The EU is its own worst enemy

In 2025, Europe can no longer claim to be going through a temporary rough patch. It is no longer a crisis, nor a series of crises. It is a permanent state of disguised failure, managed on a daily basis through fear, urgency, and carefully chosen external scapegoats. Donald Trump is one of them. Vladimir Putin is the other. Both are indispensable in ensuring that those truly responsible are not identified and held accountable.

On December 15, 2025, immediately after the joint Merz-Zelensky press conference in Berlin—presented by the press as a "strong diplomatic impulse" and "real chance for peace"—the reality remains the same: daily Russian attacks on Ukrainian infrastructure, millions without power in the middle of winter, and a Europe that talks a lot but that doesn't act. The conference confirmed this inertia: Zelensky acknowledged "different" and "painful" positions on the ground, unilateral concessions ruled out, the US merely relaying Russian demands; Merz spoke of "substantial progress" on Russian guarantees and assets, but had to admit that he needs to "convince" countries such as Belgium and Italy, which fear legal and financial risks.

Concrete results? Zero. Just drafts, working groups, and promises to "keep working." A truce until Christmas? Ridiculous. The summit on December 18–19 will be the next delaying tactic.

Europe is not the victim of this circus. It is an active participant, because it suits it to prolong "management" rather than risk taking stock.

The decline is not coming from Washington or Moscow, but from the heart of the continent, where the elites have turned dependence into a virtue and ideology into a shield against reality.

Judging by the headlines alone, Europe seems the perfect victim: Trump is "abandoning" it, Putin is "threatening" it, and Ukraine is "burning" between two worlds. This image, repeated ad nauseam, also serves as a cover. Europe became vulnerable before Trump returned and before Russia turned war into a permanent state of attrition.

For years, Europe did three things without clearly naming them. It exported industry and imported dependence. It replaced competitiveness with regulation. It outsourced security, then pretended to be surprised when it reaped what it sew.

That is why December 14-15, 2025, were not "just days of war." They are symbolic days: Ukraine's energy is struck daily to pressure Kiev into surrendering, Trump's emissaries pressing for quick results in Berlin, and a Europe that continues to talk in platitudes about "resilience" and "long-term support." It is not just a military conflict. It is a conflict of models: America wants results, Europe wants administration.

Transatlantic tensions are no longer a warning, they are a fait accompli. The relationship between the United States and the European Union no longer functions on the basis of alliance reflexes, but on the basis of cold interest. Under Trump, America no longer pretends to be committed to a partnership that has, in reality, become unbalanced. The US National Security Strategy, published on December 5, 2025, leaves no room for ambiguity: Europe is described as a continent in "decay," facing "civilizational erasure" due to open immigration policies, censorship, and "climate fanaticism," which risk making it "unrecognizable in 20 years."

Trump does not hesitate to criticize European leaders as "weak," promising to support "patriotic" parties—i.e., the far right in Austria, Hungary, Italy, and Poland—to "pull" them out from under the EU umbrella. This is not an accidental break; it is a deliberate strategy to withdraw the US from European defense, forcing the continent to assume "primary responsibility" for its own security.

Europe is discovering that loyalty no longer comes free and that protection comes with a price tag. Instead of accepting this reality, Brussels has chosen the easier option: to turn the breakup into a moral drama and look for culprits outside the continent.

The Berlin conference showed exactly that: Merz praises the US's "remarkable contributions" to guarantees, but only Ukraine decides on territory; Zelensky insists that guarantees must be clear before anything happens on the front. Europe clings to its role as "mediator," but cannot even deliver internal consensus on Russian assets.

This is not, therefore, a simple diplomatic quarrel, but a change in doctrine, akin to the Sino-Soviet split. The Sino-Soviet split started with the First Secretary of the Communist Party of the USSR, Nikita Khruschev in 1956 when he denounced Joseph Stalin, his cult of personality and began the destalinization campaign, a move which appalled the Chairman of the Chinese Communist Party, Mao Zedung, who saw it as a betrayal of Marxism-Leninism.

In a similar fashion, when Donald Trump was elected on the MAGA agenda which, at least on paper, promotes American nationalism and exceptionalism, hindering free trade, dismantling USAID and other such agencies which were key to funding liberal NGOs and newspapers abroad, the disinterest in following international law & customs and lastly, the harsh criticism and promises to restrict immigration, Eurocrats and European politicians in some member states were appalled and saw it as a betrayal of the core values of (neo)liberalism.

When an official US document refers to Europe in terms such as "decline" and "civilizational erasure," the message is no longer one of politeness, but of status: Europe is no longer treated as the center of the Western world, but as a problem to be managed.

The consequences are direct. In NATO, the US no longer wants to be the insurer of last resort. In trade, Washington pursues its unilateral interests. In energy, America sells, Europe buys. In Ukraine, the US pushes for a result, while Europe pushes for a prolongation, in the form of "long-term support."

Donald Trump is ideal for this role. He is loud, brutal, easy to hate, and perfect for explaining why "the world is not what it used to be." Except that the world did not change overnight. Europe changed slowly, through decisions made by the very people who today lament the consequences. The US strategy merely exposes what was already visible: a Europe that has lost 11 percentage points of global GDP in the last 30 years—from 25% to 14%—not because of an American president, but by ceding economic sovereignty to China, energy dependence on Russia, and a bureaucracy that has turned regulations into shackles for its own industry.

Trump becomes the scapegoat precisely because he allows the elites to avoid the mirror: a European economy that, in 2025, will barely register 1.2% growth while the US and China accelerate, and Russia—ironically—becomes the world's fourth largest economy in terms of purchasing power parity, surpassing the EU in terms of expansion since the beginning of the conflict in Ukraine.

The public feels this gap even without the figures. Europe seems to be working hard to achieve little: bureaucracy, plans, strategies, summits, communiqués, but increasingly rare results — industry leaving, expensive energy, angry farmers, wages that no longer keep pace with the cost of living, public services under pressure. And when people ask, "Who decided this?", they are given knee-jerk answers: "Don't ask now, it's Putin" or "Don't ask now, it's Trump".

At the center of this mechanism is Ursula von der Leyen, who heads a European Commission that, in 2025, no longer functions as a technical arbiter, but as a de facto political executive.

Under her leadership, the Union has been governed by a succession of "emergencies": pandemic, climate, energy, war, security. Each emergency justified the expansion of executive power, the circumvention of public debate, and the suspension of the rules that, in theory, underpinned the European project. The Green Deal, the energy policies that made electricity and gas inaccessible to industry, and the overregulation that stifled manufacturing and agriculture were no accidents.

They were political choices, made without a direct electoral mandate, defended with technocratic language designed to shut down discussion rather than clarify it. When the effects became impossible to hide—factories relocated, agriculture in revolt, the middle class eroded—there was no real correction. There was only a doubling down on the rhetoric and the invocation of a greater danger.

On December 10, 2025, the Commission launched the "Environmental Omnibus" – a package of six legislative proposals aimed at simplifying green rules, reducing the administrative burden by up to €1 billion annually for businesses and farmers. Sounds good, right? But it is a belated acknowledgment of failure: postponing the EU Deforestation Regulation (EUDR) until the end of 2026, exempting AI factories and data centers from environmental impact assessments, and weakening the 90% emissions reduction target by 2040 by allowing up to 5% of carbon credits to be purchased from abroad. These "simplifications" are not reforms; they are band-aids on a gangrenous wound.

If the Green Deal has been sold for years as inevitable, as a moral imperative, as a project "without alternative," the sudden appearance of the "omnibus" bills reveals the true nature of the operation: not technocratic perfection, but politics pushed to the point where the economy begins to falter and societies begin to revolt.

They admit that the Green Deal, sold as a path to sustainable prosperity, has led to accelerated deindustrialization: energy costs have risen by an average of 35% since 2022, making Europe uncompetitive and destabilizing the euro. German industry, once the engine of the continent, anticipates a 2% decline in production for 2025—the fourth consecutive year of decline, the worst since World War II. Factories such as those in the machine tool sector are entering their longest slump since the 1990s, and private investment has fallen to 1995 levels.

Von der Leyen presents this as a "victory for competitiveness," but it is merely a disguised capitulation: Europe has chosen climate ideology over economic resilience, leaving citizens to pay the price—higher bills, lost jobs, and a slow erosion of the middle class that fuels populism, not solves the crisis.

This is where Vladimir Putin comes in. In the Europe of 2025, Putin is no longer just the leader of Russia. He is the universal explanation. He justifies high prices, industrial decline, budget deficits, restrictions on freedom of expression, and the demonization of any internal criticism. Any question about European policies is quickly reframed: "it's not the right time," "we're at war," "that helps the Kremlin." Putin has become the tool by which debate is canceled and responsibility postponed.

Here it is worth stating an uncomfortable truth, without relativizing Russia's aggression: Europe can rightly condemn Russia and, at the same time, acknowledge that it has used Russia as an alibi. These two things are not mutually exclusive. In fact, in 2025, they go hand in hand: the longer the war lasts, the more useful the alibi becomes.

On December 13-15, Russian attacks hit Ukraine's energy network again, causing power outages and injuring civilians — brutal proof that the suffering is real, not a figure of speech. In Brussels, however, these episodes fuel the narrative of "long-term support," not an exit strategy.

The European summit on December 18–19 will discuss Ukraine's "urgent financial needs" for 2026–2027, including loans of up to €165 billion guaranteed by frozen Russian assets, through an architecture designed to circumvent inconvenient vetoes.

In this equation, opposition began in Belgium, the first to publicly oppose the plan, citing direct legal and financial risks — and precisely because a large part of the frozen Russian assets are located on Belgian territory, and any legal consequences would first fall on Belgium. Others subsequently fell into line — Italy, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Malta — each with its own national calculations, fear of setting a precedent, internal pressure, and reluctance to validate a mechanism that shifts the risk to taxpayers.

The Berlin conference reconfirmed the divisions: Merz argued for a permanent freeze and rapid use, but acknowledged that he had to convince the reluctant states. Forcing through a qualified majority (Art. 122) is not strength — it is procedural desperation.

At this point, the war in Ukraine is no longer presented as winnable or negotiable in clear terms. It is presented as a permanent state of affairs that must be "managed." There is no longer talk of an end, but of "long-term support," "resilience," and "combating fatigue." These phrases say more than they seem. They show that, for the current European elites, peace has become a political risk.

On December 14-15, Volodymyr Zelensky was in Berlin for marathon talks with Trump's emissaries and European leaders. The joint conference spoke of "real progress," but highlighted painful differences on the ground and guarantees that sound good on paper (equivalent to Art. 5, monitoring), without any concrete details. Trump is pushing for a quick end; Europe, caught in inertia, prefers to prolong the conflict.

Why? Because war provides a perfect alibi for structural dependence: dependence on Russian gas before 2022, dependence on the US for security (now contested), and a "driving force" for domestic politics: it justifies austerity, taxes, wage freezes, industrial closures put on "transition," and control of discourse.

Why? Because peace would bring quiet. And quiet would bring questions. Who decided on the energy policies that have made life more expensive for hundreds of millions of people? Who allowed European industry to become uncompetitive? Who pushed agriculture into an absurd bureaucratic maze? Who chose redistribution and subsidies over production and investment?

The culprits are not abstract. They are not "the system," they are not "the context," they are not "geopolitics." They are people with names and surnames and institutions with signatures: Ursula von der Leyen and the Commission she leads; the consensus at the top of the European Council that pushes decisions without real popular mandate; national governments that feign indignation in Brussels but vote obediently at home; lobby networks that have turned the energy transition into a huge transfer of public money to politically "favored" sectors.

Germany: the new 'sick man of Europe'

In this landscape of permanent emergency, Germany is no longer the locomotive of Europe, but the barometer of its decline. Under Friedrich Merz, a chancellor who came to power with the promise to "repair the real economy" and bring rationality back to a state suffocated by forced transitions, reality was much harsher than the rhetoric. The Berlin conference positioned Merz as the host of negotiations and a "close ally" of Ukraine, with promises of a 2026 budget and economic cooperation, but Germany remains in free fall.

On December 2, 2025, the Federation of German Industries (BDI) published one of the bleakest reports in decades: the German economy is in "free fall." Industrial production is falling by about 2% in 2025, a dramatic revision from the previous forecast of -0.5%. This is the fourth consecutive year of decline—an unprecedented situation in postwar Germany. The machine tool sector, the backbone of European heavy industry, is entering its third year of slump, the longest in 30 years. Private investment has fallen to levels comparable to those of 1995, a clear sign that the business community no longer has confidence in the continent's strategic direction.

Merz promises reforms, but they are slow, fragmented and, above all, politicised. Temporary subsidies are keeping alive industries that are no longer structurally competitive in Europe but are extremely profitable across the Atlantic. The result is paradoxical: Germany is spending enormously to preserve an economic model that is slowly slipping away. It no longer produces competitive advantage; it produces postponement.

This is not just a German problem. It is the central problem of the European Union: if Germany can no longer pull the continent forward, and France cannot lead alone, then the European project enters a dangerous limbo, where no one is really in charge.

Macron and the strategic autonomy that never begins

Emmanuel Macron continues to talk about European "strategic autonomy," a concept repeated obsessively in speeches but emptied of content in practice. Real strategic autonomy would mean quick decisions, painful sacrifices, deep industrial integration, and, above all, a real transfer of sovereignty to common structures. These are precisely the things that member states carefully avoid.

In the context of the new US National Security Strategy, France is no longer seen as a strategic pillar, but as part of a Europe perceived as demographically and ideologically unstable. Washington no longer buys into the rhetoric of a "responsible European leader" as long as Paris cannot deliver concrete results: a functional common defense industry, independent energy capacity, and budgetary discipline compatible with geopolitical ambitions.

Macron talks about the future, but he governs a present in which France faces recurring social protests, high public debt, and an industry that survives more through protection than through competitiveness. Strategic autonomy remains a useful but harmless slogan, precisely because it does not materialize.

António Costa and the Europe of communiqués

At the head of the European Council, António Costa administers a mechanism that no longer produces decisions, but sterile consensus. The Europe of 2025 is rich in summits and poor in results. The communiqués are carefully worded, ambiguous, designed not to upset anyone or oblige anyone.

The summit on December 18–19 is emblematic: "urgent action for Ukraine," "solidarity," "shared responsibility." But beyond the rhetoric, there is no coherent vision for the 2028–2034 multiannual financial framework, for industrial restructuring, or for breaking out of the logic of perpetual borrowing. The Council is no longer the place where decisions are made, but a waiting room for crises.

This paralysis is not accidental. It is the result of a system designed to avoid direct political responsibility. When the decision is collective and diluted, the blame no longer belongs to anyone.

Lagarde and artificial stability

Above it all floats the European Central Bank, led by Christine Lagarde. The official discourse speaks of stability, controlled inflation, and a "soft landing." In reality, the Union is living on temporary derogations that have become permanent, on hidden deficits, and on subsidies that keep an exhausted economic model alive.

Inflation is falling towards 2.1%, but this figure says nothing about the accumulated debt, the lack of productive investment and systemic fragility. Without the context of war, without the "emergency", this architecture would collapse under its own weight. With war, it can be artificially maintained, at the cost of the slow impoverishment of the population.

It is a cynical compromise: macroeconomic stability on paper, social instability in real life.

Belgium – the initial rift

It is important to remember, because this is not a minor detail: Belgium was the first to say “no.” Not Hungary, not Slovakia, not the “rebellious East.” Belgium, a founding member of the EU, home to European institutions, the country where most of Russia’s frozen assets are located.

Belgium's opposition to using these assets as collateral for massive loans was not ideological. It was legal, financial, and pragmatic. Belgium simply said: the risk is too great, the precedent is dangerous, and the legal consequences could explode right where these assets are located. Only after this signal did Italy, Hungary, Slovakia, the Czech Republic, and Malta begin to align themselves, each for its own reasons, but united by the same fear: the bill will not be collected equally.

The fact that institutional Brussels chose to bypass these objections by qualified majority is not a sign of strength. It is a sign of political weakness, masked by procedure. The Berlin conference highlighted exactly that: Merz understands the concerns, but wants to convince – that is, to force.

Why peace scares Brussels

In this context, it becomes clear why peace is treated as a danger. Not for Ukraine. Not for Europe's security. But for the internal political architecture of the Union.

Peace would turn off the moral tap. It would force a reckoning. It would ask the question that no one wants to hear: "What do we do now?" Without war, there is no longer any justification for permanent derogations, for joint loans without democratic control, for industrial policies built on exceptions.

The conference on December 15 made it clear: Europe prefers "progress in drafts" and "continuous work" to a decision that would expose internal cracks and force answers to uncomfortable questions.

War allows for postponement. Peace requires decision.

Europe in 2025 is a victim of its own decisions. Not Trump's. Not Putin's.

Donald Trump is useful. Vladimir Putin is indispensable. Between the two, European elites have constructed a narrative that constantly shifts attention away from the continent, shielding from view the simple and uncomfortable truth: Europe is not a victim of foreign leaders, but of its own political choices.

In December 2025, the European Union is no longer a project of prosperity. It is a sophisticated apparatus for managing decline. The war in Ukraine is not the cause of this decline, but the pretext that makes it politically bearable.

As long as this pretext works, the culprits will not be named. And citizens will continue to be asked for patience, solidarity, and sacrifice. Not because there is no alternative, but because the alternative begins with a word that no one at the top of Europe wants to utter: responsibility.

This article was machine-translated and adapted from this Romanian Substack:

https://danfoamete.substack.com/p/europa-de-azi-nu-e-victima-lui-trump