Performative Subjectivity

From the very beginning of the war, the United Kingdom has taken one of the strongest positions in supporting Kyiv. London not only supplied weapons—from NLAW anti-tank systems to Challenger 2 tanks and Storm Shadow cruise missiles—but also actively encouraged allies to increase their aid. Nevertheless, even in the British discourse, there were some forward-looking statements that were largely declarative.

For example, back in May 2022, amid Russia’s blockade of Ukrainian ports, Boris Johnson’s government "in principle supported Lithuania’s idea" of creating a naval "coalition of the willing" to escort Ukrainian grain ships through the Black Sea. British officials discussed with allies the possibility of sending Royal Navy vessels to break the blockade of Odesa. However, this risky initiative was never implemented—no NATO country dared to send its ships toward the Russian fleet without an agreement with Moscow. Ultimately, the grain export issue was resolved diplomatically (through a deal brokered by the UN and Turkey), and the idea of a military convoy was quietly abandoned. This case highlighted the limits of London's willingness to act alone: even with a clear understanding of the humanitarian need, the proclaimed leadership role never materialized into practical action—partly due to a lack of strong support from the US and NATO.

The most telling example of the conditional nature of British rhetoric emerged in 2024–2025, when the issue of potential direct involvement of Western troops in Ukraine resurfaced. This time, the signal came from Prime Minister Keir Starmer. He expressed readiness to send British troops to Ukraine as part of security guarantees, should a peace agreement with Russia be reached. In February 2025, Starmer wrote that London was "ready to play a leading role" in ensuring Ukraine's security, including deploying British troops on Ukrainian soil if required for long-term peace. According to him, the UK must be "ready and willing to contribute to Ukraine’s security guarantees, including the deployment of our own troops if needed." Starmer added that he did not take this lightly, acknowledging the risks to servicemen’s lives, but viewed such a step as a contribution to the security of the entire European continent.

But even the British Prime Minister himself admitted that without U.S. involvement, such a mission would be unstable. He specifically noted: "European states must step up—and we will—but U.S. support remains critically important. American security guarantees are essential for a lasting peace, because only the U.S. can deter Putin from new aggression." In this way, the British leader effectively clarified that the European initiative relies on an American "anchor." Observers took note: Washington remained skeptical of European plans. In 2025, Trump’s special envoy to Ukraine even called the European proposals to deploy peacekeepers merely "posture and posing"—implying that Paris and London were more about signaling intentions than taking real action.

In the United Kingdom itself, the rhetoric about a potential troop deployment also triggered mixed reactions. On one hand, it signaled the Labour Party’s intent to appear more decisive in supporting Ukraine than the Conservative Party. For Starmer, this had a domestic political dimension—to project strength and leadership on the international stage and convince hawks that Britain would not deviate from its pro-Ukraine course. On the other hand, experts pointed out the gap between words and real capabilities: British military sources doubted that the army had the resources for a new large-scale mission without increased funding. Behind closed doors, officials admitted that to participate in hypothetical peacekeeping forces, Britain would need to significantly raise defense spending and address personnel and equipment shortages, since its army has already shrunk to its smallest size in over two centuries. In other words, Starmer’s statement was largely symbolic—intended to show Britain’s willingness to lead European security efforts for Ukraine, without (yet) taking irreversible steps.

In other instances, however, London backed its words with real actions and even set the tone for its allies. For example, in January 2023, the United Kingdom became the first NATO country to announce the delivery of modern tanks to Ukraine—14 Challenger 2 units—thereby challenging other nations, particularly Germany. This move was not just symbolic: the tanks were delivered within a few months, and London's example directly prompted Berlin and other Europeans to make a similar decision regarding Leopard 2s. Similarly, in May 2023, the British were the first to supply Ukraine with long-range Storm Shadow cruise missiles, having previously avoided crossing that line. In such cases, the UK clearly demonstrated agency—taking action even when the U.S. was initially hesitant (Washington was slow to approve Abrams tanks or ATACMS missiles for Ukraine). However, such concrete steps typically occurred when the risk of direct confrontation with Russia remained low (weapons deliveries are not the same as troop deployment). When it comes to talk of sending actual forces—that’s a different matter entirely: it immediately raises the prospect of a direct NATO-Russia war, which everyone seeks to avoid. That’s why both London and other capitals, whenever the issue of "boots on the ground" arises, prefer to speak of hypothetical scenarios (such as peacekeepers after the war) or focus on training Ukrainian troops outside of Ukraine.

France has traditionally sought to play an independent role in European foreign and defense policy—the concept of "European strategic autonomy" has long been promoted by Paris. In the context of the war in Ukraine, President Emmanuel Macron has attempted to strike a balance between strong support for Kyiv and the search for diplomatic space. In 2022, he drew criticism for his ambiguous call to "not humiliate Russia" and continued phone conversations with Vladimir Putin in an attempt to act as a mediator. However, as the war dragged on, Macron’s rhetoric evolved: he began speaking more forcefully about the need to strengthen European defense and provide Ukraine with security guarantees. In 2023–2024, Paris put forward several initiatives aimed at demonstrating France’s leadership—although their implementation faced resistance or remained in limbo.

One of Macron’s most high-profile initiatives was the idea of sending Western military instructors directly to Ukrainian territory. Since the beginning of the war, Ukrainian troops had been trained only at ranges within NATO countries (including French and British bases, and camps in Germany, Poland, and others). By summer 2024, however, Paris began discussing the relocation of these activities directly into Ukraine. On June 8, 2024, during President Zelensky’s visit to Paris, Emmanuel Macron announced his intention to "finalize a coalition of countries willing to send military instructors to Ukraine." According to Macron, in some respects "training on Ukrainian soil is much more effective, provided certain conditions are met." He emphasized that this initiative came at the request of Zelensky himself, and that France would act in concert with other countries (without naming specific partners). In essence, this involved deploying a limited number of Western military specialists—not for combat, but to train Ukrainian forces in rear areas of Ukraine.

This statement marked a bold move, especially given the position of France’s key ally—the United States. The Biden administration reacted negatively to the idea: Washington was concerned that the presence of Western troops within range of the Russian military could escalate the conflict, potentially leading to a direct clash between NATO and Russia. According to media reports, Biden personally expressed his concerns to Macron, and the Pentagon publicly made it clear that the U.S. had no plans to send instructors to Ukraine. The Kremlin also reacted swiftly: Putin’s press secretary Dmitry Peskov warned that "no instructor training Ukrainian troops will enjoy immunity"—in other words, the Russian military considers them legitimate targets. Peskov stated bluntly: "It doesn’t matter whether they’re French or not," making it clear that Moscow is prepared to strike foreign personnel if they appear. Moreover, Russian officials began to suggest that France was preparing to deploy troops to Ukraine—a narrative eagerly amplified by Russian propaganda, despite the official focus being solely on instructors.

Under such pressure, Franco-Ukrainian discussions became more discreet. Ukrainian officials initially confirmed the plans: for example, Commander of the Ground Forces Oleksandr Syrskyi mentioned in late May 2024 that "French instructors will arrive in Ukraine soon," but the statement was immediately downplayed—both Paris and Kyiv "did not confirm" it, clearly to avoid sparking a premature scandal. Nevertheless, according to the reputable Le Monde, Macron was seriously preparing to announce a small coalition of countries willing to send instructors to Ukraine. As early as February 2024, the French president hinted: "There is no consensus today for officially sending troops, but in a dynamic situation, nothing can be ruled out." These words—"nothing can be ruled out"—reflect Macron’s approach: to maintain strategic ambiguity, to signal to Moscow that Europe does not theoretically impose red lines on supporting Ukraine, and at the same time to avoid making firm commitments without allied backing.

In the end, by summer 2024, the "instructor coalition" had still not been publicly announced. It appears that Paris decided to wait—to avoid unnecessarily provoking Moscow or clashing with Washington. Nevertheless, France’s very willingness to discuss such an idea publicly became a landmark moment. For the first time, a major EU country was effectively considering deploying a limited contingent to Ukrainian territory before the war’s end (albeit not to the front lines). Macron insisted that this did not mean direct participation in combat: "This is not about deploying our soldiers to the front line, but a matter of recognizing Ukraine’s sovereignty—training its military on its own soil," he explained. In this way, the goal was to underscore Ukraine’s sovereign right to host allied forces on its territory—and at the same time, to test Europe’s readiness to act more boldly than the United States.

A second wave of French initiative emerged closer to 2025, as the overall geopolitical landscape shifted. Following the U.S. elections, which brought Donald Trump back to power, Washington began actively promoting the idea of a rapid peace agreement with Russia. Europeans grew alarmed: their concern was that America might strike a compromise with Putin behind Kyiv’s back, weakening support for Ukraine in exchange for ending the war. To prevent this and to demonstrate European unity, Macron, together with the new British leader Keir Starmer, convened the so-called "coalition of the willing" summit in Paris in early 2025. In March 2025, representatives from nearly 30 NATO and partner countries, along with EU and NATO leaders, gathered in the French capital. The official goal was to discuss long-term security guarantees for Ukraine and to plan for the possibility of a ceasefire agreement. The summit’s highlight was Emmanuel Macron’s announcement of preparations to deploy international "réassurance" forces in Ukraine—forces of reassurance or deterrence. The French president outlined a plan to send "units from several European countries" to key strategic locations in Ukraine after a peace agreement with Russia is signed. According to him, these forces would not be deployed at the front lines but rather in important cities and military bases in the rear, serving as a deterrent against potential renewed Russian aggression. Macron stressed that these forces would not be traditional "peacekeepers" and in no way intended to replace Ukraine’s Armed Forces—on the contrary, their role would be to complement Ukrainian defense and strengthen confidence in the ceasefire. Military chiefs from the interested countries were tasked with working out the details of the plan in the coming weeks—including the "map and format" of the potential deployment.

And once again—as with the instructor initiative a year earlier—there was no full consensus among European countries. Macron candidly admitted that his proposal was not universally supported: "This decision is not unanimous. But we don’t need unanimity to implement it." It is known that several allies explicitly declined to participate. Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni stated that Rome would not join the plan, while Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk (who took office at the end of 2023) also emphasized: "We are not planning to send Polish troops to Ukrainian territory." Such objections are not surprising: for many EU members, the prospect of directly engaging in the Ukrainian conflict with their own forces represents a potential casus belli with Russia. Eastern European countries are particularly cautious: Poland and the Baltic states, on one hand, strongly support strengthening Ukraine’s defense, but on the other, are wary of sending their citizens to fight on Ukrainian soil, fearing they could be drawn into a direct war with Russia. Even Germany, despite its historical responsibility toward Eastern Europe, immediately distanced itself. Chancellor Olaf Scholz plainly stated: "There will be no ground troops, no soldiers on Ukrainian territory sent by European countries or NATO member states." He made this statement on February 27, 2024, in response to Macron’s initial hints; subsequently, Berlin’s position did not change.

Nevertheless, France and the UK continued to push their agenda—albeit in a scaled-down form. Macron emphasized that he was counting on U.S. support in the event of a European deployment, but also stressed that Europe must prepare for a scenario in which it has to act more independently. Paris announced the dispatch of a joint Franco-British mission of experts to Ukraine to assess the future needs of the Ukrainian army—effectively a step toward long-term guarantees aimed at making the Armed Forces of Ukraine as strong and modern as possible. Thus, the focus shifted toward strengthening Ukraine’s military (weapons deliveries, training, joint planning) rather than deploying significant foreign contingents. This shift is indirectly reflected in the change of emphasis in discussions: as Reuters noted, in spring 2025 Europeans were "shifting focus from sending troops to other options," given the political and logistical challenges. According to diplomatic sources, London and Paris had indeed developed a plan to send thousands of troops to guarantee a ceasefire, but there is now a growing understanding that a large-scale military mission is unlikely. One European diplomat described the situation this way: "They’re stepping back from the idea of ground troops and trying to reframe it into something more realistic." Another observed: "When Ukraine was making gains on the battlefield, the idea of deploying troops looked appealing. But now, given the situation on the ground and the current U.S. administration, it’s no longer as attractive." These remarks clearly referred to the fact that although President Trump initially praised the Franco-British proposals, the American stance soon cooled. Indeed, while in early 2025 Trump stated that he thought Russia might agree to such a force, his representatives later dismissed the European plans as little more than posturing. As a result, priorities have shifted: the focus is now on arming Ukraine "to the teeth" so it can deter the enemy on its own, while peacekeeping planning continues only as a precaution.

What were France’s motivations in this story? First and foremost, a desire to demonstrate European leadership. Macron has consistently positioned himself as one of the chief architects of European defense strategy. His initiatives—whether involving instructors or "deterrence forces"—were meant to show that Europe is capable of generating its own security solutions, not merely following the U.S. lead. There was also a domestic political calculation: after the war began, Macron’s approval ratings were partly hurt by perceptions that he spent too long trying to "appease" Putin through phone diplomacy. Bold, public initiatives on Ukraine could improve his image both among the French public and Eastern European partners, who had previously viewed Paris with skepticism. For Macron, it is important to prove that France is a reliable ally of Kyiv and a guarantor of European security.

Within France itself, attitudes toward the idea of sending troops were mixed. The far left and far right almost unanimously criticized the idea. Far-right leader Marine Le Pen and far-left figure Jean-Luc Mélenchon rarely agree on anything, but both warned against dragging France "into someone else’s war"—reflecting a segment of public opinion concerned about escalation. The political mainstream (centrists and Macron’s party), however, supported the president’s cautious phrasing: no combat troops, only support personnel on Ukrainian territory. As Stéphane Séjourné, a politician close to the Élysée Palace, noted, France is considering new forms of support for Ukraine—demining, cyber defense, and arms production on Ukrainian soil. "Some of these actions may require presence on Ukrainian territory, without crossing the threshold into combat involvement. Nothing should be ruled out," the minister explained. This position was largely understood and accepted—most French citizens support increased aid, as long as direct participation in fighting remains off the table (which Macron has not proposed).

From the U.S. side—as already noted—the response was cautious and even negative. For Washington (whether under the Biden or Trump administration), the guiding principle since 2022 has been to avoid direct confrontation between NATO and Russia. Even before the war, Biden stated: "We don’t want a third world war," and that approach has shaped policy: Western soldiers do not fight in Ukraine. Therefore, any European talk of troop deployment prompted immediate reactions from U.S. officials along the lines of: "That’s not going to happen." Germany, France’s closest partner in the EU, also made it clear that it would not support such steps (more on that below). However, some Eastern European countries—though unwilling to contribute troops themselves—may have quietly welcomed France and the UK’s readiness to take on some of the responsibility. It’s no coincidence that nearly 20 leaders attended the Paris meeting in March 2025, and, according to insider sources, about a dozen countries expressed interest in the "deterrence force" concept. In other words, a split of opinions: some (Italy, Poland, etc.) are firmly "against," while others (possibly Benelux countries, Scandinavia, some Balkan states) are "for" or neutral—ready to join under the right conditions. Macron deliberately pursued a coalition-of-the-willing approach, bypassing the requirement for NATO or EU consensus. This, incidentally, reflects a new trend: if pan-European unity proves impossible, France is prepared to act within a narrower group of willing partners—again, to avoid being held hostage by the most cautious voices.

For Germany, the war in Ukraine posed a major challenge, forcing a rethinking of the foundations of its postwar policy. On February 27, 2022, three days after Russia’s invasion, Chancellor Olaf Scholz delivered a historic speech on the "Zeitenwende"—a turning point—marking a sharp departure from the traditional principles of restraint in armament. Scholz announced an unprecedented increase in defense spending (a €100 billion special fund and a rise in the defense budget to over 2% of GDP), as well as a willingness to supply weapons to Ukraine, despite a long-standing taboo on sending arms to conflict zones. These announcements translated into real political action—the Bundestag soon approved the special fund, and Berlin began deliveries (from anti-tank missiles to air defense systems) as early as March 2022. Germany appeared to be asserting its agency, making a “revolutionary” shift in policy.

However, subsequent events revealed that in practice, Germany’s course has been marked by extreme caution and a strong reliance on its allies. Berlin tends to act only in close coordination, avoiding unilateral moves. Scholz repeatedly emphasized: "Germany will not go it alone. Germany will always remain united with its friends and allies... Any other behavior would be irresponsible in such a dangerous situation." This principle—"not to act alone"—became the rationale behind Germany’s tendency to delay or avoid certain bold steps until they were first taken by its partners.

This was most vividly demonstrated in the case of tank deliveries. From autumn 2022 through winter 2023, Ukraine and its Eastern European allies urged Germany to provide modern Leopard 2 tanks or at least authorize other countries to re-export these German-made vehicles. But Chancellor Scholz took a firm stance: not a single Leopard would go to Ukraine unless the U.S. agreed to send its Abrams tanks. Berlin effectively tied its decision to a move from Washington. This led to a public conflict in January 2023: Poland, Finland, and other countries possessing Leopards tried to pressure Germany through a "coalition of the willing," but no compromise was reached at the defense ministers’ meeting at the Ramstein Air Base. For several weeks, Western allies urged Scholz to reconsider. The breakthrough came only when the White House, overcoming its own doubts, announced the delivery of 31 Abrams tanks to Ukraine (January 25, 2023). Literally the next day, Germany confirmed it would send a company of Leopard 2s and authorize other countries to re-export. In effect, Berlin waited for a green light from Washington—and only then carried out its own previously considered plan. Some called this a sign of a lack of autonomy: the German chancellor, they said, did not dare take even an obvious step without U.S. "cover." At the same time, Scholz and his supporters argued that such synchronization was necessary to maintain transatlantic unity, deny the Kremlin a chance to sow division, and reduce the risk of retaliatory moves by Moscow targeting Germany alone.

A similar story unfolded with the delivery of long-range missiles. When the UK and France independently provided Ukraine with long-range cruise missiles (Storm Shadow/SCALP, with a range of 250 km) between May and July 2023, attention turned to Berlin: the Bundeswehr possesses a comparable system, the Taurus air-to-ground missile (with a range of up to 500 km). But the Scholz government took an evasive stance and effectively froze the issue. The chancellor openly stated: "I do not believe it is right to supply Ukraine with weapons that would allow strikes deep into Russian territory." He justified this by citing Germany’s responsibility—suggesting that such actions risk escalation, which he, as a leader, could not allow. Even when the U.S. finally decided at the end of 2023 to provide Ukraine with some of its own long-range missiles (ATACMS)—crossing previous red lines—Berlin did not shift its position. In February 2025, ahead of the German elections, Scholz again reaffirmed his refusal to supply Taurus missiles, despite criticism from opponents. His challenger, Friedrich Merz, leader of the opposition CDU party, on the contrary, stated that Germany "should have delivered [the missiles] too," since the U.S., France, and the UK had already provided such weapons. Merz argued that as long as Russian strikes against Ukraine continue, the restrictions on Ukraine’s strike range should first be lifted—and then Taurus missiles should be delivered, letting "Putin decide for himself how far he wants to escalate the war." This debate highlighted a domestic split: the ruling coalition (especially Scholz and his SPD) preferred not to cross lines that Washington had not yet crossed, while the conservative opposition was prepared to act more boldly, following the lead of London and Paris.

Overall, Germany sought to avoid direct confrontational rhetoric. While London or Paris were willing to raise the prospect of troop deployments (even hypothetically), Berlin publicly ruled out such a possibility. Scholz consistently reminded that NATO would not become a party to the war. When discussions about a potential peacekeeping mission emerged in Europe in early 2024, the chancellor curtly noted that from the beginning of the war, allies had agreed—and would continue to adhere to the principle—that "there will be no Western soldiers on Ukrainian territory." Germany—mindful of its history—is particularly wary of a scenario in which Russian propaganda frames the conflict as a war involving "German soldiers in Ukraine." As a result, Berlin has remained consistent: no ground troops, now or in the future (unless NATO as a whole decides otherwise). Instead, Germany has emphasized its contribution through funding and supplying weapons to Ukraine. And it is worth noting: although Berlin was initially criticized for its slowness, by 2023–2024 Germany had become one of Kyiv’s top donors. According to the German government, since the start of the invasion it has provided over €5 billion in military aid and plans further deliveries. In terms of total military assistance, Germany now ranks second only to the U.S. Berlin’s contributions include IRIS-T and Patriot air defense systems, Mars II MLRS, PzH2000 howitzers, Leopard 1 and 2 tanks, Marder IFVs, APCs, electronic systems, ammunition, and more—meaning the country has, in practice, overcome many of its own taboos. Actions have followed, but almost always after similar steps were taken by Anglo-Saxon allies (the U.S., UK) or under increased pressure from EU partners.

Why did Germany’s statements often diverge from immediate action? First, due to domestic political reasons. Public opinion and coalition partners in Germany are divided: while the Greens and the Free Democrats (FDP) demanded more decisive support for Ukraine, a significant portion of Scholz’s Social Democratic Party—and even more so, the left-wing opposition—held pacifist views or expressed fears of escalation. As chancellor, Scholz had to navigate between these poles, trying not to move far ahead of the electorate’s cautious mood. According to 2022–2023 polls, most Germans supported aid to Ukraine but opposed direct involvement in the war and were wary of any actions that might provoke nuclear escalation from Russia. As a result, the government tried to frame every new decision (tanks, missiles, etc.) as carefully coordinated with allies and not making Germany a "party to the conflict." This rhetoric was itself part of the message. Scholz repeatedly emphasized that all decisions were made in close coordination with Washington and within the NATO framework. This was meant to outwardly demonstrate Western unity and inwardly reassure the German public. Secondly, Germany’s historical burden and sense of responsibility played a role: Berlin was extremely reluctant to give Eastern Europe the impression that German tanks were once again heading east to fight Russians without the U.S. Scholz almost explicitly linked decisions by saying that if tanks were to be delivered, it should happen simultaneously with the Americans—so that no one could draw historical parallels to 1941.

Of course, this position also had reputational costs for Germany. Ukrainian officials and Eastern European EU members repeatedly accused Berlin of excessive slowness and dependence. In early 2023, at the height of the Leopard debate, the Polish prime minister openly criticized Scholz for his indecisiveness, and the media even coined the humorous term "Scholzology"—the art of trying to understand what the German chancellor was thinking, since his motives often seemed unclear. By the end of 2023, tensions had somewhat eased thanks to Germany finally beginning to supply heavy weaponry. Nevertheless, key decisions by Berlin often came only after the fact—once the U.S. and other allies had already made the first move or when external pressure peaked.

This was the case not only with tanks or missiles, but even with the much-publicized €100 billion for the Bundeswehr. Olaf Scholz loudly announced this investment package back in February 2022, but eight months later it became clear that the German bureaucracy had barely begun to implement it: "almost eight months have passed since Scholz’s promise, and defense procurement has barely moved forward," Reuters wrote in late October 2022. Sources in Germany’s defense industry complained about excessively slow procedures and a lack of political decisions at the top. This meant that the bold political declaration ("historic rearmament of Germany") was not followed by equally prompt action—at least not in the first year. Only in 2023–2024 did major contracts for new equipment for the Bundeswehr begin to materialize, but inflation has "eaten" part of the budget, and prices have risen, so the effect so far remains limited. This example highlights a systemic trait of Germany: a long delay often separates what is announced from what is implemented—and sometimes it takes an extra push (a crisis, pressure from allies, or a shift in domestic sentiment) to move things forward.

Analyzing the actions of London, Paris, and Berlin reveals several common features. First, not all bold statements are truly empty—they often serve as political signals that later influence developments. For example, the UK’s statement about its readiness to supply tanks spurred allies to make similar deliveries, while France’s initiative on security guarantees mobilized international discussion on long-term support for Ukraine. Even if no immediate action (such as troop deployment) followed, rhetoric alone could act as a tool for pressuring opponents or partners.

Statements about potential troop deployments or the creation of coalitions serve as a form of psychological deterrence. They send a message to the Kremlin that prolonging the war could lead to far greater Western involvement. For instance, remarks by Starmer and Macron about not ruling out Western forces were meant to remind Moscow: if peace is not reached on acceptable terms, Russia may eventually face not only the Ukrainian army but also the presence of international contingents. Although in the short term Putin dismissed these threats (the Russian side publicly warned of an "inevitable war with NATO" if they were realized), the very fact that the issue was raised increases uncertainty for Russia. Moreover, European gatherings—such as the 2025 summit in Paris—were intended to demonstrate unity and resolve: 20 leaders convened to send Putin a message of firm support for Ukraine. Even without signing specific agreements, such gestures matter: they counter the Kremlin narrative that "Europe is tired and about to abandon Kyiv."

In 2022–2023, under the Biden administration, Europe largely followed the U.S. lead, with Washington firmly backing Ukraine. But as 2024 approached (the U.S. presidential election year), Europeans began preparing for a possible shift in American policy. Statements about Europe’s readiness to ensure Ukraine’s security independently were also directed at the U.S. On one hand, they demonstrated that if U.S. involvement were to decline, leading EU powers would not stand idle but would attempt to take the initiative—to encourage Washington to remain engaged by showing that allies are sharing the burden. On the other hand, these same statements were aimed at pro-Ukrainian forces in the U.S.: Europe signaled its willingness to contribute to peacekeeping missions, but in return expects at least political or logistical support from America—the so-called "backstop" that Starmer and Macron have called for. This is especially relevant under Trump: Europeans are effectively signaling to the new U.S. president that they are not opposed to his push for peace agreements—but peace needs guarantees, and guarantees are hard to provide without America. In this sense, some of the bold rhetoric serves as a tool for public diplomacy toward Washington.

The contest for leadership within the European Union is still very much alive. The United Kingdom, though no longer part of the EU, seeks to remain Europe’s leading military power (it has the most capable army among Western European nations and possesses nuclear weapons). France traditionally aspires to be the EU’s political leader on defense matters. Germany, by contrast, often adopts a more cautious stance, wary of appearing dominant. Against this backdrop, bold statements serve as a way for London and Paris to gain support from Eastern European countries—or at least to show them that the old Western powers are not passive. For example, Macron’s proposal for "deterrence forces" was also intended to reassure Ukraine and NATO’s eastern members: even if the U.S. hesitates, we will organize and not abandon you. This is meant to demonstrate to allies that Paris and London are reliable pillars of security. Within the EU, such assertiveness can boost the standing of these countries and advance the idea of creating shared European security mechanisms. At the same time, Germany, through its more cautious approach, seeks to act as a responsible moderator, preventing allies from going too far. This serves as a kind of counterbalance: Berlin signals to NATO’s eastern members that their security won’t be jeopardized by overly bold moves—thus aiming to maintain their trust as well.

Secondly, domestic political goals. Leaders’ statements are often aimed at a "home audience." Keir Starmer, by pledging to send troops, was in part seeking to gain support from British voters and prove that Labour is no weaker than the Conservatives on national security. It was important for him to distance himself from potential accusations of being "soft" and to project strength—especially ahead of elections, with Ukraine likely to become a litmus test of leadership. Macron, in putting forward initiatives, was mindful of France’s reputation and his own approval ratings: success on the international stage traditionally boosts the standing of a French president at home. Additionally, after criticism for "trying to appease Putin," Macron needed to show voters that he was no less firm than the UK’s prime ministers or Eastern European leaders. For Scholz, the domestic calculation was different: his cautious statements were meant to reassure the more left-leaning and pacifist segment of society, provide a sense of control, and prevent the collapse of his governing coalition. Thus, sometimes statements are made not because a leader is truly ready to act immediately, but because they carry symbolic weight in domestic politics. High-level politicians use rhetoric about military support as a tool for positioning: some as uncompromising allies of Kyiv (a stance popular among the pro-Atlantic majority of the population), others as prudent and responsible leaders who won’t drag their countries into a world war.

Thirdly, public and elite perception within countries and among allies directly influences subsequent actions. If a statement meets with sharp rejection or fear, a leader may pull back. For instance, the idea of Western troops in Ukraine did not gain majority support among Europeans in polls (amid fears of nuclear war). As a result, even Macron and Starmer, after putting forward their proposals, had to soften the language and postpone implementation to an indefinite "later." In the UK, most of the public supports aid to Ukraine, but sending soldiers is a highly sensitive issue, with the lessons of Iraq and Afghanistan still fresh in memory. Starmer clearly tried to stress that the discussion was only about peacekeepers after a ceasefire—not about combat participation—to avoid backlash. In Germany, both society and elites largely supported Scholz’s rejection of troop deployment: it aligns with the country’s postwar philosophy. Among allies—especially Poland and the Baltic states—partners’ rhetoric is judged through the lens of reliability. When Germany delayed tank deliveries for a long time, officials in Warsaw and Kyiv openly spoke of eroded trust in Berlin. But once the tanks were finally delivered, attitudes improved. Similarly, had France and the UK not declared their readiness to offer security guarantees, Ukraine’s leadership might have felt abandoned by the West just as the U.S. began talking about negotiations with Russia. Therefore, even statements without immediate follow-through can help sustain an ally’s (Ukraine’s) morale and demonstrate political support—which is significant in its own right.

Finally, the key question: is Europe becoming more of a security actor in its own right, or does Washington still call all the shots? During 2022–2023, U.S. leadership was dominant: the Biden administration coordinated an unprecedented scale of military assistance to Ukraine, while European countries, despite their significant contributions, largely acted as partners following the American lead—staying within red lines set by Washington, such as on the types of weapons or forms of involvement. But by 2024, it became clear that Europeans were beginning to prepare for greater autonomy. Mission planning, the formation of new coalitions without U.S. involvement, increased military spending, and expanded arms production—all these point to the fact that Europe is trying to become a more independent player. The European Union has launched several initiatives to reduce dependence: joint arms procurement, investments in defense industries, and renewed discussion of a European army. At the Paris summit in March 2025, participants spoke of transforming Ukraine’s armed forces into "Europe’s first line of defense" for years to come—meaning Europeans are now thinking in terms of long-term continental security, with themselves in a leading role.

Nevertheless, the reality is that without the U.S., Europe remains constrained. First, European countries lack certain critical military capabilities that only America possesses—from strategic intelligence to a nuclear umbrella. Second, there is no full unity among Europeans themselves: for example, neutral or pro-Russian governments (such as in Hungary, and since late 2023 also in Slovakia) can block EU decisions, while in NATO, eastern members are reluctant to support initiatives without the U.S., fearing they could be left alone against Russia. As a result, every time France or another actor proposes a bold move, its implementation runs into the condition: "we need firm American backing." As Reuters noted, many European allies refuse to send troops without U.S. guarantees and a mandate, fearing the costs, lack of resources, and the prospect of fighting Russia alone. Thus, Europe’s agency still manifests more at the level of rhetoric and preliminary planning than in action. However, the very fact that such plans are now being seriously discussed is a new phenomenon compared to the prewar period. In the past, it was hard to imagine Europe even hypothetically considering an independent peacekeeping operation on a neighboring country’s territory against Washington’s position. Now this is openly discussed at the highest level.

One could say that Europe is going through a phase of awakening its agency: the war has forced it to take greater responsibility for its own security. Statements that are not followed by immediate action actually lay the groundwork for possible future steps, should circumstances require them. They create political "momentum": as one European military official put it, even if there’s a high chance the forces will ultimately not be deployed, the discussions generate impetus and demonstrate that Europe can act. In the long term, as experts note, this project (security guarantees for Ukraine and strengthening its military) will evolve over several years, gradually shaping a new security architecture. And European leaders want to be subjects—not objects—of this process. That’s why they are eager to publicly declare their readiness for initiatives, even if they are not immediately followed by a column of tanks on the move.