John Kampfner is a British author, broadcaster and commentator. His latest book “In Search of Berlin” is published by Atlantic. He is a regular POLITICO columnist. When it comes to the war in Ukraine, predictions don’t last long. One minute U.S. President Donald Trump’s acting like his Russian counterpart Vladimir Putin’s emissary, the next he’s giving Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy a reasonable hearing, and then it’s back again to the Kremlin camp. With the U.S. administration increasingly taking on the role of unreliable broker over a staunch ally, Europe is in a parlous position. And what has struck me most during a series of security briefings and conferences I’ve attended in Berlin and elsewhere this autumn, is the extent of the alarm. Yet, much of the time, this remains hidden behind closed doors. One of the few crumbs of comfort is that the E3 nations of Germany, France and Britain are seeking to confront this cold reality in unison. After the trauma of Brexit, and all the bickering between former German Chancellor Olaf Scholz and French President Emmanuel Macron in recent years, the mood has changed — because it had to. If Europe is to survive a future attack by Russia — and that is the kind of language being used — its big players must behave in a way they haven’t done before. They must be joined at the hip. As more than a dozen officials have made clear in a series of discussions, the cost of inaction would be far greater than the cost of supporting Ukraine has been so far. Not only would Putin be emboldened to go even further, Europe would also be engulfed by a wave of Ukrainian refugees far greater than anything experienced before. And this realignment was visible amid the pomp and circumstance of German President Frank-Walter Steinmeier’s state visit to the U.K. last week, as both he and King Charles affirmed what they described as a deep bond between the two countries — one that’s been reinforced by the shared threat of Russian expansionism. Meanwhile, the real business taking place at the government level is intense. British Prime Minister Keir Starmer and German Chancellor Friedrich Merz have developed a genuine affinity, stemming from a shared view of current foreign-policy perils and their domestic-policy troubles. A British prime minister of the center-left and German chancellor of the center-right are finding common cause in their double adversity. The loss of the U.S. as a friend in need is what’s forcing this realignment for both countries. Of course, neither publicly dares admit the situation is as bad as it is, but the optics say everything that needs to be said. Just compare Trump’s state visit in September — with its high security, taut smiles and desperate obsequies by his hosts – and the relaxed conviviality of Steinmeier’s. And dominating everything is security — though it’s less a “coalition of the willing” and more a “coalition of the surrounded.” Or, as one German security official, granted anonymity to speak freely, explained: “If the Americans are now acting as mediators between Russia and Europe, they no longer see themselves as partners within NATO.” In practical terms, the U.S. is still the driving force behind the alliance, notionally at least. As another German military figure, also granted anonymity to express their views, put it: “The harsh truth is that Europe’s readiness level to combat any Russian aggression doesn’t yet exist. Until that time, we are reliant on the U.S. to act as a backstop.” But that penny should have dropped last February, when U.S. Vice President JD Vance dropped his various bombshells at the Munich Security Conference, attacking European democracies, praising the far-right Alternative for Germany party and serving notice that the U.S. no longer felt beholden to past allegiances. The real surprise is that anyone’s been surprised by the Trump administration’s actions since then. Even now, some are continuing to cling to the hope that this isn’t the united view in Washington, and that others within the administration still wield a certain influence. This isn’t how security planners in Germany or the U.K. see things, but it seems many politicians — and much of the public — are yet to be convinced of just how serious the situation has become. One minute U.S. President Donald Trump’s acting like his Russian counterpart Vladimir Putin’s emissary, the next he’s giving Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy a reasonable hearing. | Pool Photo by Will Oliver via EPA Their alarm will have been reinforced by the second Trump administration’s first National Security Strategy. Published only a few days ago, it condemns many of the liberal values underpinning European democracy, while praising the nativist, nationalist rhetoric of the far-right — and implicitly of Putin.  Previously, the dominant narrative around Europe was about German reluctance, whether brought about by postwar guilt and pacificism or complacency. But while that has been replaced by a new determination, exactly how deeply is it entrenched? The commitment across NATO to increase defense spending to 5 percent of national GDP — 1.5 percent of which can be spent on “critical infrastructure” — certainly allows for much budgetary dexterity. But Berlin’s borrowing power gives it a freedom its neighbors can only envy. Britain’s financial travails are considerably more acute, and for all his tough talk, several defense contractors suspect Starmer is going slow on defense orders. As it stands, Germany is expected to spend €153 billion a year on defense by 2029. France, by comparison, plans to reach about €80 billion by 2030, and the U.K. currently spends £60 billion — a figure set to rise to £87 billion by 2030 — but looking at current predictions, will only hit its 3.5 percent target in 2035. For the governments in London and Paris, budgets are so tight and public service spending requirements so great — not to mention debt interest payments — the push-and-pull with security needs will only become more intense. And while opinion polls vary from country to country and depending on how questions are phrased, the growing concern among many defense officials is that if Ukraine is pressured enough to accept some form of Trump-Putin dirty deal, public support for military spending will decrease. “Job done” will be the sentiment — except, of course, it won’t be. For Putin, it can’t be. The Russian leader has tied his political survival, his power infrastructure and his country’s economy to the notion of an encircling Western “threat.” Hence his recent remarks about Russia being “ready” for war if Europe wants to start one — he simply can’t afford to stop invoking threats. But the original 28-point plan for Ukraine — which the U.S. initially denied came directly from the Kremlin — represents Europe’s worst nightmare. And if a spurious “peace” is imposed by any deal approximating that one, Germany, the U.K., France and their other European allies, including Poland, Finland, the Baltics, Nordics and (more cautiously) Italy, will know they’re out on their own. It would mark the return of big-power politics, a Yalta 2.0. It would enshrine NATO’s de-Americanization, a structural incapacity for Ukraine to defend itself, and confirm that, as far as the U.S. is concerned, Russia enjoys a veto on European security. “We say it’s existential, but we don’t yet act as if it is,” said one British defense official, speaking on condition of anonymity. The task for Merz, Starmer and Macron is then to accept — and admit to their publics — that they only have each other to rely on.

John Kampfner is a British author, broadcaster and commentator. His latest book “In Search of Berlin” is published by Atlantic. He is a regular POLITICO columnist. One of the most common headlines in the German newspapers used to be a reassuringly long compound noun: Koalitionsverhandlungen. Coalition and negotiations — these were the two words Germany’s postwar democracy was based on, as mainstream parties would come together to forge deals to run the country and the Länder. No group or individual would ever again get close to untrammeled power — a rule that applied not only to the formation of governments but to each and every measure, requiring committees to pore over details, cabinet meetings to discuss the big picture and compromise, and then gain parliamentary approval. Plus, if politicians overstepped, the courts could always restrain them. This system of multiple checks and balances provided reassurance and stability since the establishment of the Federal Republic in 1949. But now, all this is under threat. In today’s new age, deliberative politics is regarded as the antithesis of what is needed. It’s a reappraisal that’s affecting many liberal democracies in Europe — but none more so than Germany, which long advertised the virtues of compromise that are now denounced as vices. Some Germans, particularly those on the right, now negatively compare their government’s approach to domestic and foreign policy to that of U.S. President Donald Trump, asking why Christian Democrat (CDU) Chancellor Friedrich Merz can’t be more like the American leader. Why can’t he bulldoze his way to get what he wants and then bask in the glory, rather than wheeling and dealing with his coalition partners over everything from aid for Ukraine to unemployment benefits. It’s not just the politicians who complain about this supposed weakness either. Much of the German media fulminates about it every day, as opposed to how they embraced compromise before. As a result, Merz has found himself wading through in the worst of both worlds. When recently challenged by one of Germany’s top television hosts about watering down so many of his party’s election promises, he responded: “I am no longer the representative of the CDU. I am the representative of the government. And that government is a coalition of two parties.” That, alas, is no longer enough. Instead, everyone must fight to get their own way in a new form of public disputatiousness that took root during the last government’s three-party “traffic light” coalition. Leading members battled over everything: The Social Democrats (SPD) , then the largest party, pursued their welfare agenda; the pro-market Free Democrats (FDP), which had barely scraped into parliament, controlled the purse strings; and the only thing they could agree on was ganging up on the Greens’ agenda. It was dispiriting to watch, and it came crashing down when then-Chancellor Olaf Scholz fired his minister of finance, FDP leader Christian Lindner, with ostentatious acrimony. All three parties were subsequently punished in last February’s general election, ushering in the new era under Merz. But even before he took the seals of office, Merz was being undermined by all sides — including within his own ranks. Both the CDU and SPD already agree on the reintroduction of military service in some form, and the details being haggled over are just that — details. | Clemens Bilan/EPA The players might be different, but the fighting remains the same. Right before parliament went into recess in July, for instance, several CDU MPs signaled they’d vote against a judge nominated to the Constitutional Court — an unprecedented break with protocol — prompted by a far-right storm portraying the moderately liberal candidate as dangerously left-wing. The vote was postponed, and the judge eventually withdrew her candidacy. Amid fears that a Rubicon had been crossed, both ruling parties then vowed to behave and better cooperate when the Bundestag resumed in September. But have they? Yes and no. In the age of social media, with its onus on brevity and bombast, German politicians are having to relearn their craft. Dogged and discreet participation in committees is no longer the route to success. Therefore, the negotiations required for two or more parties to come together and strike a deal are inevitably being portrayed in an argumentative manner. And it’s a shift that’s taking place across pretty much all areas of government business. For example, both the CDU and SPD already agree on the reintroduction of military service in some form, and the details being haggled over are just that — details. The fundamental question is what happens if the required threshold isn’t met through voluntary recruitment. Is it a form of lottery — absurd, but under consideration — or something else? And yet, the discussions led to a public row between senior politicians. What Merz promised was an “autumn of reforms,” and these are gradually being rolled out. But instead of hailing what is being achieved, all sides are publicly complaining they haven’t got what they wanted, and it’s taking up all the oxygen. Indeed, that is politics — but as ever, there’s also the looming specter of the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD) to consider. Still riding high in the polls, the party has five regional elections to look forward to in 2026, including one in the eastern state of Saxony-Anhalt, where polls predict it might even win an overall majority — an extraordinary prospect. And the AfD’s promises, such as those to slash immigration, point to a wider phenomenon — the simplification of political solutions — which, again, brings us back to Trump. By riding roughshod over constitutional and societal norms, the U.S. president has changed both the American and global landscape in less than a year. The German political system, which is nearly 80 years old now, was built to withstand the exercise of muscular power. But if the very type of politics that it introduced — the politics of compromise — is now scorned by so many, the onus is on Merz and his ministers not just to deliver on policy but to clearly demonstrate that all isn’t lost for the painstaking politics of reason.

John Kampfner is a British author, broadcaster and commentator. His latest book “In Search of Berlin” is published by Atlantic. He is a regular POLITICO columnist. Germans take their holidays seriously. And as is now tradition, before politicians clear out of Berlin for the month of August, an annual survey by Bild, Germany’s biggest tabloid, asks where cabinet members and other prominent figures are headed. From their usual mix of Mallorca, Tuscany and — for the virtue-signaling — a break in their own constituencies, they have had time to reflect on two anniversaries: Aug. 13, marking the 100th day of Friedrich Merz’s chancellorship; and Aug. 31, a decade since the first wave of refugee arrivals at Munich railway station. That was the moment then-Chancellor Angela Merkel declared that Germany would “do it.” It was also the moment, many argue, that paved the way for hard-right populism to devour mainstream politics across the Western world. Merkel’s generosity, or so her detractors say, helped lead the way for Brexit, Trump One and, a little closer to home, the far-right Alternative for Germany party (AfD). Whether this is accurate will be left to historians to judge. Nevertheless, politicians from a variety of countries and parties already seem to have jumped to the conclusion that immigration and popular discontent are inextricably linked — and this is the perception Merz must contend with when the political season resumes. In large part, the fate of the chancellor, his coalition government and his traditionally conservative Christian Democratic Union party (CDU) all depends on how they counter the AfD challenge. Recently arrived refugees at the main station in Munich, Germany, 13 September 2015. | Sven Hoppe/EPA Opinion polling, which has been consistent — and has a track record of accuracy in Germany — shows the CDU steadily losing ground to the extreme. The party remains ahead, but at around 27 percent, it’s sitting below its general election numbers and only a few points ahead of the AfD. Meanwhile, the coalition’s junior partners, the once-mighty Social Democrats (SPD), remain at a historic low of 15 percent. The AfD’s aim is clear — to become the largest party in time for the next election in 2029. In order to achieve this, the party needs to split, weaken and possibly even destroy the CDU, and it believes this can be done by forcing Merz into an unpalatable choice: continuing to compromise with the SPD, which would leave him open to accusations of kowtowing to the left; or breaking the so-called firewall, which has so far prevented mainstream parties from cooperating with the AfD. The devil or the deep blue sea. And last month, we finally witnessed the opening skirmishes of this battle: Just before parliament went into recess, the AfD created a dangerous split between the CDU and SPD, making the most of its sophisticated online supporters who pump out “news” of dubious veracity. The issue at stake was Judge Frauke Brosius-Gersdorf’s proposed nomination to the Constitutional Court. With more liberal views on abortion than is currently permitted under Germany’s comparatively restrictive legislation, Brosius-Gersdorf was demonized online, leading some frightened CDU members of the Bundestag to suggest they’d no longer back her. Her nomination was eventually pulled. But even such local incidents now have far-reaching implications. Before and during his reelection campaign, U.S. President Donald Trump and those around him had made no secret of their admiration for the AfD. Tech billionaire Elon Musk hosted a “fireside chat” with party leader Alice Weidel, where they mused on everything from space to Hitler — describing him as a “communist, socialist guy.” Then, at the Munich Security Conference in February, Vice President JD Vance also made time to see Weidel, while denouncing the German government for a variety of sins. Tech billionaire Elon Musk hosted a “fireside chat” with party leader Alice Weidel, where they mused on everything from space to Hitler — describing him as a “communist, socialist guy.” | Hannibal Hanschke/EPA Today, Musk is no longer in the White House, and some of the administration’s language has tempered. But just as Trump admires Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, and his aides exhorted Poland’s newly appointed President Karol Nawrocki, so it follows that he’d be delighted if the AfD were to have a role in the government in Berlin — though that won’t happen for some time yet. Much more immediate, however, are possible moves to have the party banned. Earlier this year, Germany’s domestic intelligence agency formally declared the AfD a right-wing extremist group, saying it was inciting hatred against Muslims and migrants. This classification could now pave the way for the constitutional court to ban the party if asked to do so by the government or parliament. And while many in the SPD — along with the Greens and the Left party — are in favor, Merz has made clear he’d regard such an act as counterproductive. Moreover, the legal basis for it would be hard to demonstrate. Public opinion is broadly split, with memories of the Weimar Republic sleepwalking toward Nazi victory invoked by one side, and the right to freedom of expression invoked by the other. And even if the ban had a chance of getting through, its consequences would be substantial. As the largest party in several eastern states, the AfD would no doubt point to the “voice of the people” being “extinguished” by the “deep state.” In short, Trumpism has infiltrated Berlin from within and without. The AfD’s political attack lines resemble that of the MAGA movement — although some of its MPs are now calling on their colleagues to behave more respectfully when parliament returns. And Merz knows Trump would find a way to “punish” him if the AfD was stifled. The U.S. leader has form in issuing threats, whether against Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney for recognizing Palestine or Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez for refusing to agree to new NATO spending targets. While most MPs have left Berlin, Merz has been largely confined to his desk, in trouble-shooting mode — both at home and abroad. On Ukraine and on Gaza, he and other Europeans are trying desperately to influence Trump. Meanwhile, he needs to keep his coalition afloat, while also minimizing support for the AfD by clamping down on migration and siding with the traditionalists in the “culture wars.” These are testing times, and he has barely begun.