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US midterm elections and the mutiny in the MAGA ranks

EU Targets Heart of Russia’s War Machine With Unprecedented Sanctions Against 1,569 Firms and Executives
The European Union has adopted an unprecedented package of sanctions against Russia’s military-industrial complex, blacklisting 1,569 companies and individuals involved in supplying weapons for Moscow’s war against Ukraine.
The Council measures announced on 12 October target 826 companies and 743 executives. Unlike earlier sanctions targeting political figures, the latest listings reach deeper into the industrial supply chains needed to manufacture missiles, drones, aircraft and ammunition.
Ballistic missile supply chains
EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas said more than half the new listings concerned ballistic missile production. The Council identified electronics manufacturers, semiconductor suppliers, radar specialists, navigation equipment firms and producers of explosives.
These businesses occupy positions in production networks that enable Russia to sustain the manufacture of weapons despite restrictions on its access to Western technologies. The Council announcement estimates their combined annual turnover at at least €20 billion and employment at more than 250,000.
The move follows intensive Russian missile and drone strikes against Ukrainian cities and energy installations. European governments increasingly seek to undermine Moscow’s operational capacity by identifying businesses that procure or manufacture components for its armed forces.
Enforcement beyond EU borders
Listed firms face asset freezes, while EU businesses and citizens cannot make funds or economic resources available to them. The named executives also face travel restrictions. Suppliers and financial institutions will need to check commercial transactions for links to sanctioned entities.
The actual impact on Russian output remains uncertain. Businesses with few assets in Europe may experience limited immediate disruption. Moscow has developed alternative procurement channels through third countries, some involving intermediaries that acquire electronics or equipment originally manufactured elsewhere.
Sanctions effectiveness therefore depends on customs intelligence, financial due diligence, international cooperation and the willingness of commercial partners to stop dealing with listed companies. Targeting managers individually is also intended to raise the personal costs of directing Russia’s military production.
A test for Europe’s economic pressure
Precision navigation systems, sophisticated electronics and specialised manufacturing technology remain difficult to substitute rapidly. Nevertheless, listing a supplier cannot by itself prevent components from moving through indirect trading routes.
The sanctions coincide with renewed discussion of a possible halt to attacks on energy infrastructure. Brussels is signalling that negotiations about the war’s conduct need not entail relief from restrictions on Russia’s defence economy.
Whether the measures reduce missile production will depend on changes in procurement and output over the coming months. Their immediate significance is the EU’s decision to extend restrictions beyond the most visible weapons producers into the broader industrial networks sustaining Russia’s war.
Pakistan’s Emergency Rule Raises Uncomfortable Questions for Brussels
The imposition of emergency rule in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, an opposition-controlled province, raises disturbing questions about the relationship between Pakistan’s civilian government and its powerful military establishment. Is this a legitimate response to terrorism, or another calculated assault on democracy?
There is an old saying in Pakistan that most countries have an army, but in Pakistan the army has a country. It is a cynical observation, certainly, but one that has survived successive governments, constitutional crises and military interventions with remarkable durability.
The latest developments in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the northwestern province governed by the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) party of imprisoned former Prime Minister Imran Khan, suggest that the observation may be as relevant today as ever.
President Asif Ali Zardari’s decision to impose emergency rule in the province, ostensibly in response to deteriorating security conditions, has prompted an obvious and deeply uncomfortable question: is Pakistan witnessing another military coup, albeit one conducted without tanks surrounding parliament or generals appearing on television to announce the suspension of democracy?
The answer depends largely upon how one defines a coup.
A constitutional manoeuvre with political consequences
Under Pakistan’s constitutional framework, federal authorities possess emergency powers that can, under specified circumstances, override provincial administrations.
Such powers are not inherently illegitimate. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa has experienced serious violence involving the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), and the federal government has a responsibility to protect citizens against terrorist attacks.
Nevertheless, the timing of the intervention demands scrutiny.
The province represents one of the most significant remaining political strongholds of Imran Khan, whose imprisonment and continuing confrontation with Pakistan’s political establishment have generated considerable unrest.
Suspending an elected provincial administration in these circumstances inevitably raises suspicions that national security has become a convenient instrument for achieving political objectives.
The crucial distinction is between responding to a genuine emergency and exploiting that emergency to neutralise an inconvenient opposition.
Pakistan’s authorities must demonstrate not merely that a security threat exists, but that the removal of elected provincial leadership is necessary and proportionate.
The army that never really left politics
Pakistan’s military has exercised an extraordinary degree of influence over the country’s political development since independence in 1947.
General Ayub Khan seized power in 1958. General Zia-ul-Haq overthrew Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s government in 1977. General Pervez Musharraf removed Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif in 1999.
These were unmistakable military coups, involving direct intervention against civilian authority.
Yet Pakistan’s experience also demonstrates that generals need not formally assume the presidency to dominate political affairs. The military establishment has long maintained substantial influence over national security, relations with India, Afghanistan policy and, at various moments, the composition and survival of civilian governments.
Under Field Marshal Asim Munir, the relationship between the armed forces and civilian political authority has again attracted intense scrutiny. The central question is therefore not simply whether Pakistan’s generals have seized power. It is whether elected politicians retain sufficient independence to exercise it.
Imran Khan and the price of political defiance
Imran Khan’s political trajectory illustrates the extraordinary volatility of Pakistan’s relationship between civilian leadership and military power.
Once widely regarded as enjoying the establishment’s favour, Khan subsequently became one of its most prominent critics. His removal through a parliamentary no-confidence vote in April 2022 marked the beginning of an increasingly bitter confrontation.
His subsequent imprisonment, the prosecution of PTI figures and restrictions affecting the party’s political activities have fuelled allegations that Pakistan’s democratic institutions are being manipulated to exclude a popular opposition movement.
The authorities reject accusations of politically motivated persecution, while Khan’s supporters insist that his treatment demonstrates the extent to which democratic competition has been compromised.
Against this background, emergency intervention in a PTI-governed province cannot reasonably be viewed in isolation. It forms part of a wider struggle over who ultimately controls Pakistan’s political future.
A coup without the traditional trappings?
The latest emergency is particularly significant because Pakistan’s civilian government and military leadership appear aligned in their criticism of PTI.
According to Reuters reporting on 11 October, the province will be administered by a governor for an initial six months, with troops deployed to support security operations.
Hundreds of activists and three of Khan’s sisters have reportedly been detained ahead of opposition demonstrations.
PTI spokesperson Zulfikar Bukhari has characterised the emergency as a disguised coup. Even Maulana Fazlur Rehman, whose party has been involved in mediation efforts, condemned the intervention as an attack on democracy.
Yet evidence that the military directly ordered the takeover remains absent from the public record. Accusations of military involvement should be investigated rather than treated as established fact.
Nevertheless, a coup need not always involve soldiers removing a prime minister. Democratic institutions can also be progressively hollowed out through ostensibly lawful decisions that concentrate authority and deprive opposition parties of meaningful power.
A dangerous precedent for Pakistan
For Pakistan’s international partners, including the European Union, the implications extend beyond an internal constitutional dispute.
Pakistan benefits from preferential access to European markets under the EU’s GSP+ trading arrangement, which is linked to commitments concerning human rights, democratic governance and international conventions. Brussels should therefore be watching developments closely.
If emergency powers become a mechanism for suppressing political opposition rather than protecting public security, the European Commission will face legitimate questions about Pakistan’s adherence to its international obligations.
The immediate crisis may not constitute a conventional military coup. But the more troubling possibility is that Pakistan’s political system is evolving towards a form of government in which elections continue, civilian politicians remain in office, and the military’s influence is sufficiently powerful to determine the boundaries of democracy.
For Imran Khan‘s supporters, that distinction may offer little consolation.
Pakistan’s generals have seized power openly before. The question now is whether they need to do so again.
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Beyrouth, les sens de la fête
Elle est souvent présentée, voire encensée, dans de nombreux médias occidentaux comme le « lieu de la fête au Proche-Orient » (1), ce qui attesterait sa « résilience », terme en vogue qui horripile de nombreux Libanais de la capitale, sinon du pays tout entier. L'exception beyrouthine tiendrait, selon la géographe Marie Bonte, dans son « offre festive mais aussi dans la capacité des habitants à faire la fête, quelle que soit la conjoncture ». Après avoir retracé l'émergence de la vie nocturne au « temps des cabarets » (1920-1960) et son adaptation durant la guerre civile (1975-1990), elle montre comment, à partir des années 2000, « des bars et les boîtes de nuit se concentrent dans des îlots denses de monde, de bruit et de lumière, donnant à la ville des allures d'archipel ». Ces îlots sont traversés par des dynamiques politiques où se mêlent concurrence économique, reconstitution de hiérarchies entre les professions, formes de distinction sociale diverses selon les lieux fréquentés ou encore « appropriation d'une mémoire politique de gauche » via les choix musicaux et un usage des lieux dépassant le cadre de la fête. Certes, il peut s'agir aussi d'une échappatoire face à l'incertitude du lendemain.
C'est ce mélange qui innerve le roman graphique, plus exactement le récit autobiographique imagé Rue de Phénicie, de Lamia Ziadé (2), après Ô nuit, ô mes yeux (2015), Ma très grande mélancolie arabe (2017) et Mon port de Beyrouth (2021), tous parus chez POL. L'autrice vit depuis longtemps à Paris, où elle poursuit son interrogation et sa célébration d'une identité singulière, et de sa ville natale, avec une liberté stimulante, une fantaisie fantastique — au long d'une déambulation nocturne à travers Beyrouth ainsi qu'à travers sa propre histoire, inextricablement liée à son « obsession, l'histoire moderne du Liban et du Proche-Orient ». Durant ses longs séjours à Beyrouth consacrés à l'écriture et à des expositions après une « vie de noctambule délurée » à Paris, la fête lui apparaît comme une forme de résistance dans une ville qui ne veut pas s'éteindre, au propre comme au figuré. À la fermeture du Paradise, le dernier bar ouvert de la nuit, elle se lance à la recherche d'une boîte fantasmée — la Boîte de Pandore —, ce qui lui sert de prétexte pour déambuler dans l'histoire politique du pays et de la région à travers des lieux hautement symboliques, comme le Musée national, ou des cimetières. Mais Lamia Ziadé n'est pas dupe de la dimension illusoire de sa quête.
Deux autres déclinaisons ajoutent leurs variations à cette évocation obsédante. Dans le deuxième volume de la bande dessinée Le Génie de Beyrouth (3), qui revient sur le siège en 1982 de Beyrouth-Ouest — fief de l'Organisation de libération de la Palestine (OLP) et de ses soutiens libanais — par l'armée israélienne, les rues sont plongées dans l'obscurité et, pour le journaliste qui écrit à la lueur de la bougie, la ville semble « coincée dans son dernier carré, (…) obligée de faire face », elle ne peut plus se réfugier dans la nuit. Mais elle a des ressources insoupçonnées.
Quant à la narratrice du premier roman, proche de l'autobiographie, de la Franco-Libanaise Manal Salamé, si elle déclare préférer la ville de jour (4), car, « le jour, elle ne sait pas mentir », elle ne se refuse pas à parcourir la nuit et ses faux-semblants, ceux que, de retour au Liban après dix-sept ans d'absence, elle retrouve lors d'une longue soirée alcoolisée. À Beyrouth, on n'éteint pas les lumières.
(1) Marie Bonte, Nuits de Beyrouth. Géographie de la fête dans une ville post-conflit, ENS Éditions, Lyon, 2023.
(2) Lamia Ziadé, Rue de Phénicie, POL, Paris, 2025, 392 pages, 34 euros.
(3) Sélim Nassib et Léna Merhej, Le Génie de Beyrouth. La fille tombée du ciel (tome 2), Dargaud, Paris, 2026, 112 pages, 23 euros.
(4) Manal Salamé, Habibi Beyrouth, Éditions La Tribu, Paris, 2026, 309 pages, 21 euros.
It’s time the UN fixed itself
