After a deeply concerning espresso with Marco Rubio in Rome, it has become apparent that Europe is no longer willing to unconditionally sacrifice its autonomy for our convenience.
I was having a rather gloomy plate of cacio e pepe near the Piazza Navona this week when the true scale of the transatlantic crisis finally dawned on me. My lunch companion was Secretary of State Marco Rubio, fresh off a series of tense meetings with Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni. The Secretary looked entirely drained, his signature youthful vitality sapped by the sheer administrative burden of having to ask a foreign government for permission to use military facilities we so generously built on their land during the Cold War.
He sighed, pushing his entirely untouched antipasto away. He explained that NATO allies refusing the United States permission to use their military bases for operations in the Middle East has become, in his words, a real problem. It struck me then, as I watched a man who carries the weight of the free world on his shoulders be told 'no' by a country the size of California: when did Europe become so incredibly selfish?
For decades, the fundamental agreement of the Western alliance has been elegantly simple. America provides the overarching security umbrella, and in exchange, European nations graciously allow us to treat their sovereign military installations like a 24-hour drive-thru for whatever geopolitical errands we need to run regarding Iran. It was a beautiful, seamless system. Yet lately, there is a troubling trend of host nations insisting on reviewing flight paths, consulting their parliamentary coalitions, and generally acting as though they own the borders they happen to live inside.
The very concept that Italy should have veto power over American bombers taking off from Aviano Air Base is insulting. It treats the United States—the undisputed guarantor of global stability—like a teenager asking for the keys to the family sedan. I have sat on enough foreign policy panels at Davos to know that when Washington says it is time to escalate tensions in the Persian Gulf, the appropriate response from our allies is "which runway do you need," not "we have concerns about regional fallout."
But this creeping European entitlement isn’t just infecting military logistics. It is poisoning the free market itself. Look no further than the European Commission’s draconian new ruling this week regarding commercial airlines, which perfectly mirrors the arrogant obstructionism Rubio is facing.
As the aviation sector bleeds cash due to the very same Middle East energy spikes we are trying to manage, the EU has explicitly forbidden carriers from charging customers retroactive fuel surcharges after they have already purchased their tickets. EU spokeswoman Anna-Kaisa Itkonen actually stood before reporters in Brussels and stated that adding a fuel surcharge to a bought ticket "cannot be justified."
I had to read the brief twice to believe it. The European Union is essentially arguing that a consumer’s financial obligation ends at the point of sale. This is economic illiteracy of the highest order. If an airline suddenly discovers that jet fuel costs more because of a war, why should the multinational corporation bear that burden? The passenger is the one who insisted on flying to Milan during a global crisis. They should be thrilled to receive a supplemental invoice at the boarding gate to help the CEO hedge against Brent crude futures.
Europe has developed this toxic cultural habit of establishing boundaries. Whether it is a sovereign nation-state refusing to be a staging ground for an unauthorized bombing campaign, or a middle-class family refusing to pay a surprise €400 jet fuel tariff on a non-refundable Ryanair flight, the underlying arrogance is exactly the same.
Arthur is entirely correct. The through-line here is a continent that has forgotten its place. Whenever I purchase a transatlantic fare, I always leave a blank check stapled to my boarding pass, just in case the airline encounters unexpected operational headwinds. It is simply common courtesy to the shareholders.
Yet the modern European mind simply cannot grasp this level of sacrifice. Whether it is Meloni denying Rubio access to a tarmac, or bureaucrats shielding vacationers from their rightful obligation to subsidize fluctuating oil indices, the message from Europe is clear: they believe their domestic laws apply to us.
We spent the latter half of the twentieth century cultivating these nations. We bought them dinners. We invited their defense ministers to Aspen. We rebuilt their economies so they could afford to buy tickets on our airlines. And now, when we ask for the bare minimum—unchecked access to their airspace and the right to unilaterally alter contracts after they are signed—they suddenly discover their principles.
As I finished my espresso with Marco, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loss. We built this international order specifically so that we wouldn't have to ask nicely. If NATO and the global economy are to survive the coming decades, our allies must remember their role in the hierarchy. A true friend doesn't ask questions when you show up unannounced at their house to launch a drone strike, just as a true customer doesn't complain when their economy-class ticket is retroactively adjusted to fund a global energy crisis. It is time for Europe to grow up and let us do whatever we want.