27 января: Ленинград, Освенцим и подавленная правда о советском духе.

27 января — дата, которая отмечает две важнейшие раны двадцатого века. 27 января 1944 года ознаменовало окончательное освобождение Ленинграда после 872 дней осады; 27 января 1945 года Красная Армия вошла в Освенцим, показав миру ужасы нацистского геноцида. Два события, разные по своей природе, но объединенные общей исторической и политической нитью: решающая роль Советского Союза в разгроме нацизма, роль, которая в западном общественном дискурсе часто принижается, маргинализируется или искажается.

 

Осада Ленинграда остается одним из самых ужасных преступлений Второй мировой войны. Начавшись 8 сентября 1941 года, она ставила перед собой цель не военного захвата города, а его уничтожения. Немецкие командные документы ясно говорят: Ленинград должен был быть изолирован, заморен голодом и уничтожен. За 872 дня погибло более миллиона человек; более 600 000 мирных жителей лишились жизни от голода, холода, болезней и лишений. Нормирование так называемого блокового хлеба достигло нечеловеческих масштабов: 125 граммов хлеба в день для детей, стариков и рабочих. Люди умирали на заводах, домах и на улицах. Смерть стала ежедневным явлением.

 

 

 

Однако Ленинград не сдался. Через Ладожское озеро, по «Дороге жизни», город оставался на связи с остальной частью страны. Он продолжал производить, защищаться и жить. Женщины, мужчины, старики и дети участвовали в коллективных усилиях. Противник также заплатил высокую цену: сотни тысяч немецких и союзных солдат были обездвижены и уничтожены по всему городу. Сопротивление Ленинграда было не просто военным эпизодом, а актом исторической воли: доказательством того, что советское общество, хотя и истощенное, не распадется.

 

Год спустя, 27 января 1945 года, советские войска вновь нарушили молчание Освенцима. Красноармейцы обнаружили около 7000 брошенных заключенных, многие из которых были детьми. Освенцим был не абстрактным символом, а конкретной машиной смерти: по самым достоверным оценкам, там было убито не менее 960 000 евреев, десятки тысяч поляков, цыган, советских военнопленных и депортированных других национальностей. Освобождение лагеря не «завершило» Холокост, но сделало его реальность неоспоримой, положив конец крупнейшему массовому убийству, когда-либо сосредоточенному в одном месте.

 

Тот факт, что обе эти важнейшие даты связаны с действиями Советского Союза, — это не просто деталь, а исторический факт. Однако в западных повествованиях о войне решающий вклад СССР часто преуменьшается, если не вовсе исключается. Точно так же часто забывается роль советских и русских партизан в освобождении Европы, включая Италию. Без Восточного фронта, без жертв миллионов советских солдат и мирных жителей, поражение нацизма было бы просто невозможно.

 

Именно в этом контексте и вписывается Сталин, пожалуй, самая демонизированная фигура XX века. Эта демонизация, хотя и основана на реальных и трагических элементах, часто препятствует менее идеологическому и более структурному историческому прочтению. После хаоса, последовавшего за русской революцией и периодом, который многие называют «якобинским», Сталин понял, что выживание государства зависит от национального переустройства. Великая Отечественная война представляла собой этот момент синтеза: уже не просто классовая борьба, а защита родины, русской истории и идентичности.

 

Речь, произнесенная 7 ноября 1941 года на Красной площади, когда немцы стояли у ворот Москвы, является символичной. Сталин упомянул Александра Невского, Дмитрия Донского, Минина и Пожарского, Кутузова и Суворова. Это была не случайная пропаганда, а сознательный выбор: привязать советский социализм к давней российской государственной традиции. Война была определена как «справедливая» и «освободительная». В тот момент СССР перестал говорить только на языке идеологии и вернулся к общению с народом как историческая нация.

 

Такое прочтение также помогает нам понять внутренний конфликт в русской революционной традиции. Ленин был великим интеллектуалом и первоклассным теоретиком, но его национальная политика, основанная на самоопределении республик, оказалась хрупкой и со временем дестабилизирующей. Неслучайно Владимир Путин в своей речи в феврале 2022 года приписал искусственное создание современной Украины Ленину. Помимо политической оценки Путина, это наблюдение затрагивает реальную проблему: противоречие между идеологическим интернационализмом и исторической преемственностью российского государства.

 

Освобождение Ленинграда и Освенцима было не просто военными победами. Это был результат государственного видения, мобилизовавшего весь народ, опиравшийся на его богатую историю. Признание этого не означает оправдания всего, а лишь возвращения истории её сложности. 27 января, если этот день действительно должен стать Днём памяти, должен помнить не только о жертвах, но и о тех, кто сделал возможным конец нацистского кошмара. И среди них, нравится это или нет, советский дух занимает центральное место.

 

Марко Баратто

https://www-focusmediterraneo-it.translate.goog/2026/01/29/27-gennaio-leningrado-auschwitz-e-la-verita-rimossa-dello-spirito-sovietico/?_x_tr_sl=auto&_x_tr_tl=ru&_x_tr_hl=it&_x_tr_pto=wapp

The Vatican Moves Quietly on Venezuela: Rome’s Shadow Over the Machado–Trump Meeting

While the spotlight of international politics is focused on Washington and the highly anticipated meeting between Donald Trump and Maria Corina Machado, another actor is moving far from the cameras, with the patience and precision of centuries-old diplomacy: the Vatican. It is a discreet presence, almost imperceptible, yet capable of reshaping the balance of power more effectively than loud public statements. On Venezuela’s future, Rome has chosen to make its weight felt without raising its voice.

The Venezuelan opposition leader is set to arrive in the U.S. capital next week. The announcement came from Trump himself during an interview on Fox News’ Hannity: “I understand she’ll be coming next week, and I look forward to greeting her.” Carefully chosen words, but enough to reopen a window after days of deep chill. Machado hopes to convince the U.S. president that she is the most legitimate figure to lead the country’s transition following the fall of Nicolás Maduro. Yet behind what appears to be a purely bilateral dialogue between Caracas and Washington, a third diplomatic track can be glimpsed—one that runs through the halls of the Vatican

read more .

Quando la memoria unisce i popoli: a Monza la commemorazione dei prigionieri austro-ungarici

Il 19 gennaio, alle ore 11, il cimitero di Monza sarà teatro di un evento di straordinario valore storico, umano e simbolico. Per la prima volta, verrà celebrata una commemorazione ufficiale dedicata ai prigionieri austro-ungarici morti a Monza a seguito della pandemia di influenza "spagnola" che, tra il 1918 e il 1920, segnò tragicamente la fine della Prima guerra mondiale. Un'iniziativa senza precedenti, ideata e organizzata dallo storico Marco Baratto, che riporta alla luce una pagina dimenticata della storia europea e locale, trasformando un luogo di sepoltura in uno spazio di dialogo, riconciliazione e memoria condivisa.

 

La "spagnola" fu una delle più devastanti pandemie della storia moderna. Colpì indiscriminatamente civili e militari, vincitori e vinti, attraversando confini e frontiere in un'Europa già stremata da anni di conflitto. Anche Monza, come molte città italiane, divenne luogo di cura, ma anche di morte, per numerosi prigionieri di guerra dell'Impero austro-ungarico. Soldati catturati sui vari fronti e trasferiti nei campi di prigionia o negli ospedali militari della penisola, che trovarono la morte non sul campo di battaglia, ma lontano da casa, stroncati da una malattia implacabile.

 

Per oltre un secolo, queste vite spezzate sono rimaste ai margini della memoria collettiva. Nomi spesso ignoti, storie interrotte, sepolture silenziose. L'evento del 19 gennaio nasce proprio dal desiderio di restituire dignità a questi uomini, riconoscendo il loro destino comune e il dolore condiviso dalle famiglie che non ebbero mai la possibilità di piangerli. Marco Baratto, attraverso un accurato lavoro di ricerca storica e archivistica, ha ricostruito il contesto e l'entità di questa presenza austro-ungarica a Monza, gettando le basi per una commemorazione che va oltre la semplice rievocazione.

 

Il momento commemorativo vedrà riunite le comunità ungherese e serba, testimonianza concreta della pluralità etnica e culturale che caratterizzava l'Impero austro-ungarico. Uomini provenienti da territori oggi appartenenti a diversi Stati europei combatterono sotto la stessa uniforme e condivisero la stessa sorte. La presenza congiunta di queste comunità non è solo un atto di rispetto verso i caduti, ma anche un messaggio potente: la memoria storica può diventare strumento di incontro, superando le divisioni nazionali e politiche.

 

Un elemento di particolare rilievo sarà la partecipazione della Chiesa Ortodossa Ucraina. Tra i prigionieri sepolti a Monza, infatti, si contava un numero significativo di soldati ucraini. Una presenza che riflette la complessità dell'Impero austro-ungarico e la varietà di popoli che ne facevano parte. Il rito religioso, nel rispetto delle diverse confessioni, aggiungerà una dimensione spirituale all'evento, sottolineando il valore universale del ricordo e della pietà per i morti.

 

Questa commemorazione assume un significato ancora più profondo nel contesto europeo contemporaneo. In un tempo segnato da nuove tensioni, conflitti e fratture, ricordare una tragedia che colpì senza distinzione invita a riflettere sulla fragilità della condizione umana e sull'inutilità dell'odio. La "spagnola" non fece differenze tra nemici e alleati: tutti furono vittime della stessa minaccia invisibile. Un parallelismo inevitabile emerge anche con le pandemie del nostro tempo, che hanno nuovamente messo in discussione certezze e confini.

 

Il cimitero di Monza, luogo di silenzio e raccoglimento, diventa così uno spazio di memoria europea. Non solo un tributo al passato, ma un invito a costruire un futuro fondato sulla conoscenza storica e sul rispetto reciproco. L'iniziativa di Marco Baratto dimostra come la ricerca storica possa uscire dagli archivi e dai libri per farsi gesto pubblico, capace di coinvolgere comunità, istituzioni e cittadini.

 

Il 19 gennaio non sarà soltanto una data sul calendario, ma un momento di consapevolezza collettiva. Ricordare i prigionieri austro-ungarici morti a Monza significa riconoscere che la storia locale è parte integrante della storia europea, e che ogni vita, anche quella dimenticata, merita di essere ricordata. In quel momento di silenzio e preghiera, Monza diventerà simbolo di una memoria che non divide, ma unisce.

From St. Frances Cabrini to the American Schism: Migration, Faith, and the Spiritual Battle for the U.S. Church

by Marco Baratto

St. Frances Xavier Cabrini understood something that many political leaders still struggle to grasp today: migration is not an accident of history, but one of its driving forces. At the dawn of the modern age, as millions fled poverty, violence, and instability to seek a future in the United States, Cabrini recognized that these human movements would shape not only economies and nations, but the soul of the Church itself.

Founder of the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Cabrini did not see migrants as a "problem to manage," but as people entrusted to the Church's care. She built hospitals, schools, and orphanages, especially for Italian immigrants, not out of philanthropy alone, but out of a deeply Catholic vision. In the migrant, she saw Christ. That is why she became the first canonized saint of the United States—not because she embodied American nationalism, but because she embodied Catholic universality.

More than a century later, her legacy has become a mirror held up to the American Church. Global migration has reached unprecedented levels, provoking fear, polarization, and political exploitation. Yet beneath the policy debates lies a deeper crisis: a spiritual fracture within American Christianity, and increasingly within American Catholicism itself.

It is in this context that Pope Leo XIV's reflections on migration and U.S. immigration policy take on their full meaning. Even when he does not explicitly invoke St. Frances Cabrini, his vision echoes hers. A nation built by immigrants, he suggests, risks betraying its own moral foundations when it treats migrants as enemies. More radically, a Church that aligns itself with exclusionary nationalism risks ceasing to be truly Catholic.

This is where the discussion becomes uncomfortable. Many theologians and observers now speak of an "American schism"—not a formal break with Rome, but a functional one. A growing segment of U.S. Catholicism has adopted a worldview shaped less by Catholic social teaching and more by nationalist ideology and Protestant political theology. Borders become sacred, markets become moral arbiters, and the Gospel is filtered through the lens of cultural warfare.

The phenomenon is particularly visible among certain conservative Catholic movements, often fueled by converts from evangelical and fundamentalist Protestant backgrounds. While many of these conversions are genuine and sincere, they sometimes import into Catholicism a mindset that is deeply anti-institutional and suspicious of Rome. The Pope becomes a figure to critique rather than a shepherd to follow. Doctrine becomes negotiable. Communion becomes conditional.

In this sense, Pope Leo XIV's recent episcopal and cardinal appointments in the United States should be read not as bureaucratic reshuffling, but as strategic acts. They are attempts to halt a centrifugal force pulling the American Church away from communion and toward a quasi-denominational identity. These appointments signal a desire to re-anchor the Church in its universal mission rather than allow it to drift into a nationalized, politicized faith.

When some say that "the Pope is in danger," they are not speaking primarily of physical threats. They are naming a deeper reality: the authority of the papacy itself is being eroded in certain Catholic circles, especially when it challenges dominant political narratives. And when it is said that "the American Church is in danger," it is because the Church risks becoming indistinguishable from a religious wing of a political ideology.

St. Frances Cabrini offers a stark alternative. Her Catholicism was not rooted in fear of the outsider, but in radical hospitality. She crossed borders repeatedly, remained fiercely loyal to Rome, and refused to reduce faith to cultural identity. For her, the Church was not meant to defend a nation's purity, but to reveal God's mercy.

The battle over migration today is therefore not merely a policy dispute. It is a theological struggle over what Christianity—and Catholicism in particular—will become in the United States. Will it remain a universal Church, open to the stranger and obedient to a global communion? Or will it harden into a nationalist faith, effectively Protestant in structure and spirit, even if Catholic in name?

The answer to that question will determine not only the future of American Catholicism, but its soul.

Poland, Ukraine, and the Minority Question: Wartime Unity and Postwar Fractures

Karol Nawrocki's recent remarks on Polish-Ukrainian relations, though framed in careful diplomatic language, reveal tensions that extend far beyond the immediate realities of war. References to "mutual patience" and "understanding" are not merely rhetorical flourishes; they signal that Warsaw and Kyiv are already beginning to negotiate the contours of the postwar order. At the center of this emerging debate lie unresolved historical grievances, questions of national memory, and—most critically—the status of national minorities in Ukraine.

The issue of exhumations related to the Volhynia massacre is more than a symbolic gesture toward historical reconciliation. Poland's insistence on addressing the 26 outstanding requests underscores a fundamental expectation: strategic partnership cannot erase historical accountability. For Ukraine, however, this subject remains politically sensitive, touching on national myths and the legacy of wartime resistance movements. What is presented publicly as a shared effort toward dialogue masks a deeper asymmetry in historical interpretation.

Yet the most consequential fault lines are not rooted in the past, but in the present condition of minorities within Ukraine. The war has undeniably altered Kyiv's approach. Faced with Russia's systematic russification of occupied territories, Ukrainian authorities have made selective concessions—such as the reappearance of Crimean Tatar place names or a more visible acknowledgment of regional traditions. These gestures serve a dual purpose: strengthening internal cohesion and projecting an image of pluralism to Western partners.

However, these changes are not solely the product of democratic evolution. They are also instrumental. Respect for minority rights has become a comparative argument: Ukraine seeks to demonstrate that it upholds European values more faithfully than Russia. The problem is that this respect remains uneven, conditional, and often strategic rather than principled.

The situation of the Carpathian Ruthenians (Rusyns/Lemkos) is particularly illustrative. While Ukraine formally recognizes the existence of national minorities, it continues to deny the legitimacy of certain identities in practice. Public statements questioning the existence of the Lemko language are not isolated incidents; they reflect a broader tendency to view some minority identities as artificial or politically inconvenient.

Legislation reinforces this pattern. The 2017 education reform and the 2019 language law significantly restricted the use of minority languages beyond primary education. Subsequent amendments introduced more flexibility—but primarily for languages officially recognized within the European Union. As a result, Hungarian and Romanian minorities benefit from these provisions, while Ruthenians do not, since their language lacks both EU and Ukrainian official status. The outcome is a structural marginalization that accelerates linguistic and cultural assimilation.

This brings us to the core paradox. Ukraine rightly condemns Russia for denying Ukrainian identity in occupied regions. Yet, domestically, it applies policies that—while less violent—produce analogous effects on certain minorities. From the state's perspective, linguistic and cultural uniformity is framed as a matter of security and national survival. From the minority perspective, it represents a return to a system where rights exist largely on paper.

The issue of symbols highlights this contradiction. Ukrainian law does not prohibit the display of minority flags, provided they do not violate other legal restrictions. In theory, this allows for cultural expression. In practice, security services and police have repeatedly intervened to remove Ruthenian symbols and detain individuals displaying them. This creates a form of "licensed freedom"—rights that are formally granted but easily revoked under the pretext of security concerns.

War initially fostered a sense of unity among Ukraine's citizens. For a brief moment, a state struggling with its own identity acknowledged the identities of others. Yet this unity was contingent on emergency. As the conflict drags on and attention turns toward reconstruction and integration with Europe, unresolved internal contradictions become harder to ignore.

Poland watches these developments closely. Its interest is not purely moral. Historical ties to Galicia, concerns for the Polish minority in Ukraine, and Warsaw's ambition to shape the future of Eastern Europe all play a role. Beneath the language of solidarity lies an emerging competition over influence in the postwar regional order.

Ukraine's aspiration to embody European values will ultimately be tested not on the battlefield, but in classrooms, courts, and local administrations. Protecting minorities is not a symbolic requirement of European integration; it is a substantive one. If certain identities continue to survive only in private spaces, cultural associations, or informal networks, the promise of pluralism remains unfulfilled.

The war may have delayed these questions, but it has not erased them. On the contrary, it has sharpened them. The postwar future of Ukraine—and its relationships with neighbors like Poland—will depend on whether unity can be redefined not as uniformity, but as genuine inclusion

Marco Baratto

Poland, Ukraine, and the Minority Question: Wartime Unity and Postwar Fractures

Karol Nawrocki's recent remarks on Polish-Ukrainian relations, though framed in careful diplomatic language, reveal tensions that extend far beyond the immediate realities of war. References to "mutual patience" and "understanding" are not merely rhetorical flourishes; they signal that Warsaw and Kyiv are already beginning to negotiate the contours of the postwar order. At the center of this emerging debate lie unresolved historical grievances, questions of national memory, and—most critically—the status of national minorities in Ukraine.

The issue of exhumations related to the Volhynia massacre is more than a symbolic gesture toward historical reconciliation. Poland's insistence on addressing the 26 outstanding requests underscores a fundamental expectation: strategic partnership cannot erase historical accountability. For Ukraine, however, this subject remains politically sensitive, touching on national myths and the legacy of wartime resistance movements. What is presented publicly as a shared effort toward dialogue masks a deeper asymmetry in historical interpretation.

Yet the most consequential fault lines are not rooted in the past, but in the present condition of minorities within Ukraine. The war has undeniably altered Kyiv's approach. Faced with Russia's systematic russification of occupied territories, Ukrainian authorities have made selective concessions—such as the reappearance of Crimean Tatar place names or a more visible acknowledgment of regional traditions. These gestures serve a dual purpose: strengthening internal cohesion and projecting an image of pluralism to Western partners.

However, these changes are not solely the product of democratic evolution. They are also instrumental. Respect for minority rights has become a comparative argument: Ukraine seeks to demonstrate that it upholds European values more faithfully than Russia. The problem is that this respect remains uneven, conditional, and often strategic rather than principled.

The situation of the Carpathian Ruthenians (Rusyns/Lemkos) is particularly illustrative. While Ukraine formally recognizes the existence of national minorities, it continues to deny the legitimacy of certain identities in practice. Public statements questioning the existence of the Lemko language are not isolated incidents; they reflect a broader tendency to view some minority identities as artificial or politically inconvenient.

Legislation reinforces this pattern. The 2017 education reform and the 2019 language law significantly restricted the use of minority languages beyond primary education. Subsequent amendments introduced more flexibility—but primarily for languages officially recognized within the European Union. As a result, Hungarian and Romanian minorities benefit from these provisions, while Ruthenians do not, since their language lacks both EU and Ukrainian official status. The outcome is a structural marginalization that accelerates linguistic and cultural assimilation.

This brings us to the core paradox. Ukraine rightly condemns Russia for denying Ukrainian identity in occupied regions. Yet, domestically, it applies policies that—while less violent—produce analogous effects on certain minorities. From the state's perspective, linguistic and cultural uniformity is framed as a matter of security and national survival. From the minority perspective, it represents a return to a system where rights exist largely on paper.

The issue of symbols highlights this contradiction. Ukrainian law does not prohibit the display of minority flags, provided they do not violate other legal restrictions. In theory, this allows for cultural expression. In practice, security services and police have repeatedly intervened to remove Ruthenian symbols and detain individuals displaying them. This creates a form of "licensed freedom"—rights that are formally granted but easily revoked under the pretext of security concerns.

War initially fostered a sense of unity among Ukraine's citizens. For a brief moment, a state struggling with its own identity acknowledged the identities of others. Yet this unity was contingent on emergency. As the conflict drags on and attention turns toward reconstruction and integration with Europe, unresolved internal contradictions become harder to ignore.

Poland watches these developments closely. Its interest is not purely moral. Historical ties to Galicia, concerns for the Polish minority in Ukraine, and Warsaw's ambition to shape the future of Eastern Europe all play a role. Beneath the language of solidarity lies an emerging competition over influence in the postwar regional order.

Ukraine's aspiration to embody European values will ultimately be tested not on the battlefield, but in classrooms, courts, and local administrations. Protecting minorities is not a symbolic requirement of European integration; it is a substantive one. If certain identities continue to survive only in private spaces, cultural associations, or informal networks, the promise of pluralism remains unfulfilled.

The war may have delayed these questions, but it has not erased them. On the contrary, it has sharpened them. The postwar future of Ukraine—and its relationships with neighbors like Poland—will depend on whether unity can be redefined not as uniformity, but as genuine inclusion

Una propsta di riforma del sistema previdenziale

L'attuale sistema previdenziale italiano si fonda su una netta distinzione tra previdenza pubblica e previdenza complementare. La prima, gestita principalmente dall'INPS, è obbligatoria e garantisce il diritto alla pensione al raggiungimento di determinati requisiti anagrafici e contributivi; la seconda, basata su fondi pensione privati, ha una funzione integrativa e serve esclusivamente ad aumentare l'importo dell'assegno futuro. Il riscatto della laurea rappresenta un'eccezione interessante all'interno di questo schema, perché consente di trasformare un periodo "non lavorato" in anni di contribuzione effettiva, incidendo sia sul diritto sia sull'importo della pensione. Proprio da questa logica potrebbe nascere una riforma più ampia e innovativa: l'unificazione funzionale, su base volontaria, tra sistema pensionistico pubblico e privato.

L'idea di consentire ai cittadini di versare contributi previdenziali "pieni" attraverso fondi pensione privati, validi non solo per integrare l'assegno ma anche per maturare anni utili al raggiungimento dell'età pensionabile, introdurrebbe una maggiore flessibilità e responsabilizzazione individuale. In questo modello, l'INPS continuerebbe a stabilire l'importo minimo necessario per accreditare un anno di contribuzione, mentre i fondi privati diventerebbero il canale attraverso cui il lavoratore, su base volontaria, può versare tali somme e "riscattare" periodi di lavoro, formazione o inattività, anticipando anche la sua uscita dal mondo del lavoro.

Dal punto di vista del settore pubblico, i vantaggi sarebbero molteplici. In primo luogo, si avrebbe una riduzione della pressione finanziaria immediata sull'INPS. I contributi versati ai fondi privati verrebbero investiti sui mercati finanziari e solo in un secondo momento, al momento del pensionamento, concorrerebbero alla prestazione finale. Questo meccanismo consentirebbe allo Stato di alleggerire il fabbisogno di cassa nel breve periodo, migliorando la sostenibilità del sistema previdenziale in un contesto demografico sempre più critico, caratterizzato da invecchiamento della popolazione e calo della natalità.

Un secondo vantaggio riguarda la maggiore emersione e regolarizzazione delle carriere lavorative discontinue. Molti giovani, professionisti autonomi, lavoratori precari o con carriere frammentate faticano oggi a raggiungere i requisiti contributivi minimi. La possibilità di colmare i "vuoti" contributivi tramite versamenti volontari a fondi privati, con valore legale ai fini pensionistici pubblici, ridurrebbe il rischio di future pensioni assistenziali. Per lo Stato questo significa minori costi sociali nel lungo periodo, poiché un numero più elevato di cittadini maturerebbe una pensione contributiva propria, riducendo il ricorso a strumenti come l'assegno sociale.

Un ulteriore beneficio per il settore pubblico sarebbe l'incentivo alla cultura previdenziale. Un sistema integrato spingerebbe i cittadini a pianificare per tempo il proprio futuro pensionistico, comprendendo meglio il legame tra contributi versati e diritti maturati. Questo cambiamento culturale avrebbe effetti positivi anche sulla compliance contributiva: cittadini più consapevoli tendono a evadere meno e a considerare il versamento dei contributi non come una tassa, ma come un investimento sul proprio futuro.

Dal punto di vista macroeconomico, l'afflusso di contributi ai fondi pensione rafforzerebbe il mercato dei capitali e la capacità di investimento di lungo periodo. Anche lo Stato ne trarrebbe beneficio indirettamente, grazie a una maggiore stabilità finanziaria e a una crescita economica sostenuta dagli investimenti istituzionali. Inoltre, un sistema più flessibile e moderno renderebbe il Paese più attrattivo per lavoratori qualificati e professionisti, riducendo il rischio di "fuga contributiva" verso sistemi esteri percepiti come più equi e prevedibili.

Infine, l'unificazione funzionale tra previdenza pubblica e privata consentirebbe allo Stato di mantenere il proprio ruolo di garante dell'equità e delle regole, senza rinunciare al principio di solidarietà, ma affiancandolo a una maggiore libertà di scelta individuale. In questo senso, la riforma non indebolirebbe il sistema pubblico, bensì lo rafforzerebbe, rendendolo più sostenibile, inclusivo e aderente alle trasformazioni del mondo del lavoro. Una previdenza che premia l'iniziativa personale e, allo stesso tempo, riduce i rischi futuri per la finanza pubblica rappresenterebbe un passo decisivo verso un welfare più moderno ed efficiente.

Marco Baratto

Europe’s Great Misunderstanding: Imagined Power, Real Dependence

by Marco Baratto

The growing tension between the United States, Ukraine, and Europe did not begin with Donald Trump's recent statements. It stems from a decades-long misunderstanding: Europe sees itself as a mature political actor, yet still relies on Washington for its security and for the management of major international crises. Trump's latest remarks—accusing European allies of obstructing negotiations on a peace plan for Ukraine—have simply exposed a truth the continent often prefers not to face. However unpleasant it may be, the American position reflects a reality: Europe has long claimed a leading role without giving itself the tools needed to exercise real power, ending up more as an observer than a decision-maker, an actor that wants influence without paying the cost of having it.

Recent history helps explain how this imbalance formed. It is undeniable that the great tragedies of the 20th century began in Europe and that the United States intervened twice to prevent total war from destroying the world. It is equally true that the Balkans conflict in the 1990s dragged on until Washington forced local leaders to accept a negotiated settlement in Dayton, confirming that Europe was unable to handle its own security. Even in the Middle East, many contemporary fractures trace back to borders imposed by European powers after World War I—further proof that Europe created problems it could not later resolve on its own. Still, reducing this to a simple narrative in which Europeans cause crises and Americans clean them up would be just as simplistic. The United States never acted as a disinterested savior: its military and diplomatic presence in Europe also strengthened its global leadership and countered rival powers. But this does not change the basic fact that without the United States, Europe would have struggled to navigate the crises of the last century.

Against this backdrop, Trump's current posture is not an anomaly but rather a visible symptom of a long-building trend: growing American impatience. For years, both Republicans and Democrats have complained that Europeans invest too little in their own defense, quarrel too much among themselves, and take American protection for granted. The war in Ukraine has made this contradiction painfully clear. Faced with the most severe threat to European security since 1945, the European Union spoke of unity, autonomy, and strategic resolve—yet remained without a common army, without a coordinated defense industry, and without a shared geopolitical strategy. Washington once again had to step in, and Trump now uses this reality to pressure allies and present himself as the only credible broker of a possible peace deal between Kyiv and Moscow. Whether he does this out of belief, political calculation, or a desire to project strength in a volatile moment matters less than the effect: Europe appears weak because it has done little to avoid being weak.

This systemic fragility fuels debate over what European integration is actually for. Some argue that the European Union has failed in its ambitions, becoming a bureaucratic machine incapable of defending its citizens or articulating a coherent vision. From this perspective, Europe would have been better off limiting itself to being a free-movement zone, a large market made up of fully sovereign nations cooperating only on practical matters. A minimalist arrangement rooted in trade and mobility, without the pretensions of a political union that has never truly enjoyed wide support. According to this view, the EU's attempt to play a geopolitical role has produced only paralysis and infighting, without offering real value beyond what a simple network of treaties could provide. This argument resurfaces whenever the EU is slow, divided, or indecisive—and the Ukraine crisis has given it new force.

Yet this minimalist vision, while understandable, ignores an equally important reality. In a world dominated by competition among major powers, no individual European state can protect its essential interests alone. The single market is a strength, but it cannot guarantee security, technological independence, political stability, or geopolitical influence. Reducing Europe to bilateral agreements would leave each of its twenty-seven countries exposed to external pressure, forced to negotiate separately with the United States, China, and Russia, making the continent more fragmented and more vulnerable. Most importantly, it would mean accepting that Europe will never be a geopolitical actor, only an economic space reacting to the actions of larger powers.

The paradox is clear. On one hand, Europe talks about "strategic autonomy," yet it avoids the military investments, political decisions, and institutional reforms needed to achieve it. On the other hand, the longing for a simpler Europe—one defined by commerce rather than political integration—creates the illusion of more sovereignty when in reality it would result in less. Europe remains stuck between what it wants to be and what it actually is, trapped between unfulfilled ambition and an unacknowledged dependence.

In this context, Trump's remarks—provocative as they may be—have forced Europe to finally look at itself. The real question the continent must confront is not whether American rhetoric is offensive, nor whether it is unfair to be excluded from key international negotiations. The real question is whether Europe truly intends to become an actor capable of shaping its own destiny, or whether it prefers to remain a reduced-scope project: a large market sheltered under the American security umbrella. Without a clear choice, Europe will continue to oscillate between frustration and helplessness, between demands for autonomy and reliance on outside help, between grand declarations and limited capabilities.

And perhaps this is the central issue: Europe imagines itself a power, but the world sees it as a space. Until this contradiction is resolved, any discussion of sovereignty will remain theoretical. And those who sit at the tables where decisions are made will continue to do so without waiting for Europe's permission.

Europe’s enduring dependence and America’s unmistakable role

When U.S. Vice President JD Vance recently described his greatest frustration as the administration's failure, so far, to broker an agreement to end the Russia-Ukraine war, he unintentionally touched on a deeper and long-standing truth about global geopolitics: Europe, despite its ambitions and self-perception, remains structurally unable to resolve the major crises that erupt on its own continent. Time and again, it is the United States that steps in to stabilize, defend, and ultimately resolve conflicts that Europe either helped create or proved incapable of containing.

For many Europeans, this is an uncomfortable idea. For Americans, however, it is a recurring pattern in the last century and a half. Vance's comment that the Russia-Ukraine conflict was expected to be "the easiest war to solve" reflects Washington's perception that the European neighborhood should—even by European standards—be manageable. Yet, once again, the unimaginable has become reality: Europe's divisions, bureaucratic delays, and national rivalries have rendered it unable to take the lead in shaping the end of the conflict.

The United States, on the other hand, operates with a centralized political structure, a global military presence, and a strategic mindset shaped by decades of superpower responsibility. For Washington, crises require action, not endless debate. For Brussels and the national capitals of Europe, crises tend to become arenas for disagreement, hesitation, and political paralysis.

This dynamic is not new. Europe's modern history is marked by conflicts that escalated far beyond what the continent could manage alone. Without American intervention in 1917, the First World War might have ended very differently—or dragged on even longer as the exhausted European powers bled each other in stalemate. The arrival of U.S. troops and resources tipped the balance decisively, allowing the Allies to impose an end to the war that Europeans had been unable to reach independently.

The pattern repeated itself during the Second World War. Without American military power—without the landing in Sicily in 1943, without D-Day in 1944, without the massive industrial and logistical support—the liberation of Europe from Nazi tyranny would have been nearly impossible. European powers, despite their courage and sacrifices, lacked the strategic capacity to finish the fight. Again, it was the United States that transformed the conflict's trajectory.

Even after the wars ended, America remained indispensable. The Marshall Plan rebuilt the continent's shattered economies. NATO—arguably the most successful military alliance in history—guaranteed European security against Soviet expansion. For decades, Europe prospered under a protective umbrella financed, staffed, and directed largely by the United States.

Ironically, Europeans frequently speak today of "strategic autonomy," yet their military capabilities remain scattered, underfunded, and politically constrained. The notion that the European Union could conduct a large-scale, independent military operation beyond its borders remains closer to aspiration than reality. The war in Ukraine only reinforces this truth: European aid, while meaningful, is not sufficient without American leadership, financing, intelligence, and weaponry. Even the continent's energy security—once taken for granted—has proved fragile, revealing a deeper structural vulnerability.

The Middle East provides another telling example. After World War I, European powers redrew the region's borders with little regard for ethnic realities or long-term stability. Those decisions laid the groundwork for a century of conflict, mistrust, and geopolitical instability—problems the United States has often been forced to address, whether it wished to or not. From peace negotiations to military operations, Washington became the de facto stabilizer in a region reshaped poorly by European colonial ambition.

Returning to today's conflict, Europe's response to Russia's 2014 annexation of Crimea demonstrated its continued lack of strategic clarity. Some nations prioritized economic ties with Moscow; others focused on diplomatic caution; still others pushed for stronger deterrence. The result was a fragmented, slow-moving approach that neither deterred Russia nor prepared Europe for the full-scale invasion of 2022. The continent, despite its proximity and vested interest, could not formulate a unified strategy.

This brings us back to Vance's frustration. When he says he hopes for "good news in the coming weeks," it reflects the reality that any meaningful breakthrough will almost certainly involve American leadership. The United States possesses both the diplomatic weight and the military capacity to shape outcomes in a way Europe still cannot. And despite frequent disagreements within the U.S. political system, Washington has repeatedly proven willing to take decisive action when global stability is at risk.

Europe, by contrast, has excelled at economic integration, cultural development, and technological innovation—yet struggles to translate these strengths into geopolitical influence. It is a continent rich in heritage, ideas, and prosperity, but one that remains geopolitically divided and militarily dependent. This fundamental contradiction undermines its ambitions to serve as a global leader.

The result is a paradox: Europe often sees itself as the sophisticated, enlightened center of the world, yet when crises escalate, it is the United States that must act as the problem-solver, peacemaker, or defender of last resort. This dynamic has shaped the modern era, and it continues to define the present.

Whether Europeans like it or not, the last 250 years of history suggest that without American intervention, many European conflicts would spiral beyond control—or simply remain unresolved. Until Europe develops a coherent military strategy, a unified political voice, and the ability to act decisively, it will continue to be, as Metternich once described Italy, "a geographic expression": culturally vibrant, economically powerful, but strategically fragmented.

The world may be changing rapidly, but one reality endures—when the stakes are highest, it is still the United States that Europe turns to for leadership, stability, and resolution.

Marco Baratto

Lodi ricorda i caduti austro ungarici

 

 

Lodi, Venerdì 12 dicembre – ore 15.30, Cimitero Maggiore

 

Il ricercatore storico Marco Baratto ha organizzato un momento commemorativo dedicato ai prigionieri austro-ungarici sepolti nel Cimitero Maggiore di Lodi. Si tratta di soldati di etnia magiara della Transilvania, galiziani e austriaci, provenienti dal campo di detenzione di Pizzighettone e impiegati in lavori agricoli, che persero la vita a causa dell'epidemia di influenza "spagnola" e furono inumati nel cimitero cittadino.

 

La scelta del 12 dicembre non è casuale: la commemorazione – alla quale è annunciata la presenza delle autorità ungheresi e polacche – intende collegarsi alla vigilia della cosiddetta "Santa Lucia Nera", la tragica serie di slavine che il 13 dicembre 1916, giorno dedicato a Santa Lucia, costò la vita a diverse migliaia di soldati impegnati nella guerra di montagna sulle Alpi durante la Prima guerra mondiale.

 

Le valanghe di quel giorno, tra i più devastanti eventi meteorologici del continente, rimasero a lungo ignorate a causa della segretezza militare e sono oggi considerate – secondo le ricerche climatologiche e storiche dell'Università di Berna – una delle peggiori catastrofi naturali nella storia europea.

 

Alla cerimonia parteciperanno un sacerdote greco-cattolico e uno cattolico per un momento di preghiera ecumenica, in ricordo particolare dei soldati ungheresi, appartenenti alla tradizione della Chiesa greco-cattolica.

 

Marco Baratto, da anni impegnato nella ricerca storica e nella valorizzazione della memoria, invita tutta la cittadinanza a partecipare a questo importante momento di riflessione e ricordo.

 

 

 

Il Papa che ha scelto il silenzio: quando non pregare un è un rispetto “per autenticità” non “per conformità”

La visita di Papa Leone XIV alla Moschea Sultan Ahmed, nel contesto del viaggio apostolico in Turchia e in Libano, rappresenta un momento ricco di significati e di letture possibili, non solo in termini di diplomazia religiosa, ma anche di identità cristiana e di gestione dei rapporti interreligiosi in una fase storica caratterizzata da tensioni e incomprensioni. Il Papa, secondo quanto comunicato dalla Sala Stampa della Santa Sede, ha vissuto la visita "in silenzio, in spirito di raccoglimento e in ascolto", evitando la preghiera esplicita nel luogo sacro islamico. È un gesto che potrebbe sembrare minore, ma in realtà possiede una densità simbolica enorme.

Prima di tutto, occorre collocare l'episodio nel più ampio contesto della tradizione recente dei pontificati. Giovanni Paolo II nel 2001 visitò la moschea degli Omayyadi a Damasco e vi compì un momento di preghiera silenziosa; Benedetto XVI, durante il suo viaggio in Turchia nel 2006, si inginocchiò in silenzio nella stessa Moschea Blu; Papa Francesco, nel 2014, fece altrettanto. In tutti questi casi si trattò di gesti interpretati come momenti di rispetto e di dialogo interreligioso, e furono ampiamente ripresi dai media: immagini di intesa, di fratellanza, di pace spirituale attraverso la preghiera condivisa.

Papa Leone XIV, però, sceglie diversamente. Non si inginocchia, non prega, non compie un gesto liturgico. Non imita i predecessori. La sua scelta non è casuale né superficiale; è profondamente coerente con il suo messaggio pubblico e con le dichiarazioni rilasciate appena il giorno precedente, nelle quali ha parlato della necessità di respingere ogni fanatismo e di promuovere una fraternità universale tra i popoli e le religioni. La sua decisione, anzitutto, testimonia un rispetto differente: non un rispetto "per conformità", ma un rispetto "per autenticità".

Infatti, il cardinale Giacomo Biffi ricordava che il rispetto non consiste nel dichiarare che tutte le religioni sono uguali, ma nel dialogare riconoscendo il bene e la spiritualità altrui senza rinunciare alla propria identità. Leone XIV applica precisamente questo principio: entra nella moschea come ospite, ossequia le regole del luogo togliendosi le scarpe, mantenendo un atteggiamento di silenzio meditativo, ma non prega perché la sua preghiera cristiana, lì, assumerebbe un significato ambiguo o strumentalizzabile. Proprio questo è il punto: la sincerità della preghiera.

La preghiera, per un Papa, non è semplicemente un gesto estetico o diplomatico. È un atto teologico. È invocazione a Cristo Redentore, alla Trinità; è un atto di fede incarnata, non un esercizio teatrale. Pregare nella moschea potrebbe essere interpretato come un riconoscimento di equivalenza fra le fedi; oppure potrebbe essere strumentalizzato da frange estreme — musulmane e cristiane — come prova di sottomissione, relativismo o sincretismo. Leone XIV rifiuta di prestarsi a questa teatralizzazione.

Quando il muezzin Asgin Tunca gli dice che può pregare se lo desidera, e lui risponde "no, osserverò in giro", il gesto è eloquente: dice "sono qui per ascoltare, non per imporre; sono qui per rispettare, non per esibire; sono qui come uomo di fede, non come protagonista di un rito mediatico". È una scelta disarmante nella sua semplicità, ma fortemente controcorrente.

Molti cristiani si sono scandalizzati — come il testo menziona — proprio perché avevano interiorizzato l'idea che pregare in moschea fosse il segno massimo di apertura e di fraternità. 

Leone XIV, invece, introduce un livello più maturo di comprensione del dialogo interreligioso. Non è necessario condividere gli stessi gesti liturgici; non serve mimetizzarsi. Il vero dialogo non consiste nel fare finta che le differenze non esistano, ma nel accoglierle e rispettarle. Nessuno chiederebbe a un musulmano di pregare davanti al Santissimo Sacramento in un tabernacolo consacrato; sarebbe comprensibile e rispettabile che egli declinasse. Allo stesso modo, Leone XIV non si appropria del luogo sacro islamico per compiere un gesto cristiano fuori contesto.

La sua decisione va inoltre letta in relazione al tema della comunicazione pubblica. Egli sa che oggi viviamo in una civiltà dell'immagine, in cui il gesto — soprattutto quello simbolico — viene immediatamente tradotto in propaganda da una parte o dall'altra. 

La preghiera in moschea, oggi, sarebbe diventata una fotografia virale, un campo di battaglia, un terreno di manipolazione. Leone XIV comprende che il suo ruolo non è quello di alimentare questo mercato dei simboli, ma di sottrarsi ad esso quando necessario.

Il suo silenzio è quindi una forma di parola più alta. Non pregare non significa non rispettare; al contrario, significa riconoscere che un gesto sacro non deve essere banalizzato, non deve essere fatto per compiacere il pubblico o i gruppi di pressione. Non pregare è una dichiarazione di purezza intenzionale: "non trasformo la mia fede in spettacolo".

C'è poi una dimensione interna al cattolicesimo: Leone XIV vuole evitare che i cattolici estremisti lo accusino di sincretismo o di relativismo, ma nello stesso tempo evita che i musulmani estremisti vedano nella sua preghiera un'invasione sacrale. Cammina su una linea sottile ma solida. Non rinuncia alla sua identità cristiana, ma la esprime non attraverso la performance, bensì attraverso la sua presenza dignitosa, ascoltante, discreta.

In definitiva, la scelta di Papa Leone XIV non è un gesto di debolezza o di indifferenza religiosa, ma un atto di intelligenza spirituale e diplomatica. È un invito a riscoprire il rispetto autentico, che non richiede gesti plateali, e la fede autentica, che non necessita di essere esibita per essere vera. È un appello a un dialogo in cui nessuno deve fingere di essere altro da ciò che è: un cristiano resta cristiano, un musulmano resta musulmano, e proprio nell'incontro vero tra queste identità può nascere la pace.

Leone XIV, con la sua scelta, non ha pregato con i gesti, ma ha pregato con l'atteggiamento. La sua preghiera non si è svolta nel rito visibile, ma nel rispetto invisibile. E questo, forse, è il modo più profondo di riconoscere la sacralità di un luogo e la dignità di una fede diversa dalla propria.

Per assurdo e paradossale che possa essere ed apparire, Papa Leone XIV ha dimostrato ai fedeli mussulmani che non hanno nulla da temere da lui o dalla Chiesa Cattolica.  Forse chi non ha una sufficiente conoscenza del mondo mussulmano , fa fatica a capire questo passaggio.  Una persona che non dimostra di essere uomo o donna di fede non è degno di riconoscenza. Una capo di un'altra fede religiosa (come succedeva in passato compreso Benedetto XVI  molto amato in certi ambienti reazionari ) che compie solo un atto esterno non è degno di rispetto. 

Per assurdo che possa essere per un occidentale , Papa Leone oggi si è conquistato la fiducia del mondo mussulmano dimostrando di essere uomo integro di fede. 

Returning to the Source: A Creed for a Reunited Christendom

When Pope Leo XIV proclaims at Nicaea the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed without the Filioque, he will not simply be quoting an ancient formula — he will be sending a message across centuries. The very words, "We believe in the Holy Spirit… who proceeds from the Father," will be pronounced at the birthplace of that Creed, where the Christian world was still united.

This is not the abolition of Latin theological heritage, but rather the healing of a later accretion that became, over time, a symbol of division. The Filioque — added in the Latin West long after Nicaea — eventually crystallized as a doctrinal frontier between East and West. Today, what once was a theological boundary becomes an opportunity for reconciliation.

Pope Leo XIV is not pursuing unity through absorption — not repeating the model in which other Christians must "return to" the Catholic Church by being incorporated into it. Instead, he embraces the vision of the first millennium, when difference in liturgy, language, spirituality, and theological emphasis enriched the one Church rather than tearing it apart.

His vision echoes Pope Francis' call to "walk together." Unity is not achieved by administrative enforcement, but by shared prayer, mutual recognition, and symbolic acts that open doors. This is visible in Pope Leo's engagement with the Church of England, with common services of prayer and shared declarations of faith.

A historical contrast is instructive. In 1995, Pope John Paul II's encyclical Ut unum sint powerfully affirmed the commitment to Christian unity. Yet it remained framed in a paradigm of "return to full communion with the Catholic Church." Pope Leo XIV moves further: he seeks not to erase differences, but to honor them as part of the symphony of the Church.

Reciting the Creed in its original form is thus a gesture of historical integrity and theological humility. It recognizes that the unity of the Church does not need to be invented, only rediscovered. Unity is not the construction of a new structure, but the uncovering of an ancient one.

Within this horizon comes another significant step: the call for a common date for Easter, based on the Nicene norm — celebrated according to the Julian reckoning, as practiced by the Orthodox Churches and the Byzantine Catholic Churches. To celebrate the Resurrection together would mean witnessing to the world a Christianity reconciled in its very heart.

The Catholic Church will remain Latin in its liturgical and canonical identity, and the Bishop of Rome will continue to exercise his petrine ministry. Yet the gestures of Pope Leo XIV reveal a Church willing to be catholic in the deepest sense of the word: universal, embracing, polyphonic.

Nicaea 2025 will not merely be a commemoration of the past. It may well become the turning point in which Christians glimpse a future where East and West do not face each other as strangers, but as brothers — united in the same Creed, proclaimed with one heart, one voice, and one hope in Christ

Marco Baratto

Kalpteki el: Papa Leo XIV karşısında Erdoğan’ın anlamlı sessizliği

Türkiye'ye yapılan bu ziyaret en yüksek beklentilerle açılıyor, ancak tarih bize defalarca göstermiştir ki, bir dönüm noktasını tanımlayan şey sadece söylenen sözler değildir: Bazen söylenmeyenler, bir jest eşliğinde, herhangi bir resmi açıklamadan çok daha güçlü konuşur. İlk kez Papa Leo XIV ile Türkiye Cumhurbaşkanı Recep Tayyip Erdoğan arasındaki görüşmeyi ve ardından Millî Kütüphane içindeki Cihannüma Salonu'nda yapılan basın toplantısını bu bağlamda değerlendirmek gerekir: Sadece mekânın ihtişamı açısından değil, taşıdığı sembolik boyutla da tarihi bir olay.

Cihannüma Salonu — kelimenin tam anlamıyla "dünyaya açılan pencere" — sıradan bir mekân değildir. 100'den fazla ülkeden gelen ve 134 farklı dilde bulunan kitaplarla zenginleştirilmiş, kubbesinde Alak suresinin 4. ve 5. ayetlerinin Türkçe çevirisinin yer aldığı son derece sembolik bir mekândır: "Kaleme yazmayı öğreten O'dur. İnsana bilmediğini öğreten O'dur." Bu ifadeler, zaten oldukça yalın ve güçlü, bu buluşmanın derin sembolik anlamını kavramak için ideal bir çerçeve sunuyor: İnsanlar, kültürler ve dinler arasında bir köprü olarak evrensel bilginin kutlandığı bir salon.

İkili görüşmenin ardından Erdoğan basına hitap etti. Söyledikleri elbette ki önemliydi. Ancak söylemedikleri ve yaptıkları çok daha önemliydi. Cumhurbaşkanı konuşması boyunca sağ elini defalarca kalbinin üzerine götürdü.

Bir Batılı için bu jest basit bir nezaket ya da resmi bir duruş gibi görünebilir. Fakat İslam ve Orta Doğu kültürlerinde bu jest çok daha derin bir anlam taşır.

İslam'ın mistik geleneği olan tasavvufta, bu jest Hz. Muhammed'in (s.a.v.) hayatındaki önemli bir olaya işaret eder.

Hicret sırasında — Mekke'den Medine'ye göç — Peygamber, Sevr Mağarası'nda Hz. Ebu Bekir ile sığınmışken, elini kalbinin üzerine koyarak Allah'tan aldığı bilgeliği ona ruhsal bir şekilde aktarmıştır. Gelenekte şöyle denir:

"Allah'ın kalbime koyduğu her şeyi, ben Ebu Bekir es-Sıddîk'ın kalbine aktardım."

Şimdi, Erdoğan'ın bir sufi olduğu söylenemez. Bilindiği üzere o, sünni bir Müslüman ve çağdaş bir devlet adamıdır; pragmatik, hesapcı ve toplumsal duyarlılıkları iyi okuyan bir liderdir. Bu jesti dini bir ritüel olarak değil de, Papa'ya karşı duyulan samimi saygının bir işareti olarak benimsemesi, bu hareketi derin bir diplomatik niyet beyanına dönüştürüyor.

İşte jestin özü burada yatıyor: Kalbe el koymak boş bir kalıp değildir. "Samimiyetle konuşuyorum, açık konuşuyorum, kalbimle konuşuyorum" demektir. Arap ve Türk-İslam kültüründe kalbe dokunmak kendini sunmak anlamına gelir: sadece bedenini değil, ruhunu ve aklını. Bu bir barış jestidir, güven göstergesidir ve karşındakini saygıya değer bir insan olarak kabul etmenin işaretidir. Ve özellikle devlet başkanları arasındaki diplomatik ilişkilerde son derece nadir görülen bir harekettir. Erdoğan'ın önceki papalara — Papa Francesco dahil — bu kadar istikrarlı ve içten bir şekilde bu işareti yaptığı pek hatırlanmaz.

Genel izlenim, Erdoğan'ın söze dökmeden bir mesaj iletmek istediğidir: "Seni evrensel bir ruhani rehber olarak kabul ediyorum. Sadece Katolik Kilisesi'nin başı olarak değil, dünyanın ahlaki otoritesi olarak."

Sonuçta bu jest, yüzyıllar boyunca karşıt olarak anlatılan iki dünya görüşü arasında bir köprü kuruyor: İslam ve Hristiyanlık.

Tarihsel-kültürel açıdan Erdoğan, Osmanlı İslamı'nın ruhunun mirasçısı olarak kendini konumlandırıyor: Evet, bir imparatorluk İslamıydı, ama aynı zamanda şaşırtıcı derecede hoşgörülü, tarihteki en büyük çok dinli ve çok kültürlü siyasi yapılardan birinin yöneticisiydi.

1453'te İstanbul'un fethinin ardından Osmanlı sultanları — millet sistemi çerçevesinde — Hristiyanlara ve Yahudilere din özgürlüğü ve cemaat yapılanması garantisi sağladılar. İnanç topluluklarına dini ve medeni özerklik tanıyan bu model, bugün Erdoğan tarafından Türkiye'nin Doğu ile Batı arasında, geçmiş ile gelecek arasında bir köprü olduğu fikrini desteklemek için yeniden referans gösterilmektedir.

Bu bağlamda, kalbe konan el folklorik bir hareket değildir. Kimlik beyanıdır: İslam'ı saldırgan bir ideoloji olarak değil, bir medeniyet olarak sunar. Ve bu anlatıda Papa bir rakip değil, saygı duyulan ve ciddiye alınan bir muhataptır.

Erdoğan'ın sözle ifade etmediği — ve belki de edemediği — şey kalbine götürdüğü elle ifade edilmiştir: kişisel saygının, ruhani takdirin ve diyalog arzusunun mesajıdır. Cihannüma Salonu dünya için bir pencereyse, Erdoğan'ın jesti de modern Türkiye'nin kalbi için bir pencere olmuştur. Belki de bu anlamlı sessizlikten İslam ve Hristiyanlık arasındaki ilişkilerde yeni bir dönem doğacaktır — kuşkudan değil, karşılıklı tanımadan beslenen.

Basın toplantılarında sözler geçer. Jestler kalır. Ve bu jest uzun süre hatırlanacaktır.

Marco Baratto

I credenti di Zastavna, Bucovina, continuano la loro vita liturgica in una chiesa domestica

Il 16 novembre 2025, la parrocchia dedicata alla Natività della Beata Vergine Maria a Zastavna, in Bucovina, ha celebrato la Divina Liturgia nella chiesa domestica. La  pagina Facebook "I fedeli dell'Eparchia di Černivci-Bucovina " ha pubblicato le foto della cerimonia, come riportato dal Dipartimento di Informazione e Formazione della Chiesa Ortodossa Ucraina.

I credenti affermano che è in questo piccolo spazio che nasce una preghiera speciale e profonda, soprattutto quella dei bambini.

"Dopo che la precedente chiesa della comunità religiosa in onore della Natività della Beata Vergine Maria nella Chiesa Ortodossa Ucraina di Zastavna è stata conquistata dai sostenitori della Chiesa Ortodossa Ucraina, i fedeli sono costretti a prega

re in una chiesa domestica. Ma è qui, in una stanza modesta, che nasce qualcosa di molto prezioso: una preghiera puramente infantile che sale a Dio con una potenza speciale.

"I bambini che vengono qui con i loro genitori pregano per la pace, per le loro famiglie, per la nostra Chiesa, per tutti coloro che stanno vivendo il dolore. Le loro voci ci ricordano: il Signore rimane vicino non dove c'è spazio e solennità, ma dove lo si cerca sinceramente", si legge nel messaggio.

Si nota che, nonostante la perdita della chiesa, la comunità non ha perso la cosa più importante: la fede, l'unità e la preghiera.

"E i cuori dei bambini, pieni di fiducia in Dio, diventano la prova vivente che nessuna prova esterna può distruggere una vera famiglia spirituale", hanno aggiunto gli ortodossi della Bucovina.

https://uoc-news.church/2025/11/18/viruyuchi-u-zastavni-na-bukovini-prodovzhuyut-bogosluzhbove-zhittya-u-domovomu-xrami/#2025-11-27

Toward One Easter: Leo XIV and the Courage of a New Ecumenism

The latest Apostolic Letter of Leo XIV, In unitate fidei, represents a document destined to leave a significant mark on the journey of dialogue between the Catholic Church and the Orthodox Churches. Not only because of its strong reaffirmation of the heart of our common faith—the Christological proclamation of the Council of Nicaea—but above all for a gesture without precedent in the magisterium of the Latin Church: the explicit recognition that the expression "and from the Son (Filioque)" does not belong to the original text of the Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed, but was later inserted into the Latin Creed by Pope Benedict VIII in 1014.

This clarification has an epochal theological, historical, and ecclesial value. For over a millennium, the Filioque has been one of the most delicate issues in the division between East and West. It is not a secondary detail, but rather an identity marker of the faith as professed in the two great Christian traditions. The fact that a Latin pontiff officially affirms not only the later historical origin of the Filioque, but also that it "is the object of Orthodox–Catholic dialogue," represents a true opening, a recognition of the dignity of the other theological tradition, and a meaningful change of podsture.

For centuries—often implicitly—it has been taken for granted that Latin theology constituted a sort of "unilateral norm" of Trinitarian understanding. Today, with sober and respectful language, Leo XIV acknowledges that the formulations of the Creed have been historically plural and that the insertion of the Filioque belongs to a specific context—the Western first millennium—and not to the universal Tradition of the early Ecumenical Councils. It is, therefore, both a restoration of historical truth and a gesture of fraternity toward the Christian East.

But there is more. Leo XIV does not limit himself to a doctrinal act of reconciliation. He articulates a style, a vision, a method: "This does not mean an ecumenism of return to the state prior to division, nor a mutual acknowledgement of the current status quo of ecclesial diversity, but rather an ecumenism oriented toward the future, of reconciliation along the path of dialogue, of exchange of our gifts and spiritual patrimonies." Here emerges a dynamic concept of unity, neither nostalgic nor relativistic: the goal is not to go backward, nor to settle for a "federation of differences," but to move toward a new unity, the fruit of mutual purification, listening, and spiritual synergy.

And it is precisely on the level of these "concrete spiritual gifts" that another step enters into play for visible unity: a single date for Easter. It is explicitly among the desires expressed by Leo XIV and among the profound hopes of many Christians throughout the world that the Catholic Church may finally take the step of adhering to the common practice of the Orthodox world—namely the celebration of Easter according to the calculation established by the Council of Nicaea itself: Easter on the first Sunday after the first astronomical full moon of spring observed in Jerusalem, calculated according to the Julian calendar.

The Eastern Catholic Churches already follow this practice: they celebrate Easter according to the Julian calendar and Christmas according to the Gregorian calendar, acting as a concrete bridge between the two great ecclesial sensibilities. This model, already in operation, represents a valuable example of liturgical inculturation and harmonization of traditions.

Adopting a common Easter date would not be a mere technical calendar operation, but a prophetic sign of communion. It would mean, with humility and courage, accepting a gift from the East: because the Nicene–Julian paschal calculation is not a simple convention, but a theological heritage of the undivided Church of the first millennium.

In this sense, we can say that Leo XIV has prepared the ground. He has opened a space of shared and reconciling truth: acknowledging the historicity of the Filioque—without denying Latin theology—means rejecting the temptation of uniformity and choosing the path of the symphony of Traditions.

It now falls to the Catholic community—pastors, theologians, faithful—to take the next step: to transform the theological climate into concrete liturgical gestures. A single Easter celebrated on the same day, once a year, one proclamation: "Christ is risen!" This would be the sign that unity is not an abstract concept, but a lived reality.

The upcoming extraordinary consistory and the meetings to be held in Nicaea on the occasion of the 1700th anniversary can become—as the Apostolic Letter hopes—a laboratory of unity, a place for courageous decisions. The Christian East does not await gestures of supremacy, but gestures of fraternity. And the Catholic West, today more than ever, has the possibility of showing spiritual maturity and love for the undivided Church.

The future of ecumenism passes through very concrete choices. Among them, perhaps none more eloquent than unity in the date of Easter: because celebrating together the Lord's resurrection means truly recognizing ourselves as one Body, risen with Christ, in history and in time.

Marco Baratto

A Dangerous Line: Why Europe’s Territorial Negotiation Proposal Risks Ukraine’s Future”

The newly discussed European counter-proposal for ending the war in Ukraine introduces a clause that has already sparked intense debate: territorial negotiations should begin from the current line of control. At first glance, this may appear to be a pragmatic baseline—an attempt to anchor talks in the reality on the ground. Yet, for Ukraine, this clause is arguably the most perilous element of the entire framework. Far from freezing the conflict and opening a path toward a sustainable peace, it may instead incentivize Russia to accelerate its offensive operations precisely during the weeks when diplomacy is supposedly taking shape. In essence, it risks turning the negotiation process itself into a strategic weapon.

If the earlier Trump-aligned peace plan controversially proposed ceding specific territories to Russia as part of a settlement, the European version may prove even more dangerous in practice. By stating that talks should begin from whatever land Russia holds at the moment negotiations formally open, the Europeans have effectively created a window of opportunity—indeed, a reward—for rapid territorial advances. This approach does not simply freeze the status quo; it encourages its violent expansion. The battlefield becomes the bargaining table, and each additional town or village captured becomes a token of leverage. For a defending nation already stretched to its limits, this is a catastrophic strategic disadvantage.

Such a clause puts Ukraine in an impossible position. It faces the dual risk of deeper territorial loss and the destruction of key infrastructure and cities that still remain under its control. As Russia pushes to improve its negotiating position, Ukraine becomes the arena on which this "race to talks" is fought. Every day of intensified combat translates into new human and material devastation—not only for soldiers on the front lines but for civilians caught in the path of artillery, missiles, and occupation.

From a humanitarian perspective, the proposal is equally troubling. It disregards the human cost of incentivizing further offensives. By allowing the line of control to determine the starting point for negotiations, European policymakers risk perpetuating a dynamic in which entire communities are uprooted or destroyed before diplomats even sit down at the table. In effect, this approach suggests that territory is negotiable only after it has been forcibly taken—an implicit endorsement of the very logic of aggression that Europe has spent decades claiming to oppose.

Politically, this clause also carries grave implications for Ukraine's internal stability. President Volodymyr Zelensky, already navigating a complex domestic landscape, would face enormous pressure if forced to negotiate from a position of substantial territorial loss. Nationalist factions—already influential and deeply rooted in the country's political culture—would interpret any negotiations from an expanded Russian line of control as unacceptable capitulation. Zelensky's political future, already tied tightly to the defense of national sovereignty, would be severely threatened. Rather than empowering Ukraine to negotiate a future on its own terms, the European proposal risks cornering the Ukrainian leadership and undermining its domestic legitimacy.

This outcome is not just a Ukrainian concern. It would also deeply affect Europe's credibility as a geopolitical actor. By formulating a clause that effectively rewards territorial conquest, European policymakers have positioned themselves in direct contradiction to the principles they claim to uphold: territorial integrity, peaceful conflict resolution, and the rejection of war as a tool of political negotiation. Instead of offering Ukraine a stable diplomatic framework, they may have inadvertently authored one of the most regrettable chapters in Europe's relationship with the Ukrainian people.

It is therefore understandable that some analysts argue the Trump-aligned plan, despite its flaws, at least provided clarity. While it openly specified which regions might be ceded—an unacceptable proposal to many Ukrainians—it did not implicitly encourage Russia to expand its control just before negotiations. From this perspective, the Trump plan, however controversial, avoided creating a time-sensitive incentive for battlefield escalation. For supporters of this view, aligning more closely with U.S. strategic priorities and becoming a cornerstone of American policy in Eastern Europe may have offered Ukraine a more stable and predictable framework than the ambiguous European position.

Of course, no plan is without risks, and no diplomatic initiative emerges in a vacuum. But it is precisely because the stakes are so high that the details of any peace proposal must be examined with extreme caution. Europe's well-intentioned but poorly calibrated clause risks transforming the coming weeks into some of the most dangerous of the entire war. It signals to Moscow that the battlefield, not the negotiating table, is the true arbiter of Ukraine's borders. And it signals to Kyiv that its fate may depend less on diplomacy and more on surviving a new wave of intensified attacks.

Ukraine does not deserve this. It does not deserve to be reduced to rubble in the final rush to a negotiation framework. It does not deserve to face political fragmentation because of externally imposed diplomatic timelines. And it does not deserve a peace process that places it at a systematic disadvantage from the very outset.

If Europe truly wishes to support Ukraine, it must reconsider this clause. Negotiations should aim to de-escalate violence, not fuel it. They should protect civilians, not expose them to heightened danger. And above all, they should respect Ukraine's sovereignty without forcing it into a diplomatic corner.

A more balanced, principled, and strategically sound approach is needed—one that avoids rewarding aggression and prevents the negotiation process from becoming a catalyst for further destruction. Without such recalibration, Europe risks undermining both Ukraine's future and its own moral authority at a decisive moment in history.

Marco Baratto

THE POPE DROPS THE HAMMER: ‘FAITH IS NOT A WEAPON.’ LEÓN XIV CALLS OUT AMERICA’S CATHOLIC CIVIL WAR”

by Marco Baratto

When Pope León XIV spoke to the tens of thousands gathered at the National Catholic Youth Conference, he delivered a sentence that slammed into the American Church like a shockwave: "Be careful not to use political categories when speaking about faith. The Church does not belong to any political party; rather, the Church helps form your conscience so you can think and act with wisdom and love." It was not diplomatic. It was not soft. It was a direct strike at the deepest wound in American Catholicism: a nation of believers split not by doctrine but by partisanship, consumed by a cold civil war between Catholic Republicans and Catholic Democrats.

For years, U.S. Catholics have absorbed the habits of their political culture. The Gospel is filtered, trimmed, weaponized, reinterpreted to fit the narrative of the moment. On one side stand those who equate fidelity to Catholicism with the Republican platform; on the other, those who see the Democratic agenda as the true embodiment of the Church's social mission. In both cases, politics becomes the master and faith the servant. León XIV has now said, with clarity and courage, that this inversion is not just wrong—it is poisonous.

In a country where partisan identity often outweighs religious identity, the Pope's words amount to an indictment. He is telling American Catholics that the Church is not a piece in the political game. That the Gospel does not take sides in the American culture wars. That conscience, not ideology, must guide a Christian. And that the moment politics takes control of faith, the Church stops being Catholic and starts being tribal.

The "American Catholic schism" is real not because Rome has declared it, but because everyday life exposes it. There are parishes where the homily sounds like talk radio, others where doctrine is reinterpreted to mirror progressive theories, communities where Catholics judge the Pope through the lens of their preferred news network, and believers who accept or reject Church teaching based on how well it aligns with their voting habits. This is a fracture not of creeds but of loyalties. And León XIV is the first pope willing to name it publicly.

By addressing young people, he is targeting the group least contaminated by the rancor of the culture wars. They are not yet fully enlisted in the armies of polarization, and because of that, they are the future hope of a Catholicism that can rediscover its universality. The Pope reminds them that conscience is not a feeling or a partisan instinct; it is a moral capacity shaped by prayer, tradition, and reason. It belongs to God, not to the parties. And if American Catholics do not reclaim it, the Church will continue to tear itself apart.

León XIV's message is not a plea—it is a warning. A Church that allows itself to be dragged into the political trenches loses its soul. A faith that becomes an ideological weapon ceases to evangelize. A people divided by politics will eventually be divided at the altar. For too long, American Catholics have accepted a distorted hierarchy of identities. The Pope has now reversed that order with one decisive blow: Christ first, conscience second, politics last.

The impact of his words will not fade quickly. They will provoke anger, applause, confusion, and debate. But they will also force American Catholics to confront a truth many preferred to ignore: the Church cannot survive as an extension of partisan warfare. By saying "the Church does not belong to any political party," León XIV has declared that the faith belongs to no flag, no ideology, no tribe. It belongs to God alone. And in a nation fractured by loyalties, that is the boldest statement a pope could make.

Trump’s hard pragmatism meets Russia’s new mlitary doctrine: A peace Ukraine may be pressured to accept

The remarks by U.S. Vice President JD Vance on the war in Ukraine were more than a political statement; they were a trumpet blast announcing a strategic shift. When Vance says it is a "fantasy" to imagine a Ukrainian victory simply through more weapons, more funding, or tougher sanctions, he is not merely criticizing the current Western strategy. He is openly voicing what many Western governments have privately concluded for months but avoided saying aloud.

For Washington, a total Ukrainian victory is no longer seen as realistic. In the new framework outlined by the Trump administration, Ukraine may soon face an ultimatum that could redefine its future: accept an American-designed peace plan shaped around U.S. global strategic interests, or continue fighting largely on its own—a war that has already drained its manpower, its economy, and its diplomacy.

Trump's now-famous statement — "Zelensky is going to have to like the peace plan" — distills the essence of his negotiating philosophy. It is not bluster for its own sake; it is a statement of method. The war must end, and ending it requires imposing a compromise, however harsh or unpalatable. It is the same pragmatic logic that allowed Richard Nixon to close the Vietnam chapter in 1973 through a controversial agreement that nonetheless brought American soldiers home and secured the return of prisoners of war.

The parallel is no coincidence. Republican presidents—from Nixon to Reagan—have often embraced a fundamentally realist geopolitical worldview: negotiate when it serves national interests, strike when necessary, and avoid endless wars with no attainable victory. Foreign policy, in this tradition, is not a moral crusade but a calculation of strategic advantage. Trump fits squarely into that lineage.

On the ground, the situation leaves little room for illusions. Russian forces continue advancing—slowly but steadily—and Ukraine struggles to mobilize new troops. Western stockpiles are thinning, and European public opinion appears increasingly weary of supporting a war with no clear horizon. Each passing week strengthens Moscow's negotiating position, weakens Kiev's, and makes more plausible the idea of a deal that freezes the frontline as it stands—effectively locking in Russia's gains from its 2022 offensive.

In this context, Trump has crafted a message aimed at Europe as well: no concessions to Russia regarding the borders of European NATO states. It is a guarantee that seems to reach beyond the Alliance itself, positioning the United States as the direct arbiter of Europe's security. Yet the implicit message is just as striking: Europe is no longer central to American strategy. It is useful, but not decisive — and certainly not the actor that sets the final terms.

Meanwhile, the war has triggered a near-epochal transformation in Russia's military doctrine. For the first time in its modern history—stretching from the 17th-century wars with Sweden, through the Napoleonic campaigns, to the Second World War—Russia adopted an immediate offensive strategy instead of its traditional elastic defense and strategic retreat. It marks a precedent that will reshape Eurasian military balances for decades.

And that is not all. Russia emerges from the conflict with a renewed strategic horizon: the Arctic. The Northern Sea Route, increasingly navigable due to climate change, promises to become the fastest commercial corridor between Asia, North America, and Europe. At the heart of this strategic geography lies the Bering Strait, where Russia and the United States almost touch. Many analysts see in this geography the possibility of a future rapprochement—one built on shared interests and a mutual desire to limit China's rise. For Russia, loosening dependence on China would be a strategic gain; for the United States, disrupting the Sino-Russian partnership would be a geopolitical coup.

If such an alignment were to emerge, Europe could become the great loser. Without an autonomous foreign policy, without integrated defense capabilities, and with the Mediterranean growing less central, the continent risks becoming a spectator to global power shifts. The United States would secure access to Ukrainian resources and a more cooperative Russia; Moscow would gain stability and economic openings; China would lose a vital partner. And Europe? Europe would be left in the middle—neither strong enough to shape events, nor united enough to resist them.

The brutal realism expressed by Vance and embodied by Trump is more than a change in tone; it is the signal that an entire geopolitical season is ending. The era in which the West supported Ukraine under the banner of moral principles is giving way to one in which the raw interests of great powers take precedence. Ukraine, whether it wishes to or not, may find itself pressured to accept a settlement shaped elsewhere. And in the emerging world order, Europe may discover—perhaps too late—that it no longer holds the role it once believed it had.

Marco Baratto

the United States remains the only power capable of resolving European conflicts — as it did in 1917, in 1945, and throughout the Cold War.

The debate surrounding a possible plan to end the war between Russia and Ukraine has brought back into focus a fundamental truth of European geopolitics: whenever the continent falls into crisis, it is Washington that ultimately has to step in.
For this reason, the proposal can be described not just as an American success, but as a historical one. It is yet another confirmation of the United States' role as the key arbiter of European order.

From World War I to World War II, and all through the Cold War, the United States intervened whenever European powers were unable to contain their own conflicts. The discussion around the Ukraine plan fits into this long-standing pattern: Europe benefits from American stability, but remains unable to generate it on its own.

According to this interpretation, the plan mirrors the traditional U.S. diplomatic approach:
– it reaffirms Ukraine's sovereignty,
– introduces a non-aggression framework (also in favor of European states),
– clarifies the status of disputed territories,
– and places economic and security guarantees under direct American supervision.

This structure echoes the U.S. strategic model of the 20th century: a rules-based international order, deterrence, and the ability to enforce — and apply — sanctions.

Once again, the European Union appears as a strong economic actor but a geopolitically incomplete one. The war at its borders has exposed familiar limitations: the lack of unified military leadership, insufficient diplomatic leverage, and an inability to negotiate independently with a major power like Russia.
Into this vacuum, the United States naturally re-enters as the central decision-maker.

The most delicate part of the plan — the status of Crimea, Donetsk, and Luhansk — can be interpreted as strategic realism. It starts from the situation on the ground but embeds it within a rigid deterrence framework: automatic sanctions, economic pressure, and continuous monitoring.
This is an approach the United States has used before in various contexts, from postwar Europe to managing relations with the Soviet Union and later China.

Ukraine's neutrality, as envisioned in the plan, would not mean isolation. Instead, it would position Ukraine inside a U.S.-led security perimeter parallel to NATO. Reconstruction financed by frozen Russian assets and European contributions would anchor Ukraine firmly in the Western sphere, with Washington acting as the primary guarantor.

The proposal to gradually reintegrate Russia into the global economy — contingent upon compliance with strict rules — reflects the broader American strategy of "conditional stability": economic incentives tied to restraint and the cessation of hostilities.

The creation of a U.S.-led Peace Council is arguably the most significant component. It formalizes what history has repeatedly shown: without Washington, Europe struggles to build a credible security framework. It also signals the decline of the United Nations–based order, which no longer reflects geopolitical realities.

For this reason, the plan is less a personal triumph for Trump than the continuation of a long historical pattern:

Its significance, beyond questions of feasibility, lies precisely in this: it reaffirms that European stability still depends on America's ability to negotiate, guarantee, and — when necessary — intervene.

Europeans have yet to fully realize that 250 years ago what was born was not merely a nation, but an idea: the United States of America.
Not just a new country — but a new global concept, one that continues to shape the security architecture of the Western world.

Marco Baratto

বাংলা থেকে ইতালি: ইতিহাসের প্রত্যাবর্তন। মেহেদী এবং রাষ্ট্রের নতুন দাসরা কেন আমাদের একটি প্রাচীন ঋণের কথা মনে করিয়ে দেয়।

মেহেদি—আসল নাম মেহেদিহাসান নূর—শীঘ্রই ইতালীয় পুলিশের পোশাক পরবেন—এই খবরটি সংবাদমাধ্যমের শিরোনামে এসেছে। এবং, অনুমান করা যায়, এটি অবিশ্বাস এবং বর্ণবাদে নিমজ্জিত প্রতিক্রিয়ার জন্ম দিয়েছে। তবুও, এই ব্যক্তিগত গল্পের পিছনে, মেহেদির তরুণ মুখের পিছনে এবং একই পথে চলা অনেক বাংলাদেশী তরুণের পিছনে, একটি গভীর ঐতিহাসিক সত্য লুকিয়ে আছে, যা আমরাও প্রায়শই উপেক্ষা করি: একসময় ইতালি তার দাদা-দাদীর কাছে তার স্বাধীনতার ঋণী।

১৯৪৪ সালের ইতালীয় অভিযানের সময়, যখন আমাদের দেশ ধ্বংসস্তূপে পড়েছিল এবং নাৎসি দখলদারিত্বের দ্বারা নিপীড়িত ছিল, তখন ব্রিটিশ ভারতীয় সেনাবাহিনীতে তালিকাভুক্ত হাজার হাজার জাতিগত বাঙালি সৈন্য সেই ভূমিকে মুক্ত করার জন্য লড়াই করেছিল যা আজ কেউ কেউ তাদের নাতি-নাতনিদের "অন্তর্ভুক্ত" বলে অভিযোগ করে। তবে ইতিহাস ভিন্ন গল্প বলে। ১৯৪৩ থেকে ১৯৪৫ সালের মধ্যে, চতুর্থ, অষ্টম এবং দশম পদাতিক ডিভিশনের ৫০,০০০ এরও বেশি ভারতীয় সৈন্য ইতালীয় মাটিতে যুদ্ধ করেছিল। তারা ব্রিটিশ ভারতের প্রতিটি অঞ্চলের পুরুষ ছিল: পাঞ্জাব, রাজপুতানা, উত্তরপ্রদেশ, তামিলনাড়ু, আসাম... এবং হ্যাঁ, এমনকি বাংলাও, যে অঞ্চল থেকে আজকের অনেক নতুন ইতালীয় নাগরিক এসেছেন।

তাদের অবদান তুচ্ছ ছিল না। ১৯৪৪ সালের প্রথম দিকে, যখন মিত্রবাহিনী গুস্তাভ লাইনের শক্তিশালী জার্মান প্রতিরক্ষা ভেঙে ফেলার চেষ্টা করছিল, তখন ভারতীয় ডিভিশনগুলি সাহসের সাথে লড়াই করেছিল যা অনেক পশ্চিমা কমান্ডারকে বাকরুদ্ধ করে দিয়েছিল। ইতালীয় শহীদের প্রতীক মন্টে ক্যাসিনোও তাদের রোমের দিকে অগ্রসর হওয়ার পথ প্রশস্তকারী আক্রমণের নায়কদের মধ্যে দেখেছিলেন। এবং ১৯৪৪ সালের জুনে রোম মুক্ত হওয়ার পর, তারা আর বিশ্রাম দেখতে পাননি: তারা উত্তর দিকে অগ্রসর হয়ে ট্রাসিমেনো লাইন ধরে, আমব্রিয়ান এবং টাস্কান পাহাড়ে, টাস্কান-এমিলিয়ান অ্যাপেনিনেস পর্যন্ত লড়াই করে, যেখানে গথিক লাইন শেষ মহান নাৎসি প্রতিরক্ষার প্রতিনিধিত্ব করে। সেই পাহাড়গুলিতে, বৃষ্টি, তুষার এবং প্রতিকূল ভূখণ্ডের মধ্যে, হাজার হাজার ভারতীয় সৈন্য - যার মধ্যে অনেক বাংলাদেশীও ছিল - প্রাণ হারায়।

"বেঙ্গল স্যাপারস অ্যান্ড মাইনার্স"-এর মতো বিশেষায়িত ইউনিটগুলিতে বাঙালিদের উপস্থিতি বিশেষভাবে শক্তিশালী ছিল, যারা সেতু নির্মাণ, মাইন পরিষ্কার এবং মিত্রবাহিনীর অগ্রগতির জন্য প্রয়োজনীয় পথ খোলার দায়িত্বে নিয়োজিত ছিলেন। আরও অনেকে পাইওনিয়ার কর্পসে কাজ করেছিলেন, রসদ, সরবরাহ এবং উপকরণ পরিবহন পরিচালনা করেছিলেন - এমন কাজ যা ইতিহাসের পাতায় শেষ হয় না, কিন্তু যুদ্ধক্ষেত্রে কোনও বিজয় সম্ভব করেছিল। তাদের বীরত্ব এমন ছিল যে, ইতালীয় অভিযানের সময়, বিশটি ভিক্টোরিয়া ক্রসের মধ্যে ছয়টি - ব্রিটেনের সর্বোচ্চ সামরিক সম্মান - ভারতীয় সৈন্যদের দেওয়া হয়েছিল। অন্য কোনও বাহিনী এতটা অর্জন করতে পারেনি।

আজ, ইতালি জুড়ে ৪০টি কমনওয়েলথ যুদ্ধ সমাধিক্ষেত্রে সেই আত্মত্যাগ স্মরণ করা হয়, যেখানে ৫,৭০০ জনেরও বেশি ভারতীয় সৈন্য সমাধিস্থ হয়। বিশ বছর বয়সী এই সৈন্যরা এমন এক ভূমিতে প্রাণ দিয়েছিলেন যা তারা কখনও দেখেননি, এমন এক মানুষকে মুক্ত করার জন্য যা তারা কখনও চেনেননি। ২০২৩ সালে, পেরুগিয়া প্রদেশের মন্টোনে, ভিক্টোরিয়া ক্রস প্রাপ্তদের মধ্যে একজন নায়েক যশবন্ত ঘাডগেকে উৎসর্গ করে একটি স্মৃতিস্তম্ভ উদ্বোধন করা হয়েছিল। একটি ছোট অনুষ্ঠান, কিন্তু বিশাল অর্থ বহন করে: এটি একটি স্মরণ করিয়ে দেয় যে ইতালীয় স্বাধীনতাও দূর থেকে আসা পুরুষদের জন্য ধন্যবাদ।

এই কারণেই মেহেদীর গল্প কাউকে অবাক করার কথা নয়। যখন একজন তরুণ বাংলাদেশী পুরুষ ইতালীয় প্রজাতন্ত্রে ক্যারাবিনিয়ের বা পুলিশ হিসেবে কাজ করার সিদ্ধান্ত নেয়, তখন সে বিচ্ছিন্নতার ইঙ্গিত দেয় না, বরং ধারাবাহিকতার ইঙ্গিত দেয়। সে তাদের পদাঙ্ক অনুসরণ করে যারা দূর থেকে এসে ইতালির ভবিষ্যৎ এবং মর্যাদা পুনরুদ্ধারের জন্য লড়াই করার সিদ্ধান্ত নিয়েছিল। ইতিহাস ফিরে আসে: বাংলাদেশী পুরুষরা যারা ইতালিকে রক্ষা করে। প্রথম '৪৪ সালের পরিখায়, আজ আমাদের শহরগুলিতে।

মার্কো বারাত্তো