The story starts with María Dolores de Cospedal, Spain’s Minister of Defence from 2011 to 2018 under Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy. Around 2016, as waves of migrants poured across Spain’s borders, Cospedal oversaw a military and security apparatus that critics say stood idly by. Reports from that time paint a picture of Spanish towns and beaches overrun by migrant vendors, hawking goods in direct competition with tax-paying local businesses. Rather than fortify the borders or empower police to act decisively, Cospedal’s tenure was marked by a softening stance—some might call it a surrender—that opened the floodgates. Legitimate companies watched their livelihoods erode as authorities, under her watch, were told to stand down, letting chaos take root in Spain’s southern gateways.
Then there’s Angela Merkel, the German Chancellor whose infamous “Wir schaffen das” (“We can do it”) in 2015 flung Europe’s doors wide open. Merkel’s decision to welcome over a million migrants that year didn’t just strain Germany—it ignited a continent-wide crisis. Eastern European nations like Hungary and Poland recoiled, warning of security risks and cultural upheaval, but Merkel pressed on, her moral grandstanding trumping pragmatic governance. The backlash was swift and fierce, fueling the rise of populist movements and exposing the EU’s inability to manage its borders. Merkel’s legacy isn’t unity—it’s division, a fractured bloc still grappling with the fallout of her reckless optimism.
And now, Ursula von der Leyen, the European Commission President, persists with the same misguided zeal. Her latest proposal, unveiled Tuesday in an 87-page document, promises to “harmonize” deportation rules, mandating cooperation from immigrants, extending detention for asylum seekers, and introducing “return hubs” in third countries. Von der Leyen calls the current 20% deportation rate “by far, too low,” and EU Commissioner for Internal Affairs Magnus Brunner insists these reforms will ensure “those who have no right to stay in the EU are actually returned.” But this is less a solution than a desperate PR stunt. The plan, set to take effect in mid-2027 if approved, conveniently kicks the can down the road—long after the damage has been done. Von der Leyen’s earlier pledges last July to strengthen borders and combat human trafficking sound noble, but they ring hollow against years of dithering and denial.
A legacy of chaos:
Sweden has often been labeled the “rape capital of Europe,” a claim tied to its high reported rape statistics, which many attribute to the country’s open-border policies during the EU migration chaos. In 2015, Sweden accepted around 163,000 asylum seekers—more per capita than any other EU nation—largely from conflict zones like Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan. This influx, combined with lax vetting processes and a historically liberal approach to immigration, has been linked by some to a rise in sexual violence. Reports, such as one from Swedish television in 2018, indicate that 58% of men convicted of rape over a five-year period were foreign-born, with the proportion jumping to over 80% in cases where the victim didn’t know the attacker. Critics argue that Sweden’s open borders allowed unchecked entry of individuals from cultures with differing attitudes toward women’s rights, exacerbating crime rates in a nation already known for broadly defining and encouraging the reporting of rape, which further inflates its statistics compared to other European countries.
Meanwhile, Hamburg, Germany’s second-largest city, appears to be catching up to Sweden’s troubling reputation as the EU migration chaos continues to ripple across the continent. Germany took in over a million migrants during the 2015-2016 crisis, and Hamburg, as a major urban hub, has seen its share of challenges. While exact rape statistics for Hamburg are less spotlighted than Sweden’s national figures, the city has faced a surge in violent crime, including sexual assaults, often linked to migrant populations in public discourse. Incidents like the 2016 New Year’s Eve attacks in nearby Cologne—where hundreds of women reported assaults by groups of men, many of migrant origin—have fueled perceptions that Hamburg is on a similar trajectory. The EU’s Schengen Area, with its porous internal borders, has compounded the issue, allowing movement of individuals without consistent monitoring, leaving cities like Hamburg grappling with integration failures and rising crime amid a chaotic migration framework that struggles to balance humanitarian ideals with public safety.
The proposal itself is a mixed bag. Mutual recognition of deportation orders and encouragement of voluntary returns might plug some holes, but “return hubs” in third countries raise more questions than answers. Which nations will take Europe’s rejects? How will this be enforced? And why should anyone trust an EU that’s spent a decade letting illegal immigrants slip through its fingers? The 2015 crisis, when over a million arrivals overwhelmed member states, should have been a wake-up call. Instead, it became a slow-motion catastrophe, with Brussels and its leading ladies doubling down on policies that prioritized optics over order.
