by Marco Baratto
The growing tension between the United States, Ukraine, and Europe did not begin with Donald Trump's recent statements. It stems from a decades-long misunderstanding: Europe sees itself as a mature political actor, yet still relies on Washington for its security and for the management of major international crises. Trump's latest remarks—accusing European allies of obstructing negotiations on a peace plan for Ukraine—have simply exposed a truth the continent often prefers not to face. However unpleasant it may be, the American position reflects a reality: Europe has long claimed a leading role without giving itself the tools needed to exercise real power, ending up more as an observer than a decision-maker, an actor that wants influence without paying the cost of having it.
Recent history helps explain how this imbalance formed. It is undeniable that the great tragedies of the 20th century began in Europe and that the United States intervened twice to prevent total war from destroying the world. It is equally true that the Balkans conflict in the 1990s dragged on until Washington forced local leaders to accept a negotiated settlement in Dayton, confirming that Europe was unable to handle its own security. Even in the Middle East, many contemporary fractures trace back to borders imposed by European powers after World War I—further proof that Europe created problems it could not later resolve on its own. Still, reducing this to a simple narrative in which Europeans cause crises and Americans clean them up would be just as simplistic. The United States never acted as a disinterested savior: its military and diplomatic presence in Europe also strengthened its global leadership and countered rival powers. But this does not change the basic fact that without the United States, Europe would have struggled to navigate the crises of the last century.
Against this backdrop, Trump's current posture is not an anomaly but rather a visible symptom of a long-building trend: growing American impatience. For years, both Republicans and Democrats have complained that Europeans invest too little in their own defense, quarrel too much among themselves, and take American protection for granted. The war in Ukraine has made this contradiction painfully clear. Faced with the most severe threat to European security since 1945, the European Union spoke of unity, autonomy, and strategic resolve—yet remained without a common army, without a coordinated defense industry, and without a shared geopolitical strategy. Washington once again had to step in, and Trump now uses this reality to pressure allies and present himself as the only credible broker of a possible peace deal between Kyiv and Moscow. Whether he does this out of belief, political calculation, or a desire to project strength in a volatile moment matters less than the effect: Europe appears weak because it has done little to avoid being weak.
This systemic fragility fuels debate over what European integration is actually for. Some argue that the European Union has failed in its ambitions, becoming a bureaucratic machine incapable of defending its citizens or articulating a coherent vision. From this perspective, Europe would have been better off limiting itself to being a free-movement zone, a large market made up of fully sovereign nations cooperating only on practical matters. A minimalist arrangement rooted in trade and mobility, without the pretensions of a political union that has never truly enjoyed wide support. According to this view, the EU's attempt to play a geopolitical role has produced only paralysis and infighting, without offering real value beyond what a simple network of treaties could provide. This argument resurfaces whenever the EU is slow, divided, or indecisive—and the Ukraine crisis has given it new force.
Yet this minimalist vision, while understandable, ignores an equally important reality. In a world dominated by competition among major powers, no individual European state can protect its essential interests alone. The single market is a strength, but it cannot guarantee security, technological independence, political stability, or geopolitical influence. Reducing Europe to bilateral agreements would leave each of its twenty-seven countries exposed to external pressure, forced to negotiate separately with the United States, China, and Russia, making the continent more fragmented and more vulnerable. Most importantly, it would mean accepting that Europe will never be a geopolitical actor, only an economic space reacting to the actions of larger powers.
The paradox is clear. On one hand, Europe talks about "strategic autonomy," yet it avoids the military investments, political decisions, and institutional reforms needed to achieve it. On the other hand, the longing for a simpler Europe—one defined by commerce rather than political integration—creates the illusion of more sovereignty when in reality it would result in less. Europe remains stuck between what it wants to be and what it actually is, trapped between unfulfilled ambition and an unacknowledged dependence.
In this context, Trump's remarks—provocative as they may be—have forced Europe to finally look at itself. The real question the continent must confront is not whether American rhetoric is offensive, nor whether it is unfair to be excluded from key international negotiations. The real question is whether Europe truly intends to become an actor capable of shaping its own destiny, or whether it prefers to remain a reduced-scope project: a large market sheltered under the American security umbrella. Without a clear choice, Europe will continue to oscillate between frustration and helplessness, between demands for autonomy and reliance on outside help, between grand declarations and limited capabilities.
And perhaps this is the central issue: Europe imagines itself a power, but the world sees it as a space. Until this contradiction is resolved, any discussion of sovereignty will remain theoretical. And those who sit at the tables where decisions are made will continue to do so without waiting for Europe's permission.
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