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The Age of Experts Is Over If the past two decades—COVID-19, the 2008 financial crisis, and the net-zero charade—have taught us anything, it is this: the age of unquestioned experts is over. Authority issued by corrupt, bloated institutions no longer commands automatic respect. We are entering an era in which trust must be earned, not assumed. Credentials matter less than results. Expertise can become conformity wrapped in a credential; status is no substitute for trustworthiness. The future belongs to those with proven track records, not merely letters after their names. Friedrich Nietzsche warned of this more than a century ago. He distrusted experts who served the spirit of their age—those who mistook consensus for courage and conformity for principle. To Nietzsche, many authorities were functionaries of the status quo: too timid to challenge the sacred assumptions of their time. University professors, state philosophers, and moral enforcers wore obedience as a badge of honor. They did not think; they repeated. They did not challenge; they conformed. They made the ordinary seem profound through jargon, complexity, and ambiguity. Nietzsche saw these not as signs of insight, but as camouflage—cowardice in disguise. He also distinguished knowledge from wisdom. Knowledge can be taught, measured, and tested. Wisdom must be earned through suffering, struggle, and brutal self-examination. Nietzsche admired those who forged their own paths rather than simply climbing institutional ladders. Even in science, he saw a danger. He respected its methods but feared their sanctification. Science, he argued, still required justification; materialists confused method with meaning and data with truth. Experts who presented science as the only path to knowledge were, in Nietzsche’s eyes, dogmatists in lab coats. So the question is no longer, “What are your qualifications?” It is: What have you done? What have you risked? What have you proved? We must recover the courage to think for ourselves—and place our confidence only in those who have earned it through action, not appointment.

The Three Words Democracy Borrows Democracy is often praised as inherently good, but Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates saw serious flaws. A better view: rule by one, few, or many each has tradeoffs. A healthy society ideally combines a strong leader, a competent elite, and a virtuous citizenry—because, as Thomas Sowell said, “there are no solutions, only tradeoffs.” Democracy promises three virtues it can’t guarantee: freedom, wisdom, and consent. **Freedom:** Nozick’s thought experiment shows how slavery can be disguised by changing vocabulary—when power gradually shifts from overt domination to rules voted on by others, at what point is it “freedom”? A society can talk endlessly about freedom while restricting rights through taxes, regulations, and suspensions. **Wisdom:** Socrates doubted democracy produces wisdom. If a voyage were dangerous, you wouldn’t let every passenger vote equally on navigation. Yet political voting gives equal weight regardless of knowledge, inviting manipulation by those skilled in fear, emotion, and flattery. **Consent:** “Government of the people, by the people, for the people” can be an illusion. If the state is treated as “us,” coercion can be reframed as self-government. But representatives don’t truly follow your instructions the way a genuine agent must. Freedom, wisdom, and consent are real virtues—democracy just borrows their language, and the biggest risk is believing that choosing rulers collectively makes the ruled free, wise, and consenting.

Why Weak Societies Choose Tyranny The pinnacle of tyranny would be a system that allows politicians, elites, and bureaucrats to control a population without force or coercion because the people love their servitude. Aldous Huxley wrote Brave New World, an eerily relatable dystopian novel, with this idea at the forefront. Unlike Orwell’s 1984, there is no overt oppression. The state does not have to stamp on human faces with its jackboots or erect an inescapable surveillance state. Rather, the people of Brave New World happily chain themselves with meaningless pleasure and distractions. The authorities do not rule through terror and rage, the central elements of 1984, but instead give the people everything they ever wanted. A pharmaceutical called Soma becomes the opiate of the masses. Mustapha Mond, the World Controller, likens it to Christianity without tears. While religion requires years of moral training, Soma allows citizens to achieve peace simply by swallowing tablets. It is the perfect escape from reality, a holiday from the facts. Lenina, the female counterpart to the protagonist Bernard, cannot comprehend why he refuses Soma, preferring discomfort to something that can remove it. When Bernard states, “I’d rather be myself, myself and nasty, not somebody else, however jolly,” Lenina sees this as a sort of pathology and repeatedly encourages him to take the wonder drug. Bernard explains, “I want to know what passion is.” He understands that there is more to life than merely being content, craving genuine experience, including suffering and intensity, rather than being emotionally regulated by the World State. Lenina’s bewilderment stems from her conditioning to regard unhappiness as a technical problem, encapsulated in the society’s common saying that “a gram is better than a damn.” The people of Brave New World are not captives but satisfied customers. Children are produced by the scientific state, relieving people of the responsibility of parenthood. This grants them the ability to engage in promiscuity, where everyone belongs to everyone else, while filling their free time with cheap entertainment and endless sporting events—what would be referred to as slop today. As Neil Postman observed, Orwell saw totalitarianism through the lens of fear, while Huxley saw it through pleasure. There was no need to ban a book in Brave New Worldbecause there was no one who wanted to read one. An abundance of low-quality information rendered censorship unnecessary because no one could hear the truth through all the noise. Huxley threw shade at civil libertarians who passionately opposed tyranny because they failed to take into account man’s almost infinite appetite for distractions. Humanity in its rawest form is portrayed by John the Savage, an outsider free from the World State’s conditioning. Upon coming face-to-face with this spiritually neutered society, he completely rejects it: “I don’t want comfort, I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness, I want sin.” Huxley’s dystopia is not imposed on an unwilling population but instead requested by a hollow one. Which leads us to the question: How do people become so weak that they get on their knees and beg for totalitarianism? Good times make bad times possible. Once a certain level of luxury and safety is achieved, people start to resemble the hobbits from the Shire. They are so far removed from evil that they forget it even exists and become defenseless in the face of it. Andrew Lobaczewski, who studied the psychology of totalitarianism from inside Poland’s communist takeover, wrote: “During good times, people progressively lose sight of the need for profound reflection. They lose the capacity to differentiate human nature, and emotion begins to dominate intellect. Once a critical mass starts operating on the pleasure principle, any excess mental effort seems like pointless labor.” Lobaczewski warned that it is not as simple as some people losing the ability to think rationally. It is worse, because those people then shame anyone capable of doing so. A clever, liberal, and merry individual is a good sport. A more far-sighted person predicting dire results becomes a wet blanket, a killjoy. The ability to have uncomfortable conversations without emotion taking over is, in Lobaczewski’s view, an indicator of whether a society’s future will be good or bad. It is easier to think about pleasant things. This leads people to eliminate any data or facts that cause them discomfort. That becomes a habit and eventually a custom accepted by society at large. Once the general populace accepts that inconvenient truths should be left unsaid, it becomes incapable of reaching correct conclusions. After all, how could you ever describe a picture that you refuse to look at? “Catastrophe waits in the wings of the communities that lose the capacity for psychological reason and moral criticism,” Lobaczewski wrote. “It is on the other side of this weakening of thought that the processes of the generation of evil are intensified at every social scale until they give rise to bad times.” It is precisely man’s dreams of happiness that can lead to chaos and suffering. This hedonistic view of happiness contains the seeds of misery, feeding the eternal cycle whereby good times give birth to bad times. Friedrich Nietzsche viewed socialism as demanding comfort for the greatest number of people possible. To question whether it is good for the masses to live in comfort has become a form of heresy. This reveals the spiritual atrophy that so many suffer from. Considering only the weak believe comfort to be a virtue, it is what Carl Jung would describe as the infantile dream state of mass dependency: the desire to gently slip back into the kingdom of childhood, into the paradise of parental care. Except this lack of friction has consequences. The perfect state destroys the soil in which great intellect grows. Genius, struggle, passion, strength, and wisdom are required to build a safe and abundant society. Yet once a certain level of comfort is achieved, it can destroy the very virtues required to obtain it. Nietzsche observed that it is the warmest heart that aims to alleviate suffering and hardship but fails to realize that it thereby wills the destruction of its own foundation. Comfort breeds mediocrity, which is then called good. Small people want one thing above all: that no one hurt them. We have taken this pathology to such a degree that we now obsess over hurt feelings and call this virtue. Pleasure, in its proper place, is a byproduct of meaningful goals, not a goal in itself. Aristotle saw that pleasure and comfort distort perception and proper judgment. While they do not cause us to misjudge something like geometry or mathematics, they can destroy our ability to decide what is worth pursuing and, therefore, what to do. Consider The Odyssey. Homer depicts Odysseus’ men on the island of the Lotus-Eaters, where they taste the fruit and lose all desire to go home. Much like Huxley’s Brave New World, they are not imprisoned. Rather, they simply stop wanting anything more. Odysseus has to drag his men back to the ships while they weep to stay. This is what comfort can do to men. It empties them of purpose. We intuitively understand this but fail to apply it to our own lives. We must make the same choice as Odysseus when he refuses Calypso’s offer of endless comfort and immortality. He knows she is more beautiful than his wife Penelope waiting at home. He knows that he and Penelope will grow old and die, a fate he could avoid by staying with Calypso. No one who reads these stories wishes he had stayed. We want him to choose the hard way home because if he took the offer, he would stop being admirable. Yet staying is exactly what our modern society asks of us. We are told that the island is the good life. But what happens to the man who caves to this temptation? In Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche imagines a risk-averse society taken to its logical endpoint. The elimination of all struggle produces a man so diminished that he fails to possess even self-contempt or higher aspiration. Safety and sameness become the highest goals, creating “no shepherd in one herd.” Anyone who seeks to be anything more than normal becomes an aberration to be dealt with. Or, as Nietzsche puts it, they have “made the wolf a dog in man himself, man’s best domestic animal.”

The End of Blind Authority If the past two decades—through COVID-19, the 2008 financial crisis, and the net-zero charade—have taught us anything, it is this: the age of unquestioned experts is over. Authority granted by corrupt, bloated institutions no longer commands automatic respect. We are entering an era in which trust must be earned, not assumed. Credentials alone are not enough. Results matter more. Expertise can become conformity wrapped in a credential. The age of trusting people solely because of their status is fading. What matters now is trustworthiness, not titles. The future belongs to those with proven track records, not simply to those with letters after their names. Friedrich Nietzsche warned about this more than a century ago. He distrusted experts who blindly served the spirit of their age—those who mistook consensus for courage and conformity for principle. To Nietzsche, many authorities were not pioneers of truth but functionaries of the status quo: people too timid to challenge the assumptions of their time. He mocked the bureaucrats of knowledge: professors, state philosophers, and moral enforcers. They wore intellectual obedience like a badge of honor. They did not think; they repeated. They did not challenge; they conformed. To Nietzsche, jargon, complexity, and ambiguity were not always signs of insight. They could also be camouflage—cowardice in disguise. He distinguished between knowledge, which can be measured, taught, and tested, and wisdom, which must be earned. Wisdom comes through suffering, struggle, and honest self-examination. Nietzsche admired those willing to rise above institutional thinking. Even in science, he saw a danger. He respected its methods but feared their sanctification. He believed materialists could confuse method with meaning and data with truth. Experts who presented science as the only path to knowledge were dogmatists in lab coats. The question is no longer, “What are your qualifications?” It is: What have you done? What have you risked? What have you proved? We must rediscover the courage to think for ourselves and trust those who have earned authority through action—not appointment.

ℹ️ Wisdom Mike wechselt vom FC Bayern zum FC Brügge 🔗 https://t.co/fJxjEsu8ks Alles Gute für deine Zukunft, Weezy! https://t.co/ZEySB650Ys #Transfers #Bundesliga #Fussball

Der Transfer von Wisdom Mike zu Club Brügge ist endgültig perfekt. Der Spieler hat seinen Medizincheck bestanden und bei den Belgiern unterschrieben. Der FC Bayern erhält eine fixe Ablöse von 5 Millionen Euro, die durch Bonuszahlungen weiter ansteigen kann. Eine Rückkaufoption gibt es nicht, dafür aber eine Weiterverkaufsbeteiligung. @SkySportDE #TransferNews #Bundesliga #Football

A Generation That Forgot the Shape of the Square On memory left to die alone By Adham Hasanin Egyptian journalist and political writer, based in the Netherlands In a house near mine, there is a boy of thirteen. Born in 2013 just a few months younger than the July coup itself, younger than the new republic under whose shadow we now live. I asked him once, with no preamble, no test, out of nothing more than passing curiosity: do you know what January was? He answered simply, without hesitation, without any sense that he was missing something: "An old revolution, against Mubarak, right?" Not entirely wrong. But it is everything he knows. The name Tahrir Square means nothing specific to him. The sound of the crowd chanting has no echo in his mind. He does not know that his own family whom he sees every day saying "thank God for stability," who warn him against "chaos" whenever a political headline crosses the screen once, at a moment two years before he was born, went down into the street, betting their entire lives on the possibility that something might change. This article is not about politics. It is about memory, and about who decides what gets told and what is left to die in silence. I. Who Erases the Picture? The first question that comes to mind is the easiest and most deceptive one: who erases this memory? And where do we begin holding them accountable? But the truth is too complex to reduce to a single actor. No one actually erases memory, in the literal sense of the act. There is no ministry called the "Ministry of Forgetting," no presidential decree ordering January struck from the collective consciousness. What happens is simpler than that, and more dangerous at once: the subject is simply never told. School says nothing. The textbook leaps from one period to another without pausing on January for more than two faded lines, composed with deliberate neutrality, devoid of any detail that might make the event feel alive to its young reader. Television no longer has any reason to return to it; the programmes that once hosted witnesses and activists stopped years ago, replaced by an official discourse that mentions January only in passing, as an unfortunate prelude to the "stability" that supposedly followed. And the home the most dangerous link of all has become afraid of the subject. Speech now carries a price, and many families, whether consciously or by sheer survival instinct, have decided that silence is safer than the story. The father who marched fears passing on to his son a curiosity that might one day lead him into trouble the family cannot afford. The mother who lost a friend in the events prefers not to reopen the wound before a child who does not yet grasp the weight of loss. And so, generation after generation, the circle of those who know shrinks, and the circle of those who do not even ask because they do not know there is anything worth asking widens. No one decided to erase the memory through an explicit decision. The memory was simply left to die alone, with no one tending it. And it is precisely this decentralised absence of responsibility that makes this kind of erasure more dangerous than any direct official ban: there is no single decision to challenge, no single body to hold accountable. Responsibility is distributed across thousands of small decisions made by thousands of individuals, each within their own context, each seeming reasonable when viewed in isolation. II. Why This Is More Dangerous Than Direct Repression An objection might be raised: is direct repression arrest, imprisonment, publishing bans not far more lethal than mere gradual forgetting? The answer is complex, and deserves calm unpacking. Direct repression can be seen. It can be documented, and the victim can know they are a victim, can tell their story, and their pain can become a testimony added to the collective memory, even if it never reaches justice. The political prisoner knows he is a political prisoner. The journalist banned from writing knows he is banned, and can tell the world he is banned. Direct repression, for all its cruelty, leaves a trace that can be followed. But a generation that has forgotten something happened at all does not even have a starting point from which to ask. This thirteen-year-old boy will never ask "why were we repressed?" because he does not know there is anything deserving that question in the first place. He feels no absence, because he does not know there is anything absent. He simply lives in a version of reality stripped of an entire chapter of his country’s history, and never for a moment suspects that this void is a void at all. Here lies the essence of the danger: direct repression creates victims who know they are victims. Erasure of memory, when it succeeds, creates a generation that does not even know it has been deprived of anything. And deprivation that is not felt cannot be resisted, because resistance always begins with an awareness of loss. The regime that came after 2013 does not need to convince the new generation that January was a mistake. That would be an arduous, costly task, requiring sustained propaganda and continuous effort to persuade each individual one by one. It is far easier, and strategically far more efficient, simply to ensure they never know it was anything at all. The void requires no defence; it requires only silence, and silence is free and always available. III. The Four Mechanisms of Erasure Four complementary mechanisms can be identified working together to produce this collective void not as an organised conspiracy, but as a system of incentives that pushes each party, consciously or not, to contribute to the same process. The first mechanism: formal education. The curriculum, as currently designed, treats January as a passing footnote rather than a founding event deserving detail and analysis. The student memorises two dates the start of the revolution and its presumed end without understanding why people took to the streets, what they were demanding, or how they felt in that pivotal moment. The second mechanism: broadcast media. The channels that once hosted live discussions on January, featuring varied perspectives, have gradually disappeared, or transformed their discourse entirely. Today’s televised image either ignores the anniversary altogether, or invokes it only to frame it as a prelude to chaos that must be avoided. The third mechanism: the silence of homes. This is the most dangerous of all, precisely because it is the most human and understandable. Parents who lived through the experience protect it with silence, not out of aversion to the story, but out of fear of its price. This silence, however legitimate its motives, achieves exactly the same effect as official censorship: it blocks the transmission of knowledge from one generation to the next. The fourth mechanism: the absence of alternative spaces. Even those among the new generation who wish to know cannot easily find places to look. Archives are scattered, trustworthy websites are blocked or require effort to reach, and personal testimonies are dispersed across corners of the internet that an ordinary student at an ordinary school will never stumble upon. These four mechanisms require no central coordination to work together. Each naturally serves the others, and all converge on a single result: a growing void in the consciousness of every new generation. IV. Memory as an Act of Resistance If erasure operates without a centre, then resisting it must also be decentralised. No one waits for a government decision to restore January to the curriculum, nor for a television programme to revive the testimonies. Resistance here is necessarily individual, happening in small details, in passing conversations, in the simple decision to tell rather than to stay silent. This is exactly what I try to do, without any claim to heroism, without any grand mission. I try, whenever I can, to tell the thirteen-year-old boy and others like him details that are never written in official reports or in schoolbooks: what the voices in the square sounded like, how someone felt the first time they realised change was possible, what that moment of hope was like before everything changed. The goal is not to bring back the past; the past cannot be brought back. The goal is that this boy, when he grows older and asks again and he will ask, because the questions always return at some point finds someone to tell him the full story, not two faded lines in a schoolbook. That he knows the stability he is told is the fruit of "wisdom" has a prior history, that this history carried other possibilities, and that real people bet their lives on those possibilities. V. Why This Matters Now Talking about the memory of a generation not yet aware might seem an intellectual luxury next to more urgent matters: arrests, a collapsing economy, regional wars. But the truth is that this issue is the foundation on which every other issue is built. A people who do not know they once rose up will not understand why they should ever think of rising again. A generation raised to believe "stability" is the only natural state possible will never ask itself what drove its own parents, shortly before it was born, to risk everything for an alternative that was never guaranteed. Memory is not a luxury; it is the reference point by which every generation measures its present, and through which it determines what is possible and what is not. And whoever understands this understands why erasing memory, not direct repression alone, is among the most important tools of any regime seeking to guarantee its permanence: because a people who have forgotten they were once free will not even know they are missing freedom. Memory, like the word, needs someone to tell it in order to survive. And when the tellers stop, memory does not die suddenly; it withers slowly, generation after generation, until the day comes when a boy asks an innocent question, and finds no one to answer him but two faded lines in a schoolbook.

Wisdom Mike wird die Asien-Tour des FC Bayern nicht mit antreten und in München daran arbeiten, wieder spielfit zu werden. Geplant sind zeitnah auch Einsätze für Dantes U23. Die Option einer Leihe halten sich alle Beteiligten dennoch offen. @SkySportDE https://t.co/P57SnDlxFE @SkySportDE #FCBayern #AsienTour #Fussball

We are entering an age that will reshape economies, institutions, and daily life. We must not enter the #IntelligentAge sleepwalking. We must enter it with awareness, wisdom, and courage. More in 'Thriving and Leading in the Intelligent Age': ➡️🔗https://t.co/IQtYUm0s3c https://t.co/qaUGszDtfZ #IntelligentAge #Awareness #Leadership #Thetweetdoesnotmentionanyspecificcountries.Therefore #therearenocountrycodestoreturn.

Oh le discours de Tatum 🥶 « Être un leader, c’est être à l’aise avec le fait d’ignorer des choses. Je n’ai pas envie d’être à côté de quelqu’un qui pense tout savoir… » ET SON « I don’t wanna be the smartest person in the room » 😳 C’EST UN TIR ÇA ?!! https://t.co/J5I6HIrth2 #Leadership #Inspiration #Wisdom

The parties to the conflicts have extreme positions, which means war until someone's capitulation and victory. Peace is possible only with very large compromises. The highest manifestation of wisdom is ignoring insults and challenges. The more attention is paid to them, the more passions are inflamed. Ignoring blocks the initiative/aggressiveness/. The wars in Ukraine and Iran are probably coordinated. They will not be able to be resolved separately. The EU and Ukraine's peace proposal is an ultimatum for Russia's capitulation, which is unacceptable. Russia needs very big concessions to end both wars. Recognition of the Russian language as the state language for Ukraine. Ukraine a state of two peoples, Russians and Ukrainians. Ukraine to be equally connected to Russia and the West. Ukraine will not be accepted and tolerated by Russia as an anti-Russian factor. Without these conditions, both wars will not stop. The plan for Russia's exhaustion and capitulation is too ambitious and most likely unfeasible. The situation is intolerable for the whole world and cannot continue. Стороны конфликтов занимают крайние позиции, что означает войну до тех пор, пока кто-то не капитулирует и не одержит победу. Мир возможен только при очень больших компромиссах. Высшее проявление мудрости — игнорирование оскорблений и вызовов. Чем больше внимания им уделяется, тем сильнее разгораются страсти. Игнорирование блокирует инициативу/агрессивность. Войны на Украине и в Иране, вероятно, скоординированы. Разрешить их по отдельности не удастся. Мирное предложение ЕС и Украины — это ультиматум России на капитуляцию, что неприемлемо. России нужны очень большие уступки, чтобы положить конец обеим войнам. Признание русского языка государственным языком Украины. Украина — государство двух народов, русских и украинцев. Украина должна быть в равной степени связана с Россией и Западом. Украина не будет принята и терпима Россией как антироссийский фактор. Без этих условий обе войны не прекратятся. План истощения и капитуляции России слишком амбициозен и, скорее всего, неосуществим. Ситуация невыносима для всего мира и не может продолжаться.

| JULY 2026 | The Guard State How the largest Arab nation became a security contractor at the gates of its own people By Adham Hasanin Egyptian journalist and political writer, based in the Netherlands In June 2025, hundreds of activists from forty countries landed at Cairo airport. Doctors from France, lawyers from Australia, students from the United States, pensioners from the Netherlands. They carried no weapons and no banned slogans; they carried backpacks, walking shoes, and a single intention: to march from Arish to the Rafah crossing — entirely on Egyptian soil — to demand that food be allowed through to a people starving behind the gate. Not one of them reached Rafah. More than two hundred were detained before the march could begin. Around five hundred foreign nationals were deported from airports, hotels, and checkpoints. Passports were confiscated, activists were pulled out of downtown Cairo cafés, and the Global March to Gaza was cancelled on 16 June without taking its first step. And the world watched. This was no secret operation in a dark basement; it happened in the open, documented by the deportees’ own phone cameras, carried by every international news agency. The world watched an Arab state arrest Europeans, Americans, and Africans for wanting to walk towards Palestine. A state guarding the gate of a siege — from the side that was supposed to be the side of rescue. Hold that image, because it is the key to everything that follows. This was not an aberration in Egyptian policy, nor an isolated security decision. It is the function — the complete function around which the Egyptian state has been redefined over the past decade, and which it is time to call by its proper name: the Guard State. I. The Name — What Do We Mean by the Guard State? Political economy has long described states that live off the rent of their location rather than the production of their people. But what has crystallised in Egypt over the past decade goes beyond traditional geographic rent — the Suez Canal, say — into something far graver: the conversion of sovereignty itself into a commodity for hire. The Guard State does not sell its location; it sells its function. It collects its wages not for what it produces, but for what it prevents: it prevents the refugee from reaching Europe, the activist from reaching Gaza, its own people from reaching politics, and the resistance’s weapons from reaching their destination. Four gates, guarded by a single machine, whose wages are paid in loans, deposits, and perpetually renewed rescue packages. This is not a rhetorical metaphor; it is an economic structure with numbers attached. When the Egyptian economy collapsed in 2024, it was rescued not by productive reform but by a single deal whose subject was location: Ras el-Hekma — thirty-five billion dollars for a stretch of coastline. And whenever negotiations with the IMF stall, the tranches are unlocked by explicit European pressure whose subject is migration: nine billion euros from the European Union in the 2024 “Strategic Partnership,” whose own documents place “migration management” at its core. Europe does not pay Egypt to prosper. It pays Egypt to guard. Thus the model is complete: income in exchange for prevention, external legitimacy in exchange for guarding, and international silence about domestic tyranny in exchange for keeping the gates controlled. To see how the model works on the ground, consider the bloodiest gate of all: the gate of Gaza. II. The Gaza Gate — The Guard Who Is Himself Searched The first paradox must be nailed down with facts: Egypt is not a sovereign guard of its own crossing; it is a searched guard. Egyptian relief trucks — ninety-two thousand food parcels in a single convoy this month — are subject to Israeli inspection before entering the Strip: from Egyptian soil, through a crossing that bears an Egyptian name. The state that guards the gate does not hold its key. It owns the threshold, but not the door. Then the October 2025 truce added a new layer to the function. Under the fifteen-point roadmap sponsored by the international envoy together with the “guarantor states” — Egypt foremost among them — Cairo is to train the civilian police force that will replace Hamas in administering the Strip, under the slogan of “one authority, one law, one weapon.” Let us call things by their names: the state that could not — or would not — deliver a loaf of bread without Israeli permission is now qualifying to graduate the security apparatus that will oversee the disarming of the resistance. From guarding the siege to administering what comes after the siege — a promotion within the same project. And meanwhile, what is happening behind the guarded gate? Since the truce, more than one thousand one hundred Palestinians have been killed by Israeli fire — the latest, just two days ago, a ten-year-old boy named Motaz Abu Shaar, carried to his grave in Khan Younis by his mother, Warda. A United Nations commission of inquiry has concluded that Israel is “deliberately targeting children in an ongoing genocide.” This is what the guarantors’ official language calls a “ceasefire.” What meaning is left in the word “guarantor”? A guarantor that the gate stays firmly shut — however high the dead pile up behind it. III. The Mediterranean Gate — The Guard Europe Pays For The second gate faces north. Since 2016, Cairo has boasted — through its officials at every European forum — that “not a single irregular migration boat has departed from Egyptian shores.” This is very nearly true. But the forbidden question is: at what political price has this “efficiency” become an instrument of mutual blackmail? Europe — which condemns Egypt’s human rights record in its parliamentary resolutions — is the same Europe that signed the nine-billion-euro partnership, and the same Europe that stays silent about sixty thousand political prisoners because the alternative, in its calculations, is boats that never stop. And Cairo understands the game and has mastered it: whenever human rights pressure intensifies, the official discourse turns up the volume on “Egypt hosts millions of refugees” and “the last line of defence.” The result is a perfect structure of mutual blackmail: Europe buys its conscience’s silence, the regime sells its location, and the people — Egyptian and refugee alike — are the commodity in the transaction. The democracies that lecture on values are financing the guard who keeps the victims from knocking on their doors. This is not passing hypocrisy; it is a structural partnership in the Guard State model — one that makes Brussels and Berlin shareholders in everything this state produces, from domestic repression to external siege. IV. The Interior Gate — Guarding the People Against Politics But the most dangerous gate is not on any border; it is inside. The Guard State cannot perform its external function unless it first guards an internal gate: the people’s gate to politics. The function requires a people that does not ask: why are we guarding the siege of our brothers? Why are our trucks searched on our own soil? Why are guests deported for coming to walk in peace? To guarantee the question is never asked, the largest silencing machine in the country’s history was built: sixty thousand prisoners of opinion, a press ranked 166th out of 180 worldwide, and a state security case number waiting for anyone who writes. I write these lines from experience, not from reading reports. When I continued writing from my Dutch exile, the machine reached me across continents: accounts shut down by coordinated mass-reporting campaigns, documented threats, a family harassed inside Egypt as leverage — and my name entered into Case 1282 of 2024, not for any act I committed, but for opinions written from free European soil. This is not a personal complaint; it is a job description: the Guard State guards even beyond its borders, because the free word — wherever it is written — threatens the entire contract of guardianship. The logic is perfectly self-consistent: a regime that sells “stability” abroad cannot tolerate a voice revealing that the stability on offer is the stillness of graveyards. This is why the arrest of the foreign activists in June 2025 was inevitable, not incidental: a peaceful march reaching Rafah would have revealed, before the world’s cameras, that the gate opens when it is wanted open — and that the one keeping it shut is a partner, not a mediator. V. What Has Egypt Lost? — The Guard’s Bill An apologist might argue: what is the harm? A state monetising its location as Norway monetises its oil. The answer lies in the essential difference: Norway sells a resource; Egypt leases its will. And the difference between the two is the difference between trade and bondage. Let us tally what Egypt has paid for this model, in bare facts. It lost its water sovereignty: the Renaissance Dam was completed and filled without the state — owner of “the largest defence headquarters in the world” — daring anything beyond statements of concern; for the guard does not make trouble for the international order that employs him. It lost its regional standing: in the Iran–America war halted just weeks ago, Cairo was neither party nor mediator nor even consultant — Pakistan brokered the deal, while Egypt absorbed the economic shrapnel of Hormuz’s closure like a bystander caught in a battle whose parties it does not know. It lost its place in the conscience of its nation: the state that liberated its land in 1973 and led the Arab world for a century has become, in the eyes of the Arab street from the Atlantic to the Gulf, the gatekeeper of the siege. This loss, specifically, no loan or deposit can repay — because it is the only capital that cannot be printed. And it lost — here is the crux — the very national security in whose name the guarding is justified. The model proved its fragility at the moment of testing: when Israel feared an Iranian response last year, it cut off Egypt’s gas by unilateral decision within hours. The guard who believed himself a partner discovered he was merely a hireling whose wages stop the moment danger arrives. VI. The Alternative Is Not a Slogan — It Is the Recovery of the Original Function I will not close with an essay on “the solution lies in Arab unity”; worn-out words kill more surely than silence. The alternative is specific, and it begins with redefining the function. The state is not a guard; the state is the agent of its people’s will. Every foreign policy not derived from that will is — by definition — functional servitude, however it is wrapped in the language of wisdom and moderation. And the Egyptian will is known and needs no referendum: no people in this region accepts that its country serve as warden of the siege of Gaza, or as Europe’s border post. Practically, the recovery begins with three measurable steps. Open the Rafah crossing fully and sovereignly, by purely Egyptian decision — that alone would overturn the equation of the siege. Break the negotiating bondage by linking any cooperation on migration to concrete European positions on Palestine, not statements of concern. And open the interior gate — release the prisoners and lift the hand from the written word — because a state that fears an article will never dare face an occupier. I know the current regime will do none of this; guarding is its founding contract and its financial artery. But this article is not written for the regime. It is written for memory, and for the generation that will inherit the gates — so that it knows that what is presented to it today as “the fate of geography” is no fate at all. It is an employment contract, signed by a regime without a mandate from its people. And contracts, however long they run, end when one of their parties does. And the world — I return to where I began — is a witness that requires no further proof. It watched the deportees at Cairo airport; it watched the searched trucks; it watched Warda Abu Shaar carry her son to his grave behind a firmly guarded gate. The question is no longer: what is happening? The only question left is: who dares to name it? This article is a naming. Adham Hasanin is an Egyptian journalist and political writer based in the Netherlands, covering Arab and European political affairs.

The passing of His Highness Sheikh Hamad bin Khalifa Al Thani is a profound loss for Qatar and for all who had the privilege of knowing the depth of his vision, wisdom, and humanity. I was honored to enjoy a personal relationship with him, one that I always cherish with #Qatar #SheikhHamad #Legacy #QA