By Veton Surroi
It’s a cyclical dilemma faced by Kosovars—and Albanians more broadly—whenever the question arises whether to support an American or European political stance, particularly when divergences emerge, as they often do, around the Middle East. In its softest form, this dilemma presents itself to Albania when it’s time to vote at the UN (Kosovo is exempt from this for obvious reasons). And for some time now, Albania has stood firmly in the pro-American camp—even when that places it among a minimal group of nations supporting Israel, a state carrying out genocide in Gaza. Prime Minister Rama, in a tone of self-irony at several international conferences, has noted this kind of loyalty as almost part of the country’s collective DNA: Albania will remain the most pro-EU country even if the EU no longer exists.
In a more abrasive form, this manifests as support for American military actions, such as the war in Iraq. At the time, I was one of the supporters of that intervention—(a mistaken endorsement of a mistaken intervention)—as were political circles in both Albania and Kosovo. For Albanians, liberated in Kosovo thanks to a US-led political and military intervention in 1998–1999, the idea of American military action against dictators and autocrats to free oppressed peoples seemed entirely understandable.
The real reasons (e.g. whether Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction), international norms, geopolitical assessments, and so forth, were and remain secondary to Albanians. In much of our discourse, we feel a moral obligation to stand with the state that liberated us, and that remains our primary political motivator. So it was with the American bombing of Iran: Prime Ministers Kurti and Rama—each in their own way—highlighted as a priority the alignment with the strategic ally, with justification trailing behind: that the world is safer if an autocracy (or theocracy) like Iran is denied the capability to acquire nuclear weapons.
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The US bombing of Iran, now a fait accompli, will inevitably raise moral dilemmas. One such dilemma belongs to a significant portion of European states, the UN, and the scientific community, who argue the bombing lacked legitimacy (not to mention legality under international law), as Iran has for twenty years demonstrated that its nuclear program has not pursued military objectives. This was affirmed in March of this year by American intelligence director Tulsi Gabbard, a finding dismissed by President Trump. Another dilemma lies within the American official narrative itself: if Iran has no intention (and had no intention) of developing nuclear weapons, why does it need uranium enriched to 60%? A legitimate question, considering uranium for civilian use is enriched to a fraction of that, and the leap from 60% to the 90% required for nuclear weapons is relatively simple. In other words, Iran is closer to building a bomb today than it was two decades ago.
Yet beyond these moral questions—for which Albanian public discourse remains inadequately informed and unprepared—the US bombing of Iran has underscored a “truism,” as it’s known in English: an evident truth that reveals nothing new. The truism here is that whatever position Europe might have taken on Iran, it was completely irrelevant. European powers and the EU had tried until the final hour to keep negotiations alive—just as they had led the 2015 deal—but President Trump disregarded all of it.
This truism flows from earlier actions of the Trump administration—from slapping tariffs on allied countries, fantasizing about annexing Greenland, to another crisis: the war in Ukraine. There, without any meaningful consultation with Europe—despite it being the theater of war—Trump led negotiations, thus far unsuccessful, to fulfill his campaign promise to end the war in a single day.
These actions by President Trump are not temporary exceptions to normal American policy—they are the new rule. This rule is the “return of American sovereignty,” a cornerstone of the revolution reshaping the US’s relationship with the world. While the US never truly lacked sovereignty, this “return” in Trump’s revolution implies a break from the post-1945 world the US itself helped construct—a world built on alliances and institutions. Instead, “American sovereigntism” is about the unilateral right to act through force, without consultation; an America that no longer works with the very institutions and alliances it once created to multiply its own strength and the reach of liberal democracy.
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In the Albanian mindset, then, the instinctive support for President Trump’s actions also reflects an awareness of this new reality—one in which the US administration may take abrupt, unpredictable measures. This poses no real threat to Albania, which enjoys a kind of dual protection. On one hand, it is not entangled in the wars of the former Yugoslavia, and unlike Kosovo, it does not present a strategic flashpoint that could invite Trump administration intervention. On the other, Prime Minister Rama chose not to hand over Sazan Island to favored Albanian developers for tourism, but rather to a branch of the Trump family—an investment as American as it is personally linked to the president.
Albanians, observing events from Europe’s margins, have noticed something others in Europe have already internalized. In a recent ECFR (European Council on Foreign Relations) poll surveying 16,000 people, a core finding was that citizens are redefining the EU—not as a peace project, but as a war project. Russia’s war on Ukraine and President Trump’s handling of that war have led Europeans to understand two things: first, that the US is no longer the guarantor of peace on the continent; and second, that their own states must assume responsibility for European security.
Eighty years after WWII, the highest institution of a large part of the European continent now includes a defense commissioner. This is one consequence of the Trump “revolution,” which European respondents see as structural. In fact, most Europeans (excluding Romanians and Hungarians) see the problem not just in Trump himself—whom they view as damaging to both American society and their own—but express deep mistrust toward the entire American political system.
And yet, the rest of Europe (those surveyed) are not far removed from Albanians. Most respondents do not believe Europe will soon attain “strategic autonomy,” meaning an independent defensive military capability. Most think Ukraine must be supported to defend Europe from Russia. And most believe American policy might shift after Trump’s term ends.
Instinctively, these other Europeans draw closer to Albanians—as watchers, though active ones, still positioned on the margins of global affairs.
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There’s an old Kosovar joke that’s left us with a lingering question: “Are you with us, or with the bear?”
In the 21st century, that question—meant to force a binary choice—has become more complex than ever. Not necessarily because of the “bear,” but because it’s no longer clear who “we” are. At the beginning of this century, “we” instinctively meant the West. But “the West,” as a political concept, no longer exists—at least not as we once knew it, when it liberated Kosovo and helped it achieve independence.
And in this process of rediscovery, the Albanians are not alone. They stand alongside the rest of the Europeans.