When I was a child, I once, after being told off by my mother, conspicuously gathered together some treasured toys into a tea towel, and wrapped them onto the end of a broom handle, as I had seen tramps do in cartoons. Declaring that I was running away, I made it as far as the garden gate, where I lingered for some long minutes, waiting for my mother to rush out and usher me back into the warm security of home, torn between the certainty that she would — and a dread anxiety that I was, as I had declared I wanted, now truly on my own. So it is today with Europe’s political elites, endlessly declaring that this time everything has changed, and the continent must now stand on its own in a harsh and frightening world, while secretly anticipating, with mounting dread, to be ushered back into America’s stifling if protective embrace. Yet in this instance, our rulers must be careful what they wish for.
