The spectacle of Donald Trump once again striding onto the global stage with a self-fashioned “peace plan” for Ukraine has exposed something Europeans have quietly feared for years but rarely say aloud: that the European Union, led by a bureaucracy that prides itself on stability and procedure, has been caught flat-footed in one of the most pivotal geopolitical crises of our time. It is not simply that Trump can ignore Europe; it is that Europe has made itself easy to ignore.
Nowhere does this failure feel more embodied than in the figure of Ursula von der Leyen, the Commission president who often speaks as if conviction alone were a substitute for strategy. Her solemn declarations of unity, her unshakable insistence that the EU stands firmly with Ukraine, all ring somewhat hollow when measured against the brute fact that Washington whether led by Biden, Trump or a committee of unruly ghosts still dictates the tempo and terms of war and peace on Europe’s own borders. The continent that imagined itself as a normative superpower has lately struggled to be even a competent regional one.
The Trump episode crystallizes the broader paralysis. Trump, in his signature bravado, claims he can “end the war in 24 hours,” a boast that would be laughable if it weren’t a reminder of Europe’s diminished role. The disturbing part is not the outlandishness of the promise but how casually it sidelines Brussels. He doesn’t need Europe. He doesn’t fear Europe. He doesn’t even calculate Europe. He simply disregards it, as one might disregard background noise while negotiating something serious. And Europe, for all its institutions and summits and declarations, appears content to clear its throat politely while events unfold without it.
This is not merely a matter of diplomatic ego; it is a matter of security. European citizens, those whose homes lie closer to Russian artillery than Washington’s, are stuck watching leaders who seem permanently surprised by geopolitical reality. While Putin rewrites borders by force and Trump rewrites alliances by impulse, Europe writes speeches. The continent’s vulnerability is not just military; it is conceptual. It has not yet accepted that soft power finds its limits in hard times.
One might have hoped that Russia’s invasion in 2022 would jolt Brussels into strategic adulthood. And yes, Europe acted with a speed that surprised even itself, sanctions, arms deliveries, refugee support. But the initial burst of clarity soon dissolved into familiar patterns, bureaucratic friction, intra-EU disputes, strategic ambiguity masquerading as sophistication. What began as a moment of unity hardened into complacency, as if the mere act of condemning aggression could contain it.
Meanwhile, Europe’s dependence on American military power, long acknowledged, long lamented, never resolved, has reached a level that borders on the absurd. The EU talks of “strategic autonomy” with the kind of earnestness that suggests it is reciting a phrase from a language textbook it has not yet learned how to use in real conversation. For all the conferences on the subject, the continent remains a security tenant living under America’s unpredictable landlord.
Enter Trump, whose plans, whatever their details or lack thereof, underscore Europe’s inability to shape its own fate. The tragedy is not that Trump is returning to the global spotlight; it is that Europe, facing its most dangerous moment since the end of the Cold War, still relies on the whims of an American politician whose worldview is built on unilateralism and transactionalism. Europe claims to champion multilateralism, yet its security rests on a single man’s mood at any given hour.
What, then, is the path forward? It certainly does not lie in the EU’s current posture of performative resolve and institutional inertia. Europe must do something radical: take responsibility. Not in the abstract, not in glossy strategy papers, but in the concrete terms of defence spending, unified command structures, and the political willingness to face the world as it is rather than as it wishes it to be. The continent needs leadership that can distinguish between optimism and illusion, between diplomacy and drift.
But this requires confronting uncomfortable truths. It requires admitting that Ursula von der Leyen’s Commission, however well-meaning, has governed with a technocratic complacency ill-suited to an era of power politics. It requires acknowledging that many European governments have treated security as a luxury item, something to debate in safe rooms rather than invest in before the storm hits. It requires accepting that Europe’s soft-spoken moral certainty, that favoured tool of post-war identity, cannot stop tanks, dissuade autocrats, or deter the ambitions of men who believe force is the ultimate currency.
Most of all, it requires Europe to stop outsourcing its survival to the United States. America may be a friend, an ally, even a lifeline but it is not Europe’s guarantee. It never was, and certainly not in the era of Trumpian unpredictability. The notion that Europe can continue to rely on Washington while offering little more than speeches in return is not just outdated; it is dangerous. The continent must either grow into the responsibilities of sovereignty or accept the consequences of its dependence.
If Trump’s unilateralism awakens Europe from its strategic slumber, then perhaps there is a silver lining to the insult of being dismissed. But if Europe continues believing that declarations of unity are a substitute for power, then the next crisis, whether sparked in Ukraine, the Balkans, the Caucasus, or within Europe’s own political fractures will leave the EU once again staring at events it cannot shape, waiting for someone else to decide its fate.
Europe does not lack the capacity to act; it lacks the will. Until that changes, the continent remains what it has become: a geopolitical observer with the vocabulary of a superpower and the influence of a bystander. And history, as it has warned repeatedly, is not kind to bystanders.
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