From Fireworks in Dublin to Tense Summits in Brussels: Europe’s Next Great Leap
Close your eyes and travel back to a spring evening in 2004. In Dublin, flags snapped in the wind outside Áras an Uachtaráin as people gathered to celebrate a continent reshaping itself. Fireworks painted the sky. Leaders posed for photographs, and “Ode to Joy” swelled from loudspeakers as ten new nations walked into the European Union, hopeful and proud.
That moment—raw, celebratory, almost cinematic—still lives in the memories of many who were there. “We felt we were stitching up the seams of a broken continent,” a retired Irish diplomat told me over coffee, the steam fogging his glasses. “Back then, enlargement felt like moral gravity: bringing stability to places that had known instability.”
The present: a pause that isn’t a pause
Two decades later, the atmosphere in Brussels is altogether different: quieter in tone, more febrile in consequence. The European Commission has been poring over nine aspiring members—Montenegro, Albania, North Macedonia, Serbia, Kosovo, Bosnia & Herzegovina, Moldova, Georgia and Ukraine—each at a different station on the long road to membership. Some have surged forward; others have stalled. And Europe faces a paradox: enlargement could both fortify and complicate the Union.
“Enlargement is a strategic investment,” an EU official told me in Brussels. “But it’s also a test of our institutions, our solidarity, and our ability to reconcile interests when the world is more dangerous than when we last expanded on this scale.”
Who’s on the doorstep—and who’s waiting at the gate
Montenegro has moved quickly in recent months, closing several chapters of accession negotiations that once seemed immovable. In seaside towns where fishermen mend nets with a view of craggy islands, there’s cautious optimism. “Joining the EU would mean more security, more predictable markets for our tuna and olive oil,” said Ana, a market vendor in Kotor, her hands still smelling of lemons.
Albania, too, has been credited with “unprecedented” reforms in areas like rule of law and public administration. Kyiv, battered by war, applied for membership within days of the 2022 Russian invasion, and millions of Ukrainians see the EU as not just a club of economic benefit but a political lifeline.
Yet not all roads run smoothly. North Macedonia’s long dance with accession has foundered on disputes over minority rights and corruption allegations. Serbia’s progress has even regressed in places, with concerns about media freedom, judicial independence and the granting of citizenship to foreign nationals—some of whom are flagged as potential security risks.
Numbers and attitudes: what the polls say
Public opinion in Europe is no monolith. A Eurobarometer poll in September 2023 found that about 56% of Europeans support further enlargement provided candidate countries meet required conditions—support that skews younger. But views vary sharply across capitals. Sweden, Denmark and Lithuania recorded the highest enthusiasm, while Austria, the Czech Republic and France were more reserved.
“Young people see enlargement as an opening,” said Corina Stratulat, head of a European politics programme. “Older voters, or those in countries wrestling with cost-of-living pressures and immigration debates, often see it through a different lens.”
What it would cost—and what it would change
Consider the practicalities. The EU’s seven-year budget (the Multiannual Financial Framework) for 2021–2027 totals just over €1 trillion. Within that framework, cohesion and agricultural spending absorb substantial slices to support poorer regions and safeguard food systems. Adding new members—some with economies considerably smaller than the EU average—will require budgetary adjustments and fresh rounds of solidarity payments.
But the price tag isn’t only fiscal. There’s the political architecture. The Union currently requires unanimity for many foreign and defence matters. That unanimity is both a shield—a guarantor of national sovereignty—and a potential chokepoint. Hungary’s repeated use of vetoes has shown how a single capital can stall collective action. Some member states—Belgium, Finland, France, Germany, Italy, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Slovenia and Spain among them—have quietly pushed for moving certain decisions to qualified majority voting. That would be a seismic shift.
“You can’t ask people to open their borders, budgets and ballots without asking how we will make decisions together,” said a senior diplomat. “More members mean more voices, and we need to make sure the orchestra has a conductor.”
Ukraine: an exceptional case
Ukraine’s bid for membership sits at the epicenter of the debate.
With a population of around 40 million before the war, vast agricultural production, and a frontline relationship with Russia, Kyiv poses unique questions: how to integrate a major agricultural exporter without disrupting global markets; how to defend common standards while welcoming a nation fighting for its survival; how to structure accession in a way that provides security without overwhelming the Union’s decision-making processes.
“Ukraine needs us as much as we might need Ukraine,” said an EU analyst in Brussels. “But integration must be calibrated. Simply opening the gates overnight would create winners and losers in global food markets and strain our regulatory systems.”
Probation, safeguard, or something in between?
Commissioners have floated the idea of transition or probationary periods for new entrants—phased integration of Schengen access, euro adoption, or full participation in agricultural schemes. The lesson of the 2004 enlargement is instructive: even after accession, some benefits arrived in stages. Bulgaria and Romania’s full Schengen membership was delayed; many other rights were phased in.
“We learned in the first big wave that enlargement is a marathon, not a sprint,” said a veteran EU negotiator. “But there’s a world of difference between a marathon and a relay race where one runner hands a baton to another without coordination.”
What’s at stake beyond borders
Enlargement discussions are not simply about institutional tinkering. They are conversations about the kind of Europe the world needs right now: a union that can stand up to strategic rivals, manage migration and climate shocks, protect democratic norms, and sustain economic growth in a transformative technological era.
“If Europe is to be a geopolitical actor, enlargement is part of that toolkit,” said Kaja, a policy advisor. “But so too is reforming how we make decisions, fund priorities, and hold each other to shared standards.”
At street level, the debate is personal. In Belgrade cafés, older men talk of shared histories; in Sarajevo, younger entrepreneurs dream of markets and visas. In Kyiv, mothers whisper about futures for their children—education, safe streets, a passport that opens borders instead of closing them.
Questions to carry home
Here are two questions I keep thinking about as Europe argues and plans: What does membership mean when the game itself—security, trade, climate resilience—is changing faster than institutions can adapt? And should the EU be a club of shared lifestyles and regulations, or a geopolitical alliance bent on containing hostile powers?
Enlargement is, at heart, a decision about identity. Is the EU a project of converging standards and markets, or an archipelago of shared values and mutual defence? The answer will shape not only Europe’s borders, but the global order for decades to come.
Final thoughts
If 2004 was the era of optimism—the Big Bang of a post-Cold War Europe—today the choice is more complicated. The 2020s demand a far more nuanced bargain: protect institutions, bolster defences, keep markets open, and remain true to democratic ideals. It will be messy. It will be political. It will also be indispensable.
So ask yourself as you read the headlines: when a nation knocks at Europe’s door, what do we owe them—and what should we demand in return? The answers we give will tell us not just who Europe is, but who it hopes to become.
