Why Should We Care What Europe Thinks?
The opinions of Europeans about American politics and politicians are often given significant airtime in both American and European media, but as an American, I find these opinions largely irrelevant. This is not to say that Europeans are unworthy of having or expressing their views. They certainly are entitled to them. Yet, when it comes to shaping or evaluating U.S. policy, the perspective of those who neither share our foundational principles nor live under the consequences of our decisions holds little sway over me—and it shouldn’t hold much over other Americans, either.
At the core of my skepticism is the reality that many Europeans do not seem to support or understand three defining aspects of American life: the First Amendment, the Second Amendment, and control over immigration. These rights and principles are not ancillary to American identity; they are foundational to it, rooted in a historical context that is quite distinct from Europe’s. America’s Founding and its guiding documents—the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights—were designed to create an environment deliberately different from Europe. These documents emerged from the conviction that individual liberty must be preserved against centralized power, a principle reinforced by America’s frontier spirit and revolutionary origins.
Freedom of speech, as protected by the First Amendment, is not present in Europe to the same degree. Hate speech laws, which abound in European countries, represent a fundamentally different approach to liberty, one that prioritizes societal harmony (as defined by the state) over individual freedom. In contrast, Americans are accustomed to a more robust marketplace of ideas, where even offensive speech is tolerated to preserve liberty. It is no wonder, then, that Europeans often misunderstand or dismiss the value Americans place on this constitutional right. These differences are not coincidental but reflective of America’s foundational belief in limiting the power of the state over the individual.
Similarly, the Second Amendment, which ensures the right to bear arms, is alien to most Europeans. Their skepticism about civilian gun ownership is born out of a history and culture that has long been disarmed, often by state mandate. While Americans see gun ownership as a safeguard of personal freedom and a bulwark against tyranny, Europeans often view it as an unnecessary and dangerous relic. This disconnect leads to a widespread European disdain for American gun culture and, by extension, for politicians like Donald Trump who staunchly defend it. Again, this divide can be traced back to the Founding itself—America was designed to empower its citizens in ways that many European nations were not.
Control over immigration is essential to preserving a nation’s sovereignty and security, and debates over how to manage it have long been central to American politics. Conservatives like myself advocate for reasonable limits on immigration that welcome those who wish to contribute to our nation while safeguarding national interests. Yet, many Europeans, from their own culturally specific vantage points, view such policies as xenophobic or cruel. It is not surprising, then, that European commentators so often paint Republican politicians, and their voters, as parochial or bigoted. These judgments, however, are often based on an incomplete understanding of the United States’ unique challenges and history.
Another important factor is America’s role as a global superpower—a role that inherently requires different priorities and perspectives than those of European nations. The United States shoulders the responsibility of being a dominant economic, military, and cultural force worldwide, often acting as a guarantor of international stability. Many European nations, in contrast, operate under the security umbrella provided by America, allowing them the luxury of focusing inward. This disparity in global influence explains why American policies—whether on defense, energy, or trade—are often misunderstood or criticized by Europeans. Their perspective, shaped by less global responsibility, is therefore ill-suited to judge America’s unique challenges.
Nowhere is this disconnect more evident than in the European disdain for Donald Trump. The former president is arguably the most polarizing figure in modern American political history, and his unorthodox style, brash rhetoric, and unapologetic America-first policies have made him a lightning rod for criticism. Many Europeans look down on Trump and his supporters as uncouth or uneducated, dismissing his policies without fully engaging with their merits. Some of this disdain, I suspect, is cultural. Trump embodies a distinctly American style of confidence and defiance that grates against the more understated and diplomatic sensibilities often prized in Europe.
But there is more to it than cultural dissonance. Trump’s policy positions—on trade, NATO funding, energy independence, and immigration—challenge European interests and assumptions. His insistence that NATO members contribute their fair share to defense spending, for example, struck a nerve in countries that have long relied on American military power while spending comparatively little on their own defense. His energy policies, which prioritized American production and independence, appealed to nations like Poland that are eager to reduce their reliance on Russian energy. These policies align with the interests of Eastern European nations that see America as a vital ally in ensuring their security and sovereignty.
It is important to note, however, that Europe is not monolithic in its views on Trump or American politics more broadly. There is a noticeable East-West divide in European attitudes, with countries like Poland and Hungary often showing more sympathy for Trump and his policies than their Western European counterparts. This divide is rooted in history and geopolitics. Eastern European nations, having lived under the shadow of Soviet oppression, tend to value national sovereignty and skepticism of centralized authority more than their Western neighbors. Poland, for instance, respects Trump for his strong push for fairness in NATO spending (Poland tends to meet or exceed the 2% GDP spending requirement, while other countries lag behind) and his emphasis on energy independence, both of which align with Polish national interests and the region’s broader concerns about Russian influence.
In contrast, Western European nations like France, Germany, and Denmark often view Trump as a destabilizing force. Their criticism of him is not solely about his policies but also about what they perceive as his style and demeanor, which they see as unbecoming of a world leader. This sentiment extends beyond Trump to many American Republicans more generally. There is a condescension among many Western Europeans toward the conservative values that underpin Republican policies—a sense that these values are outdated or incompatible with modern, progressive societies. This view is not limited to the elites in Brussels or Paris but permeates much of Western European media and academia.
And yet, why should any of this matter to me or to other American conservatives? The European disdain for American conservatism is rooted in a fundamental difference in worldview, one that cannot be bridged by persuasion or compromise. Europeans live in societies that prioritize collective welfare over individual liberty, that are more comfortable with state intervention than personal responsibility. Their critiques of American politics often reflect these priorities and are therefore of limited relevance to a nation that was founded on the principles of individual freedom, limited government, and self-reliance.
This is not to suggest that we should ignore Europe altogether. There is much to admire and learn from in European history, culture, and governance. My own life is intertwined with Europe—I have lived here for most of the past decade, and my wife and children are Polish. I have a deep appreciation for the resilience and cultural richness of nations like Poland, which have preserved their identity and values through centuries of adversity. But this appreciation does not extend to taking European critiques of American politics too seriously. If anything, my time in Europe has reinforced my conviction that the American model, with all its flaws and challenges, remains unique and worth defending.
When polling shows that Trump’s approval rating in Poland is significantly higher than in Denmark or Germany, it speaks to the point that European opinions are not uniform. Poland’s more favorable view of Trump reflects a shared appreciation for sovereignty, security, and tradition. These values resonate with American conservatives and stand in contrast to the more globalist and progressive tendencies of Western Europe. It is no coincidence that Eastern European nations, which have a more recent memory of fighting for freedom, are more sympathetic to the principles that Trump represents.
Ultimately, the opinions of Europeans about American politics should not dictate our choices or influence our policies. As Americans, we must chart our own course based on our own values and interests. If Europeans find our First and Second Amendments baffling, if they disapprove of our immigration policies, or if they dislike our politicians, so be it. Their perspective is not ours to adopt, nor is it ours to apologize for. What matters most is that we remain true to the principles that make America exceptional, by design and by history, regardless of what the rest of the world thinks.
Michael J. Hout is the Editor of Liberty Affair. He currently resides in Warsaw, Poland. Follow him on X: @michaeljhout
