U.S. President Donald Trump's threat to impose a 10%“Greenland tariff” on eight European countries should leave no remaining illusions in Brussels. What it marks is not merely another trade dispute, but the definitive exposure of the European Union's failed strategy of accommodation toward Trump.
The EU once believed it still had “a seat at the table.” During U.S.-led negotiations over Ukraine, Europe discovered it was not at the table at all. With Trump's renewed push to annex Greenland, Europe has now learned something even harsher: it is on the menu.
Trump signaled his interest in acquiring Greenland soon after returning to office, followed by a wave of reciprocal tariffs that plunged the global economy into renewed trade conflict. Many in Europe dismissed the Greenland rhetoric as bluster, a relic of Trump's first term. That assumption proved costly.
After stabilizing tariff negotiations and successfully engineering the removal of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro, Trump refocused his attention on Greenland, framing its annexation as a matter of U.S. defense and national security. Last Saturday, Washington even convened what it described as the first “formal negotiation meeting” with Denmark and Greenland.
Trump's position has been unmistakable. “We will get Greenland one way or another,” he said, explicitly refusing to rule out the use of military force.
Europe's response came swiftly, but predictably. Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Norway, Sweden, and the United Kingdom issued statements backing Denmark and Greenland while opposing any U.S. annexation. Trump's retaliation was equally predictable. He announced a 10 % tariff hike on these eight countries starting in February, escalating to 25 % after six months—a levy quickly labeled the “Greenland tax.” European officials, scrambling, began revisiting retaliatory measures that had been deliberately withheld the year before.
The so-called “transatlantic relationship” may not yet be broken, but it is clearly fraying. This episode alone is sufficient to demonstrate the bankruptcy of Europe's appeasement strategy toward Trump. When Trump announced on Wednesday that he would suspend the tariffs, some European headlines rushed to declare that he had “backed down.” That interpretation misses the point. After meeting NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte in Switzerland, Trump secured a framework for future arrangements concerning Greenland. The tariff pause was not a retreat; it was a tactical pause after achieving interim objectives.
This pattern should be familiar by now. In April last year, Trump announced sweeping reciprocal tariffs ranging from 10 to over 50% on virtually all U.S. trading partners, imposing 20% on the EU and 34% on China. After a temporary suspension, negotiations began. Given global economic realities—America's $30 trillion economy followed by the EU and China at roughly $19 trillion each—the coordinated retaliation of Europe and China could have seriously undermined Trump's strategy.
Instead, Europe and China chose divergent paths.
China retaliated immediately. Tariffs escalated beyond 100 %, spilling into technology controls, port fees, and rare-earth supply chains before eventually giving way to a negotiated ceasefire. The outcome, by most external assessments, delivered China greater substantive gains than Washington.
Europe chose restraint. After Trump warned that retaliation would trigger even higher tariffs, the EU opted for negotiation and concession. The result was a deeply asymmetrical agreement: the United States imposed 15 % tariffs on European goods, while Europe eliminated tariffs on U.S. products entirely and committed to $600 billion in American investment and $750 billion in U.S. energy purchases over three years.
The Greenland episode makes clear how Trump interpreted those concessions. Far from stabilizing transatlantic trade, Europe's restraint signaled weakness. Trump concluded that the EU was a partner to be “managed,” pressured, and extracted from at will. When European governments opposed his Greenland plans, he did not hesitate to threaten immediate tariff punishment—10 % now, 25 % later.
Europe's response followed a depressingly familiar script. Initial threats of retaliation quickly gave way to a preference for negotiation over confrontation. The hesitation, fear, and eventual capitulation that followed last year's tariff announcements have become institutionalized. Trump's approach to negotiation—the very “art of the deal” he celebrates—thrives on such asymmetry. By contrast, China's willingness to respond with swift, equivalent retaliation appears to be the only posture that has imposed any meaningful constraints on Trump's behavior.
From a purely economic standpoint, Europe has even less reason to fear a trade war than China. While both enjoy large trade surpluses with the United States, the EU imports $387.5 billion in American goods annually, compared with China's $144.6 billion. When services are included, Europe purchases over $700 billion from the United States each year. In other words, EU retaliation would carry significant leverage—arguably more than Beijing's.
Yet Europe has consistently declined to use it.
Trade wars remain Trump's preferred instrument of power. Under his leadership, tariffs have been elevated from economic tools to central mechanisms of geopolitical coercion, deployed indiscriminately against allies and adversaries alike. The result has been a rapid reordering of alliances once considered immutable.
Canada offers a telling example. After Trump floated the idea of making Canada “the 51st state” and imposed punitive tariffs under the guise of fentanyl enforcement, one of Washington's closest allies reassessed its strategic assumptions. Prime Minister Mark Carney, who less than a year earlier described China as Canada's greatest security threat, traveled to Beijing last week and concluded multiple agreements. “The world has changed,” Carney acknowledged, adding that engagement with China placed Canada “in an advantageous position in the new world order.” Ottawa, which had raised tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles to 100% under the Biden administration, reduced them to 6.1% following the visit.
India's experience has been similar. Despite its prominent role in the U.S.-led Quad, Prime Minister Narendra Modi found himself facing 50% tariffs—25% reciprocal tariffs plus penalties for purchasing Russian oil. The result was predictable. China and India moved toward reconciliation last October, followed by a state visit from Russian President Vladimir Putin in December and a series of new cooperation agreements.
Trump's pressure did not consolidate alliances; it fractured them.
Trump's Greenland gambit and the punitive tariffs threatened against European countries—even if temporarily suspended—will further accelerate this realignment. If the EU fails to learn from the consequences of last year's appeasement and continues to rely on concession as strategy, it will remain permanently on Trump's menu.
Taiwan may not yet feel the immediate impact of these shifts. But America's strategic retrenchment, combined with the rapid reorganization of global geopolitics under Trump's tariff diplomacy, will inevitably carry profound implications for Taiwan's security and strategic environment. Appeasement, as Europe is discovering once again, does not buy stability. It merely postpones the price—and raises it.
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