Europe in the Vise: Chronicle of a Continent Facing the Three Wills of the World

Every morning, Europe wakes up with the lingering sensation of having shrunk during the night. Not geographically, nor demographically, but symbolically, strategically, and existentially. Around it, three distinct "wills" have risen—three ways of wielding power and relating to the world that have little to do with European slowness, its internal debates, or its moral hesitations. Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump, and Xi Jinping do not form an official alliance, let alone a coordinated conspiracy. Yet, they embody something deeper and more unsettling for the Old Continent: the brutal return of raw, unabashed power, while Europe continues to view itself as a historical exception—a "post-tragic" space that has supposedly moved beyond the law of the strongest. The rest of the world, however, never signed up for this fiction.

Where Europe debates, Putin strikes. Where Europe negotiates, Trump imposes. Where Europe regulates, China plans decades ahead. This gap is not merely strategic; it is philosophical. It reveals a fracture in the very conception of power. For Moscow, power is a matter of historical survival, a revenge for post-Soviet humiliation, and a restoration of imperial hierarchy. For Washington under Trump, power is a permanent transaction—a blunt trial of strength where an ally is only tolerated if they are profitable. For Beijing, power is a civilizational continuity, an art of patience, a slow encirclement through the control of economic and technological flows. Faced with these three logics, Europe often appears as a complex organism still pondering the rules of the game while the others have already moved the pieces.

Russia, under Putin, understood early on something that Europe refused to see: interdependence does not prevent conflict; it transforms it. For years, European capitals believed that trade, gas pipelines, and financial exchanges would create an automatic peace. Putin, however, saw this dependency as strategic leverage. Energy was not just a commodity; it was a weapon—slow but formidable—capable of cracking European solidarity and fueling social tensions. When war returned to European soil, it was not a military surprise, but the logical conclusion of a misjudged power dynamic. Europe discovered that peace is not decreed by treaties, but protected by the capacity to deter.

Donald Trump, for his part, never hid his disdain for the European project as it was built after World War II. Where his predecessors saw the EU as a strategic partner, he perceived it as an economic competitor, or even a security parasite. His message was blunt: why should the United States pay for the security of a wealthy continent that refuses to defend itself? Behind the provocations and the tweets lay a truth that was uncomfortable for Europe: its military dependence was no longer guaranteed in a world where America itself doubted its role as a global policeman. Trump did not so much weaken Europe as he revealed its structural vulnerability—its inability to conceive of itself as an autonomous strategic power.

Finally, China does not threaten Europe with tanks or ultimatums. It simply overtakes it—silently, methodically, and almost politely. It invests, produces, controls supply chains, and secures raw materials. It thinks in decades while Europe thinks in election cycles. China does not need to crush Europe frontally; it only needs to become indispensable. In solar panels, batteries, and rare earth minerals, Europe finds itself in a position of dependency, a prisoner of its past choices and its excessive faith in a "neutral" global market. Chinese power does not impose itself by force, but by necessity: it is there, unavoidable, and any attempt to decouple comes with an immediate cost that European societies, already fragile, struggle to accept.

Is Europe, then, truly being crushed? The answer requires nuance. To be "crushed" implies a total incapacity to act. Yet Europe remains a major economic power, a hub of innovation, and a unique normative pole. It still sets global standards and attracts talent. However, it is caught in a fundamental contradiction: it possesses the resources of a great power without assuming the responsibilities or adopting the instincts. It wants the benefits of power without accepting the political, military, and psychological costs.

The heart of the European problem is not the existence of Putin, Trump, or Xi. Great powers have always existed. The real issue is Europe’s difficulty in thinking of itself as a unified historical subject. Every crisis reveals the same flaw: diverging national interests and incompatible priorities. Some look at Moscow with existential fear; others with economic pragmatism. Some see Beijing as a systemic threat; others as a commercial opportunity. This fragmentation weakens Europe’s ability to respond coherently. External powers do not even need to divide Europe; they only need to observe its own fault lines.

Yet, there is a rarely highlighted paradox. What Europe perceives as a weakness—its complexity, its attachment to law, and its nuance—is also what could constitute its strategic uniqueness in a brutal world. Europe is perhaps the only major political entity capable of proposing something other than a permanent clash of empires. But this uniqueness cannot be an excuse for impotence. A normative power that cannot defend itself becomes a sermon without an audience. Moral authority without means is a luxury that history does not respect.

The challenge for Europe is not to copy Putin, Trump, or China. That would be a political error. The challenge is to build a form of power compatible with its own DNA, but stripped of its naivety. This means accepting that security is not a relic of the past and that sovereignty is not incompatible with cooperation. It also requires a profound psychological shift: accepting that the world did not become peaceful just because Europe wished it so.

There is a revealing anecdote from Brussels diplomatic circles. During an informal meeting, a non-European diplomat supposedly summarized the situation: "Europe is the only power that apologizes before it has even acted." This phrase, though harsh, points to an uncomfortable reality. Europe doubts itself constantly. It anticipates criticism and worries about its legitimacy, while others move forward with strategic clarity.

The question of how Europe can exist face-to-face with these three powers is poorly framed if reduced to a direct confrontation. Europe will exist despite them, and sometimes with them, if it can clearly define what it is prepared to defend. For a continent, to exist is not to dominate, but to refuse marginalization. It is being able to say "no" when vital interests are at stake, and "yes" when cooperation is balanced.

European history is made of rebirths following collapses. It is no stranger to existential crises. What is new, however, is the temptation of a "soft surrender"—the idea that Europe could settle for being a prosperous museum while the rest of the world fights for power. This illusion is dangerous. No wealthy, open, and technologically advanced space can remain outside the game of power without becoming the object of someone else's game.

Faced with Putin, Trump, and Xi, Europe is looking into a mirror. This mirror reflects not only external threats but its own hesitations and past waverings. The question is not whether these three figures are crushing Europe today, but whether Europe will agree to stand up intellectually and strategically. The real battle is internal. It lies in the continent’s ability to become an actor conscious of its own weight and responsibility.

If Europe fails, it won’t be because Putin is authoritarian, Trump is blunt, or China is patient. It will be because it refused to choose between being a simple space of comfort or becoming an adult power. And history never does any favors for those who refuse to choose.

JLP