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New European
19 hours ago
- Entertainment
- New European
Tom Cruise, the Nietzschean Superman
The most recent instalment of the series, The Final Reckoning, involves an evil AI called 'the Entity' and nods to Dr Strangelove with its theme of nuclear jitteriness. But Tom Cruise summed it up best in a late-night show interview: 'There's a mission, and it's impossible!' And that's all you really need to know. I have seen most of the Mission: Impossible films, but I couldn't tell you much about their plots, not in any real detail anyway. The basic formula doesn't change much: retrieve a top-secret gizmo from the most impenetrable place on Earth, disarm a nuclear device with a few minutes to spare, dodge a few double-crossing agents and, from time to time, kill off the leading lady to make way for a new, younger, one. While most of us don't watch these films for their plots, what we do remember are the insane stunts: Tom Cruise climbing the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world, Tom Cruise hanging onto the side of a plane as it takes off, Tom Cruise running very, very fast, Tom Cruise holding his breath under water for six minutes, Tom Cruise riding a motorbike off a mountain. Cruise famously performs all of his own stunts, a fact I was acutely aware of while watching a heart-and-show-stopping scene in The Final Reckoning, where he swings around on the wings of a biplane as it loops, dives and rolls. At one point, I turned to my partner and whispered, with a laugh of amazement, 'He's 62!' I wasn't the only one thinking it. You could feel the entire cinema tense up, everyone lifting slightly out of their seats. It was one of those cinema experiences that reminds you why going to the cinema is a thing in the first place. We weren't watching Ethan Hunt, the main character of the franchise, we were watching actor Tom Cruise push the boundaries of entertainment and of human possibility. The term 'Übermensch' comes to mind here. When the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche introduced the idea in the 1880s, he was thinking about how to prevent humanity from drowning in nihilism after he announced the death of God. Nietzsche imagined a superior being who could build his own values and overcome his limitations through self-determination, a creative ability to shape the world according to his will. The idea of the Superman is a wishful idea of what each of us could be, the potential to which we might be able to aspire, a better (according to the philosopher) version of humanity. This concept has been coopted, distorted and caricatured into near oblivion, and if we stretch it a little further, there is definitely a lens through which we can read both Cruise and his alter ego Ethan Hunt as embodiments of the Nietzschean Superman. Throughout the Mission: Impossible franchise, Hunt imposes his will on the chaos of the world, bending the rules of governments and institutions to enforce his own values of loyalty and justice, and, of course, to save the world. Cruise himself seems to have decided long ago that the laws of physics and of human mortality do not apply to him, and he is sometimes described as an alien, not just due to his long-standing affiliation with Scientology, but because of his apparent über-humanness. No matter your opinion of Tom Cruise, it's impossible not to be at least slightly fascinated by him. Never has someone exuded more natural charisma while seeming entirely removed from any recognisable form of human experience. It doesn't seem possible for him to exist without pushing life to its literal limits, putting himself in situations so extreme that he is likely the only person to have ever lived them. Even the way he eats popcorn reflects his desire to live to the max. The Übermensch is the one who enthusiastically says 'yes' to life, through joy as well as pain. But let's not get carried away. Nietzsche would no doubt disapprove of a hero like Hunt who operates within a traditional moral framework and whose mission isn't to transcend humanity but to preserve it. And Cruise's personal commitment to a rigid hierarchical structure like Scientology would probably not sit well with the philosopher either. When Nietzsche introduced the idea of the Übermensch, he was trying to imagine what our evolution as a species might look like. He envisioned a being as far beyond us as we are beyond our ape ancestors. Even Tom Cruise can't live up to this Nietzschean standard. But by Hollywood's standards, Cruise is the closest thing to a real Superman. I'd be willing to bet that if the stuntmen of early Westerns or the wing walkers of aviation's early days had been asked to imagine their ideal entertainer – someone as far beyond them as they were from, say, medieval jesters – they probably would have dreamed up someone like Tom Cruise. Someone who has spent years building stunts on a bigger scale than anyone in history, and continues to execute them flawlessly into his sixties, who advocates for the theatrical experience of cinema, who is credited with almost single-handedly saving the cinema industry during Covid lockdowns, and who likely influenced the Academy's decision to introduce a Stunt Design Oscar starting in 2027. A more cynical view might be that Cruise's image as the saviour of cinema, and as 'the last real movie star' is the result of a savvy PR campaign aimed at diverting from the more controversial aspects of his personal life. Whether or not that's true, there's something undeniably intoxicating about Cruise's unhinged enthusiasm, and he shows no signs of stopping. He recently said he plans to keep going well into his hundreds.
New European
19 hours ago
- General
- New European
Everything you do is wrong
As you may or may not have seen, a Guardian investigation published recently revealed that most British supermarkets sell seabass and seabream, which are linked to 'devastating overfishing in Senegal'. Though the actual fish is cultivated in farms in Turkey, seafood giants are purchasing fishmeal from factories in the African country, and destroying the livelihood of local communities as a result. The last straw isn't meant to be the biggest or most important one – that's the whole point. Still, despite knowing this, I couldn't help but feel quite gently hysterical as I lost my mind reading about fish. It isn't a terrific state of affairs, but I should have been able to read about it, frown solemnly, then go on with my day. Instead, the story made me lose my mind. You see, I eat quite a lot of seabream and seabass, and have done so for a number of years. A while back, I decided I ought to live a more ethical life, and stopped buying meat to cook at home. I still eat it when out of the house, but I felt it was a decent compromise. We all have to do our bit, and all that. It was a healthier lifestyle, sure, but mostly it made me feel good about myself. I really love eating both beef and chicken, meaning that making the switch was quite tough, but at least I was able to feel good and virtuous about my choice. The Guardian piece put an end to that smugness. More than that, though, it made me wonder: what's the point of it all? Somehow, life in the 21st century, as someone trying to be vaguely progressive, involves making endless tweaks to your life – even if you'd rather not make them – and still ending up feeling like you're not doing enough. Food is one part of it – try to buy organic, spend more to make sure you're not helping anyone commit any atrocities, and so on – but the internet is arguably worse. At the end of last year, I left Twitter for good, and moved permanently to Bluesky. It was a decision that, I'm sure, cost me quite a few commissions, as many editors still refuse to budge from Elon Musk's platform. Visibility often is the main weapon in a freelance journalist's arsenal, and I willingly let go of it, as I just didn't feel comfortable being there anymore. Well, and yeah: it made me feel pretty righteous too, though righteousness rarely tends to pay the bills. More broadly, I only get items delivered to my house when I've explored every other option and found them all to be wanting. It does mean that errands sometimes remain unrun for days or weeks, as I just don't have the time to schlep to the DIY store or wherever else, but it's all for a good cause, isn't it? Similarly, I shun takeaway apps as I worry they're both killing a lot of local restaurants and threatening to kill their underpaid, overworked delivery drivers. I could go on but you hopefully get the gist. The world of 2025 is, technically, one of glorious, grotesque abundance, but the only way to feel decent about how you choose to live your life is to lead an increasingly monk-like life. I try not to be too bitter about it but sometimes it's hard: I look at people abusing fast fashion, overusing Uber and eating whatever they damn well like and I think: man, it sure looks like they're having a swell time. Why can't I do the same? Or else – why can't I convince them to join me, over her on the dour side of existence? It's a problem for me, of course, but I also worry that it's a problem for left-wing parties everywhere. At risk of being a tad too vague, as I wouldn't wish to spoil the people who haven't got round to watching it yet, the conclusion of The Good Place, a brilliant TV show, is that all modern consumption is inherently evil. The sitcom isn't in any way promoting teenage communism, but instead pointing to a simple fact: the more complicated our world becomes, the harder it is for us to know if we're doing the right thing or not, and the easier it is to cause harm without meaning to. Progressive parties should be the one arguing that people can have it all – live lives that are both fulfilling and virtuous – but where to even begin? No-one will ever win any votes by telling the electorate to stop doing things they enjoy, and make their lives easier. Similarly, fixing a lot of these issues feels impossible at a national level, as, say, Musk can't be reasoned with, and both food and tech giants often act like they're too big to fail. I wish I had more answers to offer but, in truth, I don't. I've no idea what the way forward is. All I know is that I'll still eat bass and bream, because we all have our limits, and I guess I've just found mine.
New European
19 hours ago
- Politics
- New European
Ukraine braces for a cruel summer
The summer months will be crucial as they may provide answers to questions that inform us exactly how close the conflict is to reaching a resolution. The war in Ukraine is approaching what could be its most critical stage yet, as officials in Kyiv say Russia's anticipated summer offensive has already started. Those questions include: does Russia have the resources to push further into Ukraine; how deep are Ukraine's defensive capabilities; how much violence can Trump stomach before turning on Vladimir Putin; can Europeans put Ukraine in a strong enough position to secure long-term peace on its own terms – both for itself and the continent. Security officials in Kyiv believe that Putin's immediate priority is convincing the West that he's in total control of when and how the war ends. He has recently talked of creating a 'buffer zone' between the Ukrainian frontline and territory that Russia has occupied, apparently to allow the space for a ceasefire. Of course, there is a perverse irony to Putin, who is currently ordering strikes on civilians and not bothering to attend formal ceasefire talks, claiming he wants peace with a straight face. Ukrainian officials believe his current actions are more about convincing Trump and Ukraine's western allies that he can achieve his objectives without the need for an agreement with Ukraine – effectively going over Kyiv's head, thereby robbing the country of a say in its own fate. 'Putin believes he can destroy Ukraine's statehood if he's given the time,' says a source close to President Zelensky. 'The Kremlin wants to convince Trump to give it the space to force Ukraine into a position, so no need to negotiate. They want defeat to seem so inevitable that America and Europe stop sending weapons to Ukraine and instead focus on their own stockpiles.' Current situation When Ukraine's officials say the summer offensive is underway, they point to the visible build-up of Russian troops in various positions across the frontline. 'At the moment, we are seeing tanks gathering in places on the frontline, looking for gaps or weak points in control zones,' says a Ukrainian security official. 'We know they do not have massive resources at the moment, but if they can find these weak points, then they could make significant gains further into our territory.' These sorts of gains, combined with the increased drone and missile strikes deeper in Ukraine, would allow the Kremlin to make the case that they are on the brink of victory, while draining it of resources, like anti-missile defences, drones, anti-tank mines and, of course, personnel. Suggested Reading What does real justice for Ukraine look like? Andy Owen It's no secret that the war has been difficult for Ukraine. Russia is a much larger country with greater resources in terms of people and manufacturing capacity. Among its closest allies are brutal dictatorships like China, North Korea and Iran, who have no particular qualms about selling them weapons – or in the case of North Korea, people. While they don't expect a Ukrainian collapse this summer by any stretch of the imagination, officials in Ukraine do believe that the summer offensive of 2025 will be harder than previous years. They are keen that Western allies know exactly how and why it might be so difficult. 'Lots of people come here and want to tell positive stories about our resilience, and that is good,' says Serhii Kuzan, Chairman of the Ukrainian Security and Cooperation Center. 'But at the moment, we cannot manufacture weapons or recruit as fast as the Russians. We need people outside the country to understand how we can address this.' What friends are for Ukraine's Western allies have given Kyiv a lot of money and weapons to hold off Russia. But more is needed if Ukraine is to keep Putin at bay. To this end, Ukraine has tried to make investing in its defence industry more appealing to allies – notably in Europe, where countries are preparing to splash up to $800bn rearming themselves by 2030. Ukraine's defence industry capacity has grown from $1bn a year in 2022 to an expected $35bn by the end of 2025. Officials in Kyiv believe that current output is considerably lower. That means there is potential for Western countries to place orders directly with Ukrainian manufacturers, then donate the weapons made in-country to the Ukrainian forces. As the European Union recently noted: 'Direct support to Ukraine's defence industry is the most effective and cost-efficient way to support Ukraine's military efforts, notably through direct procurement orders from its defence industry by Member States for donation to Ukraine.' This wouldn't be pure charity on behalf of Europeans. There are selfish and long-term incentives for European countries to invest in the Ukrainian defence industry – something officials in Kyiv know and are eager to exploit. The war has made the country a true front-line testing ground for cutting-edge technologies. 'What might take you months, even years of developing, testing and manufacturing in the West will only take weeks here,' a Ukrainian defence official said at a closed-door meeting I attended last month in Kyiv. 'We are the best test field in the world because mistakes here mean death. We can tell you very quickly how your product does or does not work on the battlefield because we have one. We don't mind people thinking of us as a testing ground in that sense.' Ukraine currently cannot export weapons for obvious reasons. However, a wise European arms manufacturer might see this as an open door to get a jump start on their competitors, developing the technology Europe will desperately need at a faster pace with cheaper overheads. If those export controls are lifted and the war does come to some kind of end, those with operational factories might be well placed to hoover up a decent chunk of the $800bn European spending. Building bridges The other area Russia has a distinct advantage on Ukraine is in pure manpower. While exact figures are hard to come by, Russia has a massive population and a leader who isn't shy about forcing people to fight his battles. An example: Putin's disregard for human life is hardly a secret, even when it comes to his own troops. The term 'meat grinder' is widely used in security circles to describe Russia's tactic of sending waves of troops to inevitable death in order to make relatively small gains. Members of Russia's government, for reasons known only to themselves, demonstrated their lack of compassion by giving mothers of fallen soldiers actual meat grinders on International Women's Day earlier this year. Ukraine has suffered heavy losses throughout the war. Even with conscription and volunteers, matching Russia in the numbers game is not easy. Officials in Kyiv know that Western troops are not going to join the battle against Russia. The best they can possibly hope for is governments like Britain and others in the Coalition of the Willing agreeing to put peacekeepers on the ground – something that would require a formal peace deal and the approval of Russia. However, Western countries could help Ukraine address its numbers problem in other ways. 'There is appetite in lots of countries for people to come and fight in Ukraine,' says Kuzan. 'If you look at South America, lots of people want to come and serve in the International Legion. Countries like Spain and Portugal who have historic and cultural ties, who speak the same languages could help build some kind of bridge and reach those people. Other European nations could build hubs where people can travel, sign up and get into Ukraine.' The Orange One The final and arguably most important role for Europe this summer is to keep Trump as happy as possible. Right now, he seems to be getting the message that Putin is out of his mind and more than happy to keep killing innocent civilians. He has even admitted that Putin isn't listening to him. The European leaders that Trump likes and listens to (yes, that's you Sir Keir) must keep pressing the case for American funding. The most terrifying prospect for those of us who have been in Ukraine while Russia fires ballistics is what happens when certain ammunition runs out? Ukraine's supply of air-defence missiles is dwindling and can realistically only be replenished with US approval. Yes, Trump needs to understand what we in Europe understand: that Ukraine's loss would be a loss for everyone who Russia considers an adversary, including the United States. But he also must be grovelled to and made to feel loved by us if that's what it takes to keep the weapons coming. As degrading as that might feel, Europe is simply not in a position to fill the gap left by America any time soon. The specifics of what's happening in Ukraine can feel remote and can be hard to understand. What's easier to understand is that Ukraine has held on against the odds for three years. This summer, we in the West must do everything in our power to ensure that those three years were not for nothing – and that Ukraine remains in a position to end this war on its own terms. For its sake and our own.
New European
19 hours ago
- Entertainment
- New European
Matthew d'Ancona's culture: Mountainhead is a whip-smart dystopian comedy
For those of us who have been in mourning since the finale of Succession in May 2023, travelling the world to watch its stars on stage as a form of grief management (reader, I went to New York), Jesse Armstrong's return as writer and director of this feature-length drama has been giddily anticipated. And it does not disappoint. In contrast to the international grandeur of the Roy family saga, with its debt to Lear and Greek mythology, Mountainhead is a bottle drama about four super-rich tech bros – claustrophobically confined for the weekend to the palatial mountain lair built in the Rockies by Hugo (Jason Schwarzmann); known to the other three as 'Soups', for 'Soup Kitchen', because he is worth a mere $521 million ('Like Fountainhead 'Mountainhead'? Was your interior decorator Ayn Bland?'). Like a younger Elon Musk, Venis (Cory Michael Smith) is the richest man alive and has just released a new version of his social media app, Traam, which has four billion users. Though its unfalsifiable deepfakes are causing riots and bloodshed all over the world, the tech titan is unmoved: 'We're going to show users as much shit as possible, until everyone realises… nothing means anything, and everything is funny – and cool.' His less wealthy but (slightly) more ethical friend and rival Jeff (Ramy Youssef) needles him for launching '4Chan on fucking acid' and does so knowing that – for all his bravado – Venis covets his own company's AI capacity that can bring a measure of order to the mayhem sown by Traam. Completing the quartet is the older Randall (Steve Carell), known as 'Papa Bear' and 'Dark Money Gandalf', who bears a striking resemblance to Donald Trump's first powerful Silicon Valley cheerleader, Peter Thiel. Inclined to quote Hegel, Kant and Plato, Randall – who has terminal cancer – is privately hoping to exploit Venis's deranged tech research in order to upload his own consciousness to the grid. Naturally, Venis loves the idea of a 'transhumanist' future: 'Tron-biking around, digital milkshakes, robot hand jobs!' Thanks to Armstrong's whip-smart dialogue, Mountainhead succeeds primarily as a dystopian screwball comedy; founded on the bathos of four men at a poker weekend casually discussing the means by which they might turn the chaos unleashed by Venis to their advantage. 'Maybe we do look at El Salvador as a dry run,' he suggests. But then again, why not 'coup out the US?' Even Hugo, the poorest of the four, dares to dream: 'If we take down China and the nation-state… now we're making memories!' Again, it is left to Jeff to offer a measure of perspective. Are they sure that dissolving the nation-state and seeking global tech domination is a good idea? 'Because Randall, I do think you're boiling an egg with no water.' None of which endears him to the group's elder ('he is a decelerationist and a snake!') If Succession was a bleak elegy to legacy media, Mountainhead is an even darker satire about the age that has followed, as Logan Roy knew it would. To adapt the grouchy patriarch's most famous line, such men may now rule the world; but they are not serious people. THEATRE Stereophonic (Duke of York's Theatre, London, until October 11) 'You need to show up; you need to pay attention; you need to tell the truth; and you need to deal with the consequences. Right?' Such is the advice of studio engineer Grover (Eli Gelb) to his assistant Charlie (Andrew R. Butler), as the two men seek to oversee a chaotic album recording that begins in June-July 1977 in Sausalito and ends a year later in Los Angeles. Though assumed to be a thinly-veiled account of the making of Fleetwood Mac's Rumours (1977), David Adjmi's extraordinary play – transferred from Broadway, having scooped up a record number of Tony nominations – has its distant roots in Led Zeppelin's cover of Babe I'm Gonna Leave You. When Adjmi heard the track on a flight, he knew he had to write something about music. It took him a decade to develop and stage Stereophonic, with the help of former Arcade Fire member, Will Butler. The fruit of all that painstaking work is a drama of many layers and great subtlety, that uses the intense setting of all-night sessions in the studio – a glass screen dividing the engineers from the band – to drill deep into what makes the five performers tick, create music, and love and loathe one another. There is Peter (Jack Riddiford), the increasingly monomaniacal vocalist and guitarist, his relationship with star vocalist and songwriter Diana (Lucy Karczewski) in sharp decline. Bass player Reg (Zachary Hart), ill from booze and cocaine, wraps himself in a blanket of wretchedness, squandering the love of vocalist and keyboard player Holly (Nia Towle). Simon (Chris Stack) is the British-American band's de facto manager, as well as its drummer. Beyond the walls of the studio, their fame is surging; within, they are a portrait of familial dysfunction. Though Stereophonic brilliantly captures the golden age of the seventies album – and is studded with allusions to Nicolas Roeg's Don't Look Now (1973), Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975), the Eagles and the Watergate scandal – its power flows from the universality of the pressure-cooker conversations, rows and banter in which the characters reveal themselves. 'I guess I believe we're here to suffer,' Grover tells Reg. In contrast, each of the band members – to a greater or lesser extent – is a dreamer: hence, all the disasters, and all the magic. FILM The Ballad of Wallis Island (Selected cinemas) It cannot be emphasised enough that this wonderful movie is not one of those twee British romcoms in which middle-class people retreat to a remote landscape to discuss their difficult feelings. Directed by James Griffiths and written by longtime collaborators, Tim Key and Tom Basden, The Ballad of Wallis Island is a film of much greater power, wit and poignancy. Wading ashore on a tiny Welsh island, indie-folk singer Herb McGwyer (Basden) is welcomed by Charles Heath (Key), a reclusive millionaire who is paying him £500,000 to play a private gig for an audience of 'less than 100'. From the start, Charles's remorseless banter and quips drive Herb to distraction: he calls him 'Dame Judi Drenched' after he falls in the water; describes his 'rider' of Monster Munch, Braeburn apples and Johnnie Walker Blue Label as his 'Winona'; and says of his own travels: 'Kathmandu? More like Kathman-did!' Though Herb badly needs the money to pay for his next album, he is increasingly alarmed by Charles's manic eccentricity; by the lack of facilities on the island and its lone, under-stocked shop, overseen by the amiable Amanda (Sian Clifford); and by the dawning realisation that, in this case, 'less than 100' means 'one'. His host is an obsessive fan of McGwyer Mortimer, the folk duo of which Herb used to be half – until, nine years before, he parted ways with his partner in music and life, Nell Mortimer (Carey Mulligan). 'I'm in Misery,' he says to his manager from the island's payphone. 'I'm going to wake up with no ankles!' But a greater shock lies in store when Nell arrives on the island, accompanied by her husband Michael (Akemnji Ndifornyen). Charles's dream is to use the power of surprise to encourage a musical reunion. At this point – if it were called Folk Actually – the movie might have descended into intolerable schmaltz. But it does no such thing. Nell, who now lives in Portland, Oregon, and makes chutney to sell at farmers' markets, is distinctly unimpressed by Herb's desperate efforts to remain musically credible – including the acquisition of a large back tattoo and a series of 'collabs' with younger artists. For his part, Herb is completely thrown by Nell's sudden presence and initially coils up like a scorpion. In this respect, we see unexpected parallels with Charles, a widower whose logorrhoea, it becomes clear, is a symptom of quiet desperation. To watch him play Swingball furiously on his own is to behold a man wracked by grief, anger and loneliness; just as Herb is a tight knot of pain and loss. If there is a saving power in all this, it is Charles's passion for the music which reminds him of a happier time. And it is his total enchantment as they finally rehearse that helps Herb and Nell to remember why they were so good together, why the songs meant so much, and why they still do. The catharsis they experience does not reflect mawkish nostalgia but a gentle peace treaty with the past and a coming to terms with its place in their respective histories. For Charles, too, there is tentative hope that his frozen emotions may now thaw. A movie full of heart, in the best possible sense. STREAMING Dept. Q (Netflix, all episodes) Four months after he is shot in an ambush that kills a police constable and paralyses his partner DCI James Hardy (Jamie Sives) from the waist down, DCI Carl Morck (Matthew Goode) returns to work – and is reassigned to run a new cold case unit in the station's shabby basement. Based on the best-selling Scandi-noir thrillers by Danish writer Jussi Adler-Olsen, Dept. Q transposes the drama to Edinburgh, where Morck is respected for his talents as a cop but is a constant source of aggravation to his boss DCS Moira Jacobson (Kate Dickie), under pressure from Holyrood to deliver results. Created by Scott Frank (who was also behind The Queen's Gambit) and Chandni Lakhani, the nine-episode series spreads its wings and takes its time – to compelling effect. The through line is the unsolved case of lawyer Merritt Lingard (Chloe Pirrie); missing, presumed dead, for four years. Along the way, in a manner that recalls the early seasons of The Wire, the spectacularly anti-social Morck builds a team that includes Akram Salim (Alexej Manvelov), ostensibly an IT expert whose past in Syria is shrouded in secrecy, and Rose Dickson (Leah Byrne), a talented detective afflicted by PTSD. Morck himself is assigned a course of therapy with Dr. Rachel Irving (the always excellent Kelly Macdonald): help which he knows that he needs but is characteristically reluctant to accept. There is also a debt to The Silence of the Lambs, which I will not spoil. The plot is twisty, complex and absorbing. Goode, playing completely against type, has never been better, matching all the darkness with profane gallows humour. Dept. Q is one of the best television dramas of 2025 and richly deserves a second season.
New European
19 hours ago
- Politics
- New European
Donald Trump's digital landgrab
The department of the US government most responsible for managing its relationships with friendly nations has accused Europe of engaging in a 'strategy of censorship, demonization, and bureaucratic weaponization'. It goes on to suggest that 'the global liberal project' is 'trampling democracy, and western heritage along with it, in the name of a decadent governing class afraid of its own people'. Here in the maelstrom of Donald Trump's second term, the state department sets out the US government's diplomatic position on Substack . That is, at this stage, perhaps the most normal thing that it does. While the delivery mechanism may be unconventional, it is nothing when compared to the content of the message. This is an astonishing series of accusations to make against any ally, but especially against fellow western democracies which have served as US allies throughout the Cold War – especially at a time when Trump is visibly courting dictators in the middle east and when his administration spent much of its first months cosying up to Vladimir Putin. Much of what the state department is complaining about is, frankly, none of the US government's business: it raises Germany's designation of the AfD as an extremist party, or the conviction in France of Marine Le Pen for charges connected with embezzlement. These are, very obviously, the internal affairs of the country concerned – and when European countries have dared to comment on such matters in the US, Trump's team have responded with spluttering indignation. It is worth stopping for a moment to acknowledge that we should not dismiss concerns over free expression or elections just because of who is raising them. It is a matter of legitimate public debate whether it is right, either morally or tactically, for Germany to proscribe the AfD. Similarly, there are serious questions to ask about the rate at which the UK is arresting people in connection with their social media posts – 1,000 people per month seems extremely high, especially with routine crimes like shoplifting or street assaults going unpunished. But the state department raising an issue is very different from a Fox News talking head doing the same, or even from a US politician raising it. For one thing, diplomacy is a serious business, and it is steeped in endless norms about what is and isn't the business of other nations. Trump's state department is explicitly threatening the future of the transatlantic alliance based on matters that are traditionally nothing to do with it. Moreover, state claims its concerns 'are not partisan but principled', continuing piously: 'The suppression of speech, facilitation of mass migration, targeting of religious expression, and undermining of electoral choice threatens the very foundation of the transatlantic partnership.' At present, Trump is personally suing multiple television channels that have criticised him. He is, as president, threatening those same channels with losing their broadcast licences. He is investigating the social media activity of anyone applying for a student visa to enter the USA. He is attempting to deport students for writing pro-Gaza op-eds – without threatening violence – in student publications. He is interfering with law firms that represent people or causes with which he does not agree. The list goes on, and on, and on – the state department's claims to have a 'principled' concern about free expression in Europe simply do not pass the laugh test. If they are so bothered about free speech, why are they serving in an administration that has all but openly declared war on the first amendment? The implications of the state department missive go much deeper, though. Already the administration is threatening to revoke the credentials of European officials who speak out on the enforcement of European social media rules. At first, this might appear at least slightly more legitimate than some of the state department's other claims – the big tech companies are, after all, mostly American. This falls apart under further scrutiny, though. McDonald's is an all-American company, but when it operates in the UK it has to meet UK food safety rules, comply with UK employment law, and pay the minimum wage – and no-one bats an eyelid at this. Similarly, when US tech companies provide services to Europeans who are located in Europe, it is not unreasonable for their governments to expect to oversee the terms of that interaction. The state department is now claiming otherwise: if you're on the internet and using a service provided by a US tech company, they say, then Donald Trump sets the rules. The US is quietly declaring sovereignty over cyberspace and expecting the world to acquiesce, making an unprecedented digital landgrab in the name of freedom. This is not something the rest of the world is likely to tolerate, and nor should it. Trump generates endless sound and fury, and this row is likely to get lost among others that seem far more urgent. But in the online era, and as governments turn to AI as the future of the economy, this might be the most significant of all. Trump's attempts to claim Greenland or Canada might get the headlines – but his attempt to claim the internet is far more real, and far more dangerous.
