The case for European Nationalism

And the danger of 1930's nostalgia

Lately, I feel like I’m being haunted by the past.

Every time I open YouTube, my feed is filled with colorised footage of pre-war Europe. Bustling Berlin, elegant Paris, the grand streets of Warsaw, Rotterdam, and Dresden before they were reduced to rubble. Even Facebook, which I barely use, insists on showing me “then and now” comparisons of cities forever changed by war.

It’s not just the technology that’s impressive, (AI restoring lost worlds in vivid colour) it’s the sheer volume of it. The algorithm is feeding me nostalgia on an industrial scale and digital images are just the tip of the ice berg.

Wherever I look, I see a yearning for the past. Whether it’s the American dream, 80’s music, or the glory of an imperialistic past, nostalgia for the “good old days” is rife. But is it really the past that we are yearning for or is it an illusion? A carefully curated fantasy of a world which never truly existed?

If I’m completely honest I’m not sure how I feel about this yet.

The nostalgia that I sense right now is at a cultural level. It’s not just about art or entertainment. It’s more fundamental. It’s about personal identity, modern survival and existential angst.

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National and local identities in Europe.

National and local identities are deeply intertwined with nostalgia, especially in the context of Europe. By national identity I mean a sense of a nation as a cohesive whole, as represented by distinctive traditions, culture, and language.

When communities feel uncertain about the future, due to factors such as globalisation, migration, or political upheaval, they tend to look back to a time when they felt more secure, united, and connected to their cultural roots.

I feel like the era of globalisation is over. Structurally it is still in place but culturally people are rejecting it throughout Europe and the wider western world. I wrote about this in my previous letter; it’s one of the key challenges the EU faces today.

When people feel that their distinct cultural markers such as language, food and traditions are being diluted or overshadowed by a dominant global culture, they don’t just resist change, they start longing for what they perceive as a more authentic past. A time before Brussels, before mass migration, before the digital world blurred national boundaries.

The European Union was built on a vision of peace, economic cooperation, and political stability. It was an antidote to war, to division, to the ideologies that tore Europe apart.

But visions are only as strong as the belief people have in them. And in an age of economic uncertainty, shifting world powers, and cultural fragmentation, it’s natural to ask: Is this vision still valid?

The political climate today is nothing like the 1990s or early 2000s. Back then, globalisation felt like the future, an unstoppable force. Now, it feels like an old ideology, desperately clinging on while people look for something simpler, something more tangible.

When things get complicated simplicity soothes us. The past few decades have been defined by progressive ideals that challenged traditional identity. They sought to give people a new paradigm.

You don’t have to define yourself by religion, nationality, class, the family or gender. You can be whoever you want to be.

This caught on because it was counter culture at the time. Progressive ideals felt rebellious, and let’s face it: Who wouldn’t want to choose their own destiny?

Well, to be honest. The answer to that question is unclear to me.

The problem with the EU is that it’s complicated. Nationalist narratives, by contrast, are simple. Nationalism tells a clear story: We were strong once. We can be strong again.

It appeals to a romanticized version of the past, where the nation was more cohesive, its culture more unified, its people more "authentically" connected to their traditions. It conveniently overlooks the struggles and inequalities of those eras, but it doesn’t matter because nostalgia isn’t about accuracy. It’s about comfort.

Europe is currently experiencing a deep cultural void. A lack of community. A lack of shared narratives that bind us together. Even popular culture, once a unifying force, feels fractured. When was the last time a book, film, or public figure gripped the entire nation? (other than Taylor swift of course)

Take Hungary, for example. In 2014, articles were already discussing a certain nostalgia for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. I’d argue that sentiment has only grown.

At its peak, Hungary had power, influence, and a clear place in the world order. Today, as part of the EU, that sovereignty feels diminished. The result? A revival of the "glory" of the Habsburg era, despite the fact that it was an aristocratic monarchy, not a democracy.

The same pattern fuelled Brexit. A yearning for autonomy, for national pride, for the illusion of control.

And perhaps that’s the heart of the issue.

We like to think nostalgia is about the past. But maybe, it’s really about something else. Maybe it’s about the fear of a future we no longer understand.

The point here is that this isn’t just abstract intellectual theorising. This is real. This is visceral.

Across Europe, there is a deep, almost physical nostalgia—not just for a romanticized past, but for economic and social stability. For predictability. For a time when people knew their place in the world.

In several Eastern European countries like Hungary, Poland and Romania there has been a resurgence of nostalgia for life under communist regimes. Not because people want to return to authoritarian rule, but because those years, for all their repression, offered something that today’s world does not: certainty.

Jobs were secure. Housing was affordable. The economy was stable. But it wasn’t just material security. There was a sense of community, of belonging, of purpose. People were given a role. They had a place in the system. They didn’t have to define themselves, identity was assigned, and in its own way, that was comforting.

I’ve spoken with East Germans who still recall this aspect of the GDR with fondness. They don’t talk about political oppression or state surveillance. Instead, they talk about the strength of their communities, about how life felt structured, about how they never had to worry about what came next and that everyone was in it together.

Selective nostalgia has a way of smoothing over the edges of history, leaving only the warmth of communal ties, the clarity of simpler times.

Nationalism thrives on shared memories—on cultural legends, historical myths, and stories passed down through generations. Some of these are rooted in truth. Others are selective, exaggerated, or outright invented.

Nostalgia plays a crucial role in this myth-making process. People don’t long for the past as it truly was. They long for an idealised version of it, the nation at its peak, unified, strong, unburdened by uncertainty.

And in Europe, this is where things get complicated.

Why Nationalism is a Dilemma for Europe

History makes nationalism a loaded word here. Unlike in other parts of the world, European nationalism is often conflated with imperialism, war, and division.

It was Charles de Gaulle who famously said:

"Patriotism is when love of your own people comes first; nationalism is when hate for people other than your own comes first."

I understand the sentiment, but it’s just not accurate.

Nationalism isn’t about exclusion or aggression. It is necessary for the existence of countries. There are many examples of how nationalism repelled imperialism without violence.

Finland’s resistance to Russian invasion was built on a strong national identity. India’s independence from British rule was driven by nationalist narratives powerful enough to unite people across religions, castes, and ideologies.

Nationalism is neither inherently good nor inherently evil. It is a force. And like all forces, it depends on how it is built and wielded.

Politics is downstream of culture. That’s why my primary interest isn’t politics, it’s culture.

Political movements don’t appear in a vacuum. Leaders don’t rise to power on their own. They are carried there by cultural shifts, by the tides of collective sentiment. And right now, across Europe, those tides are turning.

The nostalgia we see today is not confined to one country or one ideology. It is widespread, growing, and deeply tied to a desire for something different.

The fundamental problem that I see is that Europe lacks a unifying cultural narrative.

For centuries, the identity of Europeans was shaped by their nations, their languages, their traditions. But the European Union represents something different—something supranational, something post-national. And that transition will not be painless.

In times of crisis, nationalism often surges. It offers clarity in chaos. It gives people a sense of belonging when other identities feel uncertain or eroded.

The challenge isn’t to eliminate nationalism, it is to shape it.

A nationalism rooted in cultural heritage, self-determination, and pride in one’s history can be healthy. But nationalism that is exclusionary, revisionist, or blind to the present risks repeating the mistakes of the past.

While nationalism has been demonised in the West, in much of the world, it is seen as essential for survival.

So the real question for Europe is not whether nationalism should exist.

It’s what kind of nationalism it chooses to embrace.

Thanks for reading.

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