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Part One of this H File investigation laid the first two strata under the Anunnaki story. The first was the nineteenth-century decipherment of cuneiform, a Protestant project built to vindicate the Bible with archaeological discoveries, which hardened into a racial contest over who invented civilization and gave Friedrich Delitzsch the platform for a scholarly campaign to cut Christianity loose from its Jewish roots, particularly the notion that Yahweh was God.

The second was the moment archaeology became statecraft, when Gertrude Bell and T. E. Lawrence walked off the dig and into the intelligence service and helped draw the borders of modern Iraq. Running through both was the broker: whoever held the chokepoint between the buried past and the meaning made of it, the money that decided what came out of the ground and the translator who decided what it was allowed to say.This installment climbs to the third stratum, the one we are still living in: how the ancient gods acquired their spaceships, how President Truman’s signature ended up on the recognition of Israel, and how the man who branded the Anunnaki connects to a publishing empire and, through it, to the crimes of Jeffrey Epstein.

History is written by the victors, but if you understand the psychology of magic or the magic of psychology, you can write your victory into existence before the battle starts. You corrupt the texts. You plant a history that lays the foundation for a victory you authored years earlier and labeled “prophecy.” By the time the fighting begins, the outcome has already been narrated.

Le point de départ de mon intervention est une question en apparence simple : pourquoi rapprocher deux anniversaires aussi éloignés que les 250 ans de la Déclaration d’Indépendance des États-Unis d’Amérique et les 50 ans de la Charte d’Alger ? La réponse, à mon avis, ne peut pas être seulement commémorative.

The Fourth of July should mark 250 years since the signing of the United States Declaration of Independence—a moment to reflect on freedom, self-government, and the fragile architecture of democracy. Instead, under Trump, America’s birthday risks becoming less a civic celebration than a carnival of vanity, complete with flags, fireworks, and carefully choreographed self-worship.

At first glance, today’s strategic map seems familiar. A bloc of land-based powers, clustered around the center of Eurasia, is challenging a liberal, maritime order headed by an offshore superpower. China and Russia, reinforced by Iran and North Korea and ringed by autocracies from Belarus to Myanmar, now occupy the role that Napoleonic France, imperial Germany, and the Soviet Union each once held—continental empires seeking to dominate Eurasia and project power globally. The United States, like the United Kingdom before it, remains the only actor capable of anchoring a great arc of coastal and maritime countries across North America, Europe, and East Asia that hem in the Eurasian supercontinent. The rhythm of geopolitics repeats itself: an autocratic axis, emerging from the continental heartland, seeks to rupture rimland barriers that buffer the wider world.