Europe at the Fault Line: Can an Exposed EU Shield Ukraine from Trump’s Peace?

When European leaders gathered in Brussels amid another winter of war on the continent, the mood was neither defiant nor hopeful—it was apprehensive. The European Union today finds itself “already in harm’s way,” not merely because of Russian artillery on Ukraine’s eastern front, but because of a far more unpredictable force across the Atlantic: Donald Trump’s approach to peace, power, and transactional geopolitics. The question haunting Brussels is brutally simple—can Europe save Ukraine from a peace imposed not by justice or deterrence, but by fatigue, bargaining, and American domestic calculation?

Trump’s record leaves little room for European comfort. His worldview has never been anchored in alliances as moral or strategic commitments; for him, they are contracts to be renegotiated, threatened, or abandoned. NATO, the backbone of European security since 1949, has repeatedly been described by Trump as “obsolete” or unfair, with allies portrayed as delinquent debtors rather than partners. During his previous term, his open skepticism toward Article 5—the alliance’s collective defence clause—sent tremors through European capitals. Today, with Ukraine’s survival inseparable from NATO credibility, that skepticism has returned with sharper teeth.

Trump’s “peace” for Ukraine, as articulated through campaign rhetoric and close advisers, is alarmingly blunt: a rapid settlement, territorial concessions, and an end to what he calls an “endless war” draining American resources. He has boasted that he could end the war “within 24 hours”—a claim remarkable not for its ambition but for its emptiness. No plan has been publicly detailed, no security guarantees outlined, no explanation given as to why Vladimir Putin would suddenly compromise absent pressure. History suggests the opposite. Data from conflict resolution studies show that premature ceasefires without enforcement mechanisms increase the probability of renewed war by more than 40 percent within five years. Ukraine understands this; Europe does too. Trump appears not to care.

For the EU, this is not an abstract diplomatic puzzle. Russia’s invasion has already upended European energy markets, forced massive fiscal reallocations, and pushed defence spending to Cold War-era highs. According to the European Commission, EU member states have committed over €140 billion in military, financial, and humanitarian aid to Ukraine since 2022. Germany alone has crossed the psychological Rubicon it once feared, becoming Europe’s second-largest arms supplier to Kyiv. Yet despite this scale, Europe remains militarily dependent on the United States for intelligence, air defence, and strategic deterrence. That dependency is the EU’s Achilles’ heel in a Trumpian world.

Trump’s attitude toward Ukraine itself is marked by indifference at best and suspicion at worst. His earlier attempt to pressure Kyiv for political favours revealed a willingness to instrumentalise Ukraine’s vulnerability. Today, his rhetoric frames Ukraine less as a sovereign nation resisting aggression and more as a costly problem inherited from predecessors. This framing is dangerous. It aligns disturbingly well with the Kremlin’s narrative that Ukraine is expendable, a bargaining chip in a larger great-power negotiation.

The Brussels meeting exposed Europe’s central dilemma: moral clarity without hard power autonomy is not enough. European leaders spoke of “strategic sovereignty,” yet the facts remain unforgiving. The EU produces less ammunition annually than Russia consumes in months. Air defence systems remain fragmented across national lines. France speaks of autonomy; Poland speaks of American guarantees; Germany speaks cautiously of both. Unity exists, but it is brittle—held together by the assumption that Washington ultimately remains anchored to Europe. Trump threatens to snap that assumption.

Data underlines the urgency. The Kiel Institute estimates that if U.S. military aid to Ukraine were halted, Europe would need to immediately increase its support by at least 60 percent simply to maintain current Ukrainian battlefield capacity. Politically, this would be explosive. Economically, it would test electorates already restless from inflation and migration pressures. Militarily, it would expose capability gaps that cannot be filled overnight. Trump knows this leverage—and he wields uncertainty as a weapon.

Yet Europe is not entirely without agency. Trump’s unpredictability, paradoxically, has forced a long-delayed reckoning. Defence industrial cooperation is accelerating; joint procurement mechanisms are expanding; debates once taboo—such as deploying European troops for training inside Ukraine—are now openly discussed. More importantly, there is growing recognition that a bad peace in Ukraine is not peace at all, but a deferred catastrophe. A frozen conflict would militarise Eastern Europe permanently, embolden Moscow, and invite future coercion against Moldova, the Baltics, and even EU members themselves.

The deeper danger lies in normalization. If Trump’s peace terms—territorial loss, security ambiguity, and enforced neutrality—become acceptable, then the post-1945 European order collapses not with a bang, but with a bargain. Borders cease to be inviolable. Aggression becomes negotiable. For a continent built on the ruins of appeasement, this is not merely strategic folly; it is historical amnesia.

Can the EU save Ukraine from this outcome? Only partially, and only if it acts with unprecedented coherence. Europe cannot replace the United States overnight, but it can raise the cost of abandonment. By locking in long-term funding for Ukraine, integrating Ukrainian defence industries with European supply chains, and making any imposed settlement politically toxic within NATO, the EU can constrain Trump’s room for manoeuvre. It can also speak with moral ferocity, reminding Washington that American leadership, once surrendered, is rarely reclaimed.

Brussels today stands at the fault line of history. Trump’s peace is not designed to end war; it is designed to end responsibility. Whether Europe can resist that logic will determine not just Ukraine’s fate, but whether the European Union remains a geopolitical actor—or resigns itself to being a well-dressed spectator in a harsher world.