As leaders of the European People’s Party (EPP) gathered in sunny Valencia for their annual congress, storm clouds hung overhead—not just from the recent floods that scarred the region, but from growing political discontent that no one in the room seemed ready to face.
Instead, attention turned inward, as the EU’s dominant political force reelected Manfred Weber and launched plans to centralize its power even further.
Hosted by Spain’s Partido Popular, the congress buzzed with talk of unity and ambition, while quietly sidestepping the public’s frustration over EPP’s increasingly controversial leadership and widening disconnect from conservative voters across the bloc. And yet, despite whispers of discontent within the ranks, Weber sailed into another term unopposed, his leadership consolidating amid murmurs of authoritarianism and backroom maneuvering.
Weber’s reelection as both party president and group chairman wasn’t a surprise to Brussels insiders, who’ve watched him methodically expand his influence across EU institutions. Critics—some within his own party—grumble about his abrasive style and inflated ego. Yet no one stepped forward to challenge him. “Nobody wanted him, but nobody wants to rock the boat either,” a senior EPP source admitted last month.
For Weber, the congress marked more than just a personal victory—it was a launchpad for a sweeping reform agenda. He’s pushing to transform the EPP from a loose alliance into a tightly coordinated political machine, aligning party messaging across the European Parliament, national governments, and the European Commission.
His goal? Streamline party discipline, tighten control over policy decisions, and ensure that EPP members toe the line—essentially turning the group into the EU’s de facto ruling bloc. Critics argue this top-down approach mirrors an overreaching federalist agenda, blurring national identities in favor of centralized rule.
“We’re not a party—we’re a family of parties,” one frustrated delegate said, warning that Weber’s vision undermines the very national roots the EPP claims to represent.
Still, with center-right parties hemorrhaging support across Europe—often due to coalitions with leftist parties and a perceived abandonment of traditional values—many see Weber’s plan as a lifeline. The promise of transnational legitimacy, even if orchestrated from Brussels, is a tempting offer for parties struggling to maintain domestic support.
But the numbers don’t lie. In Austria and Germany, so-called conservative parties have suffered stinging defeats, while populist challengers like the AfD and FPÖ surge ahead. In Vienna, the ÖVP barely scraped together single-digit support, while in Germany, the CDU’s post-election coalition with the SPD sparked outrage, eroding public trust and sending polls into freefall.
Despite this, Weber dreams big. He envisions a new EPP-led era in which figures like himself, Commission President Ursula von der Leyen, and CDU leader Friedrich Merz form an unshakable trifecta atop Europe’s political structure. In his own words, Europe is entering “a new historical phase.”
What’s lost in this self-congratulatory vision, however, is a reckoning with the root causes of the center-right’s decline: the widening gulf between party leadership and conservative voters, the endless compromise with left-leaning factions, and a growing tendency to dismiss national accountability in favor of Brussels power games.
Weber may be building an empire in the EU’s capital, but critics warn he’s doing so on shaky ground. Without genuine democratic legitimacy—or the trust of the people center-right parties were once elected to serve—the EPP risks becoming a hollow force. And as voter backlash intensifies across Europe, clinging to centralization might be the quickest route to political irrelevance.
The congress in Valencia should’ve been a moment for reflection. Instead, it became a coronation. Now, the question lingers: will the EPP rediscover its roots—or lose itself entirely in Weber’s grand design?
