The holiday from history is over. We must tell populations difficult times are ahead.
Across Europe's three largest economies, leaders find themselves governing with a legitimacy deficit that history rarely records in peacetime: Starmer, Macron, and Merz each command the approval of fewer than one in five of their citizens, a condition worse than that of Donald Trump at his most embattled. This is not merely a crisis of personality or political misstep, but a reckoning with structural decline — Europe's share of global output has fallen to its lowest point since the Middle Ages, and the continent's leaders have yet to persuade their populations that the sacrifices ahead are both real and necessary. The question haunting European governance is not simply who leads, but whether democratic leadership can survive the gap between what citizens expect and what an altered world can deliver.
- Three of Europe's most powerful leaders govern with approval ratings below 20%, a level of public contempt that makes even the most polarising American president look relatively secure.
- Europe's economic weight has quietly collapsed — from a third of global output in 2005 to less than a quarter today — and voters feel the consequences in stagnant wages, slow growth, and a creeping sense of falling behind.
- Leaders like Merz compound structural problems with personal ones: broken promises and diplomatic blunders have deepened distrust, while none have managed to frame the era's hardships as a shared challenge worth enduring.
- The continent's political class has largely failed to make the case that weaning off Russian energy, competing with China, and absorbing the costs of geopolitical realignment are necessary burdens rather than avoidable failures.
- Denmark's Frederiksen stands as a rare counterexample — long-term energy investment, clear immigration messaging, and a growing economy suggest that honest, forward-looking leadership can still earn public trust.
- The path forward is narrow but visible: leaders who name the difficulty, explain the necessity, and deliver tangible results may yet recover ground — but for most of Europe's current generation, that task remains unfinished.
An adviser once told Emmanuel Macron, with uncomfortable directness, that people hated him. The observation could travel easily across the Channel to Keir Starmer, or east to Friedrich Merz in Berlin. All three men lead Europe's largest economies; all three are regarded by their own citizens with something close to contempt. Starmer's approval sits at 27%, with nearly two-thirds of Britons disapproving. Merz fares worse — 19% approval, 76% disapproval. Macron is barely distinguishable from him. The pattern holds across the continent, from Austria to Norway to Belgium, where leaders pushing austerity and reform find themselves more unpopular than Donald Trump at his lowest ebb.
Some of this reflects individual failure. Merz arrived in office already disliked, and a series of broken promises and careless statements — including a remark to schoolchildren that Iran was humiliating the United States — have deepened the wound. Analysts note that crises can elevate leaders who rise to meet them, as happened briefly during the early Covid period. The current generation, by and large, has not risen.
Yet individual shortcomings sit atop a structural collapse that would test any leader. Europe's share of global economic output has fallen from roughly a third in 2005 to less than a quarter today — the lowest proportion since the medieval period. The US is forecast to grow at 2.4% this year; France and the UK at under 1%; Germany at 0.6%. These are not abstract figures. They shape what doctors earn compared to New York office workers, what energy costs, what the future feels like.
The deeper failure, analysts argue, is one of political communication. European leaders have not convincingly told their populations that the transition away from cheap Russian energy, the rise of China, and the end of a long era of relative stability require real sacrifice. Without that narrative, every difficult decision reads as incompetence rather than necessity.
Denmark offers a different story. Prime Minister Frederiksen, seven years into power, remains competitive. She addressed immigration with directness that undercut far-right rivals, handled the Trump-Greenland episode with composure, and presided over an economy growing at 2% to 3%, powered by decades of investment in wind energy. Her example suggests the formula exists: name the difficulty, explain why it matters, and deliver something tangible. For most of Europe's leaders, that remains the work still to be done.
An adviser walked into his leader's office with blunt words: "People hate you." The leader in question was not Keir Starmer, though the British prime minister might recognize the sentiment. It was Emmanuel Macron. Meanwhile, a newspaper column about Friedrich Merz, Germany's chancellor, struck a similar chord—almost everyone, the piece observed, simply did not like him.
Starmer's unpopularity is well-documented. Only 11% of Britons think he has been a good or great prime minister, while nearly 60% judge him poor or terrible. His approval rating sits at 27%, with 65% disapproving. Yet he is not alone in this predicament, nor even the worst off. Merz's numbers are starker still: 19% approve, 76% disapprove. Macron fares similarly, at 18% approval and 75% disapproval. The three largest economies in Europe are being steered by leaders whom their own citizens regard with something approaching contempt.
The pattern extends across the continent. Austria's Christian Stocker leads an ineffective coalition. Norway's Jonas Gahr Støre carries the weight of his party's scandals. Belgium's Bart de Wever is pushing through austerity—budget cuts, pension reforms, tax increases—to address public debt. All of them have approval ratings worse than Donald Trump, who at 38% approval is himself as unpopular as he has ever been, including the period immediately after January 6, 2021. Only Spain's Pedro Sánchez and Italy's Giorgia Meloni fare marginally better than the American president.
Peter Matuschek, head of the German polling firm Forsa, observes that Europe appears to have stumbled into a generation of particularly poor politicians. Merz was unpopular before becoming chancellor; his error-strewn statements and broken promises have only deepened his unpopularity. Recently, he told schoolchildren that the United States was being "humiliated" by Iran's leadership—a remark that opened a transatlantic rift. Yet Matuschek notes something deeper at work. During the Covid crisis in early 2020, approval ratings for institutions and leaders surged because people sensed action was being taken. "Every crisis contains at least the chance for any leader to grow with the crisis," he said. The current crop of leaders, it seems, has not seized that chance.
But individual failings may mask a structural problem. Europe's share of global economic output has collapsed from roughly 33% in 2005 to 23% in 2024—the lowest proportion, according to the Maddison Project at the University of Groningen, since the Middle Ages. The US economy is forecast to expand by 2.4% this year. France and the UK are expected to grow at 0.9%; Germany at 0.6%. The Wall Street Journal recently reported that executive assistants in New York earn roughly what specialist doctors make in London. These are not merely statistical abstractions; they shape the lived experience of voters.
Fabian Zuleeg of the European Policy Centre argues that European leaders face headwinds any leader would struggle to navigate: the need to wean themselves off cheap Russian fossil fuels after Putin's invasion of Ukraine, the rise of China as an economic and manufacturing power. Starmer's current approval ratings are not unprecedented in British politics. Margaret Thatcher, polled in May 1981 during another period of severe economic strain, had 33.5% satisfaction and 60.5% dissatisfaction—numbers not so different from today's prime minister.
"The holiday from history is over," Zuleeg said. "We have to tell our populations that there are difficult times ahead, that this will have an impact on their daily lives, that decisions will be unpopular." The problem is that European leaders have largely failed to convince their citizens that the pain is necessary. This failure translates directly into lost approval.
One leader has bucked the trend. Mette Frederiksen of Denmark, after seven years in power, remains competitive heading into elections. She cut into far-right support through tough immigration messaging and navigated the Trump-Greenland dispute with steady hands. But Denmark has also benefited from long-term energy planning: 80% of its electricity now comes from renewable sources, primarily wind. The economy is forecast to grow 2% to 3% this year. Frederiksen's success suggests that leaders can survive if they convince populations of necessity and deliver tangible results. For most of Europe's current leadership, that remains an unfulfilled task.
Notable Quotes
Every crisis contains at least the chance for any leader to grow with the crisis.— Peter Matuschek, head of German polling firm Forsa
The holiday from history is over. We have to tell our populations that there are difficult times ahead and that decisions will be unpopular.— Fabian Zuleeg, European Policy Centre
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why are so many European leaders unpopular at the same time? Is it just bad luck?
It's not luck. There's a structural collapse happening. Europe's share of global economic output has fallen from a third to less than a quarter since 2005. When the pie is shrinking, leaders have to ask people to accept less—and people hate that.
But couldn't a good leader make people understand that?
Maybe. Thatcher faced similar numbers in 1981 and survived. But today's leaders haven't managed to convince anyone the pain is necessary. They're asking for sacrifice without delivering a clear vision of why.
What about Frederiksen in Denmark? She seems to be doing better.
She invested in renewable energy for years. Now 80% of Denmark's electricity comes from wind. People see something tangible. She also took a hard line on immigration, which cut into the far right. She's not just asking for pain—she's showing results.
So the lesson is: long-term planning plus clear messaging?
And actually delivering on it. Merz made promises he didn't keep. Starmer promised change and delivered austerity. Macron lost his majority in parliament. When you can't deliver, people stop listening.
Is there any way out for Starmer, Macron, and Merz?
Unlikely in the short term. They're trapped between global forces they can't control and electorates that won't accept the consequences. The best they can hope for is to survive until the next election.