Europeans sense danger — yet still hesitate to act

Europeans have begun to feel something unfamiliar: vulnerability.

For three generations the continent lived inside a strategic paradox. It possessed advanced economies, stable democracies and generous welfare systems, yet relied on a power across an ocean for its ultimate security. The arrangement worked so well that it became invisible. Nato was not experienced as a military alliance so much as a fact of nature — like gravity or weather. Now that certainty is dissolving.

A recent Eurobarometer survey found that 68 per cent of Europeans believe their country is under threat. The number is remarkable not because Europe is newly dangerous, but because Europeans have newly realised it.

Russia’s war in Ukraine shattered the assumption that major conflict on the continent had become impossible. China’s increasingly coercive economic posture revealed that trade, once seen as a path to peace, can also be a weapon. And the United States — long the unshakeable guarantor — now appears politically unpredictable, its commitments tied to domestic debates rather than historical habit.

The change in mood is perhaps most clearly visible in Germany. Its Federal Office of Civil Protection and Disaster Assistance now advises citizens to keep several days’ worth of food at home, the first such recommendation since the Cold War. Officials stress the country remains safe. Yet the very existence of the guidance is telling. Governments do not quietly prepare populations for contingency unless they have begun contemplating it seriously themselves.

Berlin has also become the single largest provider of military and related support to Ukraine since Washington halted new direct aid. By 2029 its defence budget is projected to exceed the combined military spending of Britain and France. Nato Secretary-General Mark Rutte reportedly describes the planned €150bn commitment as “staggering”.

Germany, once Europe’s most reluctant military power, is rearming. The symbolism is unmistakable: history has returned to a continent that thought it had outgrown it. However, yet the rest of Europe has not entirely caught up with the implications.

Britain provides the most uncomfortable example. The United Kingdom still speaks the language of a leading military nation, yet its armed forces have been allowed to shrink steadily in manpower, equipment and readiness. The British Army is now the smallest it has been since the Napoleonic era. Warships are frequently unavailable for deployment. Aircraft numbers remain thin, ammunition stockpiles modest, and recruitment persistently short of targets.

In rhetoric Britain remains a major power. In capacity it risks becoming a ceremonial one — respected for its past and relied upon less for its present.

This matters because Britain has traditionally been Europe’s serious military actor, the state that combined strategic thinking with actual force. When London weakens, Europe’s deterrence credibility weakens with it. One cannot lecture Moscow about strength while quietly running down one’s own armed forces.

If Britain illustrates underinvestment, the European Union illustrates something else entirely: institutional paralysis. Brussels is adept at drafting frameworks, establishing mechanisms, and convening conferences. When confronted by rapidly changing geopolitics, however, its instinct remains procedural. Meetings are scheduled, communiqués issued, and working groups established. The result is activity without urgency or meaningful effect.

European leaders gather, statements emerge, and almost nothing changes on the ground. Defence remains largely national, procurement fragmented, and military planning hesitant. The EU has perfected regulatory power but struggles with strategic power. It is a formidable economic bloc, yet not yet a coherent geopolitical actor.

The problem is structural. Institutions designed to manage agricultural quotas and trade harmonisation cannot easily pivot to deterrence and defence mobilisation. Consensus politics works well for tariffs; it works poorly for crises.

Meanwhile the world is not waiting.

Donald Trump’s approach, deeply unsettling to many Europeans, has forced an uncomfortable clarity. He has insisted allies contribute more to their own security, threatened tariffs when interests diverge, and treated international relations as a negotiation rather than a sentimental bond. His manner has been abrasive, at times alarming — particularly over Greenland — but his core argument is neither new nor uniquely American: states ultimately prioritise their own interests.

European leaders often resent the tone. They should instead recognise the lesson.

For decades the United States quietly absorbed Europe’s strategic burdens. Trump merely said aloud what previous presidents expressed diplomatically — that security guarantees cannot be unconditional forever. The real shock in Europe was not the policy but the candour.

Europe’s mistake is to interpret this as abandonment rather than warning. Washington is not necessarily retreating from the alliance, but it is clearly signalling a new expectation: partnership must be reciprocal. Rather than protesting American assertiveness, European governments might profit from adopting some of it. Strategic seriousness requires decisions — sustained defence spending, integrated military planning, industrial capacity, and political will. It cannot be produced by declarations alone.

The truth is simple and uncomfortable. Europe has been able to sustain expansive social systems partly because someone else underwrote its security. That arrangement was historically unusual. It may also have been temporary.

The continent now stands between an aggressive Russia, a powerful China and an America whose protection depends increasingly on political calculation. The age of automatic guarantees has ended. Europe must either become a genuine strategic actor or accept strategic dependence. Germany appears to have understood this first. Britain has yet to match its rhetoric with resources. The European Union still believes process can substitute for power.

History rarely grants long adjustment periods. The Eurobarometer numbers show Europeans sense this instinctively. They feel exposed not because the world has suddenly become dangerous, but because it has reverted to normal. The question is whether Europe will respond like a geopolitical player — or continue behaving like a committee.