If there was one word on the lips of almost every European over the past week — other than Greenland — it was “
appeasement.” The term coined in the 1930s to describe Britain and France’s policy of acquiescence toward Germany’s territorial ambitions has been invoked constantly in response to Donald Trump’s threats to annex the Arctic island from Denmark. This weekend, European leaders are congratulating themselves for having learned the lessons of that earlier episode
by standing firm against the US president, forcing him to back down on threats to use military force or impose tariffs on Denmark’s European allies in pursuit of his goal.
Whether Europeans are right to be so self-congratulatory remains to be seen. The details of the “framework” for Arctic security agreed between NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte and the US president in Davos
remain sketchy. Denmark and Greenland were not party to the discussions. And the fact that Trump was prepared to make such threats suggests the transatlantic alliance is irreparably damaged. Trump has
continued to claim — outrageously, given the sacrifices made by European forces in America’s recent wars — that he doubts Europeans would defend America, while giving Europeans reasons to doubt America would come to Europe’s aid.
A broader question is whether Europeans are drawing the right lesson from the 1930s. As historian Richard Overy noted in his 2021 book
Blood and Ruins: The Great Imperial War 1931-1945, the modern use of “appeasement” as a pejorative term to describe any failure to act firmly against threats to Western security is misleading as a description of British and French strategy in the 1930s. It is more useful, he argues, to describe this strategy in terms made familiar during the Cold War: “containment and deterrence.”
Overy writes that “the record of both states in their approach to international problems in the 1930s was never simply a spineless abdication of responsibility, but a prolonged if sometimes incoherent, effort to square the circle of growing international instability and their own desire to protect the imperial status quo.”
Britain and France went to considerable lengths to contain Germany’s ambitions through a series of treaties. British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain
even talked of a “Grand Settlement” that would revisit the terms of the Versailles Treaty of 1919 — the source of so much German resentment after World War I — as long as it could be based on negotiated, mutually acceptable grounds.
But a vital part of the British and French strategy in the 1930s was what, even then, was called deterrence. Both moved from limited military spending to large-scale and expensive military preparation. “Rearmament was not a sudden reaction to German moves against Czechoslovakia and Poland,” Overy writes, “but a policy that had been pursued, often with considerable domestic protest, since at least 1934, with accelerated tempo from 1936 onwards. In Britain… a rough four-year plan was drawn up which saw expenditure rose from £185 million in 1936 to £719 million in 1939.
In his 2017 historical novel
Munich, Robert Harris attempted to rehabilitate Chamberlain’s reputation by presenting the 1938 Munich Agreement, which allowed Germany to annex parts of Czechoslovakia, as a necessary move that bought Britain and France time to continue rearming. Overy notes that the Munich conference was at the time seen as a setback for Hitler, who had wanted to seize the whole country: “A European war was averted in 1938 not simply because the British and French governments feared it, but because Hitler was deterred from stepping across that threshold.”
Of course, within a year Germany had seized the whole of Czechoslovakia and then set its sights on Poland. At that point, the strategies of containment and deterrence failed, leading to war.
Nonetheless, much had changed in the intervening year. Not only had the two allies continued their rearmament, but public opinion had swung firmly in favor of using force to prevent further territorial seizures. Crucially, both states had ensured that if it came to war, their empires would rally to the cause. In Britain’s case, that was far from certain: The major dominions had earlier refused to support the idea of war over the Czech crisis.
Today, the international order is once again crumbling, economic dependencies are being weaponized and great powers are trying to extend their territory.
Europe finds itself in a much weaker position than Britain and France in the 1930s. In recent years, Europe has shown itself repeatedly vulnerable to coercion. It has been
unable to end a war in Ukraine that has now lasted longer than the fighting between Germany and the Soviet Union during World War II. And while there has been much sneering in Europe at Russia’s failure to make major territorial gains, the reality is that Ukraine has been going backwards, struggling to hold onto its land at great human cost.
At the same time, Europe’s high-tech industries were last year brought to the brink of standstill following a dispute with China over exports of
rare earth magnets and semiconductors. Last summer, Europe felt obliged to accept a humiliatingly one-sided trade deal with Washington rather than risk losing US security guarantees. And while Europe may hope it has now seen off the immediate threat of coercion over Greenland, the relationship with Washington is likely to remain strained, at least as long as this president remains in office. A formal deal over Greenland that respects both sides’ red lines may be hard to reach.
The lesson of the 1930s is that in such a contested world, containment is not enough. Europeans also need to build their deterrence, so they are better able to resist military and economic coercion, and defend themselves if deterrence fails.
In recent days, a string of European leaders have given speeches that acknowledge the magnitude of the moment. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen declared the death of the old order. French President Emmanuel Macron spoke of “
a shift to a world without rules … where the only law that seems to matter is that of the strongest.” German Chancellor Friedrich Merz warned that “
a new world of great powers is being built on power, on strength and, when it comes to it, on force. It is not a cozy place.”
Yet, so far, fine words are not yet translating into sufficient action. With the exception of Germany, the pace of rearmament across the continent is slow. There is not yet any plan to replace the 40% of European defense capabilities currently provided by the US, including critical enablers such as satellites and logistics, let alone for the common borrowing needed to pay for them. Nor is there any sign that European electorates are willing to contemplate the cuts to welfare spending needed
to fund higher defense spending.
European leaders may congratulate themselves on having last week resisted the ignominy of appeasement. They would do better to ask themselves: What would Chamberlain do?