When Donald Trump assumed the presidency, Americans were promised disruption, and disruption they got.

From suggesting the U.S. purchase Greenland to threatening punitive tariffs on Canada, to clashing with European allies, his approach to governance was as unpredictable as it was theatrical. For much of the world, it was bewildering. For Trump, it was strategic—a calculated performance modeled on tactics from an unlikely playbook: the dynamics of a prison yard.

The image is a familiar one from films. A tough inmate strides into the cafeteria, seizes food from another’s tray, and forces a choice: retaliate and risk a fight, or acquiesce and invite further exploitation. Trump’s geopolitics mirror this script.

His moves, like the one on Greenland, may appear impulsive, but they are carefully designed to signal strength, unpredictability, and dominance—not to Denmark, but to the world’s real heavyweights: China and Russia.

Trump’s provocations aren’t truly about Denmark, Canada, or Panama. Greenland’s strategic minerals may hold long-term economic value, but the theatrics surrounding the episode carried a more potent message. By picking fights with smaller allies, Trump seeks to solidify a reputation for no-holds-barred fighting and toughness. In his first days, he steered clear of conflicts with adversaries like Beijing or Moscow—foes he knows would be far more complicated to confront.

For Trump, these skirmishes are warm-ups, displays of power meant to project unpredictability to rivals and intimidate allies into submission.

At the heart of this strategy is Trump’s vision of a bygone era. His campaign mantra, “Make America Great Again,” hearkens back to the 1950s and 1960s, when America reigned as an economic superpower. Back then, Europe, Japan, and much of the world were still recovering from the ravages of World War II. America’s dominance was unquestioned. Trump’s vision of restoring that dominance hinges on hoarding global resources, using tariffs as leverage, and renegotiating security arrangements to offload costs onto allies.

Consider his stance on NATO. Trump has repeatedly argued that Americans are subsidising the security of wealthier allies like Germany and South Korea while receiving little in return. To him, this is an intolerable imbalance. He believes the U.S. has been footing the bill for a global order that benefits everyone but Americans, and he’s determined to reverse the equation.

Trump’s stance on Ukraine is another case in point. While the war is viewed by Europe as an existential threat to its security, Trump sees it as a burden disproportionately shouldered by the U.S. His calculus is brutally transactional: Why invest billions to prop up Europe’s defenses when those funds could stay in American coffers? A territorial concession to Russia, in his view, is a small price to pay to unburden America from what he sees as Europe’s problem.

This approach has left Europe scrambling. For Northern Europeans, Trump’s demeanour—a brashness more familiar in Mediterranean cultures—can feel deeply unfamiliar. In countries like Denmark and Sweden, shaped by progressive politics and an egalitarian ethos, engaging with a figure whose worldview seems rooted in a zero-sum game of dominance poses unique challenges. Trump’s rhetoric and actions have shattered assumptions about America’s role as Europe’s steadfast ally and highlighted the continent’s overreliance on U.S. leadership.

Yet, this moment of reckoning could also be a wake-up call for Europe. Dependency on American support and innovation has sapped the continent’s resilience. Europe’s brightest minds in engineering, technology, and other fields have migrated across the Atlantic, leaving the region vulnerable to stagnation. The top twenty cities in the world for tech financing and unicorns—the creation of billion-dollar companies—are in America and China.

The war in Ukraine has further strained the continent, revealing cracks in its unity and undermining its economic prospects through energy costs and inflation.

The solution is clear but daunting: Europe must invest in itself. It must lead. It must develop its own infrastructures, technological innovations, nurture its talent, and act with a unified voice.

Europe has a rich history of innovation and progress and has the foundations to reclaim its position as a global leader, but it must act decisively. To do so, we need to harness our intellectual resources, invest in cutting-edge industries, and create an environment where talent flourishes rather than migrates.

Our universities already produce some of the brightest minds on the planet, but too often, these individuals take their skills elsewhere due to better opportunities abroad. It’s time to reverse that brain drain by fostering innovation hubs, funding research, and providing incentives for entrepreneurs and scientists to remain and thrive in Europe.

High taxation rates and burdensome red tape from Brussels must be addressed if European economies are to compete with far more liberal ones like the U.S., India, Singapore, and China. Policies like the green transition should incorporate clear economic advantages in their implementation.

Years ago, Europe was defined by politically strong leaders—figures like Angela Merkel, Silvio Berlusconi, and Tony Blair. These were individuals with the gravitas to pick up the phone and command the attention of global heavyweights like China, the United States, and Russia.

Today, that era of decisive leadership feels like a distant memory. Europe now finds itself lacking such commanding personalities. One could argue that the continent suffers from a structural shortcoming: unlike the United States, whose Constitution endows its president with a quasi-monarchic authority, Europe’s leadership is fragmented. At the council, parliament, and commission levels, there are numerous high-ranking officials and voices, but no singular figure to steer the ship or represent Europe as a unified force. The fragmentation of decision-making, while noble in its aim, means a slow and often indecisive position on most matters.

The fragmentation of decision-making in Europe, though rooted in a noble vision of inclusivity and shared governance, often results in sluggish and indecisive responses to critical issues. By design, Europe’s intricate web of institutions and the need to balance the interests of 27 member states aim to ensure fairness and representation. However, this structure can also hinder the continent’s ability to act swiftly and cohesively, especially in moments of crisis.

But to reach Europe’s potential, we must overcome our divisions. A fragmented Europe cannot stand toe-to-toe with the economic power of the United States or the sheer scale of China.

Unity, both politically and economically, is essential.

We must deepen ties where it matters while respecting the unique identities and voices of our member states. The reality is that while the European market is theoretically open, significant barriers still remain, from red tape to language differences. A New Yorker can easily sell to a Floridian or a Californian, but a Lithuanian often faces considerable challenges when trying to reach a Greek or Spanish client because of protectionism through regulatory barriers.

Trump’s presidency has been a shock to the system for Europe, exposing vulnerabilities and disrupting old alliances. But it has also underscored the urgency of European revitalization. Whether the continent rises to this challenge will determine whether this moment of crisis becomes a footnote in its decline—or the start of a renaissance for a united, self-reliant Europe.