I had lunch this week with an old boss—someone I have known for more than thirty years, a friend, and a man of firm convictions, both in religion and in his support of Donald Trump. It is the kind of relationship that allows for conversations that might otherwise be unsustainable. Familiarity, over time, earns a certain patience.
Among the many views expressed, one in particular lingered: that Europe has declined—that it is no longer reliable, no longer to be trusted.
It is a sentiment heard with increasing frequency. And yet, it rests, I think, on a misunderstanding of what we mean when we say “Europe.”
Europe is not a singular actor. To treat it as one—or to direct frustration at any single country as though it were—misses the nature of the system itself. It does not operate from a single vantage point, issuing directives and imposing will. It is, rather, a collection of democracies—operating through institutions, shaped by internal debate, and often marked by disagreement—not only with the United States, but among themselves.
For much of the postwar period, Europe deferred, at times quite willingly, to American leadership. That deference, however, was never the same as submission. It was contingent—grounded in shared interest, mutual security, and, importantly, persuasion.
What has been forgotten, perhaps, is that these institutions are not obstacles to be dismissed, but processes to be engaged. They demand argument, patience, and, at times, the acceptance that agreement is not immediate.
And when agreement does not come, the conclusion is often drawn that Europe has failed.
But it is at least worth considering the alternative—that the failure may lie not in Europe’s unwillingness to be persuaded, but in our willingness to persuade.
There is, to be sure, an efficiency in dealing with more centralized or authoritarian systems. Decisions can be made quickly; commitments, once secured, can be acted upon with speed. But diplomacy among democracies has never been designed for speed. It is designed for legitimacy.
That distinction matters.
In recent years, there have been moments when the United States has acted without first securing broad international—or even domestic—consensus. In such cases, the absence of alignment is often attributed outward. Yet alignment, historically, has been something the United States worked to build.
Which brings us back to the central question.
If our allies appear less aligned, less deferential, less predictable—are we witnessing a change in them, or in ourselves?
It may be that Europe has changed.
But it may also be that we have grown less inclined to do the work that alliance has always required: to persuade, to consult, and, when necessary, to compromise.
And if that is so, then the problem is not that Europe cannot be trusted.
It is that trust, like agreement, is something that must be maintained.
Not assumed.
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