European Politics

Across much of Europe, the engines of economic growth are sputtering. In its latest global outlook, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) sharply downgraded its forecasts for the UK and Europe, warning that the continent faces persistent economic bumps in the road.

Globally, the World Bank recently said this decade is likely to be the weakest for growth since the 1960s. “Outside of Asia, the developing world is becoming a development-free zone,” the bank’s chief economist warned.

The UK economy went into reverse in April 2025, shrinking by 0.3%. The announcement came a day after the UK chancellor, Rachel Reeves, delivered her spending review to the House of Commons with a speech that mentioned the word “growth” nine times – including promising “a Growth Mission Fund to expedite local projects that are important for growth”:

I said that we wanted growth in all parts of Britain – and, Mr Speaker, I meant it.

Across Europe, a long-term economic forecast to 2040 predicted annual growth of just 0.9% over the next 15 years – down from 1.3% in the decade before COVID. And this forecast was in December 2024, before Donald Trump’s aggressive tariff policies had reignited trade tensions between the US and Europe (and pretty much everywhere else in the world).

Even before Trump’s tariffs, the reality was clear to many economic experts. “Europe’s tragedy”, as one columnist put it, is that it is “deeply uncompetitive, with poor productivity, lagging in technology and AI, and suffering from regulatory overload”. In his 2024 report on European (un)competitiveness, Mario Draghi – former president of the European Central Bank (and then, briefly, Italy’s prime minister) – warned that without radical policy overhauls and investment, Europe faces “a slow agony” of relative decline.

To date, the typical response of electorates has been to blame the policymakers and replace their governments at the first opportunity. Meanwhile, politicians of all shades whisper sweet nothings about how they alone know how to find new sources of growth – most commonly, from the magic AI tree. Because growth, with its widely accepted power to deliver greater productivity and prosperity, remains a key pillar in European politics, upheld by all parties as the benchmark of credibility, progress and control.

But what if the sobering truth is that growth is no longer reliably attainable – across Europe at least? Not just this year or this decade but, in any meaningful sense, ever?

The Insights section is committed to high-quality longform journalism. Our editors work with academics from many different backgrounds who are tackling a wide range of societal and scientific challenges.

For a continent like Europe – with limited land and no more empires to exploit, ageing populations, major climate concerns and electorates demanding ever-stricter barriers to immigration – the conditions that once underpinned steady economic expansion may no longer exist. And in the UK more than most European countries, these issues are compounded by high levels of long-term sickness, early retirement and economic inactivity among working-age adults.

As the European Parliament suggested back in 2023, the time may be coming when we are forced to look “beyond growth” – not because we want to, but because there is no other realistic option for many European nations.

But will the public ever accept this new reality? As an expert in how public policy can be used to transform economies and societies, my question is not whether a world without growth is morally superior or more sustainable (though it may be both). Rather, I’m exploring if it’s ever possible for political parties to be honest about a “post-growth world” and still get elected – or will voters simply turn to the next leader who promises they know the secret of perpetual growth, however sketchy the evidence?

Which way is the right way?
Pixelvario/Shutterstock

What drives growth?

To understand why Europe in particular is having such a hard time generating economic growth, first we need to understand what drives it – and why some countries are better placed than others in terms of productivity (the ability to keep their economy growing).

Economists have a relatively straightforward answer. At its core, growth comes from two factors: labour and capital (machinery, technology and the like). So, for your economy to grow, you either need more people working (to make more stuff), or the same amount of workers need to become more productive – by using better machines, tools and technologies.

The first issue is labour. Europe’s working-age population is, for the most part, shrinking fast. Thanks to decades of declining birth rates (linked with rising life expectancy and higher incomes), along with increasing resistance to immigration, many European countries face declines in their working population. “”). Rural and urban regions of Europe alike are experiencing structural ageing and depopulation trends that make traditional economic growth ever harder to achieve.

Historically, population growth has gone hand-in-hand with economic expansion. In the postwar years, countries such as France, Germany and the UK experienced booming birth rates and major waves of immigration. That expanding labour force fuelled industrial production, consumer demand and economic growth.

Why does economic growth matter? Video: Bank of England.

Ageing populations not only reduce the size of the active labour force, they place more pressure on health and other public services, as well as pension systems. Some regions have attempted to compensate with more liberal migration policies, but public resistance to immigration is strong – reflected in increased support for rightwing and populist parties that advocate for stricter immigration controls.

While the UK’s median age is now over 40, it has a birthrate advantage over countries such as Germany and Italy, thanks largely to the influx of immigrants from its former colonies in the second half of the 20th century. But whether this translates into meaningful and sustainable growth depends heavily on labour market participation and the quality of investment – particularly in productivity-enhancing sectors like green technology, infrastructure and education – all of which remain uncertain.

If Europe can’t rely on more workers, then to achieve growth, its existing workers must become more productive. And here, we arrive at the second half of the equation: capital. The usual hope is that investments in new technologies – particularly AI as it drives a new wave of automation – will make up the difference.

In January, the UK’s prime minister, Keir Starmer, called AI “the defining opportunity of our generation” while announcing he had agreed to take forward all 50 recommendations set out in an independent AI action plan. Not to be outdone, the European Commission unveiled its AI continent action plan in April.

But Europe is also falling behind in the global race to harness the economic potential of AI, trailing both the US and China. The US, in particular, has surged ahead in developing and deploying AI tools across sectors such as healthcare, finance, manufacturing and logistics, while China has leveraged its huge state-supported, open-source industrial policy to scale its digital economy.

Keir Starmer announces the UK’s AI action plan. Video: BBC.

Despite the EU’s concerted efforts to enhance its digital competitiveness, a 2024 McKinsey report found that US corporations invested around €700 billion more in capital expenditure and R&D, in 2022 alone than their European counterparts, underscoring the continent’s investment gap. And where AI is adopted, it tends to concentrate gains in a few superstar companies or cities.

In fact, this disconnect between firm-level innovation and national growth is one of the defining features of the current era. Tech clusters in cities like Paris, Amsterdam and Stockholm may generate unicorn startups and record-breaking valuations, but they’re not enough to move the needle on GDP growth across Europe as a whole. The gains are often too narrow, the spillovers too weak and the social returns too uneven.

Yet admitting this publicly remains politically taboo. Can any European leader look their citizens in the eye and say: “We’re living in a post-growth world”? Or rather, can they say it and still hope to win another election?

The human need for growth

To be human is to grow – physically, psychologically, financially; in the richness of our relationships, imagination and ambitions. Few people would be happy with the prospect of being consigned to do the same job for the same money for the rest of their lives – as the collapse of the Soviet Union demonstrated. Which makes the prospect of selling a post-growth future to people sound almost inhuman.

Even those who care little about money and success usually strive to create better futures for themselves, their families and communities. When that sense of opportunity and forward motion is absent or frustrated, it can lead to malaise, disillusionment and in extreme cases, despair.

The health consequences of long-term economic decline are increasingly described as “diseases of despair” – rising rates of suicide, substance abuse and alcohol-related deaths concentrated in struggling communities. Recessions reliably fuel psychological distress and demand for mental healthcare, as seen during the eurozone crisis when Greece experienced surging levels of depression and declining self-rated health, particularly among the unemployed – with job loss, insecurity and austerity all contributing to emotional suffering and social fragmentation.

These trends don’t just affect the vulnerable; even those who appear relatively secure often experience “anticipatory anxiety” – a persistent fear of losing their foothold and slipping into instability. In communities, both rural and urban, that are wrestling with long-term decline, “left-behind” residents often describe a deep sense of abandonment by governments and society more generally – prompting calls for recovery strategies that address despair not merely as a mental health issue, but as a wider economic and social condition.

The belief in opportunity and upward mobility – long embodied in US culture by “the American dream” – has historically served as a powerful psychological buffer, fostering resilience and purpose even amid systemic barriers. However, as inequality widens and while career opportunities for many appear to narrow, research shows the gap between aspiration and reality can lead to disillusionment, chronic stress and increased psychological distress – particularly among marginalised groups. These feelings are only intensified in the age of social media, where constant exposure to curated success stories fuels social comparison and deepens the sense of falling behind.

For younger people in the UK and many parts of Europe, the fact that so much capital is tied up in housing means opportunity depends less on effort or merit and more on whether their parents own property – meaning they could pass some of its value down to their children.

‘Deaths of Despair and the Future of Capitalism’, a discussion hosted by LSE Online.

Stagnation also manifests in more subtle but no less damaging ways. Take infrastructure. In many countries, the true cost of flatlining growth has been absorbed not through dramatic collapse but quiet decay.

Across the UK, more than 1.5 million children are learning in crumbling school buildings, with some forced into makeshift classrooms for years after being evacuated due to safety concerns. In healthcare, the total NHS repair backlog has reached £13.8 billion, leading to hundreds of critical incidents – from leaking roofs to collapsing ceilings – and the loss of vital clinical time.

Meanwhile, neglected government buildings across the country are affecting everything from prison safety to courtroom access, with thousands of cases disrupted due to structural failures and fire safety risks. These are not headlines but lived realities – the hidden toll of underinvestment, quietly hollowing out the state behind a veneer of functionality.

Without economic growth, governments face a stark dilemma: to raise revenues through higher taxes, or make further rounds of spending cuts. Either path has deep social and political implications – especially for inequality. The question becomes not just how to balance the books but how to do so fairly – and whether the public might support a post-growth agenda framed explicitly around reducing inequality, even if it also means paying more taxes.

In fact, public attitudes suggest there is already widespread support for reducing inequality. According to the Equality Trust, 76% of UK adults agree that large wealth gaps give some people too much political power.

Research by the Sutton Trust finds younger people especially attuned to these disparities: only 21% of 18 to 24-year-olds believe everyone has the same chance to succeed and 57% say it’s harder for their generation to get ahead. Most believe that coming from a wealthy family (75%) and knowing the right people (84%) are key to getting on in life.

In a post-growth world, higher taxes would not only mean wealthier individuals and corporations contributing a relatively greater share, but the wider public shifting consumption patterns, spending less on private goods and more collectively through the state. But the recent example of France shows how challenging this tightope is to walk.

In September 2024, its former prime minister, Michel Barnier, signalled plans for targeted tax increases on the wealthy, arguing these were essential to stabilise the country’s strained public finances. While politically sensitive, his proposals for tax increases on wealthy individuals and large firms initially passed without widespread public unrest or protests.

However, his broader austerity package – encompassing €40 billion (£34.5 billion) in spending cuts alongside €20 billion in tax hikes – drew vocal opposition from both left‑wing lawmakers and the far right, and contributed to parliament toppling his minority government in December 2024.

In the UK, the pressure on government finances (heightened both by Brexit and COVID) has seen a combination of “stealth” tax rises – notably, the ongoing freeze on income tax thresholds, which quietly drags more earners into higher tax bands – and more visible increases, such as the rise in employer National Insurance contributions. At the same time, the UK government moved to cut benefits in its spring statement, increasing financial pressure on lower-income households.

Such measures surely mark the early signs of a deeper financial reckoning that post-growth realities will force into the open: how to sustain public services when traditional assumptions about economic expansion can no longer be relied upon.

For the traditional parties, the political heat is on. Regions most left behind by structural economic shifts are increasingly drawn to populist and anti-establishment movements. Electoral outcomes have shown a significant shift, with far-right parties such as France’s National Rally and Germany’s Alternative for Germany (AfD) making substantial gains in the 2024 European parliament elections, reflecting a broader trend of rising support for populist and anti-establishment parties across the continent.

A demonstration in Berlin calls for a ban on Germany’s AfD party, May 2025.
Filip Singer/EPA-EFE

Voters are expressing growing dissatisfaction not only with the economy, but democracy itself. This sentiment has manifested through declining trust in political institutions, as evidenced by a Forsa survey in Germany where only 16% of respondents expressed confidence in their government and 54% indicated they didn’t trust any party to solve the country’s problems.

This brings us to the central dilemma: can any European politician successfully lead a national conversation which admits the economic assumptions of the past no longer hold? Or is attempting such honesty in politics inevitably a path to self-destruction, no matter how urgently the conversation is needed?

Facing up to a new economic reality

For much of the postwar era, economic life in advanced democracies has rested on a set of familiar expectations: that hard work would translate into rising incomes, that home ownership would be broadly attainable and that each generation would surpass the prosperity of the one before it.

However, a growing body of evidence suggests these pillars of economic life are eroding. Younger generations are already struggling to match their parents’ earnings, with lower rates of home ownership and greater financial precarity becoming the norm in many parts of Europe.

Incomes for millennials and generation Z have largely stagnated relative to previous cohorts, even as their living costs – particularly for housing, education and healthcare – have risen sharply. Rates of intergenerational income mobility have slowed significantly across much of Europe and North America since the 1970s. Many young people now face the prospect not just of static living standards, but of downward mobility.

Effectively communicating the realities of a post-growth economy – including the need to account for future generations’ growing sense of alienation and declining faith in democracy – requires more than just sound policy. It demands a serious political effort to reframe expectations and rebuild trust.

History shows this is sometimes possible. When the National Health Service was founded in 1948, the UK government faced fierce resistance from parts of the medical profession and concerns among the public about cost and state control. Yet Clement Attlee’s Labour government persisted, linking the creation of the NHS to the shared sacrifices of the war and a compelling moral vision of universal care.

While taxes did rise to fund the service, the promise of a fairer, healthier society helped secure enduring public support – but admittedly, in the wake of the massive shock to the system that was the second world war.

In 1946, Prime Minister Clement Attlee asked the UK public to help ‘renew Britain’. Video: British Pathé.

Psychological research offers further insight into how such messages can be received. People are more receptive to change when it is framed not as loss but as contribution – to fairness, to community, to shared resilience. This underlines why the immediate postwar period was such a politically fruitful time to launch the NHS. The COVID pandemic briefly offered a sense of unifying purpose and the chance to rethink the status quo – but that window quickly closed, leaving most of the old structures intact and largely unquestioned.

A society’s ability to flourish without meaningful national growth – and its citizens’ capacity to remain content or even hopeful in the absence of economic expansion – ultimately depends on whether any political party can credibly redefine success without relying on promises of ever-increasing wealth and prosperity. And instead, offer a plausible narrative about ways to satisfy our very human needs for personal development and social enrichment in this new economic reality.

The challenge will be not only to find new economic models, but to build new sources of collective meaning. This moment demands not just economic adaptation but a political and cultural reckoning.

If the idea of building this new consensus seems overly optimistic, studies of the “spiral of silence” suggest that people often underestimate how widely their views are shared. A recent report on climate action found that while most people supported stronger green policies, they wrongly assumed they were in the minority. Making shared values visible – and naming them – can be key to unlocking political momentum.

So far, no mainstream European party has dared articulate a vision of prosperity that doesn’t rely on reviving growth. But with democratic trust eroding, authoritarian populism on the rise and the climate crisis accelerating, now may be the moment to begin that long-overdue conversation – if anyone is willing to listen.

Welcome to Europe’s first ‘post-growth’ nation

I’m imagining a European country in a decade’s time. One that no longer positions itself as a global tech powerhouse or financial centre, but the first major country to declare itself a “post-growth nation”.

This shift didn’t come from idealism or ecological fervour, but from the hard reality that after years of economic stagnation, demographic change and mounting environmental stress, the pursuit of economic growth no longer offered a credible path forward.

What followed wasn’t a revolution, but a reckoning – a response to political chaos, collapsing public services and widening inequality that sparked a broad coalition of younger voters, climate activists, disillusioned centrists and exhausted frontline workers to rally around a new, pragmatic vision for the future.

At the heart of this movement was a shift in language and priorities, as the government moved away from promises of endless economic expansion and instead committed to wellbeing, resilience and equality – aligning itself with a growing international conversation about moving beyond GDP, already gaining traction in European policy circles and initiatives such as the EU-funded “post-growth deal”.

But this transformation was also the result of years of political drift and public disillusionment, ultimately catalysed by electoral reform that broke the two-party hold and enabled a new alliance, shaped by grassroots organisers, policy innovators and a generation ready to reimagine what national success could mean.

Taxes were higher, particularly on land, wealth and carbon. But in return, public services were transformed. Healthcare, education, transport, broadband and energy were guaranteed as universal rights, not privatised commodities. Work changed: the standard week was shortened to 30 hours and the state incentivised jobs in care, education, maintenance and ecological restoration. People had less disposable income – but fewer costs, too.

Consumption patterns shifted. Hyper-consumption declined. Repair shops and sharing platforms flourished. The housing market was restructured around long-term security rather than speculative returns. A large-scale public housing programme replaced buy-to-let investment as the dominant model. Wealth inequality narrowed and cities began to densify as car use fell and public space was reclaimed.

For the younger generation, post-growth life was less about climbing the income ladder and more about stability, time and relationships. For older generations, there were guarantees: pensions remained, care systems were rebuilt and housing protections were strengthened. A new sense of intergenerational reciprocity emerged – not perfectly, but more visibly than before.

Politically, the transition had its risks. There was backlash – some of the wealthy left. But many stayed. And over time, the narrative shifted. This European country began to be seen not as a laggard but as a laboratory for 21st-century governance – a place where ecological realism and social solidarity shaped policy, not just quarterly targets.

The transition was uneven and not without pain. Jobs were lost in sectors no longer considered sustainable. Supply chains were restructured. International competitiveness suffered in some areas. But the political narrative – carefully crafted and widely debated – made the case that resilience and equity were more important than temporary growth.

While some countries mocked it, others quietly began to study it. Some cities – especially in the Nordics, Iberia and Benelux – followed suit, drawing from the growing body of research on post-growth urban planning and non-GDP-based prosperity metrics.

Read more:
Beyond GDP: changing how we measure progress is key to tackling a world in crisis – three leading experts

This was not a retreat from ambition but a redefinition of it. The shift was rooted in a growing body of academic and policy work arguing that a planned, democratic transition away from growth-centric models is not only compatible with social progress but essential to preventing environmental and societal collapse.

The country’s post-growth transition helped it sidestep deeper political fragmentation by replacing austerity with heavy investment in community resilience, care infrastructure and participatory democracy – from local budgeting to citizen-led planning. A new civic culture took root: slower and more deliberative but less polarised, as politics shifted from abstract promises of growth to open debates about real-world trade-offs.

Internationally, the country traded some geopolitical power for moral authority, focusing less on economic competition and more on global cooperation around climate, tax justice and digital governance – earning new relevance among smaller nations pursuing their own post-growth paths.

So is this all just a social and economic fantasy? Arguably, the real fantasy is believing that countries in Europe – and the parties that compete to run them – can continue with their current insistence on “growth at all costs” (whether or not they actually believe it).

The alternative – embracing a post-growth reality – would offer the world something we haven’t seen in a long time: honesty in politics, a commitment to reducing inequality and a belief that a fairer, more sustainable future is still possible. Not because it was easy, but because it was the only option left.

For you: more from our Insights series:

To hear about new Insights articles, join the hundreds of thousands of people who value The Conversation’s evidence-based news. Subscribe to our newsletter. More

The European Union will have to strike a deal with US President Donald Trump on tariffs, NATO, and the stationing of US troops in EU countries. A trade war with the US will further weaken the already modest growth prospects in EU countries. Europe also still lacks a clear plan for how to defend itself if the US were to withdraw from its security system. Turning NATO into a more “Europeanized” alliance will require the development of a homegrown European military-industrial complex, and these things take time.

A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!

More broadly, Trump openly challenges the postwar international order – an order shaped jointly by the US and Europe. He disregards international trade rules, sees no purpose in most international organizations, and his calls to take over or annex the Panama Canal, Greenland and Canada violate the principles of self-determination and respect for international agreements. The EU can’t stop him, but it must choose: focus energy on resisting the erosion of international law and diplomacy or implement a pragmatic strategy of damage control. The latter demands leverage – bargaining chips – and sustained dialogue with Washington, however strained the politics.

This kind of strategic exercise is something Poland has been quietly mastering for years. It recently signed an agreement with a US firm to build its first nuclear power plant, and the Pentagon has approved the sale of state-of-the-art AIM-120D3 air-to-air missiles to Warsaw.

Just 35 years ago, Poland was a struggling, post-communist state plagued by corruption, lacking democratic traditions and having no experience in a market economy. Today, it is projected to have the fastest-growing European economy in the Organisation for Economic and Co-operative Development (OECD) in 2025. Its political institutions are far from flawless, but they have proven resilient. The key to Poland’s progress has been its ability to skilfully navigate the transatlantic space – strengthening military resilience through its ties with the United States, while also bolstering its economy with support from European Union cohesion funds.

Vito Corleone is wounded and furious

Poland has long been seen in Europe as the eager Atlanticist – sometimes as naive, sometimes as reckless. In 2003, when the continent was deeply divided over the Iraq War, Poland defied European opinion and sent troops to contribute to the US-led invasion. European leaders accused Warsaw of acting as Washington’s Trojan horse in European public debate. French president Jacques Chirac even described Poland’s stance as “infantile” and “dangerous”, famously declaring that Central and Eastern European countries had “missed a good opportunity to shut up”.

However, at the start of the 21st century, Warsaw was focused on strengthening its security and international standing. It got what it wanted, even at the cost of lost lives, a tarnished image, and bitter disappointments, as the expected lucrative contracts for Polish companies to participate in the reconstruction of Iraq never materialized. For the first time since World War II, a Polish contingent gained real combat experience. It became obvious that the army was in urgent need of modernization, and that modernization later occurred. It gives me no pleasure that Poland participated in an illegal war. But as an analyst, I can’t ignore the political and military benefits that followed.

In The Godfather Doctrine: A Foreign Policy Parable, published in 2009, political analysts John C. Hulsman and A. Wess Mitchell likened Poland to Enzo the baker, a character who is loyal and steady, standing guard for the Corleone family in the seminal 1972 film. In their allegory, the US is the wounded Don Vito Corleone, struggling to retain influence, while his sons scramble to save the family’s power.

While pop culture analogies have their limits, they often offer sharp insights. Western European countries now face a defining question: what kind of game do they want to play as their long-standing ally appears to spiral inward? Should they seize this moment to engage in confrontation – like rival mafia families in The Godfather trilogy – or secure what resources they can from a fading superpower to shore up their own vulnerabilities?

Two loyalties, one strategy

The reality is that Polish society is as pro-European as it is pro-American. It is also the case that the dual allegiance lost credibility when the populist Law and Justice party, in power from 2015 to 2023, adopted a combative stance toward Brussels and Berlin, isolating Poland diplomatically and weakening its position as a trustworthy European partner.

The European Commission accused the Law and Justice government of breaching EU treaty law on multiple fronts. Poland faced infringement procedures over its violations of environmental standards, its refusal to accept refugees under the bloc’s relocation mechanism, and its reforms of the common courts. What sparked outrage across Europe, and within Poland itself, was the dismantling of an already conservative abortion law, coupled with a brutal hate campaign targeting the LGBTQ+ community.

Yet even after years in power, Law and Justice failed to shift public opinion about being part of the EU: in 2022, a survey by the Public Opinion Research Centre (CBOS) showed that 92% of Poles expressed support for membership – the highest level recorded since 1994. Since joining the bloc in 2004, EU-funded investments have become permanent features of Poland’s landscape. They include new highways, restored historical landmarks, the Warsaw metro, the port of Szczecin, and widespread access to high-speed Internet. In late 2023, a democratic coalition won the national election, and former European Council president Donald Tusk returned to power for a third term as prime minister after previously serving in the role from 2007 to 2014.

Today, there are few illusions in Warsaw about Donald Trump’s negative impact on transatlantic relations: after his announcement of new tariffs on April 2, Tusk called them “a severe and unpleasant blow” coming “from our closest ally”. Nonetheless, Tusk has put forward a vision that appears to align with the US president’s expectations of Europe taking more responsibility for its own security. The potential missile deal with Washington is part of his strategy.

‘Secure Europe’

“Secure Europe” is the official theme of Poland’s current presidency of the Council of the European Union – unsurprising for a country whose historical memory teaches that without security, nothing else is possible. Situated between Germany and Russia, Poland has a long history of struggling against more powerful conquerors, often finding itself too weak to survive. As a result, it was absent from the map of Europe for over 100 years, divided between Prussia, Russia and the Austro-Hungarian empire. When it regained its statehood after the first world war, it began the difficult task of building a multiethnic, democratic society, but the second world war soon followed. Lacking powerful allies after the war, Poland saw German occupation replaced by Soviet domination, lasting almost half a century.

That’s why Polish troops fought in the NATO-led ISAF mission in Afghanistan and in the US-led invasion of Iraq, earning operational credibility and proving their reliability within the transatlantic alliance. Even before Trump’s first term, Poland was one of the few NATO countries meeting its 2% defence spending target. Today, it spends more than 4% – a higher share of GDP than even the United States. In 2014, when Russia illegally annexed Crimea, Poland had the ninth-largest armed forces in NATO. Today, it ranks third, behind only the US and Turkey, with over 200,000 personnel.

What Poles have long understood – and what much of Europe was slow to acknowledge – is that when Russia operates in imperial mode, it responds only to force. For years, Poland sought to act as Europe’s interpreter of the Russian psyche, but few were willing to listen. Preoccupied with lucrative energy deals and diplomatic overtures, German and French leaders dismissed Polish warnings as paranoia or Russophobia, brushing aside clear red flags.

Could Poland’s long-honed strategy of balancing loyalties across the Atlantic offer a new model for European foreign policy? In a world where old alliances are being tested and new rules are being written, its rationale might point to the pragmatic path forward. For Poles, the EU is more than just a political project – it was the fulfilment of a long-held dream of breaking free from the historical burden of constant threat and dependence. If Poland has been right about Russia all along, then perhaps it’s time to consider whether it might have something to tell us about the US, too. More

Reform UK leader Nigel Farage speaks at the Conservative Political Action Conference in Maryland, US.

Will Oliver/EPA-EFE

David Jeffery, University of Liverpool

The evidence suggests traditional parties that ape the populist radical right’s policies risk boosting their rivals instead of reclaiming voters.

MDV Edwards/Shutterstock

Vera Trappmann, University of Leeds and Felix Schulz, Lund University

The environment is less of a priority to German voters than it used to be.

Shutterstock/gopixa

Francesco Grillo, Bocconi University

The European Union has locked itself into a rigid structure instead of adapting to survive.

Dutch far-right politician Geert Wilders arrives at a meeting of Patriots for Europe in Brussels.

EPA/Olivier Matthys

Rui Silva, University of East Anglia

People who are dissatisfied with their lives are more likely to turn away from mainstream political parties.

We’re gonna need a bigger acronym.

Mike Hutchings/AFP via Getty Images)

Jorge Heine, Boston University

NATO member Turkey’s intention to join the 9-member body that functions as an alternative to the Western-led order shows Ankara’s global ambitions.

Dariusz Matecki, a conservative lawmaker in the Polish Parliament, displays a poster showing a fetus during a vote on abortion on April 12, 2024.

AP Photo/Czarek Sokolowski

Patrice McMahon, University of Nebraska-Lincoln

Many Poles were outraged by abortion restrictions put in place during the previous government. That doesn’t mean they agree on the path forward.

Prime Minister Robert Fico’s shooting sent shock waves through Slovakia.

Zuzana Gogova/Getty Images

Alexandria Wilson-McDonald, American University School of International Service

The shooting of Robert Fico was ‘politically motivated,’ authorities say.

EPA/Olivier Hoslet

Richard Youngs, University of Warwick

Ad-hoc responses to the situation in Ukraine don’t amount to a coherent vision.

Henri Lajarrige Lombard / Unsplash

Pierre Bréchon, Auteurs historiques The Conversation France

The French have an ambivalent relationship to the European Union, expressing a strong feeling of European belonging on the one hand, and Euroscepticism toward institutions on the other.

People in Hamburg, Germany, protest against right-wing extremism and the AfD party on Feb. 25, 2024.

Hami Roshan/Middle East Images/AFP via Getty Images

Julie VanDusky, Boise State University

Hundreds of thousands of people in Germany are taking to the streets to push back against the far-right, nationalist policies of the AfD, which currently holds 11% of the seats in parliament.

microstock3D/Shutterstock

Aurelien Mondon, University of Bath and Alex Yates, University of Bath

Extremists benefit when we use euphemisms that confer on them an air of legitimacy.

Shutterstock/Pictrider

Dorje C. Brody, University of Surrey

In an uncertain world our natural instinct is to seek out answers that reassure, even when they don’t make sense.

europawahl.

Marina Costa Lobo, Fondation Maison des Sciences de l’Homme (FMSH)

The Treaty of Lisbon celebrates its 15th anniversary on 13 December. Looking back, experts agree that it played a big part in structuring the EU as we know it. It reinforced the role of Commission President…

EPA/Robin Utrecht

Aurelien Mondon, University of Bath

Extremists are not ‘capturing’ our systems – they are part of them.

Unsplash/Jon Tyson

Stefan Müller, University College Dublin and Sven-Oliver Proksch, University of Cologne

Nationalist parties are the most likely to be found dreaming of a glorious past in their campaign literature, especially in central and eastern Europe.

French citizens celebrate Emmanuel Macron’s victory in the country’s 2017 presidential elections.

Lorie Shaull/Flickr

Emmanuel Destenay, Université Paris 1 Panthéon-Sorbonne and Leighton Walter Kille, The Conversation France

Opposition forces in France are using the president’s unpopularity to push for a new constitution. It’s a dangerous game.

Shutterstock/Federico Cappone

Ilaria Scaglia, Aston University

For the Italian president, the region is where his nation’s constitution was born.

The stage of the 67th annual Eurovision Song Contest at the M&S Bank Arena in Liverpool.

Adam Vaughan/EPA Images

Lara Maleen Kipp, Aberystwyth University

2023 sees the UK host the Eurovision Song Contest on behalf of Ukraine. But what role does the stage itself have to play in the musical spectacle?

file hhkleh.

Mathias Bernard, Université Clermont Auvergne (UCA)

Far from an exception, 16 March marked the 100th time under the Fifth Republic that France’s president chose to use a special constitutional measure to force through unpopular measures.

Ettore Ferrari / EPA-EFE

Vincenzo Galasso, Bocconi University

Italy’s next prime minister promises a lot on the campaign trail but the reality of government will prove a shock.

Sweden Democrats Jimmie Akesson celebrates on election night.

EPA/Maja Suslin

Anamaria Dutceac Segesten, Lund University

The Sweden Democrats have become the second largest party nationally, making it harder to argue against including them in government.

Mario Draghi has resigned after his unity party lost its unity.

Fabio Frustaci / EPA-EFE

Vincenzo Galasso, Bocconi University

The latest political chaos in Italy is the result of a series of political manoeuvres by varying parties.

Celebration at the Budapest pride march in 2018, years before Hungary adopted its ‘paedophile law’.

Marton Monus / EPA-EFE

Koen Slootmaeckers, City St George’s, University of London

The EU commission is taking legal action against Hungary may not be a sure win for LGBT rights in Europe.

Mario Draghi: prime minister of a unity government in disunity.

Riccardo De Luca/Anadolu Agency via Getty Images

Carol Mershon, University of Virginia

The Italian parliament has been dissolved following the resignation of Prime Minister Mario Draghi. What happens next, and why is Italy’s politics so fragmented?

Lukas Coch/AAP

Adam Simpson, University of South Australia

The new prime minister seems to have the temperament that would favour a collaborative approach. He could usher in a golden era of stable government, with more generous and compassionate politics. More

In Germany’s snap parliamentary elections, Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) doubled its vote share to 21%, leaping from the fifth-largest party in Germany’s lower house to the second. In the UK, Reform UK is rising in the polls.

The populist radical right is on the rise across Europe, and mainstream parties are grappling with how to respond.

The German “firewall” approach involves treating them as a pariah. This means refusing to enter coalition with them, as well as excluding them from parliamentary posts and refusing to debate or engage with their parliamentary motions. After Germany’s election, the first-place party, the Christian democrats (CDU/CSU), has no majority and will need at least one coalition partner to form a government. But it will not ask the AfD – and nor will any other party due to the firewall.

There are clear threats to this approach. Often the appeal of the populist right is that they are plucky outsiders, challenging a self-interested political cartel that ignores the views of the people. What better way to prove this case than by ignoring the democratically elected populists too?

Furthermore, the firewall has clearly not worked in dampening support for the populists in Germany, as well as in France. This is especially the case when the populists have allies in the media, have privileges given them by the constitution or parliamentary rules (for example, membership on committees), or strong regional bases.

Want more politics coverage from academic experts? Every week, we bring you informed analysis of developments in government and fact check the claims being made.Sign up for our weekly politics newsletter, delivered every Friday.

Mainstream parties must also decide whether to maintain their own policy positions or ape those of the populist radical right, especially on key topics like immigration and welfare.

For social democratic centre-left parties, academic research is clear: do not move towards the populist radical right on policy.

Typically, the voter base of social democratic parties is made up of two coalitions: the educated, urban and liberal middle classes, and the old core of industrial workers who tend to hold more authoritarian attitudes. In attempting to win over voters lost to the populist right by copying their policies, these parties tend to lose more voters on their liberal-left wing than they win on their populist-right wing.

A seat at the table: AfD co-chair Alice Weidel joins mainstream party leaders after the German election.
Andreas Gora/EPA-EFE

For the centre-right, the decision is harder. They face a similar challenge to the centre-left in that their support coalition is often made up of social authoritarians (who are more likely to be populist radical right-curious) and more centrist free-market liberals. Moving towards the populist right will alienate the latter camp, so it is not a silver bullet for bringing voters back into the fold.

By not talking about policy areas which are clearly salient to the public, centre-right parties risk seeming out of touch. In contrast, talking about these issues increases their salience and highlights their rivals’ positions – but the centre-right may not be rewarded for this if they are seen to have been forced into changing policy by the populist radical right.

Academics have explored this question in various ways. A 2021 study looked at voters’ ideological positions and subsequent propensity for voting for the centre-right or populist radical right. Another, published in 2022, examined changing party positions through manifestos and subsequent voter flows between the populist radical right and the centre-right across 13 western European countries. The evidence suggests that when parties adopt populist radical right positions, voters are more likely to defect to the radical right instead.

The final strategy is the complete opposite to the German firewall: bring the populist radical right into government. The Austrian case is instructive here. In 1999, the centre-right Austrian People’s Party (OVP) entered a coalition with the populist radical right Freedom Party (FPO), which lasted until 2005. The pressures of government resulted in the FPO imploding and losing roughly two-thirds of its seat share in the next general election.

But the FPO has increased its seat share in every subsequent election, reentering government in 2017 and emerging as the largest party in the 2024 general election. The centrist parties have now taken a firewall approach, forming a coalition without the FPO – and the FPO have soared in the polls. By bringing them into government in the first place, the OVP legitimised the FPO in the eyes of many voters.

What should mainstream parties do?

For the centre-left, the choice is obvious: resist the urge to ape the populist radical right and instead (following the lead of the Danish Social Democrats) adapt to a party system where the populist right cannot be gotten rid of, but is a problem to be managed.

Centre-left parties need a robust message on immigration but they should not forget economics. They should primarily focus on traditional concerns around social protection and defending workers against the effects of globalisation.

This has clear implications for the debate around Blue Labour ideology – that the Labour party should combine leftwing economics with more socially authoritarian stances on crime and immigration, plus a greater emphasis on community over the state and market – and how closely Keir Starmer should be paying attention to it.

For centre-right parties like the UK’s Conservatives, there are no easy options.

The UK does not have the historical baggage of Germany which sustains the firewall against the AfD. But Reform UK is also less extreme than its German counterparts, so its electoral ceiling is likely to be higher than the AfD’s. And the first-past-the-post system makes the consequences of a three-party system much harder to predict.

Reform – like Ukip in the early 2010s – cannot be treated as a pariah, especially since it already has parliamentary representation which will probably be extended to Holyrood and the Senedd. The party also has a largely friendly rightwing media landscape. And perhaps most importantly, the Conservative party is split about whether to do a deal with Reform – if, of course, it actually wants said deal.

Openly ignoring the issues Reform campaigns on will not work. Immigration is too much of a salient concern among voters (especially on the right) to ignore. While banging on about immigration will only add fuel to Reform’s fire, the Conservatives do need to say something – and that should start with “sorry for the last 14 years”.

The Tories cannot openly move to the right without losing some of their centre flank. Of the seats won in 2024, Reform came second in nine, while Labour and the Liberal Democrats came second in 87 and 20 respectively. In 2024, for every vote the Conservatives lost to Reform, they also lost a vote to the Liberal Democrats or Labour.

There is no “magic formula” for the centre-right to vanquish the populist radical right. Instead, they need to nail a tricky combination: a clear vision of what they believe, a consistent policy platform that flows from these beliefs, and a charismatic leader who can communicate this to the public. More

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