My first reaction to Secretary of State Marco Rubio’s speech, delivered on Valentine’s Day, at the Munich Security Conference, was, “Last year, President Donald Trump sent the bad cop, Vice President JD Vance. This year, he sent the good cop, Rubio. Progress.” In February 2025, the audience at Munich took Vance’s comments as insults. In February 2026, the audience, as evidenced by its standing ovation, took Rubio’s as compliments.
Yet, as even journalists writing on deadline quickly discerned, Rubio’s words were no less critical than Vance’s of what have been European elites’ cherished policies.
“Mass migration,” Rubio said, is “a crisis which is transforming and destabilizing societies all across the West.” He decried a “climate cult” and “energy policies” that “impoverished our people.” He condemned policies that “outsourced our sovereignty to international institutions” and invested in massive welfare states.”
Red meat substance, suitable for delivery at any of the three Trump Republican National Conventions — more than have nominated any one person, the president might remind you, except for President Richard Nixon. But leavened, as the above quotations suggest, with frequent employment of the first-person pronouns and adjectives — “we” (69 times in the text, by my count), “us” (11), “our” (65).
“What comforted worried attendees,” wrote Michael Froman, head of the Council on Foreign Relations and Obama trade negotiator, “was the undertone of the secretary’s remarks.”
But it wasn’t just the undertone that had many Republicans and others start thinking of Rubio as a possible future presidential candidate, despite his recent avowals of support for Vance for the Republican nomination in 2028.
And as a national leader with an intellectually serious grasp of history. Rubio began by summoning memories of the first Munich conference, in 1963, when the Iron Curtain ran through a divided Germany and the Berlin Wall was just 2 years old.
Halfway through the speech, he went further back, to the postwar years when “our predecessors” faced with a “Europe in ruins” and expanding Communism, “recognized that decline was a choice, and it was a choice they refused to make.” An interesting way to frame the decisions that produced the Truman Doctrine and the NATO treaty.
Against that, he described the post-Cold War euphoria that “the rules-based global order” would replace national interest. “A foolish idea,” he said unemolliently, that “has cost us dearly.” A Trumpian take, followed by an implicit denunciation of opening up trade relations with China.
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Rather than dwell on that critique, however, he segued back to “centuries of shared history, Christian faith, culture, heritage, language, ancestry,” all parts of “the common civilization to which we have fallen heir.”
This might have rankled, and perhaps was intended to rankle, the European Union leaders who, out of secular conviction or for fear of angering Muslim immigrants, successfully blocked mention of Europe’s “Christian roots” in the EU charter.
As he neared his peroration, Rubio celebrated Christopher Columbus and the English, Scots-Irish, French, German, Spanish, and Dutch roots of Americans from Davy Crockett to “the cowboy archetype … born in Spain.” Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-NY), in Munich for her first security conference, ridiculed that last claim, apparently unaware that the Americas had no horses until Hernan Cortes brought some to Mexico in 1519.
More importantly, Rubio’s emphasis on America’s European heritage is a rebuke of the Franz Fanon-inspired theory, fostered on campuses for decades and sweeping the streets in post-Oct. 7, 2023, “anti-Zionist” demonstrations, that colonialism was the greatest evil in history, and that Europeans and Americans should do penance for their complicity.
Europeans are or should be aware, from the totalitarian tides of the 20th century, that there are worse evils than colonialism — and that to exclude difficult-to-assimilate immigrants is to commit another Holocaust.
But rather than belabor that last point, Rubio instead made the point earlier that “it was here, in Europe, where the ideas that planted the seeds of liberty that changed the world were born.” Including “the rule of law, the universities and the scientific revolution,” plus Mozart and Beethoven, Dante and Shakespeare, Michelangelo and Leonardo, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.
Europe should be “proud,” a word he repeated half a dozen times, “of its heritage and its history.” Proud of a “spirit of creation and liberty that sent ships out into uncharted seas and birthed our civilization,” with a Europe that has the means to defend itself and the will to survive.”
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Among American and European elites, open expression of pride is something, well, just not done. They prefer to denounce the “systemic racism” of their fellow citizens or the “oppressive colonialism” of their forebears, to disparage the motives of “settlers” and idealize the virtues of the “indigenous.”
But pride in one’s nation and one’s civilization, properly understood, is not a warrant for self-satisfaction but a summons to duty, a reminder that for us to whom much has been given much is asked. In Munich, Rubio was not just Trump’s good cop but a mature American leader towering above the crowd.