Historically, there are four requirements to have a land empire. One of them is rapid rearmament.
‘In Germany and Europe, we fully understand that US taxpayers are no longer willing to do the heavy lifting on European security,’ Norbert Röttgen, former chairman of the Bundestag’s Foreign Affairs Committee, told yours truly. ‘I absolutely concur that we should have acted on this earlier, but we have now taken major and unprecedented steps to make the money available that is necessary to massively ramp up European defence capabilities.’
Since then a lot of water flowed through the Danube. Three days after the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Chancellor Olaf Scholz announced a ‘Zeitenwende’. Germany, if news reports are to be believed, is rearming to be Europe’s strongest military once more.
For historians, this is a familiar dynamic of a classic European spiral. The Western narrative of World War I and World War II often centres on the heroic contributions of Britain and the United States, portraying events like the Battle of Britain, Verdun, Somme, El-Alamein, and the D-Day, and the backbone of American industrial might. But that’s one sided.
The central story of European modernity has been the story of German expansion to the east, and Russian opposition to it. The Teutonic Knights’ Drang nach Osten (‘Drive to the East’) campaigns against Slavic lands in the 13th century set a precedent for Germanic incursions into Eastern Europe. In World War I, the Eastern Front epitomized this clash, with Germany’s Schlieffen Plan initially aimed at quick western victories to focus on crushing Russia, leading to massive battles like Tannenberg in 1914 where German forces under Hindenburg and Ludendorff annihilated underarmed Russians, though Russia’s vast manpower and scorched-earth tactics ultimately contributed to Germany’s exhaustion and the 1917 revolutions. The West wouldn’t have won WW2 if three-fourth of the German fighting force weren’t sacrificed in the bloodlands of Ukraine. Europe’s fate hinged more on Russo–German rivalry than on Anglo–American interventions, which were effects more than causes.
‘The West wouldn’t have won WW2 if three-fourth of the German fighting force weren’t sacrificed in the bloodlands of Ukraine’
Germany seemingly has returned to her role as the balancer of Russia. Chancellor Merz has dramatically accelerated its military transformation with a constitutional amendment to the debt brake now exempting defence spending above 1 per cent of GDP from borrowing limits, unlocking hundreds of billions in additional funds. The reform enables ambitious plans including a multi-year procurement blueprint worth around €377 billion for equipment across land, air, sea, space, and cyber domains, making Germany objectively the third largest defence spender in the world, after the USA and China.
Merz’s pledge to make the Bundeswehr Europe’s strongest conventional army, with defence spending projected to reach 3.5 per cent of GDP by 2029, is partially driven by Russia’s ongoing war in Ukraine, and mostly is a reaction to the incoherent demands from subsequent US administrations. Regardless, this is a significant shift in Germany’s position after decades of negligence. Germany’s low debt-to-GDP ratio of around 62 per cent provides substantial borrowing capacity, allowing lenders to finance this rearmament at low interest rates while potentially enabling tax cuts. The overhaul will includes major acquisitions that would in turn benefit the domestic arms industry, and fuel growth, largely benefiting domestic industry. This expansion not only addresses equipment shortages but also aims to restore Germany’s Cold War-era role, of the bulwark of Western forces.
Debates over personnel persist, and has led to turmoil in German polity. Defence Minister Boris Pistorius has pushed voluntary recruitment with improved pay and conditions, introducing mandatory registration and assessments for young men starting in 2026. A new law advocates for a partial draft. While polls show majority support for backup mandatory measures, younger Germans somehow remain opposed, and intra-coalition tensions highlight challenges in fully revitalizing forces.
Americans long interested in shifting the burden of defence to Europe, and especially to Germany, have welcomed the news of German rearmament. The house journal of US foreign policy establishment has wondered if Germany can be the ‘protector’ of Europe. The Wall Street Journal has reported on secret German plans of rearmament and The Atlantic has done a deep dive on the rapid rearmament of a once mighty great power and the historic centre of Europe. There remains, however, a central question. Is Germany going to remain Europeanized, or Europe will turn into a German empire, by virtue of Germany being the strongest power in Europe, unparalleled within the continent, and unbothered by maritime powers similar to the US?
‘Is Germany going to remain Europeanized, or Europe will turn into a German empire, by virtue of Germany being the strongest power in Europe…?’
The core paradox of the European Union has always been an aspiration to function as an imperial power without possessing imperial sovereignty. It claims authority over trade, regulations, and cultural norms across the continent, yet it relies on the American nuclear umbrella for external protection and lacks the independent military force needed to impose its will. It functions as a vicarious empire and thrives in a post-Cold War environment where American security guarantees have allowed Europe to prioritize economic integration over hard power. There is however, one weakness: without the means to defend its borders or enforce decisions, the EU’s claims remain hollow.
To achieve genuine imperial status within Europe, any entity would need to master four essential elements that have defined successful empires throughout history, from Rome’s meritocratic elite and British and French colonial administrations of the 19th and 20th centuries, to the Cold War superpowers. It would require narrative control, and opposition to foreign media and social media. It would require a meritocratic post-national of officials mirroring the Roman or Soviet bureaucracies. Most critically, to maintain either of those, it would require a monopoly over violence: both a large land army, and a rapid-response European guard deployable to suppress internal dissent.
Currently, however, the EU is incapable of doing the latter two, even when it is determined to impose a total narrative control with the Digital Services Act over the continent. Germany is, however, capable of having both a large land army, and if she so chooses, a multinational race-neutral gendarmerie even nominally under the EU auspices, and German command. Whatever is the case, the EU’s current hybrid model of pooled sovereignty without full imperial control, has run its course. And Europeans should take a long hard look at what European order they are bringing upon.
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