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 J.D. 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.

“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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

Among American and European elites, open expression of pride is something, well, just not done.

They prefer to denounce the “systemic racism” or the “oppressive colonialism” of their forebears.”

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.