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Come May 9th, Serbian president Aleksandar Vučić and Slovak prime minister Robert Fico will stride into Moscow’s Red Square for the Victory Day parade, marking 80 years since the defeat of Hitler’s Germany and of the final destruction of the odious creed of Nazism. Their decision, a bold assertion of sovereign prerogative, has drawn the EU’s wrath. Threats of sanctions, diplomatic ostracism, and new obstacles for Serbia’s future membership of the Union have predictably followed; as always, the EU mandarinate has no qualms about showing just how hostile to national democracy it is. The episode really brings to mind that day when Nigel Farage, in the European Parliament, looked then Commission President Herman van Rompuy in the eye and asked him: “Who the hell do you think you are?”

The EU’s reaction to Vučić and Fico’s sovereign decision is a study in arrogance. Kaja Kallas, the bloc’s foreign policy czar, warned that attending Moscow’s parade would carry “consequences”, threatening to stall Serbia’s EU membership and scolding Slovakia, a member state, for daring to chart its own course. Estonian diplomat Jonatan Vseviov called the event a “test of alignment,” as if sovereign nations must genuflect to Brussels’ edicts or face punishment. This is not partnership; it is diktat. The EU, which in 2022 urged members to boycott Russian-hosted events, now brandishes that stance as a whip. Fico, defiant, declared that “No one dictates my travel,” while Vučić stressed that he would “proudly represent Serbia” in the event. Their resolve is a rebuke to a bloc that persistently—and intolerably—mistakes coercion for unity.

Brussels’ threats only bolster the argument for Vučić and Fico’s presence. You don’t need to be a Russophile to remember that, whatever their faults and despite the crimes of the post-1945 division of Europe, the Russians were ultimately on the good side of World War Two. The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact notwithstanding, they did storm the Berlin Reichstag. It is morally repugnant that, 80 years after the liberation of Auschwitz and so many other death camps, Brussels is trying to prevent European leaders from paying their fair tribute to the more than 20 million Russians who, alongside millions of British, Commonwealth, and American servicemen, fought and fell in the battle against Nazism. For Serbia and Slovakia, attending is an act of historical gratitude to those who saved both nations from genocidal occupation, not a statement on contemporary geopolitics. The EU’s attempt to paint participation as a betrayal ignores this context, weaponising history to enforce conformity. It is also an act of arrogance wholly out of touch with the spirit of the times, even more absurd at a time when the Russian and American presidents are sharing envoys in an effort to return peace to a much bloodied Ukraine.

The EU’s conduct reveals its true face: that of a prison of nations, stifling the autonomy of members and aspirants alike. Slovakia, despite its EU membership, is lectured to as if foreign policy were Brussels’ domain, not the inalienable right of the Slovak people. Serbia, a candidate for over a decade, faces ultimatums to abandon its independent stance, with accession talks hostage to compliance. This is no union of equals but a bureaucratic empire, demanding ideological lockstep over sovereignty. The bloc’s pressure on Serbia mirrors its treatment of Hungary’s Viktor Orban, whose pragmatic diplomacy has been studiously vilified by the Commission’s propaganda machine. The EU’s “solidarity” is a sham, a one-way demand that silences dissent and belittles smaller states’ histories, preferences, and aspirations. Indeed, after this, why would Serbia want to join at all? Why would anyone?

It is no different for the other European nations still exposed to Brussels’ whims. Consider the consequences if Fico had not stood his ground. What nation worthy of the name could accept the institutionalisation of the principle that it is not their national, elected representatives, but a class of foreign, unelected imperial functionaries, who is to decide on our foreign policy, where our leaders go or don’t, or how to vote at the United Nations Security Council? Could anyone accept an EU in which, say, Meloni is bullied for daring to visit Washington against the desires of Mrs. Kallas? What believer in national sovereignty could accept that Mr. Orbán, for instance, is prevented from flying to Israel—or from inviting the Israeli Prime Minister to Budapest—simply because of the EU mandarinate’s known hostility for that country?

Nevertheless, it is Vučić and Fico, like Trump and Orbán, who are the patriotic realists that history will ultimately remember. In an era of multipolar transformation and global unpredictability, their commitment to dialogue over isolation is anything but weakness. It is foresight. Trump’s push for negotiation, Orbán’s courageous, tireless bridge-building, and, now, Vučić and Fico’s refusal to bow down to von der Leyen reflect a shared—and insightful— understanding of the historical moment: that war and peace is too important a matter to be left in the hands of the Eurocrats; that principle must prevail over blackmail; and that no foreign institution should be entrusted with deciding a nation’s fate.

Serbia, traditionally non-aligned and with much to regret in the games of the great powers, and Slovakia, in its prudent rejection of establishment warmongering, both see the value of preserving de-escalatory channels. Their stance—a rebellion against Brussels’ globalist cage—is a rightful cry for a Europe of nations, not a homogenised bloc subservient to ivory tower elites. In a world of fractured alliances and rising tensions, it is they who deserve applause in championing dialogue, national autonomy, and diplomacy. Their defiance is not only profoundly admirable—it shows the rest of Europe exactly how it should deal with EU bullies. Are we paying attention?

Original article: The European Conservative