European Politics

After months of wrangling over public debt and spending decisions, the German government collapsed in November 2024. Among the many disagreements between the parties which made up the governing coalition was how to pay for measures to combat climate change.

Seeking to take advantage of disillusioned voters (who in recent years showed record support for the Greens), populist parties have since cast doubt on the idea of tackling environmental issues at all.

Alternative für Deutschland (AfD), for example, the rightwing party which denies the existence of man-made climate change, has raised concerns about energy security and the economic cost of green alternatives.

If the AfD’s broader aim was to take green issues off the political agenda, the plan appears to be working. In the run-up to the general election on February 23 2025, migration and the economy are the most important issues for voters (each on 34%), with climate change lagging far behind (13%).

Nor has the environment been a priority in the parties’ election campaigns. In the first TV debate between the chancellor, the social democrat Olaf Scholz, and his most likely successor, the conservative Friedrich Merz, the topic was ignored almost entirely. A lack of political will and fear of losing voters appear to have relegated environmental policies to the sidelines.

Others want it back at the top of the agenda. Germany’s foreign intelligence service, for example, describes the climate crisis as one of the major risks facing the country, alongside terrorism and war.

Business associations have urged the next government to address climate change mitigation for the sake of German jobs. The Federation of German Industries has demanded an increase in public spending on climate change of as much as €70 billion (£58 billion). Younger voters have called for a nationwide protest to bring the subject back into politicians’ minds.

So have German voters really become sceptical about dealing with climate change?
In a recent study, we found that people who planned to vote for the AfD and the leftwing populist BSW party are indeed sceptical of the need for far-reaching climate policies.

Among voters of these two parties, only 23% (AfD) and 41% (BSW) think that an energy transition is necessary to achieve national climate goals. For Green party voters that figure is 93%, and for SDP supporters it’s 83%.

Voters across the political spectrum have different priorities when it comes to energy supply. For populist party supporters, energy costs trump everything, with only 12% of AfD and 20% of BSW voters considering low emissions important.

These voters are also less likely to assume the energy transition would have positive effects on jobs, and are more likely to fear rising energy costs and security of supply. In short, they are afraid of the social and economic consequences of the energy transition. It is this fear that the far right appears to have been able to mobilise.

Climate costs

Our results are backed up by other research which shows that poorer voters are concerned about the potential costs associated with net zero ambitions.

There is also uncertainty about the possible effects on employment. Many people in Germany believe there will be job losses in their local community as a result of the transition to green energy, and 25% worry they will lose their job.

Climate change protest in Berlin in 2024.
D Busquets/Shutterstock

While these results may seem gloomy, we also found majority support – even among AfD voters – for climate change policies where communities benefit financially from local renewable energy projects, and where citizens feel they have more of a voice in how the energy transition comes into effect.

People want to be heard and participate in a potential transformation. Previous research in psychology has shown that participating in processes and a perception of fairness can increase acceptance.

Research also shows that people fear the effects of climate policies on their personal finances, and that these perceived costs inhibit environmentally friendly behaviour.

But the climate crisis won’t go away, no matter who governs Germany in the coming years. More “once-in-a-century” floods and droughts will hit the nation and bring the climate crisis back to the top of the political agenda.

When this happens, politicians need to ensure they have a positive and credible vision of the future ready to present to voters – where the costs are shared fairly. This will make it harder for populist parties to play on economic worries, and easier to persuade German voters to prioritise the climate crisis. More

To European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen, Europe is like a Volkswagen Beetle – an iconic car produced by a once-mighty German manufacturer which has been struggling to adapt to a new world.

“Europe must shift gears,” she urged in a speech to business executives gathered in Davos, Switzerland at the beginning of the year. Yet, her call to arms failed to raise more than an eyebrow. After all, she has repeated the same call many times since she was elected six years ago. So far, there has been little result.

The US president, Donald Trump, may now even be tempted to finish off the EU (the most developed of the world’s multilateral organisations) by dividing its members over the single market for trade. This arrangement is the cornerstone upon which the union was built, but can it withstand Trump’s attempts to play European nations off against each other in order to get the best deal for himself?

The problem is that Trump is simply bringing to its most extreme consequences the weakness of a system that was built for stable times which are long gone. We urgently need a new idea, and it cannot be for a “United States of Europe”. That is a dream from the past that could not be more at odds with Europe’s current political climate.

Mini unions

Europe is unable to chart a path forward because it needs unanimity among its member states in order to make any major decision. Votes are not even weighted to reflect the different sizes of each of the club’s members.

This is a weakness that would gradually cause the deterioration of any international organisation. But in the case of the EU, the crisis is more serious because member states have surrendered part of their decision power. As a result, if the EU cannot move quickly, even member states turn out to be paralysed.

Viktor Orbán, the prime minister of Hungary, has often been singled out as the bad guy especially – this has happened every time the EU has tried to approve sanctions against Russia or aid to Ukraine. But examples of free riding abound even among the founding parties.

For decades, France has resisted any attempt to reorganise the common agricultural policy that sends a third of the EU’s budget to farmers, many of them French. Italy has halted the ratification of the reform of the European stability mechanism that should protect states from financial instability, out of the assumption among part of the Italian electorate that this may compromise further sovereignty.

Von der Leyen at Davos.
EPA/Laurent Gillieron

Elsewhere, Germany’s constitutional court has derailed the reform of the EU electoral law that divides the election of the European parliament into a dysfunctional system of 27 national contests, because of the resistance of the German political system to any electoral law which is not proportional.

We need to find a way to change all this. And the solution cannot be the rather abstract idea of a union that proceeds at different speeds, where the older members are supposed to be part of an inner circle. Nor is it feasible to expect the abolition of unanimous voting for the simple reason that to forgo unanimity, you need a unanimous vote.

Instead, the EU should become the coordinator of multiple unions, each formed by the member states themselves around specific policies. A union might form around defence, for example, among member states which are ready for such a partnership, such as Poland, the Baltics and Finland.

Another might bring together countries that wish to collaborate on large projects such as a pan-European high-speed train, or a fully integrated energy market that may allow Italy, France and Spain to save billions of euros and decarbonise more quickly.

This is not entirely new. Arrangements like the euro and the free circulation of people (the Schengen area) follow this principle. Only a subset of EU nations are part of these projects, and offers have even been extended to join beyond the EU’s borders. Monaco is in the euro, for example, while Norway is in Schengen, despite neither being an EU member state.

The problem with these unions is that they are incomplete. The complement to the monetary union is a recently reformed “stability pact” that leaves so many loopholes that 11 out of its 20 members do not comply. And even within Schengen, there are still no proper common borders. The result is continuous reciprocal accusations of exporting each other’s illegal migrants.

The solution here is to fully share the levers within a certain policy area on terms which are more flexible and voluntary for the union’s members.

The possibility of calm divorce

Resilience is achieved through adaptability. Therefore, these new arrangements must make divorce between union members possible from the outset – and establish the terms of such a rupture in advance.

And in the event of an extreme case, the other parties should also be able to ask one of the members to leave their union (so as to avoid being systematically held to ransom by a free rider). The current union treaty does contain a provision (article 50) that enables a member to leave, as the UK did – but if Brexit showed anything, it was that this mechanism has limited use at preventing a divorce from descending into chaos.

People should always be part of these decisions, of course. When states decide to surrender some of their sovereignty to a larger organisation such as the EU, it changes the nature of the pact between the citizens of a country and the people who make decisions on their behalf. This evident truth has been ignored for decades as the EU has gradually been built from the top down.

The European Union currently resembles the marriages we once had in Europe (until well into the 20th century), before it was acknowledged that they are a civil (not necessarily religious) contract that can be dissolved through divorce – not some divine construct that can never be undone.

The marriage between EU countries is blighted by cheating and empty rhetoric. This is an issue we can no longer avoid if Europe wants to do more than just “shift gears”. The EU was the most successful political project of the 20th century. If it wants to continue to be so in the 21st, it has to learn to be flexible. Only those who can adapt survive. More

Anger and resentment have become the accepted currency of populist politicians. Donald Trump is generally the first example that comes to mind, but Europe has its fair share of these leaders too, from Viktor Orban in Hungary and Geert Wilders in the Netherlands to Marine Le Pen in France and Giorgia Meloni in Italy.

These politicians portray life, the economy, and society in the present as being far worse than in the past. This is because of immigration, globalisation, taxation, corruption, and the excessive influence of politicians and intellectuals. And by positioning themselves as outsiders, they don’t have to accept any role in these wrongs.

Traditionally, when voters felt a government hadn’t delivered for them, they’d punish that government at the ballot box by voting for the main moderate (centrist) opposition party. This dynamic characterised European politics until about 20 years ago. Now, however, the punishment vote goes to populist parties.

How populist parties perform across Europe.
R Silva

This change can be seen by looking at the electoral performance of the largest populist parties in 17 European countries. If we look at elections held around 2000 and then the most recent election, we can see that almost all of those parties have grown in strength.

Countries that were most affected by the financial crisis of 2008 and the sovereign debt crisis in 2010 – such as Portugal, Spain, Italy, Greece and Ireland – saw the emergence of populist parties. The governments of these nations had implemented painful recovery programmes, frequently anchored on austere economic policies (such as tax rises and spending cuts).

At the beginning of 2000, populist parties were either nonexistent or somewhat irrelevant in these countries. But by the time of the most recent national elections in each, the picture was very different. In Italy, a populist party is now in government. In Greece and Ireland, populists lead the opposition.

Spain and Greece have also both experienced coalition governments that have included radical left populist parties (Syriza and Podemos) in the past 20 years.

And in countries like Germany, Sweden, and Austria – some of the main recipients of asylum requests during the 2015 European migrant crisis – radical right populist parties have gained particular relevance. Fundamentally nativist parties are in opposition in Austria and Sweden. Perhaps most famously, the far-right AfD is consistently making gains in regional elections in Germany and is polling second nationally.

In my research, I’ve found that people who report feeling very dissatisfied and unhappy with their lives were up to 10 percentage points more likely to support a populist compared to those who are extremely satisfied.

In 17 countries where far-right populist parties have parliamentary seats, people who reported feeling very dissatisfied with their lives were 7.4 percentage points more likely to support those parties than those who were extremely satisfied.

In seven countries where we find far-left populist parties represented in the national parliament, very dissatisfied people were 8.2 percentage points more likely to support those parties than those who are extremely satisfied.

Average support (%) for populist parties in Europe between 2002 (the first round of the European Social Survey – ESS) and 2018 (the ninth round of the ESS).

Countries marked by persistent economic inequality and social divides or which experienced severe economic recessions and austerity prove fertile ground for populists. The financial crisis of 2008 preceded a surge for the far left and the refugee crisis in 2015 a surge for the far right.

Geert Wilders, Viktor Orban and Matteo Salvini: three of Europe’s most notorious populist leaders.
EPA

Distrust as the vehicle

The key to understanding why dissatisfied people are more likely to support populists nowadays than in the past lies in trust – or lack thereof it.

Political trust is, in essence, the belief that a party or politician or can (and wants to) improve your life when they take office – or that the institutions of government are capable of doing so.

Departing from a baseline with a relatively high level of trust (which, in a way, was the case before 2000), successive governments in many countries appear to have failed to substantially improve the lives of certain segments of the population.

Among working class people and people without a degree, life satisfaction has not increased. Their median level of satisfaction and happiness did not change at all between 2002 and 2018. What’s more, the gap between this group’s median level of life satisfaction and that of groups with higher education and highly skilled workers has not been reduced. In some cases, it has widened.

The perpetuation of a state of dissatisfaction has gradually eroded the trust of these voters. Many no longer believe that mainstream parties and politicians, if elected, would implement policies to help them. This has fuelled further support for populists. People who are extremely distrustful of politicians and political parties were 14 percentage points more likely to support far-right populist parties compared to those who do trust politicians.

The successes of Giorgia Meloni’s Brothers of Italy, Geert Wilders’ Party for Freedom in the Netherlands and the Freedom Party of Austria show that there is no immediate prospect of a downturn in support for populists.

Arguably, however, the most sensible strategy to overturn this trend is for moderate politicians and parties to invest in strategies that alleviate feelings of unresponsiveness among voters. They might perhaps begin with those without a higher education.

Those same parties should focus on restoring their credibility by looking back at how they managed the fallout from the 2008 financial crisis and the 2015 migration crisis with the benefit of hindsight. More

Turkey tends to march to its own drum in international affairs.

Take the United Nations vote on Dec. 14, 2022, when the body’s General Assembly approved a resolution in favor of a New International Economic Order. Some 123 member states – largely the countries of Africa, Asia and Latin America – voted in favor; only 50 cast a ballot against. Turkey was the only abstention – emblematic of the foreign policy of a country that strides the divide between Europe and Asia, East and West, North and South.

Or consider the most recent expansion of the NATO military alliance: Turkey held back its support for the entry of Sweden for nearly two years, much to the chagrin of fellow members.

It was nonetheless a remarkable moment when Turkey formally announced in September 2024 that it was applying to join the BRICS Plus group – the first time a NATO member country has requested membership in a club born in 2006 out of dissatisfaction with Western-dominated global governance mechanisms and that has since expanded from its original lineup of Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa.

With NATO being the bulwark of the Western alliance, and BRICS seen as a key challenger to that established order, this is no minor matter – especially in a year in which BRICS is chaired by Russia, currently at war with Ukraine, and at a time when NATO members are scrambling to support Ukraine in whichever way they can.

The move by Ankara, which the United States has by now decided to live with, suggests Turkey is increasingly wary about achieving its foreign policy goals primarily through the West’s institutions.

Between two worlds?

Turkey’s interest in joining BRICS does not come out of the blue. As far back as 2018, after being invited to attend that year’s BRICS annual summit meeting, Turkey had been toying with the idea of doing so. Looking back, it was only a question of time for full membership to happen.

Straddling the European and Asian continents, Turkey has long been attracted to the European Union, the world’s largest single market and a key Western institution, and has made repeated attempts to join the body during the 21-year rule of President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. Yet, the EU has been adamant that it is not ready to accept it as a full member.

Trade agreements? Yes. Military cooperation through NATO? No problem. But full membership that grants voting rights in the European Commission, the European Council and the European Parliament? Nope, not yet.

With a population of over 85 million, Turkey would be the largest country in the EU if it joined – surpassing Germany, with about 84 million – and would thus play a key role in its governance and leadership.

Yet amid a surge of Arab and African migration to Europe – and a concomitant rise in anti-immigrant and anti-Muslim sentiment – European acceptance of a nonwhite, Muslim-majority nation in its midst seems less likely than ever.

As has been apparent in the contrasting reactions to the war in Ukraine and to the one in Gaza, many Europeans have come to define the continent as “white and Christian.” They see Europe as under siege from the rest of what it considers to be an uncivilized world.

This notion has been reinforced by the rise of the far right in recent European elections and is even reflected in some of the rhetoric coming out of senior policymakers in Brussels. The European Union’s high representative for foreign affairs and security policy, Josep Borrell, for example, said in a 2022 speech to young European diplomats: “Europe is a garden. We have built a garden, where everything works,” but “most of the rest of the world is a jungle, and the jungle could invade the garden.” It was a comment for which he later apologized.

Looking beyond the West

In addition to facing a cold shoulder from the EU, Turkey also seemingly feels hampered by the broader Western-dominated global order. The Erdogan government blames the West, and especially the U.S., for holding back the growth of its defense sector, and its industry in general, and for not allowing the country to take the place it deserves in world affairs as a rising middle power.

For example, Turkey’s 2019 acquisition of the Russian S-400 missile defense system led to a prolonged spat with the U.S., which blocked Turkey from acquiring F-35 fighter jets as a result. And Washington only reluctantly gave the green light to Turkey’s purchase of 40 F-16 fighter jets earlier this year, a transaction that met significant opposition in the U.S. Senate.

Beyond the differences with Western entities of various kinds, Turkey also has grievances about the existing global order. A particular pet peeve for Erdogan is the composition of the United Nations Security Council and its five veto-wielding permanent members – the U.S., the United Kingdom, France, China and Russia – something he feels does not reflect the geopolitical realities of the 21st century.

To be sure, Turkey has concluded that it will stick with NATO and continue to do much of its foreign trade with Europe, where its main export markets are. But in the wake of what some refer to as the Asian century, Turkey sees the world as moving in a different direction.

Joining BRICS would thus open new opportunities both on the economic and the diplomatic front. In fact, such a move would put Turkey in a key position as a diplomatic bridge between East and West, as well as between North and South, with a foot in each of these camps, while also bolstering its position in all.

“Turkey can become a strong, prosperous, prestigious and effective country if it improves its relations with the East and the West simultaneously,” Erdogan said in early September. “Any method other than this will not benefit Turkey but will harm it.”

The evolution of BRICS

BRICS has come a long way from the days of its founding in 2006, when many commentators in the Western media dismissed the organization as an entity that talked a good game but didn’t get much done.

It now has its own bank, the New Development Bank, based in Shanghai, with an initial capital allocation of US$50 billion, and whose performance in its first decade of existence has been well evaluated by credit agencies and the press. BRICS also has a Contingent Reserve Arrangement to provide member states with protection against global liquidity pressures.

Russia is the current chair of the BRICS group.
Sefa Karacan/Anadolu via Getty Images

From the original four members – Brazil, Russia, India and China – to which South Africa was added in 2010, the group now has nine members. Egypt, Ethiopia, Iran and the United Arab Emirates joined in 2024, while Saudi Arabia has mulled accepting the invitation it was extended at the BRICS summit held in Johannesburg in August 2023. Now dubbed “BRICS Plus,” the body represents 46% of the world’s population, 29% of the world’s GDP, 43% of oil production and 25% of global exports.

The BRICS economies clearly complement Turkey’s. Half of Turkey’s natural gas imports come from Russia, and China’s Belt and Road Initiative aims to connect the world’s fastest-growing region, East Asia, with the world’s biggest single market, Europe, with Turkey positioned as a key distribution hub for the Middle East, Africa and Central Asia.

A bigger platform

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the BRICS group would provide Turkey with a bigger diplomatic platform from which to air its demands and leverage its influence. This should not be surprising from a country that believes, as many others in the Global South, it has gotten a raw deal from the West and is keen to reform the existing order.

Singaporean diplomat Kishore Mahbubani famously argued that the Asian century started on March 13, 2015 – the day a Conservative government in the U.K. applied to join the Beijing-based Asian Investment and Infrastructure Bank, defying the express wishes of Washington.

Without putting too fine a point on it, one could well argue that a page has been turned in the transition toward a less Western world when the first NATO member, in this case Turkey, applied to join BRICS. More

When Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk formed a coalition government in 2023 committed to making “historic changes,” he promised to improve the country’s track record on women’s rights. Noticeably absent in the coalition’s agreement, however, was any specific wording on access to abortion, one of the most controversial issues under the previous government.

The coalition parties are united in their opposition to the conservative Law and Justice Party, PiS, which led the government for eight years. PiS weakened Poland’s democracy by undermining the independence of the judiciary and placing restrictions on the media, and it strained its relationship with the European Union. PiS also ushered in some of the strictest abortion laws in Europe, with the help of hand-picked judges from Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal.

Poland’s three main coalition partners – the Civic Coalition, the Third Way and The Left – all want to soften Poland’s near-ban on abortion. Yet they disagree on how this should happen and how far the changes should go, meaning the government is struggling to deliver on its campaign promises.

As a scholar of civil society in central Europe, I have followed abortion debates in Poland for years. Poles’ views of abortion are shaped by religious, historical, political and cultural factors that make legislative changes challenging, despite the fact that most Poles favor some change in the current laws.

From strict to stricter

At the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, Poland’s Constitutional Tribunal made a significant change in Poland’s already strict abortion laws, prompting massive protests. The court removed the right to abortions because of birth defects, which had accounted for more than 90% of all abortions.

Since January 2021, abortion has been allowed only in cases of rape, incest or when a mother’s health is in danger. Under these laws, which also allowed the former government to arrest people for abortion-related activities, about half a dozen women experiencing pregnancy complications have died after being denied abortions.

A demonstrator holds a coat hanger, a symbol of self-induced abortion, on Nov. 18, 2020, during a protest against abortion restrictions.
AP Photo/Agata Grzybowska

In January 2024, the new government reversed PiS legislation from 2017 that required women to obtain a doctor’s prescription for over-the-counter emergency contraception, often called the morning-after pill. However, Polish President Andrzej Duda, an ally of PiS, vetoed the bill.

Church and culture

Sixty percent of the Polish population thinks abortion should be legal, according to a 2022 global survey by Ipsos. Less than 25%, however, are in favor of abortion being legal without any restrictions.

Those who oppose abortion are a vocal and well-organized group. On April 14, 2024, tens of thousands of people joined a National March for Life through Warsaw. Organizers estimated that at least 50,000 people participated, claiming that it was the largest Polish anti-abortion gathering in the 21st century.

Abortion opponents are supported by the Catholic Church, which remains a powerful institution in Poland despite declining church attendance. In 1992, weekly church attendance was about 70%; by 2021, it had decreased to 43%. Just a year later, another study found that only 30% of Polish Catholics regularly attend Sunday Mass.

Anti-abortion demonstrators in Warsaw march in April 2024 against the new government’s steps toward liberalizing Poland’s strict law.
AP Photo/Czarek Sokolowski

At the same time, almost 70% of Poles say that God plays an important role in their life. Especially in smaller cities and rural areas, social and family activities tend to revolve around the church and religious holidays.

The Catholic Church’s close relationship with Polish national identity stems from the role it has played in the country’s history. Throughout the 19th century, when Polish lands were divided by its stronger neighbors, the Catholic faith allowed Poles to maintain their language and traditions. When Poland reemerged on the map after World War I, the church was the basis for unity as leaders struggled to create political, economic and social institutions.

During the communist period of 1947 to 1989, the church was a symbol of Polish independence in the face of Soviet attempts to impose atheist beliefs within its sphere of influence. Political analysts such as George Weigel maintain that the Catholic Church and Pope John Paul II, a native of Poland, were important to shaping anti-communist movements throughout the Soviet bloc.

Abortion rights activists react after Poland’s Parliament voted on April 12, 2024, to continue work on proposals to liberalize Poland’s strict abortion law.
AP Photo/Czarek Sokolowski

Splintered support

This landscape of views on abortion and faith and Poland’s unique history explains why political support for various proposals is so fragmented.

Two of the government’s coalition parties, the Civic Coalition and the Left, favor abortion without restrictions until 12 weeks. The Third Way, itself a coalition of center-right parties, prefers to simply restore the right to abortion in the case of birth defects.

Third Way politicians claim that this “compromise” legislation has the support of many groups and so is more likely to be approved. The group has also called for a national referendum about whether to further loosen abortion restrictions. This proposal reflects the Third Way’s main political goal: to distinguish itself as an alternative to polarization and deadlock.

Regardless of which proposal the Legislature supports, Duda may veto the legislation. Conservative legislators are also well positioned to delay any reforms. Recently, the leader of PiS indicated that he is now in favor of softening the near-ban on abortion, but only if there is a change in Poland’s constitution – a lengthy process that is unlikely to receive enough support.

Almost all European countries have legalized abortion, although some maintain medical or regulatory procedures such as short wait times or permission from a parent or guardian. If this trend is any indication, Poland will indeed liberalize its abortion laws – and given the country’s national health care system, procedures will likely be paid for by the state. It will take time, however, and the battles will continue to be hard-fought. More

The assassination attempt against Slovakian Prime Minister Robert Fico has been widely condemned by world leaders as an attack on democracy.

In Slovakia, the violent act similarly saw a unified response from the country’s deeply divided political leaders. But how long this lasts is uncertain. Just as outgoing Slovakian president – and Fico rival – Zuzana Caputova called for an end to the “vicious circle of hatred and mutual accusations,” Fico allies lambasted the country’s media and opposition for whipping up tensions.

As an expert on politics in central Europe, I have been interested in how liberal social movements in Slovakia have reacted to the rise of populist rhetoric and policy that Fico exemplified. This research has laid bare not only the increasing move to the right of once center and center-right politicians, but also how this has helped create a polarized political environment.

Who is Robert Fico?

Robert Fico has long been a controversial figure in Slovakia, a central Eastern European country of about 5.4 million people and a member of the European Union.

A former member of the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia, Fico and his colleagues founded the Party SMER, or “Direction,” in the late 1990s as a leftist party that was critical of Slovakia’s right-wing government at the time. The party also maintained an anti-corruption message and used this to gain popularity in the early 2000s, becoming one of the most dominant parties in Slovak politics.

Fico first became prime minister in 2006. But it is since returning to power in 2012 that he has been seen as a polarizing figure in Slovak politics.

In 2018, Fico was forced to resign following the murder of journalist Jan Kuciak and his fiancée, Martina Kusnirova, in their apartment just outside of Bratislava, Slovakia’s capital.

Prior to his murder, Kuciak alleged that SMER was engaged in corruption involving the Italian Mafia and the embezzlement of EU funds. In 2020, five people, one of whom had links to political figures, were charged with the murders.

Fico has denied these corruption charges. Yet the murders and accusations of corruption led to mass protests against the government and continue to resonate today.

Polarized politics

Despite Fico’s resignation over the issue, the country continued to be politically polarized.

In 2019, Čaputová of the party Progressive Slovakia was elected as the first female president. But a year later, Slovakia saw the election of the most conservative parliament in modern Slovak history.

This pitted Caputova’s liberal agenda against the right-wing parties in government.

Right-wing parties have allied with the Catholic Church and conservative organizations to attack gender equality measures and LGBTQ+ rights and place restrictions on reproductive rights.

The focus on culture war issues has been accompanied by a coarsening of the political debate in Slovakia.

Hateful rhetoric is commonly used in political campaigns to oppose women’s rights, gender equality and LGBTQ+ rights. This rhetoric has contributed to further polarization.

Security personnel apprehend a suspected gunman after the shooting of Robert Fico.
RTVS/AFP via Getty Images

And even before the attack on Fico, there was evidence that the heightened rhetoric was developing into politically motivated violence. In 2022, two members of the LGBTQ+ community were murdered at a bar in Bratislava by a known supporter of the far right.

Nevertheless, Fico continued to rely on populist rhetoric opposing civil liberties in his 2023 election campaign.

By then, he had returned to the spotlight by opposing public health measures related to the COVID-19 pandemic. This was followed by his widely publicized opposition to sending military aid to Ukraine after Russia’s 2022 invasion. At a time when some of Slovakia’s closest allies, such as Poland and Czechia, wholeheartedly supported Ukraine’s efforts against Russian aggression, Fico ran on a campaign of supporting Hungary’s Viktor Orban and Vladimir Putin’s politics against the West.

This messaging proved popular and allowed him to return to power in 2023, with his populist party winning 23% of the vote and becoming the largest party in a right-wing coalition government.

An attack on democracy

Since returning to power, Fico has shown no desire to dial down the culture wars that have split Slovakian society. Rather, his primary focus has been on abolishing and restructuring government agencies and entities that have been critical of his policies.

In February 2024, he moved to shut down Slovakia’s anti-corruption body and abolish the special prosecutor’s office that investigates corruption – a decision that not only drew rebuke from the European Union but also brought Slovaks back out into the streets in protest.

He has also made moves to shut down Slovak Television and Radio, or STVR, and replace it with a state-run TV channel.

Taken together, Fico’s efforts to curb civil liberties and repress opposition have been seen as part of a process to transform Slovakia into an illiberal democracy, much in the mold of Orban’s Hungary.

There is much yet to learn about the motivations and circumstances surrounding the assassination attempt on Fico. But officials have said that it was “politically motivated,” linking it to his divisive policies.

Any display of political violence is, as world leaders have noted, an attempt to undermine democracy. In Slovakia, where political polarization is high, these divisive politics have been shown to, unfortunately, lead to violent outcomes. More

Some believe that the war in Ukraine has fundamentally changed Europe, giving birth to a different kind of European order. That is, it appears to be driving structural shifts in the way Europe is run and organised that extend well beyond the immediate imperative of helping Ukraine fight the war. European integration is deepening in some areas, like defence and security, and the EU looks set to extend its geographical borders to take in new members.

Reflecting this, EU leaders, politicians and writers typically compare the 2022 invasion with the inflection points of 1945 and 1989. Each of these put in place new organisations and rules that redefined European cooperation, politics, economics and security. The end of the cold war in 1989 was a catalyst for deeper European integration and opened the way to bringing many eastern European states into the EU.

Yet, the current process of re-ordering remains tentative. The EU collectively, and European governments individually, have agreed a significant amount of policy adjustment. In particular, governments have increased defence spending and the EU has launched dozens of new security initiatives. How far this constitutes a shift in the European order remains uncertain, however.

Many of the policy changes underway might be judged as welcome, necessary, and overdue so that Europe can adapt judiciously to the strategic imperatives of a more corrosive and fractious era. But the changes so far have been ad-hoc and expedient, bereft of any clear framework for structuring a new, post-war European order. They do not, in themselves, constitute a coherent or deeply rooted vision for a stronger and strategically adept Europe. Yet, this is what’s needed to address the challenges that the tragedy in Ukraine will leave in its wake.

European leaders meet in Brussels.
EPA/Olivier Hoslet

Some changes do point towards possible shifts in the European order. European borders are being redrawn to bring in new member states. After years of keeping Ukraine, Modlova and Georgia outside, the EU has concluded that it is strategically important to begin accession talks with these states. The EU has strengthened its commitments to democratic norms as the Russian invasion has made the threat of authoritarian power more painfully tangible. It has also accelerated many aspects of its climate transition policies in response to the conflict, which has demonstrated the urgency of weaning Europe off strategically costly hydrocarbon dependencies.

Yet governments and EU institutions remain in short-term crisis mode. The flurry of EU policy change has yet to translate into a clear overarching strategy for a redesign of the European order. For now, the idea that the war has “changed everything” in Europe looks like an unwarranted exaggeration.

A ‘geoliberal’ Europe

Despite multiple reform proposals, the basic institutional shape of the EU remains untouched. Countries currently hoping to join the EU are being kept waiting in drawn out, technocratic processes despite the dangers they face from Russia.

Governments have bolted increased defence spending onto existing EU policies in response to the war without clarifying how these relate to the union’s supposed core liberal and peace-oriented principles. European leaders now ritually boast that the EU has become a toughened geopolitical power because of its response to Ukraine, but this does not seem to extend to having a position on engagements in places like the Sahel or the conflict in Gaza.

If anything, the war’s cruel continuation may actually be weakening the foundations and core principles of European order in some senses. It presents challenges of such immediacy that it has forced individual governments into defensive measures that reflect their own immediate, individual interests. But these potentially militate against coordination between nations.

For now, the EU appears stuck in an “in-between” period. Many of the union’s old organising principles, like the notion of its blurred internal borders, are no longer fit for purpose but governments lack the necessary political conviction to usher in a clearly defined new order.

EU leaders need to move towards what might be termed a geoliberal Europe. As mapped out in my new book, this would reflect geopolitical reality but also the liberal and democratic values that are supposed to define Europe and supposedly sit at the heart of the war’s rationale. This would take Europe out of crisis mode and enable it to map out a new, post-war approach to order. While this is lacking, the day-to-day debates about whether the EU is “doing enough” to help Ukraine will lack the necessary strategic orientation and anchoring. More

In less than two months, more than 400 million people will be eligible to vote in the European elections. If the record turnout of 2019 elections is anything to go by, many will be seizing their voting rights, allowing policy-makers to take the pulse of the continent’s politics as the far right continues to spread.

In the meantime, research can help us gauge Europeans’ feelings toward the European Union. A political scientist at Sciences Po Grenoble, I pored over the available data to find out what exactly my fellow citizens thought of the bloc.

The French’s growing suspicion toward Europe

If there is one takeaway from the 2023 Eurobarometer, it’s that the French no longer trust the Union. In the spring of 2023, only 34% had confidence in the EU, compared with 47% of Europeans. 48% say they are very pessimistic about the future of the Union, the highest percentage of the 27-country bloc. The French are also the most likely to rate the Union’s economy as poor (52% compared with an average 44% in Europe). Only 35% consider the €800 billion European economic recovery plan, NextGenerationEU, to be efficient, while 38% see it as inefficient. That said, 69% also judge the national economy as poor, and 46% feel that their living standards have got worse over the last 12 months. We can therefore explain these unfavourable figures both on the grounds of the French’s particular mistrust of Europe, but also of a rising general pessimism toward public institutions and policies.

Fair-weather friends

It’s worth going back in time to understand how the French got here. In 1957, the Treaty of Rome was signed, creating an economic market and customs union between the six founding countries of Germany, France, Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg. Until the early 1990s, French public opinion backed the agreement, which was intended to prevent war between Europeans and build peace by accelerating the economic growth and development of the allied countries.

Such optimism was helped by the fact that European integration was still in its infancy. Although France’s political elites greatly contributed to the fledging Union, it was not a major political issue. Public opinion left it to the elites, who first built a common agricultural policy and then developed initiatives in many other areas. Until the late 1980s, academics described this attitude as a “permissive consensus”.

During the 1970s, between 52% and 68% of French people questioned in the Eurobarometer surveys believed France’s membership of the European Union to be “a good thing”. Such strong support continued to rise in the early 1980s, reaching its peak in the autumn of 1987 (74%), when the Commission was chaired by one of the bloc’s founding fathers, Jacques Delors, and the Single European Act was adopted to boost the integration of member countries.

We have also been able to show that support for European integration was slightly stronger in times of economic prosperity and slightly weaker in times of economic crisis. European aspirations develop when the economy is doing well, both in France and in other countries. On the other hand, as soon as economies enter into choppy waters, there is a temptation for the nation states to withdraw. In short, citizens did not look up to the Union as a fix to the economy’s ups and downs. The situation may well have changed since then, after the Covid pandemic and the war in Ukraine showed that the Union can come to the rescue.

A turning point in the 1990s

Following on from the Single European Act, in 1992 the Maastricht Treaty puts European integration into practice across 17 areas policy areas. It carves out the principle of a future common currency as well as more integrated foreign and security policy. European citizenship is also introduced. Observers expected the treaty to be ratified fairly easily. But this was not the case. In June 1992, the treaty is approved in the French referendum by a very thin margin: with a relatively low abstention rate of 31.3% of registered voters, only 51% of French people vote yes, after an intense campaign in which the yes side lost a lot of ground, the referendum becoming in part a choice for or against President François Mitterrand. 60% of the working classes rejected it, while managers were largely in favour. This social divide is fairly constant, showing that the Union makes more sense to elites than to the working classes.

In the 1990s, the European question becomes increasingly politicised, as Euroscepticism took root. The majority of French people do not want France to leave the EU. However, they are sceptical of its policies and its mode of operation, with decisions that necessarily take a long time to adopt and a Brussels technocracy that exasperates many of the professionals who have to submit to it. Confidence in the European Union is often in the minority in half-yearly Eurobarometer surveys.

In 2004, the Union agrees to take in eight Eastern European countries, plus Cyprus and Malta. To adapt the bloc’s rules to this major change, the European Commission, parliament and heads of state negotiate a new treaty for the Constitution for Europe – a term that brings to mind the founding of a state.

The French’s European heart – and critical mind toward the EU

A new referendum is held in 2005 to ratify it. To many observers’ astonishment, the “No” wins at 54.7%, with only 30.7% of voters abstaining. The pre-election polls had given the “Yes” side a majority of at least 60% of the vote. Like in 1992, the campaign whipped up many fears. Some on the left argued the text would bring in deregulation and called for a far more social Europe, while a (small) section of the right criticised the loss of national sovereignty and the possible entry of Turkey into the Union. The results showed the gap between the electorate and a political class that is very broadly in favour of stronger European institutions, since more than 90% of French MPs had approved the text a few months earlier.

Since then, while the French remain attached to the existence of the EU, they are often very negative about the policies put in place. In 2019, 65% said that the Union was not working effectively. In the latest Eurobarometer, in autumn 2023, 55% said they were attached to the EU and 62% felt they were European citizens. 38% have a positive image of the EU (28% have a negative image) and 36% are unable to say where they stand, showing that the bloc’s image is still rather blurry among citizens. The distinction between a generally pro-European feeling of belonging and a much more critical perception of European policy still defines the French’s relationship with the EU. Only 45% are satisfied with the way democracy works in the EU, and only 35% say they trust it, against 55% who don’t.

However, there is a paradox: between 60 and 77% of the French say they are in favour of common public policies on defence and security, energy, common trade policy, migration, health and a common foreign policy. The demand for Europe is strong, but the policies being pursued are not satisfactory, and many would like to see national sovereignty better preserved. In 2022, 58% of French people felt that “Our country’s decision-making powers must be strengthened, even if this means limiting those of Europe”. More