Mehmet Emre KahramanRussia’s 2022 offensive in Ukraine represented the most significant break in European security since World War II, signalling a decisive departure from the post-Cold War order.
While Europe has endured numerous crises over the years, none has so fundamentally shattered the continent’s assumptions of peace and stability.
The incursion not only breached the long-standing principle of inviolable borders but also brought back the spectre of a major war into Europe’s heartland.
The illusion of protection from large-scale conflict—once widely believed across much of the continent—collapsed suddenly, prompting a reassessment of national security doctrines.
In response, states that had long depended on the protective umbrella of others are now facing a harsh new reality, leading to urgent efforts to rebuild their defensive capabilities. The change is not just reactive; it signifies a deeper reconsideration of strategic autonomy and resilience.
Uncertainty over US security commitments, China’s assertiveness, energy dependencies, increasing cyber vulnerabilities, and intensifying political fragmentation within the EU have all heightened Europe’s strategic unease.
No country has experienced this rupture more viscerally than Germany.
For over thirty years, Berlin built its prosperity on an export-driven model powered by cheap Russian gas, while leaving its deterrence to NATO and allowing the Bundeswehr to weaken.
That delicate balance fell apart in 2022.
Germany now faces an existential threat. The ontological foundations of its post-war identity—as a civilian power with a deep aversion to militarisation—have become increasingly untenable.
Reconstructing that identity requires more than mere adaptation. It demands a deliberate break with the past—and a willingness to forge a new role in a much less forgiving world.
Otherwise, if existential anxiety remains unresolved, Germany faces paralysis: a state caught between normative ideals and strategic needs, unable to act decisively in an era that punishes hesitation.
Material commitments and strategic ambiguity
In the aftermath of Russia’s offensive in Ukraine, Germany has undertaken its most ambitious military overhaul since WWII. The extent of investment, institutional reform, and symbolic acts is notable.
Yet behind the surge in spending and political rhetoric, a fundamental question remains: is this a genuine strategic reorientation—or a series of reactive measures under pressure?
For decades, Berlin’s defence stance relied on two closely linked pillars: a civilian power role based on diplomacy, restraint, and legalism; and a geo-economic power identity rooted in the belief in the civilising force of commerce.
And nowhere was this more evident than in its relationship with Russia.
Within this framework, affordable Russian gas was more than just an economic resource—it upheld Germany’s self-image as a responsible player within a stable international order.
This dual role, although coherent in theory, posed a strategic contradiction in practice. Germany appeared as a reluctant power—hesitant to project force, cautious of leadership, and slow to make commitments.
Paradoxically, this very reluctance offered a form of ontological security: it allowed Germany to reconcile its NATO commitments with ongoing economic relations with Moscow.
However, the binary confrontation triggered by the Russian military attacks in Ukraine shattered that balance.
The consequences have been extensive. Then-chancellor Olaf Scholz’s Zeitenwende speech in February 2022 marked a turning point, quickly followed by a constitutionally protected €100 billion fund to modernise the Bundeswehr.
Germany is now on track to increase its annual defence budget to €162 billion ($191B) by 2029—a 70 per cent rise from 2025 levels—potentially making it Europe’s largest military spender.
Core defence outlays are projected to reach 3.5 per cent of GDP, significantly above NATO’s 2 percent benchmark.
To finance this shift, Chancellor Friedrich Merz has introduced constitutional reforms that relax Germany’s long-standing fiscal constraint known as the debt brake.
Up to €1 trillion ($1.2T) in borrowing has been authorised over the next decade for defence and infrastructure, breaking with decades of debt aversion. A €380 billion ($448.4B) package is already designated for military modernisation through 2029.
Equally notable is Berlin’s effort to break cultural taboos surrounding military power. These taboos are deeply rooted in Germany’s Nazi past.
The post-1945 'never again' ethos turned anti-militarism into a defining feature of national identity, viewing the use of force not just as a strategic decision, but also as a significant moral risk.
In 2024, Germany held its first official veterans’ commemoration since World War II. A long-overdue national security council was created, fulfilling a campaign pledge by Merz.
And in a historic first, Germany started its first permanent foreign deployment to Lithuania—marking the first overseas peacetime deployment of its forces since WWII.
Yet despite the momentum, doubts remain. Critics claim that key decisions—such as cutting Russian gas, sending Leopard tanks to Ukraine, and purchasing F-35s—were influenced more by external pressure than by strategic vision.
Germany’s defence procurement system continues to be slow and inefficient, raising concerns about its capacity to effectively implement projects.
And despite the rhetoric of transformation, it remains unclear whether the ‘Zeitenwende’ signifies a fundamental shift in strategic thinking—or merely a necessary response to a deteriorating status quo.
The social limits of strategy
Germany’s post-2022 defence transformation has been politically bold and materially expansive. But while budgets have increased and military plans have accelerated, the strategic culture supporting this change remains underdeveloped.
The ‘Zeitenwende’—now more than two years old—has unfolded less as a coherent national strategy and more as a series of elite-driven, reactive responses to external shocks. What is still missing is a fundamental alignment between military ambition and societal consent.
The clearest sign of this gap is in the manpower issue.
While the Bundeswehr plans to grow from 182,000 to 260,000 soldiers by the mid-2030s, and reserve forces are to increase from 60,000 to 200,000, planners face a harsh reality: a population that is increasingly disengaged from the armed forces.
The 2011 abolition of conscription under former chancellor Merkel was not just a policy change—it reflected a cultural consensus that the military should remain peripheral to German civic life. That consensus has not yet been meaningfully reversed.
The newly approved voluntary military service programme aims to recruit up to 40,000 young people each year by 2031 and will require all 18-year-old men to undergo medical assessments—even those not planning to enlist. However, early signs suggest resistance rather than enthusiasm.
Recent polling indicates that only a third of Germans aged 18–29 support reinstating conscription. Among younger Germans, concerns about a potential draft are increasing—evidenced by a rising interest in how to legally avoid service.
This recruitment hesitancy is worsened by the government’s failure to reconnect with former conscripts because of outdated record-keeping and data protection laws. Defence Minister Boris Pistorius has already stated that if the volunteer model fails, conscription will be reinstated.
This is more than a personnel dilemma—it is a warning sign about the limits of transformation without participation. A better-equipped Bundeswehr will not be a more credible deterrent if it lacks social legitimacy.
Defence expenditure is expected to reach €162 billion ($191B) by 2029, and Germany is progressing towards meeting NATO’s new target of dedicating 5 percent of GDP to defence.
However, these financial commitments alone cannot fill the strategic void created by public indifference and political division.
The implication is clear: without a societal ‘Zeitenwende’—a broad recalibration of how Germans understand risk, power, and responsibility—material improvements risk reinforcing, not resolving, Germany’s status as a reluctant power.
A state can announce brigades and purchase F-35s, but if it cannot convince its own citizens of the legitimacy of force, it remains strategically incomplete. Germany’s challenge is not simply to spend—but to engage. Not just to arm—but to align.
Without a corresponding shift in strategic culture and societal consent, increased funding and high-profile procurements will simply produce a better-equipped version of the same reluctant power, not a truly independent and responsible actor.
