90 billion euros for Ukraine: the bill no one asked you to pay

The Art of Circumventing the Unpopular

To understand what happened, you have to look behind the scenes. Last December, a European summit took place in Brussels. The leaders of the 27 countries gathered. The topic: how to finance Ukraine? The plan involving Russian assets was dead. An alternative was needed. Ursula von der Leyen made proposals. Friedrich Merz pressed the issue. But nothing worked. Hungary, Slovakia, and the Czech Republic said no. They did not want to participate in a joint debt mechanism. Why? Perhaps because they already felt poor enough. Perhaps because they did not want to pay for a war they had never wanted. Perhaps because their voters, already angry, would not have understood. To achieve unanimity, Brussels had to make concessions. These three countries were exempted. They will not pay interest. They will not guarantee the debt. It’s a shameful solution, but a political one. It’s tough diplomacy.

And the other 24 countries? They had no choice. Unanimity was achieved by sacrificing fairness. France will pay. Germany will pay. Italy will pay. Spain will pay. All the major countries will pay. The smaller countries will pay as well. Ireland. Portugal. Greece. Even Greece, which has spent ten years under austerity, will now pay the interest on a loan for Ukraine. The irony is bitter. The injustice is glaring. But that’s how Europe works. Twenty-seven countries, twenty-seven interests, and in the end, a decision made by a few that binds everyone else. Marie, in Paris, doesn’t know she’s going to pay for Slovakia. She doesn’t know she’s going to pay for Hungary. She may never know. But that’s the reality.

I’m angry. Truly angry. Not the kind of anger people express on social media. A deep anger. An anger born of dignity. How dare they? How dare they treat us like sheep? How dare they make us pay for countries that refuse to pay? And above all, how dare they do this without ever asking us? I’m not against aid for Ukraine. I understand the necessity. I understand the urgency. But not at this cost. Not without debate. Not without a vote. Not without an explanation. Is this what democracy is? A handful of bureaucrats in an office in Brussels deciding for 450 million people?

Money and Where It Goes

Let’s take a closer look at the numbers. Ninety billion euros over two years—2026 and 2027. That’s a huge amount. It’s more than France’s annual defense budget. It’s more than what the European Union spends on development aid for the entire world. It’s an unprecedented commitment. But where is this money going? How will it be used? According to the details of the proposal, approximately 60 billion will be allocated to military spending—60 billion to purchase weapons, ammunition, and defense equipment for Ukraine. The remaining 30 billion will be used to support the Ukrainian budget: the functioning of the state, civil servants’ salaries, and basic public services. The breakdown is clear: two-thirds for the war; one-third for everyday peace.

The loan comes with an important condition: “European preference.” The money must be used to purchase equipment manufactured in Europe. Ursula von der Leyen emphasizes this point. “For us, this is a lot of money,” she said. “Billions and billions are being invested.” And these investments should yield a return by creating jobs and fostering the research and development we need. At the same time, we must strengthen our defense industrial base—not only for the sake of the loan, but also for our own security.” In other words: the money for Ukraine will also finance the European arms industry. It’s a virtuous cycle, they say. A strategic investment. Yet I can’t help but think of something. The money coming out of taxpayers’ pockets will end up back in the coffers of arms companies. Taxpayers pay for the weapons sent to Ukraine. Arms companies make a profit. It’s a great system. For them.

Do you know what I see when I look at this plan? I see a transfer of money. From your pockets to those of the arms industry. Is my wording harsh? Yes. But that’s the reality. Ursula von der Leyen talks about return on investment. She talks about job creation. But what jobs is she talking about? Jobs in weapons factories in France, Germany, and Italy? And you’re the ones paying the price. It’s Marie who pays it. It’s her husband, who lost his job, who pays it. It’s her students, who will grow up with less, who will pay it. And meanwhile, the shareholders of the arms industry? They’ll get richer. That’s the reality.

The Mounting Debt

The scariest part of this story is what we don’t see. The principal amount of the loan—the 90 billion—will only be repaid by Ukraine once the war is over and Russia has agreed to pay war reparations. No one knows when that will happen. No one knows if it will happen at all. Experts talk about months, years, decades. The war in Ukraine has been going on since February 2022. It will soon be four years. It could last another four years. Or longer. During all that time, Ukraine won’t repay anything. But what about the interest? The interest, meanwhile, keeps piling up. Three to four billion euros a year. That is what the 24 member states participating in the mechanism will have to pay. Three to four billion, year after year, for as long as the war lasts. And perhaps even afterward.

For the first few years, the interest will be paid with unspent funds from other European Union instruments—budget surpluses, room to maneuver. But what will happen when that room runs out? What happened to Greece? What happened to Ireland? What happened to Spain? Austerity. Budget cuts. Cuts to public services. Tax hikes. This is the worst-case scenario, to be sure. But it’s not impossible. And in this worst-case scenario, who will pay? Marie. Her husband. Her students. You. Me. Not Ursula von der Leyen. Not Friedrich Merz. Not the leaders who made the decision. But us. Ordinary taxpayers.

I’m terrified. Truly terrified. Not by the war in Ukraine, even though it’s horrible. I’m terrified by what this debt represents. A debt that keeps piling up, year after year, with no end in sight. A debt we never chose. A debt that could haunt us for decades. I think of my children. I think of their children. They might still be paying off this debt thirty years from now—for a war that began before they were even born. Is that the legacy we’re leaving them? A 90-billion bill? And the question that haunts me: How many times can we do this? How many times can we burden our children with debt without them rebelling?

When Generosity Becomes a Burden

The European Union likes to talk about solidarity. European solidarity. Solidarity with Ukraine. It’s a beautiful word. A noble word. But when solidarity becomes an obligation, is it still solidarity? When you’re forced to show solidarity, isn’t that coercion? Marie was never consulted. Neither were her neighbors. Nor were her colleagues. No one asked them if they wanted to show solidarity. They were told. It was imposed on them. And if anyone dares to criticize it, they’re accused of being pro-Russian. They’re accused of being heartless. They’re accused of not understanding the urgency of the situation. But does understanding the urgency of the situation mean having to accept any price?

Pierre, 62, a retiree in northern France. He worked his whole life in a factory. He retired last year. His pension is modest. He struggles to make ends meet. He, too, will pay the price—without even knowing it, without having had a say in the matter. And if he asks questions or voices doubts, he’ll be told he’s selfish. That he only thinks of himself. That he doesn’t understand the importance of European solidarity. But Pierre—perhaps he understands better than anyone else what austerity really means. He lived through the 1980s. He saw his factory close. He saw his friends lose their jobs. He knows the cost of debt. And now, he’s being asked to accept a new one—a debt that isn’t his. A debt he never wanted.

I’m tired. Tired of this dichotomy. On one side, the decision-makers in Brussels who talk about solidarity as if it were a magic word. On the other, the ordinary people who foot the bill. I’m tired of this moral imperative: you must show solidarity. If you don’t, you’re a bad citizen. But where is the solidarity toward Marie? Toward Pierre? Toward the millions of European taxpayers who were never consulted? Why does solidarity only work one way? Why are our leaders so quick to be generous with other people’s money?

The Choice That Never Existed

Why isn’t anyone protesting? Why aren’t the streets of Paris, Berlin, and Rome filled with demonstrators? Because no one knows. Because no one understands. Because 90 billion euros is an abstract number. A statistic. A newspaper headline we skim over. Marie will see the headline. She’ll read the article. She might sigh. And then she’ll turn the page. She’ll go about her day. She’ll go to work. She’ll go home. She’ll cook for her children. And life goes on. As if nothing had happened. As if a major decision hadn’t been made without her.

And then there’s the fear. The fear of being accused of being pro-Russian. The fear of being called a collaborator. The fear of being ostracized. In Europe, in 2026, there are words you simply cannot say. There are questions you cannot ask. If you ask, “Do we really have to pay that much?”, people look at you with suspicion. If you ask, “Isn’t there a limit to our generosity?”, you’re called a cynic. If you ask, “Why not ask the United States to pay more?”, you’re accused of a lack of solidarity. Democratic debate is muzzled—not by laws, but by morality. By intellectual intimidation. And in this silence, the debt piles up.

Sometimes I cry. I cry for this democracy that is dying. Not the democracy of the ballot box, of elections, of votes. The democracy of debate. The democracy of protest. The democracy that dares to say no. Today, in Europe, we no longer say no. We applaud. We nod our heads. We go along with it. Even when it hurts. Even when it makes no sense. And I wonder: what will happen when people wake up? When they understand what’s been done to them? When they realize that for years, checks have been signed in their name without ever asking them? I fear that anger. I fear the moment when the silence is broken.

When the Buffers Disappear

The European Commission assures us that everything is under control. Interest payments will be covered by budget surpluses, they say. There’s room to maneuver, they say. No need to worry, they say. But is that really true? The European Union’s budget is already under strain. The pandemic has been costly. The energy crisis has been costly. Inflation has been costly. The room to maneuver is shrinking rapidly. And now, we have to add 3 to 4 billion euros a year in interest. That seems like a small amount compared to 90 billion. But 3 to 4 billion a year, for ten years, adds up to 30 to 40 billion. That’s starting to add up.

And what will happen in 2028? The plan covers 2026 and 2027. But will the war in Ukraine last until 2027? And if it lasts longer, what will we do? Will a new plan be proposed? Another 90 billion loan? And another 3 to 4 billion in interest each year? How long can we keep this up? How long can we burden future generations with debt? The answer is simple: as long as European leaders decide to. Until the precipice draws nearer. Until someone notices that there’s no margin left. Until someone realizes that the debt has become unbearable. And by then, it will be too late. Marie’s children will pay. Pierre’s children will pay. All of our children will pay.

I’m angry. Angry as I’ve rarely been. Angry at this irresponsibility. Angry at this recklessness. How dare they gamble with the money of future generations? How dare they go into debt for us, for our children, without ever asking us? I think of my children. I’m afraid for them. Afraid that they’ll inherit a world where austerity is the norm. Afraid that they’ll pay for decades for a war that began before they were born. Is this the Europe we want to leave them? A Europe in debt? A Europe that can no longer invest? A Europe condemned to austerity?

When War Becomes the New Normal

What will happen in April? If the plan is adopted by the European Parliament and the Council, the first payments will begin. Ukraine will receive the promised billions. Weapons will arrive. The Ukrainian budget will be supported. The war will continue. And Europe will continue to pay. This is the new normal. A permanent war, financed by permanent debt. It has become the norm. In 2022, exceptional measures were put in place. In 2023, they were extended. In 2024, they were expanded. In 2025, they were strengthened. In 2026, an additional 90 billion is being allocated. Every year, a little more. Every year, a little more money. Every year, a little more debt.

And no one seems to see the problem. No one seems to be asking the tough questions. How long can this go on? How much will it cost? What’s the way out of this crisis? How does this story end? No one knows. Or no one wants to say. Because asking these questions means admitting there’s no easy solution. It’s admitting that we’re sinking deeper. It’s admitting that we’ll be paying for years to come. Decades, perhaps. Meanwhile, life goes on. Marie teaches her students. Pierre enjoys his retirement. Ursula von der Leyen signs checks. And the debt piles up, invisible, silent, like a shadow looming over us.

I am desperate. Desperate for our democracy. Desperate for our future. Desperate for our children. We were told it was temporary. We were told it was an exception. But three years later, it has become permanent. We were told Russia would pay. But it won’t pay. We’re the ones who will pay. And the worst part is that we’re getting used to it. We’re getting used to constant crisis. We’re getting used to constant debt. We’re getting used to paying for wars that aren’t ours. And in this habit, I see the end of something. The end of the Europe I knew. The end of a democracy that took care of its citizens. The end of the hope for a better future for my children.

The Sudden Awakening

Ninety billion. That number will stay with us. Like a scar. Like a constant reminder of a decision made without us. In a few years, when the war is over, when the guns fall silent, when peace has returned to Ukraine, we’ll be 90 billion short. Maybe 120 billion if you count the interest. And we’ll ask ourselves: How did this happen? How could we have accepted this without protesting? How could we have let our leaders burden our children with debt without saying a word? Marie will know. She looks at her tax form on the table. She thinks of her students who are hungry. She thinks of her husband who lost his job. She thinks of her heating bill, which she can no longer afford. And she realizes something. Something brutal. Cruel. Terrifying. She realizes she’s paid for a war she didn’t understand. She realizes she’s paid for a debt she never chose. She realizes she’s paid for a future she had no control over.

And I ask myself: How many more times can we do this? How many more times can we write blank checks to future generations? How many more times can we ignore the voice of taxpayers? I’m afraid. Afraid for Marie. Afraid for Pierre. Afraid for my children. Afraid for Europe. Afraid of what we’re becoming. A Europe that goes into debt to buy peace. A Europe that sacrifices its future for the present. A Europe that forgets that democracy is, first and foremost, about consent. The consent of those who pay. The consent of those who inherit. The consent of those who will live with the consequences. Is this the Europe we want? Is this the democracy we defend? Or is it something else? Something that looks like democracy but lacks its soul. An empty shell. A shadow. And in that shadow, 90 billion vanish. Invisible. Silent. As if nothing had happened. As if no one had paid. As if Marie didn’t exist.

I am not a journalist, but a columnist. I am an analyst and observer of the geopolitical and financial dynamics that shape our world. My job is to dissect political decisions, understand budgetary shifts, and anticipate the consequences for ordinary citizens. I do not claim to possess the cold objectivity of traditional journalism. I strive for clarity, sincere analysis, and a deep understanding of the issues that affect us all.

This text respects the fundamental distinction between verified facts and interpretive commentary. The factual information presented in this article comes from official and verifiable sources, including press releases from the European Commission, official statements by political leaders, reports from recognized international news agencies such as Reuters, Euronews, FranceSoir, and Toute l’Europe, as well as data from international organizations.

The analyses and interpretations presented here constitute a critical synthesis based on the available information. My role is to interpret these facts, contextualize them, and make sense of them. Any subsequent developments could alter the perspectives presented here.

Primary sources

blank »>Financial Times – Military briefing: Ukraine’s elite units dash to repel Russian frontline advances

blank »>Institute for the Study of War – Russian Offensive Campaign Assessment, January 11, 2026

CNN – Ukrainian forces under ‘intense’ pressure in the south, as troop shortages bite

Secondary Sources