The flare-up in the Middle East has reignited familiar energy fears across Europe, revealing weaknesses left from the shock of Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine. Four years on from pledges to avoid reliance on a single supplier, the continent is again coping with sudden price moves, political strain and a fraught choice between short-term relief and long-term resilience.
After 2022 the EU moved quickly to sever most ties with Russian gas, oil and coal. Russian oil now accounts for only a tiny share of EU imports, limited to a couple of member states, and Brussels has signalled an intention to end Russian gas imports, including LNG. That successful pivot cut one strategic vulnerability but created others: Europe has become more dependent on alternative suppliers, notably the United States and Norway.
The US is now the EU’s largest LNG source, supplying a majority of the bloc’s LNG imports—roughly 57%—and some countries, like Germany, take nearly all their LNG from American exporters. That concentration carries political weight. Since President Trump’s return, US trade and energy leverage has been reset as an instrument of diplomacy, pressuring Europe on tariffs and energy purchases. The European Commission signed a multi-year deal worth hundreds of billions to import US oil, LNG and nuclear technology in exchange for tariff concessions. Yet doubts persist about whether European demand or US export capacity can sustain such volumes, and whether heavy reliance on one democratic partner is itself a strategic risk.
The attacks in the Gulf and Iran’s de facto choke on the Strait of Hormuz have sharpened Europe’s exposure to global market disruption. The strait is a key artery for oil shipments; even if Europe does not buy large quantities of Middle Eastern hydrocarbons directly, global supply shocks feed through to world prices. In one volatile morning early in March, oil climbed around 8% while European gas prices jumped nearly 20% as the crisis escalated.
Analysts stress that a heavy pivot to LNG makes Europe vulnerable to volatile international pricing. Dan Marks of RUSI argues that in a global squeeze Europe can probably outbid others for cargoes, but doing so forces up energy costs and strains competitiveness. He warns of a ‘‘layering of risk’’—from US domestic prioritisation, weather-damaged infrastructure, to sudden political shifts that can throttle supplies. Norway, which supplies roughly a third of the EU’s gas and about half of the UK’s, is a friendlier source, but Oslo says it is near capacity. Increasing Norwegian output would demand fresh investment and exploration, and Norway is pressing the EU to relax planned Arctic restrictions—an awkward tension between climate ambitions and immediate security needs.
The domestic political fallout is immediate. Many governments that bore heavy energy support bills in 2022 worry about voter anger if prices rise again. EU leaders are set to discuss stopgap measures—tax adjustments, household price caps and industry relief—at a summit. Commission President Ursula von der Leyen has urged swift measures to shield consumers from the worst of the cost impact.
But the crisis is widening divisions within the bloc over long-term direction. Some politicians and industrial voices argue for warming relations with Russia to restore cheaper supplies. Belgium’s Bart De Wever has openly suggested reconsidering ties, a viewpoint some German industrialists and elements of the far right echo privately. Others insist the answer is accelerating the clean transition. Central and eastern member states resist tougher emissions rules that could push up prices, while Spain, Sweden and Denmark warn that watering down the EU’s Emissions Trading System would reward polluters and penalise companies that have invested in decarbonisation. Italy and Austria have pushed to shield power prices from ETS impacts; Italy’s prime minister has even proposed suspending ETS application to electricity generation.
Georg Zachmann of Bruegel says Europe needs pragmatic, long-term plans: more renewables, new nuclear where feasible, broader electrification and smarter market design. He highlights missed opportunities—unused solar potential in southern Europe is a striking example—and questions whether current political realities make 2030 and 2040 targets fully credible.
There are lessons from elsewhere. China’s energy approach has emphasised electrification, especially of transport, reducing exposure to volatile oil and gas markets. A larger share of Chinese final energy is delivered as electricity than in the EU, and rapid uptake of electric vehicles has dampened sensitivity to oil shocks. Europe’s more fragmented politics often turn crises into arguments for opposite remedies rather than forging a shared electrification and decarbonisation strategy.
Brexit complicates the picture. Greater UK–EU cooperation on energy makes economic sense—Britain has the continent’s largest offshore wind fleet and major North Sea plans—but political mistrust and disagreements over governance slow deeper integration even where it would enhance collective resilience.
Will this shock catalyse a durable change? History suggests caution: past efforts to reduce dependency were frequently overtaken by new vulnerabilities. The current turmoil is likely to produce short-term consumer relief at the coming summit, but whether leaders can build the unity and sustained political will for true long-term resilience—diversifying supplies, creating strategic buffer stocks, accelerating electrification and renewables, investing in grid and storage, and reforming market structures—remains uncertain.
In the immediate term European governments face a trade-off between urgent measures to protect households and firms and the slower, costlier work of reshaping their energy system. The Iran war has exposed that Europe remains exposed to geopolitical shocks; the critical test will be whether policies avoid merely swapping one dependency for another and instead build durable strategic autonomy while honouring climate commitments.