The rhetoric of reaction against the Global Progressive Mobilization (GPM)

Last week in Barcelona, progressives gathered at the GPM. Under the leadership of European social democracy—and in particular of Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez—leaders and representatives from parties, think tanks, and labor unions across all continents reaffirmed their commitment to democracy, peace, and a multilateral order.

Despite having lost ground in recent years (while still remaining one of the pillars sustaining the European Union), social democrats uniquely retain the ability to convene such a broad and diverse gathering. Not everyone who defends democracy is on the left, and some on the left have not always defended democracy. Yet all those present in Barcelona did so, and those there in power have attained office through democratic means and upheld democratic institutions. At a time when democracy is under attack, the democratic left mobilized to defend it: European social democrats, the U.S. Democratic Party (including its progressive wing), and democratic forces from Latin America—including leaders not rooted in social democracy, such as Chilean former president Gabriel Boric.

Some actors would have liked to participate, and most criticism has focused on omissions—of people, forces, or topics. However, there was a clear urgency to mobilize the left around a coherent set of ideas. Should engagement also extend to the moderate center-right? In practice, it already does—in Brussels, and in countries such as Hungary and Poland. Presidents representing around 60% of Latin America’s population—including those of Mexico, Brazil, Uruguay, and Colombia, as well as Chile’s former president—were present in Barcelona. Seen in this light, and with South Africa represented by its president, the left appears less weak than is often assumed. Particularly significant is the growing alliance with the progressive wing of the U.S. Democratic Party, whose role is increasingly recognized—for example, by Barack Obama, who recently appeared alongside New York City Mayor Zoran Mamdani.

Criticism of the Barcelona meeting has come, for instance, from Karl Rove in The Wall Street Journal. His reaction, along with that of parts of the Spanish right, echoes Giorgia Meloni’s response last year to the pro-European demonstration in Rome, where she dismissed the Ventotene Manifesto—a document advocating a democratic and federal Europe even before the end of World War II. In The Rhetoric of Reaction, Albert O. Hirschman argues that conservative critiques of progressive reforms tend to follow three recurring patterns: the perversity thesis (reforms will backfire), the futility thesis (reforms will fail to produce meaningful change), and the jeopardy thesis (reforms will endanger past achievements). These arguments reappear across history—from reactions to the French Revolution to debates on modern welfare states—suggesting that political discourse is often shaped less by new evidence than by enduring rhetorical strategies. The authors of the Ventotene Manifesto ultimately proved more prescient than their critics, both in the 1940s and today. Notably, Hirschman himself had a family connection to one of its authors.

Some suggestions for improving the GPM are valid—see, for example, proposals by Jeremy Cliffe. These include making the forum a regular and permanent fixture (a “left-wing Davos”), strengthening ties with academia, and developing a more compelling economic narrative. The self-criticism expressed by Brazil’s president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, is also warranted—though without discarding the achievements of the past.

At the same time, it is entirely justified for the democratic left to mobilize globally in response to the international coordination of the far right. Today’s democratic backlash is driven in part by oligarchic capture, with racism often deployed as both instrument and justification. Electoral integrity itself is under strain in the United States. Political scientist Larry Bartels has shown that, in a January 2020 survey, a majority of Republicans agreed that “the traditional American way of life is disappearing so fast that we may have to use force to save it,” while more than 40% believed that “a time will come when patriotic Americans have to take the law into their own hands.” 

Democracy should not be the monopoly of the left, and the left has not always upheld it consistently. However, the most significant threat today comes from a right increasingly aligned with oligarchic interests. Among Republican voters, the strongest predictor of anti-democratic attitudes is ethnic antagonism—particularly concerns about the political influence and access to public resources of immigrants, African Americans, and Latinos. This highlights the central role of ethnic conflict in contemporary U.S. politics, with parallels emerging in parts of the European right.

Those with economic and political power in conservative circles in both the United States and Europe bear a particular responsibility to halt the democratic backsliding. Meanwhile, the left—whether in the streets of Minneapolis or in political gatherings such as Barcelona—is already playing its part.

After nations, global peace

In "After Nations," Rana Dasgupta offers an original history—and critique—of the nation-state as an institution, contrasting it with empires and other political forms. The book is rich in insight and erudition, and it has been reviewed in outlets such as Financial Times and Foreign Policy, as well as in Branko Milanovic’s Substack, each highlighting different dimensions of the work.

The essay is structured in four main parts, each linking a historical empire to a concept central to the organization of political institutions. The first part connects the history of France with the concepts of God and theology, which have historically served to justify the power of both nations and empires. The second associates England with money, emphasizing the central role of finance and the unequal distribution of economic resources in the development of governing institutions. The third links the United States to law, illustrating how the dominance of money has been reinforced by legal frameworks that prioritize property rights. Finally, the fourth part examines the long continuity of the continental Chinese empire—sustained in part by communism—and its enduring influence beyond its borders, relating it to environmental constraints and the ways in which human–nature relationships shape systems of power.

The book is particularly compelling in its exposition of the darker side of the Anglo-American empire. As Milanovic observes in his review:

“Reading Dasgupta’s, and similar books that abound today, one cannot but be totally struck [by] how the contrary narratives of the British rise and the Industrial Revolution, some ‘crowned’ by the Nobel Prizes, succeed in almost completely erasing the aspects of domestic and foreign terrorism, enslavement, beatings, outright piracy, compression into Navy services, enclosures, fabulous enrichment of political elites, military suppression of revolts, famines and executions under the beautifully sounding title of ‘Glorious Revolution’. ‘The Glorious Revolution—Dasgupta writes—inaugurated the modern state in its raw form: an undemocratic commercial machine that unleashed terror at home and abroad’ (p. 113). Eliding this truth is like describing Soviet industrialization and the Great Terror by studying Moscow parades. But nobody has received a Nobel Prize for that. Well, perhaps the Stalin Prize…”

Dasgupta uses this historical analysis to argue that the currently dominant nation-state is a relatively recent contingency—one that may already have passed its peak in terms of its capacity to address contemporary global challenges. Today, only a minority of nation-states can be considered successful, and even those that provide reasonable standards of living are increasingly threatened by more dysfunctional or aggressive ones. The brief period during which some nation-states have prospered is overshadowed by the many instances of ethnic cleansing, genocide, invasion, and war that continue to shape global politics.

The selective application of the principle of self-determination—advanced by Woodrow Wilson at the end of the World War I—was arguably inevitable, since “peoples” overlap and cannot be neatly divided into territorially bounded units. It is impossible to partition the Earth into discrete fragments to which such a right can be cleanly applied. Today, national sovereignty is increasingly challenged by technological multinationals, transnational terrorism, and more benign and promising arrangements such as international treaties (for example, those governing Antarctica).

In some cases, societies have developed more flexible and constructive arrangements: Jerusalem as a shared international city; Northern Ireland as a space jointly governed by Catholics and Protestants; or South Africa as a society shared among Black, white, and other communities. Only the most rigid positions insist on strict partition in such contexts. From this perspective, the idea that the Palestinian question can be resolved through the further proliferation of nation-states—especially in an already fragile Middle Eastern (or “West Asian,” in Dasgupta’s terms) context—appears misguided.

The European Union stands out as a project on which alternative political forms might be built, although it remains imperfect and nation-states continue to exercise significant power within its governance structures.

A world dominated by nation-states is failing to deliver global peace, advanced democracy, or a sustainable and egalitarian economy. Today, only a small fraction of the world’s population lives in genuine democracies, while others survive through niches such as money laundering or narcotrafficking. 

After the four main sections, the book concludes with two shorter chapters: one exploring possible alternatives to the nation-state, and another attempting to define it. The discussion of alternatives is, understandably, somewhat unsatisfying, reflecting the difficulty of reconciling what is desirable with what is feasible.

Ultimately, it is likely that the evolution of unpredictable historical processes will determine the forms that replace the nation-state. The final chapter, devoted to defining the institution itself, is particularly incisive in highlighting its internal contradictions—for example, the impossibility of defining “pure” nations or of identifying states that truly monopolize violence. As things stand, nation-states concentrate too much power, often enabling harmful outcomes. We should move toward something better—although doing so entails the risk of something worse.

Trumpism and capitalism

According to Luigi Zingales, Trump is attacking capitalism, and capitalists should unite and resist. Zingales’s piece is a notable attempt to save the face of capitalism: in his view, Trumpism is not a consequence of capitalism but, rather, capitalism is its victim.

However, it is not very convincing to claim that Trumpism has emerged in the country that most strongly symbolizes capitalism, and that this economic system bears no responsibility for the rise of such a serious political pathology.

Zingales argues that “the biggest threat to capitalism has always been the arbitrary abuse of government power.” He also claims that Trump’s behavior is not capitalist but socialist and authoritarian. Yet capitalists—American and otherwise—have themselves abused government power in arbitrary ways, for example in Chile, or have attempted to manipulate it in the United States through campaign finance, lobbying, and corruption.

Zingales further states that “without respect for the rule of law, we cannot have capitalism.” Really? What about Chile under Pinochet, Spain under Franco, and similar cases? He concedes that without the rule of law we may instead have “crony capitalism.” Fair enough—but in that case, capitalism is “crony” in many, many places.

A few years ago, in his book "Capitalism Alone," Branko Milanovic argued that capitalism had been left without competing economic systems after the fall of communism and China’s adoption of a market economy. At the same time, democracy has been eroding in recent decades, with the fastest decline now taking place in the United States. According to data reported by Martin Wolf in the Financial Times, only 7% of the world’s population lives in genuine democracies (down from 17% just a few years ago). It appears that capitalism has advanced while democracy has receded. Admittedly, that 7% also lives under capitalism—but likely a more constrained and better-regulated version than the one found in autocracies or backsliding countries.

There is little doubt that the kind of mafia-style state Trump is promoting is at odds with a certain version of capitalism. But this is an idealized version. Trump represents a frontal attack on both free markets and well-regulated markets. Yet capitalism—an economic system in which economic power is concentrated in the hands of capital owners—can coexist with markets that are neither free nor properly regulated. Neoliberalism, understood as an extreme version of capitalism, coexisted with brutal dictatorships in the twentieth century and has now morphed into a kind of “dark enlightenment,” as described in Quinn Slobodian’s "Hayek’s Bastards."

Some of the world’s wealthiest capitalists are endorsing Trump’s global coup. It might be comforting to believe that anti-capitalists can build a successful democratic alternative. But for now, we may need the support of forward-looking and altruistic capitalists—if they exist, as in the Anthropic model praised by Zingales—who understand that human progress requires more and better democracy, not less. So far, however, it has not been capitalists or other elites who have united against Trumpism, but rather ordinary people in the streets, along with some scientists, intellectuals, and journalists writing on alternative media platforms like Substack.

The future of us

Lant Pritchett (London School of Economics) has an article in the Journal of Economic Perspectives on the need for global mobility between shrinking and growing labor forces.

In the coming decades, given fertility rates across different regions, territories with low or very low fertility will need to receive migrants from territories where fertility rates are higher. The region of the world with the highest fertility rates at the moment is Africa.

The figures are striking. Spain will have a “labor force gap” of 23.6 million people by 2050. This gap is calculated by keeping the ratio between the labor force and the population aged 65 or older at its 2020 level. If we were to fill this gap with permanent migrants, they would need to be allowed to come with their families. This would require an additional 49.6 million migrants (beyond current levels) by 2050—about 1.1 additional residents for every working migrant—most of them coming from Africa.

Fertility policies will not fill the gap because the people who would need to be 25 years old in 2050 have already been born—or rather, they have not been born, since we are simply not having enough children. There is heterogeneity in fertility rates, but the general trend is downward. At some point in the future, there may not even be territories producing enough migrants, but we are not there yet. Now, the economic gains of migration are high for migrants and for societies receiving migrants. While we figure out how to organize our societies under conditions of very low fertility everywhere (in the absence of strong even coercive pro-natalist policies), migration appears to be the only solution.

Pritchett argues that filling the gap with permanent migrants is politically impossible because, in his words, existing citizens would lose control of their “future of us.” He therefore proposes filling the gap not with permanent migrants, but with “rotational and temporary” labor mobility.

This makes sense, although the details matter, and it would not be easy to manage. I doubt that, given the income gap between Africa and Southern Europe—and their geographic proximity—movement could be controlled at a “desired” level.

In any case, we need in Spain (similarly in other relatively rich countries) at least approximately 25 million foreign migrants between now and 2050, and unless we are economically self-destructive, we will probably receive many more. Perhaps, then, the challenge is not so much how to stop permanent migration, but how to redefine “us” in the “future of us.” This redefinition will need to take place even if temporary mobility is successful.

It is true that the rise of the xenophobic far right does not inspire optimism. Yet the reality of large, diverse cities such as London and New York tells a different story. Both cities are attractive, diverse, and prosperous, and both have democratically elected mayors who come from immigrant families. Why can we not all be more like New York and London?

Forward to the Past

In the movie Back to the Future, a machine makes it possible to travel through time and change history. It was so successful that it spawned two sequels. The idea of time travel has fascinated societies for a long time. We should have been warned by The Handmaid’s Tale that traveling through time is not necessarily a fantasy, in the sense that, quite obviously, we have the technology to reorganize society in ways that could revive horrible practices from the past.

With Trumpism 2.0 and its allies, we are witnessing an attempt to use modern technology to “travel to the past,” in the sense of reorganizing societies to replace our imperfect democracies with something else. This “something else” might, if it prevails, bring us back to the values and institutions of the pre-Enlightenment era, with modern technologies under the control of a tiny elite of plutocrats.

The racist colonialism and imperialism in Rubio’s speech in Munich provided a fitting justification for the “Board of Peace,” an attempt to privatize diplomacy and replace the United Nations. This initiative has reportedly been rejected even by the Vatican, yet it finds support in a new global “church”: FIFA.

Trumpists and some technological leaders appear to be colluding to build a political system that would take the place of democracy and give a seal of approval to the dismantling of science, public health policies, rational philosophy in schools, and climate policies.

Detention camps are being built and may, in the future, be used to confine various categories of “undesirable” people, such as political opponents, entire racial groups, or people with mental health conditions, as has happened in the past.

Unless they are defeated, we may return to times of racial segregation and the Ku Klux Klan, and women’s rights may no longer be protected. The separation of powers could be replaced by an autocracy in which there are no objective rules.

There is hope that they will not succeed, because their takeover is gradual and we are aware of the dangers of the past. This gives us time to resist and counterattack. However, the “Dark International” (now allegedly financed by the U.S. State Department) will not disappear and will continue trying—not only in the United States.

In Favor of Large, Diverse Democracies

The demonstrations in Minneapolis, Mamdani’s victory in New York City, and Bad Bunny’s success at the Super Bowl all suggest that there is strong popular support for large, diverse democracies. At the same time, there is also support for the opposite model: homogeneous ethnocracies that do not tolerate pluralism. This is one of the defining struggles of our time.

In Portugal, for example, a pro-European candidate recently defeated a far-right opponent by a large margin in the second round of the presidential election. Although support for far-right candidates has increased in many countries, their surge can also be interpreted as a desperate attempt by conservative forces that are running out of ideas on how to resist fairer and more inclusive democracies. Moreover, this rise is often exaggerated, as reported in two recent articles.

It is almost as if the First World War never truly ended. The collapse of empires led to the creation of unstable nation-states, often accompanied by ethnic cleansing and forced population movements. The West Bank in the Middle East is a recent example. Even today, there remains a tension between building more integrated societies and fragmenting existing states along ethnic lines. In some regions, such as the Balkans, these two tendencies coexist.

Attempts to create “pure” nations typically end in disaster and failure. After so many efforts at ethnic cleansing, it is now difficult to find any territory that is truly homogeneous in cultural or ethnic terms. Berlin, once the capital of the Third Reich, is today one of the most diverse cities in Europe.

The fight for universalism is also a fight against deeply rooted racial prejudice. As Paul Krugman noted, the war on immigrants—besides being a moral and civil liberties nightmare—will make native-born Americans poorer and will cost lives. A disproportionate number of immigrants work as nurses and doctors, and their absence would have devastating consequences. In both the United States and Europe, many elderly people who initially express reservations about immigrants eventually admit, often reluctantly, that immigrants save their lives every day.

There has always been an intellectual tradition that endorses racism and homogeneous communities even with economic arguments, and it is well represented among Trump’s supporters. As Quinn Slobodian describes them, Hayek’s “bastards” believe that if international trade and capital mobility function properly, immigration will be unnecessary. For post-neoliberal national-populists, culturally and ethnically homogeneous populations are seen as a prerequisite for well-functioning markets, alongside strict protection of property rights.

The three “hards”—hard money, hard borders, and hardwired culture—are central to this national-populist drift of neoliberalism. As Slobodian explains, this ideology promotes exclusion, segregation, and privatized communities. Fortunately, it is not a philosophy that is widely shared.

Letter to my American Friends

There is a natural psychological impulse to downplay what is happening in the United States. It is hard to accept that we may be entering dystopian times. Some people are too complacent to mobilize and instead look for excuses. Others look for excuses to keep voting for Trump, or to continue supporting European parties that sympathize with him, or that see it as natural to ally with parties promoting similar policies.

In an effort to remain balanced, I want to reflect on how bad Trump 2.0 really is, why there is still hope, and why this matters — even for us Europeans.

How bad is Trump 2.0? Unfortunately, what is happening is not entirely un-American. There are precedents: racism, violations of human rights, segregation, McCarthyism, and the extermination of Indigenous populations. Violence, racism, imperialism, and repression are undeniably part of U.S. history. Still, many of us believed that these phenomena were being left behind with the civil rights movement and the end of the Cold War.

Trump himself, however, is unprecedented and far worse than his predecessors: the trash-talking, bullying, racism, corruption, threats to — and violations of — freedom of speech, attacks on science, culture, and global public goods, the imperial impulses, and the sycophancy, narcissism, and idolatry surrounding the “king" and the first lady. This spectacle feels closer to the Roman emperors of the decadent era than to any sane contemporary democratic leadership (and I do not count Milei, Bukele, or Orbán among those leaders).

His occasional hostility toward other authoritarian regimes — Iran, Venezuela, Cuba — should not mislead us. One cannot play the good cop in just carefully selected places abroad and the bad cop at home.

Of course, there is also the United States that liberated Europe from fascism and launched the Marshall Plan. And it is true that we do not see mass killings on the scale of Iran, thanks to institutions that still act as constraints: the media, protesters, churches, and courts. But we already see innocent people being killed or arbitrarily detained.

This is not Hitler — but waiting for perfect historical parallels would be a grave mistake. The outcomes may differ, but the psychology of the tyrant and his supporters looks disturbingly familiar (January 6th should still echo loudly in our minds).

People may disagree on how to label what we are witnessing, but not on the direction of travel. John Burn-Murdoch asks whether we are seeing shocking events without durable change: How steep is Trump’s democratic backsliding? Others are less hesitant.

Why there is still hope? If there is hope that the United States will not be lost to democracy forever, it is not because of any residual humanity in Trump or his inner circle. It is because of the strength and diversity of the resistance — collective, institutional, and individual.

We see it in parts of the mainstream and independent media that continue to tell the truth (try watching Amanpour on CNN, or reading the Substacks of Paul Krugman and Timothy Snyder). Bruce Springsteen’s Streets of Minneapolis is a beautiful tribute to those who resist — and who have, at least temporarily, forced Trump to retreat.

There is hope because many intelligent, principled people in the U.S. are resisting. Unfortunately, the most powerful and wealthy do not seem to be among them. Those who resist may not control the tectonic forces of inequality and brutality that drive the worst forms of capitalism, but they oppose them. I have been fortunate to meet — and remain friends with — some of these people during my PhD in Florence, through visits to New York, Madison, Berkeley, and elsewhere, and through collaborations in Europe, including the remarkable CORE Project, partly led by U.S. academics.

They are among the smartest and most generous people I have ever known. Their universities and research centers are not perfect, but they remain among the most important global public goods we have. Many of the resisters come from these institutions. They remind us that theories of free-riding and collective-action failure tell only part of the story.

Why this matters? Some people tell me I pay too much attention to what happens in the United States. But it remains — by many measures — the world’s largest economy, with unparalleled cultural influence, and still the dominant force in the social sciences and in my own discipline, economics.

Things may never be the same between the U.S. and Europe. Still, we must continue to resist together, and we must stay connected.

This is not to ignore the many challenges facing European democracies (I promise they are a priority for many of us). But when I was younger, I learned that developments in the U.S. often reach Europe a few decades later — and now the delay may be much shorter.

We want a divorce from the Trump regime, not from our American friends.