On 5 June 2025, United States President Donald Trump hosted German Chancellor Friedrich Merz at the White House for their first face-to-face meeting. Their encounter, set on the eve of the 81st anniversary of the D-Day landings in Normandy, unfolded against the backdrop of a markedly different European conflict—the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
As both leaders spoke, the symbolic contrast between past and present could hardly have been starker: once-liberated Germany now stands at the forefront of European defence, while the United States appears increasingly hesitant to assume its historic role.
The meeting began with ceremonial pleasantries. Merz presented Trump with a framed copy of his grandfather Friedrich Trump’s German birth certificate. The gesture was received warmly, reflecting the President’s oft-mentioned German ancestry. But as the discussion turned to the historical resonance of the date, the tone shifted.
“This is D-Day anniversary,” Merz noted, “when Americans once ended a war in Europe.”
Trump responded: “That was not a pleasant day for you.”
Unfazed, Merz replied: “In the long run, Mr President, this was the liberation of my country from Nazi dictatorship.”
In reality, the D-Day landings were not an American operation alone but a combined Allied effort—British, Canadian, Polish, French, and other troops fought and died alongside American forces on the beaches of Normandy. The largest seaborne invasion in history, D-Day marked the beginning of the liberation of Western Europe, not its conclusion.
Moreover, the United States had entered the war in December 1941—more than two years after hostilities began in Europe in September 1939. A similar pattern had been observed during the First World War, when American forces arrived on the continent in 1917, nearly three years after the conflict’s outbreak. These delays, shaped by domestic isolationism, underscore a historical reluctance by the United States to become involved in European wars until late in the course of events.
That context makes today’s situation particularly striking. In the current war—Russia’s ongoing invasion of Ukraine—it is European states, led by Germany, Poland, and the Baltic nations, that are providing the bulk of military and financial support to Kyiv. While the United States remains a key partner, the tone from Washington has shifted under Trump.
During his meeting with Merz, the President likened the conflict in Ukraine to “two kids fighting like crazy,” and suggested that “sometimes you have to let them fight for a while.” His comments reflected continued ambivalence about the utility of sanctions against Moscow, and he even implied that punitive measures could be considered against both Ukraine and Russia if the war continues.
Chancellor Merz, in contrast, stressed the need for sustained support to Ukraine and insisted that only strong Western resolve would bring the war to an end. He described Trump as “the key person in the world” capable of influencing President Vladimir Putin, but made clear that peace cannot come at the expense of Ukraine’s sovereignty or democratic principles. Germany, he said, would not scale back its commitment to Ukraine regardless of the political climate in Washington.
The irony is sharpened by Russia’s current posture. While continuing its full-scale war against Ukraine, the Kremlin has intensified efforts to monopolise the legacy of the Second World War. Russian officials regularly invoke the Red Army’s role in defeating Nazism, while simultaneously prosecuting a campaign of aggression widely condemned as neo-imperialist. Moscow brands its opponents as “Nazis” and presents its invasion as a continuation of wartime heroism, despite mounting evidence of war crimes, occupation, and forced deportations.
In this context, Merz’s remarks about D-Day as a moment of liberation carry political weight. In 2025, it is the Federal Republic of Germany that speaks most forcefully of defending democracy, territorial integrity, and international law in Europe. Meanwhile, the United States under Trump sends mixed signals—voicing concern over Russian actions while avoiding deeper entanglement. The traditional roles of post-war Europe seem, at least temporarily, reversed.
On NATO, Trump repeated his long-standing complaints about burden-sharing but acknowledged Germany’s recent increases in defence spending. Merz pledged to meet a revised German target of 3.5% of GDP for defence by 2032, with a further 1.5% committed to infrastructure. On trade, both leaders cited the need for further negotiation. Trump criticised what he called an imbalanced relationship but conceded that German investment in the United States remained substantial.
Ultimately, the meeting produced no major policy shifts. But it served as a moment of clarity: while Washington adopts a more transactional posture, Berlin appears determined to lead on principle. As the D-Day anniversary is marked across Europe, the memory of Allied unity and sacrifice stands in contrast to current geopolitical ambiguity.
In 1944, Allied troops—American, British, Canadian, and others—landed together in Normandy to begin the defeat of tyranny. In 2025, it is Germany, once liberated, now warning against appeasement and urging the defence of democratic Europe. History, though not repeated, is rhyming in unexpected ways.
