United States President Donald Trump’s latest moves against Europe mark a sharp departure from long-standing international norms and have set off alarm bells across the Atlantic. Two developments in December, in particular, underscore a widening rift in US-Europe relations and reveal a more coercive, values-driven approach to diplomacy under Trump’s renewed leadership.
The first was Washington’s decision to impose travel sanctions on five European nationals, including former European Commissioner Thierry Breton, effectively barring them from entering the United States. Such sanctions have traditionally been reserved for adversaries such as authoritarian regimes, oligarchs, or individuals accused of corruption or human rights abuses. Applying them to European political figures — from allied democracies — is unprecedented in the post-war transatlantic relationship.
US Secretary of State Marco Rubio defended the decision by accusing the sanctioned individuals of participating in what he described as a “global censorship-industrial complex” designed to “suppress American viewpoints they oppose”. The sanctions were widely interpreted as retaliation for the European Commission’s US$141 million fine against X, the social media platform formerly known as Twitter, for violating the European Union’s Digital Services Act.
The message from Washington was unmistakable: regulatory actions taken by Europe against American technology firms — particularly those aligned with conservative political discourse — will be treated not as technical legal matters, but as hostile political acts.
The second development was even more provocative. President Trump appointed a special envoy to Greenland, with an explicit mandate to explore pathways to making the Danish autonomous territory “a part of the United States”. Trump has repeatedly argued that Greenland is vital to US national security, citing its strategic Arctic location, access to critical minerals, and growing competition with China and Russia in the polar region.
The reaction from Copenhagen and Nuuk was swift and unusually blunt. In a joint statement, the prime ministers of Denmark and Greenland declared: “You cannot annex other countries.” Their response highlighted how far Trump’s rhetoric has strayed from accepted diplomatic language between allies.
Taken together, the two moves point to a deeper shift in Washington’s approach to Europe. Trump no longer appears content to manage disagreements through negotiation or alliance mechanisms. Instead, sanctions, threats, and political pressure are being deployed to force alignment with US conservative political values.
For decades, transatlantic relations have been underpinned by shared liberal norms, dense economic interdependence, and an integrated security architecture through NATO. Even during periods of tension — from the Iraq War to trade disputes — both sides largely accepted the premise that Europe’s stability and prosperity were in America’s strategic interest.
That assumption was explicitly stated in the 2017 National Security Strategy (NSS), released during Trump’s first term, which argued that the United States “is safer when Europe is prosperous and stable, and can help defend our shared interests and ideals”.
The newly released 2025 NSS, however, reflects a strikingly different worldview. While it still labels Europe as “strategically and culturally vital” to the United States, it goes well beyond familiar complaints about defence spending shortfalls. Instead, it frames Europe’s internal political and cultural trajectory as a direct threat to US interests.
The document warns of what it calls “civilisational erasure” driven by policies that allegedly undermine Europe’s “national identities and self-confidence”. Mass migration is singled out as a destabilising force eroding social cohesion, while digital regulations and hate-speech laws are portrayed as instruments of censorship targeting far-right and conservative viewpoints.
In effect, the NSS suggests that Europe’s liberal leadership — rather than external adversaries — is responsible for weakening the continent and, by extension, the transatlantic alliance. The implied solution is not dialogue or reform within Europe, but political realignment with the Trump administration’s worldview.
Most strikingly, the strategy document calls for “cultivating resistance to Europe’s current trajectory within European nations”. The phrase appears benign, but its implications are profound. It signals a willingness by Washington to support “patriotic” political forces inside Europe — often far-right or nationalist parties — that share ideological affinities with US conservatism.
This represents a sharp break from decades of American rhetoric about respecting democratic sovereignty. The irony is hard to miss. The same NSS criticises past US efforts to pressure Gulf monarchies into abandoning their traditions and governance models, yet sees no contradiction in advocating political engineering within Europe.
The sanctions linked to the X fine and the Greenland envoy appointment appear to be early manifestations of this strategy. By targeting individuals associated with EU digital regulation, Washington is seeking to weaken Europe’s regulatory resolve without triggering a full-scale trade war. At the same time, the pressure creates political space for right-wing parties to argue that European rules are damaging relations with the United States.
Similarly, the renewed focus on Greenland is less about territorial expansion than about asserting dominance over European governments Washington increasingly distrusts. The US already maintains a military base on the island, and Denmark has signalled openness to expanding America’s security footprint there. Trump’s rhetoric, therefore, is better understood as leverage — a reminder that Washington is willing to challenge European sovereignty if political alignment falters.
From Asia’s perspective, there is a measure of relief in this transatlantic turmoil. Unlike Europe, Asian countries are not the targets of US political-cultural campaigns. Trump is not threatening to annex Okinawa from Japan, seize Subic Bay from the Philippines, or reshape the domestic politics of Cambodia based on ideological compatibility.
Yet this does not mean Asia is immune from pressure. Washington’s desire for leverage in the region remains strong — only the tools differ. Rather than sanctions tied to culture wars or territorial threats, the primary instruments are trade policy and economic conditionality.
Tariffs, long Trump’s favoured foreign policy weapon, continue to loom large. More concerning, however, is the emergence of so-called “poison pill” termination clauses in recent trade agreements with countries such as Malaysia and Cambodia. These clauses allow the United States to unilaterally exit trade deals if “essential US interests” are deemed to be at risk.
Termination clauses themselves are not new. What is novel is their targeted and politically elastic nature. If replicated across multiple agreements, such provisions could form a web of US-centric trade arrangements designed to isolate adversaries — particularly China — while binding smaller economies to Washington through asymmetric dependence.
For Asian governments, the lesson is clear. Economic interdependence is no longer treated by Washington as a mutual stabiliser, but as a source of leverage. Dependence on access to the US market can be weaponised just as readily as security guarantees or diplomatic recognition.
While the nature of the pressure differs between Europe and Asia, the underlying logic is the same. Whether through dominance or leverage, the Trump administration is signalling that alignment with US interests — narrowly defined and ideologically charged — will be enforced rather than negotiated.
For governments across both regions, the challenge is to engage Washington without surrendering strategic autonomy. The costs of mismanaging that balance, as Europe is now discovering, can be steep.
