When European leaders speak of “security”, it’s worth asking: security for whom, exactly?

Not for the millions navigating crumbling health systems or housing crises. Not for those struggling to afford heating or fresh food. No, the current drive to rearm Europe has little to do with public safety and far more to do with shareholder satisfaction.

As Grace Blakeley has sharply noted, the sudden rediscovery of defence budgets has less to do with strategic necessity and more with economic opportunity—for the right kind of people, of course. Not your neighbour. Not your nurse. But certainly your nearest weapons manufacturer.

Welcome to Europe Inc., a four-part series on how neoliberalism turned the European project into a corporate shareholder meeting. From inequality to militarism, corporate capture to resistance, this isn’t just a critique — it’s a guided tour through the ruins and a map to the exits. Steeped in dry wit, and entirely unaffiliated with any hedge fund.

Military Keynesianism: austerity with better PR

Back in the day, Keynesianism meant public investment to stimulate the economy—think new schools, railways, or green jobs. Today’s version swaps solar panels for missiles and hospital beds for tanks. Welcome to military Keynesianism, where the state finally spends again—just not on you.

Yanis Varoufakis calls it what it is: “the new austerity for the many and the new money-spinner for the few.” He’s not wrong. Germany has set up a €100 billion defence fund—fast-tracked and ring-fenced, while debates about housing and education are left to wither. The UK, not to be outdone, has pledged to spend 2.5% of GDP on defence by 2030, because nothing says “levelling up” like fighter jets.

It’s curious how quickly fiscal rules vanish when the expenditure is military. Need money for care workers? “The budget won’t stretch.” Need it for drones? “How much and when?”

BAE Systems saw a 9% jump in profits in 2023. Rheinmetall, Germany’s top arms manufacturer, has nearly tripled its share price since the war in Ukraine began. Airbus, known for its jets and civilian aircraft, is expanding its defence division like it’s the new Tesla.

Apparently, there’s always money—provided it explodes.

The Ukraine war: not just a tragedy, but a market opportunity

Let’s be clear: Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is illegal, brutal, and devastating. But the Western response hasn’t just been about solidarity—it’s been a windfall for the arms industry.

Germany, long cautious about rearmament for obvious historical reasons, now finds itself at the forefront of the EU’s military resurgence. That €100 billion special defence fund? It was announced days after the invasion—swiftly approved, no public referendum necessary. Rheinmetall and Krauss-Maffei Wegmann are now building tanks and munitions at record speed. They’ve even had to hire more staff—proof that war, like any good business, creates jobs (though ideally not in your postcode).

In the UK, BAE Systems is so flush with orders it’s opened new factories, including in North Wales. Meanwhile, British-made arms flow to Ukraine, while new contracts pour in from NATO allies looking to restock. BAE’s CEO described it as “an exceptionally busy year.” One wonders how busy the NHS has been.

France, never shy about arms exports, has leaned in hard. Rafale fighter jets are selling like hot croissants, with Macron promising greater “strategic autonomy”—code for “we want to build and sell more stuff without waiting for Washington”.

All the while, budgets for social care, education, and housing remain “under pressure.” The message is clear: security starts with missiles, not meals.

Enemies wanted: apply within

Of course, you can’t justify this kind of spending without a convincing enemy. Russia fits the bill, but as Grace Blakeley points out, the real competition isn’t between countries—it’s between defence firms. And to stay relevant, they need threats. Existential ones.

Cue the increasing sabre-rattling about China. Suddenly, discussions about Taiwan, cyber warfare, and Pacific alliances have crept into European defence planning. NATO, originally a North Atlantic alliance, now muses about a presence in the Indo-Pacific. Because if you’re going to build ships and fighter jets, you’d better find an ocean to put them in.

This is not to downplay real geopolitical risks. But the scale and speed of militarisation suggests something more opportunistic than prudent. A strategic pivot is one thing; a spending binge is quite another.

We are witnessing, in real time, the manufacture of a permanent war economy—one that normalises militarised budgets and marginalises public ones. The enemy doesn’t need to invade. It just needs to exist.

Austerity and militarisation: two sides of the same (bad) coin

There’s a grim symmetry here. The same governments that said there was no money for mental health services now roll out billion-euro arms deals. The same ministers who told teachers to tighten belts now sign off on new submarines. All in the name of “security”.

But whose security is it, exactly?

For the public, austerity hollowed out services. Now militarisation is draining what little is left. And the political fallout is predictable: as living standards erode and democratic promises fall flat, people grow disillusioned. Some turn to the far right, convinced their country is being “betrayed”—not by capital, but by immigrants, minorities, or some vague “elite”.

It’s a dangerous loop: economic neglect breeds resentment; resentment breeds populism; populism legitimises further militarisation. And around we go.

Weapons instead of welfare: the new consensus

This is the quiet consensus emerging across Europe: that defence spending is inevitable, desirable, even moral—while social investment is optional, wasteful, and unaffordable. It’s an economic fantasy wrapped in patriotic bunting.

And it’s not just the usual suspects. Centre-left governments are falling into line. Spain’s left-wing coalition increased its military budget by 26% in 2023. Italy’s post-populist government has made similar pledges. Even traditionally neutral countries like Sweden and Finland have joined NATO and started rearming.

Once upon a time, defence spending was a reluctant necessity. Now it’s a growth strategy.

The bottom line: follow the money (again)

As always, it comes back to incentives. Defence contractors want contracts. Politicians want growth. Media outlets—many with shareholders of their own—prefer not to bite the hand that advertises. And so the cycle continues.

This isn’t a conspiracy. It’s worse: it’s a system functioning exactly as designed. War and the threat of war are lucrative. Peace, sadly, is not.

If Europe wants to break free from this logic, it will need more than treaties. It will need courage: to challenge entrenched interests, to rethink security beyond soldiers and stockpiles, and to invest in the sort of future that can’t be measured in missiles.

Because the real danger isn’t invasion. It’s distraction—being so busy preparing for war that we forget what peace is meant to look like.