A long-standing transatlantic relationship has quietly fractured, and fixing it will not be simple.
For decades the US and Germany absorbed trade disputes, defence rows and diplomatic slights. What’s happening now feels different: the US‑Israeli military campaign involving Iran has produced political and economic reverberations in Europe that have driven a visible wedge between President Donald Trump and Chancellor Friedrich Merz.
Trump on Thursday threatened to review America’s troop presence in Germany — the hub of US forces in Europe, home to roughly 35,000–50,000 active‑duty personnel. US bases in Germany handle aircraft maintenance, medical support and act as staging and logistics nodes for operations that reach into the Middle East. Analysts warn that cutting force levels or downgrading facilities would hollow out the post‑war European security framework and could be a de facto way to weaken NATO without formally leaving it.
That threat came after Merz publicly criticised the American approach to the Iran conflict. To understand why Merz broke ranks it helps to look at his domestic political position. When he first took office he cultivated good relations with Trump — official visits, publicity and cooperation followed, and Germany even let its facilities be used in steps related to the campaign. But the fallout from disruptions such as the partial closure of the Strait of Hormuz has been politically damaging: higher fuel and energy costs hit Europe and Germany — an export‑dependent economy — particularly hard, prompting cuts to growth forecasts for 2026 and 2027.
Merz’s flagship borrowing plan, promoted as an “economic bazooka,” failed to spur the hoped‑for stimulus; much of the package was absorbed closing a €34 billion budget gap rather than jump‑starting investment. Ambitious reforms to health care, taxes and pensions have largely stalled. The political consequences have been stark: Merz’s coalition polls poorly, with favourability around 15 per cent, and the far‑right Alternative für Deutschland has capitalised on public anger to surge in popularity. Under that pressure Merz publicly challenged Washington.
At a school event in western Germany he voiced concerns many European leaders have privately expressed: he said the US lacked a clear exit strategy in Iran, drew uneasy comparisons with long failed interventions in Iraq and Afghanistan, and suggested European taxpayers and the German economy were being harmed by a campaign with no clear political endgame.
Trump responded on his social platform by accusing Merz of effectively supporting Iran’s nuclear ambitions and mocking Germany’s economic troubles, sharpening the public spat.
Merz is not alone. Britain’s Keir Starmer, Italy’s Giorgia Meloni and Spain’s Pedro Sánchez have all registered disagreements with Washington over the conflict. Pundits note that publicly opposing Trump can be politically useful for some European leaders — Sánchez’s stance has helped him electorally — and the recent weakening of staunch Trump allies such as Viktor Orbán has not gone unnoticed in capital cities. The lesson spreading among European politicians is that close alignment with this White House can carry domestic risks.
A deeper complaint underpins these tensions: the war was launched without meaningful consultation with many European partners, even as Europe absorbs much of the economic fallout. That imbalance is becoming harder to sustain, and unless Washington and its allies find a way to reconcile strategy with allied concerns, the diplomatic rift may widen further.