The End of Europe’s Geopolitical Dream

President Trump addressed NATO in a recent interview with the Financial Times, suggesting he expects them (again forgetting that the US is part of the alliance) to assist in unblocking the Strait of Hormuz. In order to put even greater pressure, he added that "if there's no response, or if it's a negative response, I think it will be very bad for the future of NATO."

Not long after, the negative RSVPs started to pile up—the main reason for refusal being: this is not our war. The Eastern Flank countries were a little more receptive, with Romania allowing the US to use its airfields for the attacks against Iran, and the Lithuanian FM suggesting that NATO should look into participation in a Strait of Hormuz mission.

And so, a new major conflict has started not far away from Europe, and nobody is even raising an eyebrow at the fact that Europe doesn't have a "European" position—neither on what to call the conflict nor on what to do about it. It's like a new show is being streamed and the only two options being considered are to watch it or switch the TV off.

And this is not a new phenomenon.

After October 7, 2023, European Union foreign ministers would convene every month, discuss for half a day, and emerge with at least three diverging positions every time. One group pressed for Israel to halt its campaign on humanitarian grounds. Another insisted it was not in Europe's interest to intervene. A third sought balance—condemning the terrorists while calling for civilian protection. None of it looked serious. None of it made the European Union look serious.

The beginning of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine provided some hope. In the immediate aftermath, European unity was striking. Sanctions were agreed rapidly, and some of the harshest ever imposed on any country. The European Peace Facility was activated to provide military equipment to a partner country for the first time in EU history. Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova received candidate status. It started to look as though Europe was actually able to get its act together when it mattered most.

The honeymoon did not last long.

Very soon Europe became paralysed. The European Peace Facility has since been effectively disabled by Hungary's veto, with some €6.6 billion in funds for Ukraine blocked. New sanctions packages have continued to accumulate, but their ambition has steadily diminished—each round more the product of lowest-common-denominator bargaining than of strategic intent. The effect on the Russian economy from recent packages is minimal, both because the bar is set so low and because member states fight to limit every addition to the sanctions list.

The most recent example was also the most disappointing. Despite strong backing from von der Leyen and the German chancellor, the plan to use frozen Russian assets to support Ukraine ended in fiasco. A workaround was eventually found—a €90 billion borrowing arrangement agreed in December 2025, structured to exclude unwilling member states. For a moment, it looked as though Europe had found a way. Then Hungary and Slovakia moved to block the disbursement—despite not participating in the borrowing—leaving Ukraine facing a funding gap by spring.

The situation regarding EU enlargement is also facing a darker future. There has always been reluctance to engage seriously with enlargement—not because the candidates are not ready, but mostly because nobody wants to champion the cause in Europe. The process is degrading into a charade to keep candidates in check and societies calm—the reassurance that something is still happening. But people in the corridors of Brussels will tell you: there will be no enlargement to the East.

As in other cases of Eastern policy, Europe faces fundamental divisions—a group that sees Russia's threat as existential, a group that believes Russia's threat is manageable, and a group of Russian agents within Europe.

The dysfunction is not only inter-governmental.

For the past six years, Europe's institutional architecture has itself been a source of incoherence. Between 2019 and 2024, it was an open secret that Commission President von der Leyen and Council President Charles Michel frequently failed to align. In the current Commission, the fault line has shifted—now running between von der Leyen and High Representative Kaja Kallas. Institutional rivalry at the top does not project credibility.

When Ursula von der Leyen took office as European Commission President in 2019, she declared her ambition was to lead a "geopolitical Commission." That phrase has haunted her ever since. Looking back across both her terms, one has to ask: was it ever more than an aspiration? Is it time to put Europe's geopolitical aspirations to rest?

But this loss of focus prevents Europe acting in the way it was actually designed to act—as a trade bloc. When Trump imposed tariffs on the EU, Europe debated retaliation briefly—then simply swallowed the pill. When China began dumping its industrial overproduction onto European markets, the response was again passive resignation rather than the defence of European industry.

While Brussels is in disarray, a shift is already happening elsewhere.

The debate over security guarantees for Ukraine is not happening in Brussels. It is happening in Paris, London, Warsaw, and Berlin. The €90 billion loan to Ukraine, though negotiated in Brussels, was not adopted by the EU as a whole—making it, in practice, a coalition-of-the-willing decision. Nordic and Baltic countries have deepened their own integration, moving faster and with more strategic coherence than any pan-European body could manage. When Trump signalled his ambitions over Greenland, the Nordic countries closed ranks around Denmark immediately. They did not wait for a European statement—because everyone understood that such a statement would never come, and that trying to produce one would only expose another fracture.

All of this is leading Europe toward a mental split—where the real politics are happening everywhere else while Brussels pretends it still plays some role. That is not healthy for the Union; that is not healthy for Europe. A continent that could very well play an important part in shaping global events will retreat to being a group of middle powers scrambling for what's left in a great power competition. The hope of a geopolitical Europe and Europe as one of those great powers would be buried.

The more ambitious response to this moment would be to turn that passive drift into an active debate. The European Commission, Council, or Parliament could table a simple but consequential question to member states: do we want Europe to be a geopolitical power? And if so, are we ready to grant Brussels a genuine mandate—including, ultimately, treaty change—to make security and foreign policy decisions with real authority? That debate, honestly conducted, might produce a new European Union capable of speaking for 450 million people.

But Brussels is not having that debate.

It is still operating on the premise that the promises of 2019 remain redeemable. They do not.

And the cost of that pretence is not abstract—every non-decision has a price, paid by Ukraine, paid by European industry, paid by the countries on Europe's Eastern Flank who are left wondering whether the alliance they depend on can actually function.

Perhaps a formal geopolitical Europe is impossible. Perhaps coalitions of the willing are the realistic vehicle for defence, security, and foreign policy for the foreseeable future. But Europeans deserve to know that this is the choice being made—and that it does not come for free.