Geopolitics, military envy and political control. Why the government stopped the CEO who was redesigning European defence. The background to a torpedoing that condemns us to remain gregarious.

The paradox of success

In a private company, there should be no doubts about the reappointment of a CEO who drives the stock up 400% in three years and increases profits by 85%. When the state is involved, however, one does not act by looking only at the numbers, which become secondary. The non-reconfirmation of Roberto Cingolani at the top of Leonardo is tangible proof of this.

Under his leadership, Leonardo stopped being a ‘ministry with an assembly line’ and turned into a financial war machine, adhering to that New Public Management model that governments say they want to adopt, but which they fear as soon as it becomes real. In recent years, Cingolani has acted with pragmatism and lucidity, following a precise direction, and, perhaps, with that hint of arrogance typical of those who know they are top of the class. He has played by the rules of the market, forgetting that in Italy those who run too fast end up overshadowing those who should be giving them direction.

A few days ago, Minister Crosetto tried to resolve this clash between politics, power, and efficiency by admitting that ‘it is not politics that judges a CEO but numbers and markets’. Yet, despite the record numbers, the government chose not to renew him.

Here the first question arises: if excellent performance does not guarantee permanence, what is the real KPI that the government is measuring? Are we facing a brutal return to the blindest Spoils System, or is there something in Cingolani’s vision that has frightened the decision-makers? Perhaps his ‘sin’ was not inefficiency, but an excess of autonomy that transformed Leonardo into a geopolitical player capable of speaking as an equal with European chancelleries, bypassing the slowness of Palazzo Chigi.

The risk of playing fair

Cingolani went far beyond pure business management, effectively redrawing the map of European defence. He has woven a network of alliances based on an inalienable principle: technological sovereignty.

The Joint Venture with Germany’s Rheinmetall should be read exactly in this key: an equal pact that brought Italy back to the centre of the land sector, disrupting the exclusive Franco-German axis of the KNDS consortium. And then there is the GCAP. To call it a sixth-generation stealth fighter developed by Rome-London-Tokyo is now reductive: it has turned into an exclusive table at whose door both Saudi Arabia and Canada are pressing to sit. Completing the picture are the genuine industrial partnerships signed on drones with Turkey’s Baykar.

A portfolio of understandings that rightfully elevates the CEO to a true industrial diplomat.

The measure of his political clout emerged in all its harshness in the unprecedented clash with the British government. Faced with yet another standoff in Whitehall over a £1 billion order for new helicopters, Cingolani threatened to close the historic Yeovil plant with its three thousand employees. And so came the maxi-contract for 23 AW149 helicopters. It was a brutal but unequivocal signal: Cingolani’s Leonardo was a player capable of dictating the agenda, not a subcontractor forever awaiting trial.

But the real breaking point, the project that probably triggered the red alert across the Atlantic, is the Michelangelo Dome. A digital shield based on the interoperability of defence systems with the support of artificial intelligence. It is not just technology; it is a political manifesto. The stated goal – to untie Europe from the Pentagon’s technological dependence to create an autonomous system – is the kind of vision that transforms you from valuable ally to target. Unhinging decades of status quo does not gain you a single enemy. The real question, which takes us right to the heart of his dismissal, is another: from how many different directions did the order to pull the plug come?

The three pushes

If the first two paragraphs tell what Cingolani did, we must now ask who he disturbed. The ”discontinuity” is just the version for press reviews. The reality is that a company travelling at that speed and with that autonomy ends up activating the antibodies of the status quo: the different power systems that applied the brake at exactly the same time.

The first level is geopolitical. Despite the reassuring public statements on the need forEuropean strategic autonomy, the balance sheets tell a different story. Figures from the Bruegel study centre highlight an accounting paradox that is difficult to ignore: European acquisitions of American systems have risen from an average of 11 billion per year in the five-year period 2017-2021 to as much as 68 billion in 2024. In short: those who call for technological sovereignty in Europe are in fact buying American at record rates.

In this chessboard, how has a project like the Michelangelo Dome been perceived overseas? A system designed to coordinate European defences by making them independent of US industry is not a mere technical development, but a potential way out of monopoly. One wonders whether Washington, especially with an administration that uses unpredictability as a lever of pressure, could tolerate such a breakthrough for long.

But there is a second level, all internal and industrial, which, although potentially fatal, has not yet been sufficiently explored in the press. In 2023, when presenting his strategy to the board of directors, Cingolani showed his vision with the motto: ‘Bytes instead of bullets’. An absolute pioneer’s vision. The problem is that he made the most unforgivable mistake for a state manager: he was right too soon.

Placed in the stark context of 2026 – a world torn apart by high-intensity wars and a race for rearmament – its race for software has crashed against the reality of budgets. Today’s wars, for those who finance them, are still won by producing sheet metal, missiles and gunpowder, not just software.

According to Defense News, the Italian military leadership had repeatedly mocked the Dome. But was it pure technological scepticism or self-preservation instinct? After all, shifting the centre of gravity of investment means slipping the keys to the vault to those who have held absolute power over major conventional weapons procurement for decades.

So the subtle question remains, and Cingolani’s dismissal seems to be the brutal and perfect fusion of three inexorable thrusts. The geopolitical veto of Washington, terrified of real European autonomy; the industrial revenge of the military hierarchies, loyal to traditional weapons; and, finally, the bill presented by a government intolerant of anyone exercising power without first asking permission from Palazzo Chigi.

The policy that does not plant trees

Answering this triple question will be the mandate of the new CEO, Lorenzo Mariani. A former co-general manager of Leonardo and historical head of MBDA, the European missile systems giant, Mariani is, by CV and vocation, the man of iron and hardware.

A perfect system figure to play the role of‘normaliser‘ and reassure the old spending fiefdoms. Mariani is faced with an unavoidable test: will he have the ability and political clout to guarantee the independence built up so far, or will we witness a silent discontinuity, starting with the downsizing of projects such as the Michelangelo Dome?

His appointment seems to reflect the chronic limitation of a policy that does not plant trees for future generations, but is content to manage the shadow of those that already exist. Yet, in the face of a world in rearmament, the need for an integrated European strategic autonomy is now a matter of survival.

Whether one chooses to proceed through tactical joint ventures, whether one aims at a centralised continental system, or whether one proceeds with a hybrid model. In short, regardless of the means, there must be only one direction. Because in the global defence market, stopping halfway to please everyone does not mean being prudent. It means choosing irrelevance.