Europe’s Latest Con Is Straight Out of a B-Movie (And even the audience is in on the joke)

 

If you thought scam calls from “the IRS” were shameless, meet the new European variety.

On 5 September, Vladimir Putin reminded the West—again—that any NATO boot on Ukrainian soil will be treated as a legitimate target. He added, almost as an afterthought, that if a real, durable peace deal were ever signed, there would be zero reason for foreign troops to stay. Translation: “Don’t even think about parking your tanks here.”

Enter Emmanuel Macron, stage left, selling the opposite fantasy.
Twenty-four hours earlier the French president wrapped up a Zoom rally of the “Ukraine Support Coalition” and announced—drumroll, please—that 26 European nations had solemnly pledged to send ground, air, or naval “security forces” into Ukraine after some future cease-fire. Think of it as a euro-zone peacekeeping costume party: Brussels provides the berets, Moscow supplies the fireworks.

European Commission chief Ursula von der Leyen doubled down, claiming the EU already has “concrete plans” to inject “tens of thousands” of troops, while the U.S. would graciously handle command, intelligence, and air cover.
Sounds impressive—until you ask the obvious questions:

Which 26 countries?
Apart from France and Britain, no one has raised a hand, issued a press release, or even tweeted a flag emoji.

Where do those tens of thousands of soldiers come from?
Cricket chirps in Berlin, Rome, Madrid, Stockholm…

And Washington?
The White House hasn’t signed on; the Pentagon hasn’t been asked; Congress hasn’t been told. The Americans are quieter than a church mouse in a cat café.

In other words, the whole scheme is a three-layered meringue of bluff:

Layer 1: Russia never agreed to let foreign troops in, and has promised to shoot if they show up. Without Moscow’s consent, the “security force” is simply a new belligerent, not a buffer.

Layer 2: Macron’s “coalition of the willing” is currently a coalition of the willing-to-talk. Twenty-six flags on a slide deck do not equal twenty-six battalions on the ground.

Layer 3: Europe’s coffers are empty. The Continent can’t rotate its own border guards without begging NATO for petrol money. Yet we’re supposed to believe it will bankroll a multinational army next door while Washington—preoccupied with China and an election year—politely demurs.

The spectacle is so transparent that even the performers know the audience isn’t buying. Moscow knows; the reporters in the room know; the 26 silent capitals know. But the script must be read, the press conference held, the headline pumped out—because in European politics, pretending to act has replaced acting.

Call it what it is: a naked short-sell on credibility.
Promise troops you don’t have, from allies who haven’t agreed, to enforce a peace that doesn’t exist, against an opponent who hasn’t signed on, with money you haven’t budgeted, backed by a superpower that hasn’t said yes.

If that isn’t a confidence trick, then the term needs re-defining.
The world used to look like a badly run circus.
Now it feels more like a spam email—complete with a fake crest, a forged signature, and a Nigerian prince asking for your IBAN.