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Monday, May 18, 2026

Reflections on Boaventura de Sousa Santos’ “Moments of Bifurcation”

Source: Originally published by Z. Feel free to share widely.

Since 9/11/2001 – when a 19 person volunteer unit from the Middle East, armed with a few box-cutters, forced the US public to watch a lifelong repeating loop of slow motion demolition – we have been busily attempting to bomb much of humanity into permanent submission. Somewhere, deep in the reptilian brain of our collective muse, we vaguely understand that few passions on earth eclipse the global hatred of the US. People around the world see what most of us cannot – the arrogant materialism, the eavesdropping intrusions into far away political movements, the installation of puppet proxies at gunpoint, the hair trigger wars and the military bases that spring up up like invasive choke-weeds across every continent. US international crimes play a masterful game of hide and seek with our muted conscience. Any normal, morally intact human being, someone with both a brain and a soul, would have viewed the 9/11 attacks as a moment crying for a national inventory. But no normal person can ever become president of these United States. No less a proponent of vapid slobber than George W, Bush summed it up like this:

“America was targeted for attack because we’re the brightest beacon for freedom and opportunity in the world.”

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That may have been the mother of all missed opportunities – George W. Bush, fated to be offered a historic chance to look deeply inward, jumped on the moment with one more insipid platitude. There were vastly brighter minds that saw 9/11 all too clearly – like Hunter S. Thompson who had this to say about 9/11 on 9/12:

“Nothing – even George Bush’s $350 billion “Star Wars” missile defense system – could have prevented Tuesday’s attack, and it cost next to nothing to pull it off. Fewer than 20 unarmed Suicide soldiers from some apparently primitive country somewhere on the other side of the world took out the World Trade Center and half the Pentagon with three quick and costless strikes on one day. The efficiency was terrifying.

We are going to punish somebody for this attack, but just who or what will be blown to smithereens for it is hard to say. Maybe Afghanistan, maybe Pakistan or Iraq, or possibly all three at once. Who knows? Not even the Generals in what remains of the Pentagon or the New York papers calling for WAR seem to know who did it or where to look for them.

This is going to be a very expensive war, and Victory is not guaranteed — for anyone, and certainly not for anyone as baffled as George W. Bush. All he knows is that his father started the war a long time ago, and that he, the goofy child-President, has been chosen by Fate and the global Oil industry to finish it Now. He will declare a National Security Emergency and clamp down Hard on Everybody, no matter where they live or why. If the guilty won’t hold up their hands and confess, he and the Generals will ferret them out by force.

Good luck. He is in for a profoundly difficult job — armed as he is with no credible Military Intelligence, no witnesses and only the ghost of Bin Laden to blame for the tragedy.”

As the endless and ongoing US wars in the Middle East continue, we should appreciate that Hunter Thompson seemingly had a pair of eyes sending messages from decades into the future – “We are At War now — with somebody — and we will stay At War with that mysterious Enemy for the rest of our lives,” Thompson prophesized with the casual air of a surgeon examining an X-rayed fracture.

In retrospect, it may be determined that our mysterious enemy – both then and now – is an internal construct of our own making. Colonialism creates its necessary demons – the inferior, immoral people (savages, in 15th century parlance) to be invented first and plundered later as a matter of principle. The colonial narrative (with its insatiable racism) also creates the very enemies that originate as fantasies – the victims of war and exploitation that, like the 9/11 attackers, channel their pain toward revenge.

If there is a fatal flaw in the US mindset – I am not merely talking about the politicians and corporatists, human shells that, by definition, have no capacity to think, but can only surge toward power and profit like a tree branch growing toward the sun – it is a flagrant inability to see our country for what it is. We not only fall short of being a “beacon of freedom and opportunity” we are the antithesis to human rights and equality – a nation continuously inspired to support dictators, to quash liberation movements and to murder civilians by the millions with a trillion dollar bombing industry.

Hunter Thompson proved that one did not need hindsight to comprehend 9/11 – that event revealed two truths that lend clarity to our disastrous war in Iran: the US is hated by the world’s poorest people, and no amount of vicious military destruction can save us from retribution. Box cutters, then, and cheap Iranian missiles, now, reach a lethal threshold when combined with the inevitable disgust that US colonialism inspires. And, as Hunter Thompson clearly saw on 11/12, the US military has been destined to play an unending game of whack-a-mole against the nations that despise America – almost the whole world but especially the poorest, most exploited, most plundered and most bombed – those whom Frantz Fanon called “The Wretched of the Earth.”

Now it is Iran’s turn to endure the venom of US malice, but Iran, unlike the victorious Vietnamese Army, unlike the 9/11 “terrorists,” has gained entrance into the complex economic structures of US markets. The Iranian stranglehold on the Strait of Hormuz gives that regime the capability to significantly dismantle the financial mechanisms of US Imperialism. As Thompson observed on 9/12, people with nothing in the way of military technology can commit violent acts with “terrifying efficiency.” Now, in 2026, we again learn that even the most astronomical military budget pales before the resolve of the aggrieved victims of the colonial empire. Critically, the Iranian assault on US capitalism has become a virtuosic performance simultaneously played for both the US citizenry and the global audience. One drives to the pumps and reads $4.50 a gallon, with a new-found reverence for Iran.

The lesson is clearer now than it was a quarter of a century ago. The US has become increasing recognized as a rogue state, a serial violator of international law. The Trump/MAGA regime has applied the brutal, lawless assault, previously reserved for colonial subjects, to populations at home. Police violence has always been a feature of inner city intimidation, but now the threat of lethal violence permeates the nightmares of all who oppose the fascist state. The fate of Renée Good and Alex Pretti played out on nightly news. Those victimized in the imperial core, and the plundered targets of the US Empire have suddenly begun to exchange knowing glances across international boundaries.

Has 9/11 come home to roost? We have replaced the “goofy child-president” with a soulless, senile, somnolent husk, eager to scour the earth for bombing targets on a planet where hatred of America is as rare as salt in the ocean.

Was 9/11 a moment of bifurcation? The Portuguese sociologist, Boaventura de Sousa Santos, describes bifurcation as follows:

“In the scientific field, the term “bifurcation” was first used by Henri Poincaré, but in the second half of the 20th century, the concept and theory of bifurcation came to be associated with the chemist and Nobel laureate Ilya Prigogine. Prigogine’s theory of bifurcation is based on the following ideas: the fundamental indeterminacy of reality and the consequent insistence on not considering chance, chaos, and disorder as pure negativity, outside the scientific realm; complex systems create forms of self-organization that produce unpredictable changes and transitions (dissipative structures); in situations out of equilibrium (entropy, second law of thermodynamics), disorder prevails over order, and systems can enter moments of bifurcation in which small changes can produce enormous and unpredictable consequences.”

I should mention briefly that bifurcation theory is a complex branch of mathematics, and that when social sciences borrow from the physical sciences, the intent is to apply the broad contours of that science as a form of descriptive metaphor. There are no precise equations to quantify social changes as there are to examine changes in laser dynamics.

de Sousa Santos illustrates his conceptual framework with the historical conditions in the early 15th century and the battle over the Strait of Ceuta (Gibraltar) – a conflict that seemed local and limited at the time, but that acted as a spring-loaded historical mechanism to power the forces of Western Capitalism, and to weaken the Islamic hold on world affairs. He compellingly links the long ago shift in power dynamics pivoting around the trade route choked at the Strait of Ceuta, and the current battle for Hormuz. In the 15th century the Portuguese capture of Ceuta became the lynchpin for a cascading series of events elevating Capitalism, modern science and Christianity as the essential scaffolding of ascending “Western Civilization.” In bifurcation theory, momentary chaos creates the conditions in which seemingly minor events have vast and lasting historical sequelae.

If the conditions in early 15th century Europe represent the concept of bifurcation now witnessed in contemporary global relations, there is an important difference – the power of decision making in late medieval Europe rested solely in the hands of Kings, the nobility and the wealthy merchant class. Some 50,000 Portuguese and mercenary soldiers attacked Cueta in 1415, and these masses were allowed to plunder the sacked city – the disciplined loyalty of the professional soldiers (supplemented by the ordinary conscripted citizenry) linked to Church influence and shared spoils. Ironically, the 2026 “sacking of Caracas” allowed no shared spoils – the conquered wealth will go entirely to Trump and his oil industry donors. However, the Trump regime can be dismantled by the masses, either through elections (which may be corrupted or suspended) or by massive civil resistance. King John 1 of Portugal ruled for 48 years and needed no mandate from the common people. If the 1415 beginning of the age of empire represents bifurcation as a metaphor for our current “moment,” if Cueta is seen as a metaphor for Hormuz, the center of agency now resides primarily within the working class. One similarity and one difference link the medieval Portuguese peasantry and the exploited classes in the contemporary US – both endure(d) hard times under the whims of ruling authorities, but the working class and poor victims of US fascism have the capability of destroying the brutal regime.

de Sousa Santos notes that moments of bifurcation have no clear outcome when viewed from the initial point where vulnerable systems give way to temporary chaos. Referencing Immanuel Wallerstein, he states that our current bifurcation could resolve into, “something more authoritarian and hierarchical or more democratic and egalitarian.”

If 9/11 was not quite a “moment of bifurcation” perhaps we can imagine it as a foreshock, a harbinger of our dislocated world in 2026. In 2001, the 9/11 attacks seemed to be an aberration, a challenge to US hegemony met by a tightening of the security state and a public display of US military rage. Post 9/11 there were minor stirrings in US politics, a rejection of Bush style Republicanism in favor of Obama – more a reaction to the crash of 2008 than a movement against US militarism and the growing security state. Even in 2008, popular support for the War in Afghanistan stood at 50% (down from 90% in 2001). The 9/11 attacks increased George W Bush’s popularity, and while Hunter Thompson’s visionary understanding that Bush would plunge the nation into a lifetime of mindless war would resonate with a small number of people on the left, there was no popular groundswell against US militarism. But clearly, 9/11 set the stage for US collapse, colonial overreach and unchecked militarism. One might reasonably predict that the War in Iran will become the final post 9/11 war, the final collapse of a process set in motion by the clueless “child-president,” George Bush.

While the 9/11 attacks exposed US vulnerability, the US military never has experienced the sort of public castration that Iran has just performed before the eyes of global scrutiny. After 9/11, the popular narrative attributed the attacks to nothing more than lax airport security – a problem solved by X-rayed baggage and stringent rules regarding carry-on luggage. Hatred of Islamic people increased to the point where most of the public was primed to cheerlead for a war against any Islamic country. Few public figures viewed 9/11 as being a moment for introspection, and few questioned why people from the Middle East had such hardened urgency to improvise violence against US targets. Now, the public sees the Iran War as a sort of last straw, an act of needless military aggression that will simultaneously crash the US economy and shatter the myth of an invincible war machine. In a sudden instant, even the former jingoists have had a reckoning. Neocon pundit, Robert Kagan recently wrote in The Atlantic:

“Defeat in the present confrontation with Iran will be of an entirely different character. It can neither be repaired nor ignored. There will be no return to the status quo ante, no ultimate American triumph that will undo or overcome the harm done.”

de Sousa Santos does not dwell on the connection between “bifurcation” and political movements, and one can mistakenly imagine that he sees history as an unpredictable succession of mechanistic events. However, he poetically alludes to the possibility that the US bungled adventure in Iran might inspire an unprecedented class revolt:

“A new political conflict between the politics of life and the politics of death, replacing the modern conflict between left and right? The revolution of the sub-humans and sub-proletarians of the cyber-automated world, led by repentant insiders who know better than anyone the vulnerabilities of a power that presents itself as invulnerable.”

This moment of bifurcation (as I understand it) makes pointed demands on activists to understand the historical opportunity. Although unstated in de Sousa Santos piece, the connection between US militarism gone awry and homegrown suffering has never been clearer. As Trump dismantles the safety net in favor of gargantuan armaments spending, as ill-conceived adventures backfire with exploding prices, as missile launches burn oil fields and send raging plumes of CO2 infested smoke into a dying biosphere, the moment of bifurcation cannot be overlooked or outsourced to chance. The Portuguese ruling elites may not have sacked the city of Ceuta with historical pretensions, but they seized an opportunity with organized intent.

The Portuguese victory at Ceuta unleashed centuries of terror – the beginning of the African Slave trade, the age of empire and the genocide of indigenous people in the “New World” – a protracted period of brutality and slaughter that may never be equaled. When we talk of our current “bifurcation” the narrative analogy might be an exact negative of the early 15th century, with class roles flipped upside down, and the former victims – like Iran – manifesting unprecedented power and agency.

Moments of bifurcation demand a human response. Events will not take care of themselves. The moment of bifurcation that de Sousa Santos described in 15th century Portugal may be seen as a bookend to our chaotic moment. Imperialism arose from chaos and now collapses in chaos. The dominance of the West may have begun at the expense of Islamic cultures, but now it is Iran that threatens to bring the colonial era to a final resolution. We cannot, as de Sousa Santos tells us, know how this will play out. If small things can now create great consequences, we, the seemingly disempowered, politically disorganized residents of the Imperial Core, have a short window of opportunity.

Phil Wilson writes at Nobody’s Voice.Email

Phil Wilson is a retired mental health worker and union member. His writing has been published in ZNetwork.org, Current Affairs, Counterpunch, Resilience, Mother Pelican, Common Dreams, The Hampshire Gazette, The Common Ground Review, The Future Fire and other publications. Phil's writings are posted regularly at Nobody's Voice (https://philmeow.substack.com/).

Wednesday, May 13, 2026

Bolivia’s Social Movements Mobilize Against Privatization

Source: Jacobin

“For a colonized people the most essential value, because the most concrete, is first and foremost the land,” Frantz Fanon wrote in The Wretched of the Earth: “the land which will bring them bread and, above all, dignity.”

Marching for over twenty days from the tropics into freezing high-altitude terrain, many wearing nothing more substantial on their feet than plastic sandals, land workers and indigenous representatives arrived in the capital of La Paz this week to defend their territories. They were met by the miners’ union, the Federación Sindical de Trabajadores Mineros de Bolivia (FSTMB), and highland representatives from the peasant union, the Confederación Sindical Única de Trabajadores Campesinos de Bolivia (CSUTCB), in a loud welcome rally of solidarity on Monday.

“With valor, with courage, we have arrived here sisters, arriba las mujeres!” declared Miriam Palomeque, the head of the federation of women peasants in Beni, at the rally.

The marchers are from northern Amazonian territories of Beni and Pando and are protesting the new Law 1720, which will transform land rights in Bolivia and could herald the end of the plurinational model of land distribution that safeguards indigenous and peasant land holdings.

The march has been grueling. Many marchers suffered from dehydration and exhaustion; at least fifty indigenous marchers from the delegation of the Central of Ethnic Mojeño Peoples of Beni (CPMB) required medical treatment last week.

At a public meeting in La Paz this week, representative of the marchers and peasant union leader Oscar Cardozo declared, “Our life is collective, not individual. The land must be respected; it’s not for sale.”

Meanwhile, social unrest is rising in Bolivia. Road blockades have convulsed the country as social movements protest Law 1720, with the Central Obrera Boliviana (COB) and the CSUTCB this week declaring an indefinite strike until President Rodrigo Paz resigns. On Wednesday, representatives of ten of the country’s umbrella organizations signed an interinstitutional “Agreement of Unity and Loyalty” stating their aim to bring down the government.

Law 1720: Privatization Through the Back Door?

Law 1720 is the latest in a long-standing tendency in Bolivia toward the intensification of land inequalities with a view to benefiting large-scale agribusiness. Law 1720 supposedly benefits small-scale farmers by enabling them to convert their smallholdings into “medium-size” businesses and therefore to obtain mortgages. But in reality, Law 1720 sets a precedent for the encroachment on territories and communities by corporate interests.

The march is spearheaded by peasant organizations in Bolivia’s Pando and Beni departments. On the front line of the expanding agrarian frontier in the Amazon, these communities are more vulnerable to the growing reach of transnational agribusiness in this biodiverse region. “We have to protect our natural resources,” declared Pando CSUTCB leader Faifer Cuajera at the rally this week.

Roger Adan Chambi, an Aymara lawyer and specialist in indigenous land law, told Jacobin:

From the very beginning of Paz’s administration, his position was one of alliance with agribusiness, neglecting the popular sectors that had supported his rise to the presidency. Consistent with this capitulation, the government passed Law 1720 without consulting the sectors it was supposed to benefit (peasants and small producers), jeopardizing legal security and constitutional guarantees regarding land ownership.

“Far from being an opportunity for small producers to access credit, this law weakens the property rights of peasants and indigenous communities, especially those resisting on the agricultural frontier,” Chambi added. “Structural insecurity and the lack of basic services will, in the future, force them to mortgage or sell their plots, facilitating dispossession and the transfer of land to corporations.”

In the past decade, the Bolivian economy has virtually collapsed in the absence of rents from hydrocarbons and the failed promise of lithium. Law 1720 suggests that agrarian extractivism is the government’s preferred way out of this structural crisis and will be complemented by the broader package of extractive policies being adopted by the government, including gas extraction in the national reserve of Tariquía.

The law underscores intensifying land inequalities in Bolivia that are pushing indigenous communities to the brink. Many big landowners in the east received large titles of land as political favors — such as the oligarch Branko Marinković, who was awarded thirty-three thousand hectares of land under Jeanine Áñez’s short-lived dictatorship in 2020. Marinković, who is a senator for the department of Santa Cruz, is one of the proponents of the law. It was passed without any consultation with grassroots organizations or the communities in question, in violation of Article 30 of the Political Constitution of the State. As one of the marchers declared at the public meeting on Tuesday, “The people are not consulted, [and so] the people rise up!”

Wilfredo Plata, a researcher at the organization Fundación Tierra, told Jacobin, “The impact will be a more acute land market, especially in the lowlands of the east, where the growth of large landholdings, at the expense of smallholdings transformed into medium-sized properties, could be enormous.” He continued:

This law is based on linking credit to land for small landowners, who are mostly located in the Altiplano (highland) and valleys region. Rather, if the goal is to incentivize small-scale agriculture, the state should complement programs that provide more effective access to credit, but without making it conditional on land ownership. An alternative model could be precisely to promote a revitalized agriculture by giving peasant producers in the Altiplano and valleys the role of producing pharmaceutical-grade food.

Small subsistence farms are the foundation of indigenous and peasant life in rural Bolivia, providing food for local communities and cultivating the land in ways more ecologically enriching than large-scale farming, which makes extensive use of pesticides and monoculture practices. Furthermore, as peasant leader Oscar Cardozo pointed out, small-scale farms are intimately tied to indigenous visions of the cosmos and ways of life in which the natural world and agrarian cycles feature prominently.

Attempts by agribusiness to circumvent laws aimed at protecting small indigenous and peasant producers are nothing new. A notable tactic employed by large landowners is to manipulate agrarian records to state that the land is a smallholding owned by a small-scale “front person,” when in fact, it has been subdivided into plots and is owned by one large landowner. Moreover, much of this land has been acquired over several years without due process, such as during the dictatorship of Áñez. In other words, indigenous and peasant smallholders will likely lose out as Law 1720 will enable agribusiness to consolidate its control over territory.

Indigenous movements are also mobilizing because they fear the next step could be the dissolution of Tierras Comunitarias de Origen (TCOs) or indigenous collective lands, which are communally held and cannot be individualized. They are worried that the entire plurinational framework of Bolivian land stewardship is in question. For centuries, land and territory has been at the heart of social inequalities in Latin America. In 1953, as part of the peasant- and worker-led Bolivian National Revolution, the revolutionary government implemented an agrarian reform that dissolved the haciendas of the highlands, where quasi-feudal social relations had predominated, and redistributed land to indigenous peasants. However, over the course of the late twentieth century, land inequalities in the east intensified, as major landowners amassed large properties under the dictatorships of the 1960s and ’70s. In 2006, under Evo Morales, another major agrarian reform was passed that aimed to redistribute land from large landowners to indigenous peasants, with the purpose of boosting “productive” use of land by smallholders and giving them legal titles to land. The priority of the plurinational state was therefore to shift power away from oligarchs and toward indigenous and peasant producers.

Proponents of Law 1720 say that access to commercial mortgages will help small-scale farmers, but as Fundación Tierra points out, access to credit is not the only problem facing small farmers, and obtaining credit should not be dependent on being a “medium-size” property. Plus, many small farmers lack the ability to pay mortgages, so the law could lead to higher levels of indebtedness. Wildfires, poor soil quality, access to water, and climate change are major threats to Bolivian rural life, for example, none of which are addressed by the law.

Social Movements Beyond the MAS

The march this week was an unusual sight in Bolivia, in that it represents an impressive show of force from social movements in lowland and Amazonian territories. Historically, the highlands of Bolivia have produced the more visible peasant resistance movements, with a long history of miner and peasant mobilization and highly organized social movements.

However, in 1990, the famous March for Territory and Dignity, organized by the lowland indigenous groups, catapulted indigenous Amazonian peoples into the limelight and forced the government to introduce new agrarian reforms. Could the march this week do something similar?

In recent years, Bolivia’s social movements have been paralyzed by acrimonious internal conflict, a process that began under the later years of the Movement for Socialism (MAS) as dynamics of co-optation and clientelism took hold. Movements such as the CSUTCB have been de facto split down the middle, with factions loyal to ex-President Evo Morales and those to the former President Luis Arce in bitter conflict, for example. The highland indigenous organization, the National Council of Ayllus and Markas of Qullasuyu (CONAMAQ), was noticeably absent from the rally this week, indicative of a continued disarticulation of social movements in the post-MAS era.

The CSUTCB has historically been a bastion of resistance, such as against the dictatorship of Jeanine Áñez in 2020. Earlier this year in January, the CSUTCB joined forces with the trade union federation, the Central Obrera Boliviana, which is dominated by the miners’ union, the FTMSB, to protest the neoliberal decree 5503. This decree would have removed the fuel subsidy that keeps petrol prices artificially low; it also would have introduced a wide range of measures such as allowing the central bank to approve potentially high-risk financial programs, and a fast-track process for approving extractive projects by foreign companies without legislative approval. The impressive mobilization, which forced the government to concede, led many to speculate whether social movements were entering a new period of recalibration and restructuring post-MAS. This latest mobilization by lowland indigenous and peasant movements additionally suggests new patterns of resistance are emerging.

Where Next?

To add to President Paz’s woes, Bolivia is embroiled in a protracted diesel crisis. The transport workers’ unions have repeatedly called blockades and strikes because of poor-quality diesel that is damaging vehicles. The government has failed to ensure the supply of diesel, in part due to the absence of foreign reserves in the country, which makes imports more expensive.

The CSUTCB and the COB are calling for Paz’s resignation, but the problem remains that there is little viable political alternative to the Right. The MAS does not meaningfully exist any longer, having been wiped out in the national elections last year. The municipal elections this March saw a dreary array of right-wing candidates on the ballot with little presence of left-wing or progressive sectors. Paz was elected last year in a contest against the extreme right-wing business mogul Jorge Fernando “Tuto” Quiroga and appeared to be the more palatable option for voters, winning a victory driven largely by popular sectors. But a viable progressive electoral project does not exist at this current juncture.

The protesters from the Amazon marched for life, dignity, and legal safeguards for their ancestral territories. As they join forces with other powerful social movements, it looks like progressive forces in Bolivia once more could force the right wing into retreat.

This article was originally published by Jacobin; please consider supporting the original publication, and read the original version at the link above.

The Flynn–Kabiri Axis: How Bosnia Is Sold Piece by Piece

Source: Originally published by Z. Feel free to share widely.

For an outside reader, Bosnia and Herzegovina is often formally described as a sovereign state. In practice, however, it operates within a uniquely constrained post-war framework established by the Dayton Peace Agreement, under which a powerful international authority—embodied in the Office of the High Representative—retains the ability to impose laws and dismiss elected officials. While not officially a United Nations mandate, the country functions in many respects as a form of internationally supervised territory, where sovereignty is fragmented, externally conditioned, and frequently subordinated to broader geopolitical priorities.

Expensive American Gas as “a Civilizational Value”

It is within this context that the project of Southern Gas Interconnection must be understood. Officially framed as an energy diversification project linking Bosnia to European and global gas markets, it effectively shifts the country from long-term access to relatively cheap pipeline gas—historically supplied via Russian routes—toward structurally more expensive liquefied natural gas (LNG), largely tied to Western suppliers. This transition is not merely technical: LNG imports carry significantly higher costs due to liquefaction, transport, and regasification, meaning Bosnia is being repositioned from a low-cost energy consumer to a high-cost dependent market. Yet the implications go far beyond price. The project reveals how economic restructuring, political alignment, and external influence converge, transforming energy policy into a mechanism of deeper systemic dependency rather than simple diversification.

The emerging configuration around Bosnia and Herzegovina’s Southern Gas Interconnection reveals more than an energy transition—it exposes a layered system of political brokerage in which local elites, foreign-linked business actors, and external geopolitical networks converge.

On one side stands the American-linked axis around figures such as Michael Flynn and his brother Joseph Flynn—both closely connected to the political orbit of Donald Trump, with Michael Flynn having served as Trump’s National Security Adviser and Joseph Flynn publicly associated with pro-Trump political and business initiatives—whose business and lobbying networks intersect with political actors in Republika Srpska (a highly autonomous entity within the framework of Dayton Bosnia and Herzegovina), including Milorad Dodik (former President of Republika Srpska and still the informal leader of the Bosnian Serbs). Reports suggest that these connections have not been merely symbolic, but functional—facilitating access, influence, and ultimately political concessions. The lifting of U.S. sanctions against Dodik in late 2025, after years of isolation, is widely interpreted as part of this broader realignment.

Strong Israeli Influence on Bosnian Comprador Politicians

On the other side is the Herzegovinian nexus around Amir Gross Kabiri, an Israeli businessman and head of the M.T. Abraham Group, whose Bosnian profile was built primarily through his takeover of operations at Aluminij Mostar, once one of the most important industrial plants in the country. His rise has been closely tied to cooperation with political structures linked to Dragan Čović, the long-time leader of HDZ BiH, the dominant Croat nationalist party in Bosnia and Herzegovina and one of the key power brokers in the post-Dayton political system. Within this space, Kabiri has positioned himself not only as an economic actor, but also as a political intermediary: a businessman embedded in the Herzegovinian HDZ milieu, active around strategic industry and energy, and publicly engaged in promoting Israeli state symbolism and diplomacy in Mostar.

This alignment carries a symbolic dimension that resonates deeply within Bosnia’s fractured historical memory. Segments of the Croatian political right in Bosnia and Herzegovina are frequently and rightly accused of relativizing or selectively interpreting the legacy of the World War II-era Ustaša regime. Kabiri’s close cooperation with these circles, while simultaneously presenting himself as a representative of Israeli interests, has been perceived by some observers as politically and symbolically contradictory, if not provocative.

The symbolism is especially striking in Mostar’s Croat-dominated west, a part of the city where, until very recently, streets bore the names of Ustaša officials and commanders such as Mile Budak, Jure Francetić and Rafael Boban – figures associated with the fascist Independent State of Croatia and its genocidal policies against Jews. In that same political and symbolic space, Israeli flags have repeatedly appeared as public markers of solidarity with Israel: in May 2022, the Israeli flag was projected onto several landmarks in Mostar, including the Croat cultural centre Hrvatski dom herceg Stjepan Kosača, while Dragan Čović publicly congratulated Israel on its Independence Day; in May 2023, Kosača was again illuminated in the colours of the Israeli flag for the opening of the Mostar International Economy Fair, at which Israel was the partner country. This juxtaposition – the unresolved legacy of local fascist memory on the one hand, and conspicuous pro-Israeli symbolism on the other – captures the peculiar political theatre in which Kabiri’s presence and his proximity to HDZ-linked structures have been staged.

This alignment also carries a deeper symbolic and historical dimension. Political cooperation between Milorad Dodik and structures linked to Dragan Čović—within which actors such as Amir Gross Kabiri operate—has been widely interpreted by critics as part of a pragmatic power-sharing arrangement that transcends formal ethnic divisions.

However, this pragmatism exists alongside unresolved historical tensions. Segments of the Croatian political right in Bosnia and Herzegovina have been repeatedly accused in media and academic discourse of minimizing or selectively reinterpreting the legacy of the Ustaša regime and its crimes during World War II. In this context, political cooperation with such actors—whether by omission or strategic calculation—raises sensitive questions about the treatment of historical memory, particularly regarding the mass crimes committed against Serbs, Jews, and Roma in the region.

Dodik himself has cultivated visible political links with Israeli officials and institutions in recent years. He has visited Israel multiple times, publicly expressed strong support for Israeli state policies, and sought diplomatic backing in international forums. For Dodik, this relationship has often been framed as part of a broader strategy to counter international isolation and strengthen his legitimacy abroad.

When these dynamics intersect—regional alliances marked by contested historical narratives, and external alignments with global geopolitical actors—the result is a complex symbolic field. Critics argue that such configurations risk instrumentalizing historical trauma, not through explicit denial, but through political arrangements that sideline or relativize its significance in practice.

Geopolitical Trivialization and Degradation of the Culture of Remembrance of Srebrenica

At the same time, in Sarajevo, the politics of memory have entered a highly controversial geopolitical space. The Srebrenica-Potočari Memorial Center is not simply a cemetery or a commemorative site, but a memorial institution of exceptional importance for the Bosniak people: established in 2000, it functions as Bosniak central institution for preserving the documentary, archival and moral memory of the July 1995 massacre of several thousand Bosniak men, which the Hague Tribunal has characterized as genocide, organizing the annual 11 July commemoration and combating genocide denial. Under Emir Suljagić, the Center has also sought a more international role, including cooperation with the World Jewish Congress through conferences on collective memory and Holocaust/Srebrenica remembrance.

This became politically explosive in the context of Gaza. On 23 May 2024, the UN General Assembly adopted the Srebrenica genocide remembrance resolution by 84 votes in favour, 19 against and 68 abstentions, designating 11 July as the International Day of Reflection and Commemoration of the 1995 Genocide in Srebrenica. Yet the vote took place at precisely the moment when Gaza was being pulverised. For critics, this timing gave Western governments a convenient moral stage: they could solemnly affirm “never again” through Srebrenica while continuing to arm, protect or diplomatically shield Israel as Gaza was being reduced to ruins.

The controversy escalated further after Suljagić’s reported formulation that Gaza was “not our battle,” which many critics read as a refusal to universalise the very moral principle on which Srebrenica’s global authority rests. Thus, what should have been a universal anti-genocidal memory became, in the eyes of critics, selectively mobilised: Srebrenica was elevated at the UN as a symbol of Western moral responsibility, while Gaza exposed the limits and hypocrisies of that same memory politics.

The resulting dissonance is profound. On one hand, the institutional memory of a legally recognized genocide is being embedded into global advocacy frameworks closely aligned with Israeli geopolitical narratives; on the other, Israeli officials themselves have at times relativized or avoided the genocide designation for Srebrenica—positions Suljagić has personally condemned. At the same time, his outreach has extended beyond formal cooperation with bodies such as the World Jewish Congress to include engagement with Jewish organizations and advocacy environments often associated—directly or indirectly—with networks supportive of the Israel Defense Forces and their international partners, a dimension that critics interpret as politically significant even when such links are not institutionally formalized.

This creates a structural contradiction: the memory of Srebrenica is simultaneously internationalized and politically conditioned. In the eyes of critics, this does not merely risk dilution—it transforms Srebrenica into a negotiable moral currency within global power relations, where solidarity becomes selective and memory contingent. In that sense, the statement that “Gaza is not our battle” becomes more than a personal stance: it is read as a defining symptom of a broader shift in which Bosnia and Herzegovina’s most powerful symbol of suffering is repositioned within external geopolitical alignments rather than standing as a universal ethical reference point.

Material and symbolic erosion

What unites these seemingly divergent tracks is a common outcome: Bosnia and Herzegovina’s political and economic space is increasingly shaped through external alignments mediated by local actors, rather than through autonomous institutional decision-making.

The Southern Interconnection itself illustrates the material cost of this process. By moving away from relatively cheap pipeline gas toward LNG-based supply chains, Bosnia risks locking itself into structurally higher energy prices. For an already fragile industrial base, this is not simply a technical adjustment—it is a long-term constraint. Energy-intensive sectors struggle to survive, while infrastructure and public assets—from Elektroprivreda BiH to Sarajevo International Airport—face increasing pressure to be opened to concessionary or privatization models.

Meanwhile, the decline of industrial pillars such as Zenica Steelworks (Željezara Zenica) and Lukavac Coke Plant (Koksara Lukavac), along with the chronic crisis of Railways of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (Željeznice Federacije Bosne i Hercegovine), reflects a broader pattern: the erosion of productive capacity alongside the expansion of dependency on external capital and imported energy.

In this configuration, Bosnia and Herzegovina is not merely “diversifying” its energy sources. It is being repositioned within a system where political loyalty, strategic concessions, and economic restructuring are tightly interwoven.

The result is not only economic vulnerability, but also a form of symbolic dislocation. Competing narratives of victimhood, historical memory, and international alignment are increasingly embedded in transactional political frameworks.

In such a setting, the country ceases to act as a sovereign subject and is instead reduced to a terrain of transaction—what Frantz Fanon would recognize as the hallmark of a dependent, internally fragmented periphery. Decisions over energy, infrastructure, and even the politics of memory are mediated through external networks and local intermediaries whose primary function is brokerage rather than representation. The result is not simply dependency, but a patterned displacement of agency: key choices are shaped elsewhere, while their social and economic costs are absorbed domestically.

From a Fanonian perspective, this configuration produces a dual erosion—material and symbolic. Materially, it locks the economy into higher-cost inputs and weakens the basis for industrial reproduction; symbolically, it normalizes a politics in which legitimacy is sought through alignment rather than accountability. The cumulative effect is a form of self-dispossession: a polity that negotiates from a structurally constrained position, where sovereignty is exercised intermittently, and dignity is contingent on external validation rather than sustained by autonomous institutional capacity.Email

Vuk Bačanović is a Sarajevo-based historian and a long-time journalist and editor. He is the author of numerous scholarly and journalistic articles. He generally advocates a historical-anthropological approach to the study of the past, particularly the phenomenon of ethnic identities. He is currently a doctoral candidate at the Faculty of Philosophy, University of Belgrade, and serves as an editor of the Podgorica-based political portal Žurnal.me.

Saturday, April 18, 2026

The Paris movement that planted the seeds of Algerian independence, a century on

In 1926, migrant workers in Paris formed a small political group named North African Star, the first movement to call for Algerian independence and freedom from French rule – decades before decolonisation became a reality.


Issued on: 17/04/2026 - 

Algeria’s national flag, featuring a red star, originated with the North African Star movement. AFP - FAYEZ NURELDINE

At the time the group came together, Algeria was part of France, while Morocco and Tunisia were French protectorates. Political and trade union activity was banned in the colonies, forcing activists to mobilise in mainland France instead.

North African Star was created by workers, mainly from Algeria, who had migrated to France, beginning as a mutual aid association defending social rights before gradually becoming political.

Abdelkader Hadj Ali led the organisation, alongside Messali Hadj, who would later become its central figure. Its structure followed labour movement models, with committees and cells, and it maintained close ties with Communist circles active in anti-colonial struggles.

The French Communist Party had created the Union Intercoloniale, a network bringing together activists from the colonies to demand political and social equality. Among them was Nguyen Ai Quoc – later known as Ho Chi Minh.

North African Star grew out of this environment.

“The idea was to say: since every path is closed to us in our country, we will form a first core in mainland France,” historian Alain Ruscio told RFI.

Under France’s admittedly limited democratic freedoms, trade union activity could not be fully banned – allowing North African workers to band together.

The rise of Messali Hadj

By 1927, the movement had adopted a clear political aim. Its programme, presented in Brussels, called for a struggle “all the way to independence”.

Relations with the Communist Party, however, soon became strained.

“They were in the same bed, but did not have the same dreams,” Ruscio said, with the Communists seeing colonial workers as a potential militant force.

French authorities too quickly saw the group as a threat. It was dissolved in 1929 for posing a danger to the state, and its members closely monitored.

Hadj, who had become the movement’s leading figure, spent 22 years under house arrest or in prison.

Born in 1898 in Tlemcen, he had served in the French army during the First World War and joined the Communist Party in his twenties, while remaining a practising Muslim.

“In Algeria, the idea that religious faith and Communist commitment were compatible was deeply rooted,” Ruscio said. Cell meetings would pause for prayer before resuming.

Hadj stood apart from other Algerian political currents, which focused on gaining equal rights within the French system. His aim was independence, led by Algerians themselves.

His influence first grew among migrants in France before reaching Algeria. In 1936, speaking in Algiers, he urged supporters to mobilise and make their voices heard across the Mediterranean.

Algerian Messali Hadj, leader of the MNA (Algerian National Movement) held under house arrest, gives a press conference 4 May 1962, in the courtyard of the Toutevoie castle in Gouvieux, near Chantilly, north of Paris. AFP

Building resistance in Paris


France's Popular Front government again dissolved North African Star on 26 January, 1937. Around 5,000 members were affected and several leaders, including Hadj, were arrested.

The Communist Party supported the decision, marking a clear break with the movement.

During the Second World War, Nazi Germany sought to court nationalist movements in the colonies, but Hadj refused any agreement with the Axis powers.

Although the organisation initially aimed to unite North Africa, it remained largely Algerian in character.

After its dissolution, it reformed under new names, including the Algerian People’s Party and later the Movement for the Triumph of Democratic Liberties.

But divisions emerged over armed struggle. Hadj rejected that path and warned it would lead to heavy losses and ultimately delay independence, Ruscio said.

When younger militants pushed towards armed action, Hadj warned them they were heading towards “a massacre, a bloodbath” and risked repeating the violence of May 1945 in eastern Algeria.

French authorities chose to violently repress the demonstration on 8 May 1945 in Setif, Algeria. © INA

Rival groups later took up arms, including the FLN, the National Liberation Front, leading to violent clashes. Nearly 4,000 deaths were recorded among Algerians in France during the war of independence.

A century after its creation, North African Star has largely faded from public memory – although its legacy remains visible in Algeria’s national flag, which originated with the movement.

This story was adapted from the original version in French by Anne Bernas.




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