In the final days before the Brussels summit, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz was rallying support for a bold plan: using approximately €210 billion in frozen Russian central bank assets to fund Ukraine’s reconstruction. The proposal represented a significant escalation in financial pressure on Moscow. Yet, as Merz sought final commitments, he encountered a silent but decisive obstacle. French President Emmanuel Macron, whose public stance had been neutral, privately instructed his team to block the initiative. The French objections centered on legal risks and, more tellingly, on France’s own strained public finances—heavily indebted, Paris feared being on the hook for guarantees if courts later forced the assets’ return to Russia.
This was not an isolated disagreement but a symptom of a deeper, structural role reversal. For years, the narrative in European capitals was of a hesitant Germany, constrained by coalition politics and historical pacifism, being prodded forward by a visionary, proactive France under Macron. Today, that dynamic has inverted. Since taking office in May, Merz has unlocked a decade-long, €1 trillion investment program for defense and infrastructure, signaling a new German willingness to lead and spend. Meanwhile, France is politically paralyzed, with Macron a lame-duck president navigating a hung parliament and debt levels exceeding 110% of GDP, which severely limits his fiscal maneuvering room.
The fallout was immediate. As Belgium (where most assets are held) and Italy sided against the plan, Macron’s alignment with them ensured its defeat. A senior European diplomat framed it starkly: “Macron betrayed Merz… But he is so weak that he had no choice.” This episode dashes hopes for a reactivated “Franco-German engine,” the historic partnership that drove projects like the single market and euro. As Georgina Wright of the German Marshall Fund notes, “In Brussels, there’s a real sense that Berlin is the big player and that France’s influence is lacking.”
The reversal is rooted in recent political history. Merz consciously seeks to break from the era of Chancellor Olaf Scholz, whose “traffic light” coalition produced frequent indecision, known derisively in EU circles as the “German vote.” Merz’s agenda—embracing European defense autonomy, dropping opposition to nuclear energy, and cutting EU red tape—was designed to align with French priorities. Ironically, as Mujtaba Rahman of Eurasia Group observes, “Now we have a chancellor who understands geopolitics, who wants to invest more… but it’s Paris that is now unable to keep its commitments.”
A second clash at the summit over the EU-Mercosur trade deal underscored the friction. Merz, eager for a geopolitical and economic win after 25 years of negotiations, pushed for a year-end signing. Macron, facing fierce farmer protests at home, resisted. In an ironic alliance, he found common cause with Italy’s right-wing Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni, who secured a delay and denied Merz another victory. This highlights a fundamental tension: France’s domestic political pressures are increasingly dictating its European stance, even when it isolates Berlin. Political scientist Daniela Schwarzer notes that while both sides want a more effective relationship, “France is under much greater pressure, which is bringing fundamental differences… back to the surface.”
Despite the discord, the summit did produce a significant outcome: a €90 billion EU loan for Ukraine, guaranteed by the bloc’s budget. French officials were quick to claim a decisive role, framing it as achieving “financial visibility for Ukraine.” Merz, putting a positive spin on the compromise, argued it was superior to his original plan, as the loan could later be repaid using proceeds from the still-frozen Russian assets. However, this technical victory could not mask the broader strategic setback for German leadership.
The partnership faces an imminent stress test with the troubled Future Combat Air System (FCAS), a €100 billion sixth-generation fighter jet project. Disputes over workshare between France’s Dassault and Germany’s Airbus threaten its collapse. Berlin, frustrated and suspecting Paris merely wants German funding without genuine partnership, is reportedly exploring alternative aviation alliances. This symbolizes a core distrust: is France a partner or a competitor leveraging German resources?
Paradoxically, on grand strategy, the two nations have never been closer. Faced with a potential second Trump term threatening NATO and rising global protectionism, both agree on supporting Ukraine and the need for European “strategic autonomy.” Merz has adopted once-distinctly French concepts, like “European preference” in defense procurement and robust industrial policy, even backing defensive measures against Chinese steel—a historic break from Germany’s free-trade orthodoxy. “In a way, the EU has never been so French… at the very moment France is turning inward,” Wright observes.
The consequence is a European Union at a crossroads. The engine is misfiring, not because the drivers disagree on the destination, but because one lacks the fuel to proceed. Germany is now the primary source of initiative and capital, while France, consumed by internal constraints, is forced into a defensive, often obstructive role. This leaves the EU without the coherent, bilateral leadership it has relied on for decades. As the old Brussels adage resurfaces—that France is “all words, words, and more words, but no action”—the burden falls on Merz to lead alone, a position fraught with political risk at home and the potential for lasting damage to the continent’s most vital partnership. The coming weeks, from Mercosur to FCAS, will test whether this new imbalance is a temporary blip or the new, fragile architecture of European power.