Why Trump loves the gulf states...and wants a peace without irritants

It seems Donald Trump enjoys visiting the Gulf states.

He probably feels at home accepting gifts and praise from ultra reactionary Arab monarchies—long hailed by the West as bastions of moderation, despite it being common knowledge that they sponsor all kinds of nefarious activities from corrupting FIFA to host the world cup to bribing MEPs.  Trump will take this to another level, simply because he has no qualms about human rights or corrupt lobbying.

He is even considering accepting a multimillion-dollar personal gift (a palatial jet) from Qatar, an opaque kingdom that embodies contradiction: pro-American, pro-Iranian, pro-Hamas, a promoter of free speech and yet deeply dictatorial.

But where does this leave US support for Bibi’s genocide?

Sure, Trump may simply sideline Bibi (at least for a short while), as he is doing by skipping the obligatory visit to Israel during his Arab tour.

Netanyahu may be perceived as an irritating nuisance to Trump’s transactional deals and appetite for corrupt gifts.  

What’s remarkable is that Trump can now attribute "good faith" to Hamas and the Houthis while harassing and criminalising pro-Gaza protesters in the US. Unlike Biden, he is less ideologically committed to Israel in the 'never again' tradition. Sure, that policy was misguided and contributed to a genocide, but it was also open to challenge on the grounds that “never again” should apply to all of humanity. Yet we mustn’t forget that part of Trump’s base takes that commitment to another level—a biblical one. Some even dream of the restoration of David’s kingdom, with one caveat: the conversion of the Jews at the end of days. The Republican right wing has an uncomfortable relationship with Jewish identity, often targeting liberal Jews as ungrateful.

Will anything good for the Palestinians come of this? At most, they may get an uneasy ceasefire. Bibi has already won his war and is now playing in extra time, working to finish the job through mass expulsions—a prospect legitimised by Trump’s dystopian idea of a real estate resort in Gaza.  It was this dark fantasy which gave Bibi the pretext to return to war after a brief lull which coincided with Trump's swearing in.

But Trump knows that such a horror spectacle would be intolerable for the Saudis and other Gulf states—not because they care about the Palestinians, but because it makes normalising ties with Israel and striking (corrupt) deals with the US far more difficult. This kind of approach to 'peace' makes another October 7 even more likely—a direct consequence of the Abraham Accords, which aimed to sideline Palestinians in the name of regional stability.

And where does this leave Israel?

Possibly, Bibi will have to dump his far-right allies—a move that could end his political career. But don’t count on that. Trump may be irritated by him but could ultimately prefer the autocrat he knows to the messiness of what remains of Israel’s partial parliamentary democracy.

Still, Israel will remain vulnerable as long as it continues to define itself as a settler, white, apartheid state. Unfortunately it is this aspect of Israeli identity which makes Israel attractive for the US and European far right while they still tap in to anti semitism when denouncing global liberal conspiracies. 

Let’s not forget that Trump never forgave Bibi for recognising Biden’s victory in 2020. What’s at stake for Trump is asserting who’s in charge—with the ultimate aim being a normalisation (which ignores the occupation), without too many irritants (for businesses and tech billionaires).

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Lessons from Canada

Trump could be a toxic liability for other right-wing populists and a lifeline to liberal centrism. In Canada’s first-past-the-post system, social democratic (NDP) voters — and to some extent BQ voters — were vital in clinching seats for the Liberals and defeating a Conservative Party that looked too Trumpian.

Curiously, in this case, Trump’s annexationist threats triggered a wave of Canadian civic and civil patriotism that propelled Carney — a central banker — to power. This suggests that nationalism can cut both ways. In fact, reclaiming an inclusive patriotism is essential for a resurgence of the centre-left.

This was to be expected. When the stakes are so high, centre-left voters — who tend to be more educated and reflective — often look at the bigger picture and use their vote pragmatically. They also have a lot to lose, both materially and culturally. We often forget that the world is far from the dystopian reality painted by the far right. In some ways, we live in the best of times — even if the collective threats have never been more existential.

Still, let’s not forget that Trumpism is also fuelled by liberal detachment from the material aspirations of working-class voters — whether they are white working-class males fetishised by the rabid right, or struggling minority voters and students. In reality, no centre-left party in any advanced democracy can win unless it presents itself as a broad coalition of centrists and progressives. But neither can the political centre hold the fort of decency if it keeps ignoring left-wing voters and their demands.

The idea that a return to the roots will work magic does not hold — and it always raises the question: which and whose roots? But tilting the balance to the left is also key to an enduring alternative to right-wing populism. I am not a big fan of liberal centrism, which to some extent is to blame for the increased economic inequalities that fuel populism. But like many NDP voters, I would never risk throwing the baby (the edifice of a socially liberal society) out with the bathwater.

The lesson from Canada is this: people in liberal democracies like their way of life. They will fight back to defend it. What we can do as leftists is to be part of the global fightback while ensuring that everyone is included, that inequality is recognised as a threat to the democratic consensus, and that our prosperity does not endanger the planet. In short, the greater the number of people who can enjoy the good life, the higher the percentage of educated citizens, and the wider the safety nets, the less anger and the more civility there is.

The problematic aspect of this result is that the Liberals’ success has cannibalised NDP representation — increasing the risk of the Liberals continuing with their ‘business as usual’ attitude.

This raises questions about how leftists should position themselves in the polarity triggered by Trump’s election, in a way that keeps them not just part of the fightback, but also able to channel it in a progressive direction. Bernie Sanders’ and AOC’s anti-oligarchy movement is, in this sense, instructive — a movement that appeals to civic activism but also puts social and ecological justice at the centre of the political agenda.

The first Pope I loved

Pope Francis didn’t change Church doctrine—but he changed the tone, the focus, and the global conversation. As the world tilts rightward, his death raises the question: will the Church follow or will it respect his legacy? 

I lost my Catholic faith in my teens, resenting the Church’s over -riding obsession with controlling people’s sexuality and bodies. But over the past decade, I came to cherish Pope Francis as a moral compass in an increasingly hostile world. Pope Francis did not substantially change the Church’s official stance on issues like abortion and gender identity, two issues where I respectfully remain at odds with the official church. 

 But he changed its order of priorities, putting social inequality and the globalisation of indifference towards migrants and the poor at the top of his agenda, while side-lining divisive culture wars. That is why progressives including atheists and agnostics, felt at home in Pope Francis’ broad humanistic Church, while clerical conservatives and traditionalists resented him viscerally. 

I grew up under the shadow of John Paul II’s grandstanding papacy: that of a charismatic and conservative Pope whose priority was confronting—and ultimately contributing to the toppling of—totalitarian communism in Eastern Europe. In contrast, his rebuke of capitalist injustices was muted and directed only against its ‘excesses’, not its fundamental flaws. Moreover, in doing so, he marginalised those in his own Church—like liberation theologians—who were confronting capitalism and the violence of right-wing regimes, particularly in Latin America. And while priests were censured for standing with the poor or for advocating women’s rights, his papacy turned a blind eye to sexual predators within its ranks. 

This was followed by Pope Benedict’s denouncement of “the dictatorship of relativism”, which— in the absence of communism—was directed against LGBTQ people and aimed at stopping the tide of social liberalism. While he should be credited for understanding the gravity of the crimes committed by a system designed to protect sexual predators, this only amplified the contrast between a Church obsessed with controlling everyone else’s sexuality and the depravity of some of its own high-ranking members.

It was in this context that Pope Francis shifted the Church’s focus to a critique of capitalism’s inherent and deep flaws. “Let us not be afraid to say it: we want change, real change, structural change,” the Pope said while visiting Bolivia in 2015, decrying a system that “has imposed the mentality of profit at any price, with no concern for social exclusion or the destruction of nature”. “This system is by now intolerable: farm workers find it intolerable, workers find it intolerable, communities find it intolerable, peoples find it intolerable. The earth itself—our sister, Mother Earth, as Saint Francis would say—also finds it intolerable.”

From the start of his papacy, he positioned himself against an ascendant far right, condemning the “globalisation of indifference” during one of his first major speeches as Pope, delivered in Lampedusa in 2013. He also denounced the structural basis of oppression: “the culture of comfort, which makes us think only of ourselves, makes us insensitive to the cries of other people, makes us live in soap bubbles.” 

And following Donald Trump’s election, he wrote to U.S. bishops denouncing the programme of mass deportations: “The rightly formed conscience cannot fail to make a critical judgment and express its disagreement with any measure that tacitly or explicitly identifies the illegal status of some migrants with criminality.” Sure, his compassion and call for justice also raised expectations that he ultimately could not—and probably did not even want to—deliver. On abortion, he changed the rules, allowing all priests, and not just bishops or their delegates, to absolve women who had committed this ‘sin’. But while he still described the act as murder, he framed it more as a symptom of a “throwaway culture” than a condemnation of women. 

Neither did he rock the boat by challenging the male monopoly on the priesthood, and he backtracked on a highly symbolic proposal to allow priests to officiate blessings of same-sex unions—on the understanding that this was not equivalent to marriage. This tacit acceptance of inequality ultimately jarred with Pope Francis’ message of social justice. 

Yet one must recognise that, unlike others in his flock, he resolutely scorned the far right’s appropriation of Catholic traditional values. Nor did he condone the denial of the Eucharist to Catholic pro-choice leaders like Joe Biden. He even described Italian radical and pro-choice activists Emma Bonino as one of Italy’s one of "Italy’s forgotten greats" for her advocacy of human and migrant rights. Ironically, his last official meeting was with J.D. Vance, a Catholic traditionalist who stands on the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Now, his death presents the Church with a stark choice: a relapse into traditionalism in a world that has swung to the right, or a steadfast commitment to social justice and engagement with modernity. This makes the next conclave one of the most pivotal moments in Church history.

The return of the Zombies (they never actually left)

Italian Prime Minister Meloni told Trump that her goal is "to make the West great again", criticising "woke ideology" and championing the "war against illegal migration". This, apparently, was music to the ears of the US authoritarian strongman, who clearly shares the same values.

But what exactly does the term West mean? Interestingly, the term is defined here in two binary polarities: against the enemy within (woke ideology), and the external enemy—the immigrants from the Global South. In this sense, their ideological project is to restore the West to its "true" self: colonial, racist, and aggressive. It is the West cleansed of all the social progress achieved through protest and struggle since the end of the Second World War, including the revolutions of 1968.

Let’s not forget that the US, throughout history, has had no qualms about co-opting the far right to combat communism. This happened with murderous, large-scale intensity in Latin America. But it also happened in Italy, where secret services aligned with the US promoted the strategy of tension, aimed at provoking a right-wing coup to prevent the entry of the PCI into government. This included the planting of bombs in train stations by neo-fascists.

I’m not sure how far the transactional and insular Donald Trump is invested in this project—but some of his allies definitely are. More traditional Republicans, like Marco Rubio, also seem more comfortable operating in a Cold War dynamic.

Moreover, geopolitical and historical realities militate against an alliance of autocrats. Russia simply cannot appear to submit to US orders. In the coming days, it may be tempted to snatch a favourable deal, but this may be outweighed by other geopolitical considerations, including rivalry in the Arctic and the Middle East.

What Trump has managed to do is scare Europeans into investing more in their NATO commitments, without taking any concrete steps towards European unity. All this while reducing Ukraine to a colonial fiefdom, bound by a neo-colonial 'minerals' deal that looks more like protection money paid to a gangster. I do not blame Zelenskyy for accepting the deal while facing daily and brutal bombardments. But in the long term, this deal is bound to be fodder for Russia’s ability to destabilise Ukraine—simply because it strengthens the narrative that pro-Western politicians like Zelenskyy have sold their country to spite Russia. This is not like joining the EU or even NATO, as it does not come with security guarantees or democratic safeguards. It is just what the Italian mafia calls pizzo.

Of course, there is only one alternative to this: a United States of Europe founded on the values of the post-war struggles for democracy, social justice, and personal autonomy and freedom. A Europe that engages with the Global South, challenges the appeal of autocracy, and builds trust by finally taking a stance against the genocide in Gaza. Sure, this may look delusional and against the direction in which the wind is blowing. For let’s face it: electoral majorities are swinging in the opposite direction. This is also having a chilling effect on the institutions, the courts, and even the media. We are living in reactionary times. But let’s not forget—it looked that way in the 1920s and 1930s. It also looked that way in the 1820s and the 1870s. We are about to enter a long, dark winter—but one which will trigger resistance, and hopefully, another 1848.

To Rearm or Not to Rearm

I believe in European integration. I also understand the need for collective security and defence. I support arming Ukraine in its war against Russia.

But that does not mean I am enthusiastic about increased military spending—especially if it is done to salvage the broken relationship with Trump’s US.

Why should we align our defences with what is effectively a far-right regime, incompatible with so-called European values and openly speaking of annexing Greenland?

The only justification for increased spending would be to break away from the US—not to become further entangled in NATO.
Even in this regard, the priority should be rationalising and pooling resources to ensure that the EU is capable of enforcing its mutual defence clause and to continue supporting Ukraine.

Moreover, we cannot afford to divert funds from social and environmental priorities to fund rearmament.
This will only make Europe more vulnerable—to both external and internal enemies, and to existential threats like climate change.

In this sense, a rearmament agenda that diverts money from social spending and the well-being of citizens would be the final nail in the coffin for the European project we need now more than ever.
People will protest in the streets if further austerity is imposed to finance rearmament.

We should resist the false choice between a militarised continent bound together by hysteria, and a motley crew of weak nation-states increasingly vulnerable to internal and external threats.

Moreover, we need to ask: which values shape our Europe?
How can we say “never again” while condoning and abetting genocide in Palestine?
We also owe it to Jewish communities, whose identity should not be defined by the actions of the Israeli far right.

The greatest tragedy of our times is that Europe is shifting to the right at the very moment when necessity demands a greater unity of purpose.

Of course, we cannot be naïve. Putin poses a serious threat that should be constantly assessed—but not overplayed. 
This is not a time for hysteria, but for a balanced and effective approach.
Eliminating private profits in the defence sector through nationalisation could also help reduce costs.

In a time of monsters, the last thing we need are European leaders posing as warmongers.
There is something comical, clownish and unrealistic when EU officials project themselves as military hawks.
European power, by its nature, is a soft, transformative and insidious power—based on seductive appeal.
That is the power that threatens Putin: the possibility of a future in which Russia itself can be part of our community of values.

What we need are principled European leaders—those who set a vision, who stand up for values, and who invest in our collective well-being.  
That includes keeping us safe from external threats, but let’s not forget the many insecurities people face in daily life.

There is too much at stake.  The cost of failure has never been so high.  

Back to the Corn Laws: Trump’s Tariff Delusions and Class War

Apart from the optics of a US President presiding over a shit show in the Rose Garden—using auto workers as props and holding up a board based on a lie that conflates tariffs with trade deficits (including those of penguin-inhabited islands)—there was another disturbing aspect to Trump’s speech.

In addition to distorting American history by presenting the age of tariffs (and murderous robber barons) as a golden era, Trump hinted that ‘income tax’—a fiscal instrument designed to redistribute wealth—was somehow linked to the reduction of tariffs.

“In 1913, for reasons unknown to mankind, they established the income tax so that citizens, rather than foreign countries, would start paying the money necessary to run our government,” Trump said.

The suggestion was that reintroducing tariffs could pave the way for income tax cuts, which by their very nature would favour the wealthiest Americans. In this way, tariffs that impoverish the poor—both in the US where consumers will take the brunt and in poor countries crippled by the tariffs—would end up funding tax breaks for the rich. It’s like turning back the clock to pre-Corn Law repeal Britain in the 19th century, when tariffs protected the landed gentry while workers paid more for their daily bread. 

Of course, such an outrageous suggestion isn’t based on solid economic reasoning. For tariffs to achieve their stated purpose, they should not be revenue-generating tools. Their goal is to reduce imports in order to prop up domestic industries and safeguard jobs—even if it's hard to see how this works in a world where supply chains are so deeply interconnected. Tariffs may still serve a purpose in developing economies where the state actively drives industrialisation. But that is not the case in the US, where the state is being systematically dismantled.

Trump, however, is a demagogue who lives in a universe of his own truth. So it's no surprise that he defies economic logic, framing his policies as a populist insurrection against shadowy global forces.  This is like Liz Truss harakiri budget multiplied by a hundred.

Some might ask: isn’t what Trump is doing a sign of the end of the neoliberal order, long dominated by the dogmas of unshackled markets? The problem is that instead of advancing toward a new form of international trade governance grounded in social and environmental regulation including labour protections, we are regressing into the age of  hubris—where the poor (both in the US because of inflation and even in the poorest countries crippled by these tariffs)  end up paying more to bankroll the ideological fantasies of Trump and company.  The risk is that by defying economic rationality Trump may well end having no other option but to embark on on pillage and plunder to finance his delusions.   Trade wars may well just be the prelude for conquest.

Gaza: War Crimes, Complicity, and Paralysis

The bodies of 15 Palestinian paramedics and rescue workers, killed by Israeli forces and buried in a mass grave nine days ago in Gaza, were found with their hands or legs tied and gunshot wounds to the head and chest, according to eyewitnesses. The United Nations has called for an investigation into a crime reminiscent of past pogroms, war crimes, and genocides. Yet, there has been little indignation—not just in the United States, which shares direct responsibility after consenting to Netanyahu’s decision to resume the war, but also in Europe. The most shocking reality is that the war in Gaza has become business as usual. There is no discussion of sanctioning Israel, despite mounting evidence of war crimes, including domicide, forced displacement, and the use of starvation as a weapon.

Nothing can justify this level of complicity with Israeli war crimes. This is not a matter of proportionality. What we are witnessing is a far-right regime using Hamas’ war crime as a pretext for the elimination of an entire community—one that was already being oppressed long before October 7, 2023. EU leaders fail to call a spade a spade when they describe Israel’s response as merely disproportionate.  Because genocidal intent can never be seen as being proportional to anything else.  It is a crime.

However, it would be a disservice to the Palestinian cause not to acknowledge the other elephant in the room: the absence of a national leadership capable of standing up to Israel while negotiating on behalf of the Palestinian people. Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas has been entirely absent, unwilling to stand up for his people. Meanwhile, Hamas’ cult of death and martyrdom does a disservice to their cause. Last week’s protests in Gaza against both Israel and Hamas were significant—not just in their scale, but in the reactions (and silence) they provoked.

“We demonstrated today to declare that we do not want to die. Eventually, it is Israel that attacks and bombs, but Hamas also bears direct responsibility, as do all who define themselves as Arab and Palestinian leaders,” one protester said. Tragically, one of the protest leaders was reportedly kidnapped and murdered.

That said, the paralysis of Palestinian politics is the result of Israel’s long-standing ‘divide and rule’ strategy, including its covert co-option of Hamas to weaken Fatah and its left-wing partners. Meanwhile, militant secular Palestinian leaders like Marwan Barghouti—who could take the liberation struggle to the next stage—languish in Israeli prisons. The stark reality is that Israel prefers fighting a band of criminal fanatics, whose actions serve as a pretext for its aggression, rather than confronting a rational and determined Palestinian leadership—one that is willing to take up arms against oppression but does so judiciously, with the welfare of the population in mind.  

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