A icy wind blows from the steppes, they say. A monster with Slavic features, an ogre that dreams of swallowing our civilization. Flags are waved, proclamations resound, the pockets of arms merchants swell. It’s a grand spectacle, a narrative so perfect it’s reassuring. Because it’s convenient, very convenient, to have a distant enemy. A villain to point out to the child Europe when it cries, to distract it from the real evil: a more insidious, more treacherous evil, that doesn’t raise its voice but whispers in the corridors of Brussels and Strasbourg. An evil with the grey, anonymous face of a bureaucrat.

It is not Russia, European citizen, that is undermining your roots. It is that caste of eurocrats, a cabal of priests in a godless theocracy, that has decided to empty your identity, to dissolve your sovereignty into a bland, multiculturalist melting pot. Look around you. What remains of your history, your culture, your borders? They are being eroded day after day, not by Moscow’s tanks, but by directives, regulations, resolutions. A gilded prison whose guards talk to you about “solidarity” and “cohesion” while depriving you of the most essential freedom: that of being who you are, of defending your borders, of deciding your own destiny.

It is a work of controlled demolition. They have convinced you that your instincts of preservation are a sin, that love for your land is a crime. They have questioned even your reason, your common sense. And you, hypnotized by their mantra, accept everything. You accept that an abstract entity, a faceless leviathan, decides who must enter your home, how you must cultivate your fields, what you must think. And meanwhile, they distract you with the pantomime of the Russian danger. A useful, functional scarecrow. Because a people that fears an external enemy is a people that doesn’t ask questions about the internal one.

Do you feel the grip? That is not the Russian bear’s embrace. It is the administrative noose of a Union that does not represent you, that never asked your permission to turn your homeland into a global dormitory, into a social experiment doomed to fail from the start. The accent is on fear, always. But fear is a double-edged sword. Perhaps it is time to fear those who, in the name of your security, are turning you into a ghost in your own home. A subject, not a citizen. A number in a database, not an heir to a millennia-old history.

The real battlefield is not in the Donbas. It is in Brussels. The real siege is not on Ukrainian cities, but on your will. And the generals commanding this siege do not wear military uniforms, but jackets and ties, and hold in their hands not a rifle, but a directive on the shape of bananas or a unified tax. This is the war. And you, European citizen, are fighting on the wrong side. In fact, you are funding the enemy with your taxes and your acquiescence. Wake up.