Europe Ignored Gavin Newsom at Davos. That Was the Strategy.

What Davos’s silence reveals about the fragmentation of American foreign policy.

by Max Schadefreude

You probably scrolled past the Davos coverage the other day. Governor lectures Europe, Europe does Europe things, everyone moves on.

Except something weird happened. Or rather, didn’t happen.

And that’s the story.

When California Governor Gavin Newsom urged European leaders at Davos to “grow a backbone,” headlines followed—but not a single direct reply to him personally. While European leaders like Ursula von der Leyen and Emmanuel Macron made forceful statements about Trump’s threats over Greenland at the same forum, none addressed Newsom’s comments directly.

Macron wore sunglasses throughout his speech, reportedly due to a burst blood vessel, though the effect was less “medical necessity” and more “I literally cannot look at this anymore.”

Macron wore sunglasses throughout his speech, reportedly due to a burst blood vessel, though the effect was less “medical necessity” and more “I literally cannot look at this anymore.”

Not. One. Word.

And that silence matters right now because it’s not just about Newsom. It’s about what happens when American foreign policy fragments in real time and nobody knows how to respond. While you were scrolling past Davos coverage, a precedent was being set: U.S. governors can now contradict federal policy on the world stage, and the world will just… wait to see who actually speaks for America.

That silence wasn’t confusion or indifference. It was a strategy. The kind of strategy you deploy when someone who doesn’t work here starts giving notes in your staff meeting.

Let’s be clear about what happened:

✓ Newsom called European leaders cowards

✓ At their own forum

✓ While they were managing actual threats from an actual U.S. President

✓ And they responded by... continuing their scheduled programming

That’s not diplomacy failing. That’s diplomacy working exactly as designed.

Why Europe Ignored Him

Despite the international setting, Newsom’s message is not aimed at Europeans. European leaders already understand Trump— they’ve spent years managing him, surviving him, and preparing for his return. Their caution isn’t cowardice; it’s constraint. They’re balancing trade dependencies, security guarantees, NATO obligations, and fragile domestic coalitions. They don’t have the luxury of performative outrage.

Newsom knows this. Which is why the real audience for his remarks is domestic: Democratic voters hungry for aggression rather than restraint, party donors and elites looking for a future standard-bearer, and media outlets that reward bluntness over nuance.

Diplomacy is hierarchical, and Newsom isn’t even on the org chart. Diplomatic protocol, codified since the Congress of Vienna in 1815, establishes clear hierarchies: nations engage with their counterparts—heads of state with heads of state, foreign ministers with foreign ministers. From Europe’s perspective, Newsom is a state governor with no authority over trade, defense, or foreign policy. Responding would elevate him into a role he doesn’t occupy and set a precedent that European diplomats want no part of.

Now, the simpler explanation: maybe Europe’s silence wasn’t strategic at all. Maybe Newsom’s comments simply didn’t register as newsworthy to them. A governor from a country they’re already managing says something provocative—so what? They constantly hear provocative things from Americans. Why would this particular statement merit a response?

But that interpretation actually strengthens the strategic dismissal argument. If Newsom’s comments were so unremarkable that they didn’t warrant acknowledgment, that’s an even more devastating form of irrelevance. The silence isn’t careful calculation—it’s reflexive dismissal. Either way, the message is the same: he doesn’t matter enough to engage with.

Because—and I cannot stress this enough—Gavin Newsom is not the President of the United States. He has no standing military, no nuclear codes, and no ability to negotiate treaties.

The power dynamic in one sentence: Newsom needs Europe to validate his foreign policy credentials. Europe needs Newsom for absolutely nothing.

The power dynamic in one sentence: Newsom needs Europe to validate his foreign policy credentials. Europe needs Newsom for absolutely nothing.

It’s the geopolitical version of “don’t feed the trolls,” except the troll has a $3.9 trillion economy and nuclear-adjacent ambitions.

(Look, I’m not saying Gavin Newsom is a troll. I’m saying the diplomatic strategy treats him like one. There’s a difference. A small one. But it’s there.)

European leaders are managing real relationships with the President, Congress, and NATO. Publicly sparring with Newsom risks irritating Washington without gaining leverage.

From a diplomatic cost-benefit standpoint, silence wins. Why validate the opening act when you’re waiting for the headliner? Especially when the opening act is performing for Democratic primary voters circa 2028.

This isn’t unprecedented. European diplomatic services have long practiced strategic non-engagement with subnational actors who lack foreign policy authority. When congressional Republicans sent an open letter to Iranian leaders in 2015 attempting to undermine nuclear negotiations, European diplomats largely ignored it—not because they agreed with the Obama administration, but because engaging with legislative branch freelancing would undermine the diplomatic order they depend on.

Seen through this lens, the comments make much more sense. Newsom isn’t trying to change European policy. He’s trying to define himself as the anti-Trump—loud where others hedge, moral where others calculate, confrontational where others manage. That’s not foreign policy. That’s positioning.

Here’s the thing about telling people to “grow a backbone”: It only works if they need something from you. Europe doesn’t need anything from California except to keep buying their cars. That’s not leverage. That’s a customer relationship.

They Know the Genre

European diplomats have been watching American politicians use international stages for campaign content since the Iraq War. They can spot a stump speech at 1,000 meters. They’ve developed what they call “American electoral theater”—immunity to domestic political performance dressed as strategy. Comments like “grow a backbone” get the same treatment as street performers: you might stop and watch, but you’re not joining the act.

Did Europe Actually Agree?

Oh, here’s where it gets good.

The most interesting possibility isn’t that Europe dismissed Newsom—it’s that they couldn’t publicly align with him even if they privately agreed. Endorsing his critique would be an admission of weakness. Rejecting it would be defending a posture they may not believe in.

So they said nothing—not because he was wrong, but because he said the quiet part loud.

The unspoken rule of international relations: When someone without authority tells you what to do, the most powerful response is to act like they didn’t speak. Not disagreement. Not debate. Just... nothing.

Newsom found out what nothing feels like at scale.

The Paradox: Losing One Game, Winning Another

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Here’s where the story gets more interesting than it first appears.

If the goal is to blunt Trump’s power, this approach fails completely. Trump feeds on elite outrage. Every denunciation from a prominent Democrat reinforces his central narrative: that powerful insiders despise him because he threatens their control. When Newsom calls global leaders “pathetic” for accommodating Trump, Trump’s base doesn’t recoil—it grins.

Foreign criticism rarely moves American voters. If anything, Trump’s supporters enjoy the fact that Europeans are unsettled by him. It confirms their belief that he puts American interests first and refuses to be lectured by outsiders. And without a direct electoral contest, the clash feels theatrical rather than consequential—more like a warm-up act than a real challenge.

In short, this kind of rhetoric excites people who already oppose Trump and barely touches those who don’t.

But as political positioning for a future Democratic primary, it works brilliantly. Newsom is consolidating his image within the party as combative rather than cautious, emotionally fluent in liberal anger, and unafraid to name Trump as a threat. For many Democrats, this feels refreshing after years of institutional language and careful phrasing. Newsom sounds like someone who wants to fight, not just manage decline.

The comments generated global headlines, conservative backlash, and liberal applause—the holy trinity of modern political relevance. And he’s building a future argument: that when the moment required clarity and force, he didn’t hedge. That argument isn’t meant for 2026 or Europe. It’s meant for a Democratic primary electorate down the road.

Newsom is playing two games simultaneously. The game he claims to be playing—weakening Trump, stiffening European resolve—he’s losing badly. The game he’s actually playing—building his 2028 presidential brand—he’s winning handily.

So Newsom is playing two games simultaneously. The game he claims to be playing—weakening Trump, stiffening European resolve—he’s losing badly. The game he’s actually playing—building his 2028 presidential brand—he’s winning handily.

The question isn’t whether the strategy works. It’s the game you’re measuring.

This reveals something deeper: the collapse of transatlantic consensus isn’t just about policy disagreements. It’s about the inability to even coordinate on how to talk about the problem. When a U.S. governor can publicly criticize European resolve and receive only silence, it signals that the traditional “united front” is already gone—everyone just pretends otherwise.

It’s diplomatic kayfabe. Everyone’s in on the bit, but nobody can break character.

Why This Matters Right Now

This episode exposes a live crisis in American foreign policy.

For decades, the norm was clear: domestic politics stopped at the water’s edge. U.S. officials didn’t criticize their own president abroad.

That norm is dead. Buried. Composed into content for political action committees.

Newsom’s Davos appearance represents a new reality: subnational actors conducting shadow foreign policy that contradicts federal positions on the world stage. It’s as if Bavaria started negotiating trade deals while lecturing Berlin on moral courage. Except Bavaria has better beer and less main-character energy.

And here’s Europe’s problem: They can’t treat Newsom as irrelevant (California’s economy is massive, its climate policy influential), but they also can’t treat him as legitimate (he doesn’t control U.S. foreign policy).

So they do nothing. They navigate by not navigating—staying silent while America sorts out who actually speaks for the country.

America’s current foreign policy structure: Imagine a company where the CEO, the regional managers, and several former employees all show up to the same client meeting with different pitches. Now imagine that the company has nuclear weapons.

America’s current foreign policy structure: Imagine a company where the CEO, the regional managers, and several former employees all show up to the same client meeting with different pitches. Now imagine that the company has nuclear weapons.

That’s where we are.

Welcome to the federalized foreign policy era, where the org chart is a mystery and the credentials don’t matter.

The Precedent Being Set (Or: The Balkanization of American Diplomacy)

This moment establishes something genuinely weird: if U.S. governors can criticize foreign leaders without consequence or acknowledgment, what’s to stop senators, mayors, or former officials from doing the same? The fragmentation of American foreign policy voice isn’t theoretical—it’s happening right now at global forums.

And here’s why the timing matters: We’re in the middle of actual crises where this confusion has real costs.

Ukraine: European leaders need to know if U.S. security commitments are real. But which U.S.? The one that controls the military, or the one that controls public opinion? When governors contradict presidents abroad, it signals to adversaries that American resolve is negotiable.

Taiwan: China is watching this chaos and doing the math. If America can’t figure out who speaks for America, why would Beijing take U.S. red lines seriously? Every fractured message is an invitation to test boundaries.

NATO: Alliance credibility depends on clear commitments. But how do you maintain Article 5 credibility when U.S. state leaders publicly undermine federal positions? Allies start hedging. Defense spending calculations change. The alliance weakens not from external pressure, but from internal incoherence.

Trade negotiations: Europe is negotiating with the U.S. on tariffs, climate change, and tech regulation. But who signs the deal? Who can promise it’ll hold? When California can contradict Washington, every agreement becomes provisional.

Next year’s Davos could feature the Mayor of Austin on Ukraine, the Governor of Florida on Taiwan, and a former cabinet secretary selling a memoir-based Middle East peace plan. They’ll all have panels. That’s where we are now.

The new American diplomacy: 50 states, 50 foreign policies, and one very confused State Department trying to explain that none of this is official while also not saying it’s unofficial, because that would be worse.

Europe’s silence is a bet that this is temporary chaos, not permanent realignment. But the longer they treat this as theater to ignore, the more ground they cede. Newsom’s Davos moment was a test balloon. Europe’s non-response wasn’t strength—it was uncertainty dressed as strategy.

And here’s the final irony: Newsom is criticizing foreign leaders for failing to stop Trump—while representing a country that elected him. From the outside, that weakens the message's moral authority. It’s hard to scold others for accommodation when your own system produced the problem. Many non-Americans see this contradiction clearly, even if American political media often does not.

What Newsom’s Davos moment proved: You can have all the moral clarity in the world, the best zingers, and a $3.9 trillion economy behind you. But if you don’t have the authority to back it up, you’re just making noise. And in diplomacy, noise is what gets ignored first.

What Happens Next

The question isn’t whether Newsom deserved a response. It’s about whether Europe is prepared for a world in which American foreign policy legitimacy is contested, fragmented, and performed rather than executed.

Because Europe doesn’t have clarity about what comes next. They’re waiting to see if America is going through a phase or if this is just how things work now. But real decisions with real consequences can’t wait: Trump’s Greenland tariffs take effect February 1st. Ukraine aid packages worth billions need coordination. NATO defense spending commitments require trust that American promises mean something.

And here’s the problem: Europe can’t wait for America to sort itself out, but they also can’t engage with fifty different American voices all claiming authority.

Every day of this incoherence is a day adversaries gain ground and allies lose confidence. Security guarantees become unreliable when nobody knows who can commit U.S. forces. Trade agreements fall apart when subnational actors can undermine federal deals.

For now, Europe is betting that traditional structures will hold. But every Davos speech by a governor chips away at that bet. And when it fails—not if, when—the consequences cascade: Europe builds its own security architecture. China fills the vacuum in Asia. American influence, built over 80 years, fragments in less than a decade.

All because nobody could answer the simple question: Who speaks for America?

You know, the way you do when someone at Thanksgiving starts explaining what’s really wrong with the family.

Except at Thanksgiving, you have to invite them back.

At Davos? That’s optional.

The stakes:

This isn’t about Gavin Newsom’s ego. It’s about whether the United States can maintain a coherent foreign policy in an era where authority is contested, legitimacy is performed, and nobody knows who actually speaks for the country.

Yesterday in Davos, Europe made a bet. Now we wait to see if it pays off.

The Bottom Line

Gavin Newsom’s rhetoric doesn’t restrain Trump. It doesn’t reshape European strategy. It doesn’t meaningfully alter the political terrain Trump thrives on.

What it does do is strengthen Newsom’s brand.If the goal is resistance, the strategy is flawed. If the goal is relevance, it’s working just fine.

That distinction—between fighting Trump and auditioning against him—is the real backbone of this moment.

And that distinction—between fighting Trump and auditioning against him—is the real backbone of this moment.

So here’s where we are: A California governor flies to Switzerland to lecture European leaders on courage while they’re actively negotiating with an American president who wants to buy Greenland. The Europeans say nothing. The governor flies home. Trump stays the president. Europe keeps waiting to see who actually speaks for America.

And somewhere in a Des Moines focus group facility in 2027, a Democratic primary consultant will play a clip of Newsom at Davos and ask voters: “Does this make you feel like he can beat Trump?”

That’s the whole game. That was always the whole game.

The backbone comment wasn’t for Europe. The silence wasn’t confusion. And we’re all just pretending we don’t know what we’re watching.

Welcome to American foreign policy in the age of the audition. The reviews are in. Europe gave it zero stars. But the target audience—Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina—hasn’t voted yet.