It is no longer possible to stroll through parts of Brussels or Marseille without a creeping sense of unease. For all the reassurances from politicians and police spokesmen, ordinary Europeans know what they see: a steady erosion of public safety and the return of violent crime to levels not seen in more than a decade.
In France and Belgium especially, the headlines are becoming depressingly familiar. Knife attacks on public transport. Armed robberies in broad daylight. Teen gang violence spilling into schoolyards. Drug turf wars claiming bystanders. These are no longer isolated occurrences but symptoms of a deeper malaise.
Data from the European Crime Observatory reveal a stark reality: violent crime in both France and Belgium has surged to its highest point in over ten years. In France, reported assaults have increased by 17 per cent since 2020. In Belgium, burglary and armed robbery are once again common talking points at neighbourhood councils. And behind every statistic lies a human story—of shopkeepers barricading their premises, elderly couples afraid to leave their homes after dusk, and families watching their cities become unrecognisable.
It is not merely the volume of crime that has changed, but its character. Petty theft and pickpocketing, long considered nuisances in major cities, have given way to a brazenness that feels more Third World than European.
In the Brussels suburb of Anderlecht, local authorities recently pleaded for military assistance following an upsurge in gang activity and nightly gunfire. Marseille’s north districts, too, are slipping out of civil control, the police describing some as “no-go zones” in private though never in press releases.
Yet to express concern over these developments is to risk swift censure from progressive quarters. Critics cry scaremongering, accuse conservatives of playing politics with tragedy, or retreat behind dubious comparisons with historical trends. But such deflections offer no comfort to those whose daily lives are increasingly constrained by fear.
So what has gone wrong? There is no single culprit, but several failures converge.
First, the retreat of visible policing. As budgetary priorities have shifted towards social services and climate initiatives, front-line police presence in vulnerable areas has declined. The principle of deterrence—that the sight of a uniform can prevent a crime before it happens—has been quietly abandoned. This has left entire districts under-policed and effectively ceded to local criminal elements.
Second, the demographic and cultural tensions that many Western European cities now face cannot be ignored. It is not racist to acknowledge that integration has failed in many quarters, particularly among disaffected youth from immigrant backgrounds. These young men may not be inherently violent, but they have been left to drift in neighbourhoods where schools are under-resourced, jobs are scarce, and criminal gangs provide both income and identity.
Third, the judiciary’s soft touch has played a part. The revolving door of catch-and-release sentencing has become an international embarrassment. In Belgium, the average prison stay for assault is now just eight months, often reduced further for good behaviour or overcrowding. In France, victims are increasingly turning to private security firms—an implicit vote of no confidence in the state’s ability to protect them.
None of this is irreversible. There are countries in Europe—Hungary, Denmark, even parts of Italy—where crime has fallen thanks to clear-eyed policies: tough policing, zero tolerance for gang activity, and integration schemes that reward discipline over grievance. The lesson is clear: public safety cannot be delegated to wishful thinking or NGO pamphlets. It requires action, investment, and political courage.
And yet Europe’s leaders remain reluctant to confront the truth. Emmanuel Macron, obsessed with his place in European history, prefers lecturing citizens on climate targets while Paris suburbs burn. Belgium’s political class is so paralysed by coalition politicking that it took a month to approve emergency funding for police equipment.
Worse still, the EU’s own leadership seems more concerned with drafting new guidelines on digital speech than addressing the resurgence of physical violence in its cities. What value is a European Union if it cannot guarantee its citizens the basic right to walk the streets safely?
The social contract is fraying, and citizens know it. Public trust in institutions has plummeted across the Continent. In Belgium, only 31 per cent of respondents in a recent poll said they believed the state was capable of managing crime. In France, that figure was even lower. These are not just statistics—they are the dying gasps of social cohesion.
Europe must decide what sort of future it wants. It can continue down the current path—incremental decline, rising lawlessness, and civic disengagement—or it can reassert the primacy of law and order. The choice should not be difficult.
Criminality thrives where the state is absent, where punishment is uncertain, and where cultural integration is neglected. Rebuilding Europe’s cities into safe, cohesive communities will take more than slogans or subsidies. It will take hard decisions, the kind that make politicians unpopular in Brussels salons but admired at local bakeries and bus stops.
The people are waiting. And so are the criminals.
