by Amir Taheri
A few days before the French general dropped his bombshell, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz had come out with a similar warning, with the difference that he cited 2029 instead of Mandon's 2030 as the possible date for the putative Russian attack.
[France's Chief of General Staff of Armed Forces General Fabien] Mandon... suggest[ed] that Russia was preparing for a war against Europe, with 2030 as a possible starting date.
That the general wasn't talking through his cap became clear when President Emmanuel Macron, legally Commander-in-Chief, appeared to sanction the statement with his silence.
A few days before the French general dropped his bombshell, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz had come out with a similar warning, with the difference that he cited 2029 instead of Mandon's 2030 as the possible date for the putative Russian attack.
Despite claims of "some progress" by all sides, including Moscow's, the latest Trump attempt at playing peacemaker may fade in the fog of hoped-for but seldom realized possibilities.
What was lacking, Mandon hinted, was the psychological-political readiness of Europeans to switch to a bellicose mood rather than quarreling over early retirement, adding to public holidays and dreaming of their next touristic escapade.
The current mood in Europe may be summed up this way: We are ready for sacrifices if Russia attacks us directly but are reluctant to pay for defending Ukraine, let alone die for it.
[W]ith an estimated four million young men leaving the country, Russia faces a shortage of fighting men that cannot be corrected by bringing Wagner mercenaries from Africa and cannon fodder from North Korea. Though surprisingly resilient, the Russian economy is already showing signs of structural fatigue.
"The Russians are coming!" Throughout the Cold War, that phrase expressed the anxiety felt by Western democracies about the possibility of a surprise nuclear attack by the Soviet Union. Half jest, the tongue-in-cheek quip evoked Russian chief Nikita Khrushchev's notorious braggadocio in 1956 addressed to Western powers: "We will bury you!"
Later in an address at the United Nations, the Communist leader hinted that the promised burial could come by the year 2000.
By 1992, however, another phrase was making the rounds in Western capitals: "The Russians are going!"
While "the Russians are coming" had been a putative cause for concern, "the Russians are going" posed practical problems. The giant "superpower" didn't have the logistics to take its 300,000 troops and civilian staff plus unknown quantities of weapons out of eastern and central Europe.
Starting in 1992, the retreat took more than two years to complete. German and French national railways provided trains to help Russians go home. Instead of Russian trains bringing triumphant Soviet troops to a conquered Paris, SNCF and Deutsche Bahn trains carried Russian soldiers happy to return home.
So, it was a surprise, not to say a shock, last week to hear the phrase "the Russians are coming" from no lesser a personality than France's Chief of General Staff of Armed Forces, General Fabien Mandon.
In an address at a meeting of French mayors, Mandon didn't use the exact phrase, but in a sense sounded more alarmist by suggesting that Russia was preparing for a war against Europe, with 2030 as a possible starting date. In pseudo-Churchillian tones, he invited his audience to prepare for "losing our children" and suffering hardship while upgrading France's and the EU's defenses in preparation for war.
The general's jeremiad was surprising because under a 150-year-old golden rule, serving French military are not allowed to make public statements on political matters.
In fact, French political lexicon labels the armed forces "la grande muette," that is to say, "the big mute one."
That the general wasn't talking through his cap became clear when President Emmanuel Macron, legally Commander-in-Chief, appeared to sanction the statement with his silence.
A few days before the French general dropped his bombshell, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz had come out with a similar warning, with the difference that he cited 2029 instead of Mandon's 2030 as the possible date for the putative Russian attack.
In what could be one of history's delicious ironic moments, the European beating of the war drums came hours before US President Donald J. Trump tweeted his 28-point "peace plan" for Ukraine.
It is clear that neither Europeans nor Ukrainians had detected any hint that Trump was about to steal the show. The 28-point plan was presented as a take-it-by-Thursday my-way-or-the-highway offer but within 48 hours had been reshaped as "a basis for further talks" with no fixed finishing line.
The curious coincidence of Europeans calling for preparing for a big war with Russia and Trump ostensibly trying to get Russia and the EU off the hook while making some money for US businesses in the process showed that, as far as Ukraine was concerned, NATO allies were not singing from the same hymn sheet.
And that could persuade Presidents Vladimir Putin and Volodymyr Zelensky to continue an absurd war because neither Russia nor Ukraine has yet reached its threshold of pain. Despite claims of "some progress" by all sides, including Moscow's, the latest Trump attempt at playing peacemaker may fade in the fog of hoped-for but seldom realized possibilities.
Both Mandon and Merz claimed that Europe had all that was needed in terms of economic and scientific knowledge to upgrade its defenses to a degree that would deter Russia or to win any war against it. What was lacking, Mandon hinted, was the psychological-political readiness of Europeans to switch to a bellicose mood rather than quarreling over early retirement, adding to public holidays and dreaming of their next touristic escapade.
While Europe, at least in theory, has the material wherewithal to build a mighty war machine, it may be light years from feeling a true sense of existential threat to allocate more resources to a military buildup that would inevitably require deep cuts in the benefits that the welfare society offers.
The current mood in Europe may be summed up this way: We are ready for sacrifices if Russia attacks us directly but are reluctant to pay for defending Ukraine, let alone die for it.
A similar mood seems to be developing in Russia, where even those who still support the war, and they are still a majority, show signs of discontent with Putin for not winning "this damn thing" which he started as a "special military operation" to last only a few days or weeks.
Russia has already done most of what it can do to seek victory in Ukraine, with meager results.
Its annual defense budget has almost tripled to $140 billion, compared to 2021. That represents 6.2 percent of GDP and almost 40 percent of the overall national budget. That has been accompanied by a 10 percent cut in social welfare allocations and a 20 percent reduction in allocations for infrastructure projects.
In comparison, the Europeans are still struggling to increase defense expenditure above 2 percent of GDP, with 5 percent bandied around as a hoped-for figure within the current decade.
Putin has also conducted a massive though quiet purge of the Russian officers' corps. The recently appointed Defense Minister Andrey Belousov has carried out what some observers see as the most thorough anti-corruption and reorganization program Russian forces have undergone since the fall of the Evil Empire.
On the minus side, with an estimated four million young men leaving the country, Russia faces a shortage of fighting men that cannot be corrected by bringing Wagner mercenaries from Africa and cannon fodder from North Korea. Though surprisingly resilient, the Russian economy is already showing signs of structural fatigue.
With a third of its population displaced internally or abroad as refugees and its economy cracking at the seams, Ukraine is in an even more dicey situation.
Russia and Ukraine are not out of breath yet. But both are approaching the point at which they must throw in the towel. The Trump "peace plan" might then serve as a face-saving pirouette for both.
Gatestone Institute would like to thank the author for his kind permission to reprint this article in slightly different form from Asharq Al-Awsat. He graciously serves as Chairman of Gatestone Europe.
Amir Taheri was the executive editor-in-chief of the daily Kayhan
in Iran from 1972 to 1979. He has worked at or written for innumerable
publications, published eleven books, and has been a columnist for Asharq Al-Awsat since 1987.
Source: https://www.gatestoneinstitute.org/22084/when-the-big-mute-speaks-out
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