The global stage is currently host to a play so profoundly stupid that even the understudies are looking for the exit. We are told, with the breathless urgency of a cable news crawl, that Donald Trump’s latest vision for the world order—a phrase that implies more organization than a toddler’s toy chest—is forcing Europe into a "difficult choice." Let us pause to savor the irony of Europe making a "choice." Europe, a continent that hasn’t made a decisive, unified move since the invention of the croissant, is now expected to navigate the tectonic shifts of a superpower undergoing a nervous breakdown. The turbocharged events of the last week, culminating in a National Security Strategy that reads like a protection racket manifesto, have left the so-called leaders of the free world shivering in their bespoke suits.

The new US National Security Strategy is less a blueprint for global stability and more a ransom note written in Sharpie. It posits a world where "America First" isn't just a slogan for red-hatted enthusiasts in the Rust Belt, but a transactional mandate that treats international diplomacy like a basement-level haggle at a used car lot. To the architects of this strategy, allies are merely customers who have fallen behind on their protection payments. It is a philosophy of pure, unadulterated narcissism, draped in the tattered flag of exceptionalism. It is the logical conclusion of a nation that has replaced its civic virtues with the ratings-driven logic of a reality television finale. Trump isn't interested in a world order; he’s interested in a world auction where he is both the auctioneer and the only bidder with a loaded gun.

Across the Atlantic, the European reaction is a symphony of trembling knees and performative hand-wringing. For decades, the EU has enjoyed the luxury of pretending it is a moral superpower, lecturing the rest of the planet on carbon footprints and "European values," all while outsourcing its defense to the very American hegemon it loves to condescendingly critique. Now that the hegemon is threatening to take its ball and go home—or worse, charge the Europeans a premium for the privilege of holding the ball—the panic in Brussels is palpable. The "difficult choice" they face is between subservience to a chaotic American administration and the terrifying prospect of actually having to stand on their own two feet, a feat their atrophied military-industrial complexes are wholly unprepared for. They are horrified to discover that the "liberal international order" was actually just a US-funded security guard who has now decided to start charging by the hour and smoking in the lobby.

Let us analyze the hypocrisy of both sides, because it is truly a feast of human failing. On one hand, you have the American Right, which has convinced itself that isolationism and trade wars are the path to renewed greatness, ignoring the fact that global supply chains are the only thing keeping their microwave dinners cheap and their digital distractions flowing. They view the world as a zero-sum game played on a board they built but no longer understand. On the other hand, you have the European establishment, a cadre of bureaucrats who believe that if they simply issue enough strongly worded communiqués, the harsh reality of power politics will somehow dissolve. They are the heirs to empires that once ruled the world, now reduced to bickering over the curvature of cucumbers and the linguistic purity of their labels. They want the protection of a superpower without the inconvenience of having a superpower tell them what to do.

The American strategy essentially demands that Europe choose: do you want to be a vassal state to Washington’s increasingly erratic whims, or do you want to be left to the tender mercies of Moscow and Beijing? It is a choice between a bully you know and the predators you fear. Europe’s desperate desire for "strategic autonomy" is a charming fantasy, akin to a house cat dreaming of becoming a panther while it waits for its owner to open a can of tuna. They talk of a "Third Way," a middle ground between the US and China, as if the world has any interest in a middle ground paved with GDPR regulations and high-speed rail that only runs on Tuesdays. The reality is that without the American military umbrella, Europe is just a collection of very expensive museums with excellent public transport.

Ultimately, this "reshaping of the world order" is just a euphemism for the slow-motion collapse of a house of cards. The US is abdicating its role as the "leader of the free world"—a title it never truly earned but wore with irritating confidence—while Europe is proving that it is less a union and more a fractious homeowners' association with an impressive art collection. The tragedy isn't that the old order is dying; it’s that there is nothing waiting to replace it but a void filled with tariff threats, nationalist grunts, and the cold, hard logic of raw power. We are witnessing the final act of a long-running farce. Trump is not the cause of this decay; he is merely the loudest symptom, the orange flare fired into the air as the ship of state hits the iceberg. And Europe? Europe is the orchestra on the deck, arguing about the sheet music while the water rises around their ankles. The choice they face isn't difficult because of the complexity of the geopolitics; it's difficult because they have forgotten how to be anything other than a museum. The world order isn't being reshaped; it's being liquidated. And honestly, looking at the "leaders" involved, we probably deserve the liquidation.