Antonio Navalón
For those who believe that there is no more room for surprises in today’s world, just close your eyes and imagine a double scene: on one side, Pope Leo XIV, from the balcony of St. Peter’s, pronouncing his first blessing Urbi et Orbi and calling for universal peace. On the other side, the imposing military parade in Moscow commemorating the end of World War II, the famous “Victory Day,” with the narrative of an essentially Russian—or Soviet—victory over Nazism. A parade that also sought to commemorate the more than 27 million Soviet soldiers who died, and which was attended by leaders such as Xi Jinping and Lula da Silva, giving an image of unity to that front that continues to make it clear to Trump that he is not alone.
Military parades, by definition, are designed and used to intimidate and send a message of power. But this time, as missiles crossed the skies of the Middle East and trenches remained active between Russia and Ukraine, in the Red Square—from the very spot where Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin once contemplated Soviet power—Vladimir Putin boasted an arms display rarely seen in recent times.
Simultaneously, Zelensky commemorated the fallen Ukrainians alongside President Macron and the British Prime Minister in Kyiv. They paid tribute to the victims of a war that still echoes in the shared history of almost the entire European continent.
And what does all this mean?
For me, it implies an inevitable reflection: for the first time, a man born in the very heart of a declining but still dominant empire—the United States—has become pope. Leo XIV’s election represents a historic turning point comparable to Karol Wojtyla’s in 1978, when he became Pope John Paul II.
At that time, although we did not know it – and we must not forget that regimes always refuse to accept their decline – the communist bloc was already in its death throes. The Polish pope, a member of that socialist world, albeit circumstantially, was the final trigger for its collapse. From Gdansk, through the Solidarity trade union, he lit the fuse that would blow up the Berlin Wall and with it the order that had emerged after the Yalta Conference, that strange alliance between two democracies and a dictatorship to reorganize Europe after the war.
John Paul II and Leon XIV symbolize, each in their own way and time, the end of an imperial era. The former had the task of putting an end to European communism. The latter now has the task of placing a heart—and a Spanish tongue—into the long agony of the American empire and seeking to contain the multiple bloodshed that is taking place simultaneously in different parts of the world.
Empires, like cycles, tend to come to an end. And it is deeply revealing that, today, for the first time since Mao and Stalin, the leaders of Russia and China are looking in the same direction. Although they have different interests, they are consolidating a non-Western world model with missiles, treaties, energy alliances, and alternative currencies.
Meanwhile, in St. Peter’s Square, a papal mass was celebrated in English—for the first time in history—with a pope who will have the extraordinary task of representing a Church that is also trying to build bridges, redefine its role, and perhaps prevent the ongoing geopolitical reconfiguration from ending in total war.
History has taught me something terrifying and straightforward: when there is a war industry, there is usually war. And if we did not understand this when Eisenhower warned us about the “military-industrial complex” in 1960, as he handed over power to John F. Kennedy, we should understand it now. Today, Europe is rearming with an additional budget of €800 billion—outside the official budget and adding to the already alarming European debt—with Germany, always Germany, as the main driver of the continent’s industrial-military renaissance.
Is it any wonder, then, that Putin is organizing this missile parade? Is it any wonder that he was accompanied by Xi Jinping and—even more significantly—Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, leader of a subcontinent that does not speak English but is also part of the global chessboard?
These are the facts that matter, not those that fill the headlines every day, but those that will shape our destiny for decades to come, represented by the definition of leadership and global configuration.
We do not know what will happen in five years. Human intelligence is becoming increasingly scarce, while artificial intelligence is multiplying. But one thing is sure: whatever happens, dear reader, will occur within the margins of this new reality.
On one side of the ring, two dictatorships and a democracy define the new architecture of global power. And facing them, only one big question remains.
Which India will join the war of empires?
Will it be democratic India, heir to the British parliamentary tradition, the English, and the postal system left behind by colonialism? Or will it be the India of Narendra Modi, who wants his country to stop calling itself “India,” regain its original name, and renounce the reference derived from the Indus River, which Alexander the Great named?
As a curious fact, it should not be forgotten that India is named after Alexander the Great. And Modi represents a nation that has not forgotten that the West passed through there, but failed to eradicate its caste system, its hundreds of dialects, or its ancient network of gods.
The world changes, and empires transform or collapse. But history, with its relentless logic, always finds a way to repeat itself.
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