So the Franco-German fighter jet is dead. Scrapped. Gone. And with it, any pretence that Europe can muster a coherent defence policy without American supervision. This is not merely a setback for industrial policy, it is a symptom of a deeper malaise: the creeping intellectual and political decadence that has gripped the continent since the fall of the Wall.
Consider the parallels. The late Roman Empire was defined by its inability to coordinate legions across provinces, each general pursuing his own enrichment. Today, we see the same pattern. France and Germany, the supposed twin engines of European integration, cannot even agree on a simple aeroplane. The French want sovereignty, the Germans want cost-efficiency. The result? Paralysis. And while they bicker, the world moves on. The Americans build jets. The Chinese build jets. Even the Turks have their own drone programmes. But Europe? We have committees, feasibility studies, and endless press releases about ‘strategic autonomy’.
What is strategic autonomy, if not a euphemism for our own incompetence? We cannot build a fighter jet together, yet we expect to defend our borders without Uncle Sam. It is laughable. The truth is that Europe has become a museum of post-war illusions: the illusion of perpetual peace, the illusion of multilateral harmony, the illusion that history has ended. History has not ended. It has just returned, with interest.
Look at the victorian era. When Britannia ruled the waves, there was no nonsense about ‘shared sovereignty’ or ‘joint ventures’. The Royal Navy built ships because it had to, because the empire demanded it. Today’s European leaders talk of ‘shared burden’ but they cannot even share a blueprint. The Franco-German partnership was supposed to be the backbone of European defence. Now it is a cautionary tale.
This is not about money. France and Germany spend billions on defence. It is about will. It is about national identity. The French want the jet to be French with German parts. The Germans want it to be German with French parts. Neither side is willing to concede pride for the sake of common purpose. And when pride trumps strategy, you get failure.
The implications are grave. America is shifting its focus to the Indo-Pacific. The hoodlums in the Kremlin are sharpening their knives. And Europe sits here, unable to agree on a single fighter jet. It is the Fall of Rome without the barbarians at the gate, because the barbarians are already inside the gate, and they are wearing suits, sitting in Brussels.
What should be done? Honestly, I suspect the only way forward is for one power to take charge. Britain, perhaps, if it ever remembers it was once a nation of engineers and admirals. Or perhaps we should simply buy American F-35s and be done with it. At least then we would have working aircraft. But that would be too sensible, too efficient for our decadent age.
So let us toast the Franco-German fighter jet, R.I.P. It was born in hubris, lived in confusion, and died in acrimony. It is a fitting monument to the state of European defence: a beautiful idea, undone by the reality of our own fractured ambitions.
