As Europe faces the return of great-power politics, the outcome of the war in Ukraine will not only shape the region’s future but also redefine the global order. U.S. President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin began preparations for direct negotiations to end the conflict following preliminary meetings in Riyadh on February 18. Coincidentally, this year’s May 8 marks the 80th anniversary of the end of World War II—a war many historians argue was catalyzed by Britain and France’s appeasement of Hitler in the 1938 Munich Agreement. Former Swedish Prime Minister Carl Bildt contends that Trump is repeating the same mistake in his negotiation with Putin: appeasing the aggressor through concession, excluding Ukraine from discussions on its own future, and potentially partitioning its territory. Yet, framing today’s negotiations through the lens of the Munich agreement is misleading. Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, after all, was motivated by a “spirit of collaboration and goodwill” to avoid war in a Europe still scarred by the previous conflict.1 Trump, by contrast, views international politics through a transactional lens forged in the world of real estate. Simply put, the war does not fit his profit model: “The United States has spent $200 billion more than Europe, and Europe’s money is guaranteed, while the U.S. will get nothing back.” In his eyes, the Ukraine War is an unprofitable venture—a deal that must be concluded to halt continuing economic losses.
Trump’s approach aligns not with Munich but with the world envisioned at the Yalta Conference 80 years ago—a world where great powers dictate the fate of smaller states. Once again, major powers are carving Europe into spheres of influence, disregarding international institutions such as the United Nations and the European Union. The return to Yalta signifies the erosion of the democratic, multilateral order that has underpinned Europe’s peace since 1945. It marks a departure from the United Nations Charter’s vision of “equal rights for nations large and small” and a shift toward a rule of the jungle where only the powerful have a voice. The question remains: Has Europe, long reliant on an idealistic order, adapted over the past three years to survive the harsh realities of contemporary geopolitics?
1945 Yalta, 2025 Ukraine
Ukraine’s fate today echoes that of the Eastern European states in 1945—the exclusion of smaller states from determining their own future. This historical tragedy was evident in the 1939 Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact, in which Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union partitioned Eastern Europe into spheres of influence. After Nazi Germany’s defeat, Stalin sought recognition for the communist regimes installed by the Red Army, a demand he pressed during the Yalta Conference in February 1945. President Roosevelt, needing Stalin’s support in the Pacific Theater and Soviet participation in the newly formed United Nations, conceded to Moscow’s ambitions.2 Consequently, the Yalta Agreement legitimized the Soviet-backed Polish Committee of National Liberation—despite its lack of popular support—as the de facto government of Poland and permitted Stalin’s forced imposition of a communist regime in Romania.3 In Roosevelt’s vision of the postwar world order, the sovereignty of these countries was not a matter of principle but a bargaining chip.
Eighty years later, the same cold-blooded logic governs power politics. Sir Alex Younger, the former head of MI6, described Trump as a “Yalta man through and through”—someone who believes that great powers have the right to dictate the affairs of small ones. To Trump, international politics is a game of leverage. As he articulated in The Art of the Deal, “The best thing you can do is deal from strength, and leverage is the biggest strength you can have. Leverage is having something the other guy wants.”6 In this framework, alliances, democratic values, and international norms are secondary to raw bargaining power. States that can offer something of value will secure dividends, while those without leverage are left to fend for themselves—a de facto zero-sum game.
This marks a departure from the traditional Westphalian principle of formal equality among nations, long regarded as a foundation of the liberal international order. In its place emerges a hierarchy of power, where a nation’s fate is determined not by legal or moral standing but by its geopolitical assets. The liberal ideals of harmony and common interests are now seen as naive illusions that fail to serve U.S. strategic priorities. Trump’s remark about Ukraine’s leader captures this brutal reality: “I’ve been watching President Zelensky negotiate with no cards. He has no cards, and you get sick of it. I don’t think he’s very important to be in meetings.” In the new order, those without bargaining power are sidelined. The idealist rule-based international order is being dismantled and replaced with a high-stakes card game in which weak hands are forced out or must pay more to stay in the game. Trump’s insistence that aid to Ukraine must be transactional—particularly in the form of mineral deals—reduces sovereignty from a right to a mere bargaining chip.
The Illusion of Idealistic Order
The collapse of the idealist order—built on multilateralism, alliances, and democracy—was never a question of if, but when. Biden’s victory in 2020 seemed to offer a temporary revival of this crumbling system, but this was merely a mirage. The world had already shifted away from rule-based cooperation and toward a paradigm reminiscent of Yalta, where major powers dictate the course of history on their own terms. History has repeatedly shown that idealistic rhetoric, crafted to serve national interests, is easily abandoned when it ceases to be useful. During the Cold War, the U.S. justified the overthrow of democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh of Iran as a defense against communism—sacrificing the very principles it claimed to uphold. Even after the Cold War ended, the utopian vision of a world interconnected through trade and international organizations never materialized. The 2003 invasion of Iraq demonstrated that the U.S., despite its professed commitment to multilateralism and a rules-based order, continued to violate national sovereignty in pursuit of national interests.
The most telling rupture came in 2021 when President Biden ordered the withdrawal of military operations from Afghanistan. This decision, framed as economic pragmatism—“billions of dollars spent each year makes little sense to me.”—revealed that America’s role as the global defender of democracy had run its course. The U.S. dropped its veil of idealism, revealing a self-serving pragmatism by claiming that “creating a unified, centralized democracy” was never its mission in Afghanistan.9 Once justified as a fight for democratic stability, the intervention was abandoned when it ceased serving U.S. strategic interests. Public sentiment aligned, with 64% of Americans supporting withdrawal. Biden’s declaration that “We’ve got to prove democracy works,” made only a month prior, quickly rang hollow.
Washington’s commitment to liberal ideals has never dictated its foreign policy; rather, its interests have dictated its ideological stance. When countering China—America’s foremost geopolitical rival—requires embracing Indian Prime Minister Modi, a leader accused of Hindu nationalist policies and minority discrimination, he is swiftly rebranded as a champion of “religious freedom, tolerance, and diversity.” As historian E.H. Carr argued, idealist doctrines are not universal truths but moral justifications crafted by the powerful to legitimize and perpetuate their national interests.4 The illusion of a world united by shared ideals was never a reality—it was a construct maintained as long as it benefited those who upheld it. And, like all constructs, it collapsed when the forces that sustained it started to loosen.
Europe’s Challenge in the Awakened Reality
Describing the post-2016 international order as a “new reality” following Trump’s first presidency is misleading. Idealism has always been a narrative conveniently rewritten by Washington whenever necessary to suit its interests. Trump did not create this realpolitik world order; he merely accelerated its emergence by capitalizing on pre-existing trends. As early as 2000, he argued that “conflicts in Europe are not worth American lives. Pulling back from Europe would save this country millions of dollars annually.” Whether or not Europe and NATO act as a buffer against Moscow for America, Trump reduces national interests to a cost-benefit analysis measured in pure dollars and cents. And as revealed in Biden’s withdrawal from Afghanistan demonstrated, this strategic shift is not one that can be shaken off after Trump’s second presidency and continues regardless of who is in power.
Yet, Europe has been slow to adapt. After the Cold War, its leaders indulged in the illusion that “the world has become less dangerous,” as President Emmanuel Macron observed. This complacency led to extensive military disarmament. Germany and France vetoed Ukraine’s NATO bid at the 2008 Bucharest Summit, believing appeasement could substitute for deterrence against Russia. Three years of brutal war have forced Ukraine to pay the price for Europe’s strategic inertia. And yet, Europe’s response remains inadequate. The NATO Steadfast Defender exercise this year, intended to showcase European military readiness, mobilized a mere 10,000 ground troops and 12 aircraft. The continent still clings to the illusion that it has time, staging military pageants while leaving its forces unprepared for war. While Ukraine fights for survival, Europe continues to bask in the dangerous fantasy that American protection will endure.
Conclusion: Power Maximization
Ultimately, Europe must confront the hard reality of power maximization—an idea dismissed as outdated but now more relevant than ever. With the U.S. increasingly reluctant to confront aggressive autocracies abroad and the idealist vision that once shielded Europe now stripped bare, the continent faces an undeniable truth: it must adapt to an international system governed by leverage and hard power. The only true safeguard against rogue states is the ability to maximize power to deter aggression before it arrives. As Winston Churchill warned, “the maintenance of peace depends upon the accumulation of deterrents against the aggressor.” Eighty years later, his proposition remains as valid as ever. Russia is once again testing Europe’s resolve to defend regional security, just like it did at Yalta. Instead of chasing an elusive peace, Europe must prove it can shoulder the burden of being the last line of collective security. This requires more than rhetoric. As Carr stated, “The ultima [sic] ratio of power in international relations is war.”5 Ukraine has shattered the illusion that total war—fought by digging trenches and mobilizing mass troops—is a relic of the past. If Europe wishes to preserve peace, it must prepare for war. This means launching large-scale military initiatives, increasing defense budgets, and conducting joint military exercises that ensure rapid mobilization in the face of crisis. Industrial capacity must be enhanced by subsidizing the defense industry and stockpiling crucial components to enable rapid expansion or replacement of weaponry losses in wartime. Europe’s nuclear powers—France and the United Kingdom—must clearly define when, how, and for whom nuclear deterrents apply. But above all, Europe needs a new era of decisive leadership capable of forging a stronger, more resilient security framework. The power vacuum left by America’s retreat from global leadership will not remain empty for long. The time of illusion is over. Europe must awaken from the ruins of its idealism before it is too late.
Featured/Headline Image Caption and Citation: “Yalta Conference 1945 Churchill, Stalin, Roosevelt,” Image source from Picryl | CC License, no changes made
- Neville Chamberlain to the House of Commons, October 5, 1938. ↩︎
- Senarclens, Pierre de. From Yalta to the Iron Curtain: The Great Powers and the Origins of the Cold War. Translated by Amanda Pingree. Oxford: Berg, 1995, 10. ↩︎
- Senarclens, 17. ↩︎
- Carr, E. H. The Twenty Years’ Crisis, 1919-1939: An Introduction to the Study of International Relations. London: Macmillan, 1939, 70. ↩︎
- Carr, 141. ↩︎