Concessions to Russia, pressure on Ukraine, rumours of US-Russian deals to open the Nord Stream 2 pipeline, tariffs, threats to “take” Greenland, election support for far right parties, equivocations over NATO: Europe learned very quickly that Donald Trump’s second administration will be an extraordinary challenge for the continent’s security order. But as it turns out, fear—of Russia, but also of the mercurial US president—is a potent driver of policy shifts.
In March alone, EU Commission president Ursula von der Leyen laid out the “ReArm Europe” plan; French president Emmanuel Macron offered France’s nuclear deterrent to the rest of Europe; an extraordinary European Council summit saw 26 member states (with the exception of Hungary) endorse support for Ukraine, €150 billion in defence loans, and loosening the EU debt ceiling, as well as the European Investment Bank’s lending rules; Germany amended its constitution to allow for a huge defence and investment spending package; and the EU published a White Paper that makes the case for a generational spending surge by 2030. The EU is prepared to deploy its “anti-coercion instrument” should the Trump administration resume its suspended tariff war in early July.
Yet these shifts will take years to fully implement. And a full-blown transatlantic trade and currency war could still throw Europe’s economies into recession, undercutting defence spending and fuelling the extreme right. In the short run, Europe remains extraordinarily vulnerable—and will have to choose its battles carefully.
So, diplomacy with Washington remains more essential than ever. But here, too, a conundrum presents itself. Should Europeans try to preserve a united front within NATO and the European Union—knowing that Trump resents such collective efforts and considers that America is being ripped off by Europeans via both institutions? Or should they preserve and utilise their cherished bilateral relationships with the United States to make room for deals, play for time, or at least improve the mood?
The long-running American radio show “The Prairie Home Companion” featured a regular news segment about the fictional “Lake Wobegon, Minnesota,” with the tagline “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.” Similarly, almost all of Europe’s countries have a special relationship with the US: its former owner and closest modern-day intelligence partner (Great Britain), its first ally against the British (France), and its suppliers of hundreds of thousands of immigrants (practically all the continent’s countries).
The countries of central and eastern Europe have always seen the US as the guarantor of their liberation from the former Warsaw Pact and Soviet Union, and of their continued security and autonomy in a reunited Europe dominated by Paris and Berlin (especially Berlin). The Germans, too, are grateful to the US for championing reunification in 1989-90 against the opposition of France and Britain. Some special relationships were anchored by deep personal affinities: Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan; Angela Merkel and Barack Obama.
But maintaining a special relationship with President Trump is a different kind of challenge. During his first term, Hungary’s authoritarian prime minister Viktor Orbán and Poland’s ultraconservative prime minister Mateusz Morawiecki got along swimmingly with Washington. France’s President Emmanuel Macron deployed charm; Britain’s Prime Minister Boris Johnson attempted flattery; and Germany’s Chancellor Angela Merkel tried arguments; ultimately, none of these tactics worked.
The low point of special relationship diplomacy—at least so far—in Trump’s second term was when Ukraine’s president Volodymyr Zelenskyy, celebrated as a hero in Washington during the Biden administration, visited; he was berated for not wearing a suit during a televised meeting in the Oval Office and told to leave. The traditional St Patrick’s Day visit by Irish Prime Minister (“Taoiseach”) Micheál Martin to the White House, in contrast, went successfully (apart from some pointed remarks about the low Irish tax rate attracting American companies). But Dublin’s diplomats were appalled when the controversial MMA fighter Conor McGregor, who wants to become president of Ireland and models himself on Trump, was given the same honour only a few days later. Danish Prime Minister and stalwart supporter of NATO and Ukraine Mette Frederiksen, whose country Vice President JD Vance has termed a “bad ally” for insisting on its sovereignty over Greenland, has not visited since the Inauguration.
By common consensus, the European leaders who have best managed to develop a personal rapport with President Trump so far are Britain’s Keir Starmer (it helps when you can promise a meeting with a King); Finland’s Alex Stubb (an excellent golfer); Giorgia Meloni (who has a real rapport with Trump but is careful not to break out of the EU consensus); or Norway’s Jonas Gahr Store (whose country’s sovereign wealth fund invests half of its assets in the US). NATO’s Dutch Secretary General Mark Rutte, on the other hand, was sharply criticised for not standing up for Denmark and Canada when the president reiterated his interest in acquiring their territory during a meeting in the Oval Office.
One thing is clear: this time around, the strategic and ideological stakes are much higher, with Europe—and the European project itself—in the crosshairs. Special relationships can and should be deployed to protect it, but Europeans should be wary of being played against each other. In any case, all eyes will be on Germany’s new chancellor Friedrich Merz. But he might be wise to follow the Baltic example—and send his foreign minister.
This article was written for the Lennart Meri Conference special issue of ICDS Diplomaatia magazine. Views expressed in ICDS publications are those of the author(s).