The West on the brink of self-forgetfulness

Spring 2025 brings the West a troubling parade of paradoxes: the economy grows — but institutions tremble, technologies advance — but press freedom withers, democracies hold elections — but increasingly choose those who deny democracy itself.

In the United States, Apple shifts iPhone production to India, fleeing a tariff war, while the press freedom index drops the country to 57th place. Tesla loses Europe not so much due to competition, but because of brand toxicity — Musk is boycotted for his political views. 

In the UK, populists win elections, in Germany the AfD is officially declared an extremist party, and in France, Le Pen and Mélenchon are already rehearsing for 2027. All this unfolds against the backdrop of a blackout in Spain and reminders of forgotten history in the Netherlands.

At first glance, it’s just a collection of headlines. But taken together, they form a diagnosis. A diagnosis of a society that, no longer faced with immediate external threats, weakens its immune system, dissolves the boundaries of institutional memory, and increasingly yields to the temptation of internal conflict.

As social biologists note, during periods of external pressure, societies tend to mobilize — they become disciplined, patriotic, even nationalistic. In times of peace, tolerance, empathy, and cultural diversity flourish. But on this scale, the West appears to be undergoing a reversal: there seems to be no direct threat — and yet nationalism returns, institutions teeter, and democratic memory slips away.

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USA: Apple withdraws, the press declines, Tesla sinks

“Have you noticed,” said the interlocutor, “that freedom now depends not on the Constitution, but on logistics?”

“Or on where it’s cheaper to assemble a smartphone,” replied the author.

On May 1st, Apple announced it was moving iPhone production to India. The reason: 145% U.S. tariffs on Chinese goods. Advocates of industrial nationalism applauded — “We’re breaking free from Beijing.” But in reality, it means America no longer wants to be the world’s factory — it wants to command it remotely. The irony? That same month, Tesla loses the European market: sales in Sweden plummet by 81%. The reason? A boycott of Elon Musk’s political views — and once again, Chinese competition.

And here comes the most vital part: the United States drops to 57th place in the global press freedom ranking. Lower than Mauritius or Ghana. According to Reporters Without Borders: “The U.S. press faces growing pressure from politicians, courts, and corporate interests.” This is not an isolated failure — this is the systemic narrowing of the information funnel.

America is simultaneously battling external systems (China, global supply chains), losing moral leadership, and allowing erosion of its own foundations. It resembles not a march of power — but a retreat under the sound of fanfare.

United Kingdom: protest banned, then allowed. For now.

“They vote for protesters, then ban protest,” said the interlocutor.

“Welcome to a place where elections are not a guarantee, but a pretext,” replied the author.

In Runcorn and Helsby — two seemingly unremarkable British constituencies — a small political earthquake struck on May 2nd: the Reform UK party defeated Labour by just six votes. But in politics, even a single vote can outweigh an axiom. Especially when it’s a Brexit-born populist movement openly flirting with the far right. Nigel Farage is not a figure from the past — but from a future that arrives too soon.

Amid this — almost as an act of institutional resistance — the Court of Appeal overturned an attempt to expand police powers to limit protests. The court ruled the changes, introduced by Suella Braverman, unlawful. The institution held. For now.

And that’s the British paradox: society chooses populism, but the courts still defend civil liberties. This is not balance — it is a bifurcation point, where the old order tries to slow a slide into a darker one.

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Germany: when democracy must defend itself against the elected

“Germany always waits until the threat is obvious,” said the interlocutor.

“But in politics, obviousness arrives a generation too late,” sighed the author.

On May 2nd, 2025, the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (BfV) officially classified the AfD party as a far-right extremist organization. This is more than a label — it is a legal basis for surveillance, undercover agents, funding restrictions. But most importantly, it is a recognition: the threat is already inside.

AfD is not just an opposition party. It is a parliamentary force with millions of votes, deeply entrenched in eastern states, schools, and municipalities. The BfV’s decision is a delayed cry from the system, which for too long pretended that democracy could endure anything.

But can democracy withstand someone who rises to power through elections only to dismantle it?

On one side — institutional courage. On the other — fear of acting too early, when it would’ve been easier, but seen as “indecent.” That is the tragedy of German political correctness: it fights evil, but only after it has already felt its breath on the back of the neck.

France: Le Pen rehearses, sanctions soothe

“It seems Le Pen and Mélenchon aren’t debating whether to change the Republic, but who will do it,” noted the interlocutor.

“And neither cares what will be left afterward,” replied the author.

On May 2nd, 2025, two clear signals emerged: Marine Le Pen and Jean-Luc Mélenchon — two radical poles — begin early campaign moves for the 2027 presidential elections. One is a nationalist-populist, the other a leftist tribune. Both pose a threat to the republican center, which is dissolving before our eyes.

As the electoral machine starts to spin, the French Foreign Ministry does what the EU does best: announces its 17th package of sanctions against Russia. Minister Jean-Noël Barrot speaks of “increased pressure,” but his voice is tired and his tone lacks conviction.

Sanctions as ritual. Elections as simulation. An era in which real politics has vanished, leaving behind only symbols.

And yet this isn’t farce — it’s tragedy. Because between Le Pen and Mélenchon, the last veil of republican restraint falls. France enters the electoral cycle with no center, no consensus, and no memory, as if once again searching for a new Napoleon — even if in a skirt or holding a megaphone.

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Spain: when the lights go out, but the word remains

“The electricity was gone for a day,” said the interlocutor.

“But press freedom switched on forever,” replied the author.

At the end of April 2025, Spain and Portugal experienced their worst blackout in two decades. The exact cause remains unclear: a substation failure, cyberattack, human error? The explanations vary, but the result is the same: a nation plunged — momentarily — into technological vulnerability. A reminder that even the developed West is a fragile structure, reliant on the flip of a server switch.

And that same day, Spain reached a radically different milestone: in the Reporters Without Borders index, the country climbed to 57th place in press freedom — its best ever. By comparison, the United States also landed at 57 — but by falling.

The contrast doesn’t end there. The PMI index dropped to 48.1, signaling industrial contraction and declining activity for the fourth straight month.

And so, here is Spain’s 2025 formula: a free press, a vulnerable economy. And yet — unlike other parts of Europe — here the dominant mood is not anger, but reflection.

Netherlands: a history no one listens to

“We keep saying ‘Never again,’” said the interlocutor.

“But each year, ‘Maybe one more time’ gets louder,” replied the author.

On May 2nd, 2025, NRC published a podcast and a series of articles exploring why the lessons of World War II no longer restrain the present. Amid rising antisemitism, pressure on migrants, and everyday nationalism — this is not theory. It is an alarm bell.

That same day, an interview appeared with former Dutch ambassador to Ukraine, Robert Serry, who spoke of diplomacy as a vanishing art. He recalled Crimea, the Minsk agreements, and all the attempts to prevent what eventually became inevitable.

The Netherlands remains one of the few countries where institutional memory has not yet been overwritten by present anxiety. Where people still ask not just “for or against,” but honestly: “How did we get here?”

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Conclusion: A Mirror Without Memory

“The West used to fear its enemy,” said the interlocutor.

“Now it fears its own reflection,” replied the author.

Spring 2025 is not a storm. It’s a ripple. Wave after wave — small symptoms: Apple pulls out, Tesla declines, the press falters, AfD rises, populists win, protests are banned — then reinstated, energy flickers, memory fades. Nothing is catastrophic — but everything is uneasy.

And so we seem to be reaching a threshold condition, where Western democracies are losing their sense of self. They still know how to pass laws, hold elections, publish rankings. But self-preservation, institutional memory, and moral discipline are eroding.

Social models of mobilization have long described this mechanism:

— under external threat, societies unify: collectivism, rigidity, even nationalism intensify;

— without threat, they relax: tolerance grows, diversity flourishes — but resilience to internal fracture weakens.

Now, the pattern is reversed: the threat is internal, but it’s called “opposition,” “the market,” or “a democratic choice.”

Reflection exists, but reaction is deferred.

And if Europe and America truly stand at a boundary, it’s not a border with an external enemy.

It is the boundary of self-oblivion.

Where freedom is no longer a value, but a habit.

Where an institution is no longer a refuge, but an obstacle.

Where “Never again” becomes “Not just yet.”