Europe Re-Armed: NATO’s Pivot, and the Making of a New Strategic Order
The NATO Summit held in The Hague in late June 2025 wasn’t just another round of predictable posturing. It marked a shift—maybe not seismic, but certainly strategic—in how Europe sees itself and how it wants to be seen by the rest of the world. In some ways, it was a quiet break-up with the idea that the United States would always be the adult in the room. For years, NATO has relied on the American defense umbrella while Europe footed less of the bill than it should have. That old formula is starting to sour, and the room feels colder now. Trump’s return to power—or the very real memory of his last term—is forcing a recalibration in European defense logic, and it’s happening fast.
In The Hague, NATO allies committed to increasing their defense spending to 5% of GDP by 2035. That includes a core 3.5% for military capabilities and another 1.5% for things like infrastructure, civil readiness, and tech innovation. Five percent. That’s not a minor bump—it’s a massive reallocation of national resources, with all the political trade-offs that come with it. In countries like Germany, where military spending used to be something whispered with discomfort, this commitment felt like a hard pivot. And it wasn’t just about Ukraine anymore. Sure, continued support for Kyiv was reaffirmed, but the subtext was louder: Europe doesn’t want to be caught flat-footed again, should Washington retreat into isolationism under a second Trump presidency.
What’s striking is that this shift didn’t come out of nowhere. The 2021 Afghanistan withdrawal, chaotic and abrupt, had already frayed trust. But the Trump-era flirtations with pulling the U.S. out of NATO—especially his famous refusal to commit to Article 5 unless certain members paid up—lingered like a hangover. European capitals got the message. The idea that NATO was a one-way dependency had become dangerously outdated.
From a geopolitical standpoint, this marks the rise of a Europe that is starting to act more like a bloc with its own agenda, rather than a collection of U.S. security dependents. Analysts across Brussels, Berlin, and Paris are now rethinking NATO not just as an alliance but as an evolving structure. It’s not quite post-American, but it is definitely less American-centric. And that’s a distinction with deep consequences.
So why does this matter for a country like Bangladesh? At first glance, it might not seem immediately relevant. We’re not a NATO member. We’re not even in the periphery of its geographical scope. But geopolitics rarely respects tidy boundaries. European defense realignment will reshape the military-industrial complex, global supply chains, diplomatic attention spans, and even the structure of international aid and defense partnerships. When Europe becomes more inward-looking militarily, the Global South often ends up with fewer crumbs on the diplomatic table.
There’s also the risk of polarization. As Europe tightens its security belt, it will inevitably draw clearer lines between allies and non-allies. This has already begun with digital infrastructure partnerships, cybersecurity alliances, and economic security compacts that increasingly exclude non-Western states. The more Europe mimics the U.S. in security doctrine, the more these alliances turn into clubs rather than networks. Countries like Bangladesh, who have historically maneuvered by being friendly to both East and West, may find the balance harder to maintain in a more divided global order.
It’s also worth asking what this European rearmament means in a historical sense. Europe has long struggled with its military identity. Post-World War II, there was a consensus—spoken and unspoken—that militarization should be cautious, limited, and deeply tethered to multilateralism. NATO served as a shield, but also as a restraint. This new posture threatens to disrupt that. When Germany says it’s planning to be the third-largest military spender in the world, or when France talks about projecting power beyond its borders again, it’s not just about defense—it’s about rewriting Europe’s strategic DNA.
Now, some might argue that this shift is overdue. The idea that Europe can afford to coast on American generosity was always a fragile illusion. But illusions have their uses. They keep certain doors open, and they allow diplomatic ambiguity to flourish. What happens when those doors close?
Economically, the defense industry will obviously thrive. Firms like Rheinmetall, Thales, and Leonardo are already seeing surges in orders. But this also means that domestic budgets will tilt toward military spending at the cost of social programs. In an age of aging populations, climate emergencies, and economic disparity, that reallocation could be politically explosive. Already, far-right parties across Europe are split—some cheer the militarization, others call it elite warmongering. The center will struggle to maintain consensus.
The NATO shift is also shaping how other regions prepare for conflict—or prevent it. Countries in Asia are watching closely. Japan, for example, has steadily been increasing its defense budget, citing regional threats from China and North Korea. Australia has doubled down on AUKUS. South Korea is strengthening trilateral ties with the U.S. and Japan. There’s a ripple effect in these things; when Europe signals that peace can no longer be taken for granted, other democracies take note.
China and Russia, of course, are watching too. Both will likely use NATO’s posture to justify their own military expansions. China already accuses the West of “Cold War mentality,” and Russia uses NATO’s eastward gaze to rationalize its aggression. The danger is that everyone uses everyone else’s moves as justification. The arms spiral writes its own logic.
And then there’s the question of NATO’s purpose. Is it still a defensive alliance, or has it begun to see itself as a strategic actor in its own right—capable of intervention, of shaping the order, of projecting power? The answer matters. The post-Cold War world was defined by what alliances didn’t do. Restraint was built into the DNA of international institutions. That restraint is eroding, replaced by an edgier realism that’s less about consensus and more about capability.
This moment, then, is more than a NATO budget story. It’s a philosophical crossroads about what power means in a fragile world. For countries like Bangladesh, the lesson is twofold. First, global alliances are changing their nature, and flexibility will be harder to maintain. Second, the geopolitical middle ground is shrinking. If Europe is preparing for a world with fewer guarantees, maybe the rest of us should be too.
Ultimately, what unfolded in The Hague wasn’t just a NATO summit—it was a message. Europe has decided it doesn’t want to be caught waiting for Washington’s mood swings anymore. It’s preparing, hedging, repositioning. Whether this makes the world safer or just more hardened is still unclear. But the shift is happening, and ignoring it would be naïve.
In times like these, where defense becomes identity and spending becomes strategy, the rest of the world must decide how to read the signs—and how to react. Because when alliances change shape, everyone is affected, even if they’re not in the room when the deals are made.
