European Politicians fear Musk not because he’s reckless, but because he’s built something they can’t control—Starlink is a weapon of war more powerful than any government’s red tape.
Europe’s grand plan to ditch Starlink is like trading a jet for a donkey cart—sure, it moves, but at a snail’s pace. As tensions mount and the United States plays geopolitical roulette, the European Union is scrambling to find an alternative to Elon Musk’s Starlink. The answer to whether they can replace it? Probably, but only with a tin-can-and-string version of what Musk has already built.
Let’s be honest—Europe doesn’t like being at Musk’s mercy. Starlink has become an integral part of Ukraine’s defense strategy, and that has made a lot of people in Brussels very uncomfortable. When Musk tweeted that Ukraine’s “entire front line would collapse if I turned it [Starlink] off,” he wasn’t bluffing. He was stating a fact. And in an era where wars are fought not just with bullets and bombs but with data and connectivity, having your communication lines controlled by a single billionaire from the other side of the Atlantic is, well, inconvenient.
So, Europe is scrambling for an alternative. Enter Eutelsat’s OneWeb, the closest thing the EU has to Starlink. But calling OneWeb a rival is like calling a candle a rival to the sun. OneWeb’s entire satellite fleet is barely one-tenth the size of Starlink’s, with significantly lower bandwidth capacity. Lluc Palerm-Serra, an analyst at consultancy Analysys Mason, put it bluntly: Starlink offers dozens—if not hundreds—of times more bandwidth than OneWeb could ever provide. If Starlink is a Formula 1 car, OneWeb is a horse-drawn carriage.
The numbers make things even worse. Starlink terminals cost just $400 per unit. OneWeb? Over $10,000 per terminal. Replacing Ukraine’s 40,000 Starlink terminals with OneWeb’s overpriced and underperforming equipment would be like asking soldiers to swap their rifles for slingshots—expensive, pointless, and suicidal. The EU might as well start printing Monopoly money to cover the bill.
But wait, Europe has a plan! Enter IRIS², a €10.6 billion satellite project designed to be Europe’s answer to Starlink. On paper, it sounds impressive. In reality? It’s a joke. The project won’t be operational until 2031. That’s right—2031. By then, Musk will have launched thousands more satellites, improved Starlink’s technology beyond recognition, and left Europe’s so-called “sovereign” satellite system looking like a relic from the dial-up era. Even if IRIS² does launch on time (which, given the EU’s track record, is optimistic), it will consist of just 290 satellites. Starlink already has over 7,000 and is adding more every month. The EU is trying to enter a race that Musk already finished years ago.
It’s not just IRIS² that’s struggling to compete. SES, based in Luxembourg, and Spain’s Hispasat have also been mentioned as potential alternatives. But both companies operate satellites in much higher orbits, leading to increased latency. In a world where military decisions need to be made in milliseconds, that delay is unacceptable. Starlink’s low-Earth orbit satellites are designed for real-time communications, making them indispensable for military operations.
And while Europe dreams of technological independence, reality is far less kind. Even the satellite firms trying to break free from Starlink’s dominance are still shackled to the United States. OneWeb’s satellites? Manufactured in Florida. SES’s hardware? Built by Boeing and Lockheed Martin. And who launches their satellites? SpaceX, of course. Europe’s so-called drive for autonomy is about as real as a politician’s campaign promises—good on paper, useless in practice.
Meanwhile, SpaceX isn’t just maintaining its lead; it’s widening it. Musk’s reusable rocket technology allows him to launch satellites at a rate that Europe simply cannot match. SpaceX’s Falcon 9 rockets have become the backbone of global satellite deployment, while competitors like Jeff Bezos’ Blue Origin are still struggling to reach orbit. One side is building the future; the other is writing press releases about their “vision” for the future.
Then there’s the political angle. Musk is not just a businessman; he’s a force of nature. When Polish Foreign Minister Radoslaw Sikorski criticized Starlink’s dominance in Ukraine, Musk didn’t respond with corporate niceties. Instead, he fired back with a brutal “be quiet, little man.” That’s not just arrogance—it’s the confidence of someone who knows that world leaders depend on his technology more than they’d like to admit. While the EU drowns in bureaucracy, Musk operates on one principle: move fast and break things. And in the satellite business, moving fast is everything.
Some European officials argue that it’s dangerous to rely on a private company for military communications. They’re right, but that doesn’t change the fact that Europe doesn’t have a viable alternative. It’s like complaining that your only lifeboat is owned by someone you don’t like—it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still in the middle of the ocean.
The stock market isn’t blind to this reality. Since the beginning of March, Eutelsat’s share price has surged five-fold. Why? Because investors smell desperation. They know the EU is desperate for a Starlink alternative, and in a market where demand outstrips supply, even a weaker product can still make money. But money can’t buy time, and time is something Europe doesn’t have.
And let’s not forget the elephant in the room: Donald Trump. With Trump eyeing a return to the White House in 2025, European leaders are nervous. His first presidency saw him shred transatlantic alliances and make erratic policy decisions that left allies scrambling. If he gets back into office, there’s no guarantee that the U.S. will continue providing Starlink access to Ukraine—or anyone else, for that matter. Europe’s leaders are scrambling not because they want to replace Starlink, but because they’re terrified of waking up one morning and finding it gone.
At the end of the day, Europe’s options are limited. Starlink isn’t just ahead of the competition—it is the competition. The EU can talk all it wants about sovereignty and independence, but words don’t launch rockets, and bureaucracy doesn’t build satellites. If Musk decided tomorrow to cut off Starlink access, European leaders would have no choice but to beg him to turn it back on.
So, could Europe replace Starlink if America pulls the plug? Probably, but only with something inferior. It’s like replacing electricity with candles—sure, it’s possible, but you’d better get used to the dark. The EU’s dream of satellite independence is just that—a dream. And dreams don’t keep front-line soldiers connected.
While Europe clings to wishful thinking, Musk keeps launching rockets. And at this rate, by the time IRIS² finally gets off the ground, Musk will probably be streaming live footage from Mars, leaving Europe’s space ambitions stuck in the Stone Age.
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