The signing this Saturday in Paraguay of the agreement between the European Union and Mercosur marks the end of a long-delayed chapter in global trade—and the opening of another whose consequences Europe can no longer afford to ignore. Mercosur, the Southern Common Market, founded in 1991, is a regional economic bloc and intergovernmental organization designed to promote economic and political integration among its member states through the free movement of goods, services, and people. With the EU agreement now in place, it is set to become one of the world’s largest free-trade areas, gradually eliminating tariffs on roughly 90 percent of traded products.

The deal has been more than two decades in the making, repeatedly postponed by political hesitation, sectoral resistance, and shifting global priorities. The urgency of the present moment is not accidental. The United States’ recent embrace of across-the-board tariffs has jolted Europe into action, forcing Brussels to recognize that strategic complacency carries a cost. Taking Mercosur seriously is part of a broader recalibration—one that may soon extend to India and beyond.

Reactions within Europe have been swift and, in some quarters, hostile. Agricultural producers in several countries, particularly large farming states, have taken to the streets, with protests that even included representation from the Azores. Their concerns are not frivolous. Agriculture—though only one of many sectors covered by the agreement, alongside raw materials and other commodities—sits at the heart of European anxieties about unfair competition.

Yet the picture is more complex than blanket opposition suggests. Analysts point to both clear gains and disruptions. The EU is expected to increase exports of wine, olive oil, fruit, and cheese. Madeira, for instance, is concerned that its banana producers may no longer be able to compete on equal terms. Meanwhile, the meat sector could face real pressure from South American producers—particularly Argentina and Brazil—whose scale and specialization pose undeniable challenges.

The core fear centers on unequal production standards and the costs they impose. Supporters of the agreement counter that certification requirements, rigorous inspections, and safeguard clauses can—and must—be enforced to prevent a race to the bottom. Without such mechanisms, competitive agriculture on either side risks suffocation. With them, trade liberalization need not be synonymous with agricultural extinction.

Consider wine producers across Europe, sitting on overflowing warehouses and struggling to move stock, even contemplating abandoning vineyards. For them, access to new, competitive markets is not an abstract promise but a potential lifeline. At the same time, livestock producers understandably fear an influx of cheaper meat that local breeds may struggle to compete with. Here again, prudence—not paralysis—is the answer: safeguard clauses, product differentiation, and specialization can help ensure survival and even renewal.

What Europe cannot afford is to retreat into a protective cocoon, convincing itself that internal markets alone are sufficient for sustainable growth. That assumption may comfort, but it does not add up. If we do the math honestly, the balance sheet is unlikely to favor isolation. The American lesson—of protectionism turning inward, with diminished global influence—should not fall on deaf ears.

Europe must either lace up its shoes and move decisively, or accept marginalization. Isolation is not neutrality; it is the fastest route to irrelevance.

Editorial of the newspaper Diário Insular, Angra do Heroísmo, Terceira, Azores.