José Ricardo Martins
A union that once promised prosperity and peace is becoming a fortress of fear and social uncertainty.
Once a beacon of peace and prosperity, the European Union is now marching into a new era of militarization and scarcity. Behind the rhetoric of security lies a project increasingly shaped by U.S. pressure, defense spending, and a quiet betrayal of its citizens.
For seven decades, the European project was presented as a beacon of peace, prosperity, and social welfare. Conceived in the ashes of the Second World War, the European Union (EU) emerged as a mechanism to bind former enemies through trade, shared institutions, and the promise that economic interdependence would prevent future wars. For much of its history, this narrative held true: the EU embodied the idea that Europe could reinvent itself as a moral community, anchored in social rights and collective security.
Today, that image is eroded. Europe is rearming at a scale unseen since the Cold War. The EU's once-proud welfare model is being quietly sacrificed on the altar of militarization, as member states contemplate devoting up to 5% of GDP to defense spending. This transformation is not being driven by a sovereign European strategic vision, but rather by external pressure, primarily from the United States, whose military-industrial complex stands to benefit most.
From peace project to war economy
The metamorphosis of the EU into what critics call a "war and scarcity" project is evident in both policy and rhetoric. European leaders, rather than articulating an independent security doctrine, appear increasingly subordinated to Washington's priorities. The newly appointed NATO Secretary General and former Dutch Prime Minister, Mark Rutte, has become the face of this transformation.
During the so-called "Trump Summit" in The Hague, Rutte orchestrated an event less about strategy and more about appeasing U.S. President Donald Trump. Red carpets and ceremonial dinners replaced substantive debate. The summit, critics note, projected unity only by avoiding difficult questions, such as the long-term consequences of escalating the conflict in Ukraine or the feasibility of a 5% defense spending target.
Rutte even echoed unverified intelligence claims that Russia might attack a NATO member, offering no evidence, an act that some European observers described as "dangerous theatre."
When NATO's chief becomes a conduit for speculative threats to spread fear and make the militarization project palatable to the population, the alliance risks losing credibility and reinforcing the perception that Europe is less a sovereign actor and more a vassal of U.S. power.
The costs of militarization
The push toward 5% GDP in defense spending has profound implications for European societies. Bulgarian member of the European Parliament Petar Volgin, in an interview, warned that such a policy would neither enhance security nor foster stability. History shows that the accumulation of weapons often escalates risk rather than prevents conflict. Volgin invoked Anton Chekhov's famous maxim: if a pistol hangs on the wall in the first act, it will inevitably be fired by the final one.
Beyond strategic risks, the economic trade-offs are stark. Channeling public resources into armaments will drain investments from social sectors like health, education, and welfare, which are the very foundations of the European social model. "This will turn Europe into a militarized monster devoid of social compassion," Volgin warned.
Citizens, facing cuts in services and rising costs, will pay the price for a strategy that ultimately benefits the U.S. arms industry far more than European security, following Trump's ruling.
Russophobia and the war logic
Underlying this shift is what can be described as institutionalized Russophobia. Russophobia has become not just public opinion but a structured ideology shaping policy, media narratives, and diplomatic strategies.
While Russian aggression in Ukraine is real, the EU's strategic response has been filtered through a lens of historical Russophobia that often replaces pragmatism with emotion and prejudice.
For centuries, Russia has been both part of and apart from Europe, contributing profoundly to its literature, music, and intellectual heritage, yet frequently treated as an alien civilization.
The war in Ukraine provided an opportunistic moment for European elites to turn latent Russophobia into policy. Rather than pursuing a balanced security framework that might eventually integrate Russia into a stable European order, the EU doubled down on confrontation, sanctions, and militarization.
This approach carries a profound irony: a union born from the determination to overcome the hatreds of the past is now entrenching new fault lines on the continent. Calls for diplomacy, dialogue, or a broader European peace project, one that is social and moral, not merely military, have been marginalized or dismissed as naïve.
Democratic disconnection and strategic drift
Perhaps the most troubling aspect of Europe's new trajectory is the widening gap between its political class and its citizens. Surveys conducted in the first year of the Ukraine war showed that over 70% of Europeans preferred a negotiated peace to the indefinite prolongation of conflict. Yet, in the European Parliament, 80% of MEPs rejected amendments calling for diplomacy and only 5% voted in favor.
This dissonance reflects a structural malaise: the EU's foreign and security policy is increasingly shaped not by democratic debate, but by lobbyists, bureaucratic inertia, and transatlantic pressures.
The shift from a welfare-oriented project to a war-driven agenda has happened without meaningful public consent. As Clare Daly and Mick Wallace , former Irish MEPs, have argued, the EU's "liberal mask has slipped," revealing a political architecture that prioritizes geopolitics over people.
War and scarcity: a vicious cycle
The economic consequences of this transformation are already visible. Sanctions on Russia, while politically symbolic, have contributed to energy crises, inflation, and industrial slowdown, particularly in countries like Germany and Italy. Simultaneously, EU states are paying far higher prices for American LNG and U.S.-manufactured weapons, effectively transferring wealth across the Atlantic while their own populations face rising costs and stagnating wages.
This is the essence of Europe's scarcity turn: by embracing a war economy, the EU sacrifices its social welfare model, undermines economic resilience, and fuels domestic discontent and the far-right parties. Instead of projecting stability, it imports volatility: economic, political, and social.
The question of purpose
The European Union now stands at a decisive moment in its evolution. If its purpose is to be a subordinate military bloc within a U.S.-led "Greater West," it may achieve that at the cost of its original identity as a peace and welfare project.
However, if it seeks to reclaim strategic autonomy and moral credibility - deteriorated by its failure to condemn the genocide in Gaza -, it must confront uncomfortable questions: Can Europe imagine security beyond the logic of militarization and vassalage? Is Europe merely buying time, waiting for a non‑Trump administration, while reinforcing its subservience? Will it rebuild a peace project that addresses social justice and democratic legitimacy, not only deterrence? And can it rediscover the moral ambition that once made it a beacon for a conflict‑scarred world?
For now, the EU's sad trajectory seems clear: a union that once promised prosperity and peace is becoming a fortress of fear and social uncertainty, defined by war spending, scarcity, and subservience. Its citizens were promised a shared future. What they are receiving instead is a militarized present, and an uncertain tomorrow.