For months now, the rhetoric out of Brussels has been thick with solemn talk of “readiness” and “resilience.” Ursula von der Leyen and her officials trumpet new European Defence Industrial Strategies, issue communiqués about stockpiling ammunition, and discuss force integration with NATO.

Yet for all the political grandstanding, one truth is emerging with stark clarity: Europe is not remotely prepared to protect its own citizens should war break out in the coming months.

The continent’s leaders have, understandably, obsessed about Ukraine and the Kremlin’s designs. They have spent countless hours hammering out aid packages, debating sanctions, and modelling various “escalation scenarios.” What they have not done is the most basic task of government in an age of insecurity: ensuring that the population has the means to endure a crisis. Civil defence—the unglamorous business of shelters, stockpiles, emergency drills, and public information—has been treated as a Cold War relic. Europe’s ordinary citizens are paying for that neglect.

A forgotten tradition

During the Cold War, West Germany, Sweden, and Switzerland maintained vast networks of bunkers, emergency broadcast systems, and civil preparedness programmes.

In Britain, too, however imperfectly, the public was at least offered a plan. The government’s “Protect and Survive” campaign of the 1980s may be remembered for its frightening leaflets and grimly inadequate advice about hiding under doors or painting windows white, but the underlying principle was sound: civilians had a right to be briefed on the dangers and given some means of survival.

Much of that infrastructure still exists, though mothballed and ignored. Across the EU, however, investment dwindled to near zero after 1991. The assumption, shared by successive leaders in Brussels, was that history had ended. Globalisation and the single market were supposed to make war on the continent unthinkable. That conceit was shattered first by Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, and later obliterated by the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022.

Yet even after Mariupol and Bucha, after missile strikes on Kyiv and Odesa, European governments—egged on by the Commission’s misplaced priorities—still failed to revive the basic machinery of civil protection.

Shelters that don’t exist

The figures are stark. Finland, with its long border with Russia, has enough bomb shelters to house its entire population. Switzerland can also shelter nearly every citizen. By contrast, Germany has capacity for little more than five per cent. France never built comprehensive networks. Italy’s civil defence corps is better at tackling earthquakes than war. And in Britain, most Cold War bunkers have been sealed up, sold off, or left to rot.

The European Commission’s response has been to launch glossy “resilience” strategies heavy on language but light on practical measures. Brussels has spent billions subsidising battery plants and renewable energy schemes, while the protection of citizens in a genuine emergency has been left to national governments—most of whom no longer see it as their responsibility. Ursula von der Leyen herself rarely addresses civil defence at all; her focus is on military-industrial matters, not the safety of the people she claims to represent.

Lessons from Ukraine

It is not as though the dangers are hypothetical. Ukrainians live every day with the consequences of having—or lacking—civil defence. In Kyiv, vast Soviet-era metro stations have been repurposed into life-saving shelters. Cities that lack such infrastructure have suffered terrible civilian casualties. That Europeans cannot see in these lessons the urgent need to act betrays either wilful blindness or gross complacency.

John Healey, Britain’s Defence Secretary, has spoken of making skies, seas, and land “safe” for Ukraine in a future settlement. Yet if tomorrow a missile or cyber strike were directed at Berlin, Warsaw, or London, how would civilians be kept safe? Where would they shelter? How would power grids, hospitals, and communications hold up? These questions remain unanswered, even as leaders mouth platitudes about “strategic autonomy.”

The two-tier approach

What is most galling to many citizens is the apparent two-tier approach to security. Politicians and EU officials will have access to secure facilities and protected transport. Ordinary people, however, are expected to fend for themselves. When citizens raise concerns, they are accused of alarmism, as though preparing for contingencies is a vice rather than a virtue.

Critics also point out that billions have been found for the Green Deal, for subsidies to struggling eurozone economies, and for Brussels’ ever-expanding bureaucracy. But when it comes to something as fundamental as public safety in a crisis, the purse snaps shut. It is little wonder trust in institutions has collapsed.

A call for realism

Europe does not need to recreate the paranoia of the 1980s, but it does need realism. That means a continent-wide audit of shelter capacity; investment in emergency medical supplies; clear, decentralised communication systems that can survive cyber attacks; and public drills to familiarise populations with procedures. It also means recognising that war is not only fought with tanks and drones but with power cuts, disinformation, and the disruption of supply chains.

The EU prides itself on being a “community of values.” Yet the first duty of any community is to protect its members. By neglecting civil defence, Brussels betrays that duty. The irony is that Ursula von der Leyen talks endlessly about “resilience” but appears unable—or unwilling—to grasp its most literal meaning: the ability of a society to withstand shocks.

The political cost

The failure will not remain without consequence. Populist parties across the continent are already exploiting the vacuum, pointing out that ordinary citizens are left vulnerable while elites posture. In Germany, the AfD – ironically supported by Russia – has seized on civil defence lapses to bolster its argument that the political class is detached from reality. In France, Marine Le Pen’s National Rally makes similar points. If the EU continues to neglect its citizens’ safety, it will fuel the very movements Brussels most fears.

The way forward

The uncomfortable truth is that Europe is at a crossroads. Either it treats civil defence with the seriousness it deserves, or it risks entering a period of crisis with the population utterly unprepared. That is a recipe not just for casualties but for panic, disorder, and a collapse of trust in government.

Britain’s “Protect and Survive” campaign is often ridiculed today, with its crude instructions about whitewashing windows or crouching beneath doors. Yet, for all its flaws, it represented at least a recognition of responsibility. Citizens were given a framework, however basic, to think about survival. Contrast that with Brussels today: a continent of glossy strategy documents but no serious plan for keeping families alive if the worst should come.

History offers no mercy to the complacent. The EU’s leaders have grown accustomed to thinking of war as a remote problem for distant regions. But geography and geopolitics have shifted. Europe is once again on the frontline of a great-power confrontation. If Brussels cannot wake from its slumber and put the safety of its people first, then its fine words about “security” will ring hollow indeed.

Main Image: National Nuclear Security Administration / Nevada Site Office – National Nuclear Security