It’s no secret that U.S. President Donald Trump likes complaining about his NATO allies, who he frequently accuses of taking the United States for a ride. He has even gone so far as to say that he’d “encourage” Russian President Vladimir Putin to attack NATO members who don’t pay their way.
As alarming as the numerous anti-NATO outbursts from the White House have been, they are seldom followed by drastic action. But one of the president’s lesser-discussed criticisms of NATO is particularly persistent—and dangerous.
It’s no secret that U.S. President Donald Trump likes complaining about his NATO allies, who he frequently accuses of taking the United States for a ride. He has even gone so far as to say that he’d “encourage” Russian President Vladimir Putin to attack NATO members who don’t pay their way.
As alarming as the numerous anti-NATO outbursts from the White House have been, they are seldom followed by drastic action. But one of the president’s lesser-discussed criticisms of NATO is particularly persistent—and dangerous.
Trump does not approve of NATO’s open-door enlargement policy. He has argued that it helped provoke Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and has repeatedly insisted that Kyiv will not join the alliance on his watch. Even many of Ukraine’s strongest supporters now concede that its path to membership is effectively blocked.
The president’s opposition to enlargement is unfortunate—not simply because it leaves countries like Ukraine outside the alliance, but also because it misunderstands what NATO enlargement has become. It no longer merely extends the alliance’s security guarantees; it increasingly strengthens NATO itself.
Trump often portrays aspiring members as security burdens looking for others to defend them. Increasingly, the opposite is true. The alliance’s newest members are among its most serious contributors, bringing advanced defense industries, innovative military thinking, and cultures of “total defense” that strengthen NATO from within.
This also sits uneasily alongside Trump’s most legitimate criticism of NATO: that too many European allies have neglected their own defense. The countries now seeking membership, or that have only recently joined, are often those investing most heavily in military capability precisely because they live closest to the threat posed by Russia.
NATO’s two newest members, Sweden and Finland, expect to spend 2.8 percent and 2.5 percent of GDP respectively on defense in 2026—and both are on clear paths to exceed 3 percent by the end of the decade.
“For the front-line states, the discussion is not theoretical but existential,” said Keir Giles, a leading expert in European security. “The immediacy of the threat, and procurement systems that are more agile and fit for purpose, allow the Nordic and Baltic states to make faster progress than some of their hidebound counterparts west of Warsaw.”
In other words, enlargement is no longer simply about extending NATO’s security guarantee. It is increasingly about importing military capability, industrial capacity, and strategic culture into the alliance itself.
Sweden illustrates this shift. Membership matters because it brings these capabilities directly into NATO’s planning, procurement, interoperability, and long-term force development, rather than leaving them on the alliance’s periphery.
The country joined NATO in 2024, ending decades of military nonalignment. Despite its relatively modest size, it has quickly become one of Europe’s most dynamic centers for defense innovation.
Take Sweden Ballistics, a company founded by financial technology entrepreneur Joakim Sjoblom. Despite having no previous experience in defense, Sjoblom is building a weapons-grade TNT factory scheduled to begin production in 2028. The project matters because Europe has struggled to expand production of the explosives needed for artillery ammunition and other conventional munitions since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
Perhaps more surprising than a tech entrepreneur launching an explosives company is the scale of the gap that it will help fill. Once operational, the facility will double the number of major factories producing NATO-grade TNT in Europe. Today, the only comparable plant, Nitro-Chem in Poland, is already struggling to meet demand while a substantial share of its output is exported to the United States.
At the other end of the technological spectrum is Nordic Air Defense, a company developing a low-cost autonomous interceptor designed to destroy drones such as Iran’s Shahed series at a fraction of the cost of conventional air defense systems. At a recent demonstration outside Stockholm, the company showed its Krueger interceptor autonomously defeating an attack drone in a simulated engagement. The system is already undergoing testing in Ukraine.
“When Iran began launching Shaheds at targets across the Middle East, we saw Gulf states burn through stockpiles of expensive Patriots to take down something that costs a fraction of the price,” said Tobias Billstrom, a former Swedish former foreign minister, who now sits on Nordic Air Defense’s board. “We have seen similar in Poland, Latvia, and Romania, where Russian drone incursions were shot down by expensive fighter jets. This is not sustainable in a world where aggressors can send hundreds or thousands of these at once.”
Ukraine has become the world’s leading laboratory for drone warfare, attracting governments and defense firms eager to learn from its battlefield experience. That expertise will remain valuable whether or not the country joins NATO. Membership, however, would allow those capabilities to become more deeply integrated into the alliance’s planning, procurement, interoperability, and long-term military development.
By bringing countries such as Sweden and Finland into the alliance, NATO acquires more than additional territory or larger armed forces. It also imports a culture of total defense that has become increasingly rare in parts of Western Europe.
Total defense, a term that became popular among non-NATO states during the Cold War, refers to the integration of military planning with civilian society so that, in the event of war, governments, businesses, and citizens can rapidly support the national defense effort. That may involve trained reservists reinforcing regular forces, manufacturers converting civilian production lines to military equipment, or commercial technology companies redirecting their capabilities to provide intelligence, logistics, or cyber support.
This cultural shift may prove to be the most enduring benefit of NATO enlargement. It was, after all, French President Emmanuel Macron who warned in 2019 that the alliance was experiencing “brain death.” Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has transformed that debate. Countries that maintained robust defense cultures, largely in anticipation of Russian aggression, throughout the post-Cold War period are now shaping NATO’s future rather than merely joining it.
This is also where Trump’s critique begins to unravel. If the objective is a Europe capable of carrying a greater share of its own defense burden, then enlargement should be seen as part of the solution rather than the problem. NATO’s newest members are not asking to be rescued by stronger allies; they are helping redefine what a stronger European alliance looks like.
Blocking future enlargement—particularly for countries such as Ukraine—would weaken rather than strengthen NATO. Enlargement is no longer simply about extending Article 5 to new territory. It has become one of the alliance’s most effective ways of renewing its military culture, industrial capacity, and strategic thinking. The debate over enlargement is still often framed as though NATO were taking on new liabilities. Increasingly, it is acquiring new strengths.
