Europe Is Being Prepared for a Long Confrontation With Russia

Over the past week, several European leaders almost simultaneously returned to the subject of an imminent Russian threat to Europe. Their statements were delivered in different capitals and on different platforms, yet together they formed a single political message: Russia is no longer being presented merely as a country waging war against Ukraine, but as a force with which Europe itself must prepare for direct confrontation in the near term—quickly, at great expense, and without the old confidence that American protection will remain automatic.

The starkest warning came from Polish prime minister Donald Tusk. In an interview with the Financial Times, quoted by Reuters, he framed the central question bluntly: are the United States ready to remain a “loyal NATO partner” in the event of a Russian attack. For the countries on the eastern flank, Tusk said, it is essential to know whether the alliance remains an organisation capable of responding politically and logistically, “for example, against Russia, if they try to attack”. He then made clear that he was not talking about some distant horizon: “I am talking about the short-term perspective—more in months than years.”

Almost at the same time, EU leaders at a summit in Nicosia instructed officials to prepare a practical framework for invoking Article 42.7 of the Treaty on European Union—the clause on mutual assistance in the event of an attack on an EU member state. Until now, that article had remained more a legal guarantee than a functioning military mechanism. It lacks the operational infrastructure that stands behind NATO’s Article 5. The European Commission must now prepare a response plan in case one of the EU states activates the provision.

The following day, Emmanuel Macron in Athens spoke of the same article as a political obligation that could not be left in ambiguity. “For us, this is clear, and there is no room here for interpretation or ambiguity,” he said at a press conference with Greek prime minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis. Mitsotakis added that NATO and the United States should be pleased that Europe “is serious about strategic autonomy” and is investing more in defence.

In the German part of this conversation, Friedrich Merz proposed tying Ukraine more closely to EU institutions even before full membership. In Nicosia he said that Ukraine’s immediate accession to the European Union was impossible, but that Kyiv could be admitted to meetings of the European Council, the European Parliament, and the European Commission without voting rights. This is no longer simply the language of helping a country at war. It is an attempt to build Ukraine into Europe’s political system before the war ends and before formal membership.

The financial side of the same line was formalised on April 23. The EU finally approved a 90 billion euro loan for Ukraine for 2026–2027. The Council of the EU said the money was intended to cover Ukraine’s urgent budgetary and defence-industrial needs, while the package itself includes 30 billion euros in macro-financial assistance and 60 billion euros for defence capabilities, including the purchase and production of weapons.

Even before the final approval, Kaja Kallas had explained the meaning of the loan as a political signal to Moscow: Ukraine needs this money, and Russia must understand that it will not simply be able to outlast Kyiv. After the loan was approved, Ursula von der Leyen said almost the same thing in harsher terms: “As Russia doubles down on its aggression, we are doubling down on our support for the brave Ukrainian nation.”

That is enough to see the main point. In the span of a single week, Russia once again became the universal explanation for several decisions at once: accelerating European defence integration, doubts about America’s reliability, rising military spending, Ukraine’s closer attachment to the EU, and a new large loan to Kyiv.

European governments do not speak of the Russian threat in a vacuum. They need to explain a new order of spending to voters. In ordinary politics, tens of billions for defence compete with hospitals, schools, pensions, roads, and tax promises. In wartime politics, that is no longer a competition between programmes, but a question of survival.

That is why talk of “months, not years” matters no less than the decisions themselves. A long-term threat allows governments to draft strategies. An urgent threat allows them to rewrite budgets. If Russia may test Europe’s readiness in the near term, then money for the military no longer looks like a government choice. It is presented as compulsory insurance.

This is how the new European argument is being built. First, citizens are told that the old security system can no longer be taken for granted. Then they are told that NATO remains important, but that this formula alone is no longer enough. After that comes the claim that Europe must create its own mechanisms of response. And only then do practical decisions appear: more defence orders, more borrowing, more industrial mobilisation, more shared responsibility for Ukraine.

In that sense, Article 42.7 has become a convenient symbol. It allows leaders to speak not only of helping an ally, but of mutual protection within the EU itself. That changes the political weight of the defence debate. Not long ago, talk of European defence could easily look like a bureaucratic dream of Brussels. Now it can be presented as a response to a risk that Tusk measures in months.

The 90 billion euro loan to Ukraine also fits this logic. On its own, it can be explained by Kyiv’s budgetary necessity: war is expensive, the Ukrainian economy cannot on its own cover military and social spending, and the stability of the state depends on external financing. Politically, however, this loan is being sold to European society in a different way.

Ukraine is being described less and less as an external recipient of aid. More and more, it is being presented as part of Europe’s defence. If Russia is fighting not only against Ukraine but against the European order, then money for Kyiv ceases to be charity or a foreign-policy gesture. It becomes payment for the first line of defence.

This construction is convenient for European authorities. It removes the most painful question: why is money once again going to Ukraine when the EU has more than enough problems of its own. The answer becomes simple: because Ukraine is not fighting only for itself. It is holding Russia there, where European armies do not want to face it themselves.

There is a rational core to this. If Ukraine loses or is forced to accept Moscow’s terms, pressure on the EU’s eastern flank will indeed rise. But for European governments, something else matters too: this logic makes support for Ukraine politically defensible. Criticising it becomes harder, because such criticism can easily be turned into doubt about Europe’s own security.

This week was addressed not only to European voters. It was addressed to Washington and Moscow.

For the United States, the message looks like this: Europe has understood that American protection can no longer be treated as automatic. Tusk bluntly raised the question of whether Washington would be a “loyal NATO partner” in the event of a crisis.

Macron and Mitsotakis said the same thing in more diplomatic terms: Europe must strengthen its own share of western defence so as not to depend on someone else’s political cycles.

For Moscow, the signal is different: the bet on Europe’s fatigue may fail. That is precisely why Kallas said Russia must not think it can simply “wait out” Ukraine. That is why von der Leyen linked Russian aggression to a doubling of European support. Not because the EU has suddenly become a unified military actor. But because European leaders are trying to show that even disagreements, vetoes, and fatigue do not cancel long-term financing for Kyiv.

But there is a weak point here. Signals are cheaper than power. Europe can announce a new loan, speak of mutual defence, and demand strategic autonomy. What is much harder is rapidly producing ammunition, closing air-defence gaps, rebuilding armies, co-ordinating procurement, and persuading voters that all this will have to be paid for over many years.

There is another reason why the theme of the Russian threat has once again become so convenient. Europe’s governing parties are losing confidence. Their voters see high prices, weak growth, migration conflicts, expensive energy, worn-out social systems, and war fatigue. When the domestic agenda works against the government, an external threat helps change the subject.

Germany is the clearest example. On April 25, Reuters reported a new record for Alternative for Germany: according to an INSA poll, AfD had risen to 28%, moving four points ahead of Chancellor Friedrich Merz’s CDU/CSU bloc. A few days earlier, Reuters had written about disagreements within the governing coalition over taxes, pensions, and healthcare, as well as pressure on the budget after two years of recession and intensifying competition from China.

In such an environment, talk of Russia gives the centre a useful advantage. It allows it to present itself not merely as the administrator of unpopular reforms, but as the defender of the state. It turns defence spending into a test of responsibility. It makes criticism of aid to Ukraine more suspect. It shifts the argument away from prices, taxes, and migration toward a different question: who is capable of protecting the country.

Merz himself gave this political conflict a harsh formula. Back in February, he said he would not allow AfD to “destroy” Germany, ruled out co-operation with it, and called on his party to prepare for a harsher era of great-power rivalry. Now that AfD is ahead of the CDU/CSU in the polls, that linkage becomes even more important: the external threat and the internal threat begin to work in the same political language.

This does not mean the Russian threat has been invented to fight AfD. That version would be too simple and too weak. But the threat is being used in a way that disciplines domestic politics. Governing parties gain the ability to tell voters: this is not the moment for experiments, protest voting, or parties that break the old consensus. This is the moment for mobilisation, alliances, defence budgets, and loyalty to the course of the state.

It is precisely here that the language of security becomes the language of power. In many ways, this is the same political device Vladimir Putin used for years: the external threat from NATO, the EU, and the West as a whole, talk of outside interference and attacks on Russian values helped the Kremlin consolidate power, justify a harsher domestic policy, and present opponents as a threat to the state. The stronger protest parties become, the more useful it is for the centre to speak not of its own failures, but of external danger. The more expensive life becomes, the easier it is to explain new spending not as a political choice, but as necessity. The greater distrust of governments becomes, the more often they turn to the argument that is hardest to reject: the country is in danger.