Slovakia, led by populist Prime Minister Robert Fico, has thrown a wrench into Brussels’ diplomatic machinery by tying approval of new Russia sanctions to guarantees over its own energy security.
The message from Bratislava is clear: if Slovakia is to sever its last gas ties with Moscow, it wants insurance that it won’t be left shivering in the dark.
Fico’s government has made it plain that while it does not oppose the sanctions themselves—which target Russian oil revenues, banks, and the arms sector—it refuses to back the measures until it receives concrete commitments from the European Commission and other member states.
At issue is a parallel Commission proposal to halt all imports of Russian natural gas by 2028, a move that Slovakia says could cripple its economy unless alternative supplies are secured at a manageable cost.
“We need to win something in this fight,” Fico said on Saturday. “Though it will not be a 100–0 result, we want political commitments, guarantees from partners and the Commission that this problem will not remain only on Slovakia’s back.”
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This is more than posturing. Slovakia’s gas dependency is unique in both scale and structure. It still relies on a long-term contract with Russia’s Gazprom for around 3.5 billion cubic metres of gas annually—almost the entirety of its national consumption. That agreement, signed before the war in Ukraine, remains valid until 2034.
Until recently, much of that gas was piped in via Ukraine. But Kyiv, as of the end of 2024, stopped allowing Russian gas to transit through its territory. Slovakia has since scrambled to reroute supplies, tapping into the TurkStream pipeline through Hungary. But this workaround is neither stable nor cheap, and Fico’s government fears the situation could worsen if Brussels presses ahead with its latest energy ultimatum.
At the heart of the Slovak complaint is not just supply, but cost. The Prime Minister wants EU backing for a cap on transit fees for non-Russian gas—fees that could rise sharply as countries compete for limited capacity on alternative pipelines. Without such a cap, Slovak households and industries could be left footing the bill for decisions made in distant capitals.
Energy diplomacy in Brussels is often arcane, but Fico has found a pressure point: EU sanctions packages must be agreed unanimously. While the 2028 Russian gas phase-out proposal needs only a qualified majority, sanctions require all 27 member states to fall in line. By linking the two issues, Fico has effectively forced the Commission to negotiate—on his terms.
The gambit comes at a critical moment. More than three years into Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, support for Kyiv remains high in most EU capitals, but unity is fraying. In Italy, Giorgia Meloni faces growing domestic scepticism over the cost of military support. In France, Marine Le Pen’s National Rally has surged in recent elections, having long called for a “pragmatic” reset with Moscow. Even in Germany, industrial giants are grumbling about lost access to cheap Russian gas.
But Fico has long been a wildcard in EU politics, and his return to power last year marked a stark shift in Bratislava’s tone. He campaigned on a platform of “Slovakia First” pragmatism, vowing to end arms deliveries to Ukraine and criticising what he called “senseless” sanctions that hurt ordinary Europeans more than Russia’s war machine. His stance has drawn ire from Kyiv and concern in Brussels, but it has found resonance among Slovak voters exhausted by rising prices and geopolitical drama.
For Fico, the current standoff is both a matter of policy and politics. By standing up to the Commission, he burnishes his credentials as a defender of Slovak interests against faceless Eurocrats. But he’s also playing with fire. A prolonged veto could isolate Slovakia within the EU and cost it leverage in future negotiations. More pressingly, it could hand Moscow another propaganda victory, reinforcing the narrative that Western unity is crumbling.
The Commission, for its part, has tried to project calm. Behind closed doors, officials say they are “working constructively” with Bratislava to address its concerns. But with the EU Foreign Affairs Council meeting on Tuesday, time is running short. Unless a breakthrough is achieved, the entire sanctions package could be delayed.
That would be a bitter pill for Ukraine, which has lobbied hard for tougher measures on Russia’s energy sector, banks and defence companies. For Kyiv, every delay sends a dangerous signal—not only to Moscow, but to Europe’s own citizens, that the bloc’s resolve is waning.
Still, some analysts argue that Fico’s demands are not entirely unreasonable. “You can’t just tell a landlocked country to cut off its primary energy source without offering a credible alternative,” says Dr. Petra Novakova, an energy expert at Charles University in Prague. “Bratislava isn’t blocking sanctions because it likes Gazprom. It’s doing it because it sees no viable plan for what comes next.”
That may be true, but it places Brussels in a bind. If the Commission yields too much, it risks setting a precedent—every future sanctions package could be held hostage to national demands. But if it pushes ahead without addressing Slovakia’s concerns, it risks alienating a key member state just as the EU’s geopolitical challenges mount.
For now, all eyes are on Tuesday’s ministerial meeting. If a deal is reached, sanctions will proceed and Slovakia may walk away with enough face-saving commitments to declare victory at home. If not, the EU will be left once again grappling with the fragility of its unity—exposed not by its loudest critics, but by one of its smallest members.
