As the tectonic plates of global geopolitics shift, the transatlantic alliance—once considered the bedrock of Western security—finds itself increasingly under strain. French President Emmanuel Macron, a long-time advocate of European strategic autonomy, has seized the moment of American uncertainty to reframe Europe’s defense future. In a bold and symbolic gesture at the Paris Air Show on June 20, Macron once again pitched France’s flagship fighter aircraft, the Dassault Rafale, as a standard-bearer of European sovereignty.
Though he avoided naming its American competitor—the Lockheed Martin F-35—Macron’s message was unmistakable. His latest move reignited the debate over whether Europe should continue relying on U.S.-made fifth-generation fighter jets, especially amid growing unease over Donald Trump’s foreign policy trajectory.
Macron posted a photograph of the Rafale jet on social media platform X, with a provocative caption: “European friends, you have a call.” The image mimicked a mobile phone’s incoming call screen, featuring the Rafale fighter with the message: “Secure our Europe.”
This post was not just a clever social media play—it was a strategic challenge aimed at Europe’s growing dependence on American defense platforms. Macron’s campaign to position the Rafale as Europe’s fighter jet of choice is both a commercial push and a political crusade. At its core lies a question that Europe can no longer ignore: Can the continent secure its skies without American protection?
Fourteen European countries, both within and outside the EU, are either operating or have placed orders for the American F-35 stealth fighter jet. Among them are powerhouses like the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, and Italy. Even neutral Switzerland has joined the F-35 club. Portugal is reportedly next in line.
This overwhelming preference for the U.S.-made fighter has left France in a peculiar position. Apart from itself, only Greece, Croatia, and Serbia currently fly the Rafale in Europe.
For Macron, this isn’t just about losing commercial deals to Lockheed Martin—it’s about losing the argument for a self-reliant Europe.
In March 2025, Macron declared:
“Those who buy Patriot should be offered the new-generation Franco-Italian SAMP/T. Those who buy the F-35 should be offered the Rafale.”
His message was unambiguous: European defense should not be outsourced. With transatlantic relations teetering on unpredictability, particularly under Trump’s potential second term, Macron argues that Europe must control its own defense destiny.
The debate took an unexpected twist when Canada—long viewed as one of Washington’s most loyal allies—signaled it was reconsidering its F-35 deal. The Canadian government had placed an order for 88 F-35A jets in 2023, with the first 16 set to arrive in early 2026.
But diplomatic tensions with the Trump administration have cast doubt over the deal’s future. In March, a spokesperson from Canada’s defense ministry admitted,
“We need to make sure that the contract in its current form is in the best interests of Canadians and the Canadian Armed Forces.”
Prime Minister Mark Carney has also left the door open for alternatives. “We have options on subsequent aircraft,” he told the press. This statement has been widely interpreted as a signal that Rafale may be under active consideration.
Carney’s first official foreign visit as Prime Minister was telling. He bypassed Washington and headed straight to Paris. Standing beside Macron at the Élysée Palace, he proclaimed:
“It’s more important than ever that Canada reinforces its ties with our reliable allies like France.”
Carney went further, calling Canada “the most European of non-European countries,” an implicit nudge that Canada could be ready to realign its defense priorities.
In comparing the Rafale and F-35, the differences are stark—but not necessarily one-sided.
The F-35 is a fifth-generation stealth jet, designed from the ground up for low observability, network-centric warfare, and deep-strike capabilities. Its single Pratt & Whitney F135 engine delivers brute power and supports vertical take-off in some variants.
The Rafale, by contrast, is a 4.5-generation aircraft, with limited stealth but an edge in agility and electronic warfare. Powered by twin Snecma M88-2 engines, the Rafale is known for its reliability, thrust-to-weight ratio, and versatility across mission profiles—ranging from air superiority to nuclear strike.
In terms of avionics, both aircraft are equipped with AESA radars and advanced sensor suites. The F-35’s sensor fusion and helmet-mounted display are unmatched in providing the pilot a god-like battlefield view. The Rafale counters with its SPECTRA electronic warfare system, which has demonstrated remarkable survivability in complex threat environments.
Cost-wise, the F-35 has a unit price of roughly $80 million, while the Rafale can exceed $100 million. However, F-35 operational costs are significantly higher, due to maintenance complexity and dependency on proprietary U.S. systems.
What truly differentiates the two, however, isn’t technology—it’s politics.
Macron’s argument isn’t that the Rafale is better than the F-35 in every aspect; it’s that it doesn’t come with geopolitical strings attached.
Under Donald Trump’s leadership, U.S. reliability as a defense partner has come into question. European leaders are concerned that the U.S. could weaponize access to critical spare parts, software updates, or logistical support during a diplomatic fallout.
Canada, for instance, has expressed fears that its F-35s could be rendered non-operational if U.S.-Canada relations sour. These concerns are not theoretical; they are grounded in past actions. In 2020, the Trump administration threatened to withhold support from NATO countries that didn’t meet defense spending thresholds.
The possibility that one nation can remotely ground another’s air force with a software key is deeply unsettling to European strategists.
Yet, the Rafale’s own limitations are not insignificant. Chief among them is production capacity.
As of July 2024, Dassault Aviation has a backlog of 223 Rafale orders—64 for France and 159 for foreign clients. Dassault currently produces about two Rafales per month, or 24 annually. CEO Éric Trappier recently announced plans to increase this to three per month by 2025—about 36 per year.
That’s still dwarfed by Lockheed Martin’s F-35 output of over 150 units per year.
“We are ramping up upstream suppliers and assembly lines,” Trappier said earlier this year. “But final assembly remains the most difficult bottleneck.”
Europe’s biggest challenge in turning to the Rafale isn’t performance—it’s availability. If European countries want Rafales fast, Dassault will need to further scale up, or risk losing ground to faster-delivering American manufacturers.
To his credit, Macron is not just talking the talk. During the Paris Air Show, France announced its intention to purchase two Saab GlobalEye AEW&C aircraft—a European-made airborne early warning platform. The deal, struck with Sweden’s Saab, includes training and ground equipment, and features an option for two more.
In opting for the Swedish system, France passed over U.S.-made alternatives such as Boeing’s E-7 Wedgetail and the E-3 Sentry. This is more than a procurement decision—it’s a signal.
“Strategic autonomy must be built step by step,” Macron stated at the show. “We can’t preach independence and keep buying foreign systems.”
His critics accuse him of protectionism, but his supporters argue that this is the kind of leadership Europe needs: unapologetically European, with a long-term vision.
Yet, Macron’s push faces an uphill battle. Europe remains divided over whether self-reliance means going French, going joint-European, or simply hedging bets.
Germany continues to back the Eurofighter Typhoon, developed jointly by the UK, Italy, Germany, and Spain. The UK has thrown its lot in with the U.S. and Japan on the sixth-generation Global Combat Air Programme (GCAP).
In contrast, France and Germany are co-developing the Future Combat Air System (FCAS), a sixth-generation fighter that won’t be ready before 2040. The Rafale, then, is both a bridge and a battlefield in Europe’s identity crisis.
As uncertainty over American reliability grows, the strategic calculus in Europe is shifting. Macron is offering a bold, if controversial, path forward: a Europe that builds and buys its own weapons, secures its own skies, and asserts its own sovereignty.
Whether or not Europe follows him will depend on more than social media campaigns or procurement contracts. It will depend on political will, industrial capacity, and a shared vision for what Europe wants to become.
