Two years ago, a neo-fascist gained power in Rome. That, at least, is the impression you’d have gained from the Western establishment’s paroxysm of hand-wringing at Giorgia Meloni’s elevation. From her erstwhile praise for Mussolini to her fierce Euroscepticism, Meloni was declared leader of the “most Right-wing” Italian government since Mussolini — while Brussels, Berlin and their assorted media flunkies fretted about the direction the peninsula might take.
Those days are long gone. Since her triumph in 2022, and as some of us foresaw, Meloni has eased herself into the Euro-Atlantic consensus. Adopting a conciliatory attitude towards the EU, she’s also ensured Italy’s full compliance with the bloc’s austerity-driven economic framework. Meanwhile, the Italian premier also became a vocal supporter of Nato hawkishness in
Ukraine, building strong ties with Joe Biden.
Taken together, then, you get the sense that Meloni gambled her political survival on shedding her populist image and rushing in the opposite direction, becoming more pro-European and more pro-American than your average European centrist. Now, however, the liberal media is aflame once more. Chatter about Meloni’s political journey started in September, when she was presented with a “Global Citizen Award” at the Atlantic Council in New York. Beyond the think tank’s Atlanticist flavour, what really got politicos talking was who gave Meloni her prize: one Elon Musk. This has fuelled speculation about a potential political (re)alignment with Trump on Meloni’s part. Given the mercurial South African’s financial and political support for Trump’s presidential run — and the (denied) allegations of a burgeoning romance between the businessman and the Prime Minister — these claims don’t feel completely fanciful.
Meloni, for her part, hasn’t done much to dampen the rumours of a reactionary revival. She’s admittedly been careful not to endorse either candidate in the US election, stressing she’ll work with whoever wins. But it’s also clear that she’s well-positioned to become one of Trump’s key European partners should he reclaim the White House in November. In part, that’s thanks to her long-standing ties to the broader MAGA movement. In 2018, to give one example, Trump’s former advisor Steve Bannon was a keynote speaker at a political festival organised by her Brothers of Italy party.
That’s reflected by more recent moves too. In a clear nod to national conservatives in Washington, Meloni told her audience at the Atlantic Council that “we should not be ashamed to use and defend words and concepts like nation and patriotism”. At the same time, Brothers of Italy’s recent decision to vote against a European Parliament resolution allowing Ukraine to use Western weapons on Russian soil should also be seen as a nod to MAGA’s scepticism of Western support for Ukraine — and an indication of Meloni’s willingness to shift Italy’s foreign policy if Trump wins in November.
Taken together, and especially given the looming American elections, Meloni’s decision to receive her prize from Musk could therefore be part of a wider strategy. Aimed at rekindling ties with American conservatives, that surely makes sense, especially when Musk’s influence is expected to be significantly boosted by the tycoon’s re-election. As Francesco Giubilei, a Meloni acolyte, lately told Le Monde, the Prime Minister must be both “a force for struggle” and a force for government. “She’s very cautious, waiting to see who will win the election and maintaining her ties with Trump’s world to benefit should he win.”
So could Meloni’s recent moves be signalling a return to her radical roots? I think not. At its core, rather, this story is less about policy — and more about cold hard cash, both in Italy itself and further afield. That’s clear enough if you put aside the trees, Meloni and Musk, and instead focus on the woods: the Atlantic Council that offered Meloni her prize. The think tank euphemistically describes itself as a nonpartisan organisation that “galvanises” US global leadership and encourages engagement with its friends and allies. In plain English, that means that the Atlantic Council exists to promote the interests of US corporations — and American imperial interests more generally. Founded in the Sixties, to boost political support for Nato, today it remains active on transatlantic security issues.
More to the point, the organisation’s corporate partners and funders include many of the US’s largest firms, operating across finance, defence, energy and tech. A range of Nato governments also supports the Atlantic Council, as indeed does the alliance itself. No wonder it’s gained a reputation for aggressively lobbying for American financial and corporate interests worldwide. In 2014, for instance, FedEx teamed up with the Atlantic Council to build support for the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), a proposed trade agreement between the EU and US aimed at shielding transnational corporations from public oversight, and which was ultimately abandoned in the face of public opposition.
More recently, WikiLeaks’s US diplomatic cables leak revealed that the Atlantic Council worked closely with Chevron and ExxonMobil to undermine a Brazilian legislative proposal to grant Petrobras, a local state-owned corporation, chief control of the oil fields off the country’s coast. Since the outbreak of war in Ukraine, meanwhile, the organisation has distinguished itself for its very hawkish approach to the conflict, perhaps unsurprising given the number of defence companies among its backers.
Given all this, one might reasonably speculate that the Atlantic Council’s grooming of Meloni has little to do with US partisan politics — the organisation is, in fact, quite distant from Trumpism — and more about expanding the influence of US capital in the Bel Paese. Even Musk’s cosy relationship with the Prime Minister seems to be about more than just “shared values” and soft feelings. In June, the Italian government approved a new regulatory framework that grants foreign space companies permission to operate in the country. It’s no secret that, in this context, Musk aims to make Starlink the country’s main “white area” internet provider, in other words for places not covered by wired or mobile alternatives. That, in turn, has the potential to displace domestic rivals like Open Fiber and Tim, which Musk accuses of obstructing the rollout of his high-speed internet.
Nor is Musk the only US investor ingratiating himself with Meloni. After returning from her bash in New York, she also met with Larry Fink, chairman and CEO of BlackRock, the world’s largest investment company. With assets worth $10 trillion, the firm boasts the equivalent of Germany and Japan’s combined GDP. In Italy itself, BlackRock is comfortably the largest foreign institutional investor on the Milan Stock Exchange, owning substantial stakes in some of the country’s largest listed companies. The firm is bolstering its Italian presence elsewhere too. Earlier this year, for instance, Meloni oversaw the sale of Tim’s entire fixed-line network to KKR, a US fund that boasts BlackRock among its main institutional investors.
Beyond the fact that the network represents a strategic national asset, with its sensitive user data now effectively under foreign control, these varied moves represent the culmination of a long sequence of privatisations and selling-off of Italian public and private assets beginning back in the Nineties. Once you dovetail that with BlackRock’s future plans — among other things, it hopes to snatch up Italy’s highway and railway networks, currently under public or semi-public control — the country looks set to become little more than an outpost of American capital, losing what little is left of its economic sovereignty.
That this should be happening under a nominally “sovereigntist” prime minister is remarkable enough — but what really matters is the way US investors, notably BlackRock, are using Italy as a Trojan horse to expand their influence right across Europe. Consider the example of Germany. Unlike other countries, companies in Munich or Hamburg largely remain in the hands of the families that founded them. Local investors have substantial influence too, as does KFW, the public bank dedicated to supporting the Federal Republic’s industrial development.
In practice, that means the penetration of BlackRock and other US mega-funds in the German economy remains relatively marginal. That’s an anomaly that US capital now seems intent on fixing, using Italy as its battering ram. Last month, for instance, Milan’s UniCredit bank announced a surprise hostile takeover of Commerzbank, effectively becoming the Frankfurt outfit’s largest shareholder. Though this caused some patriotic fervour among Italian commentators — an Italian bank taking over a German rival! — the reality is that the move was likely spearheaded by BlackRock itself, which executed the move with the help of other Anglo-American funds, all to consolidate its control of Germany’s financial system. No wonder Larry Fink welcomed the move. “Europe,” he said, “needs a stronger capital markets system and a more unified banking system.”
What we are witnessing, in short, is the economic cannibalisation of Europe by US capital. Not that we should be surprised. As Emmanuel Todd, a French historian, writes in his latest book: “As its power diminishes worldwide, the American system ultimately ends up burdening its protectorates more and more, as they remain the last bases of its power.” With European industry crucial to US interests, Todd continues, we should expect more “systemic exploitation” of Rome and Berlin from the imperial centre in Washington. The fact that this is happening under the auspices of a self-described “patriot” like Meloni only highlights the grotesque weakness of European politics.
