Dear World,
Let’s put feelings aside for a moment – not because they don’t matter, but because missiles don’t ask about your values before landing on your lawn. This isn’t a love letter to Donald Trump, nor is it an apology tour on behalf of NATO. It’s a reality check written not with pom-poms or pitchforks, but with the weary wisdom of watching great civilizations sleepwalk into decline.
Europe Art of Moral Outrage
Europe, that proud continent of cobblestones and cafés, classical music and postcolonial guilt, has mastered the art of moral outrage. It scoffs at the vulgarity of Trump, shudders at his syntax, and dismisses his “America First” instincts as crude populism. Fair enough. But here’s the problem: while Europe curated museums and virtue-signaled its way through summits, it forgot to build a spine. It outsourced its defense to the very empire it loves to hate – America.
And now that empire is broke. Literally.
The United States teeters under a $35 trillion debt mountain. China isn’t just building bridges – it’s buying ports, alliances, and entire elections. Russia isn’t hiding its fangs anymore. Iran has found poetry in missiles. And while these nations rehearse power, Europe is still debating gender pronouns and banning plastic straws.
Enter Trump. A man not known for punctuation, but undeniably a man who moves the chessboard. His disdain for NATO isn’t personal. It’s economic. Why, he asks, should America defend nations that barely defend themselves – and worse, often mock the country footing the bill? The question is brutal. But it’s not wrong.
And that’s what makes Trump so infuriating to polite society: he says the unsayable. Not because he’s wise, but because he’s free of the filters that make diplomacy bearable. He offends. But he delivers. He blunders. But he builds leverage. He’s not Churchill. He’s not Reagan. He’s a New York realtor with a nuclear briefcase – and that, paradoxically, might be exactly what this moment requires.
The European response? Sneer. Lecture. Wait for the next American president with better manners.
But there’s a deeper danger in this smug detachment. Because as the American umbrella folds, Europe stands exposed – not just militarily, but existentially. Its reliance on U.S. defense wasn’t just strategic. It was psychological. NATO isn’t a treaty – it’s therapy. It lets Europe pretend that ideals alone keep the peace, when in fact, it’s American firepower doing the heavy lifting.
What Next?
Let’s talk about what happens if that ends.
Europe doesn’t just fall. It bleeds. And the world bleeds with it. Because the West is not a hotel you can check out of. It’s an inheritance – of ideas, of bloodlines, of shared cemeteries stretching from Normandy to Kandahar. Millions of Americans, Canadians, Australians, and Kiwis have European roots. If Paris burns or Berlin buckles, they won’t just feel sadness. They’ll feel betrayal.
Even Israel, America’s most reliable ally, built its influence by showing loyalty – not arrogance. They don’t mock the hand that shields them. They shake it. Europe could learn something from that.
So, what now?
Negotiate with Trump? Yes. Inspire him with a shared vision of Western unity? Even better. But don’t infantilize him with elitist disdain and then expect him to risk American blood for Brussels. That’s not strategy. That’s entitlement with a flag.
What Next?
Europe has to do more than vote. It has to arm itself – not just with weapons, but with clarity. It must speak not just of rights, but of responsibilities. And it must accept that in a world full of hungry empires, survival doesn’t come from sentiment. It comes from steel, diplomacy, and the humility to treat even the brashest allies with respect.
The garden gnomes of European thought may still smile from manicured lawns. But geopolitics is no longer a garden party.
It’s a storm.
And unless Europe wakes up, it may soon find itself not sipping wine under peace treaties, but scrambling for shelter under the ruins of its illusions.
