, beef and twelve litres of rum. The police search the bus twice. Both times they nearly make me throw up. My reputation as a respectable person saves me. The unlicensed taxis charge sixty pesos for the short journey to Central Havana. And if I try to haggle, they always reply with the same old line: ‘I’ve got to at least cover the cost of the petrol. And it’s expensive… getting more and more expensive’.”

In the 1990s, Gutiérrez became a chronicler of a Cuba that remains unseen: on the one hand, desperate debauchery; on the other, the struggle for survival

A French journalist takes the manuscript to Paris and hands it over to the publisher Seuil, who rejects it: it is unpublishable. Too extreme. What does that mean? Too much masturbation and too many vaginas? Or too unpalatable for the ‘caviar left’ who, with a photograph of Che Guevara behind their desk, still live the dream of the revolución that landed from the yacht Granma in 1959? We’ll never know. What we do know is that a Spanish agent took the manuscript to Madrid, where it ended up on the desk of the editor at Editorial Anagrama, who, having read the book, picked up the phone – which rang out on a terrace in Havana. The upshot: in 1998, the book was published in twenty countries and the Cuban slacker was forced to drop the pretence. He was not the idler that legend had portrayed, but a refined intellectual with twenty-six years’ experience as a journalist under his belt, even a tad snobbish. When asked who his favourite author was, he replied Grace Paley, an American short-story writer from a very niche circle, and then went on to mention Chekhov, Rilke, Carver and Truman Capote’s "Breakfast at Tiffany’s". The Trilogy is the result of a vast accumulation of experience; it is a sensational exercise in style, for whilst highly polished, it does not sacrifice authenticity or the most poignant naturalism. It is strange that Gutiérrez has never mentioned Émile Zola. On this subject, he has stated: “Writing is like haute couture: you mustn’t see the seams”. Journalism, he says, was his greatest school. How so? “Choosing the topics and fighting with my editors to get them published.” For years, Gutiérrez wrote for the magazine *Bohemia*, tackling unwelcome subjects: racism, violence, prostitution. No propaganda, but a raw portrayal of human beings.

In ’98, “Trilogia sporca dell’Avana” was published in twenty countries, and the Cuban slacker turned out to be a refined intellectual – albeit a bit of a snob

The blurring of the lines between author and character continues in subsequent books, notably "Animal Tropical", which recounts the adventures of a Cuban writer who, taken by surprise by his international popularity, seduces a Swedish professor. Pedro Juan and Agneta, an unlikely romance, unbridled sex, a beautiful novel: a great novel about life, freedom (“which is like happiness – you never quite reach it”), the world and cultural misunderstandings. “I arrived in Stockholm looking presentable. A pair of worn-out jeans, a rather heavy beige shirt and a brown blazer, like a typical liberal intellectual. And I put on my best manners. A twenty-hour flight from Havana. And shitting myself with fear every time we took off and landed.”

The success of Pedro Juan Gutiérrez? He had transformed the ordinary Latin American man into Casanova, a hero who was neither pessimistic nor optimistic and who, just like the Venetian seducer, was not merely a libertine but an observer of his era – elusive and subversive. Gutiérrez has always been keen to make clear his distance from politics, but is it really true that his writing is not political? After all, even the Venetian’s Memoirs can be read as a treatise on 18th-century politics.

In any case, the Gutiérrez phenomenon petered out in the 2000s – like all literary fads. Meanwhile, the island’s situation was getting worse and worse. At the start of the new millennium, everyone remembers the brutal wave of repression by the regime in crisis, the increasingly massive emigration of young people, the internal divisions amongst the dissidents in exile in Miami, and the flood of petitions signed by European left-wing intellectuals who had been jolted back to reality. In 2016, the líder máximo died at the age of ninety – a death that had been predicted many times (this year marks the centenary of his birth) – even though power had already been in the hands of his faded brother Raúl since 2008. Attempts at economic reform followed, with tentative concessions to private enterprise and on the civil rights front, leading to the handover of power in 2018 to Miguel Díaz-Canel, the party’s top leader, who was recently re-elected for a second term as president. Then came two disasters: the pandemic – which decimated the country’s most reliable source of income, namely tourism – and Donald Trump’s second term, which since last January has further tightened the embargo, particularly regarding energy supplies. The current economic crisis is perhaps the most devastating ever. In July and August alone, there were three near-total blackouts lasting several days, and power cuts have now become the norm. Tourism had been recovering, but is now once again in a deep crisis: without diesel, the power stations cannot operate, planes cannot land and hotels stand empty. There is talk of over twenty thousand workers with no prospects. Street protests have become increasingly frequent in recent months, and the regime fears a US-led intervention modelled on the Venezuelan scenario. Gutiérrez’s words still ring sadly true: “As for the future, don’t even mention it.”

Well, we’d lost track of our Don Giovanni in Havana. But, surprise, surprise, a few years ago he started writing short stories again, which were then collected under the curious title "Meccanica popolare", and are now due to be published in Italy by Castelvecchi, edited by Gino Tramontana.

The short stories, collected under the title “Meccanica popolare”, are due to be published in Italy by Castelvecchi, edited by Gino Tramontana

Once again, Gutiérrez surprises us, because, although he still lives in his ramshackle flat in Central Havana, he has chosen to go back in time and tell the story of his childhood as a boy born in 1950. He uses a new alter ego, Carlitos (who had already been mentioned here and there in other books), but this time the work verges on a memoir, and without too many disguises. The disclaimer makes this clear: “These stories refer to situations that actually took place. The places have since changed beyond recognition and the people are no longer with us. The story is set in the cities of Matanzas, Pinar del Río and Havana (Cuba) during the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. The radical and dizzying changes that took place in Cuba during those years turned everyone’s lives upside down, for better or for worse.”

The cities mentioned are precisely those that have shaped his life. Matanzas, where he was born; Pinar, where he lived for a long time (working as a building technician, radio editor and journalist); and Havana, where he eventually decided to take refuge at the age of forty-four, “with nothing on my hands”. This is where his writing began; now, in these stories of his later years, he explores the son of pre- and post-revolutionary Cuba – the father who owned a bar and an obsessive yet dearly loved mother. "Meccanica popolare" was a magazine that arrived from abroad and which people of modest means read to learn trades with which to make ends meet, such as uranium or gold prospecting. The lonely young boy spends long periods with his grandmother, abandoned by her husband – a inveterate womaniser – who lives with their other son, Carlitos’s uncle, who introduces him to crab fishing, walks through the mud, and a connection with the island’s natural world. Then comes military service, when the revolution clears entire hillsides of trees with dynamite to create training grounds. And then his first loves, sex experienced first as a mirage and then as an addiction. Gutiérrez delves into his memory and brings to life a rarely depicted cross-section of humanity: neighbours with their own stories, half-Lebanese people, sailors, soldiers, people who arrived and then vanished, single women – often men’s best friends – whilst the men themselves stab each other with knives, steal from one another and betray one another. “When he was seventy-two, that is, fifty years later, he sat down to write this story. He thought of calling it “La donna che mi ha cambiato la vita”. But it seemed too dramatic to him. Carlitos was seventy-two, but at times he felt as though he’d actually lived a hundred and fifty years. Or more. Life is not a matter of chronology but of kilometres.”

Axios journalist Barak Ravid recounted an anecdote about the latest meeting between US President Donald Trump and Netanyahu in Washington. Trump asked the Israeli Prime Minister how the polls were looking ahead of the October election, and Netanyahu’s hesitation was reportedly interrupted by an Israeli official who broke the awkward silence by saying: “He’ll win.” The polls do not suggest this, as yet. Clashes between the political establishment and the military are weighing on the vote, as are Qusra, the unpunished settlers, the siege and the soldiers standing idly by. 

Yesterday, in addition to Secretary of War Pete Hegseth – who stated that conditions on board the aircraft carrier had been ‘completely misrepresented’ – US Central Command published several headlines on X – many of Iranian origin – to refute the report: “These are FALSE reports,” it wrote. “The sailors and marines of the USS Abraham Lincoln Carrier Strike Group remain resilient and determined after more than 260 days at sea, 10,000 sorties and 1.5 million pounds of ammunition expended. No crew member on board the aircraft carrier has died, and the sole sailor who fell overboard on 3 August was recovered quickly and safely. The misinformation circulating widely about the Abraham Lincoln’s historic deployment does a disservice to our men and women in uniform and their loved ones.” Back in March, some Iranian social media accounts had circulated a video of a ship on fire, passing it off as the USS Abraham Lincoln struck by an Iranian attack: “Artificial intelligence can be very dangerous; we must be very careful,” US President Donald Trump had said in response to questions from journalists about the unverified reports published by Iranian sources.

Yet criticism of the appalling conditions on board the ship is not limited to state media and accounts linked to Tehran: this week, even the military-focused publications Navy Times and Stars and Stripes devoted considerable space to accounts from personnel on the aircraft carrier, citing the concerns of family members who met with senior US Navy officials in San Diego on Thursday. One sailor reportedly sent a message to his wife saying: “I hope I don’t wake up tomorrow”, whilst another allegedly attempted to throw himself overboard following several extensions to his tour of duty. The wife of another sailor recounted that her husband had prevented another crew member from jumping into the water, grabbing him and pulling him back onto the deck.  

In early August, MS Now spoke to around ten family members “who say they are extremely concerned about morale, safety and conditions on board the ship. They described a crew under severe strain from the demands of an unexpectedly long mission, whilst President Donald Trump continues to extend his military campaign against Iran with no clear end in sight”.  The prolonged time at sea is reportedly taking its toll on the mental health of some sailors; many have spoken of the constant noise from the ship’s engines and from aircraft taking off and landing, Commander Joseph Hontz, a spokesperson for the Navy’s Fifth Fleet, acknowledged that the Lincoln’s flight deck had handled over 10,000 flight sorties in the last eight months and that “over 250 days on mission pose a challenge for the crew and their equipment”.

Even Democrats in Congress have spoken out; Mike Levin wrote on X: "Mouldy showers, broken toilets, a laundry facility out of action for weeks, long periods without hot water, a meal reduced to half a cup of rice and two tortillas. (...) These men and women enlisted to serve their country. The least their country owes them is hot water, a working toilet and a proper meal.” Senator Richard Blumenthal has asked the Navy to provide clarification on the conditions on board the aircraft carrier, which “has been deployed for over 250 days” without being able to dock “for over 200 days, setting a record for the number of consecutive days at sea”.

Despite denials from the Administration, an exclusive report in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal revealed that the US military is reportedly preparing to send a new aircraft carrier to the Middle East to replace the Lincoln. According to some officials who spoke to the American newspaper, this is believed to be the USS George Washington, which left the port of Da Nang in Vietnam last week and is currently in the Strait of Malacca with its strike group.  Also yesterday, Trump ordered the Navy to dismantle the system for launching fighter aircraft from aircraft carriers and to revert to the use of steam catapults: Trump has been promising this decision for ten years, and since then the Navy’s top brass have opposed it, arguing that it would cost billions of dollars and force the Navy’s most advanced ships to revert to a system that requires more sailors to operate and is more difficult to maintain.

Since Assad’s fall in December 2024, Israeli forces have been deployed along the Syrian border, beyond the demilitarised zone established in 1974, crossing the border and taking control of a strip of territory approximately 15 kilometres deep, along which they have set up nine military posts. The aim is to ensure the demilitarisation of the region and to prevent the formation of terrorist cells linked to Islamic extremism or Hezbollah. For the authorities in Damascus and the UN, however, this constitutes an illegal and violent operation against local residents.

The most organised group amongst the Israeli settlers who have targeted Syria is that of the so-called ‘Pioneers of Bashan’. The last time its members attempted to enter Syria was three days ago, and on that occasion too they were intercepted and turned back by the Israeli military themselves. The IDF says that many of those who are captured return shortly afterwards to make a fresh attempt to cross the border. “The police aren’t doing their job as they should, because if someone is arrested and released on the same day, and returns the next day, we haven’t achieved anything,” explains another reservist on Tsahal radio. “We’ve tried to explain this to them: you’re interfering with our work. Three years of reserve duty, and what am I doing? Getting Israeli citizens out of Syria?”

The settlers insist that the Syrian territories of Quneitra, Daraa and Suwayda form part of Bashan, a biblical region of Greater Israel to be cultivated and annexed to the Jewish state. In early July, a post on X from the pioneers’ account urged the reclamation of Syria’s southern regions: “This year, the wheat harvest in the Quneitra district amounted to 2,000 tonnes. Once this land is cultivated by Jewish pioneers rather than by Sunnis who support Hamas, the harvest will be even greater. Much of the region is already under IDF control; let the pioneers get to work there.”

The push by settlers in Syria exploits the Israeli government’s deep aversion to the new authorities in Damascus. On Thursday, the Minister for the Diaspora, Amichai Chikli, stated that “Syria is Gaza on steroids, and that will be the next war, without a shadow of a doubt. There is no way to avoid it’. Military operations are continuing despite the fact that the Syrian president, Ahmed al Sharaa – under pressure from the United States – has said he is willing to negotiate directly with Israel to resolve the issue of the southern borders. Arbitrary arrests by the IDF between Quneitra and Daraa are continuing, with ground incursions numbering around thirty since the start of August alone. In the village of Abidin, well beyond the UN-recognised buffer zone, residents placed boulders along the roads two days ago to block Israeli tanks. IDF bulldozers removed them a few hours later and, in retaliation, destroyed the farmers’ olive trees, arresting some of them and releasing them shortly afterwards.

Italy had just signed the Schengen Agreement – the world’s largest area of free movement, now covering over 450 million people – after Belgium, France, Germany, Luxembourg and the Netherlands had already done so, and before Spain, Portugal and Greece followed suit in 1992. Even if it had wanted to, therefore, Spain at that time could not have suspended Schengen out of fear that some of the Albanian refugees, having passed through Italy, might reach its borders. But the Italian government’s response to the 60,000 in Ceuta is anomalous: a) as Italy has never before resorted to suspending Schengen except for reasons of international security during the G7 and G8 summits; And b) given how far Ceuta is from our coasts. This fear of massive illegal landings – which will not happen – smacks heavily of electoral posturing and has little to do with reality, not least because the 60,000 in Ceuta dwindled to a few thousand within a matter of days. Italy, which has the Albanian exodus behind it and faces an urgent need for immigrants simply to stay afloat – speaking of the sea and landings – would do well to have a firmer grasp of reality. But was the Albanian exodus really an exodus? To answer this, let us consider the key components of the Albanian presence in Italy, namely: a) Albanians who currently reside legally in Italy, and b) Albanians who have, over time, obtained Italian citizenship.

At the start of 2025, there were 414,000 Albanians legally resident in Italy, having peaked at 488,000 in 2014. However, between 2014 and 2024, over 320,000 Albanians acquired Italian citizenship. It is therefore clear that the decline of 74,000 in the number of Albanians residing in Italy between 2014 and 2024 occurred precisely because a growing number of them had, in the meantime, acquired Italian citizenship. This is so true that the number of Albanians who acquired Italian citizenship between 2014 and 2024 is four to five times greater than the decline in the number of Albanians legally resident in Italy during that period. However, the tally of Albanians who have acquired Italian citizenship must also include all the years prior to 2014 and the year 2025 itself, for which we have only an estimate of at least 200,000 Italian citizenships acquired in total by immigrants in Italy. Based on all the available information (data, but not limited to this) on the subject, it is reasonable to estimate that Albanians have acquired Italian citizenship at least 460,000 times – 140,000 more than the 320,000 instances of citizenship acquisition recorded for the 2014–2024 period, for which precise data are available. Adding this second figure to the number of Albanians legally resident in Italy, it is immediately apparent that just under 900,000 Albanians have chosen Italy, either because they live there legally or because they have acquired Italian citizenship.

In this particular breakdown, Albania is surpassed only by Romania and is almost on a par with Morocco. However, whilst Romania has as many as 1.1 million Romanian citizens legally resident in Italy, fewer than 200,000 of them have acquired Italian citizenship: and the significant difference between the two figures indicates a low propensity amongst Romanians residing in Italy to acquire Italian citizenship, as they evidently prefer the prospect of returning to their homeland as soon as the conditions allow – which almost always coincide with the money saved whilst working in Italy, sufficient to set up a business in Romania. The situation is quite different for Albania: in fact, there are more cases of Albanians acquiring Italian citizenship than there are Albanians residing in Italy – a disparity that is symbolic rather than purely quantitative, as it indicates a strong inclination amongst Albanians, once the necessary time or conditions have been met, to acquire Italian citizenship and become Italian. A trend opposite to that of Romanians, and instead similar to the propensity to acquire Italian citizenship, can be observed among immigrants from Morocco. Emigration from Morocco to Italy is also significant, estimated at just under 850,000 people, divided almost equally between Moroccans legally resident in Italy and Moroccans who have acquired Italian citizenship over time.

But Morocco has a population of 38 million, Romania has almost 22 million, whilst Albania has just 2.7 million inhabitants. And it is in relation to the populations of their respective countries that the differences between immigrants to Italy from these same countries become enormous. This is because Moroccans in Italy – including both those residing there and those who have acquired Italian citizenship – account for 2.3 per cent of Morocco’s population; Romanians in Italy account for 5.8 per cent of Romania’s population, whilst Albanians in Italy account for as much as 32 per cent of Albania’s population: an entirely different order of magnitude. And whilst the first two percentages simply suggest considerable emigration to Italy (that from Morocco being more long-term, that from Romania more temporary), the percentage for Albania suggests not merely massive emigration but something which, if not quite an exodus, certainly shares some of its characteristics: starting, in fact, with the fact that Albanian emigrants in Italy show a very strong inclination to become Italian, acquiring Italian citizenship as soon as they are able to do so.

So – yes – it was certainly no coincidence that, back in 1991, the two ships overflowing with Albanians loomed on the horizon as they approached the port and the city of Brindisi, an event later depicted in Gianni Amelio’s 1994 film “Lamerica”. It was no coincidence because Albanian emigration has never stopped, and the number has risen from 10,000 people back then to almost 900,000 today. Not too many for Italy, which needs immigrants, but perhaps too many for Albania. For it is hard to imagine that Albania, with a population of 2.7 million, can afford to lose – as it did in the three-year period 2022–2024, the most recent year for which data is available, as many as 110,000 citizens renounced their Albanian citizenship to acquire Italian citizenship – without, moreover, the Albanian population residing in Italy having decreased in the meantime by even a tenth of that figure – so it is clear that the flow of Albanians to Italy is far from over. A flow which, were it to continue in the future as it has done to date, would risk resulting in a veritable depletion of Albania’s resources, particularly its finest productive and reproductive forces. And Albania has every reason to be very careful about its approach to migration policy, because the statistics since the end of communism speak a clear language to its governments and ruling classes. With the end of the Hoxha era, Albania’s population has in fact fallen from 3.3 million at that time to 2.7 million today, representing a loss of almost 20 per cent of the population, entirely attributable to emigration and, in particular – if not exclusively – to emigration to Italy. Emigration, which has undoubtedly helped Albania emerge from communism by enabling a balance between resources and population that would otherwise have been far more problematic, could in the long run condemn Albania to a state of decline if it were to erode the country’s best human resources to an unsustainable extent. And, at least from an Italian perspective, this is precisely what could happen. Because, as we have seen, Albanian emigration to Italy tends to be permanent – emigration with no return.

Another indicator of this aspect of Albanian emigration to Italy is its very strong territorial and regional concentration. It is worth noting that of the nearly 900,000 Albanians generally living in Italy, 65 per cent are in the North, 26 per cent in the Centre and only 9 per cent in the South. Such a marked preference for the North and, conversely, such a low preference for the South – and for the islands in particular, where just over 1 per cent of Albanians in Italy live – is a sign of the long-term settlement nature of Albanian immigration, with migrants seeking stable jobs, employment and activities in order to put down roots in Italy as firmly as possible. In this sense, indeed, the geographical distribution of Albanians in Italy – whilst showing us the extent to which they are seeking to settle in our country – also serves as a fairly accurate reflection of the highly uneven appeal exerted by Italy’s regional economic and productive systems on the workforce arriving from abroad. The Gjader repatriation centre for irregular migrants in Albania – so controversial, debated, opposed and obstructed – cannot but be viewed in the context of everything we have said so far: a form of collaboration, specifically regarding migration flows, between two governments and two countries, Italy and Albania, which cannot follow separate paths, but must, on the issue of migration – and not only migration – adopt certain agreed economic and social planning guidelines. The country that relies most heavily on Italy for its migration flows is also the one that Italy has singled out to deter illegal immigration – as those seeking to enter Europe cannot expect to make their way there if they end up in a non-EU country awaiting extradition.

The key point to understand is that the exodus from Albania to Italy is not in Albania’s interests, nor is it in Italy’s interests. What is needed is a broader-ranging strategy that cannot focus solely on migration flows from Albania to Italy; it must regulate those flows without depriving Albania of its resources. The exodus is a thing of the past. Today, we have agreements in which emigration is a component that brings mutual benefits. True. And the government is moving along these lines. But, frankly, there is a world of difference between this approach and suspending the Schengen Agreement for Ceuta.

German operations of this kind will therefore remain targeted and, in practice, “will occur more rarely than regularly”. Schindler agrees that the reform will aim to create German intelligence services which, whilst remaining defensive, will be less naive. For years, particularly in the field of counter-terrorism, German agencies have been criticised for their reliance on tips-offs from international partners. This situation is not due to incompetence, but to the German legal framework. “In principle, the exchange of intelligence – particularly regarding security – is not a bad thing; on the contrary, it is excellent and should be the case,” Schindler points out, “but it is not a strategy for Germany’s security, because none of these services – British, French, Israeli or American – has the remit to guarantee security in Germany. So we must also be as effective as possible on our own”, whilst recognising that cooperation remains vital and always necessary. After all, the expert adds, we must also “hopefully be able to pass on something useful to other services in turn, so that we may then receive something in return”.

The threat landscape facing Germany is highly complex. “Since 2014, and particularly since 2022, Russian operations in Germany and across Europe have become increasingly aggressive,” confirms Schindler, who also points to the intensification of hybrid activities by countries such as Iran. The domestic threat has increased across the entire spectrum: on the one hand, the neo-Nazi far right; on the other, the Islamist threat. “We have taken the strategic decision – not just Germany, but Europe and, ultimately, the Western world – to no longer combat terrorism at its source. We have withdrawn from Afghanistan, we have withdrawn from West Africa, and we have partially withdrawn from East Africa,” explains Schindler, and now “it is not illogical that we must do much more here”, at home. In the fight against radical Islamism, the reform could make a significant difference. Of course, judicial shortcomings, such as in the case of the attack on Berlin Pride in July, cannot be attributed to the work of the intelligence services. But in other cases, things could change: “Identifying someone you do not know, who is becoming radicalised, is only possible if you can use artificial intelligence and analyse big data. This is what the reform should allow,” Schindler explains. Facilitating the work of the agencies in the face of Germany’s restrictive data and privacy regulations is, in fact, one of the crucial steps. The new law is already sparking political debate and, as the director of the CEP himself points out, will have to face challenges before the Constitutional Court. The final text of the reform is therefore not yet settled. One new development is the possibility for the BND to resort to ‘kinetic means’, that is, the use of physical force. However, this is an exception reserved for situations of extreme self-defence and war. In short, the German intelligence services will not become agencies with a licence to kill in peacetime. In the near future, Berlin will not be able to carry out any Mossad-style ‘pager operations’.

Karoline Leavitt’s resignation as White House spokesperson is therefore not the only headache Trump will have to deal with in order to keep a tight rein on communications within an administration built in the image and likeness of Trump and the MAGA movement, which, according to Rosa, “remains impervious to allegations of illegality”. The facts are that two organisations – not even among the most prominent in the media world – the news outlet The Intercept and the non-profit organisation Freedom of the Press, have taken legal action against Trump over the new service on Truth – his personal social network – which allows subscribers to access his posts in advance for $100,000 a month. The lawsuit has been filed in a New York court and is based on the argument that this practice is “corrupt” as it grants privileged access to sensitive information that has a direct impact on the economy and financial markets.

“It’s as if, in a running race,” Rosa gives as an example, “one of the competitors were allowed to hear the starting gun in advance – even if only by a fraction of a second – giving them an advantage in the competition. Even in these sporting events, acoustic systems have been introduced to ensure that the starting gun is heard at exactly the same moment by all participants. In the world of investment, which relies on highly sophisticated technologies and where decisions are made at breakneck speed, giving certain traders information a thousandth of a second in advance is equivalent to giving them the chance to make billions of euros.” The White House defends itself by arguing that this case makes little sense because the information disseminated by Trump is already being distributed by many other platforms and press agencies, which offer paid services. “This strikes me as a very weak argument. These platforms disseminate information that is already public or about to be disclosed, capitalising on the speed of transmission. In the case of Truth, it is the US government itself that is providing the news, which stems from its own decisions. Unfortunately, however, under US law, criminal prosecution is not mandatory as it is in Italy; federal prosecutors report to the Department of Justice, where Todd Blanche – Trump’s trusted lawyer – has just been appointed.”

To put it simply, if, back in Nixon’s day, the Attorney General had been one of his lawyers, the Watergate scandal would never have happened. It is precisely films such as those starring Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman, or “The Big Short”, which exposed the mechanisms behind the Lehman Brothers collapse, and the Madoff case – concerning the biggest financial fraud in history – as well as a whole host of TV series – from “Billions” to “House of Cards” – have shown the general public that the history of American finance has been littered with individuals prepared to flout regulations and the US Constitution to make money. “But if you were caught, you’d face twenty years in prison because all it took was to come under the scrutiny of a federal prosecutor or be reported to the SEC,” observes Rosa. “The point is that that world – where illegal acts took place but, if discovered, were prosecuted under the law – seems to no longer exist, or perhaps never existed at all. It is very sad for me to say these things. I belong to that generation of European economists who have always regarded statistical data and information from American sources as the ‘gold standard’, that is, the pinnacle of reliability. The risk now is that market operators will regard them on a par with those from emerging markets. And the incredible thing is that nobody seems to realise that this is an unprecedented blow to America’s reputation. It will take years, perhaps decades, to remedy this.” How will international investors react to all this? “Those responsible for allocating large amounts of capital do not have many alternatives. The US market remains the most attractive in terms of size, liquidity and diversification. Europe, which today outperforms it in terms of transparency and regulatory certainty, could represent a viable alternative for investors if only Eurobonds were available, but the use of this instrument is still very limited, which is a real shame. The only hope, in my view, does not lie in legal action – which is difficult to win with Trump having placed his people everywhere – but rather that, in the long term, investors’ confidence in US debt will be undermined by this behaviour and that the political class will receive signals strong enough to bring about a change of course. We have already seen some signs of this in the Treasury market.”

Within the Democratic Party, the battle is entirely confined to the party’s ranks, with the socialist wing led by Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez having scored some significant victories against the party leadership, particularly in Michigan. But it has also suffered resounding defeats, such as in Wisconsin, where the socialist gubernatorial candidate Francesca Hong was beaten in the Democratic primary by the centrist David Crowley: a surprise result that represents a debacle for the pollsters (Hong had been predicted to lead by 15–20 points) and raises many questions about how voters are reacting to the rebels’ challenges to traditional politics.

But it is within the turbulent world of MAGA that laboratory experiments are becoming more daring, to the point where it seems the time has come to find another name for the Make America Great Again movement. Talking about MAGA 2.0 seems too narrow, given the emergence of plans for a split, initiatives to create a third party (long the phoenix of American politics) and cross-pollinations that are causing political short circuits. A case in point, in this latter regard, is the series of interviews Hunter Biden is currently granting to his fiercest enemies of recent years: the podcasters and influencers of the radical right who had made the former president’s son their favourite target. The most talked-about instance is the conversation – which has racked up millions of views – that Biden Jr had with Tucker Carlson on the popular programme that the former Fox news anchor broadcasts across all digital platforms. But Hunter is undertaking a broader strategy; he has infiltrated the far right to dismantle from within the caricature that the Trumpian world had created of him and his father.

It is unclear whether Biden Jr.’s aim is to pursue some sort of political candidacy, choosing to begin by addressing his opponents. A bit like California Governor Gavin Newsom is doing, in preparation for his bid for the White House in 2028. What is certain is that, at 56, Hunter seems to have put the various controversial chapters of his life behind him (drugs, guns, tax evasion, lobbying in Ukraine and other assorted scandals), to devote himself to crafting a counter-narrative about himself and his father – one that effectively amounts to an indictment of Donald Trump and his obsessions regarding his predecessor. A journey that began last December with an appearance on the popular podcast hosted by Shawn Ryan – a controversial figure with a past as a Navy SEAL and CIA contractor – and which has since taken him through many platforms within the ‘Make America Great Again’ (MAGA) movement, including those of Candace Owens and then Carlson. That is to say, two of the leading rebels who are splitting the conservative coalition that helped bring Trump back to the White House in 2024.

The strong messages that Biden Jr. found himself sharing with Carlson are the belief that Trump is an ‘existential threat’ to the United States, that technocrats such as Elon Musk and Mark Zuckerberg are dangerous and must be stopped, and above all that the United States today has an enemy posing as a friend: Benjamin Netanyahu, whom Hunter describes as “evil incarnate” and whom Carlson has been attacking for months (though, in his case, extending the accusations to the whole of Israel) as the real architect of the war against Iran, which has definitively alienated the rebellious MAGA supporters from Trump.

Where is this seething anger against the establishment – paradoxically embodied today by the president who wanted to ‘drain the swamp’ in Washington – leading? One of the first effects is the resurgence of the age-old idea of a third party: an independent presidential campaign that could feature Carlson as its candidate – though he is holding back for now – with foreign policy as its unifying theme. The promoters, alongside the anchorman, are former MP Marjorie Taylor Greene, the maverick MP from Kentucky Thomas Massie and former counter-terrorism director Joe Kent. But the model they have in mind is not that of the independents of yesteryear, à la Ross Perot – libertarian and disruptive candidacies offering an outlet for those who do not identify with the two main parties. Instead, the model to replicate is that of Robert F. Kennedy Jr., whose ‘independent’ challenge in 2024 ended with a reconciliation with Trump and a government post. Carlson could launch his own insurrection, particularly if Marco Rubio – the real enemy – were among the White House candidates. In that case, he would challenge the Secretary of State on foreign policy issues, before likely entering into an alliance with J.D. Vance. The candidate on whom those disillusioned with Trump are pinning their hopes to build, in the 2030s, a post-MAGA, isolationist world that, in their eyes, is truly ‘America First’.

In Ceuta, however, efforts are under way to deal with the July crisis as best as possible, with the pessimistic realisation that it may not be the last, but at least the hope that the next one will not come so soon. The emergency is not over. According to the Ministry of the Interior, 5,000 migrants remain in the city; local authorities put the figure at 9,000. As reported in the local press, it has not been possible to begin identification procedures because there is a lack not only of resources but even of the physical space required to carry out the necessary formalities. Plans are being considered to use the football pitch or the large sorting area at Loma Colmenar, designed to manage the flow of vehicles facing long waits to cross the border with Morocco (the customs posts at Ceuta and Melilla, which Morocco opens and closes for questionable reasons, are among the most sensitive issues dividing the two countries). And Morocco is adding insult to injury: the Ministry of the Interior accuses Madrid of bureaucratic delays in returning the minors, whilst the National Human Rights Council (which reports to the government in Rabat) accuses the Spanish police of mistreating migrants. Meanwhile, the pro-establishment press – such as the newspaper Le 360, which, at the height of the crisis two weeks ago, published articles asserting Moroccan sovereignty over Ceuta and Melilla – is now publishing satirical cartoons depicting the Civil Guard keeping people in cages described as ‘waiting rooms’.

In a city where migratory pressure is typically high, the temporary reception centre is at full capacity and there are plans to build a hotspot in the surrounding area. Other emergency camps have sprung up in the meantime, and more will need to be built. Where they already exist, residents are protesting. Where there are plans to build them, residents are protesting. A case in point is the makeshift camp in the La Reina neighbourhood, which can no longer cope. This is what the neighbourhood representative told the local media – not an elderly man named José López, but the young Abdellah Mustafa. They have mainly taken in young women, many of whom have a history of violence. There are now plans to move them to a disused factory, but the new neighbours do not seem particularly pleased. Healthcare facilities are also under pressure. The Medical Association and the sector’s trade unions have already warned of the risk of infectious diseases breaking out due to overcrowding and poor hygiene.

Comisiones Obreras, Spain’s historic and largest trade union, which describes itself as ‘internationalist, multi-ethnic and multicultural’, feels the need to emphasise this in its statement: ‘This risk does not stem from people’s nationality, but from their material living conditions, such as the lack of adequate housing and sanitation facilities’. In short, no ideological bias, but real problems. Problems in the face of which the absence of two key ministers is glaringly obvious. Pedro Sánchez visited Ceuta before going on holiday. Fernando Grande-Marlaska, the Minister of the Interior, visited and was met with boos. Margarita Robles (Defence) visited, showing and finding more empathy (her conversation with the elderly woman who was crying and saying she was afraid went viral). But after two weeks, Ministers Elma Saiz and Mónica García have still not been seen. The former, as well as being the government’s spokesperson, heads the Ministry for Inclusion and Migration and has only just announced that she will be in Ceuta next Monday. The other – who entered government via grassroots activism, first with Podemos and then with Sumar – is the Minister for Health. She has denied there is a health emergency, but says she too will soon be travelling to Ceuta. In short, the matter will be discussed after mid-August.

Moscow’s hybrid warfare encompasses sabotage, cyberattacks, disinformation, interference and covert operations against European infrastructure and strategic targets. This is why Thursday’s explosion in Colleferro, on the outskirts of Rome, at a plant belonging to KNDS Ammo Italy – a company that manufactures ammunition, including 155-millimetre rounds destined for Ukraine – takes on particular significance. The fire, which broke out in the area used for processing and compressing gunpowder, did not result in any casualties. The judicial authorities are investigating the causes and, at present, there is no evidence to link the incident to Russia’s hybrid war – although many have put forward the theory that it was an act of sabotage. The most alarming aspect, however, concerns the media coverage: in Italy, there are already those accusing "the arms industry", arguing that "the employment prospects of a region and the country cannot be entrusted to rearmament and the war economy". Security comes first, but it is precisely Putin’s war, together with the hybrid pressure that Moscow has been exerting on European countries for years now, that has made it clear that without a credible defence capability, there can be no guarantee of security. We can debate how to produce weapons, where to produce them and what safeguards to put in place for local communities. But the problem that compels us to do so is not one we have created ourselves.

He received a thousand more votes than last time, which is not that impressive when you consider he was up against a host of absurd and farcical candidates, who probably only put themselves forward to force him onto the stage with them at the moment of victory, as if it were a parish play or a carnival float. Farage refused to go on stage, citing security concerns that had apparently been suggested to him by the police, who, however, denied this. He shrewdly skipped the ridiculous photo opportunity and declined to deliver the acceptance speech he’d prepared, limiting himself to a succinct statement: “The voters of Clacton have given the entire political establishment the middle finger.” Was he fearing pies in the face or serious threats, such as those made frighteningly real by the violent death of Ann Widdecombe in her own home? We don’t know, but in the meantime, on the horizon for the indestructible Farage – a man who has survived testicular cancer and a helicopter crash – lies the risk of having to face the serious candidates that the parties will undoubtedly field should there be a return to the polls.

Andy Burnham’s Labour Party is enjoying a welcome rebound in the polls and has regained its position as the leading party, but Kemi Badenoch’s Tories have now stabilised at around 20 per cent. What’s more, she – a black woman – is certainly not unwelcome among voters for Reform, a party that was causing a stir last September with 32 per cent support and has now slipped to 24 per cent. Now she also has the new ‘Restore Britain’ party, led by her former MP Rupert Lowe – who is even further to the right (he wants the death penalty and for all the ‘Roggero’ jewellers in the Kingdom to be able to shoot without hindrance) – hot on her heels, and it is creeping up the ranks among the far-right electorate. To really send a strong and clear message to Westminster and avoid being accused of spending public money on a pointless vote, Farage needed overwhelming figures – 63 per cent is not enough, especially when there is no one on the other side – and a high turnout. Forty-four per cent is respectable for this sort of vote but does not indicate mass mobilisation.

It should have been a walk in the park, despite a ballot paper 90 centimetres long, but it turned out to be somewhat more nuanced, not least because Reform continues to have a problem with a quarrelsome and inadequate leadership. Regarding the investigation, Farage has pre-empted the issue, saying that “he may have forgotten to fill in a form” to declare the 5 million he was given for security, but also as a reward for the 27 years of his life spent fighting for Brexit. Otherwise, he has been unusually terse.

“The result in Clacton speaks for itself,” commented Farage on social media. He did not attend the vote count, claiming that the police had advised him against it for security reasons, but the British press has found no confirmation of this. The leader of Reform UK was due to give a speech this morning in Clacton, but the event was cancelled without explanation. 

Farage, leader of the anti-immigration party Reform UK, had suddenly resigned from his seat in July, during an investigation into whether he had failed to declare a £5 million donation received from a cryptocurrency billionaire based abroad. He stated that he would stand for the vacant seat to prove he had the support of the electorate.

However, the victory in Clacton does not guarantee that Farage will manage to retain his seat. It is likely that the inquiry, which was suspended at the time of his resignation, will resume, conducted by a parliamentary oversight body.When he announced his surprise resignation last month, the Reform leader stated that “it will be the people of Clacton who judge my actions” and that he wanted to “fight to continue the political revolution started by Reform”. Now that the election is over, it cannot be ruled out that the issue will resurface in exactly the same way as before. 

Binface, a serial candidate who has challenged past and present prime ministers, has become the sole challenger in a field of 34 candidates after the main parties boycotted the election campaign, calling it a political stunt by Farage. He came second, securing 26.9 per cent of the vote – his best result ever (he has previously stood in four general elections and two London mayoral elections). Today, he will reclaim the £500 that every candidate pays as a deposit to stand, which is refunded if they secure more than 5 per cent of the vote. 

A repeat of the events of 30 and 31 July, which saw nearly 80,000 arrivals, would lead to Ceuta’s collapse, according to local authorities. Speaking from the government building in the exclave, Grande-Marlaska reassured everyone, announcing the deployment of a further 880 police officers and emphasising the importance of cooperation with Morocco. He then issued a direct appeal to the migrants: “No one who enters Ceuta and Melilla illegally will be allowed to stay; no one will be allowed onto the mainland, nor will their status be regularised.” Barricades and barbed-wire fences aside, the real counter-offensive mounted by Spain, with the support of the EU, is the one taking place on social media, in an attempt to dissuade migrants from falling into the trap of fake news promising phantom regularisations for those who reach Ceuta by swimming.

The European Commission has taken direct action to curb disinformation campaigns, enlisting the support of Meta and TikTok. Henna Virkkunen, the Commission’s Executive Vice-President for Technological Sovereignty, Security and Democracy, said on Monday that “TikTok and Meta have activated their crisis protocols and set up an ad hoc mechanism for escalation and cooperation, including systems for fact-checking”. There is a recent precedent in North Africa – in Libya, to be precise – where a similar disinformation campaign lasting several weeks threw the migrant reception system into crisis in a manner similar to what happened in Ceuta.

Last June, several social media accounts had spread fake news regarding the alleged role of the UN refugee agency, UNHCR, in the regularisation of sub-Saharan migrants. The protest by thousands of Libyans, who were shouting slogans against UN and EU officials – and also against Italy, which was accused of resettling migrants in Libya – had turned very violent, and troops from the UN mission had to intervene to defend the UNHCR headquarters in Tripoli. Some internal emails from the agency, which Il Foglio had obtained, had also revealed, in that instance, the direct involvement of Meta and TikTok in limiting the spread of fake news at the UN’s request. The incident eventually subsided, but not before causing considerable concern amongst UN staff, to the extent that the mission was on the verge of being suspended for fear that the protests might escalate further. In that instance, the scale of the event was less severe than the mass phenomenon that affected Ceuta, whilst the identity of the instigator and their motives – despite suspicions pointing to the Tripoli government – remained a mystery in that case too. 15 August will be a decisive test of the tools deployed by Europe in the war against disinformation that uses migrants as a weapon of blackmail. 

Following their seizure of power in Afghanistan on 15 August five years ago, in their first interviews with journalists the Taliban pretended that girls’ schools would soon be reopened, justifying their repressive measures on the vague grounds of ‘security’. In reality, over the past five years, the regime in Afghanistan has progressively dismantled the rights of more than half its population, issuing over a hundred decrees year after year targeting women and girls, “institutionalising discrimination and depriving them of their fundamental rights, with profound consequences for their lives and their communities”, writes UN Women in its latest report marking the fifth anniversary of the US withdrawal from Afghanistan. Just one month after returning to power, in September 2021, one of the first measures implemented by the Taliban was the closure of schools for girls over the age of twelve. Women working in government offices were told to stay at home, marking the start of restrictions on employment, including the requirement to be accompanied by a mahram – a male guardian – when travelling, and to be examined only by female medical staff. In May 2022, women and girls who were ‘neither too old nor too young’ were required to cover their faces with a full veil, leaving only their eyes visible; in November, they were banned from the capital’s parks, gyms, swimming pools and public baths; in December 2023, a ban was introduced on attending university and then beauty salons – the last remaining places where women could meet or work. A law passed in August 2024 prohibited women from even raising their voices in public and from working for NGOs or international organisations. The latest decree, passed last June, legally authorises child marriage and allows a minor girl’s silence to constitute consent to marriage. The exclusion of Afghan women from education, work, public life, the judicial system and healthcare has so severely restricted their freedom of movement that more than half say they leave the house twice a month or less; nearly three-quarters told UN Women they feel unsafe going out without a mahram; over half avoid public places altogether, such as markets and healthcare facilities; and only 7 per cent have retained a job.  The result is a crisis in Afghan women’s mental health, as well as their physical health – soon there will be no female healthcare workers left to treat them – and if the ban on education were to continue until 2030, according to the United Nations, “over two million girls will be deprived of education beyond primary school, in a country that already has one of the lowest female literacy rates in the world”.

Restrictions on the media

Over the past five years, the Taliban have issued numerous decrees to curtail media independence and impose restrictions on press freedom. Hundreds of independent newspapers and media outlets have been shut down, and most journalists have either left the country or abandoned the profession. Activists and dissidents have been subjected to arbitrary detention and torture, whilst hundreds of members of the previous government’s security forces have been victims of enforced disappearances and extrajudicial executions.  Last January, the regime enacted a new Code of Criminal Procedure for the courts, which provides for prison sentences and flogging for anyone who insults the leadership of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan (20 lashes and six months’ imprisonment) or the supreme leader of the Taliban (39 lashes and one year’s imprisonment), thereby criminalising any criticism of the authorities. The law also punishes any contact with opponents of the government, and vague definitions of “rebellion”, “subversion” and “heresy” carry severe penalties, “providing the regime with a new and powerful legal weapon to silence journalists”, writes the French NGO Reporters Without Borders on the fifth anniversary of the Taliban law.

The humanitarian crisis

It is not only Afghan women who are bearing the brunt of five years of Taliban rule in Afghanistan. The entire population is in the midst of a protracted crisis, exacerbated by the return, at the end of 2023, of over six million Afghans from neighbouring countries, which has worsened the emergency situation in a country already on the brink of collapse.

Afghanistan’s neighbouring countries, Pakistan and Iran, have deported or forcibly repatriated nearly five million Afghans. Turkey, too, has turned Afghans away at the border and deported many directly to Afghanistan, often without properly examining their applications for protection, leaving them to face repression by the regime. Following the suspension of most international aid and with health services severely weakened, nearly half the population now requires food and medical assistance – according to the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, some 21.9 million people are in need of humanitarian assistance – over 3.7 million children are suffering from acute malnutrition, the maternal mortality rate in Afghanistan is among the highest in the world. International aid available for the humanitarian response has been cut by almost 70 per cent, falling from $3.3 billion in 2022 to $1 billion in 2025.  This year, only $450 million in aid has been allocated to tackle the humanitarian crisis: this represents just 26 per cent of the $1.7 billion required.

The conflict with Pakistan

In addition to internal problems, over the past year the Taliban government has found itself having to deal with the war on the border with Pakistan: in February, Pakistani air strikes on Kabul and other Afghan provinces, along with cross-border attacks claimed by both sides, sparked an ‘open war’ between the two countries, as announced by Pakistani Defence Minister Khawaja Mohammad Asif. According to the Afghan human rights organisation Rawadari, between December 2024 and June 2026, the Pakistani army is reported to have killed or wounded more than 1,180 Afghans, including women and children, causing the displacement of over 29,000 families, whilst Pakistan continues to accuse Kabul of harbouring militants who organise attacks against Islamabad.

Resistance groups

The Afghan army is ill-equipped to face both the Pakistani forces and the resistance groups, which in recent weeks have launched a number of successful armed operations in the north-eastern province of Badakhshan. On 17 July, the newly formed group Sepahiyan-e Mihan, which means ‘Front of Patriotic Soldiers’, occupied the centre of Yaftali Sufla – a strategic outpost in the province – for several hours, marking the first time a provincial capital has been lost under the Afghan regime in five years. According to some experts and analysts, resistance forces have recently shifted from guerrilla warfare to an operational phase, and there are signs pointing to a possible increase in cooperation between the groups: “It is a fact that the Taliban, who are approaching the fifth anniversary of their return to power in Afghanistan on 15 August, are facing a more intense operational pace in Badakhshan,” wrote Will Selber, a retired officer from US Central Command, a few days ago in the Long War Journal published by the Foundation for Defence of Democracies.

International recognition

Russia is the only country to officially recognise the Taliban government, yet in recent years many nations have opened a dialogue with Afghan leaders. Embassies have been opened in the capital with an objective stated by the Foreign Ministry itself: to establish relations with all countries in order to gain international legitimacy. Envoys from China, Japan, Turkey and Saudi Arabia have arrived in Kabul to sign trade agreements, followed by those from Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, seeking sea access via Afghanistan for their trade routes. Following the outbreak of hostilities with Pakistan, India too has strengthened its ties with the Taliban government as part of its anti-Pakistan strategy, granting an exemption from sanctions last year to allow the Taliban Foreign Minister, Amir Khan Muttaqi, to visit the country. Even European countries, despite condemning the Taliban’s decrees, have behind closed doors opened the door to diplomacy with Kabul: as recently as last June, the European Commission invited and met with a Taliban delegation in Brussels to discuss forced repatriations from EU countries. The Taliban have initiated talks on the repatriation of Afghan citizens without the right of residence in Europe, whilst the European Commission has emphasised that the aim was to speed up the repatriation of individuals convicted of serious crimes or considered a threat to security. Despite concerns over the deportation of Afghan citizens who could face torture and abuse at the hands of the Taliban, some European countries, such as Sweden and the United Kingdom, have urged the Commission to deepen negotiations with Kabul – an issue of “fundamental importance”, according to the Swedish Minister for Migration, Johan Forssell. But that is not all. The latest European country to have struck an agreement with the Taliban is Germany, a pact that allows the Taliban to consolidate their diplomatic presence in Germany in exchange for cooperation on the repatriation of Afghan migrants to Afghanistan.  It is the first European country to officially allow officials appointed by the Taliban to work in diplomatic missions across Europe, and this casts considerable doubt on the repatriation policy that Brussels intends to promote in states where Sharia, Islamic law, is in force.

Last Sunday, just a few days before the anniversary of the Taliban regaining control of Afghanistan, two Afghan members of the United Nations political mission in the country were arrested without charge and without the right to receive visitors, demonstrating that, five years on, not even humanitarian organisations and aid to the population are immune to Kabul’s control.