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Tilak Doshi
Date: 3 October 2026

Chemical and industrial firms have voted with their capital: for example, BASF’s Ludwigshafen closures of its ammonia and fertiliser lines, and the relocation of production to the United States and Asia. This reflects the industrial logic of policy-inflated energy costs working itself out. Heavy and energy-intensive industries, from automotive to steelmaking and oil refineries, have moved to where energy is cheap and abundant — to the US and above all to China, now the world’s dominant industrial power by far. The US under President Trump is increasingly incentivising a “reshoring” of industrial capacity. To give momentum to the reshoring of industry, America has ditched the Paris Agreement and, as of January this year, formally withdrew America from the IPCC and UNFCCC along with dozens of other multilateral bodies judged contrary to American interests.

None of this need have happened. Europe possessed impressive endowments — a skilled workforce, deep capital markets, an educated population, robust economic growth arising out of the ashes of World War II. It could and did ably compete with the United States and China. What it lacked was the political will to resist a green industrial policy conceived by activists and bureaucrats rather than engineers and economists.

In Britain that policy has a name and a face: former Energy Secretary (and now Foreign Minister) Ed Miliband, whose economic and energy illiteracy has been widely remarked upon. The result, as the shuttered ammonia lines at Ludwigshafen attest, is not the low-carbon prosperity promised by the architects of the European Green Deal but a slow, voluntary surrender of manufacturing capacity. This has migrated to jurisdictions unburdened by carbon pricing, renewables mandates and the regulatory thicket of the EU’s “sustainability disclosure” regime.

From Climate Alarmism to War Fever

The climate consensus that sustained two decades of European energy policies is collapsing under its own contradictions. US support for the globalist green agenda is gone, the IPCC’s alarmist scenario modelling has been retracted and ESG finance is in retreat. The EU and UK political establishments that built their legitimacy on the alarmist climate consensus need a new organising threat. The rhetoric of imminent war with Russia, barely audible eighteen months ago, has become the dominant note of European public life, displacing the language of climate emergency that had until recently served much the same unifying, mobilising function.

The pattern will be familiar to students of political history: a governing class unable or unwilling to reverse policies that have visibly impoverished its own population reaches for an external threat large enough to make domestic failure feel secondary. What is unusual about the present European episode is the speed of the transition and the transparency of the motive. One season the enemy is carbon dioxide; the next, it is Vladimir Putin. The rhetorical machinery — moral urgency, the demand for public sacrifice, the casting of suspicion on dissenters — barely needs repackaging.

Manufacturing an Enemy

The EU’s Defence Readiness Roadmap 2030 projects high-intensity war as a near-term likelihood. It sets 2030 as the date by which Europe must be able to deter Russian aggression. Military planning deadlines of this kind are how governments convince their citizens to prepare for war. NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte has said Russia could be “ready” to use military force by 2030. Even while insisting President Putin “is in a bad place” and is “not winning the war” in Ukraine, he simultaneously urges NATO members toward heightened readiness against a Russian attack. This characterization of Russia as both weak and a dangerous threat is an odd combination of confidence and alarm that only makes sense as political theatre.

Britain’s Defence Secretary, Wes Streeting, has told households to keep cash, bottled water and tinned food at home, warning that the country faces a “greater risk of war” with Russia than at any point in his lifetime. Poland’s Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski told reporters that he keeps rice, a hand pump and home-made preserves against the day Russia attacks. Germany’s Bundeswehr has gamed out scenarios in which up to 1,000 wounded soldiers a day would arrive from a NATO-Russia front. It is reopening a Cold War-era underground medical bunker in Ulm. The Somerset squire Jacob Rees-Mogg has taken to informing viewers that in the next few years the country may face a war, and that people may have to die to save it, as they did in the world wars.

Unsurprisingly, this invitation to send other people’s sons to someone else’s war declared by the British government was met with disgust. More remarkable still was the television exchange in which former Labour adviser Paul Richards proposed that Britain would need to “lock a few people up”, namely, “pro-Russian voices” who doubt the threat is real. This is the language not of deterrence but of pre-emptive mobilisation of opinion, a rehearsal for wartime censorship before a single shot on NATO soil has been fired.

Sergei Lavrov’s rejoinder at the UN General Assembly last month was bald and direct. Russia’s calls for calm, he told reporters in New York, were being met by a European arms build-up that risked becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy — investment in weapons production that, sooner or later, risk nuclear war. He dismissed talk of a planned Russian assault on Europe as nonsense, and posed the obvious question that Western commentary studiously avoids: why would a Russia, a “full-spectrum commodity superpower” spanning eleven time zones, covet territory in a culturally exhausted, economically stagnant Western Europe bereft of natural resources?

The Ministry of Truth Comes to Britain and Brussels

The war rhetoric has been accompanied, entirely predictably, by a parallel tightening of the permissible bounds of debate. Prime Minister Andy Burnham used his address to the UN General Assembly this September to announce a new “National Centre for Information Defence”. He will task this quango with detecting and disrupting “hostile information attacks” working alongside intelligence agencies and social media platforms to police what counts as a “distorted and untrue narrative about Britain”.

Brussels, meanwhile, presses ahead with an EU-wide digital age-verification and identity wallet regime that, whatever its stated purpose, builds the infrastructure through which online access is conditioned on identity disclosure. This creeping authoritarianism, with profound irony, has led the EU and UK to increasingly resemble the late Soviet Union in institutional architecture, ideological rigidity and lack of free-speech protections. Britain’s own Ministry of Truth apparatus of government, police and media monitoring reflects a government obsessed with suppressing anti-immigration sentiment on social media.

None of this is coincidental. Vice President JD Vance in his seismic speech last year told the assembled dignitaries of the Munich Security Conference that the threat he worried about most vis-à-vis Europe was neither Russia nor China but the retreat of European elites from their own foundational liberal values. These include the suppression of dissent and the restriction of speech deemed unhelpful to the official line, and the importation, without public consent, of mass immigration of mostly young men from the Middle East, Africa and West and South Asia that is steadily replacing the historic populations of the countries in question. President Trump has made much the same point: that the two most self-destructive policies pursued by the EU and UK establishment are green energy fanaticism and open-borders migration. He wants none of it for an America grounded in Christian values, the Bill of Rights and Enlightenment constitutionalism.

Whose War, Exactly?

The final irony deserves stating plainly. The European establishment’s newfound zeal for confronting Russia has been consistently deployed to frustrate any diplomatic off-ramp. When Ukrainian and Russian negotiators reached the outlines of a framework agreement in Istanbul in the spring of 2022, Boris Johnson’s unscheduled visit to Kyiv days later is remembered by Ukraine’s own chief negotiator, David Arakhamia, as the moment London counselled Kyiv to “sign nothing… and just fight.” Mr. Johnson, of course, denies exerting decisive pressure but the timeline is not in dispute. Nor is the fact that Ukraine, the supposed frontline democracy in whose name the West is being asked to countenance war with a nuclear power, has held no national election since 2019. A regime installed by a US-led coup in 2014 which displaced an elected government is now asked to stand as the vindication of Western democratic principle. Ukraine’s own reputation for endemic corruption was a persistent feature of independent rankings for years before the war. Western commentary treats any mention of the fact as tantamount to Kremlin sympathy. The moral capture of the debate has become totalizing with the charge of “Putin stooge” being the classic put-down line to all criticism of the NATO-led expansion since 1991, leading Ukraine down the primrose path to catastrophe.

An Old Story, Retold

As the saying goes, when all else fails, start a war. It is difficult to escape the conclusion that this old and cynical political logic — familiar episodes of governing-class failure across history — is precisely what is now in play across Western Europe and Britain. The region’s political elites presided over two decades of self-inflicted energy poverty, deindustrialisation and demographic upheaval. They now face electorates increasingly inclined to reward the populist parties that promise to reverse course. A governing establishment that built its legitimacy on Net Zero and open borders has discovered that a foreign enemy, real or embellished, is a more reliable route to continued power than an honest reckoning with its own record.

Vladimir Putin’s Russia makes an unusually convenient target: distant enough to be safely feared, weak enough (on Mr Rutte’s own telling) to be safely provoked, and useful enough, as an organising threat, to justify the curtailments of speech and dissent that a discredited establishment now finds it needs. Europeans and Britons alike would do well to ask, before this logic runs its course, who exactly is being asked to do the dying, and in whose interest.

This article was republished from Tilak Doshi’s Substack and was first published on RealClearEnergy on 1 October 2026

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