German press kiosk in Trier with Der Spiegel featuring Donald Trump as “world policeman” on the cover on July 3, 2025. Photo: Dreamstime.

Why Europe, Not China or Russia, Is the Civilisational Problem in Trump’s NSS

Trump’s National Security Strategy marks a sharp break from post-Cold War US diplomacy: it portrays Europe, not rival powers, as the core site of Western civilisational decline. Warning of “civilisational erasure” through migration, demographic change and secularisation, it urges support for “patriotic European parties” resisting this shift. In this framing, the danger to the West is internal, not external, and the US becomes guardian of authentic Western identity—aligning more closely with Orbán, Meloni and PiS than with many elected governments. This leaves Europe facing a strategic dilemma: remain reliant on Washington or assert its own civilisational narrative. Europe must choose—adapt, resist, or define itself.

By Nicholas Morieson

The release of its National Security Strategy shows the Trump Administration to be especially concerned with the decline of Western civilization. One passage in the document drew considerable international attention. It warned that Europe now faces the risk of “civilisational erasure” driven by migration, cultural and religious change, low birthrates and the loss of historical identity. Unless Europe “corrects its current trajectory,” the document claims it could become “unrecognisable in 20 years or less.” The United States, it argues, should help by supporting the “patriotic European parties” resisting this shift.

This language marks a significant break with post-Cold War US diplomacy, and signals that Washington intends to treat its relationship with Europe as an arena of ideological struggle. Throughout the document, Europe appears both as an ally and as a civilisation in decline. Moreover, European governments are portrayed as having adopted values and migration policies that undermine the foundations of the West itself. As a result, the document implies, the United States has no choice but to ‘correct’ Europeans and essentially force them to reconnect with their traditional and authentic Christian-based civilization. 

Fears of Western decline are not new. Even in the year 2000, which may have been the high point of Western power and influence, American writer Jacques Barzun argued in his surprise bestseller From Dawn to Decadence that the West had entered a period of decadence. Barzun meant cultural exhaustion and the fading of artistic and intellectual ambition, not geopolitical weakness. He was not concerned with demography or the strategic balance of power. A generation later the picture is different. The sense of Western decline is no longer limited to cultural pessimists. Analysts now describe American relative decline, a stagnant Europe, and a China confident enough to present its rise as civilizational renewal.

This raises an important puzzle. The National Security Strategy presents Europe as a civilisation in decline but does not treat Russia, China or India in the same civilizational terms, even though these states are the United States’ principal strategic competitors. This is especially surprising insofar as those nations often position themselves as ‘civilization-states’ at odds with Western culture and avowed enemies what of what they view as American imperialism. Yet the document reserves its sharpest language for European societies that, in its view, have abandoned the cultural and religious foundations of the West. Why, then, should the Trump Administration attack allies in explicitly civilizational language while avoiding it with rival powers? The answer is that the Trump administration sees the main threat to Western civilisation as internal rather than external. In their view, the West is being weakened by its own governments and its own cultural choices. Europe therefore becomes the object of correction. The United States, as they understand it, must pressure Europe to return to the values that once defined Western civilisation rather than treat Europe as an equal partner in managing global competition.

The National Security Strategy places the United States at the centre of Western civilisation. In this narrative America becomes the core state responsible for restoring the cultural confidence that Europe has supposedly lost. Trump and Vance describe themselves as defending the West, however what is immediately obvious in the document is that the object of defence is not the geopolitical order that linked the United States and Europe throughout the Cold War. Rather, it is a set of cultural and religious markers that they believe Europe has abandoned. Civilisational rhetoric therefore becomes a tool for a nationalist project. The document justifies pressure on European governments, portrays right-wing populist parties as cultural allies, and reframes transatlantic relations as a struggle over the meaning of the West rather than as a partnership between democratic states.

While we should not overstate its importance, it is significant that an American strategic document now aligns the US more closely with Europe’s populist right than with many of Europe’s elected governments. Indeed, the Trump Administration appears to divide Europe in two. One Europe consists of liberal governments, EU institutions and political leaders committed to secular cosmopolitanism. The other Europe is defined by Christianity, firm borders, and inherited Western values and is represented above all by Viktor Orbán’s Hungary, Giorgia Meloni’s Italy, and Poland’s PiS opposition, right-wing populists who share the Trump Administration’s concerns over Europe’s civilisational decline. In their National Security Strategy, the Trump Administration presents the former as pushing Europe toward collapse and the latter as Western civilisation’s last remaining defenders. 

Although the Trump Administration positions itself and America as the arbiter of authentic Western values, the National Security Strategy contains an unresolved tension insofar as many of the social and cultural trends it critiques in Europe also exist within the United States. The United States is itself experiencing demographic change, declining Christian affiliation, and widening cultural diversity, which complicates claims that Europe alone is departing from the Western tradition. This raises a definitional problem because if the West is understood in civic terms Europe and America remain Western despite cultural change, but if it is defined by racial or religious identity, then the pressures described in the National Security Strategy are shared on both sides of the Atlantic. Moreover, several of the identity debates the administration portrays as corrosive in Europe originated in American academic and activist contexts, suggesting that the cultural dynamics it attributes to Europe are partly American in origin. This is why the Macron government in France ‘wages war’ on ‘wokeness,’ something they perceive to be a form of unwanted American cultural imperialism spreading throughout French institutions.  

The National Security Strategy therefore confronts Europe with a strategic and conceptual dilemma. Should Europe define Western culture on its own terms, and can it articulate a political and cultural identity that differs from the one now promoted by Washington? European governments speak of strategic autonomy, but their nations remain dependent on American security guarantees, particularly in defence and intelligence. European publics remain divided on migration and identity, which complicates any attempt to articulate a coherent cultural and political narrative. Furthermore, EU institutions prefer to define Europe as a legal and political project grounded in universal rights rather than as a civilisation with a particular religious or ethnic foundation. This makes it difficult for Europe to respond to the NSS, which casts it as a civilisation in decay and implies that its renewal requires a return to Christian cultural markers.

This tension has led some analysts, such as Aris Roussinos, to argue that Europe must either consolidate around its own values or accept a subordinate position in a Western order increasingly defined in Washington. Emmanuel Macron has attempted to present Europe as a civilisational actor capable of independent strategic judgement, yet it remains unclear whether this project can succeed given institutional fragmentation and the absence of a shared European cultural story. The National Security Strategy highlights that uncomplicated civilisational unity with the United States is no longer plausible. Such unity would require Europe to adopt a civilisational narrative aligned with American right-wing populist thought, something most European governments are unwilling to do.

The future of transatlantic relations may depend on the outcome of the next American Presidential election. A J.D. Vance victory would almost certainly deepen civilisational language in US strategy, increase pressure on the EU project and expand American support for right-wing populist parties in Europe. Europe shows little capacity to respond to this approach because it remains structurally dependent on American security and politically divided on issues of identity. Continued subordination would leave European governments reacting to American preferences rather than shaping their own strategic environment.

A Democratic victory would return the United States to its traditional support for the European Union. Civilisational rhetoric would recede, and Washington would again treat Europe as a partner in a rules-based and liberal international order. Yet this scenario also carries risks for Europe. A return to the status quo would still leave Europe reliant on American power and vulnerable to future political shifts in Washington. In the long term, Europe may need to assert greater strategic and political autonomy if it wishes to avoid oscillating between two competing American visions of the West.

Photo: Alejandro Perez.

Trump’s New Heavy Hand Strategy in Latin America

In this sharp geopolitical analysis, Dr. Imdat Oner examines the far-reaching implications of Operation Southern Spear, the Trump administration’s unprecedented shift from counternarcotics interdiction to direct military attrition across Latin America. Dr.Oner argues that the new strategy—marked by lethal maritime strikes, FTO designations, and carrier-led patrols—reflects far more than drug policy. It fuses domestic political messaging, America First security rhetoric, and a renewed push to reclaim hemispheric dominance amid Chinese and Russian encroachment. As Washington mobilizes a coalition of regional partners and intensifies pressure on Venezuela, Dr. Oner warns that this emerging “neo-Monroe Doctrine” could redefine US–Latin America relations for years to come. 

By Imdat Oner*

When Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth announced “Operation Southern Spear” earlier this month, the language was typically martial, but the implications were far more profound than the standard Pentagon briefing. Hegseth did not just promise more patrols; he declared a mission to “remove narco-terrorists from our hemisphere.”

If there was any doubt about what “remove” meant, the wreckage of smuggling vessels in the Caribbean and Eastern Pacific makes it clear. Since September, US forces have carried out more than 20 lethal strikes against suspected drug boats, killing over 80 people. This is no longer a law enforcement mission. It marks a shift in Washington’s approach to Latin America, one that combines domestic politics, great-power competition, and the reassertion of regional primacy into a single, forceful strategy.

The most significant change in Operation Southern Spear is the move from interdiction to outright attrition. For decades, the US approach relied on Coast Guard vessels chasing fast boats, arresting crews, and bringing cases to federal court. Now, US forces are authorized to neutralize targets on the spot.

The administration insists these groups can no longer be treated as ordinary criminal networks. By designating them as “Foreign Terrorist Organizations” (FTOs), Washington has reclassified them as armed adversaries. What was once a judicial process has now been militarized. Smugglers are no longer suspects entitled to due‑process rights; they are cast as enemy combatants, comparable to Middle Eastern terror groups, and subject to the laws of war.

The consequences are already visible. The deployment of carrier strike groups, including the USS Gerald R. Ford, to the Caribbean signals a new operational posture. These assets bring the surveillance reach and strike precision of a full military campaign, enabling US forces to detect and destroy targets in real time. Some allies, notably the UK, have pulled back intelligence cooperation over legal concerns. Yet Washington presses forward, wagering that the American public cares more about stopping fentanyl and cocaine than parsing the fine points of international law.

Low-Cost Abroad, High Reward at Home

The expansion of US activity in Latin America is not just about drug interdiction, it is about domestic politics. For the Trump administration, counternarcotics operations deliver a message that resonates deeply with the MAGA base: toughness on crime, border security, and sovereignty. Unlike distant wars in the Middle East, which drained resources and eroded public support, operations in the Caribbean and Pacific are geographically closer, politically safer, and far less expensive.

Latin America provides a theater where Washington can project military strength without massive deployments, nation-building, or trillion-dollar costs like those seen in Iraq and Afghanistan. Strikes against drug boats are framed as defending American communities from narcotics and illegal flows, tying directly into the administration’s America First agenda. For Trump’s supporters, this is not abstract geopolitics, it is a fight that connects directly to domestic concerns about drugs, immigration, and security.

Counternarcotics is therefore more than a foreign policy initiative. It is a domestic political tool, a way to demonstrate action on issues that matter most to the MAGA base while avoiding the political toxicity of “forever wars.” By shifting the line of defense from the border wall to the open seas, the administration has turned Latin America into the frontline of its domestic security narrative: low cost, high reward, and central to sustaining its political appeal.

But this approach is not cost‑free. Precision strikes and carrier deployments may be cheaper than ground wars, yet they still require billions in defense spending, expanded surveillance, and long‑term naval commitments. Legal challenges, strained alliances, and the risk of civilian casualties already sparked discussions at home. What looks like a low‑cost, high‑reward strategy abroad may prove politically and financially demanding at home.

The Neo-Monroe Doctrine in the Hemisphere

Operation Southern Spear should not be understood narrowly as a counternarcotics initiative or a maneuver in domestic politics. It represents Washington’s delayed response to a strategic vacuum in Latin America that persisted for two decades, a vacuum that China and Russia systematically exploited.

Between 2000 and 2020, Beijing and Moscow pursued complementary strategies that reshaped the geopolitics of the hemisphere. China adopted an economic statecraft approach, expanding trade with the region from $12 billion in 2000 to more than $315 billion by 2020. Through the Belt and Road Initiative, Beijing extended over $130 billion in state-backed loans, securing long-term stakes in critical infrastructure such as ports, energy grids, and mining concessions from Ecuador to Brazil. This economic entrenchment was not merely commercial; it was designed to translate into political leverage and strategic dependency.

Russia, by contrast, sought to erode US security primacy directly. Leveraging the “Pink Tide” of leftist governments, Moscow became the leading arms supplier in the region, providing Venezuela alone with more than $20 billion in advanced systems including Su‑30 fighter aircraft and S‑300 missile defenses. Russian Tu‑160 nuclear-capable bombers flying sorties over the Caribbean in 2008, 2013, and 2018 underscored Moscow’s intent to contest US dominance in its own near abroad.

For US policymakers, these developments constituted not a marginal nuisance but a sustained strategic encirclement. Operation Southern Spear must therefore be read as an effort to reassert hemispheric control. The recent designation of Venezuela’s Cartel de los Soles, a network allegedly embedded within the Venezuelan military, as a Foreign Terrorist Organization is central to this recalibration. By reframing Venezuela from a diplomatic irritant into a national security threat, Washington lowers the threshold for coercive measures and broadens the toolkit available.

This designation opens the door to cyber operations, tougher financial sanctions, and possible military strikes. It marks a clear doctrinal shift: Washington now views Latin America as a strategic theater, not a peripheral concern. The United States is moving to reassert dominance in its own hemisphere, even if that means greater confrontation with China and Russia.

A New Neighborhood Watch

Operation Southern Spear comes at a moment when regional politics are shifting in Washington’s favor. Argentina is aligning more closely with US security frameworks. Ecuador is recalibrating in similar fashion. Bolivia is engaging more constructively with US initiatives. Several Caribbean states are also moving toward Washington. Together, these shifts give the United States the foundation for a coalition designed to isolate Venezuela.

Argentina under Javier Milei has embraced a pro‑Washington agenda. It has signed trade and investment frameworks that bind its economy to US markets while distancing itself from Beijing and Moscow.

Ecuador has recalibrated in similar fashion. It is reducing reliance on Chinese loans and deepening cooperation on counternarcotics and security.

Bolivia, once a stalwart of the “Pink Tide,” now engages more constructively with US initiatives. This shift signals the erosion of the leftist bloc.

The Caribbean adds strategic depth. Guyana, buoyed by its oil boom, has welcomed US energy firms and defense cooperation, positioning itself as a bulwark against Venezuelan claims. Trinidad and Tobago, a regional energy hub, has expanded counterterrorism and maritime security ties, anchoring Washington’s presence in the southern Caribbean.

Together, these moves give Washington real support. They build a coalition that isolates Venezuela both diplomatically and militarily. Operation Southern Spear is not a unilateral show of force. It is the core of a broader strategy of punitive containment, treating the Caribbean and northern South America as one theater of operations.

Yet, it’s also important to note that this is not an Iraq‑style invasion. President Trump has little interest in a ground war that could bog down his administration. The strategy instead points to a blockade enforced by precision strikes, supported by regional partners that give US action legitimacy.

Operation Southern Spear is more than a tactical campaign. It signals a new phase in which US influence must be defended with force, rival powers contained, and the region’s trajectory actively shaped. The question is not whether Washington will stay engaged in Latin America, but how far it will go to redefine the balance of power. Judging by the smoke rising over the Caribbean, the Trump administration’s answer is clear: as far as necessary.

 


(*) Dr. Imdat ONER is a Senior Policy Analyst at the Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy at Florida International University (FIU). He holds a Ph.D. from FIU, where he completed a dissertation titled “Great Power Competition in Latin America Through Strategic Narrative.” Prior to joining FIU, he served as a Turkish diplomat, most recently at the Turkish Embassy in Caracas, Venezuela, where he was the Deputy Head of Mission and Political Officer. His expertise lies in International Relations, with a primary focus on Latin American politics. Dr. Oner has published extensively on Venezuelan politics and Turkish foreign policy, with articles appearing in War on the Rocks, The National Interest, Americas Quarterly, Foreign Affairs Latinoamérica, and the Miami Herald. He is also a frequent contributor to Global Americans. His analyses have been featured in international media outlets, including Bloomberg, Al Jazeera, Miami Herald, and Agencia EFE.

A survivor of domestic abuse sits in silence, reflecting the fear, trauma, and isolation experienced by countless women affected by violence, harassment, and exploitation. Photo: Dreamstime.

November 25: The Normalization of Violence and the Forgetting That Keeps It Alive

In this compelling VoY essay, Emmanouela Papapavlou confronts the uncomfortable truth behind society’s yearly cycle of remembrance on November 25th. Drawing attention to the gap between public displays of solidarity and the everyday normalization of gender-based violence, Papapavlou argues that symbolic outrage too often gives way to collective amnesia. She highlights how cultural attitudes, institutional responses, and pervasive biases continue to silence women long after the awareness campaigns fade. This powerful reflection challenges readers to rethink what it truly means to remember—and what it would take to break the cycle of forgetting that enables violence to persist.

By Emmanouela Papapavlou*

Every year, on November 25th, the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, we collectively remember. Or at least, we pretend to. We speak about statistics, about bruises that never made it to the news, about women whose names became hashtags only after their lives were taken from them. We speak about abuse as if it were an unexpected tragedy instead of a structural reality. And, on this day, we suddenly remember surveys and studies that have been sitting on desks and websites for months. They resurface not because something changed, but because today, the world feels obligated to look at them.

One of these reports, brought back into the spotlight once again, reminds us that one in three women over the age of fifteen has been subjected to domestic or sexual violence. A number repeated so often that it risks becoming meaningless, yet behind every “one” is a life permanently split into “before” and “after.” Tomorrow, not metaphorically, literally tomorrow, this report will be forgotten. We know this cycle. We’ve lived this cycle.We will slide right back into the comforting loop of what we call “normality.” And that is the most devastating truth: the empathy of today, no matter how intense, rarely survives beyond these twenty-four hours. We talk, we post, we condemn. We temporarily allow ourselves to feel. But the next morning the world resets. Outrage fades. Commitment dissolves. And we return to a daily life that quietly, steadily, and consistently tolerates violence against women as a background condition of society.

Politicians will step forward to insist that “progress has been made.” They will talk about panic buttons, shelters, hotlines, protocols, committees, and agencies. They will list every tool created over the past decades, as if the presence of infrastructure were equivalent to the presence of justice. But women know better. You know it. I know it. Every woman who has ever hesitated before speaking knows it. Reality does not change just because systems exist on paper. Reality does not change because a country has a handful of shelters while countless women remain too afraid to simply pick up the phone.

Because violence doesn’t hide in the absence of services. Violence hides in the culture that shapes how those services respond. Violence hides in the judgments whispered behind closed doors. Violence hides in the tone of the questions asked by police, by courts, by the media. Violence hides in our normality.

A normality that allows political representatives to make sexist, demeaning remarks publicly and return to their roles a few months later without consequence.

A normality that allows television panels to sneer at, interrupt, belittle, or humiliate women while the audience laughs or scrolls on. A normality that allows courtrooms to ask, “What were you wearing?” or “Why didn’t you leave sooner?” instead of asking the only question that matters: “What was done to you?” A normality that allows lawyers, people responsible for upholding justice, to be perpetrators of intimate partner violence while society digs for ways to blame the woman. A normality where a terrified woman can call for help and hear the phrase: “A police car is not a taxi.” A normality that teaches women every day, in every small way, that they must endure, justify, or hide what has happened to them.

And so, many women choose silence, not because they lack strength, but because they know exactly what comes next if they dare to speak. They know they will be interrogated, doubted, scrutinized. They know their character, their clothing, their tone, their past relationships, their mental health, their messages, their behavior, everything except the behavior of the perpetrator, will be put on trial. They know he will be offered excuses: stress, alcohol, jealousy, passion, misunderstanding. And they will be offered judgment.

We keep talking about panic buttons as if technology can solve what culture refuses to confront. But violence does not end because a button exists. Violence ends when a society refuses to tolerate the conditions that make that button necessary in the first place. And the truth is uncomfortable: We tolerate these conditions. We normalize them. We teach them, sometimes without noticing.

Every November 25th, we post, we share, we mourn, we “raise awareness.” And then, quietly, predictably, we forget. Reports will continue to be published. More women will become statistics before they become stories. More anniversaries will arrive to remind us of what we collectively failed to address.

The real question, the painful question, is not whether violence will continue. It is whether we will continue to look away. Whether we will continue to allow tomorrow to erase today’s conscience. Whether we will continue to slip back into a normality built on silence, excuses, and selective memory. So the question remains: Will we continue to forget? Or will we finally demand a world where remembering is not limited to a single day?



(*) Emmanouela Papapavlou is a high school student from Thessaloniki, Greece, deeply passionate about social and political issues. She has actively participated in Model United Nations and other youth forums, serving as a chairperson in multiple conferences and winning awards in Greek debate competitions. Writing is her greatest passion, and she loves using it to explore democracy, civic engagement, and human rights. Her dream is to share her ideas, inspire action, and amplify the voices of young people who want to make a difference. Email: emmanpapapavlou@gmail.com

Tractors with posters of farmers protesting against the government's measures at the Ludwig Street in Munich, Germany on January 8, 2024. Photo: Shutterstock.

How European Populists Turn Farmers’ Anger into Political Power

In this ECPS Voices of Youth contribution, Kader Gueye examines how European populist movements are transforming genuine agrarian grievances into political capital. From Dutch nitrogen protests to French mobilizations against the EU–Mercosur deal, Gueye shows how populist actors amplify farmers’ discontent by framing it as a moral struggle between “ordinary people” and “distant elites.” While such narratives generate visibility and significant institutional leverage—as illustrated by the rise of the BBB in the Netherlands and the far right’s support for French blockades—they rarely address the structural drivers of rural hardship, such as volatile markets, supply-chain imbalances, and climate pressures. Gueye argues that without constructive long-term solutions, populist exploitation risks deepening divisions and leaving farmers’ core challenges unresolved.

By Kader Gueye*

Across Europe, images of tractors lining highways have become quite familiar. Farmers block roads, dump manure at ministry gates and brandish placards about survival and “fair competition.” Falling incomes, volatile markets, and increasingly demanding environmental and trade rules have defined their grievances. The political environment that has grown around these protests is not solely about farm policy, but how populist actors have turned agrarian discontent into leverage without offering credible plans to solve the underlying crisis. 

Political farmer mobilization has become politically decisive not simply because of their scale, but because populist parties and their allies translate and diffuse their genuine grievances into a simplistic narrative of “the people” versus “distant rule-makers,” and convert that narrative into institutional power. Notably, the Dutch Farmer-Citizen Movement (BoerBurgerBeweging — BBB) and the French debate over the EU-Mercosur trade deal illustrate this translation and provide an example onto why farmers’ structural problems are often left unresolved. 

Populism and Agrarian Discontent

Political scientists usually describe populism as a “thin” ideology that divides society into two camps: a virtuous people and a corrupt elite, and that insists politics should express the general will of those people (Mudde, 2004). Because it is “thin,” populism needs a host ideology or a concrete issue to attach to. Agrarian discontent has become one of those issues in Europe.

Farmers are often portrayed as the most authentic part of “the people,” especially in countries with a strong rural identity. When farm incomes stagnate, or when new rules arrive from, say, Amsterdam or Paris in the name of environmental protection, it becomes easy to cast farmers as victims of remote decision-makers who may not truly understand life outside the cities.

However, real agrarian grievances are complicated. Farmers face pressure ranging from large supermarket chains, extremely volatile export markets and rising input costs, all while they are being asked to cut emissions, protect biodiversity and adapt to extreme weather linked to climate change (Henley & Jones, 2024). Populist actors rarely talk about all of these drivers at once. They select the parts that fit their story about out-of-touch elites and elevate those parts into a moral conflict. That is the “translation” this article will focus on.

Agrarian Populism in the Netherlands

Dutch farmers protest against measures to reduce nitrogen emissions in the city centre of The Hague, the Netherlands, on June 28, 2022. Photo: Dreamstime.

The BoerBurgerBeweging (BBB) was founded in 2019 by journalist Caroline van der Plas and agrarian advocates. The party initially presented itself as a voice for farmers and rural citizens who felt left behind by the urban political elites. Its platform opposed compulsory farm buyouts and demanded a slower transition on nitrogen regulations, with an increased emphasis on technological solutions and voluntary change (Hendrix, 2023).

During the nitrogen protests, BBB politicians regularly appeared at demonstrations, amplified farmers’ slogans and insisted that ministers and unelected EU bureaucrats did not understand rural life. The core message of the BBB was that the government was threatening food producers, while protecting abstract environmental goals. That narrative connected easily with populist language about “ordinary citizens” versus “climate elites.”

The crucial step came during the 2023 provincial elections. BBB transformed the visibility of road blockades into electoral support and won more seats than any other party across all provinces. Because provincial councils elect the Dutch Senate, the party also became the largest group in the upper house (Reuters, 2023).

In that position, BBB gained significant bargaining power. With its newfound power, it could support, amend or stall national laws, including those related to nitrogen emissions. Analysts at the Clingendael Institute describe this as a shift from street protest to “institutionalized leverage” that changed how the entire party system talked about rural concerns (van der Plas & Candel, 2023).

Yet the deeper policy problem remains. Court rulings still require substantial reductions in nitrogen emissions in sensitive nature areas, and new permits for construction are constrained as long as the problem is not resolved (Candel, 2023). BBB has pushed for looser targets and slower timelines but has not presented a comprehensive plan that both satisfies legal obligations and gives farmers a clear long-term horizon.

In practice, this means farmers continue to face uncertainty about land values, future production levels and investment decisions. Populist framing has helped them obtain more political attention, but it has not delivered a stable settlement that combines environmental goals with rural livelihoods.

Tractor Blockades and ‘Fair Competition’ in France 

In early 2024, French farmers blocked key highways, encircled Paris with tractor convoys and targeted wholesale markets. where they protested low farm incomes as well as complex regulations. Many of the farmers believed they had to follow much stricter environmental and animal welfare guidelines than did many of their international competitors who exported products into the same markets that the French farmers sold into. (Al Jazeera, 2024)

“Fair competition” was the repeating mantra of these protests. French Farmer’s Associations argued that due to strict environmental and animal welfare laws paired with trade agreements signed by the European Union to allow increased imports from countries with looser regulations, French farmers were at a severe competitive disadvantage. 

The main driver of this argument was the European Union-Mercosur Trade Agreement, a proposed deal between the European Union and the Mercosur block composed of Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay. The agreement would lower tariffs and open markets for crucial goods like beef and various industrial products (European Parliament, 2023). French farmers speculated that the increase in imports of beef, poultry and sugar from South America would put pressure on European farmers to compete with unregulated foreign producers whom they viewed as operating under unfair conditions. 

Here, far-right populist parties saw a chance to expand their rural base. Marine Le Pen, leader of the Rassemblement National (RN) party, openly expressed her support of the farmers’ blockades and argued that the protesters were evidence of how the EU’s “green bureaucrats” and “globalists” were harming the interests of French farmers and ultimately threatening the native French way of life (Harlan, 2024). Le Pen and the RN leadership described themselves as champions of the “Real France,” defending its people against technocratic elites in Brussels and disconnected elite groups in Paris, a theme that is often repeated by populists.

What Are the Consequences? 

Across these two examples, the populist translation of farmer grievances into policy leverage had a number of consequences, the first of which was the simplification of the intricate causes of farmers’ issues. Global market dynamics, domestic policy decisions, corporate concentration, and environmental constraints all contribute to agrarian hardship. Populist narratives, however, focus more on the role of Brussels or environmental regulations and less on the domestic supply chain power or the climate crisis itself (Henley & Jones, 2024; van der Ploeg, 2020). This selective focus makes it easier to mobilize anger, but it restricts the range of solutions that are politically thinkable. 

This phenomenon also makes long-term transition planning more challenging. For instance, populists in the Netherlands claimed that any attempt to establish legally binding emission reduction pathways was evidence that the elites were attempting to “shut down” family farms and any trade agreements are viewed as betrayals of the rural populace in France. These populist portrayals leave little room for negotiated packages that can combine stricter rules with strong support for innovation and major diversification (Hendrix, 2023; van der Plas & Candel, 2023).

The last, and perhaps most apparent effect of this framing is the deepening of social divisions. Here, farmers are pitted against urban consumers and environmental activists, despite the fact that both groups may be interested in a more resilient and sustainable food system. The differences among farmers themselves get blurred as well. Large and intensive operations and small farms have very different capacities and interests, yet populist discourse typically frames them as a monolith, a single, unified “people of the land.”

Towards More Constructive Leverage

Cows grazing on a green pasture in rural Brittany, France. Photo: Elena Elisseeva.

None of this implies that populist parties never raise legitimate concerns or that farmer protests are illegitimate. The demonstrations show genuine worry about rural futures as well as genuine dissatisfaction with the way trade and environmental policies have been presented and organized. The question is how to turn this mobilization into leverage that produces lasting solutions rather than recurring crises. In the current policy discussions, a few options stand out.

Combining comprehensive rural transition contracts with environmental targets is one strategy. For instance, policy analysts in the Netherlands have proposed packages that combine investments in non-agricultural rural jobs, incentives for nature-inclusive farming, and targeted buyouts. The aim being to give farmers a predictable route as opposed to a string of brief shocks (Candel, 2023).

Another approach is to address power imbalances in the food chain. More transparency in pricing, support for producer organizations, and stricter regulations on supermarket purchasing practices could put some pressure on big retailers and processors, who currently hold a significant portion of value added, rather than individual farms (Henley & Jones, 2024).

Lastly, democratic actors require narratives that link rural justice with biodiversity and climate goals. This entails acknowledging that rural areas have historically been neglected, valuing farmers’ knowledge, and incorporating them early in the policy-making process. It becomes more difficult for populists to claim that the countryside can only be protected through complete resistance when transitions are co-designed rather than imposed (European Center for Populism Studies, n.d.; Van der Ploeg, 2020).

As European societies struggle with issues like food security, climate targets, and shifting trade patterns, farmer protests are likely to continue. The key issue is not whether or not farmers voice their dissatisfaction, but rather who uses it as political leverage and for what purposes. Currently, populist actors are adept at turning rage into visibility and temporary power. When it comes to providing reliable, widely accepted roadmaps for the future of European agriculture, they are far less persuasive.


 

(*) Kader Gueye is an IBDP student at Upper Canada College in Toronto and an aspiring diplomat. He has contributed to briefing work in a federal office and organized student programming on global child protection and civic engagement. His current work examines how institutions stay resilient when politics are under strain.


 

References 

Al Jazeera. (2024, January 30). France announces new measures in bid to quell farmers protests. Al Jazeera.

Candel, J. (2023, June 13). Nitrogen wars: How the Netherlands hit the limits to growth. Green European Journal.

European Centre for Populism Studies. (n.d.). Agrarian populism. European Centre for Populism Studies.

European Parliament Research Service. (2024, December 19). EU–Mercosur trade deal: Answering citizens’ concerns.European Parliament.

Farmer–Citizen Movement. (n.d.). Farmer–Citizen Movement. In Wikipedia.

Harlan, C. (2024, April 11). Europe’s farmers are in revolt and the far right is trying to harness the anger. The Washington Post.

Henley, J., & Jones, S. (2024, February 10). ‘They are drowning us in regulations’: How Europe’s furious farmers took on Brussels and won. The Guardian.

Hendrix, T. (2023). The Dutch farmers movement (Master’s thesis). Wageningen University.

Mudde, C. (2004). The populist zeitgeist. Government and Opposition, 39(4), 541–563. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1477-7053.2004.00135.x

Reuters. (2023, March 16). Dutch farmers’ protest party scores big election win, shaking up Senate. Reuters.

Reuters. (2023b, June 29). Macron says current Mercosur deal impossible as is. Reuters.

Reuters. (2024, January 26). Europe’s angry farmers fuel backlash against EU ahead of elections. Reuters.

Reuters. (2024b, January 24). French farmers protest as anger grows over costs and regulations. Reuters.

Rooduijn, M., & de Lange, S. L. (2023, September 28). The resurgence of agrarian populism. The Loop.

van der Plas, C., & Candel, J. (2023, May 6). How Dutch farmers’ protests evolved into political mobilisation: A prologue for Europe?. Klingender Institute.

van der Ploeg, J. D. (2020). Farmers’ upheaval, climate crisis and populism. The Journal of Peasant Studies, 47(3), 589–605. https://doi.org/10.1080/03066150.2020.1725490

Wikipedia contributors. (2024). 2024 European farmers’ protests. In Wikipedia.

Wikipedia contributors. (2024). 2024 French farmers’ protests

Photo: Dreamstime.

COP30: The Spaceship Is on Fire

In her sharp analysis of the COP30 summit, Dr. Heidi Hart, an environmental humanities researcher and guest instructor at Linnaeus University in Sweden, captures the surreal moment when an exhibition pavilion in Belém caught fire—an unsettling metaphor for a world already burning. Despite tense negotiations and an extra day of talks, petrostates secured a final text that completely omitted fossil fuels, leaving UN Secretary-General Guterres to warn of a widening gap between science and policy. Dr. Hart situates this failure within a shifting global landscape marked by illiberal regimes, climate denial, and powerful petro-interests. With geopolitical turmoil and corporate greenwashing shaping outcomes, her commentary underscores a stark truth: on a “spaceship” with finite resources, political paralysis is accelerating us toward irreversible tipping points.

By Heidi Hart

The defining image of the COP30 climate summit flashed around the world: fire in an exhibition pavilion at the meeting site in Belém, Brazil, flames spreading up the tent’s walls and forcing evacuations. No one was injured beyond smoke inhalation, but the “world is on fire” adage took a literal turn as delegates wrestled to find consensus. The summit spilled over into an extra day, with a win for petrostates like Saudi Arabia, as the final agreement ceded more funding to at-risk countries but failed to include any language about fossil fuels. 

On Saturday, COP30 President André Corrêa do Lago announced a forthcoming “side-text” about fossil fuels and forest protections, also a hot topic among Indigenous protesters who had pressed into the secure COP “Blue Zone” on Friday evening. The UN Secretary-General António Guterres’ assessment after the summit was grim, despite acknowledging some progress on “adaptation” funds: “The gap between where we are and what science demands remains dangerously wide … The reality of overshoot is a stark warning: we are approaching dangerous and irreversible tipping points.” The lack of even a mention of fossil fuels in the final agreement, let alone the “deep, rapid emission cuts” Guterres acknowledges are necessary to keep the planet below overshoot carbon levels, is not just the result of Saudi and Russian delegates’ bully tactics (Al Gore has referred to the agreement as an “Opec text”) but also a symptom of profoundly shifting political realities around the world. 

The notable absence of US delegates, while the Trump administration slashed environmental protections at home, was the source of relief for some at the summit but also pointed to the normalization of climate denial amid illiberal regimes’ growing influence and far-right pressures in green-aspirational countries like Germany. Even Norway, known for its own sustainable, egalitarian culture, has no plans to sacrifice its oil wealth for the larger planetary good. Meanwhile, costly wars and deep political divisions in countries like the US and Brazil distract from efforts to forge coherent climate policy. Finally, the sheer scale of petrostates’ and billionaire technocrats’ influence cannot be overstated in watering down and even – in this case – completely avoiding action on carbon emissions cuts. Bill Gates’ recent essay diminishing the dangers of climate emergency has not helped; though “civilization” will likely not be wiped out in a sci-fi doomsday scenario, the suffering of millions and the loss of innumerable nonhuman species are hardly points to be glossed over in the name of “innovation.” Neoliberal optimism sounds increasingly tone-deaf in a time when the limits of human progress are becoming palpably clear around the world. 

The idea of “Spaceship Earth,” popularized by Buckminster Fuller in the late 1970s, portrays the planet as a closed system with limited resources. Though this idea has informed many efforts toward more sustainable living, greenwashing for the sake of profit has become the norm among large corporations. The comforts of petrocultures, the material, cultural, and economic manifestations of decades of cheap oil, are so embedded in privileged countries, there are limits, too, to how much individuals can do to shrink their carbon footprints. 

On the political level, Saudi and Russian influence is only one part of the picture; lack of concern or climate denialism (often cast as denial of the human cause) is growing in countries like Indonesia, Mexico, India, and Australia, places where the risks from global heating are high. In the formerly stable if systemically inequitable US, the lurch toward anti-science authoritarianism has been so swift as to induce a kind of vertigo. In his recent book Impasse: Climate Change and the Limits of Progress, Roy Scranton writes, “We can recognize the Earth as a closed system in which we all depend on each other, but the political reality within that system resembles gang warfare more than it does a unified crew,” (91). The deep lack of consensus at COP30, when the risks of climate collapse are clearer than ever, shows how much more difficult the problem is to address in today’s chaotic political landscape.

Nearly ten years ago, in her essay “What Is the Anthro-political?”, culture theorist Claire Colebrook engaged with the already contested Anthropocene term to argue that, in light of ecological destruction, “the political” as a norm can no longer be taken for granted. This provocative stance is worth revisiting today. Especially with the rise of populist tendencies that tap into human “affect and corporeality,” the political no longer appears as a regulating modality of human-being but rather as a contingent aspect of human culture that, once that culture destroys its own “milieu” or literal environment, will go down with it. In Colebrook’s more elegant terms, “What if what we know as politics … were possible only in a brief era of the taming of human history?” (115). 

This geologic-scale perspective on last week’s pitting of the EU’s and other climate-sympathetic delegates against fossil-friendly regimes (with the absent US in the background noise) does not diminish the stakes at COP30 but shows how vast and planetary those stakes are. With our closed system threatening to burn beyond livable thresholds, the responsibility of one global gathering to stave off one local disaster after another becomes painfully clear. 

The Athens Polytechnic Monument covered with flowers during the 2019 commemoration of the 1973 student uprising against the Greek junta in Athens, Greece. Photo: Antonios Karvelas.

November 17th: The Rise of the Far-Right as a ‘Youth Trend’

In this powerful reflection for ECPS – Voice of Youth, high school student Emmanouela Papapavlou warns that the rise of the far right is not a “youth trend” but a symptom of collective amnesia. The memory of the Polytechnic uprising—once a symbol of resistance to dictatorship—has grown hollow through ritual repetition, even as democratic backsliding accelerates across Europe, the US, and Greece. Papapavlou describes how everyday indifference and frustration quietly nourish extremist ideas, while pockets of young people fight back through music, art, and political expression. Her message is urgent: democracy erodes not when violence erupts, but when society forgets what unfreedom feels like. Memory, he reminds us, is not a burden—it is our first line of defense.

By Emmanouela Papapavlou

Every year, the same story unfolds… wreaths, school speeches, the same faded posters we barely notice. A ritual repeated, yet it barely moves us. The Polytechnic uprising, instead of warning us about the fragility of freedom, is often handed down as compulsory material. And so, the deepest wound of modern Greek history becomes just another “anniversary.”

Yet, precisely at a time when democracy worldwide is under threat, the Polytechnic should shake us more than ever.

In Europe, parties with fascist roots are entering governments. In America, authoritarian leaders are gaining unprecedented support. In Greece, the far-right is comfortably returning to public life. And still, the memory of that uprising leaves so many indifferent.

Everyday scenes reveal a harsh truth: indifference, frustration, and social decay fuel the rise of extremes. In quiet, almost unnoticed moments, the past comes alive: forgotten junta supporters chatting in neighborhood barbershops as if no time has passed, fascists and ex-junta members teaching outdated, dangerous ideologies to Greek children. This is not just about contemporary Greeks, nor a “lost segment” of society. It is a collective phenomenon: disillusionment breeds extremes, whether leaning right or left.

Silence in the face of looming threats is not innocent, it is complicity. Yet some young people refuse to stay silent. They turn to music that tackles social and political issues such as rap music, they write lyrics and stories, produce podcasts, murals, exhibitions, or small performances. Through these acts, they revive memory and keep resistance against darkness alive. The generation of the Polytechnic rebelled and showed us the way: how dictators fall, and how united people claim their rights. It is our duty to remember the fallen and the fighters of that bloody uprising and to understand what it takes to keep democracy alive.

Here lies the core message: the rise of the far-right is not “a youth trend.” It is a warning that society has begun to forget. Forgetting what unfreedom means. Forgetting how easily institutions once taken for granted crumbled. Forgetting that democracy does not die suddenly, it dies when we become accustomed to darkness.

The Polytechnic is not merely a monument of the past. It is a test: it will either remind us of what we risk losing, or we will watch history rewrite itself while we only hear the silence around us.

Indeed, memory is not an obligation. It is a shield, a defense against the darkness that threatens democracy. Remaining passive is easy. The hard part is seeing the bigger picture: Europe drifting back toward dark ideas, Greece flirting with amnesia, a world exhausted from losing and still keeping vigilance alive.

Memory is not merely duty. It is our first line of defense.

 


Emmanouela Papapavlou is a high school student from Thessaloniki, Greece, deeply passionate about social and political issues. She has actively participated in Model United Nations and other youth forums, serving as a chairperson in multiple conferences and winning awards in Greek debate competitions. Writing is her greatest passion, and she loves using it to explore democracy, civic engagement, and human rights. Her dream is to share her ideas, inspire action, and amplify the voices of young people who want to make a difference. Email: emmanpapapavlou@gmail.com

Labor Day protest outside Trump Tower on Fifth Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, September 1, 2025, where demonstrators demanded better wages and working conditions. Photo: Dreamstime.

Can Mamdani’s Municipal Socialism Counter Democratic Backsliding?

In a period of deepening global democratic recession Zohran Mamdani’s ascent as mayor of New York City poses an important question: Can municipal socialism provide meaningful resistance to authoritarian and oligarchic drift? Mamdani’s redistributive agenda—rent freezes, universal childcare, fare-free transit, public groceries, and a $30 minimum wage—seeks to decommodify basic needs and challenge monopoly power. His platform echoes broader critiques of financialized capitalism and “techno-feudalism,” offering a localized experiment in restoring democratic control over markets. Yet structural constraints—capital mobility, state-level authority, and limited municipal capacity—risk reducing his project to a palliative rather than transformative intervention. Still, Mamdani’s rise signals renewed potential for democratic agency within advanced capitalism and highlights the symbolic power of left urban governance.

By Ibrahim Ozturk

In an era marked by the ninth consecutive year of global democratic decline—with more autocracies than democracies worldwide—the question of whether municipal socialism can serve as a meaningful counterweight to authoritarian drift has acquired renewed urgency. In my earlier analysisTrump and the New Capitalism: Old Wine in a New Bottle, I argued that the rise of populist-authoritarian tendencies represents not an aberration but an outcome of structural transformations within capitalism. The fusion of excessive neoliberal deregulation, financialization, and techno-feudal monopolies has produced a regime in which power is concentrated in networks of rent-seeking elites while democratic accountability erodes. Within this global configuration, figures such as Donald Trump exemplify a politics of reaction, harnessing social discontent to reinforce rather than transcend capitalist contradictions.

The newly elected mayor of the New York municipality in the US, Zohran Mamdani, represents another countermovement that is evolving. Having an Indian lineage, born in Kampala, Uganda, in 1991 and educated at the Bronx High School of Science and Bowdoin College in the US, Mamdani is a community organizer and politician representing a new generation of democratic socialists in New York City politics. His family background reflects a distinguished intellectual lineage: his father, Mahmood Mamdani, is a renowned Ugandan academic and political theorist at Columbia University, while his mother, Mira Nair, is an internationally acclaimed Indian filmmaker. This cosmopolitan and intellectually engaged upbringing informs his perspective on justice, diversity, and structural inequality. Before his mayoral campaign, he served as a state assembly member for Queens, gaining recognition for his advocacy on housing, transport, and labor rights.

The emergence of Mamdani, a self-described democratic socialist and now mayor-elect of New York City, raises a critical question: Can left municipalism, operating within the framework of advanced capitalism, achieve more than temporary relief? Can it open pathways toward structural transformation, or does it risk serving merely as a palliative to capitalism’s crises? This commentary examines Mamdani’s project as a potential alternative within the confines of globalized urban capitalism and explores whether it constitutes a genuine rupture or a managed reform.

Mamdani’s Program and Its Socialist Premise

Mamdani’s platform centers on affordability—housing, transit, groceries, childcare—labor empowerment, anti-monopoly measures, and public-sector revival. His proposals include rent freezes, universal childcare, fare-free buses, city-owned grocery stores, and a minimum wage of $30 by 2030. The program is explicitly redistributive—funded through higher taxation on the wealthy, municipal bonds, and redirected public investment—and endorsed by the Democratic Socialists of America. Reports from The Nation and The Guardian emphasize his focus on social affordability and economic justice.

Taken together, these policies articulate a coherent vision of municipal socialism that seeks to reconcile equity with feasibility. They represent not merely an electoral program but a normative statement about how value creation and distribution should be reorganized in an era of inequality and urban precarity.

Alignment with Structural Critiques of Capitalism

While Mamdani’s proposals emerge from the immediate material pressures of urban life—housing unaffordability, wage stagnation, and public disinvestment—they also speak to deeper theoretical concerns. His platform implicitly challenges the dominant accumulation regime that has shaped advanced capitalism since the 1980s.

  • Constraining monopoly and platform power: His regulation of delivery apps and advocacy for municipal alternatives echo calls to counter techno-feudal control.
  • Fiscal re-politicization: Expanding municipal investment and debt capacity revives the Keynesian principle of democratic capital allocation, countering the austerity logic.
  • Labor empowerment: Raising wages and curbing algorithmic exploitation of gig workers directly addresses the erosion of collective bargaining in the digital economy

In essence, Mamdani’s local socialism represents a municipal-scale experiment in reversing the disembedding process. It seeks to restore social control over markets without dismantling the capitalist framework entirely.

Structural Constraints and the Risk of Palliative Reform

Despite its radical rhetoric, Mamdani’s agenda faces formidable structural limits:

  • Jurisdictional dependency: Many proposals—such as rent control, wage laws, and tax reform—require state-level approval. Dependence on higher-tier institutions (Albany, Congress) restricts municipal sovereignty.
  • Financial constraints: Global capital mobility enables landlords and investors to circumvent local regulations through capital flight or pre-emptive rent inflation.
  • Administrative capacity: Rebuilding the state apparatus after decades of privatization demands resources, expertise, and political endurance.
    Global market discipline: As I noted elsewhere, cities embedded in global capital circuits cannot easily alter systemic rules of accumulation.

Thus, while progressive, Mamdani’s project risks acting as a palliative: It might ease inequality, precarity, and housing shortages without actually transforming the fundamental regime of accumulation. In this way, it resembles the New Deal paradox—reforms that saved capitalism from itself by institutionalizing social compromise.

Theoretical Implications: From Populism to Municipal Socialism

In contrast to populist movements such as Trumpism that weaponize social anger for authoritarian consolidation, Mamdani represents a left-populist or socialist response oriented toward redistribution and participation.

Drawing on thinkers such as Shoshana ZuboffYanis Varoufakis, and McKenzie Wark, genuine transformation would require dismantling the global rentier system based on data extraction, monopolistic control, and financial dominance. Mamdani’s measures operate largely at the level of urban welfare and infrastructure, not at the structural nexus of digital and financial capital.

This suggests that while municipal socialism can create breathing space for democracy, it cannot, alone, displace capitalist command over value creation. Nevertheless, its symbolic power is significant: It demonstrates that political agency still exists within capitalist democracies and that redistribution, social housing, and decommodification are viable public policies.

A Short Reminder from the Obama Experience

While Mamdani’s rise has generated enthusiasm among progressive circles, historical experience counsels caution regarding the transformative potential of reform within existing institutions. The election of Barack Obama in 2008 offers a revealing precedent. His campaign, built around the populist slogan “Yes We Can,” unleashed one of the most powerful waves of civic mobilization in modern US history.

A signature pledge—the creation of a single-payer healthcare system—was quickly abandoned amid intra-party resistance. Even with a unified government, centrist Democrats refused to support the plan. The resulting Affordable Care Act represented a policy milestone but fell short of structural transformation.

Simultaneously, the conservative backlash was immediate and fierce. The Tea Party movement– funded by corporate networks and amplified through right-wing media—redefined the Republican Party and laid the groundwork for Donald Trump’s Make America Great Again (MAGA) insurgency. 

The political consequences were swift. In the 2010 midterms, Democrats lost both houses of Congress. Even vacancies in the Federal Reserve Board and the Supreme Court remained unfilled, enabling the next administration to reshape the judiciary decisively.

A Constraint Hope for the Future

Zohran Mamdani at the Dominican Heritage Parade on 6th Ave in Manhattan, New York City, August 10, 2025. Photo: Aleksandr Dyskin.

Mamdani’s rise signals a generational shift toward pragmatic socialism—a reassertion of collective goods amid a cost-of-living crisis. His program offers hope within limits: Hope that governance can be reoriented toward equality and sustainability; limits because the city remains bound to global circuits of capital and data.

If such movements scale upward—through cooperative federalism, trans-urban alliances, and progressive taxation—the Mamdani experiment could prefigure a new model of democratic socialism adapted to the 21st century. Otherwise, as warned in Trump and the New Capitalism, the system will continue oscillating between neoliberal authoritarianism and fragmented reform.

Brick Lane—London’s most iconic hub for street art and graffiti—runs from Whitechapel to Shoreditch through the heart of the East End, with nearby streets toward Spitalfields and Bethnal Green offering rich artistic stories of their own. Photo: Nicoleta Raluca Tudor.

Schrödinger’s Elite: How Populism Turns Power into Moral Performance

Populists rise to power by claiming outsider status against a corrupt elite. Yet many—from Erdogan and Modi to Trump—retain legitimacy long after becoming establishment actors. How? Yilmaz and Morieson argue that populist leaders occupy a dual identity they term “Schrödinger’s Elite”: simultaneously insiders and outsiders. They convert privilege into moral performance—projecting humility, purity, and sacrifice while governing as entrenched elites. This performance is not hypocrisy, but strategy. Whether through Trump’s theatrical diplomacy, Imran Khan’s pious nationalism, or judicial populism in Pakistan and the United States, authority is reframed as service to “the people.” The paradox reveals why populism persists despite policy failure: emotional authenticity eclipses institutional accountability, transforming power into virtue.

By Ihsan Yilmaz & Nicholas Morieson

One problem populists face when they enter government is that, by definition, they become the very thing they claim to despise: elites. Populist legitimacy is always predicated on their status as outsiders intent on cleansing a corrupt system. However, once the populist outsider becomes part of the governing elite, then it naturally becomes very difficult for them to present themselves as outsiders. One should expect that, once populists begin governing, they should lose their legitimacy. Yet this does not always occur. 

Indeed, this notion has been exploded by a generation of populist leaders who, despite making promises they could not keep and becoming insider elites, have retained their popularity and governed in some cases for more than a decade. 

The long reigns of populists such as Recep Tayyip Erdogan in Turkey, Narendra Modi in India, and the re-election of Donald Trump in the United States, demonstrate that populists can survive in power despite appearing to lose their outsider status. Moreover, many populist leaders are themselves part of the very elite they condemn. They are educated, wealthy, and deeply embedded within existing institutions. Some populist leaders have emerged from within state institutions, from the judiciary and the military, and cannot therefore be considered in any way outsiders. 

However, if populists are supposed to be outsiders battling ‘elites’ on behalf of ‘the people’, why do we see so many populist leaders emerging from, and remaining inside, the most elite sectors of society, including from state institutions and from the super-wealthy?

We call this paradox Schrödinger’s Elite. Like the famous cat in Erwin Schrödinger’s thought experiment that exists in two states at once, populist elites are both insiders and outsiders. They inhabit positions of privilege while performing rebellion. They rule as establishment figures but speak as insurgents. They preserve elite power while transforming it into a moral drama of virtue, authenticity, and at times sacrifice.

Schrödinger’s Elite

Populism, as theorist Benjamin Moffitt notes, does not destroy elite rule. Instead, it dramatizes crisis, performs outrage, uses ‘bad manners’ to present itself as authentic and ‘of the people, and ultimately presents power as service. Leaders appear both powerful and humble, dominant yet close to “the people.” This emotional theatre renews legitimacy without real change.

The idea of Schrödinger’s Elite helps explain everything from Donald Trump’s rallies to former Pakistan Prime Minister Imran Khan’s pious nationalism, and even the moral language of judges in Pakistan and the United States who claim to speak for “the people.” In each case, insiders perform as outsiders and power survives through spectacle.

Illustration of Schrödinger’s cat inside a cube surrounded by neon scientific symbols and formulas, representing quantum physics, superposition, and science education. Photo: Yana Lysenko.

The Paradox of Populist Elites

Populism pits “the pure people” against “the corrupt elite.” However, its champions are often wealthy, famous, or institutionally entrenched. For example, US President Donald Trump, a billionaire celebrity, plays the rebel in order to portray himself as an outsider in Washington and a man of the people. His crude humor and defiance convince supporters he is authentic and unfiltered. His wealth – whether real or not – is reframed as proof of independence from the effete Washington elite, which cannot buy him.

Imran Khan performs a similar balancing act. Oxford-educated and once adored as a cricket hero, he recast himself as a pious Muslim and moral crusader against corrupt, insufficiently religious elites. He promised a “New Pakistan” guided by Islamic values, blending humility with righteousness amid promises to save “the people” from corrupt rule. 

This combination of purity and power is not hypocrisy but better described as a strategy. Within this strategy, populist leaders turn privilege into moral capital. Their appeal rests less on policy than on emotion, and contra Mudde, less on ideology than on the performance of sincerity.

When Bureaucrats and Judges Turn Populist

Populist performance is not limited to politicians. Bureaucrats and judges can play the same role, posing as the conscience of the nation. Pakistan’s judiciary offers a clear example. For decades, judges have justified coups and interventions under the “Doctrine of Necessity,” claiming to act for “the people.”

In 2007, Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry became a folk hero after defying President Musharraf. The Lawyers’ Movement celebrated him as a defender of democracy, yet it expanded the judiciary’s political reach. Courts later used moral language to disqualify Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif. One judgment compared him to a mafia “Godfather,” casting legal authority as moral and national purification.

The courts presented these rulings as virtue rather than law, appearing humble while exercising vast power. This can be described as a form of judicial populism, in which authority is framed as populist representation of the will of the ‘pure’ people.

The Supreme Court’s Populist Turn

The same pattern arguably surfaces in stronger democracies. For example, when the US Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in Dobbs v. Jackson (2022), the majority framed the decision as restoring democracy, saying “the people” should decide. In doing so, the Court claimed moral authority even as it arguably concentrated power.

American justices are familiar public figures, and now speak publicly more than ever, often presenting themselves as moral figures rather than distant experts on law. As a result, the line between law and storytelling begins to blur, and in an already politicized court, procedure gives way to conviction. And like populist politicians, judges adopt the language of authenticity to build a direct connection between themselves and the public, increasing their own power.

Trump in Cairo

Trump’s October 2025 appearance in Cairo showed how populist performance travels. At a peace ceremony marking a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas, he turned diplomacy into entertainment. He joked with Viktor Orbán and Giorgia Meloni, calling Meloni “beautiful” and boasting that even if nobody liked Orbán, he did, and “I’m the only one that matters.”

To his followers, this vulgarity was truth-telling. His refusal to play by elite rules made him seem both powerful and free. He was the most influential man in the room and the only “outsider.” This was Schrödinger’s Elite in pure form: authority disguised as rebellion.

Imran Khan’s Moral Stage

Imran Khan’s career shows how this paradox works in a postcolonial setting. Khan embodies privilege and once was regarded as a playboy, yet he built his politics on piety. He invoked Riyasat-e-Medina, the ideal early Islamic state, and urged citizens to show moral discipline. His Oxford education became proof of competence and incorruptibility.

Khan attacked the Pakistan’s elite, calling them puppets of the West and those who, as he said, “carried the begging bowl to the IMF.” He vowed “never to bend the knee to Western powers.” He accused Washington of “desecrating the Quran,” defended the Taliban as “freedom fighters,” and praised them for having “broken the chains of mental slavery.

Each statement arguably turned politics into moral theatre. His suffering, including dismissal from power, arrests, court battles, and subsequent imprisonment only reinforced his image as a truth-teller persecuted by corrupt elites. 

Emotion Over Structure

The figure of Schrödinger’s Elite shows that populism does not end hierarchy but rather reshapes it. Populist elites thrive by performing virtue, and in doing so, turn their dominance into service, their power into purity, and self-interest into sacrifice for “the people.”

This helps explain why populism persists even when it fails to deliver positive results. Accusations of hypocrisy become proof of authenticity. Challenges to legitimacy become attacks by corrupt elites. Through these reversals, leaders convert their own failings into legitimacy and authenticity.

Digital media amplifies the cycle. Outrage, alas, spreads faster than rational argument, while visibility online replaces accountability. Trump’s tweets, Khan’s livestreams, and activist judges’ speeches all use the same grammar of feeling. They create intimacy between elite and follower while bypassing institutions that might check power.

The Theatre of Power

Across regimes and ideologies, populism redefines what it means to be elite. It replaces expertise with emotion and legality with morality. The populist elite, in this way, claims to represent the people while keeping control.

In Pakistan, judges act as the nation’s conscience while consolidating power. In the US, the Supreme Court claims to restore democracy. In Cairo, Trump mocked his peers to show he was above them. Each act sustains authority through performance.

The danger of all this lies not in populism’s attacks on elites, but in its ability to moralize populist domination of politics and law. It turns power into a spectacle of virtue, and in doing so, keeps citizens powerless while making them feel morally included and thus represented. 

A Paradox That Endures

Populism’s strength lies in its contradictions. Its leaders inhabit both rebellion and authority, humility and dominance. Across democracies and hybrid regimes alike, the populist governing powers claim to speak for “the people” while reinforcing control. And that is perhaps why populism endures. Its elites have learned not to abolish hierarchy but instead found ways to perform populism while entrenching themselves in power. 

Photo: Dreamstime.

What Is the Ideology That Has Attained Social Hegemony? Let Us Call It Simply “Nativism”

In this thought-provoking commentary, Dr. João Ferreira Dias argues that the dominant ideology underpinning contemporary right-wing movements is not populism or illiberalism, but nativism—a worldview centered on defending the “native” population against perceived external and internal threats. Drawing on theorists such as Cas Mudde, Ernesto Laclau, and Fareed Zakaria, Dr. Dias shows that while populism offers the form of political antagonism (“the people” versus “the elites”), nativism provides its substance: the protection of cultural and demographic identity against globalization and multiculturalism. Dr. Dias concludes that nativism’s emotional and existential appeal—rooted in fear of the “other” and longing for cultural homogeneity—has achieved social hegemony across much of the West.

By João Ferreira Dias

We often speak of populism, the radical right, or illiberalism. Yet, to truly understand the rise and entrenchment of the contemporary right, we may need to shift our analytical lens toward nativism. What unites right-wing populist leaders with individuals such as Mr. Armando, the bakery owner; Ms. Aurora, a civil servant; Uncle Venâncio, a retiree; or José Maria, a private school student, is not a coherent philosophical conception of the state. It is something more elemental and psychological: the belief that globalization and multiculturalism—especially in the form of immigration—are dismantling national identities.

When radical right-wing populism first emerged, it proved difficult to classify. While it drew from the Nouvelle Droite (Taguieff, 1993), it also contained a performative, mobilizing dimension, and a radicalism based on the division of society into “us” and “them.”

Cas Mudde (2007), a leading scholar in the field, defined this populism as a “thin-centered ideology,” rooted in the binary logic of “the pure people” versus “the corrupt elites.” Ernesto Laclau (2005), in contrast, identified populism as a political logic—a way of constructing the political—rather than a specific ideological content.

Generally, the radical right populism of recent decades rests on a threefold structure: (i) the moral division between the “pure people” and the “corrupt elites”; (ii) the defense of national identity against multiculturalism; and (iii) the combat against the political left, viewed as conspiring against Western values and the traditional family.

From a governmentality perspective, Fareed Zakaria (1997) introduced the concept of “illiberal democracy” to describe regimes that maintain electoral institutions while eroding liberal principles: consolidating power in a charismatic executive, weakening checks and balances, politicizing the judiciary, and overriding constitutional limits in the name of majority will.

However, illiberalism, in my view, is either inextricably tied to the radical right, or it remains conceptually ambiguous. In fact, the radical left also exhibits illiberal tendencies—engaging in practices such as censorship or moral cancellation—but in favor of minorities and a coercive form of progressive social purification, rather than a majoritarian ethos. This suggests that illiberalism is not exclusive to the right, nor is it sufficient to describe its ideological nucleus.

The term nativism, although first used in 19th-century America to describe anti-immigration movements such as the Know Nothings or the Ku Klux Klan, reemerged in modern academic discourse in the 1950s, particularly through John Higham’s Strangers in the Land (1955). In that work, Higham captures the sense of alienation experienced by native populations facing rapid demographic and cultural transformation.

In the 1990s, as scholarly attention to populism intensified, Paul Taggart and Hans-Georg Betz argued that modern right-wing populism was characterized by a fusion of three elements: populism, nativism, and authoritarianism (Betz, 1994; Taggart, 2000). In the following decade, Cas Mudde (2007) identified nativism as the core ideology of these parties, and populism as their political form. Later refinements clarified this conceptual division: populism provides the structure—the antagonism between “the people” and “the elites”—while nativism offers the content, namely the opposition between natives and foreigners (Mudde & Rovira Kaltwasser, 2017).

This clarification substantiates the central argument of this essay: that nativism should be analyzed as an ideology. Let us consider why.

First, the populist discourse of “us” versus “them” is not exclusive to the radical right. It is equally present on the radical left, which often constructs a similar dichotomy between “the people” and “the elites,” or between the “majority” and “minorities.” The difference lies in the subject being defended and the identity politics at play, rather than in the structure of the discourse.

Second, the radical right is not uniformly illiberal. It exhibits significant internal variation. Many such parties and movements are illiberal with respect to morality—advocating traditionalist or exclusionary cultural values—while remaining economically liberal. Others, though equally illiberal in terms of cultural values (a sine qua non), adopt statist economic models, defending welfare policies but restricting their benefits to the native population. Thus, illiberalism is not a constant across the radical right, but nativism is. It constitutes the shared ideological foundation that allows for otherwise divergent policy positions.

This is why it may be more accurate and analytically fruitful to define these movements simply as nativist, and their ideology as nativism. This classification applies to both political elites and voters alike.

At its core, the ideology’s resonance lies in the perceived demographic threat, most radically articulated in Renaud Camus’ “Great Replacement” theory. This idea has circulated widely, in varying intensities and local adaptations, across Western societies. As native populations decline demographically—due to lower birth rates—and immigration brings culturally distinct newcomers, a so-called “perfect demographic storm” is formed: the “demographic winter” of the native population collides with the “demographic summer” of incoming groups.

The result is a growing sense of existential threat, particularly toward Muslim immigrants, who are seen as both culturally incompatible and demographically ascendant. This sense of threat fuels resentment toward multiculturalism and the progressive left, which is often held responsible for promoting it. What emerges is a feeling of estrangement in one’s own homeland—a central affective dimension of modern nativism.

In sum, the ideology that has achieved social hegemony in many Western societies today is best understood not as populism or illiberalism, but as nativism: a worldview centered on the defense of the native population’s perceived interests, identity, and territorial integrity. Those who support nativist movements are not primarily mobilized by economic platforms, but by a profound distrust of the “other.” This “other” is not necessarily blamed for stealing jobs, but for competing for scarce welfare resources—access to schools, healthcare, housing—or even for altering the cultural landscape of spaces that once symbolized familiarity and social cohesion.

Biology reminds us that the presence of the “other” is often the most basic trigger in the formation of the “we.” Thus, what we are witnessing is not merely populism or illiberalism, but nativism at its core—an instinctive social reaction which, when politicized, seeks to defend what is perceived as the homeland (the nation) and protect those considered its rightful heirs.


 

References

Betz, H.-G. (1994). Radical Right-Wing Populism in Western Europe. Palgrave Macmillan.

Higham, J. (1955). Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860–1925. Rutgers University Press.

Laclau, E. (2005). On Populist Reason. Verso.

Mudde, C. (2007). Populist Radical Right Parties in Europe. Cambridge University Press.

Mudde, C., & Rovira Kaltwasser, C. (2017). Populism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford University Press.

Taggart, P. (2000). Populism. Open University Press.

Taguieff, P. A. (1993). Origines et métamorphoses de la nouvelle droite. Vingtieme siecle. Revue d’histoire, 3-22.

Zakaria, F. (1997). The Rise of Illiberal Democracy. Foreign Affairs, 76(6), 22–43.

Chairman of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) Imran Khan addresses a press conference in Islamabad on April 20, 2016. Photo: Jahanzaib Naiyyer.

Popular, Not Populist? Imran Khan and the Civil–Military Grammar of Populism in Pakistan

In this incisive commentary, feminist scholar Afiya S. Zia dissects the myth that Imran Khan is “popular, not populist.” Drawing on theorists such as Laclau, Mudde, and Moffitt, Zia argues that Khan’s politics exemplify moral populism: a performative style that fuses piety, masculinity, and nationalism while eroding democratic substance. His rhetoric of virtue and victimhood, she shows, mirrors the Pakistani military’s own moral lexicon of sacrifice and honor, blurring the line between civilian populism and authoritarianism. From symbolic austerity to digital disinformation, Khan’s rule delivered moral spectacle but little structural reform. Zia concludes that his populism—like its global counterparts—offers redemption without reform, transforming faith into a tool of power and consuming democracy in the process.

By Afiya S. Zia*

Recently, the official X account of Pakistan’s emergent third party, Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), retweeted a supporter’s claim that its leader, “Imran Khan is popular, not populist – his leadership is based on merit, service, and people’s trust, not division or demagoguery.” The statement came amid a charged political atmosphere following Pakistan’s 2024 general elections, marred by allegations of manipulation, the disqualification and imprisonment of Khan, and the reversal of several victories claimed by PTI-backed independents.

Both domestic and international observers noted that the elections were neither free nor fair. In this context of curtailed democracy and contested legitimacy, PTI’s distinction between popularity and populism must be read not as analytical precision but as political self-defense – a claim to moral authenticity and victimhood.

The denial is itself revealing. Theorists such as Ernesto LaclauCas Mudde and Benjamin Moffitt have shown that populism is not a coherent ideology but a moralized style of politics. It divides the world into the virtuous “people” and a corrupt “elite” and performs rather than governs. By this definition, Khan’s rhetoric and political persona are unmistakably populist, even as his followers insist otherwise.

The Populist Grammar of Authenticity

From his entry into politics in the 1990s, Khan crafted an image of moral exceptionalism: a national athlete and hero who transcended Pakistan’s dynastic, corrupt politics but never actually politicked, at either constituency or national legislative levels. His signature slogan of naya Pakistan (a “new Pakistan”) offered a redemptive promise of national purification but based on his self-admitted personal turn from a lifestyle of westernized decadence to pious moral virtue, rather than institutional reform.

Khan’s supporters often cite his philanthropic project of the cancer hospital he founded in 1994, as proof that his politics are altruistic rather than populist. Yet, as Jan-Werner Müller observes, populists do not simply appeal to “the people”; they claim exclusive moral representation of them. Of course, there are many altruistic philanthropists in Pakistan, but Khan’s own rhetoric claims that only he is incorruptible enough to save the country.

The 2018 election that brought PTI to power was no popular revolution. It was shaped by judicial disqualification of a PM, backroom military support, the defection of ‘electable’ politicians from rival parties and, newly propped ones. The same military that Khan would later denounce as tyrannical helped secure his ascent to power. Once in office, he engaged in the same symbolic austerities that typify global populism: auctioning state-owned luxury cars, selling buffaloes from the Prime Minister’s House, and promising to turn colonial-era governor mansions into public parks.

Like Donald Trump’s televised reconstruction of the White House, or Narendra Modi’s ascetic imagery of revivalist Hinduism, or Erdogan’s mosque-conversion paternalism, Khan’s performances were not economic policy but moral theatre – staged to show distance from the ‘corrupt elite,’ ‘legacy media,’ or khooni (bloodthirsty) liberals. In Moffitt’s terms, Khan governed through performative crisis: each political setback became proof of his own virtue and of the system’s moral decay.

The Homo Islamicus Persona

Khan’s charisma models itself on the figure of homo Islamicus – the morally regenerated Muslim leader who derives authority not from democratic process but divine virtue and nationalist purity. Vedi R. Hadiz argues that the rise of the new Islamic populism in the Muslim world is but a mirror image of the rise of populist tendencies in the West. I track how Khan’s moralized masculinity fuses religiosity, nationalism, and populist virtue —a model of leadership also visible in Turkey’s Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who combines piety with patriarchy—but Khan’s version lacks a coherent alternative policy or economic vision.

Khan’s rejection of “Western feminism,” his warnings about “vulgarity” and “sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” and his invocation of an abstract ghairat (honour) are not incidental conservatisms. They are central to a moral populism that imagines the nation as a family, with the leader as its patriarch. Women in this framework are symbols of purity and faith rather than political subjects, an ideal he often upholds in his current fully veiled and pious wife, Bushra Imran.

Like other populists, Khan cultivated a large, devoted, and cross-generational female following, rooted in the intertwining of his athletic masculine charisma and paternalistic image. Many women view him as a moral guide capable of protecting their dignity and rights, often leading to family tensions and highly visible political polarization, especially on social media and within military households. This admiration motivated female supporters to participate in daring street protests, such as the May 2023 Lahore rally, where women boldly confronted police, mocked military generals, and faced repeated arrests with unwavering commitment. They demonstrated political courage even as senior PTI leaders distanced themselves. 

Khan’s transformation from celebrity cricketer to spiritual-political leader exemplifies what Dani Filc describes as the “inclusionary–exclusionary” spectrum of populism: while appealing to urban middle-class women and educated elites, he marginalizes groups like Ahmadis, Hazaras, opposition politicians/constituent holders, critical journalists, and feminists. Critics denounce his patriarchal rhetoric, majoritarian bias, and victim-blaming statements on sexual violence, yet supporters defend him for his moral simplicity and protection of women at political events.

This gendered populism both empowers and constrains women’s political engagement. While it inspires unprecedented acts of defiance against the military establishment, it simultaneously reinforces conservative gender norms, framing governance in terms of Islamic virtue rather than liberal democracy. Urban, middle to upper-middle-class female PTI activists often interpret Khan’s patriotism, piety, and defiance of Western powers as moral leadership, seeing him as a surrogate father or protector. Their allegiance centers more on his persona than policy innovations. 

Unlike Benazir Bhutto’s empathetic, liberal-rights-based appeal, Khan commands female support while reinforcing patriarchal norms – a pattern consistent with male populists globally. Ultimately, Khan’s piety-driven populism reshapes Pakistan’s discourse on women and democracy, combining the empowerment of select women with the reinforcement of traditional, conservative gender hierarchies, marking a post-feminist turn not unlike the Trump supporting, TradWives movement.

Rebranding as Moral Renewal

A central populist tactic is to rebrand existing institutions as moral innovations. Khan’s renaming of Pakistan’s flagship social protection initiative, the Benazir Income Support Programme (BISP) as Ehsaas, exemplifies this pattern. The rebranding erased the legacy of a female predecessor, taking credit for a recast state policy as a personal act of virtue.

Similar strategies appear elsewhere; Nayib Bukele in El Salvador folded earlier social welfare programs into his “New Ideas” brand; Andrés Manuel López Obrador reframed Mexico’s anti-poverty programs as part of his “Fourth Transformation.” These moves transform bureaucratic continuity into revelation and give the illusion that old policies are purified through the filter of the leader’s sincerity.

In Pakistan, this moralization of governance is amplified through religion. Poverty alleviation becomes an act of zakat (almsgiving), not redistribution; social policy is sanctified through Islamic ethics. In this sense, piety populism does not replace the state, it sacralizes it, for which there is no stable measure nor standard of accountability. 

Populism as Civil–Military Mirror

Khan’s populism has often been cast as the antidote to Pakistan’s entrenched military dominance. Yet the two are not opposites; they are mirror images. Both draw legitimacy from moral spectacle and claims of masculine benevolence and sacrifice. Both substitute masculine charisma for institutional accountability or the deepening of democratic collaboration and norms.

After Khan’s ouster in 2022 through a parliamentary vote of no-confidence, he recast himself as the moral redeemer betrayed by a corrupt establishment and ‘treacherous’ generals who retracted their initial support. This shift turned the civil–military conflict into a populist morality play, complete with pejorative references to traitors in Islamic historical tradition, a contest between rival saviors.

His falling out with Army Chief General Javed Bajwa dramatized this contest for moral and political supremacy, later extending to a confrontation with Justice Qazi Faez Isa, poised to become the next Chief Justice, and then with the ascetic and pietist General Asim Munir, who adopted a “zero-tolerance” stance toward PTI protests. Khan’s political ego, shaped by a messianic sense of virtue, left little room for institutional peers/equals. General Munir’s clampdown after Khan’s ouster in 2022 was rationalized as a defense of order, national dignity, and morale, echoing Khan’s own rhetoric of honor, self-belief, and betrayal. The rivalry has persisted after the 2024 elections and ongoing protests by PTI. This tension reached its symbolic peak in May 2025 when India launched a stealth “Operation Sindhoor,” against Pakistan, named after the Hindu symbol of marital devotion as nationalist metaphor. Pakistan’s military response, led by Munir, was saturated in the usual masculine imagery: shaheed (martyr), izzat (honor), and ghazi (holy warrior) and his televised pledge that ‘the sons of Pakistan will defend the honor of our mothers and sisters’ epitomized how both militarism and populism mobilize gendered virtue as political currency.

Social media in Pakistan, dominated by Gen Z users, mocked India’s media frenzy and celebrated Pakistan’s ‘calm victory’ with younger women enamored by the officers who led the Air Force in downing several Indian planes. Yet, as ever, the outcome was an uneasy one: the military emerged re-legitimized, Khan remained imprisoned, and populism simply migrated from civilian to khaki uniform.

Myths of Popular Not Populist

Consider the PTI’s retweet, which encapsulates five claims central to Imran Khan’s carefully cultivated mythos—portraying him as “popular, not populist.” First, it insisted that Khan is genuinely popular rather than populist. However, his rhetoric consistently divides society into “the pure” versus “the corrupt,” mobilizing moral legitimacy over institutional authority – a hallmark of populism. 

Second, the tweet claimed that Khan was not a creation of the army. In reality, his rise in 2018 was facilitated by judicial manipulation, military engineering, and rogue officers. Even if he later distanced himself from these institutions, this is no different from what rival political leaders have done historically. Rather than erasing such inconvenient histories, civilian leaders who take refuge behind military intervention must be monitored in the future.

Third, Khan is presented as anti-West, yet his critique existed alongside ongoing IMF negotiations and deep engagement with elite global networks, reflecting a selective post-colonial posture. 

Fourth, he is framed as selfless rather than narcissistic, though his populist appeal is replete with iconography, self-aggrandizement, and personal branding (‘I am Democracy,’ ‘I know xxx better than anyone else…’). He also remains guilty of relying on electable elites and the same familial involvement in party matters that are criticized in other parties. There is little tolerance for PTI members who may disagree with Khan or offer any competitive stance which reveals authoritarian tendencies. 

Finally, the unproven claim that he is open to compromise masks the fact that his politics thrive on intransigence—treating all dissent as betrayal (except his own) and viewing negotiation with the opposition or the establishment as weakness (except when dealing with the Taliban, even as it attacks Pakistan and inflicts injustices on the Afghan people). PTI’s mastery of trolling opponents, manufacturing fake news, and leading misinformation campaigns as a new form of politics in Pakistan is also overlooked in such sanitized analyses.

Far from disproving populism, these claims actually reinforce it. As Nadia Urbinati observes in Me the People, populism thrives on contradiction, converting apparent inconsistencies into signs of authenticity. Each denial, each assertion of moral exceptionality strengthens Khan’s narrative, reinforcing the image of a leader whose legitimacy rests less on institutions than on his constructed persona. Ironically, the validity of such claims is often on how he is internationally well-known or accepted by the West.

Populism on Empty

From prison, Khan continues to embody what Moffitt calls the performative style of populism—governing through crisis, redemption, claims of torture, and demands for exceptional treatment, even in the absence of office. His courtroom appearances in a supposed bulletproof bucket over his head, viral statements, and ritualized piety function as forms of affective governance from afar.

Yet his tenure in power offered no structural reform: economic stagnation persisted, media freedoms eroded, and minority persecution continued unchecked. His government extended the Army Chief’s tenure, criminalized dissent, and reinforced the surveillance state. The result is what might be called populism on empty and a politics of moral feeling without material change. It mobilizes faith but not reform and it personalizes virtue but not justice.

Imran Khan’s populism was not the negation of military rule but its civilian extension. Both rely on the same moral lexicon of piety, sacrifice, and masculine honor to assert legitimacy in a fractured polity. His electoral legitimacy in 2024 cannot be denied; he was a democratically elected leader who mobilized genuine discontent. Yet his politics squandered democratic energy because he is driven by claims of individual glory, empty rhetoric and not delivery. Claims of refusing to host US bases with an emphatic ‘Absolutely Not’ to a hypothetical question by a journalist and not as an actual matter of policy reality, exemplifies the kind of mythologizing that only a populist can maneuver. 

In Pakistan, as across the world, populism has become the grammar of both power and resistance. It is not a rupture from authoritarianism but its reinvention through the idioms of faith and virtue. The contest between Khan and Munir is less about democracy than about rival masculinities with each claiming to embody divine authenticity.

In the end, the PTI’s insistence that Khan is “popular, not populist” collapses under its own logic. Popularity is contingent and plural; populism claims moral monopoly. Khan’s “merit” was moral, not technocratic; his “service” symbolic, not structural; his defiance was personal not a questioning of power.

Imran Khan’s populism, like its global counterparts, offers moral redemption without reform—a politics of virtue that feeds on crisis and ultimately consumes democracy itself. At the very least, it recalibrates and compels all politics to thrust towards the Right end of the political spectrum.

For civilian democracy to prevail in Pakistan, all sides must abandon the language of contempt (libtardspatwarisyouthias, and cultists) that sustains populist polarization. A new politics demands both the recognition of PTI’s electoral legitimacy and respect for shifting electoral demographics, and for the ruling coalition to relinquish its reliance on military brokerage. In turn, the PTI needs to temper its cultic populism with constitutional humility, pluralism, and respect for critical media and civil society – starting with more honest political introspection rather than social media driven slurs and insults.


(*) Afiya S. Zia (PhD) is a feminist scholar and author of Faith and Feminism in Pakistan (Liverpool University Press, 2018). She has written extensively on gender, religion, democracy, and populism in South Asia.