While much of the world this week was consumed by political shockwaves emanating from Washington — including a threat that the United States could take military action against a NATO ally and fears of a transatlantic trade war that briefly rattled global markets — Russia quietly intensified its war on Ukraine.
Missile and drone strikes hit Kyiv and surrounding regions, knocking out heating, electricity and water supplies for more than one million people as temperatures plunged during what Ukrainians describe as the harshest winter of the conflict so far. For civilians already battered by three years of war, the attacks underscored a blunt reality: despite repeated claims by Donald Trump that he could end the conflict swiftly, the war grinds on, and Russia remains on the offensive.
Indeed, Moscow is the same threat Trump now cites as justification for dramatic rhetoric over Greenland, a territory he has framed as strategically vital to US security. But for European leaders gathered this week at the World Economic Forum in Davos, the question was no longer whether Russia poses a threat. It was whether Europe can realistically defend itself — and Ukraine — in a world where US support can no longer be assumed.
Davos marked a clear turning point in Europe’s posture towards Trump. After months of cautious engagement and quiet diplomacy aimed at avoiding confrontation, European leaders publicly signalled that appeasement had run its course.
This was not merely about Trump’s revived enthusiasm for tariffs or his threats to unravel long-standing security arrangements. It was about a deeper realisation that the post-Cold War order — built on US military primacy and transatlantic alignment — has fractured beyond repair.
For the first time, senior European figures openly acknowledged that the continent may have to fend for itself not only without American backing, but potentially in opposition to US economic and strategic interests.
The immediate economic crisis eased after European counter-threats prompted Trump to back down from imposing sweeping tariffs. But the episode reinforced a broader strategic conclusion: Europe can no longer afford to be dependent on a single partner.
European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, French President Emmanuel Macron and other leaders used the Davos stage to promote a pivot towards new trade and investment relationships, particularly in Latin America, Africa, Asia and — strikingly — China. The message was clear: diversification is no longer optional.
The same logic is now being applied to defence.
For decades, European strategic autonomy has been discussed more as a political slogan than a serious policy goal. NATO, anchored by US power, allowed European militaries to remain fragmented, underfunded and structurally dependent on American capabilities.
That dependency is now viewed as a strategic liability.
While developing indigenous alternatives to US-made fighter jets and missile systems remains a long-term challenge, European leaders are increasingly focused on areas where rapid progress is feasible. Chief among them is drone warfare — a domain that has proven decisive in Ukraine.
The Baltic states have emerged as unexpected leaders in this field, combining advanced drone technology, cyber warfare expertise and agile start-up ecosystems. Often operating with modest budgets, these companies have demonstrated how innovation can outpace traditional defence giants.
As Financial Times innovation editor John Thornhill wrote this week, Europe’s reliance on US defence firms such as drone manufacturer Anduril and data analytics company Palantir now appears “reckless” given Washington’s unpredictability.
Europe, Thornhill argued, must streamline its fractured procurement systems and actively nurture homegrown defence technology firms, including Helsing in Germany, Quantum Systems and Portugal’s Tekever. Without such reforms, increased defence spending risks flowing straight back to US suppliers.
Yet despite the rhetoric, scepticism remains widespread about Europe’s ability to translate ambition into action.
The continent’s history of failed joint defence initiatives looms large. Even within NATO — where most EU states are members — coordination is often cumbersome, procurement cycles are slow and political priorities diverge sharply.
Few leaders have more reason to doubt Europe’s resolve than Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. Speaking in Davos, he delivered one of his most pointed critiques yet.
“Instead of taking the lead in defending freedom worldwide, especially when America’s focus shifts elsewhere, Europe looks lost, trying to convince the US president to change,” Zelenskyy said.
“Instead of becoming a truly global power, Europe remains a beautiful but fragmented kaleidoscope of small and middle powers.”
His remarks captured a growing frustration in Kyiv that, despite strong rhetoric and significant financial support, Europe still hesitates to fully embrace Ukraine as a central pillar of its own security.
Money is not the problem
On paper, Europe’s defence potential is formidable. NATO members have committed to raising defence spending to 5 per cent of GDP — a level that would dramatically reshape the global military balance.
According to an assessment by the Centre for Strategic and International Studies, that commitment would translate into approximately $1.5 trillion annually, surpassing US defence spending and dwarfing Russia’s military budget by a factor of ten, even as Moscow operates on a war footing.
The challenge is not funding, but structure.
European armed forces remain designed to operate alongside — and often under — US command. From intelligence and logistics to airlift and missile defence, critical capabilities are still provided by Washington.
As one analyst bluntly put it, many European militaries cannot deploy significant forces without American aircraft to move them.
The most immediate test of Europe’s strategic shift is Ukraine itself.
Kyiv now fields the largest standing army in Europe and has accumulated unparalleled battlefield experience against Russian forces. Yet its survival still depends on external support — particularly ammunition, air defence systems and long-range strike capabilities.
At the same time, European leaders are grappling with the possibility that US troops could be withdrawn from the continent. Discussions in Davos included proposals for a permanent NATO presence in Greenland, reflecting heightened concern over Arctic security and Russian activity in the High North.
But a fundamental question remains unanswered: where would those troops come from?
Given Trump’s hostility to the current US military footprint in Europe, many analysts believe any new deployments to Greenland would likely involve redeploying forces away from Europe itself. Such a move would deepen the security vacuum European states are now racing to fill.
The Greenland debate has also sharpened awareness that the European Union, as an institution, may not be the right vehicle for a rapid military response. Decision-making constraints and political divisions limit its effectiveness in crisis scenarios.
Instead, European governments are increasingly exploring flexible coalitions — both among themselves and with non-EU partners — mirroring approaches already used in economic policy and technology cooperation.
These ad hoc arrangements may prove faster and more resilient than formal EU structures, particularly in defence.
Ultimately, Europe’s transformation will be judged not in conference halls, but on the battlefield in Ukraine.
The war is no longer viewed solely as a regional conflict or a humanitarian crisis. It is increasingly framed as the frontline of a broader confrontation over Europe’s security order.
Whether Europe truly embraces that perspective — and acts accordingly — will determine not only Ukraine’s future, but its own.
As Russian missiles continue to plunge millions of Ukrainians into darkness and cold, the question facing Europe is stark: is it prepared to defend the continent’s eastern flank as if it were its own?
