Does Europe Really Need More Military Spending?

Security Beyond Tanks: Why Europe's Future Depends on Energy, Food, and Economic Sovereignty—Not Just Military Spending

The philosopher Francisco Fernández Buey once remarked that "as late as 1984, many well-informed Europeans believed we had irreversibly entered the ‘exterminist’ phase of human history," and that "at the time, calculations were being made as to which month in 1985 the next war—fought with nuclear weapons in Europe—would likely begin." However, surprisingly, everything started to change very quickly: perestroika arrived, the Soviet Union collapsed, the US hegemony and its neoliberal ideology emerged, the identity crisis of the European left triumphed, the pragmatism of social democracy was born, and the dogma of the free market was embraced. With this, the threat of mutual destruction seemed to vanish from the European consciousness.

To some extent. On one hand, wars continued to rage across the world, often directly promoted by the self-proclaimed champions of Western freedom. The United States emerged victorious from the Cold War, and after more than a century of interfering in the domestic politics of other countries—funding the most reactionary elements or outright orchestrating coups to prevent left-wing governments—it now had free rein to reshape the global map as it pleased. US diplomacy had always known how to combine the carrot of liberal-democratic narrative with the stick of blackmail, threats, and military coercion. The rhetoric also evolved, shifting gradually from the justification of defending the "free world"—from communists—to the "free world"—from terrorists. Yet behind it all, the traces of resources and geopolitics were ever present: copper, gas, oil...

On the other hand, during the 1980s, many on the left reoriented towards environmentalism. As early as twenty years before, it was already clear that climate change and environmental destruction were also existential threats to humanity. In this case, the war was being waged by the model of production and consumption against life itself. Indeed, inspired by the work of biologist Barry Commoner, many activists transitioned from the pacifist movement against nuclear weapons—and reactors—to the environmental movement. In Spain, the leading Marxist theorist, Manuel Sacristán, was a paradigmatic example of this shift. The rest of the left either became fossilised in the climate of the Cold War—retaining its folklore almost intact—or was absorbed into a new militaristic era, exemplified by the renewed pro-NATO enthusiasm of Spanish social democracy.

Forty years after that 1985 to which Fernández Buey referred, geopolitics seems to have changed in form—but not so much in substance. After all, for the economic system to sustain itself, it requires a steady supply of cheap natural resources—materials, energy, food, and human labour. In fact, a significant portion of the Western way of life depends directly on the violence and warfare waged in other parts of the world to secure the continuous inflow of resources and energy from countries where, unfortunately for them, these resources are abundant. This other form of imperialism is deliberately hidden from view so that we do not see, in our smartphones, clothing, or petrol, the ugly trail of cobalt mines, Asian sweatshops, Indigenous expropriations, Amazon deforestation, or the violence necessary to construct new gas and oil pipelines.

The problem for the economic system is that these resources are becoming increasingly scarce, a situation worsened by global warming and the ecosocial crisis. As a result, new forms of exploitation and appropriation are becoming more brutal, though not fundamentally different. In recent months, Donald Trump has threatened to annex Greenland to seize its mineral resources. Meanwhile, a well-funded legion of reactionaries—masquerading as YouTubers and influencers—has descended on the Arctic to spread disinformation and foment a rebellion that would facilitate the objectives of the new US administration. Incidentally, this type of intervention is not so different from what is happening in Spain, where a network of disinformers dedicates itself to propagating the idea that Russia justifiably invaded Ukraine to "denazify" the country—rather than being driven by its secular ultranationalism and hunger for Ukrainian resources.

As I mentioned, Western Europe had long been unaccustomed to experiencing war on its own soil. But now, the drums of war are sounding again. Some hear them louder than others, but nations fear a military invasion. Will Russia invade Finland or Sweden? Will Morocco invade Spain? In reality, the existence of nuclear powers suggests there is sufficient deterrence to prevent mutually destructive conflicts—though not all nations can wield such deterrence, as Ukraine has painfully learned. In any case, stirred by these concerns, many are clamouring for increased military spending. And the clamour is so loud that it has even swept away the once rigid economic orthodoxy that imposed harsh limits on public spending. It seems that if public expenditure is directed towards fighter jets and tanks—rather than teachers and doctors—then allocating billions of euros in the budget is suddenly deemed technically feasible.

But let us be clear. Europe's problem is not military spending, given that it does not even have a joint and coordinated army. At least for now, it relies on an international organisation—NATO—that primarily serves the imperialist interests of the United States. The real problem for Europe is that it has not adequately addressed whether it can guarantee energy security and food security for its population—that is, it is economically and energetically autonomous from other power blocs currently pos a threat. Even multiplying the military budget tenfold would be pointless without resolving these two issues.

Naturally, addressing these questions requires deeper political engagement and greater social cohesion. Neither can be achieved if the European Union remains wedded to the neoliberal economic rules restricting community budgets. On the contrary, as highlighted by the post-pandemic recovery plan, Europe urgently needs common financing mechanisms—new capital markets, eurobonds, or even the direct reassertion of democratic control over the European Central Bank. Only in this way could it fund the creation of a joint military force and, more importantly, the ecological and energy transition policies needed to ensure Europe's autonomy from the predatory interests of the United States and Russia. Moreover, cohesion can only be achieved by expanding social and political rights to strengthen a shared identity, distancing people from the allure of reactionary and nationalist populism.

I fear that failing to take this path will result in a slow decline, where certain European countries become co-opted by the interests of larger powers—as is currently the case with Hungary—further weakening the EU's capacity to act. And, incidentally, Spain does not need NATO or the United States, but it does need Europe.

And Europe must choose. It can continue to be a subordinate player in the global geopolitical struggle, beholden to Washington’s dictates and dependent on increasingly precarious external resources, or it can seriously embrace the challenge of strategic autonomy—not in militaristic terms, but in terms of energy, food, and industrial sovereignty. The latter requires abandoning the neoliberal dogma that has dismantled Europe's productive capabilities and undermined its social cohesion. Europe will not secure its future with more military spending but with a profound transformation of its economic model that reduces dependency on global energy and material flows, redistributes wealth fairly, and confronts the ecosocial crisis with more than just empty rhetoric. The emergency brake is not increased arms expenditure but the reconstruction of a future where security is measured not in tanks, but in stability, resilience, and social justice.