In recent years, it has become commonplace to hear European leaders express moral indignation in response to major shocks in international politics.
This indignation, often grounded in legitimate values—sovereignty, international law, multilateralism—nevertheless risks turning into an impotent lament. In a changing international order, increasingly shaped by power, technology, and the strategic logic of force, indignation without tools becomes mere rhetoric. It is much ado about nothing, a lot of smoke and little fire: a giant Europe with feet of clay.
Normative verbosity unaccompanied by real power has taken hold. Whether in Italian, can che abbaia non morde; in French, beaucoup de bruit pour rien; in English, all bark and no bite; or in German, viel Lärm um nichts, the paradox of our continent is clear: Europe continues to speak the language of norms, while the world has returned to the language of power. The central question is no longer whether European values are right—they undoubtedly are—but whether the European Union possesses the capabilities necessary to defend them in a context of confrontation among great powers.
The saga surrounding Greenland has brutally exposed this gap. The insistence of the United States, under Donald Trump’s leadership, that the island should be “owned” by Washington—including references to military options—was not merely a diplomatic provocation. It was an explicit assertion of pure strategic interest. Greenland is an autonomous territory of Denmark, a NATO ally and part of the transatlantic community. Yet the European response was largely confined to statements of principle: sovereignty, self-determination, the UN Charter. Strong language, weak instruments. The criticism is not of the values, but of the lack of means. As the diplomat Stéphane Hessel warned some days ago, indignation is only politically relevant when it is translated into action. Otherwise, it degrades into moral noise, easily ignored by those who wield real power. The question remains: if the United States were to occupy Greenland, what would Europe do?
The war in Ukraine has confirmed a structural fragility. Since February 2022, the European Union has sought to present a united front against Russian aggression. There have been significant advances, sanctions, financial support, military aid, but almost four years on, it remains evident that we are still not dealing with a truly unified strategic actor. Rather, it is a patchwork. Frontline countries, Poland and the Baltic states, see the war as existential and lead military support. France and Germany play central roles, but with strategic caution. The Czech Republic illustrates internal divergence, with a president aligned with firm support for Ukraine within Euro-Atlantic values, and a government more reluctant about direct military aid, preferring diplomacy and limiting financial involvement. Southern countries prioritise humanitarian assistance and maintain reservations about direct military engagement. Hungary and Slovakia block or dilute more ambitious decisions. The result is a Europe that speaks with one voice institutionally but acts according to multiple national logics. Solidarity exists, but it is contingent, negotiated, and vulnerable to internal vetoes. The sacred sovereignty of states and their interests continues to prevail.
This European difficulty is not merely political; it is structural. An analysis of global GDP reveals a profound shift in economic power. In purchasing power parity terms, Asia now clearly dominates the global economy. China is approaching 20% of global GDP, India is growing steadily, and the economic centre of gravity is shifting towards the Pacific. The EU and the United States together now represent a significantly smaller share than two decades ago. In nominal terms, however, the order appears less altered: the United States maintains its advantage thanks to the dollar, financial markets, and control over the system’s rules. This dissociation explains many current tensions. Material power has already shifted; the institutional order has not. Europe, aware of the erosion of its real economic weight, seeks to compensate with normative capital. The problem is that, in a highly competitive system, norms not backed by material capacity lose effectiveness and, above all, credibility.
Europe’s lag is particularly visible in the digital economy. The major platforms—the central infrastructures of contemporary economic power—are overwhelmingly concentrated in the United States. In 2025, Europe accounts for less than 2% of global digital platform value. Private companies such as NVIDIA, Apple, or Microsoft have market capitalisations equivalent to or greater than the GDP of major European states. Portugal’s GDP is smaller than Netflix’s, and NVIDIA is close to surpassing Germany’s GDP. These companies control data, cloud infrastructure, semiconductors, and artificial intelligence—critical sectors for economic competitiveness, defence, and security. Europe has talent, universities, and a large internal market, but it has failed to create global platforms. Regulatory fragmentation, risk aversion, and shallow capital markets explain part of the problem. Regulation has often become a substitute for building. Spending days or even months deciding that plastic bottles under three litres must have caps attached to them has intensely mobilised the attention of MEPs; deciding on strategic deterrence, defence investment, and European military autonomy continues to be postponed, diluted into generic declarations and deferred to future consensuses that are slow to materialise.
When we look at the defence sector, the diagnosis is the same. The United States concentrates the largest defence companies, the biggest research budgets, and the most integrated industrial chains. Europe maintains a fragmented, redundant, and poorly interoperable industry. There are dozens of different weapons systems, high costs, and a lack of economies of scale. As in the digital sector, Europe declares strategic ambition but invests in a dispersed manner. If the European Union wants to acquire strategic autonomy and effectively deter Russia, it must make clear choices, notably:
- Industrial integration of defence, with consolidation of companies and common programmes;
- Stable European financing, reducing dependence on volatile national decisions;
- Indigenous critical capabilities in air defence, missiles, cyberdefence, space, and military AI;
- Permanent planning and command structures, complementary to NATO but not dependent on it;
- And, above all, unequivocal political will, since deterrence is also credible signalling.
Without these elements, Europe will remain dependent on American protection and vulnerable to external coercion. European indignation is not illegitimate. On the contrary, it stems from values that shaped the European project and ensured decades of peace and prosperity. But in a world where power once again matters—and is exercised without restraint—indignation alone is no longer enough. When Trump forgets he is an ally and wants everything “by fair means or foul,” the European response cannot be hesitant: it must clearly convey that any attempt at unilateral imposition will have very serious consequences, and that it is better not to risk it. Europe must respond with strategic firmness, not merely empty rhetoric. Values without means do not deter, do not protect, and do not shape the international order. They merely soothe the conscience of those who proclaim them.
Europe today faces a decisive strategic choice: remain a normative power that reacts to events, or become a strategic actor capable of combining principles with material capacity. The time of comfortable rhetoric has come to an end. Defending sovereignty, democracy, and stability requires sustained investment, real integration, military power, and the political courage to bear costs in the present for security in the future.
Without this transition, European indignation will remain morally correct but politically irrelevant. And it may not take long to prove it: what happens to Greenland may be less an accident of history than a clear signal that the world has already changed — even if Europe still hesitates to recognise it. Chasing losses after the fact will change nothing.
Author: Fernando Figueiredo – Retired Portuguese Army colonel and former NATO professional, who held various strategic leadership positions, currently serving as a defense consultant at Pulsar Development International. His work focuses primarily on defense requirements, offering expertise and a network of contacts that enable operational challenges to be overcome with effective, tailored solutions.
(The opinions expressed in this article belong only to the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of World Geostrategic Insights).