This was the year that the remaining pillars of the late-20th-century order were shattered, exposing the hollow core of what passed for a global system. Three blows sufficed.

The first was Russia’s impending victory in Ukraine over Europe’s combined leadership. For almost four years, the European Union and Nato engaged in a perilous double game. On one hand, they committed rhetorically to a Ukrainian victory they were unwilling to bankroll. On the other hand, they exploited this never-ending war to advance a new political and economic domestic consensus: military Keynesianism would be their last-ditch stand against Europe’s deindustrialisation.

In a continent where debilitating political constraints forbade significant deficit-funded green investments or social policies, the war in Ukraine provided a powerful rationale for funnelling public debt into the defence-industrial complex. The unspoken truth was that a forever war served a critical function: it was the perfect engine for Keynesian pump-priming of Europe’s stagnating economy.

The contradiction was fatal: If the Ukraine war ended with a peace deal, it would be hard to sustain this economic pump-priming. Yet to achieve a victory that would justify the spending was deemed too expensive financially and too risky geo-strategically. Thus, Europe settled on the worst possible strategy: sending just enough equipment to Ukraine to prolong the bleeding without altering its course.

Now that Russia is set to prevail (a predictable result that US President Donald Trump merely brought forward), the EU’s best-laid plans lay in ruins. Europe has no Plan B for peace because its entire strategic posture had become dependent on the war’s continuance.

Whatever grubby peace deal the Kremlin and Trump’s men ultimately impose on Ukraine will do more than redraw a border. Whether Russia remains a threat to Europe or not, Europe is about to lose the pretext for its nascent military-industrial boom and thus foreshadows a new austerity.

The trade war

The second shock was that China won the trade war against the United States. The US strategy, initiated under Trump’s first administration and intensified under Joe Biden, was a pincer move: tariff barriers to cripple Chinese access to markets, and embargoes on advanced semiconductors and fabrication tools to cripple its technological ascent. In 2025, this strategy met its Waterloo, and Europe was again the primary collateral damage.

China responded with a masterful two-part response. First, it weaponised its dominance over rare earths and critical minerals, triggering a supply-chain seizure that paralysed not so much American, but European and East Asian green manufacturing. Second, and most injuriously for America’s standing as the global tech leader, China mobilised its “whole-nation system” toward a single goal: technological autarky. The result was a staggering acceleration in domestic chip production, with SMIC and Huawei achieving breakthroughs that rendered the US-led Western embargo not just obsolete, but counterproductive.

This is probably the shock with the longest-lasting repercussions. In 2025, the US proved incapable of slowing China’s rise and, instead, unwittingly propelled its tech sector toward full independence. And Europe, having dutifully imposed on China the sanctions dictated by the White House, was left with the worst of all worlds: increasingly shut out of the lucrative Chinese market for its high-value goods, yet receiving none of the lavish subsidies and on-shoring benefits of the now rescinded US Inflation Reduction Act. By choosing to act as a strategic subcontractor to the US, the EU accelerated its own deindustrialisation. This was not a loss in a trade war; it was a geopolitical checkmate, and Europe featured only as the losing side’s pawn.

‘Landmark agreement’

The third shock was the ease with which Trump won his tariff war with the EU. At the end of their meeting at one of Trump’s golf clubs in Scotland, choreographed by his men to maximise her humiliation, Ursula von der Leyen, the president of the European Commission, struggled to portray a surrender document as a “landmark agreement.” Tariffs on European exports to the US jumped from around 1.2% to 15% and in some cases to 25% and 50%. Long-standing EU tariffs on US exports were cancelled. Last but not least, the Commission committed to $600bn of European investment in US industry on US soil – money that can come only from diverting mainly German investments to chemical factories in Texas and car plants in Ohio.

This was more than a bad deal. It was an unprecedented capital extraction treaty. It formalises the EU’s transition from an industrial competitor to a supplicant. Europe is to be a source of capital, a regulated market for US goods, and a technologically dependent junior partner. To add insult to injury, this new reality was codified in a binding commitment, to which all 27 EU member states have now agreed, stripping the bloc of any pretense of sovereignty.

Part of the capital Trump needs to consolidate his vision of a G2 world structured around the Washington-Beijing axis is now contractually obligated to flow from Europe westward.

These three shocks form a synergistic trilogy. Europe’s defeat in Ukraine has revealed its strategic blind spots and punctured its military Keynesian project. Trump’s acquiescence to Chinese President Xi Jinping has triggered a flood of Chinese exports to the EU. The shakedown in Scotland has cost Europe its accumulated capital and any lingering hope of parity.

In the G2 world, the imagined global village is a gladiatorial arena where the EU and the United Kingdom now wander aimlessly. A new, harder, colder world order has been erected on the grave of European ambition. The year’s enduring lesson is that in an age of existential contests, strategic dependency is the prelude to irrelevance. — Project Syndicate

 

  • Yanis Varoufakis, a former finance minister of Greece, is leader of the MeRA25 party and Professor of Economics at the University of Athens.