It was 2022, and I was in a dimly lit pub in Krakow, Poland. Russia’s war raged just across the border in Ukraine, and a Frenchman leaned in and asked, “Are you heading to Ukraine?”
“To the war?” his companion added, genuinely surprised.
“The war is two hours away,” I responded. “A Russian rocket could land here by mistake.”
They understood the proximity, not the reality — it wasn’t their war. Over overpriced local brews, the conversation drifted to NATO, American imperialism, and the usual critiques of Western power. “You feel safe in Krakow because of NATO and America,” I countered. They shrugged. It wasn’t enough to sway them. One would think that with Russian missiles raining down on Ukraine, Europeans would have recognized the war’s reach.
But that realization didn’t come until January when President Donald Trump again took office.
European countries are now scrambling to prepare for the possibility that the United States might withdraw the security umbrella that has shielded the continent for nearly 80 years. Before Trump’s return to the White House, many European politicians were already calling for an end to the war — not through victory but through negotiation. In liberal circles of Paris and Berlin, Washington was often blamed for provoking the conflict, while calls for “peace” echoed across European conferences — vague, rhetorical, and lacking a concrete plan. Ironically, this sentiment mirrors the Trump administration’s approach, which many in Europe now denounce as pressuring Ukraine into surrender. Over the past three years, “peace” has increasingly become a euphemism for capitulation on both sides of the Atlantic.
Trump’s decision to halt military aid to Kyiv has forced Europeans to consider their own defense capabilities for the first time.
The European alarm is not driven primarily by solidarity with Ukraine, despite speeches to that effect, but rather by a more stark realization: If the war ends on Russia’s terms and the U.S. withdraws from Europe, the next target could be them.
Russia has suffered heavy losses in Ukraine, with between 150,000 and 200,000 soldiers dead, many hundreds of thousands more badly wounded, and its military capabilities diminished. But if Moscow emerges from this war with a perceived victory, the balance of power could shift and embolden further aggression, testing Europe’s already fragile security.
In response, European countries are discussing a major defense spending increase. The European Union, for example, is proposing an $867 billion defense investment plan over four years, funded by higher budget deficits. Germany’s Christian Democratic Union leader, Friedrich Merz, has announced more military investments, while Italy plans to boost arms production. Some leaders have pushed for defense borrowing, while others prefer reallocating existing funds, but few are willing to cut social spending. That consideration accounts for 20% of the EU’s budget. Beyond fiscal challenges, some European countries also face industrial constraints, with Russia currently outproducing its competition in weapons manufacturing.
Brussels-based research institute Bruegel and the Kiel Institute for the World Economy estimate that Europe needs 300,000 soldiers, at least 1,400 battle tanks, and 2,000 infantry vehicles to defend against Russia. This exceeds the current stocks of the entire German, French, Italian, and British land forces. On top of this, it would need to increase air-defense capabilities and drone production dramatically and invest in research for new technologies. Put simply, Europe faces a big challenge.
How did Europe get to this point?
The peace of the past eight decades was less stable than it appeared. The Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia and Hungary and wars in the Balkans and the Caucasus all unfolded on European soil. For decades, however, leading European nations underinvested in defense, failing to meet NATO’s 2% spending target while deepening their reliance on Russian energy — a dependency that persists in parts of Europe. Spending prioritized welfare programs, while regulations hindered energy independence.
Calls for “engagement” with Russia continued even as Moscow escalated its aggression on the continent. Ukrainian officials have pointed out that Russian tanks are equipped with French night vision technology sold to the country not long ago. Even after Russia invaded Georgia, annexed Crimea, and launched war in Donbas, European leaders maintained their approach of diplomatic outreach. In 2016, former French President Francois Hollande called Russia “a partner, not a threat.” It was not long ago that French President Emmanuel Macron wanted a dialogue with Russian President Vladimir Putin, insisting that a resolution of the war should allow the Russian leader to “save face.”
Talks about common European defense are not new; they date back to the 1950s. London and Paris reaffirmed their ambitions in the 1998 Saint-Malo Declaration, calling for the EU to be “backed up by credible military forces.” Yet, these efforts have remained hollow. Even as the U.S. presence in Europe shrank from 300,000 troops during the Cold War to about 60,000 just before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Europe failed to fill the gap. Macron’s push for European strategic autonomy has similarly proved to be an effort built on rhetoric rather than actual military power.
Part of the reason for this failure is the deep mistrust Central and Eastern European states have toward Western Europe’s ability to deter Russia. The war in Ukraine has only reinforced this skepticism, as leading European nations struggled to provide meaningful military assistance. Even before the war, Poland and the Baltic states, among the continent’s largest defense spenders, consistently looked to Washington as their primary security guarantor. This distrust is rooted in history: Western Europe’s failure to protect them during the Soviet era, repeated attempts to appease Moscow, and, ultimately, the hard reality that Europe still depends on the United States for military strength. These states know it will take a decade for Europe to catch up.
But without Washington at the helm, could the Russian threat finally forge real European cohesion? Or will opposition to Trump become its new, shaky foundation?
The Central European, Ukrainian, and Georgian perspectives were forged by rifles, rockets, and Russia, but shouldn’t the European perspective have been shaped by these realities, too? Those two French men in Krakow, part of my generation, could afford skepticism toward the West and the U.S., never having to contemplate their physical security. This luxury of indifference is another challenge Europe faces: the lack of public will to defend itself.
A 2022 Worldwide Independent Network of Market Research poll found that 38% of Europeans would not fight for their country, making Europe the least willing region in the world. In France, only 33% said they would take up arms; in Italy, 20%; and 22% in Germany. By contrast, 65% of Finns and 75% of Georgians expressed readiness to fight. A comparison with 2015 data revealed that even after a full-scale war on its doorstep, European sentiment has not shifted.
Pro-Russian politicians are gaining traction in Romania, Slovakia, and Hungary — not because Europeans have suddenly embraced Russia, but because they see the West’s failure to follow through. They have watched Western resolve waver as it debates itself into exhaustion and grows weary of another “forever war.” They don’t turn to Moscow sympathizers because of disinformation but in response to Western weakness and the fear that Russia might ultimately emerge victorious from this war in one way or another.
Former French President François Mitterrand once posed a question that resonates even more today: “Why are all the pacifists on our side and all the nuclear missiles on the other side?”
EUROPEAN LEADERS URGE SWITCH TO WAR FOOTING AS US SUPPORT FOR UKRAINE WANES
Europe now faces a difficult choice it has long avoided. This realization has come at a moment when the continent is not only out of time and arms but also out of will.
The question is no longer theoretical: If the U.S. steps back, will Europe finally step forward? Or will leaders in London, Paris, and Berlin simply wait out the next four years, hoping for a more sympathetic face in Washington?