The wind of history has risen over the hemicycles of Strasbourg, a wind laden with an ancient fury, which has torn the veil of insipid rhetoric behind which power hides. It was not a simple parliamentary question. It was an act of indictment, delivered with the desperate force of those who see their civilisation fading, destined to end up in an anthropology museum. A voice, that of the Polish MEP, Ewa Zajączkowska-Hernik, that pierced the well-ordered lethargy of the chamber like a bayonet thrust.

In the crosshairs, her, the President of the Commission, Ursula Gertrud von der Leyen, born Albrecht. Her image, so polished by communication, so impeccable in her Teutonic composure, was struck at its heart. The words were not bullets; they were blades. Sharp, personal, lethal. An invitation, dry and terrible: why not send your loved ones, your husband, your children, to experience first-hand the glories of the war you yourself seem to encourage from behind a desk? A gesture that would have the bitter taste of coherence, a rare commodity in these palaces.

Then, the lightning struck on the Pfizer affair. The accusation is not of simple nepotism or of a conflict of interest in the Italian style, no. It is deeper, darker. It is the idea of a destiny, that of her family, being secured, sealed, guaranteed by opaque agreements, while the destiny of millions of Europeans is gambled on the roulette wheel of history. An enrichment that smacks of a pact with fate, a “being set for life” that clashes, obscenely, with the sufferings of a continent caught between inflation and fear.

And then the third blow, the most visceral, the most charged with a now unrestrained popular resentment. The accusation of having flung open the doors not to migrants, not to the needy, but to “murderers and rapists.” It is the portrayal of a Europe betrayed in its fundamental promise: that of security, of the integrity of its women and its borders. An invasion not only demographic, but moral, which undermines the very roots of our remaining identity.

It all culminated in an order, dry, definitive, the only one that could still restore a glimmer of dignity to these institutions: “RESIGN!” Not a request. A verdict. Pronounced not by a judge, but by the outraged conscience of a people who here found, for a moment, their spokesperson. In that shout lies the noise of a Europe waking from a long sleep, and no longer recognising its masters.

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🦅 Cheyenne Isa ₿ 🦅