Early last month while on a visit to Prague, French President French Macron used stark language in speaking about Europe’s role in supporting Ukraine. Just days before, Macron had suggested Europeans might need to send troops to Ukraine, only to be fiercely rebuked by several NATO allies. But in Prague, he stood his ground, warning that the moment of truth was arriving in Europe when “it will be appropriate not to be a coward.”
Pointing to the first interstate war on European soil since World War II, with powers that “are extending every day their threat of attacking us,” Macron declared that European leaders will “have to live up to history and the courage it requires.”
In Berlin, the words were perceived as little short of a direct insult, adding to the growing tensions between the two countries. And one word in particular irritated Germany, which felt the criticism was leveled in its direction. What Europe does not need, declared German Defense Minister Boris Pistorius in ruling out any boots on the ground in Ukraine, is “talk about … having more courage or less courage.”
The out-in-the-open friction between Germany and France—and the gradual shift in positions of their respective leaders, Macron and German Chancellor Olaf Scholz, since the early days of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine—offer an unsettling glimpse into the complicated political landscape faced by Kyiv and the Ukrainian people as Russia’s assault, now in its third year, makes steady gains ahead of a potentially decisive summer offensive.
Much attention remains focused on the situation in Washington, Kyiv’s top weapons provider, where U.S. President Joe Biden’s urgently needed package of military aid for Ukraine remains stalled in the House of Representatives. That’s where a small group of Trump-aligned legislators have played a spoiler role, rendering the ostensibly Republican-controlled chamber increasingly dysfunctional.
To be sure, the U.S. is by far NATO’s most powerful member. But NATO’s European members are not exactly feeble, at least not on paper.
Europe’s NATO members fall far behind the U.S. in individual defense spending, but they still shell out $380 billion each year when their military budgets are combined. That’s more than double Russia’s skyrocketing military spending.
If European nations acted in lockstep to support Ukraine, they could overcome the shortfalls from Washington.
When it comes to words, the continent has shown no shortage of determination, especially in the early days of the war. But when the issue is material support, the divisions among them are stark, even as Russian forces now push incrementally deeper into Ukraine.
The major European powers have trailed behind the Baltic states and Eastern Europe on support for Ukraine, and Macron and Scholz encapsulate the philosophical and geopolitical divide among them.
The Baltic states remain the strongest proponents and, in proportion to their GDPs and populations, the biggest contributors to the effort. Eastern European countries, themselves former Soviet satellites, have also advocated for a more muscular role, although Poland’s once unquestioning support for Kyiv has yielded to the concerns of Polish farmers angry about competition from Ukrainian imports.
The Czech Republic achieved extraordinary results after the European Union failed to meet its goal of producing 1 million artillery shells for Ukraine: Prague raised funds from 18 countries and went on a shopping spree, buying 800,000 shells that could help Ukraine hold its own for a few months.
That performance led Jakub Janda, a Czech security analyst, to declare on X, “If major European powers like Germany, France or Italy would act as Czechia today, Russia would be defeated and China deterred.”
Instead, those major European powers have trailed behind the countries that used to live under Moscow’s hegemony, and Macron and Scholz encapsulate the philosophical and geopolitical divide among them with respect to Ukraine and Russia.
The French president has undergone a startling transformation over the past two years. Eager to play a role as war seemed imminent, Macron called for more dialogue. He traveled to Moscow, where he held an unforgettable meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin at the latter’s ludicrously long “Covid table,” urging Putin not to invade. When Ukraine subsequently turned the tables on the battlefield and seemed to be winning the war, he warned against “humiliating” Russia.
But Putin did not keep his word to Macron, and his conduct of the war, along with his tightening repression inside Russia, appear to have changed the French president’s mind. Even now, in its new role at the vanguard of support for Ukraine, France is not a particularly generous donor, ranking 14th among the countries contributing to Ukraine’s defense.
Scholz’s transformation moved in the opposite direction. At the start of the war, he made the dramatic announcement of Berlin’s Zeitenwende, or historic turning point, which ended Germany’s self-imposed post-WWII timidity in defense spending in light of the new 21st century reality: a major land war on European soil.
But Scholz remained wary of provoking Russia, and at every step he resisted sending the military equipment that Kyiv urgently requested. In addition, and despite the wide-ranging support for Zeitenwende, it turned out the voices of pacificism had not died down inside his own Social Democratic Party, or SPD.
The SPD has become increasingly hostile to a strong pro-Ukraine policy, even as its coalition partners, the Greens and the Liberal Democratic Party, grow more exasperated with Scholz’s leadership. The SPD, incidentally, is sliding badly in the polls, falling from first to third place now, below the formerly fringe, far-right AfD party.
With every weapons system Ukraine has requested, Scholz has initially refused outright and then delayed, before ultimately agreeing to send it. The battle now is over the Taurus cruise missile, which he adamantly opposes sending to Kyiv. And yet, Germany’s contribution to Ukraine’s arsenal is second only to Washington’s.
Even some prominent SPD stalwarts are outraged at the erratic policy. A few days ago, a group of prominent German historians, all SPD members, condemned Scholz’s behavior using stern, ominous language. They accused Scholtz of appeasing Russia—a particularly stinging accusation in Germany—with his ambiguous policy.
Nevertheless, Scholz’s ambiguity responds to a growing sentiment within the SPD. The party’s leader in parliament, Rolf Mutzenich, infuriated the opposition and the government’s coalition partners, not to mention Ukrainians, when he called for “freezing” the war in Ukraine. And former Chancellor Gerhard Schroder, who has enriched—and disgraced—himself working for Russian firms like Gazprom since leaving office, offered to become a mediator with Putin, with whom he said he has a sensible relationship.
To follow the trajectory of European support for Ukraine, listen to the words of the small European NATO members, the Baltic states and Ukraine’s neighbors. But even more importantly, track the tensions between Macron and Scholz about how forcefully Europe should stand up to Putin.
Frida Ghitis is WPR’s senior columnist and a contributor to CNN and The Washington Post. Her WPR column appears every Thursday. You can follow her on Twitter and Threads at @fridaghitis.