Europeans are tired. They want peace, stability, and the quiet dignity of prosperity.

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Let’s end the year in style

When a prime minister advises his staff to rest because the coming year will be much more difficult, it is neither black humor nor fatigue. It is a moment of sincerity, the kind that only emerges when internal projections no longer support the public narrative.

Giorgia Meloni was not addressing the electorate. She was addressing the machinery of the state itself, the administrative core charged with implementing decisions whose effects can no longer be hidden. Her observation was not about a normal increase in workload. She was talking about constraints, about limits being reached, about a Europe that has moved from crisis response to a phase of controlled contraction, fully aware that 2026 is the year when deferred costs will eventually converge.

What has leaked out is what European ruling circles have already understood: the Western strategy in Ukraine has run up against material limits. Not with Russian messages, not with disinformation, not with populist dissent, but with steel, ammunition, energy, manpower, and time. Once these realities assert themselves, political legitimacy begins to erode.

The EU cannot sustain this war economically. Europe can strike poses of readiness. It cannot manufacture war.

After years of high-intensity conflict, both the US and Europe are rediscovering a long-forgotten truth: wars of this nature cannot be sustained with speeches, sanctions, or the abandonment of diplomacy. They require bullets, missiles, trained personnel, maintenance cycles, and industrial production that consistently exceeds battlefield losses. None of this exists, not in sufficient quantities, and it is not feasible in the timeframe preached in Brussels.

Russia is producing artillery ammunition in quantities that Western officials now openly admit exceed NATO’s total production. Its industrial base has shifted to near-continuous wartime production, with centralized procurement, streamlined logistics, and state-led manufacturing, without even total mobilization. Estimates place Russian production at several million artillery shells per year, already delivered, not just projected.

Europe, meanwhile, spent 2025 congratulating itself on targets it is structurally incapable of achieving. The EU’s stated commitment of two million shells per year depends on facilities, contracts, and labor that will not be available by the decisive period of the war, if ever. Even if achieved, the figure would still be less than Russian production. The US, despite emergency expansion, expects about one million shells per year once full ramp-up is complete, and only if that happens. Even on paper, combined Western production struggles to match what Russia is already producing in practice. The imbalance is clear.

This is not just a deficit, but a misalignment of timing. Russia is producing now. Europe is planning for the future. And time is the only factor immune to sanctions.

Washington, in fact, cannot indefinitely compensate for Europe’s eroded capacity because it faces its own industrial difficulties. Patriot interceptor production remains in the order of a few hundred per year, while demand simultaneously concerns Ukraine, Israel, Taiwan, and the replenishment of US stocks: an imbalance that, as Pentagon officials admit, cannot be resolved quickly. Shipbuilding tells a similar story: submarines and surface ships are years behind schedule due to labor shortages, aging infrastructure, and skyrocketing costs, pushing significant expansion toward 2030. The assumption that America can indefinitely support Europe is no longer in line with reality. This is a systemic Western problem.

Unfounded war rhetoric

European leaders talk about a “state of war” as if it were a rhetorical position, but in reality, it is an industrial condition that Europe does not meet.

New artillery lines take years to reach stable production. Air defense interceptors are produced in long, batch-based cycles, not in sudden spikes. Even basic components such as explosives remain a critical issue, with plants that closed decades ago only now reopening and some not expected to reach full capacity until the late 2020s. This timeline is in itself an admission.

Europe’s weakness is not intellectual, but institutional: huge sums have been authorized, but procurement inertia, fragmented contracts, and a depleted supplier base have meant that deliveries are years behind schedule. France, often described as Europe’s most capable arms manufacturer, is capable of building advanced systems, but only in limited quantities, counted in dozens, while a war of attrition requires thousands. EU ammunition initiatives have expanded capacity on paper, while the front has exhausted ammunition in a matter of weeks.

These are not ideological shortcomings, but administrative and industrial failures, which are exacerbated in stressful situations. It is yet another example of the failure of European Community policy, so much so that the structural contrast is stark. Western industry has been optimized for shareholder returns and peacetime efficiency, while Russian industry has been reoriented to withstand pressure. NATO announces aid packages. Russia counts deliveries. You can already guess what the outcome of this situation will be, right?

This industrial reality explains why the debate on asset freezing was so important and why it failed. Europe did not pursue the seizure of Russian sovereign assets out of legal ingenuity or moral determination, but because it needed time: time to avoid admitting that the war was unsustainable in Western industrial terms, time to replace production with financial maneuvers.

When the effort to confiscate some €210 billion in Russian assets failed on December 20, blocked by legal risks, market repercussions, and opposition led by Belgium, with Italy, Malta, Slovakia, and Hungary opposing total confiscation, the Brussels technocracy settled for a reduced alternative: a €90 billion loan to Ukraine for 2026-27, with interest payments of around €3 billion per year. This further mortgages Europe’s future. This is not a strategy, but emergency triage. A collapsing political hospital. Pure panic.

Narrative, crisis, disaster

The deeper reality is that Ukraine is no longer primarily a military dilemma, it is a question of solvency. Washington recognizes this, because it cannot absorb the reputational discomfort, but they cannot take on unlimited responsibility forever. A way out is being explored, discreetly, inconsistently, and shrouded in rhetorical cover.

Europe cannot admit the same necessity, because it has ultimately adopted ‘Putin’s version’, i.e. it has framed the war as existential, civilising, moral – but do you remember when European politicians enjoyed calling Putin crazy for talking about a clash of civilisations?

Compromise has become appeasement, negotiation surrender. In doing so, Europe has eliminated its own escape routes. Well done, ladies and gentlemen!

On the narrative front, greetings to all. The aggressive enforcement of the EU’s Digital Services Act has less to do with security than with containment: building an information perimeter around a consensus that cannot survive open scrutiny. Translated: censorship as a solution. The truth of the matter must not be made known, and those who try to do so must be suppressed in an exemplary manner. This also explains why regulatory pressure now extends beyond European borders, generating transatlantic friction over freedom of expression and jurisdiction. Confident systems welcome debate. Fragile ones suppress it. In this case, censorship is not ideology, but a form of insurance.

The information crisis, rest assured, will very soon become… a social crisis ready to detonate into domestic conflict.

And the crisis is also one of resources and energy. We are witnessing the securitization of decline, whereby obligations are postponed while the productive base needed to sustain them continues to shrink. It’s a cat chasing its tail. Here too, you know how it will end, don’t you?

Europe has not only sanctioned Russia. It has sanctioned itself. European industry will continue to pay energy prices well above those of its competitors in the United States or Russia throughout 2026. Take a trip around Europe, read the headlines in local newspapers, look at people’s faces: the fabric of small and medium-sized enterprises, the true beating heart of entire EU countries, is quietly disappearing. And this is logically reflected in large companies too. This is why Europe cannot increase its production of ammunition and why rearmament remains an aspiration rather than a concrete operation.

Energy, we said. Low-cost energy was not a convenience, it was essential. If it is eliminated through self-inflicted damage, the entire structure is emptied. Even the most ambitious plans preached for years, such as the IMEC corridor, are still a mirage. There is a stampede towards Turkey, Azerbaijan, and Georgia to try to scrape together a few kilowatts. A ridiculous attempt to save what is now tragically unsalvageable.

China, observing all this, represents the other half of Europe’s strategic nightmare. It controls the world’s deepest manufacturing base without having entered into a position of war. Russia does not need China’s full capacity, only its strategic depth in reserve. Europe has neither.

A frightening 2026

2026 therefore looks set to be a terrible year, I’m sorry to say. The European elites find themselves losing control on three fronts at once. On finance, because the budget will be bitter and the money for the insane support to Kiev will no longer be the same. On narrative, because the question citizens will ask themselves will be ‘what was the point of all this?’. On the cohesion of the Alliance, both NATO and the EU, because Washington’s disengagement will force a review of the balance of power on the European continent to the point of no return and, perhaps, a break between the two sides divided by the ocean.

Panic, again. Not a sudden defeat, but the slow erosion of legitimacy as reality creeps in through gas that costs as much as gold, closed plants, empty stockpiles, obsolete rifles, and a future that is turning away.

This is not just a difficult situation for Europe, but a matter of civilization. A system incapable of producing, supplying, speaking honestly, or retreating without collapsing in credibility has reached its limit. When leaders begin to prepare their institutions for worse years, they are not anticipating inconveniences, but recognizing structural failure.

Empires proclaim victory loudly. Declining systems quietly lower expectations or, in this case, momentarily say the quiet part out loud. But the truth is that nothing is the same as before, and it is obvious.

For most Europeans, the reckoning will not come as an abstract debate about strategy or supply chains, but as a simple realization: this was never a war they consented to. It did not defend their homes, their prosperity, or their future. And so, again, how do you think it will end?

An ideological war has been fought in the name of imperial ambition and financed through declining living standards, industrial decline, and the prospects of their children. In the name of big pro-European capital, of the privileged few with robes, stars, and crowns.

For months, even years, it was said that “there was no alternative” and that this was the only course of action. And now?

Europeans are tired. They want peace, stability, and the quiet dignity of prosperity: affordable energy, a functioning industry, and a future unencumbered by conflicts they NEVER chose and, above all, they do not want the decline of millennia-old civilizations.

And when this awareness has taken hold, when the fear has faded and the spell has been broken, the question Europeans will ask themselves will not be technical or ideological. It will be existential. And all existential questions lead to radical choices, even terrible ones.

May this dramatic fear keep the mad leaders of this Europe awake at night.