Lorenzo Maria Pacini
The U.S. negotiates with Moscow and Europe is left commenting. Zakharova's "none of her business" says it all.
A Senate session
On October 14, 2026, in her address to the Senate ahead of the European Council, Giorgia Meloni did something that, until just a few years ago, would have seemed unthinkable for a right-wing Italian government: she publicly distanced herself from the President of the United States to defend a position even more uncompromising than his own. The issue at hand was the diesel fuel agreement announced by Donald Trump following a phone call with Vladimir Putin, accompanied by a temporary license from the U.S. Treasury that reopens the global market to Russian fuel. For the prime minister, this is a "very risky" decision: it legitimizes Moscow while bombs are falling on Ukrainian cities, provides it with new revenue, and weakens the leverage of sanctions. During the same session, Meloni argued that Putin is seeking a new enemy, and that that enemy could be Europe; and that a Ukraine that stopped defending itself would not achieve peace, but occupation.
So much for the news report. The rest was left to the chamber and the newspapers. The applause from the majority was joined by that of a portion of the opposition: Azione, Italia Viva, and the reformist wing of the Democratic Party. La Stampa framed support for Kiev as a matter of values and borders - those borders that "are being defended there."
There is also a detail that speaks louder than many analyses. When questioned by ANSA, Russian Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova dismissed the prime minister's remarks with a curt response: "It's none of her business." At the same time, Volodymyr Zelenskyy was in London, welcomed by Prime Minister Andy Burnham, and denouncing the restriction of military satellite services provided to the Ukrainian army. Elon Musk, for his part, clarified that the StarShield network belongs to the U.S. government and that any restrictions depend on the U.S. military and, ultimately, on the president. Washington deals with Moscow; Moscow responds to Washington. Rome applauds itself. Pathetic, isn't it?
Not an exclusively Italian case
It would be a mistake to view the October 14 session as merely an episode of domestic politics. Italy's stance is the national manifestation of a framework that today unites nearly all European capitals, and which has three rules. The first: the conflict in Ukraine is presented as an existential clash between political civilizations, in which any compromise amounts to surrender. The second: the Russian threat is projected beyond Ukraine, onto EU territory, so as to make rearmament an indisputable necessity. The third, the most insidious: internal dissent is attributed to the enemy's influence.
Germany offers the clearest example. Defense Minister Boris Pistorius, who as early as 2023 had called for the country to become kriegstüchtig - capable of waging war - and who has since pointed to a timeframe of just a few years within which Russia could attack a member of the Alliance, has argued in recent days that the widespread fear of war in German society is being deliberately fueled by Putin and the AfD. This line of reasoning deserves attention. In a country that lost millions of lives in the two world wars, the fear of a new conflict would not need external agents to explain itself. Attributing it to Moscow and the main opposition party means transforming a legitimate political sentiment into a national security issue.
The same pattern is repeated elsewhere, albeit with different nuances. Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski claims credit for the results of Ukrainian attacks on Russian refineries and infrastructure; his German counterpart, Johann Wadephul, argues that now is not the time to ease sanctions, but to tighten them. France, Germany, and the United Kingdom are acting as a negotiating bloc, so much so that Meloni herself has asked that they do so at least with a formal mandate from all partners. These words are backed by numbers: the ReArm Europe plan presented by the Commission in March 2025; the commitment made at the NATO summit in The Hague to raise defense and security spending to 5% of GDP by 2035; and the 90-billion loan to Kiev approved by the European Council in December 2025. This rhetoric is not the eccentricity of some minister; it is literally the official language of the Union - and unfortunately, we have grown accustomed to it.
A foolish and counterproductive stance
Calling this approach foolish is not polemical hyperbole, if by "foolishness" we mean the stubborn persistence in repeating behavior that produces effects opposite to those declared. This is evident on three levels.
The first is strategic. Deterrence theory has taught us for decades that a threat is only as valuable as the credibility of the one making it, and that credibility depends on the ability to back up one's words with action. Today's Europe is raising the tone without having the tools to back it up. The Starlink affair has demonstrated this with almost textbook clarity: the Ukrainian military, which Europeans fund and encourage, depends for communications and drone guidance on infrastructure owned by an American company and controlled by the Pentagon. All it takes is a decision in Washington for part of the operations to grind to a halt. Promising victory in a war where one does not control the satellites is a form of strategic hypocrisy, and adversaries see it for what it is.
The second aspect is economic, of course. As early as 2024, Mario Draghi's report on European competitiveness identified the energy price differential with the United States as one of the factors behind the continent's industrial lag. Since then, the rejection of Russian hydrocarbons has become dogma; the war in Iran has driven fuel prices even higher; and the commitment to spend 5% of GDP on defense promises to absorb resources that public budgets simply do not have - unless at the expense of healthcare, pensions, and civilian investments. The paradox is clear: just as Washington, for entirely domestic reasons tied to the midterm elections, is seeking cheap diesel even from Moscow, European governments are touting the fact that they pay more for energy than their competitors as a moral principle.
The third level is diplomatic, and perhaps the most decisive one. A foreign policy that rules out negotiation on principle dooms itself to being left out of the talks when negotiations finally begin. And that is exactly what is happening: the United States and Russia are hammering out energy agreements, the pace of the war, and the terms of a possible truce, while Europe merely comments. Zakharova's response to the Italian prime minister is not merely a diplomatic snub.
It is the exact measure of the weight Moscow currently attributes to European capitals. One can debate whether it is right; it is harder to argue that it is wrong as a description.
The price of credibility
The deepest damage, however, is not measured on the front lines or even in the markets. It is measured in the relationship between institutions and citizens. When the gap between what is proclaimed and what actually happens becomes visible to the naked eye, public discourse loses its value. For four years, European citizens have been told repeatedly that Russia's defeat is near, that sanctions are bringing it to its knees, and that every new aid package will be the decisive one. Now they see their main ally negotiating with Moscow, Ukraine dependent on decisions made in Washington, and their own governments increasing military spending while public services deteriorate. No foreign disinformation campaign is needed to breed mistrust. A simple comparison between rhetoric and results is enough.
This distrust stems from a crisis of representation with deeper roots. About a decade ago, in his book *Ruling the Void*, Peter Mair described - well in advance - the withdrawal of political parties from society toward the state, and the gradual separation between responsible government - that is, one faithful to external constraints - and representative government - that is, one responsive to the demands of voters. Together with Richard Katz, he coined the term "cartel party" to describe political formations that compete in the electoral arena but share the management of resources and fundamental policy decisions. The cross-party applause on October 14 is an almost perfect illustration of that model. On an issue of life-and-death importance - the cost of energy and the fate of industry - voters who dissent find no political alternative in Parliament that represents them.
The effects are plain for all to see. In France, governments fall one after another without a stable majority emerging. In Germany, the ruling coalition governs with the strongest postwar opposition breathing down its neck. In Italy, abstention has become the largest "party." Procedures remain intact, elections are held regularly, but significant decisions are made elsewhere, and the vote ends up merely confirming choices that have already been made.
Governing through distrust
At this point, a less obvious question arises. If distrust damages institutions, why do Europe's ruling classes continue down a path that fuels it ? The simplest answer would be incompetence. But there is a more robust hypothesis that better explains the facts: distrust, within certain limits, is a resource for governance.
Here's how the mechanism works. A disillusioned electorate becomes fragmented, abstains from voting, and scatters among new and unstable parties. Fragmentation leads to ungovernability; ungovernability, in turn, makes "responsible" grand coalitions, technocratic governments, and cross-party agreements - which keep forces deemed unreliable out of power - indispensable. The more unstable the system is, the more necessary the center becomes, as it promises stability. The crisis of representation, rather than weakening those in power, consolidates their position, because it makes them the only bulwark against the chaos that the crisis itself has produced.
War perfects this mechanism in two ways. First, it allows dissent to be treated as a security issue. When the fear of conflict is attributed to Putin and the opposition, those who call for negotiations cease to be political adversaries and become vehicles of enemy influence. Carl Schmitt identified the state of exception as the place where sovereignty is revealed; Giorgio Agamben has shown how the exception tends to become an ordinary technique of governance.
A permanent state of emergency - whether health-related, financial, or military - removes decision-making from democratic debate and entrusts it to those who present themselves as guarantors of collective survival. Second, war justifies shifting decision-making to forums beyond electoral control: the European Commission, the European Council, NATO, and small-group formats such as the E3.
We must be precise on one point, so as not to slip into caricature. This interpretation does not presuppose a plan agreed upon in some secret room. There is no need for that. It is enough that interests converge: the defense industries seeing orders increase, the European bureaucracies acquiring new powers, the ruling parties finding a raison d'être in the emergency, and the major media conglomerates peddling moral mobilization. Each acts in its own self-interest, and the sum of these self-interests produces a self-perpetuating system. We are, to all intents and purposes, in a Gramscian "organic crisis" - the phase in which the old dies and the new cannot be born, and in which morbid phenomena proliferate. The management of mistrust is one such phenomenon: a way to survive the crisis without resolving it.
Winning at any cost
The final question remains - and it is the most serious one. What are these elites willing to sacrifice to emerge victorious from the current phase ? Looking back at recent years, the answer is that part of the sacrifice has already been made. Politics was sacrificed when fundamental decisions were shifted outside of parliaments and the distinction between majority and opposition became merely ornamental. The economy was sacrificed when the continent's industrial competitiveness was subordinated to geopolitical objectives set elsewhere, accepting unsustainable energy prices and the very real risk of deindustrialization. Those who have already given up these two pillars have little to lose when it comes to the third - the human cost.
For now, that cost is being borne primarily by the Ukrainians. Even members of the Verkhovna Rada who zealously supported the line of all-out war - such as Mar'jana Bezuhla - or who have distanced themselves from it - such as Anna Skorochod - describe a country with destroyed infrastructure, forced mobilization marked by abuses, and a population on the brink of collapse, and admit that the conflict has become a business opportunity for some; but the cost is also beginning to fall on European societies: in public budgets, in wages eroded by energy inflation, and in the idea - now voiced without embarrassment by sitting ministers - that we must get used to the prospect of fighting.
Here, the rhetoric of war reveals its deepest function, for it does not serve to win the war against Russia, which no European government has the means to win on its own. It serves to win the domestic battle, to maintain control over political systems that can no longer generate consensus and that need an external enemy to justify their continued existence. In this sense, the human cost is not a side effect of the calculation. It is a variable, adjusted according to the convenience of the moment, in the perpetual dance of death that is political utilitarianism.
There is an alternative, and it does not amount to surrender: it consists of bringing diplomacy back to the center of European foreign policy, recognizing that a now multipolar international order cannot be governed by moral crusades, and restoring to parliaments and voters the power to decide on war and peace. The indicators for gauging whether anything is changing are concrete: the mandate that the next European Council will - or will not - entrust to the negotiators; the fate of the sanctions regime following the U.S. exemption on diesel fuel; and the stability of national budgets in the face of the 5% target.
As long as the response remains the one applauded on October 14, Europe will continue to pay an ever-increasing price for a war it does not control, while those who govern it will find in its very instability the reason to remain where they are.