Europe’s Sleeping Army: How America’s Exit Could Expose a Naked Continent

 America is tired of paying for Europe’s sleepwalk. The sleeping army of Europe must wake up, or history will do it for them—and history, unlike America, doesn’t send advance notice before it strikes.

Let’s face it—Europe has gotten too used to having America as its muscle. For decades, European leaders laughed off any talk about U.S. troops leaving the continent, calling it impossible and absurd. Now, it’s not just possible—it’s on the table. The Trump administration isn’t whispering about it anymore. It’s warning Europe, loud and clear: we’re done footing the bill for your security while you live comfortably under our roof. Pete Hegseth, America’s Secretary of War, said it plain enough—America will defend its own borders first, focus on China second, and expect Europe to finally carry some weight. Translation: the free ride is ending, and the bus is leaving the station.

The truth hurts. Europe has spent too little on defense for too long. Most countries barely reach NATO’s 2% of GDP target. The United States, meanwhile, has poured close to $900 billion a year into defense, covering 40% of global military spending. For decades, European governments have enjoyed the luxury of massive welfare systems, plush healthcare, and social safety nets—all while outsourcing their military backbone to the U.S. It’s like living in a mansion someone else guards while you complain about the cost of the alarm system. And now, as Washington pulls back, the “Old World” looks suddenly fragile and unprepared.

Even worse, the problem isn’t just how much Europe spends—it’s how it spends. Many countries built armies for peacekeeping and humanitarian missions instead of real war. They trained for calm skies, not storms. After the September 11 attacks, America told NATO allies to send forces to fight insurgents in Afghanistan and Iraq. Europe followed obediently, not out of conviction but out of loyalty. By 2011, even U.S. officials were mocking NATO’s dependency, saying the alliance had to be “out of area or out of business.” Europe became an assistant, not a partner. Now that the real threat is at its doorstep, that model is cracking.

The war in Ukraine proved it. When Russia rolled in, most European nations found themselves outgunned, under-equipped, and dependent again on American logistics, intelligence, and weapons. Germany’s tanks were stuck in garages. France had nuclear weapons but too few soldiers. Even NATO admitted that Europe couldn’t defend itself without the United States. It’s a brutal irony: the continent that gave the world centuries of war forgot how to fight when peace finally arrived.

And then there’s Ireland—the poster child for how deep this illusion runs. The country spends less than 1% of its GDP on defense, has only two operational naval patrol ships, and no fighter jets. Yet it sits on the edge of the North Atlantic, guarding sea routes and data cables critical to global communication. Its October 24th presidential election turned “neutrality” into a political weapon. Heather Humphreys wants to raise the defense budget and reform the “triple lock” law that requires government, parliament, and UN approval before deploying troops. Her rival, Catherine Connolly, a pacifist who calls America an “imperial power,” wants Ireland to keep its neutrality at all costs. She says Germany’s new arms buildup reminds her of the 1930s.

In Dublin teashops, the debate is raw. Connolly’s supporters warn about greedy arms dealers and insist on staying out of “other people’s wars.” Yet even they admit it’s terrifying to see Russian warships lurking off the coast. “We don’t want to be dragged into war,” one woman said, “but it’s scary how small our army is.” Her husband chimed in, calling Ireland’s inaction “ridiculous.” That’s Europe in a nutshell—preaching peace while hoping someone else keeps the wolves away.

Washington sees Ireland as a caricature of free-riding. And maybe it’s right. Even after planned increases, Ireland’s defense spending will remain microscopic. NATO’s serious players spend 3.5% of GDP on defense and another 1.5% on security measures. Meanwhile, Ireland’s strategy has been faith-based—trusting the UN to step in when things go wrong. But that faith is crumbling too. Russia blocks peacekeeping missions, and America is threatening to veto renewals. The Irish government now plans to remove the UN’s approval role for troop deployments. For a country built on neutrality, that’s a big psychological shift.

But Ireland isn’t an isolated case—it’s a mirror of Europe’s denial. For decades, the continent convinced itself that war was a relic of the past. The European Union became a “peace project,” built on laws, trade, and diplomacy. It worked—as long as someone else held the gun. But Europe’s bureaucratic miracle of peace-through-paper borders a very real 19th-century empire: Russia. When Putin invaded Ukraine, that fantasy shattered. Finland and Sweden, once proudly neutral, didn’t hesitate—they joined NATO. Meanwhile, Ireland still clings to neutrality like a comfort blanket, imagining that goodwill can stop missiles.

Edward Burke, a war studies expert at University College Dublin, nailed it when he said Ireland turned neutrality into a “treasured piety.” That’s the right phrase—a faith so holy that it blinds believers to reality. For years, Irish leaders told citizens their troops could act as “armed humanitarians” on a shoestring budget. But that’s like bringing a water pistol to a wildfire. The illusion is wearing thin. Neutrality might sound noble, but when Russian ships circle your waters, it starts to look naïve.

And this isn’t just Ireland’s problem. Europe as a whole faces a reckoning. The continent has confused peacekeeping with peacemaking and diplomacy with deterrence. Without America, its defenses would crumble within weeks. The European Union’s talk of “strategic autonomy” is just that—talk. Its armies are fragmented, its defense industries compete instead of cooperate, and its political will evaporates the moment real sacrifice is required.

What’s worse is that Europe still hasn’t defined what it’s willing to fight for. It can’t decide who its enemies are—or even who its friends will be once America steps back. The next decade will answer that question, whether Europe is ready or not. Because when America’s protection fades, the continent’s security will no longer be a shared project—it will be a survival test.

Europe is living in a post-war dream while standing on a pre-war fault line. The U.S. is tired of paying for Europe’s sleepwalk. If the babysitter leaves, the kids better learn to lock the door. Because in the real world, the wolves don’t wait for permission slips—they just come knocking.