After 2022, a word long avoided in European politics suddenly reappeared: “war.” It now features in strategic documents, presidential speeches, and defence reports. The European Union is increasingly talking about “common defence,” “strategic autonomy,” and the need to prepare for a major conflict. References to “high-intensity” operations, “protracted conflicts,” and “preparation for worst-case scenarios” are cropping up more frequently in EU strategy papers, political statements, and military addresses alike.
Yet behind this rhetoric lies a simple, uncomfortable question: is Europe ready not just to talk about war, but to actually fight one?
A Roadmap to Europe’s Common Defence tries to tackle that question head-on. The white paper was put together by a group of European researchers linked to Brussels’ Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS) and the analytical platform Charge Research. It’s not an official EU strategy, but a policy paper aimed at the circles that actually shape Europe’s security and defence decisions—from the European Commission and the European External Action Service to the European Defence Agency, key European Parliament committees, and national defence ministries across the bloc.
It’s worth taking a closer look at the paper to see where debates, planning, and the limits of what Brussels considers “acceptable” are headed. The authors take a practical approach, asking not “what Europe wants to be in a war,” but “what it can actually become without breaking its current political setup.” That makes the paper both eye-opening and a little unsettling. Even after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, war is still treated as just a scenario, not a starting point—and often what’s left unsaid speaks as loudly as what’s spelled out.
Europe: preparing for a war it won’t talk about?
Russia’s war against Ukraine shook Europe—but it wasn’t a full-on turning point. It tore apart the illusion of “eternal peace,” yet left decades of institutional inertia mostly intact.
The war didn’t push the EU into an existential crisis. What it did do was lay bare the limits of what Europe can actually do under real military pressure. And while talking about war finally became acceptable after 2022, there’s still a wide gap between recognising it as a possibility and being ready for it. Europe has started thinking about war on paper—but hasn’t yet treated it as a baseline for politics, the economy, or the social contract.
Recent European documents—especially the so-called “white papers” and roadmaps on common defence—reveal a striking pattern. Part of the reason, in my view, lies in the very nature of the European Union: historically, it was built as a system to avoid hard decisions. And today, that avoidance is becoming a weakness. These papers focus heavily on governance, coordination, procedures, and institutions, with a clear aim to reduce fragmentation, streamline procurement, and create shared mechanisms. But the language they use is all bureaucracy—administration over action.
The real problem here is that Europe is trying to prepare for war without upsetting the logic of peace. The reality is brutal: war doesn’t care about that logic—it destroys it.
That’s why these documents say almost nothing about war itself—about mass mobilisation, casualties, prolonged campaigns, the destruction of the economy, or the political cost of force. Instead, the EU lays out various models for deeper defence cooperation: from limited procurement coordination to something approaching federal management of military capabilities. But all of these models share one thing in common: they’re designed for a world where war is a worst-case scenario, not a baseline assumption.
The Russian–Ukrainian war has made one thing painfully clear: war in Europe is real. And dealing with that reality doesn’t just require strategies—it demands the ability to act fast, act decisively, and often act in ways that break with established political compromises.
Where Europe is unprepared—and why NATO matters
Europe’s biggest problem isn’t a lack of resources—it’s the inability to turn what it has into real military power, and fast. Its defence industry is fragmented, national interests often trump collective ones, and decision-making moves at a snail’s pace.
Even after 2022, the build-up of ammunition and equipment has been painfully slow. Russia’s war in Ukraine has made one thing clear: in a major conflict, Europe’s stockpiles would run out in months, not years.
Another major misconception in European analysis is the idea of Russia as a static threat. In reality, over the past few years, Russia has undergone a harsh but effective transformation. It has restructured its economy for war, ramped up ammo production, changed its tactics, and learned to operate under sanctions and technological limits. Its army has taken losses—but it has also gained experience Europe simply doesn’t have. Meanwhile, Europe is trying to “catch up” in peacetime mode. That’s an inherently lopsided race: an opponent already in combat will always adapt faster than one that’s just preparing.
Unlike Russia, China isn’t an immediate military threat to Europe. But it is a game-changer on the global stage. A potential conflict in the Pacific would pull American resources away, leaving Europe on the sidelines of Washington’s strategic priorities.
For Europe, that creates a dangerous window of vulnerability. If Russia moves in sync with China—or simply seizes the moment—Europe’s security system would be tested without the American “umbrella” in place. And that’s where the problem becomes obvious: the EU isn’t ready for this scenario.
The second issue is governance. The EU still doesn’t have a single military command capable of acting independently from NATO. In a crisis, that translates into either paralysis or complete reliance on the United States. This is the strategic trap Europe finds itself in: preparing for war while assuming the US will always be there to step in.
And this is where NATO comes into play. In European debates, the Alliance is often treated as a given—as if its presence guarantees that even the worst-case scenarios will stay theoretical. That’s why EU common defence is framed as a complement, not an alternative. But that’s a strategic misstep.
At its core, NATO is a political alliance—and the United States is its linchpin. Its military muscle depends on American intelligence, logistics, command structures, and ultimately, nuclear deterrence. Strip out the US, and NATO isn’t what Brussels imagines it to be.
The third problem is America itself, which has shifted from a “constant” to a “variable.” A decade ago, doubts about US reliability as Europe’s security guarantor were marginal. Today, they’re anything but. Political turbulence at home, growing isolationist sentiment, and a strategic pivot toward China are changing the balance. For Europe, that could mean that in a major war, the US might only get involved partially—or on its own terms. And this isn’t just about Ukraine or Eastern Europe.
A conflict scenario around Greenland, once considered exotic, is now popping up more and more in strategic analyses. The Arctic is becoming a hotspot for rivalry, and US and European interests don’t always line up. Without its own military and political clout, Europe risks being left not just unprotected, but also unheard.
The fourth issue follows directly from the third: the nuclear question. Any serious war with Russia would carry a nuclear dimension, and pretending otherwise doesn’t make that risk disappear. Europe’s post–Cold War security setup was built on a simple assumption: nuclear deterrence would come from the United States. France kept its arsenal national, while Britain’s was closely integrated with the American system.
Today, that assumption is no longer a given. If the US scales back its presence or shifts its focus to Asia, Europe faces an uncomfortable choice: either admit its own nuclear vulnerability or start having a serious conversation about collective deterrence.
Put it all together, and one basic question remains unanswered: is Europe preparing to fight within NATO, or for the possibility that NATO might fail? So far, the answers look more like attempts to dodge the question entirely.
Ukraine at the heart of European defence
Another weak spot in Europe isn’t its army or its industry—it’s society’s readiness for war. European democracies rarely talk to their citizens about casualties, mobilisation, or drawn-out conflicts. Political elites shy away from these conversations because they make voters uncomfortable. Ukraine acts as an uncomfortable mirror, showing that wars aren’t won by technology alone—they require a society willing to pay the price.
One of the biggest paradoxes in Europe’s defence debate is how Ukraine is sidelined in strategic thinking. It’s treated as an aid recipient, a buffer, or a frontier. At the same time, Europe avoids looking at Ukraine’s real lessons: how it mobilises resources and shapes an economy around military needs.
In reality, Ukraine is Europe’s biggest proving ground for modern warfare—and a source of hard-won experience. Without bringing Ukraine into Europe’s defence system, all talk of readiness for war stays theoretical. Ukraine doesn’t just have an army hardened by fighting Russia; it also has deep knowledge of the modern battlefield—from drones and electronic warfare to mobilising the economy and society.
That’s why working with Ukraine isn’t just a gesture—it’s a pragmatic survival move for Europe. Joint weapons production, integrating Ukraine’s defence industry, training, and exchanging doctrinal know-how could seriously boost the EU’s actual combat capabilities.
What can Europe still do?
Today, Europe isn’t ready for a major war—whether with Russia, in a global conflict involving China, or in a scenario where it can’t fully rely on the United States. There’s still time to prepare, but that window is closing fast. The first step is recognising the problem and framing it correctly: war is the new normal. And in this reality, it’s not those who plan best who survive, but those who act fastest.
To move beyond empty talk, Europe needs to take concrete steps: shift from voluntary coordination to binding defence decisions so it can act quickly; radically speed up defence production with long-term contracts rather than crisis-driven buys; build a real EU military command capable of operating independently, not just within NATO; and integrate Ukraine into Europe’s defence planning now, rather than waiting for formal accession.
For Europe today, the question isn’t whether it wants to be a military power—the question is whether it can afford not to be.
