Europe’s relationship with the United States reached a postwar low point in early December, following the release of the Trump administration’s latest strategic guidance. As the London-based Chatham House institute observed, the document “infused a disdain for Europe into the text: a strong transatlantic relationship is no longer thought critical to U.S. national security. In this strategy, commercial arrangements can override values.”

That message was soon reinforced more bluntly. In a subsequent interview with Politico, President Trump described European nations as “decaying,” dismissed some of their leaders as “real stupid,” and expressed open frustration that Ukraine had not accepted the administration’s proposed peace deal—widely viewed in Europe as tilting toward Moscow.

Yet despite these public slights, Washington continues to rely on Europe to underwrite Ukraine’s defense using American-made weapons. European governments are expected to pay for U.S. equipment that is then transferred to Kyiv. This approach may serve American interests, but it runs counter to those of Europe—and, in important ways, to Ukraine’s own long-term security. It is especially ill-suited to a moment when Europe is struggling to close critical capability gaps, from stealth fighter aircraft and deep-strike munitions to air defense systems and drones.

As Steven Erlanger of The New York Times has argued, European leaders now face a punishing dilemma: “They must quickly find the money to support Ukraine and simultaneously build up their own defenses, replacing crucial American military technologies when national budgets are tight, and debts are high.” The current U.S. approach makes that task harder, not easier.

Congress-approved military assistance to Ukraine has overwhelmingly benefited the American defense industrial base. Writing last March, Professor Hal Brands noted that more than $120 billion of Ukraine aid “has gone directly to U.S. companies with operations in more than 30 states,” while simultaneously enabling the U.S. military to modernize its own arsenal and expand production capacity.

In July, President Trump and NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte outlined two pathways for continued U.S. involvement. “We made a deal today,” Trump declared, “where we are going to be sending [Ukraine] weapons, and [Europeans] are going to be paying for them.” Under one model, European states send existing equipment to Ukraine and then purchase American systems to replenish their own stockpiles. Under the other—the Prioritized Ukraine Requirements List (PURL)—participating countries fund $500 million tranches to buy weapons directly from U.S. stockpiles for transfer to Kyiv.

The Netherlands delivered the first such $500 million package for ammunition and artillery on August 4. Denmark, Norway, and Sweden followed the next day with a joint pledge. Poland and Germany have also participated, while Italy and France have notably abstained. With additional pledges announced in early December, Rutte has said the initiative could reach $5 billion by year’s end.

Ukraine undoubtedly receives weapons under these arrangements. But at what strategic cost? Jaibal Naduvath of the Observer Research Foundation warns that this approach will generate an “economic dividend” for U.S. defense contractors while making them indispensable to Europe’s security architecture. The result, he argues, is to lock European defense futures into U.S. political cycles, leaving them vulnerable to Washington’s shifting priorities.

Public opinion in Europe is already turning against the idea of sending scarce European funds to American defense firms, particularly as governments confront tight budgets and urgent rearmament needs at home. Beyond widespread discomfort with the Trump administration’s openly transactional view of geopolitics, buying American weapons raises more practical concerns.

Chief among them is dependency. By agreeing to replenish European stockpiles with U.S. systems, governments place themselves at the mercy of Washington’s production timelines and strategic preferences. Germany, for example, transferred two Patriot air defense systems to Ukraine. But Admiral Pierre Vandier, NATO’s Supreme Allied Commander Transformation, has warned that wait times for new Patriots now stretch to seven years. With reports suggesting that the United States itself possesses only a quarter of the Patriot missiles it requires, American production will inevitably prioritize domestic needs.

The contradiction is glaring. As Mark Cancian of the Center for Strategic and International Studies put it: “We tell Europeans we want them to send weapons to Ukraine and buy replacements, but then we say, ‘You can’t have them.’” The Pentagon has repeatedly blocked European requests for systems it deems “in short supply,” exposing the fragility of Europe’s reliance on U.S. supply chains.

Concerns over American control of advanced weapons have only intensified. In August, The Wall Street Journal reported that the U.S. Defense Department had restricted Ukraine’s use of long-range missiles, including American-provided ATACMS. Requests for Tomahawk missiles were denied outright. Even Germany’s interest in acquiring Typhon missile systems—under an initiative launched by Defense Minister Boris Pistorius—has been constrained. Trump stated in October that such systems could be delivered only “under a framework ensuring the missiles remain under U.S. operational control.”

Given these realities, Europe has a compelling case to prioritize European- and Ukrainian-made weapons—many of which have already demonstrated equal or superior performance on the battlefield. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen recently made the argument succinctly: buying Ukrainian weapons is “high quality, fast, and cheap” for EU member states, while providing Ukraine with revenue and strengthening its domestic defense industrial base.

The evidence from the war supports her claim. European systems have often excelled where American ones have faltered. The SAMP/T air defense system has outperformed the Patriot in Ukraine due to its greater mobility and 360-degree missile coverage. Storm Shadow and SCALP cruise missiles have proven critical for striking Russian infrastructure. Ukraine has requested additional Skyranger 35 cannon-based air defense systems from Rheinmetall Italia and signed a letter of intent to purchase 100 to 150 Gripen fighter jets. Safran increased production of AASM precision-guided bombs by 40 percent in 2024 to meet Ukrainian demand.

By contrast, American-made Anduril drones were abandoned after repeated failures, while German drone technology has achieved survival rates of roughly 67 percent. European governments have accelerated procurement cycles, and firms such as Quantum-Systems and Helsing have emphasized technology transfer and local production in Ukraine—an approach that “provides both sovereignty and resilience against supply-chain disruption while creating sustainable industrial capacity.”

The lesson is clear. The European defense and technological industrial base is capable of delivering high-quality systems for Ukraine and for Europe’s own rearmament. What it lacks is not expertise but commitment. Without firm orders and sustained investment, production cannot scale, and near-ready technologies cannot reach operational status.

The dominance of America’s F-35 illustrates the problem. Thirty-eight aircraft were delivered to European customers in 2024 alone. Yet Switzerland has now announced plans to reduce its order, citing the program’s ballooning costs. Dassault’s Rafale F5—designed to rival the F-35 while “diminishing U.S. leverage over allies”—is scheduled to enter service in 2030. With sufficient European orders, that timeline could be accelerated.

The same logic applies to long-range strike capabilities. MBDA recently unveiled its Land Cruise Missile, a system entirely independent of American technology and based on the combat-proven naval MdCN. Test firings are expected in 2027 or 2028. European orders could bring this sovereign “European Tomahawk” into service far sooner.

For years, Washington has urged Europe to shoulder more responsibility for its own defense. The current administration has now made explicit what was once implicit: the United States will not always be by Europe’s side. Europe possesses the technological, human, and financial resources to respond. What it lacks is the political will to translate capacity into production.

Continuing to funnel European funds into American arms purchases—for Ukraine or for Europe’s own rearmament—may flatter the White House. But it does little for European taxpayers, undermines industrial sovereignty, and weakens strategic autonomy at precisely the moment when both are most urgently needed.