Rupert Cornwell: Europe and America need each other. Shame that they can't see it

'There is resentment and anger in America at the complaining from her traditional allies abroad'

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Rupert Cornwell: Europe and America need each other. Shame that they can't see it

We watched as he visited Japan like an emperor from across the oceans. We shared the worries of South Korea at his fierce talk about the North, raising ancient spectres of war in the peninsula. And like China, we now look on in envy as he arrives in Beijing wrapped in a panoply of unrivalled global power.

George Bush may now be in Asia, but the fear and resentment aroused by America's perceived unilateralism are felt everywhere – and nowhere more than Europe. Mr Bush may be accused of being simplistic, but the simple and deeply disturbing fact is that almost never have the US and its closest allies seen the world in such profoundly differing ways.

Of course, wise old birds will murmur that we've been round this course before. An axis of evil? Didn't Europe get in a similar lather back in the Eighties when Ronald Reagan, another Republican president mocked for his simple views, talked of an "evil empire" and exhorted Mikhail Gorbachev to "tear down that wall?" Today, however, few would begrudge Reagan's role in hastening the West's victory in the Cold War.

Perhaps there will be another happy ending this time. But there are three important differences between then and now. Once America might have been more receptive to its allies' expressions of unease. Now, whenever they urge it to take its foot off the accelerator, America looks in the rear -view mirror and sees the blazing World Trade Centre. On occasion Europe forgets that atrocity was at the origin of what is happening now. America cannot, and does not.

Second, 20 years ago minds were concentrated by an enemy you could see on the map, an enemy which bound Europe and the US together by a common existential threat. Whatever modern terrorism is, it is not an existential threat in the shape of the old Soviet Union.

But it is the third difference which is most alarming; the sheer and ever-growing military disparity between America and the rest of the world. With a total military budget of almost $400bn, the nation that Hubert Vedrine, the French Foreign Minister, calls the "hyperpuissance" now spends more on defence than the next two dozen countries combined. The technological gulf is wider still.

Take Nato, historic capstone of the transatlantic alliance, and whose non-US forces were once vital to counterbalance those of the Warsaw Pact. No longer. In military terms, the US simply doesn't need Nato. The organisation will doubtless survive and acquire new members, as Washington wishes. But the division of labour will be very different. The US will do the fighting, while a select few, led by Britain, will conduct robust peacekeeping. The rest will have to content themselves, as they say, "with helping little old ladies across the road".

No longer does the US even bother to hector its allies to spend more on defence, having concluded that it is a waste of time. These latter, having different domestic claims on their resources, may secretly be relieved. But this is not the foundation for a healthy friendship.

It is all very well for Europe to complain about Mr Bush's "simplistic" views, to mock how he has lumped together three very different countries, and to warn – with good reason – that in each case his policy may be counterproductive. But whether we like it or not, America means it.

The US is not about to invade Iran or North Korea. For all the bluster, too, it almost certainly has not yet decided how and when to attempt "regime change" in Iraq, calculating that threats alone, if loud and frequent enough, will create a new dynamic. But if all else fails, everyone knows the US could remove Saddam by force of arms, alone if needs be.

Thus mutual incomprehension deepens. The older powers of Europe and Japan see an increasingly complex post-Communist world, in which terrorism is not a geographic target on the map, but an outgrowth of despair, poverty and the interlocking crises of the Middle East. But in Washington, Manichaeism flourishes as it has not since the Reagan era, and perhaps not even then. The nuances of history have been jettisoned. It is good versus evil; either you are with us or against us – and frankly my dear, we don't much care either way.

A few weeks ago I wrote in this space about the anti-Americanism in Europe, not least Britain, and made the mistake of providing an e-mail address. The response was massive, and from within the US one viewpoint dominated: "So you don't like us, fine. We saved Europe in a couple of world wars, and won the Cold War, but what's gratitude got to do with it? We will look after our own interests."

Many in the US government have similar feelings, albeit more diplomatically clothed. There is resentment and anger at the complaining from abroad. Even Colin Powell, fondly regarded by Europe as its man within the administration, is no longer to be counted upon, it seems. He would, he said, have to "have a word" with Chris Patten, and suggested Mr Vedrine might be "getting the vapours".

Powell's language is anxiously parsed, his thinking endlessly speculated upon. Maybe he is going along with the tough guys now, to ensure that a voice of moderation is heard when the decisions are taken. But let it not be forgotten that Powell, for all his political nous, made his career as a soldier – and soldiers obey orders.

Powell, though, must surely understand that the transatlantic arguing bodes nothing but trouble. Never has it been more vital that the US and Europe speak as one, if the outside world is to have a chance of halting the slide of Israelis and Palestinians into total war, but rarely has it seemed less likely. Ditto the crisis in Iraq, and soon perhaps in Afghanistan. Disputes over trade and other issues fester more openly, as the underlying world-views of the two sides diverge.

Never have the divisions looked harder to repair. Britain, torn as always between Europeanism and Atlanticism, argues that the best way to influence America is by acting as a friend and wielding influence behind the scenes. But does that still hold? In a quieter age, long before the "axis of evil", Tony Blair tried to promote Britain as a bridge between Europe and the US. The notion still seems vainglorious, but never has a bridge been more necessary. And never, alas, has one looked as hard to build.

rupertcornwell@hotmail.com