Despite rhetorical commitments to broader European engagement—such as a joint Weimar-Visegrád meeting in 2013—the structure’s true function was clear: it was an instrument for strengthening Germany and France’s influence while counterbalancing Italy, the UK, and smaller CEE states (EU member states which were part of the former Eastern bloc). That it failed to fully achieve these goals owes much to Germany and Poland themselves.

Although Germany initiated the Triangle as part of its post-Cold War reconciliation efforts, its momentum waned. While Chancellor Helmut Kohl strongly supported a Weimar-centric approach, his successor Gerhard Schröder shifted focus. Schröder preferred closer ties with Russia, alienating Warsaw in the process. The 2003 Iraq War saw Berlin and Paris siding with Moscow, while Poland, like the UK and Italy, joined the U.S.-led “Coalition of the Willing”. Meanwhile, Schröder’s energy policies—developing Germany’s reliance on Russian gas through Nord Stream—only deepened the rift.

Poland’s enthusiasm for the format dwindled accordingly. Successive Civic Platform-led governments sought greater alignment with Berlin and Paris, while right-wing Law and Justice (PiS) administrations prioritized Visegrád cooperation. It was no coincidence that the Weimar Triangle fell into neglect until President Bronisław Komorowski attempted a revival in 2011. However, with the election of a PiS-led government in 2015, Foreign Minister Witold Waszczykowski declared the format largely irrelevant.

For Germany, this was a strategic setback. As Visegrád emerged as a key bloc resisting Merkel’s migration policies, Berlin sought ways to pull Warsaw back into the fold. Yet Polish leaders remained wary of Franco-German dominance, particularly given the EU’s legal proceedings targeting Poland’s judiciary reforms. Only after Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine did Germany and France see a new opportunity to pry Warsaw away from Budapest and reintegrate it into their sphere of influence.

Donald Tusk’s return to power thus marked a predictable rekindling of Weimar cooperation. But as in the past, much depends on German leadership—something the current coalition in Berlin seems incapable of asserting. The SPD-led government has largely ceded its European agenda, not only in Brussels but also within the Weimar framework. The once-dominant Franco-German axis is politically paralyzed, hamstrung by internal discord.

This newfound enthusiasm for Weimar is less a product of strategic vision than of necessity. The looming specter of a Trump return has spurred liberal governments in Berlin, Paris, and Warsaw to posture as defenders of Western values—just as Merkel once cast herself as the counterweight to Trump’s America.

Yet 2025 is not 2017. Paris and Berlin are grappling with political turmoil; London and Madrid are in flux. Italy, under Giorgia Meloni, has become an unexpected pillar of European stability. The Netherlands now sees a government shaped by Geert Wilders’ influence, Sweden’s conservatives govern with support from the nationalist Sweden Democrats, the Flemish nationalist leader Bart De Wever has just become Belgium’s PM, and across Central Europe, figures such as Viktor Orbán, Robert Fico, and—soon—Austria’s FPÖ leader Herbert Kickl are setting the agenda.

What was once a tool for securing German primacy in the EU now appears as a last-ditch effort to salvage the pre-Trump European order. But the geopolitical landscape has shifted. Any serious attempt to revive the Weimar Triangle risks once again alienating Central and Eastern Europe—while failing to account for Italy’s growing clout. Given Germany’s lack of strategic clarity and leadership capacity, the likeliest outcome is that the Weimar revivalists will find themselves increasingly isolated.