I recently watched The Wizard of the Kremlin, the film adaptation of Giuliano da Empoli’s acclaimed novel about the rise of Vladimir Putin. What makes the story fascinating is not merely Putin himself, but the role played by political strategists, media operators and opinion shapers in transforming a largely unknown former intelligence officer into the leader of Russia. The film is a reminder that political power is rarely built through facts alone. It is often built through narratives, repetition and the ability to shape public perception.
Watching the film prompted a broader question. How different is modern Europe from the environment portrayed in the story? Europe rightly prides itself on having a free press, competitive elections and democratic institutions. Yet democratic systems are not immune to the influence of dominant narratives. Political actors still attempt to shape public opinion, and media outlets still decide which facts deserve attention and which are relegated to the margins.
A current example can be found in the debate surrounding the war with Iran. Across much of Europe, public discussion often moves quickly from facts to opinions. The prevailing opinion frequently presented is that the conflict demonstrates the decline of American power, the failure of U.S. foreign policy and the strategic overreach of Israel. Citizens are repeatedly told that the United States is losing influence and that the conflict proves the emergence of a post-American world order.
That is an opinion. It is not a fact.
The facts paint a far more nuanced picture.
Before the conflict, Iran possessed one of the world’s most advanced uranium enrichment programs outside the recognised nuclear powers. The International Atomic Energy Agency repeatedly expressed concern about the scale of Iran’s enrichment activities and the accumulation of highly enriched uranium. Iran’s leadership simultaneously maintained a confrontational posture toward both the United States and Israel while continuing to support regional proxy organisations, including Hezbollah, Hamas and the Houthis.
When the United States and Israel struck key Iranian nuclear facilities, the objective was not simply military. It was strategic. The operation sought to reduce the capability of a regime that had openly called for the destruction of Israel and consistently defined the United States as its principal enemy. Whether one supports or opposes the operation politically, it is difficult to deny that significant damage was inflicted on Iran’s nuclear infrastructure and military capabilities.
Yet many European audiences were presented with a different story. Instead of focusing on the degradation of Iran’s strategic assets, much commentary focused almost exclusively on the risks of escalation, the alleged failure of American policy and the supposed decline of U.S. influence.
The same pattern can be observed in reporting on Lebanon.
Many European media outlets routinely describe the conflict as the “Israel-Lebanon war.” While technically accurate from a geographical perspective, this framing often obscures a crucial fact: Hezbollah is not the Lebanese state. Hezbollah is an armed organisation backed, trained and financed by Iran. It operates within Lebanon but pursues strategic objectives that frequently differ from those of the Lebanese government and many Lebanese citizens.
When thousands of rockets are fired into northern Israel, those attacks are often treated as secondary details in European reporting. Yet those rockets form the very context in which Israeli military actions occur. Without acknowledging the scale of Hezbollah’s military activity and its entrenched position within Lebanon, audiences are left with an incomplete understanding of the conflict.
This does not mean that Israel should be exempt from criticism. Democracies must always be scrutinised, particularly during wartime. Civilian casualties, humanitarian concerns and questions of proportionality deserve serious examination.
However, balanced scrutiny requires that all relevant facts receive attention, not only those that support a preferred narrative.
The same applies to the maritime conflict in the Strait of Hormuz. Much commentary has portrayed Iran’s ability to disrupt global shipping as evidence of American weakness. Yet far less attention has been paid to U.S. naval operations protecting commercial shipping, escorting vessels through contested waters and neutralising threats against international maritime traffic.
Again, the issue is not that these facts are completely absent from European media. The issue is that they rarely receive the same prominence as stories reinforcing the broader narrative of American decline.
Domestic politics also play a role.
Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez has become one of Europe’s most vocal critics of U.S. and Israeli actions. Simultaneously, his government has faced significant pressure from corruption investigations involving members of his political circle and family. It would be irresponsible to claim definitively that one issue is being used to distract from the other. Such a conclusion cannot be proven.
However, it is entirely legitimate to ask whether foreign policy positioning can serve domestic political purposes. Political leaders throughout history have often sought to shift public attention toward external issues when facing internal challenges.
These questions deserve examination rather than dismissal.
The broader problem is not whether Europe should support or oppose American policy. Reasonable people can disagree on strategy, diplomacy and military intervention. The real issue is whether European citizens are receiving a sufficiently balanced picture to form their own judgments.
Public opinion matters. Yet public opinion is only as reliable as the information upon which it is built.
A citizen who hears only about Israeli airstrikes but not Hezbollah rocket attacks will reach a different conclusion from one who sees both. A citizen who hears only about the risks of escalation with Iran but not about the threat posed by a potential nuclear-armed revolutionary regime will arrive at a different assessment than one who considers both realities.
The attack on Iran should ultimately be evaluated on its strategic consequences. While the long-term outcome remains uncertain, it undeniably reduced the immediate capabilities of a regime that had invested heavily in nuclear enrichment while maintaining a hostile posture toward both the United States and Israel. From a regional security perspective, many governments in the Middle East quietly welcomed a reduction of Iranian military power, viewing Tehran as a continuing source of instability.
The lesson is not that the United States is always right. Nor is it that Israel is beyond criticism.
The lesson is that facts and opinions are not the same thing.
Facts describe what happened.
Opinions explain what people believe those facts mean.
When opinions begin to dominate reporting, citizens may believe they are receiving objective information while in reality they are receiving a particular perspective on events.
Europe has many excellent journalists and respected publications. Yet in the debate surrounding Iran, Israel and the future of American power, there is an increasing imbalance between factual reporting and opinion-driven framing.
To form a balanced opinion based on facts, Europe increasingly lacks a sufficiently strong counterbalancing press capable of challenging dominant narratives and presenting alternative perspectives with equal visibility.
I was calmly eating my Belgian fries—perhaps one of Europe’s last undisputed contributions to world civilization—while watching the Flemish channel VTM. The sun was shining, the sky was clear, and that of course meant it was time for a national ritual: discussing climate change on television.
Because nothing pairs better with a warm, dry day than a panel of concerned experts explaining why everything is actually getting worse.
The news anchor, with the appropriate dose of mild existential concern, asked the question of the day: Why is Europe warming faster than other continents? A fair question. You would expect a complex answer about ocean currents, atmospheric dynamics, or perhaps decades of industrial legacy.
Instead, the explanation took a turn that nearly cost me my appetite.
According to the expert, Europe’s enthusiastic green policies may have… unintended side effects. Fewer emissions mean fewer particles in the air—particles that used to reflect sunlight and thus formed a kind of atmospheric “shield.” In other words: by cleaning the air, we may also be removing a protective layer against the sun.
At that moment, my fries became secondary. I was witnessing a philosophical paradox unfolding live on television: Europe, in its moral quest to save the planet, may be making itself more vulnerable to exactly what it is trying to combat.
You would almost expect a Nobel Prize for irony.
And so we naturally arrive at the thought experiment of the day. If fewer emissions reduce that protective layer, then the often-criticized “Drill Baby Drill” philosophy might deserve reconsideration—not as environmental damage, but as… climate management.
Absurd? Certainly. But no more absurd than pretending that complex systems respond linearly to idealistic policies.
After all, Nobel Prizes have been awarded for raising awareness about global warming. By that logic, one might almost expect that someone like Donald Trump would at least receive a nomination for proposing counterbalances—however controversial. When one side of the debate is treated as untouchable doctrine, the other side quickly begins to look like heresy… until reality asserts itself.
Because here lies the uncomfortable truth: nature does not follow ideology.
In life, and apparently also in the environment, everything revolves around balance. Push too far—whether toward unchecked industrialization or toward uncompromising green orthodoxy—and the system reacts. Not with applause, but with correction.
When policy becomes religion, nuance is the first casualty. And nature, unlike voters, does not negotiate. It restores equilibrium.
Perhaps that is the real lesson, somewhere between a portion of fries and a television debate: environmental policy is not about purity. Not about absolutism. Not about moral superiority.
It is about balance.
And balance, by definition, requires more than one force.
Which may well be the most uncomfortable conclusion of all.
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