At the 80th United Nations General Assembly in New York in late September 2025, Belgium’s newly appointed Prime Minister Bart De Wever dismissed the European Commission’s proposal to use profits from frozen Russian assets to support Ukraine, declaring flatly that such a move “will never happen.” Standing before global leaders in New York, De Wever said: “Taking Putin’s money and leaving the risks with us. That’s not going to happen, let me be very clear about that.” He added that such a move could undermine trust in the eurozone if member states’ reserves were seen as subject to political decision-making.
Less than a month later, at the EU summit in Brussels on 23 October, De Wever doubled down. He insisted that Belgium needed “concrete and solid guarantees” before backing the plan, calling it “uncharted territory.” His government’s stance was defensive: Euroclear, the Brussels-based clearing house holding around €200 billion in immobilised Russian central bank assets, must not be exposed to litigation or financial losses. Some commentators tried to frame this as a softening of his earlier stance. It wasn’t. It was the same hardline rhetoric, dressed differently – and designed, perhaps, to buy time and deflect criticism.
In recent weeks, De Wever has slightly adjusted his tone, recasting Belgium’s position as “constructive but cautious.” After a technical meeting with the European Commission on 7 November, he insisted that Belgium remains open to discussion only if other member states share the legal and financial risks. In essence, the rhetoric has softened, but the substance remains unchanged – the same refusal, now wrapped in procedural language and conditional promises.
Belgium has since portrayed its resistance as prudent financial stewardship. But critics across Europe, from Berlin to Vilnius, see it differently – as an act of obstruction that prioritises the comfort of bankers over the moral duty to hold Moscow accountable. What De Wever describes as “protecting Belgium’s interests” increasingly looks like protecting a lucrative flow of interest income from frozen Russian funds.
Beneath the language of caution lies something far more corrosive: a willingness to protect profit over principles and human lives, even as a brutal aggression rages on Europe’s doorstep.
Europe is sitting on Russia’s blood money, yet Brussels dithers. While Ukraine fights for survival, Belgium’s prime minister shields bankers from risk. Let’s be clear: dictators already hide their fortunes in Dubai, offshore havens, and gold vaults. Pretending that seizing Russia’s frozen billions would suddenly shatter global trust in the euro is a lie. This isn’t prudence—it’s cowardice dressed as caution. And when Europe’s richest economy – Germany – calls for action, Belgium’s veto looks less like hesitation and more like complicity.
If Europe’s financial system protects the blood-stained billions of Putin’s war sponsors more carefully than it protects Ukraine’s children, then something is deeply rotten at the heart of that economic order
What risks are greater than allowing Russia to finance its war machine while Europe preaches values it refuses to enforce – while the same Russia conducts hybrid warfare operations across EU soil, including in Belgium? Belgium’s own turf has seen suspected pro-Kremlin networks and covert influence campaigns — a clear sign that the war we debate is already in Europe’s backyard.
Yet even as these threats unfold at home, Belgium’s leaders seem more preoccupied with hypothetical risks to the eurozone than with the real dangers already at their doorstep. If Belgium’s concern is that other countries might withdraw their reserves from the eurozone, then perhaps those countries already plan to follow Russia’s path. Those who intend to wage war, crush freedoms, and defy international law don’t entrust their treasure to Belgium out of goodwill – they conceal it through dark networks, corrupt elites, and financial loopholes.
De Wever’s rhetoric also carries an unmistakable note of arrogance. By framing his refusal as the only “responsible” path, he paints leaders like Germany’s Friedrich Merz, Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, and the Baltic and Polish governments as reckless dreamers – sentimental moralists who don’t understand the “real world.” In doing so, he trivializes their courage and mocks the very idea that principles still have a place in politics. His posture suggests that moral clarity is naïve, and that only bankers grasp reality. But history rarely remembers those who hid behind caution – it remembers those who acted when it mattered most.
This debate is not about “confidence in the euro.” It’s about whose interests Europe protects. Euroclear, the Brussels-based clearing house that holds most of the frozen assets, profits from safeguarding blood-soaked wealth. Belgium fears legal liability, but Europe should fear something far greater: the collapse of its credibility. How can the EU preach solidarity with Ukraine while blocking the most direct path to making the aggressor pay?
Let’s even grant De Wever the benefit of the doubt. Let’s say he’s 100% right – that using frozen Russian assets could make the eurozone a less “safe” place to park sovereign funds.
Good! That’s really good!
Europe should never be a safe haven for criminals, oligarchs, or genocidal regimes. If Europe’s financial system protects the blood-stained billions of Putin’s war sponsors more carefully than it protects Ukraine’s children, then something is deeply rotten at the heart of that economic order. The eurozone should be a sanctuary for lawful states, not for war profiteers hiding behind legal technicalities.
De Wever claims he’s protecting financial stability, but in truth he’s protecting comfort – the comfort of bankers and investors who prefer predictable profits to moral courage. His argument is a velvet shield for those who have always benefited from neutrality, from sitting on the fence while others fight tyranny. By dressing moral cowardice as financial prudence, Belgium’s populist leader sends a dangerous signal: Europe’s banks are open for business, no matter the crime.
Meanwhile, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz, leader of Europe’s strongest economy, has dared to back the plan. He understands that Ukraine’s resilience depends on mobilising resources at scale – not tomorrow, but today. Against this, the Belgian prime minister’s objections sound scandalous. They echo the old European disease: moral cowardice disguised as pragmatism, financial comfort elevated above justice.
If Europe cannot find the courage to turn Putin’s frozen billions into weapons of freedom, then it will not just fail Ukraine. It will fail itself. History will not forgive those who sheltered bankers while a free nation was left to bleed.
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