A Red Carpet for a Jihadist Leader, Blacklists for Europe’s Anti-Fascists
If the international order is a reality show, a new episode is being filmed in the Oval Office. On one strip of the red carpet stands the President of the United States, who “decisively” declares several European anti-fascist networks to be terrorist organizations. On the other, in the same week, the White House welcomes a man who built his career as the leader of al-Nusra, the Syrian branch of al-Qaeda. It’s not just a contradiction; it’s a textbook example of how the word “terrorist” stretches like rubber: when convenient, it swaps meaning, changes color, and serves as a club against whatever is politically handy to strike today.
Ahmed al-Sharaa, until recently known by his war alias Abu Mohammad al-Jolani, is today the President of Syria. Washington receives him with a polite smile and cold protocol distance, which is understandable: while some were flipping through his wanted notices yesterday, now they’re taking archival photos with him. The explanation is always the same—“pragmatism.” When someone becomes useful for bigger schemes, the old narratives of the “global war on terror” quietly move into storage, somewhere between forgotten slogans and triumphant statements.
The irony is even richer given that it was the United States that spent years investing in toppling the secular Assad. Today, with no discomfort, it embraces new leadership born from the very milieu Washington spent a decade calling an existential threat. Even more interesting: Moscow—whose serious military and material support saved Assad—is now elbowing for influence with his successor. The winner is the one who embraces reality first; the loser is the one who still believes that yesterday’s speeches were a lasting pledge.
Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, “antifa”—a broad term covering everyone from student collectives to hardened anarchist cells—receives the American label of “foreign terrorism.” The precedent sounds forceful: four networks from Germany, Italy, and Greece land on the lists, with promises of further expansions. In practice, that means asset freezes, criminalization of support, and a signal to domestic and allied agencies that “enhanced” surveillance is now permitted. The ready-made narrative: civilization is defending itself (!).
The problem, of course, is that “antifa” is in most cases not an organization but a politics—a set of practices and attitudes, sometimes disciplined, sometimes chaotic, often locally rooted, rarely hierarchical. But when law and propaganda need clean categories, nuances get in the way. Since American law has trouble swallowing the idea of designating a domestic political label as terrorist, the elegant solution is export: strike “foreign networks” and thereby build a bridge to broader domestic political effects. The form comes first; the function will follow.
The message is clear and simple: the “left” is inherently suspect. Yes, Europe has seen episodes of militant anarchism; the 20th century is full of such examples. But when such pockets become evidence that the broader anti-fascist spectrum is a “global threat,” we cross the line from security policy into ideological policing.
In this movie, al-Sharaa is therefore the new face of “stability.” The message: he has broken with al-Qaeda, he fights ISIL, he promises order, and he’s ready for deals that fit Syria into a new regional geometry. The U.S. has already begun easing sanctions; talks are underway on security arrangements and even military cooperation against ISIL remnants. Who would have thought the road from guerrilla commander to statesman’s lounge could be so short?
Is this necessary pragmatism or cynical bargaining? Depends whom you ask. Realists will say states pursue interests, not morals, and that crushing remaining jihadist pockets is worth an awkward photo (though that is almost certainly not the whole truth—indeed, by this logic even ISIL leaders will one day be considered “moderates”?). Critics will remind us that the same apparatus now normalizing the new Syrian leadership earlier didn’t blink while sanctions wrecked the lives of ordinary people and war profits secured geopolitical positions.
European governments are catching their breath. Some welcome the American initiative against the “extreme left,” others remain silent and wait. Hungary, unsurprisingly, leads the cheering section. In Berlin, Rome, and Athens the calculus is more complex: domestic security policy, historical memory, Brussels dynamics, and caution toward America’s culture-war politics push them toward silence. Meanwhile, the right across the continent gains new rhetorical ammunition: anti-fascism as a “cover for terror.” Who needs nuance when Washington provides a ready-made narrative?
The bigger picture couldn’t be clearer: the term “terrorist” says more about the speaker than the one labeled. Yesterday’s “our guys” in Afghanistan become tomorrow’s “global threat”; yesterday’s “butcher,” today’s “statesman.” The word fills with content as needed, as if we were dealing with a game rather than the tragic reality of violence and fear. And so we sink deeper into Orwell’s workshop, where the inversions are cynical, precise, and effective: “war is peace,” “freedom is slavery,” “antifa is terror”…
Why now? Because the domestic political payoff is measurable: after years of “culture wars,” every presidential blow against the “radical left” mobilizes the base, disciplines skeptics, and creates an image of control. In foreign policy, opening toward Damascus closes one crisis chapter of the Middle East and creates new levers (e.g., vis-à-vis Iran). If this requires swallowing their own daily stories about “zero tolerance for terror,” so be it. The appetite is there.
For Europe, which actually defeated fascism, this reversal has a special taste. Anti-fascism is not an exotic import but a foundational historical fact. Declaring anti-fascism “suspicious” and criminalizing it broadly has consequences that easily spill over: from police bans to witch hunts and the narrowing of legitimate political space. If the labeling slides downhill, we’ll end up in a world where every criticism of capitalism or NATO is—by definition—a security risk.
And yes, someone will say: haven’t we, historically, negotiated with “former terrorists” and “former dictators”? We have. But the difference between necessary diplomacy and an industry of forgetting lies in how we define boundaries. If the boundaries are rubber, everything fits: new partners on the ruins of old principles, and a new domestic “threat” effectively equated with the idea of the left. It’s one thing to open channels to reduce violence; it’s another to neatly put on gloves while simultaneously raising the club against political opponents.
That’s why the best description of this November is simple: “the golden age of absurdity,” with elements of tragedy. A terrorist leader who overnight became a president received in the Oval Office, and anti-fascist networks—already living on the margins of institutional visibility—declared a global threat. If this isn’t a cynical restoration of the old order under new slogans, it’s hard to imagine what is. And the next time someone confidently pronounces the word “terrorist,” we should ask: whom does that word serve today, and whom will it be used to silence tomorrow?
Meanwhile, all major players are taking positions. Washington is counting on a quick geopolitical dividend, Moscow is seeking its channels, Europe hesitates, the Middle East reshuffles. But the key battle is taking place in the vocabulary. If we allow words to lose meaning, practice will erode quickly: activism becomes crime, pragmatism washes its hands, and “stability” is purchased with silence. In this slippery terrain, the most important thing is to preserve basic orientation: anti-fascism is not a crime, and hypocrisy is the worst strategy.
About the Author
