Earlier this evening, a friend messaged me on WhatsApp: “So, where’s your article this week?”
A simple question, almost teasing, that made me smile.
It’s true — although I never made it a rule, I often find myself fishing, week after week, for a fragment of experience, a sign, or a conversation to nourish this writing ritual. I write when something insists, softly, like a quiet signal.
We kept chatting lightly, and our conversation drifted toward a few mutual friends. People we deeply admire — sincere, generous, warm — and yet, whose gestures sometimes seem guided by a defense mechanism a little too sharp. A kind of anticipatory protection, almost instinctive, that kicks in even when there’s no real threat. And that’s when, without warning, a different conversation came back to me — a more professional, less spontaneous one, from earlier this week at the CGEM — and the idea for this piece took shape.
We had been discussing the resurgence of protectionist economic policies, particularly those of the Trump administration. Behind what might appear blunt — rising tariffs, divisive speeches, unilateral gestures — lies, for some analysts, a deeper attempt to rebalance a game that has long been rigged. Not to reject the other, but to reaffirm forgotten boundaries. Because the global economic system, in all its complexity, hides shadows we rarely name.
Among those shadows are the subtle arrangements that some large corporations — especially in tech — have long mastered: legal, but not always legitimate. These are structures that make profits travel faster than products, that shift value before it even materializes. Through a kind of elegant invisibility, certain groups manage to operate at the very heart of markets, draw on public infrastructure, attract millions of users — all while contributing minimally to the collective effort. It’s not exactly wrong, but something vital is missing. And when states witness this imbalance, they sometimes harden. Not to fight innovation, but to push back against a quiet erosion of the common good.
This evening, as I replied to my friend, the analogy struck me. In their own way, some global corporations protect themselves much like certain individuals do. Beneath an open, affable posture, there’s often a subtle instinct of retreat, a protective calculus. As if, across today’s world — from nations to startups, from systems to subjectivities — a reflex of overdefense has quietly taken root. It’s not open rejection. It’s not visible aggression. It’s something softer: a calibrated distancing, a strategic filter, a hyper-awareness of risk.
So I started noticing this broader rhythm — a pendulum between openness and closure, between reaching out and stepping back. Markets open, then close again. People do the same. States demand sovereignty, while companies flow beyond borders. We praise fluidity, while quietly building fences. It’s as if we’re all caught in some kind of collective breath — a confused respiration, where each inhale is followed by hesitation.
Is it an ancient cycle resurfacing, or a uniquely modern fatigue? Is it, at its root, a crisis of trust?
And if so — where should trust originate?
Should it come from the public sphere, offering structure, stability, and a sense of shared interest?
Or must it rise from the private, from the accumulation of sincere gestures, of extended hands between free agents?
Is it the state that must pave the way for trust — or the entrepreneur?
The collective or the individual?
The chicken or the egg?
And above all, what becomes of “interest” — this word we conjugate everywhere — when it’s no longer grounded in the common good?
When everyone defends their slice, their niche, their margin — is there anything left to build on?
Or does it all dissolve into a hall of mirrors where no one truly reflects the other?
I don’t have definitive answers. But I sense that something essential is being played out in these friction zones — where strategy meets sincerity, and caution rubs against generosity. And perhaps, writing here, week after week, is already a modest attempt to reopen those narrow spaces in between.
Gratefully translated with AI
