“Are we Europeans still ‘Western’?”

Italian newspapers have given extensive coverage to the visit by Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, who traveled to several Arab countries to discuss ways of ensuring the flow of oil to Italy. Yet only a handful of Italian outlets have paid attention to the reactions published in the (limited) English-language Arab press. And the most common question has been: “Why is a Western country coming to ask for help against actions carried out by the West itself?”

From the perspective of those outside the so-called West—who tend to view Western culture as a single, unified bloc—what is unfolding appears as a deeply schizophrenic West, one that bombs while simultaneously seeking solutions to the consequences of that very bombing.

There is, however, an evident misunderstanding: if we are able to go to those countries and ask how to respond to Western bombing, it is because, clearly, we do not feel part of the West that is carrying out that bombing—and we expect this “divorce” to be visible.

Of course, had the Spanish prime minister made such a trip, it would at least have been clear that, if not a divorce, one should speak of a separation. It becomes far more difficult, however, when the journey is undertaken by “Trump’s best ally in Europe”. Because while it may be evident that Spain is no longer aligned with US policy—and after clashes with Emmanuel Macron and Friedrich Merz, even a fracture with other countries could emerge clear, but...

... in the case of Giorgia Meloni, it is considerably harder to convey the message “we have divorced”, especially when the old, staunchly Italian Atlanticist parties do nothing but reassure everyone that, yes, we remain Trump’s devoted  wifey.

Naturally, the fact that Giorgia Meloni is careful not to state openly that, on the question of the war in Iran, Italy is more European than American—and that it stands at the opposite cultural pole from the very idea underpinning that war—does not help the world to understand that the European Union as a whole is opposed both to the rationale and to the methods of this conflict, and that the divide between the two worlds is therefore even wider.

The real problem is that we Europeans expect the rest of the world to know this. This rupture with the United States is, in a sense, so traumatic that we assume everyone else has already grasped it. The European Union and the United States are two different worlds, both historically and culturally. We are no longer part of—or rather, we no longer strive to maintain the fiction of forming—a single entity called “the West”.

The trouble is that, as long as we keep this reflection hidden, or only partially visible, or deliberately low-profile, the rest of the world will continue to see us as part of a single “Western” bloc. Yet in our own mental and cultural geography, we see more clearly than ever the seven thousand kilometers of ocean—not only physical—that separate us today.

Certainly, if foreigners were able to read newspapers in Italian—and in German, and in French, and in Spanish, and in all the other languages spoken across the European Union—they would probably begin to notice that something has changed. These days, while on holiday in Italy, I have been watching Italian television, and on the state news broadcasts (normally aligned with the government) I have seen journalists and editors-in-chief treating Donald Trump as though he were the village madman.

I had seen the same in Germany, where I live, but there the trend has much older roots, and so I had not fully perceived how extraordinary it is. To see it happening in a country that has usually behaved like a US doormat makes me wonder: when will this tendency become truly clear, truly public, even to the international press?

Perhaps a higher-level reflection is needed; perhaps senior politicians at the European level must begin to make public what public opinion already thinks.

If the West is American-led, we Europeans no longer feel Western.

And if public opinion is still expressing this only at a level that remains largely invisible in the broader geopolitical discourse, then perhaps the only real problem is that senior politicians—those with international and geopolitical visibility—are not stating the truth clearly: that the consensus beneath their feet has shifted direction.

When Donald Trump first threatened to leave NATO, there were two kinds of reaction—but neither revealed any particular attachment to the United States. On the one hand were those effectively on the American payroll. It is only natural that the Secretary General of NATO, Mark Rutte, would be concerned if the alliance were to shrink and become, in effect, a grouping of European countries: after all, it is the United States that pays the bills.

It is equally clear that the old Atlanticist parties, which rely on American support—I will not look too closely into what that support entails—are deeply unsettled by the prospect of their historic sponsor abandoning ship. And yet, to silence them, it is enough to ask a simple question: do they really believe that the United States would come to defend them with its own blood, should anyone attack us?

And when Trump floated the idea of leaving NATO—yes, no, perhaps, and then yes again—the only voice that was truly heard was that of the French president, Emmanuel Macron, who would stand to gain the most, given that France holds Europe’s only nuclear arsenal. But there were no significant voices from officials not tied to American backing who openly opposed the idea. There is no sense of desperation among European citizens.

The press did not erupt in panic. There was no collective cry of, “My God—what do we do now?” 

In all honesty, the press appears far more concerned with the price of petrol and with economic growth than with the “precious” protection offered by the United States. Moreover, in certain European cultures, anyone who demands payment or a contribution in exchange for “protection”—lest “something bad happens”—carries the unmistakable stench of a phenomenon known as the Mafia. And that is not a comparison people are particularly keen to repeat.

I believe the time has come for this reflection—already absorbed by European public opinion, both in private views and in everyday political discourse on the street—to be reflected openly in the explicit statements of our politicians.

I do not honestly know how many socialist, liberal, or populist parties will survive the next five years of politics.

But if there is no courage to admit that the umbilical cord has been cut, and that European public opinion no longer feels part of a world shaped by American cultural and political leadership, then we may well have to contemplate the imminent disappearance of Atlanticist political parties.

And there are many of them.