On 1 January 2026, Paris has a peculiar silence: that of a city that knows how to party but also knows how, the next morning, to return immediately to look in the mirror. The sky is low, compact, a uniform grey that promises neither sun nor drama; the air stings, a few degrees above zero. On Boulevard Saint-Germain , the cars flow with an almost polite caution, as if they too had decided to start the year in no hurry. Inside the Café de Flore, on the other hand, the year begins as serious things always do: with a hot coffee, a coat over one’s shoulders and a tone of voice that does not seek applause.

I sit by the glass window. In front of me I have a notebook and a simple question, which is not simple. He arrives a few minutes late, without making a fuss. Dark coat, tight scarf, the look of someone who is in the habit of weighing his words before letting them out. He introduces himself with a half smile: Étienne Delacroix, French geopolitical analyst, futurologist, senior fellow at the Delphi Institute, for decades one of the wittiest commentators on the European strategic chessboard. We order two coffees. A waiter sets down the glasses of water with a precise gesture; the teaspoon clinks against the porcelain like a discreet metronome.

“Let us begin. In one sentence, what is 2026?”

Delacroix is the kind of interlocutor many would call unpleasant: not because he raises his voice, but because he never softens his conclusions to make them digestible. He looks past the glass for a moment, then responds dryly and in a scathing tone: ‘This is the year that Europe discovers that the “peace” service was being promoted at a reduced rate, but now the trial period is over and we have to decide whether to pay handsomely for the renewal of the service or deprive ourselves of it.

The bar, for a second, seems quieter.

“So 2026 will be worse than 2025?”

He makes a minimal gesture, as if to chase away a simplification. ‘Not necessarily. But it will be less forgiving. The world does not reward you because you have good intentions, it rewards you because you have capabilities: industrial, military, technological. Uncertainty is not an accident: it has become a negotiating lever, especially between allies. Markets and voters tolerate many things, except the idea that you don’t have a plan. In practice: 2026 is a test of seriousness, not rhetoric.”

I mark that word: seriousness. It smacks of accounting and deterrence at the same time.

“What are the three dominant drivers?”

“Geopolitics, productivity, energy-in the right order. Geopolitics: war is not ‘far away’, it is a variable of prices, logistics chains and domestic politics. Productivity: without real growth, every promise becomes a dispute between corporations. Energy: not just cost, but reliability; and reliability is a form of sovereignty. Imagine a company that decides where to invest: it does not ask for speeches, it asks for electrical continuity, stable rules and fast timeframes. So: whoever does not control these three drivers, suffers.”

“You talk about capacity. But is the real European problem willpower or speed?”

Delacroix barely smiles, as if the question is finally the right one. “The real risk in 2026 is a Europe rich but poor in time. Slowness today is a recipe for poverty.” He leans forward slightly. “If you cannot decide in weeks what others decide in days, you are not negotiating: you are suffering. And 2026 is the year when slowness stops being a defect and becomes a vulnerability.”

“Let’s talk about wars,” I say, “because that’s the word everyone uses and few know how to define. What does Europe really risk?”

Delacroix does not raise his voice, but the sentence still comes like a blade: ‘To live in a permanent “quasi-conflict” without equipping oneself as if it were permanent. Deterrence is not a feeling: it is stockpiling, production, interoperability, command, resilience. Hybrid threats-cyber, sabotage, disinformation-are a cheap way to impose costs on slow democracies. The greatest risk is not apocalypse, it is erosion: accidents, escalation by mistake, repeated crises that normalise the exception.” A distant siren cuts through the air, more outside than inside, like an involuntary reminder. “Plausible scenario: a cyber attack on energy or logistical infrastructure, a few hours of chaos, and already the political debate is split between “let’s react” and “let’s not provoke”. So: Europe must stop confusing prudence with immobility.”

“The United States?” I ask. “Allies or crazy variable?”

A half smile, almost tired. ‘Still allies, but no longer “total insurance”. Washington will ask for much more burden-sharing, it is already asking for it, albeit in Trump’s unhinged manner. American trade and technology policy will tend to protect domestic industry, even at the expense of friends. The implicit message is: ‘choose what you are willing to do yourself’. Example: on air defence, munitions, drones, cyber-if Europe does not invest and produce, it ends up making the shopping list when the shelves are empty. In practice: the alliance holds, but the bill is in euros.”

I press him.

“What if I told you that Europe, after all, prefers to remain dependent: because then it can always complain?”

Delacroix looks at me with that patience reserved for alibis. ‘It is a luxury that 2026 makes more expensive. Addiction is no longer just a moral or ideological question: it’s a question of pricing. And when the risk goes up, someone makes you pay for your comfort.”

“Russia: will it stabilise, collapse or get worse in 2026?”

“It gets worse, but still ‘manageable’ by the Kremlin, which is the most toxic form. A regime can be inefficient and dangerous at the same time, especially if it has learnt to live under sanctions. If the war does not end, it institutionalises itself: economies, societies and propaganda adapt. Europe risks the temptation of weariness: not a surrender, but a slow lowering of ambition.” The waiter passes; the teaspoon taps again, as if to sound out the word ‘maths’ that will come later. “Scene: every month an episode-drones, sabotage, indirect energy blackmail, disinformation campaigns-and every month a little more habituation. So: the real threat is the normalisation of war as background noise.”

“China. What is the big game in 2026?”

Delacroix does not hesitate: ‘Industrial overcapacity and price warfare-turn into normality. If a system produces more than it consumes, it exports the excess: and it does so even at low cost in order to maintain employment and social control. This puts pressure on European industry, especially in the ‘green’ and technology sectors. The geopolitical risk remains: Taiwan is not news, it is an insurance premium going up.”

“But the solution is duties?” I try.

He barely shakes his head. “The duties are the plot. Overcapacity is the plot. If you don’t manage that wave, you end up choosing between green transition and social tightness. And that choice-when it comes-comes suddenly, in the middle of an election campaign. 2026 is exactly that kind of year: it forces you to choose in public what you could have prepared in private.“

“Energy: hadn’t we already overcome the emergency?” I ask, knowing that this is the question Europe repeats to console itself.

Here the futurologist winces a little. ‘You came out of the emergency, but in 2026 you have to have the strategic infrastructure in place. The vulnerability is not just the price of gas: it is the grid, storage, bottlenecks, authorisation times. The transition requires network capacity and management: without it, you will have theoretical ‘green’ energy and practical blackouts. Critical raw materials: dependency shifts, it does not disappear. Scene: a cold or heat wave, high demand, grid under stress, prices going up, and politics suddenly rediscovering realism. So: energy means resilience, not slogans.”

I feel the discourse is touching on the big issues, but I am interested in the detail that governs them. What doesn’t make the headlines, yet decides the headlines.

“Is there anything in 2026 that can make us lose without us realising we are losing?” I ask. “A silent thing.”

He does not answer immediately. He looks at the glass of water, then at the road, then back at me. ‘Yes. The invisible war: cables, ports, logistics, insurance. If you want to understand 2026, don’t just look at the tanks: look at the policies. When risk becomes uninsurable, the economy stops even before politics.” The sentence falls on the table with a frightening naturalness. “A sabotage on a critical infrastructure, a cyber attack that produces physical effects, a disruption on a sea route: you don’t need an occupation to impose costs. Just make everything more fragile and more expensive. And when it becomes more expensive, someone decides that ‘it is no longer worth it’. So: in 2026, security is also an actuarial science.”

It is a line that hangs in the air, between coats and the smell of coffee. And it reminds me of one thing: Europe likes to discuss principles, but the world often discusses tariffs.

“European Economy: What is the most dangerous blind spot?”

“That Europe behaves like a single market, but governs like 27 national markets. Capital does not circulate enough: fragmented financial markets, different rules, scale-ups that migrate. The services market is incomplete: that is where productivity is at stake, not only in factories. Regulation often confuses protection with immobility: and immobility means loss of share. Example: a start-up wants to grow in five countries and discovers five tax systems, five bureaucracies, five interpretations. In practice: Europe is big on paper and small in execution.”

“If 2026 were remembered for only one European reform, what should it be?” I ask, without giving him a chance to expand.

Delacroix allows himself half a breath. “A truly unique capital market. Because everything else depends on it: industrial defence, energy transition, innovation, start-ups and scale-ups. Without capital that moves, Europe remains a well-regulated, ill-funded idea. And in 2026, a poorly financed idea is a defeated idea.”

“AI: opportunity or moral panic?” I continue, because 2026 will also be a year of technological fiction, and fiction is always in danger of eating away at reality.

Delacroix tilts his head, as if to scale down both caricatures. ‘Opportunities, but only if we stop treating it like a talisman. AI increases productivity when it enters processes: offices, healthcare, logistics, manufacturing, PA-not when it generates better presentations. It polarises work: those who know how to use it speed up, those who don’t know lag behind. It creates a theme of sovereignty: data, cloud, chips, models, standards.”

“A lot of people say that,” I interrupt him. “Tell me the thing in 2026 that really surprises.”

And here Delacroix gets sharper, almost amused. “AI in 2026 will not be a technological issue: it will be an issue of political inequality. Those who move in the ‘fast’ world expect immediate answers. Those who stay in the ‘slow’ world see AI as an injustice, not as a tool. And when a technology is perceived as an injustice, politics turns it into resentment.”

Plausible scenario, I think: two people in the same office, one doubles productivity, the other feels time is being stolen from her. And 2026 decides how that difference becomes a vote.

“Debt and rates: which is the ‘boring’ risk that can do the most damage?”

Delacroix almost nods, as if finally talking about the real taboo. “The return of mathematics in political discussions. If growth is weak, debt becomes a fight for credibility. If credibility falters, the spread is not a conspiracy: it is a price. Creative’ manoeuvres work as long as someone buys them; then they become an issue of trust, not accounting.” The teaspoon tinkles again, and in that tinkling there is almost a moral. “Example: a government promises everything to everyone, the markets demand a premium, and suddenly every choice is ‘tears and blood’ that you could have avoided before. Basically: discipline is not austerity, it’s insurance.”

I allow myself one more dry question. “Tell me the truth: in 2026, does Europe have to cut welfare to make defence?”

“The alternative is not ‘welfare or defence’. The alternative is ‘capacity or decline’. If you don’t produce security, in the end you pay withworse welfare: because you pay with lower growth and more frequent crises.” It’s a typical Delacroix response: obnoxious, but hard to refute. “The real question is: are you willing to spend less on rents and more on skills? And are you willing to do this before the accident? Because after the accident you will do the same, but worse and more unfairly.”

“Migration: will the crisis explode again in 2026?”

“No need to explode: just stay high and politically corrosive. It is an issue of governance and trust: borders, procedures, repatriation, integration – all together. Without administrative capacity, every peak becomes a crisis and every crisis becomes a narrative. Europe will seek external agreements: but agreements are fragile if you have no internal leverage and coherence. Scene: a new front of instability in the southern neighbourhood, a few tens of thousands more arrivals, and domestic politics goes into turmoil. So: the real stakes are the resilience of liberal institutions under pressure.”

“So far risks. Now tell me opportunities: where can the wind turn in Europe’s favour?”

Delacroix rests his hand on the table, as if to bring order. ‘In three places: defence, energy, productivity. Defence: not just spending, but industry-munitions, drones, sensors, cyber, space. It is skilled employment and autonomy. Energy: invest in grids, storage, efficiency, and low-emission technologies continuously-without changing the line every six months. Productivity: complete single market for services and capital, and modernise PA with measurable targets. Example: a large European procurement programme that standardises and scales dual-use technologies, reducing external dependencies. In practice: Europe can turn crisis into industry if it decides to do so.”

It comes naturally to me to bring it to a terrain that is often filled with rhetoric and emptied of numbers.

“What about the Mediterranean? Does it really matter in 2026 or is it just poetry?”

He shakes his head. “In 2026, the Mediterranean is not poetry. It is a multiplier, a logistics platform or a bottleneck: it depends on how much infrastructure you build and how much bureaucracy you defend.” He points with his chin to the road, as if the route is there ahead. “Cables, ports, energy connections, routes: these are the geopolitics you can build. Or let others build it. So: who controls the bottlenecks, controls the prices. And who controls the prices, governs.”

At this point, the conversation is ready for the leap that makes a piece readable all the way through: the part where assumptions become scenarios.

“Give me three different 2026s.”

Delacroix almost seems to expect this. “All right: basic, negative, positive.”

He speaks of the base scenario with the sobriety of one who does not sell hope.“Managed tension, high probability. War remains a background noise, no definitive solution but containment. European economy grows little, but avoids deep recession. Industrial policies more assertive, but fragmented. Early indicators are relative stability of energy prices and continuity of Western support for European security without sudden jerks. So: surviving, but not accelerating.”

Then comes the negative scenario, and even the bar seems to tighten a few degrees.“‘Chain crisis’, media probability. Geopolitical or energy shock reigniting prices and uncertainty. Financial stress on some countries, domestic political polarisation. Slow and quarrelsome European responses, with return of ‘every man for himself’. Early indicators are increasing hybrid incidents (cyber/sabotage) in Europe and signs of breakdown in cooperation on trade/technology between allies. So: not everything collapses, but one year is lost-and one year today weighs as much as three.”

Finally, the positive scenario, said without emphasis, almost modestly, as one speaks of a possibility that demands discipline.“Adult Europe”, low probability. Political agreement on common industrial defence and critical capabilities. Concrete steps on capital market and services, reducing fragmentation. Rapid adoption of AI in PA and business, with widespread training. Early indicators are common defence procurement and standardisation programmes and measures that really facilitate cross-border investment and scale-up in the EU. So: Europe does not ‘hope’ to count – it equips itself to count.”

“What should Europe do, operationally, already in the first hundred days of 2026?” I ask, because a hundred days is the only romance that politics should allow itself.

Delacroix comes alive, always without theatrics. “Five things that seem boring and are instead revolutionary. Defence: multi-year contracts, scalable production, common standards-and fewer national boutiques. Energy: networks and authorisations as a permanent emergency; storage capacity and flexibility as infrastructure. Capital: make it easy to invest and grow in the EU – a truly single capital market. Technology: sovereignty where it matters (data, cloud, chip, cyber), partnership where it suits. State: digital PA with goals and responsibilities-not ‘projects’.” He pauses for a moment, as if to choose the remaining sentence. “Example: if you need three years to approve a network or facility, you are not governing: you are commenting. In practice: speed is power.”

Here I interrupt him again, because his speech seems linear and I want to see if it holds friction.

“Don’t you think that democratic politics is structurally incapable of making these choices?”

“Democratic politics is incapable when it thinks it can buy time with words. But 2026 is not the year you buy time: it is the year you pay for it.” He makes a small gesture, as if to close a bill. “If democracy cannot decide, others decide for it: markets, allies, opponents. And then it is no longer politics: it is administration of decline.”

“What is the most common mistake you see in European governments when they talk about 2026?”

He takes half a second. “They treat risk as a parenthesis, not as a system. They plan for a ‘return to normality’, but normality has changed. They confuse consensus with effectiveness: they try not to displease anyone and end up disappointing everyone. They talk about values without building tools: and values without tools become a poem read to a tank. In practice: we need choices that cost money, not phrases that please.”

We are almost at the end. The Café de Flore is fuller now; the city has started talking to itself again. Delacroix puts his gloves back on with a slow gesture, like a man who has already decided that the closure must be brief.

“Last question,” I say. “If you had to give advice to the reader who governs nothing but votes, invests, works-what would you say?”

Delacroix does not look for the beautiful sentence, he looks for the useful one. “Demand measurable seriousness. Ask for timeframes, priorities, capacity numbers (even orders of magnitude), not ‘visions’. Evaluate those who can say “this we cannot afford”. It is a rare and precious phrase. Remember that security-energy, economic, military-is not free: it is a subscription. Scene: in 2026 many will discover that optimism costs less than preparedness. So: vote for those who prepare, not for those who console.”

We pay. Outside, Paris remains under the same low sky, and the cold brings order to thoughts better than any editorial. Delacroix tightens his coat and walks away towards the boulevard, swallowed up by a city that knows how to be elegant even when it is on the alert. And the final sentence – the one on the cover – hangs suspended between the morning grey and the resuming traffic, like a truth that does not need to be shouted:
In 2026, Europe has a choice: become an adult-or remain a footnote to history. “The difference between adults and children in 2026 is that adults pay the insurance before the accident. Children react by crying and calling their parents.” Such interviews can only be collected in Paris.

Read also: The fake drones over Putin’s villa and ‘95% peace’: why truth is the first victim of propaganda, by Vincenzo D’Arienzo