Tag Archive for: Europe

Macron’s NATO mistake

Who in Europe today has a strategic vision of the world that takes account of radical changes to the global order and transcends lazy and comfortable conventional wisdom? At the risk of being accused of national bias, only one name comes to mind: French President Emmanuel Macron. Yet, in his boldness, Macron must be careful not to isolate himself from France’s European allies.

Some observers, mostly in France, praise Macron, while many more in Europe and the United States criticise him. But supporters and critics alike seem to perceive a continuity between his recent foreign-policy pronouncements and the thinking of former French president Charles de Gaulle.

If Gaullism is taken to mean realism, then the comparison is justified. But if it refers to an attempt by France to distance itself from the US and the project of European integration in order to regain some independence and sovereignty, then Macron is no Gaullist.

For de Gaulle, the projection of US power in the 1950s and 1960s was simply too much. Today, however, the opposite is the case: Macron wants to alert fellow Europeans to the growing risk of an erratic, inward-looking America. And the obvious conclusion Europeans should draw from Macron’s warnings is that Europe can count only on itself. That means the European Union must do better, and do more, while at the same time pausing further enlargement.

US President Donald Trump’s ‘America first’ agenda intensifies the main challenge now facing the world: the rise of China. Confronted with such radical geopolitical change, European leaders cannot simply rely on platitudes and pious wishes. If they want to be heard, they must speak clearly and forcefully—even at the risk of shocking others or being misunderstood.

In that regard, Macron’s recent criticism of NATO as being in a state of ‘brain death’, after Trump unilaterally gave Turkey (another prominent member of the alliance) a green light to invade northern Syria, was neither inaccurate nor excessive. It earned a rebuke from Trump but was merely a sad reckoning with reality.

Yet, in diplomacy, style matters—maybe more so than in any other field. Not all truths are welcome, and certainly not concomitantly. Macron should not have disparaged NATO, even if his critique was legitimate, while also pursuing a legitimate policy of trying to reset relations with Russia.

In the 1990s, Western policy towards Russia could be summarised as follows: engage if we can, and contain if we must. Today, the West must do both simultaneously—a complex and delicate task that may give rise to misunderstandings. France has not chosen Russia over the US, and Macron should avoid giving the impression that it has.

Less than a year from now, US voters may turn their backs on Trump, thereby ending his administration’s systematic violation of the values that used to underpin transatlantic unity. But even without Trump at the helm, America is unlikely to regain fully its interest in the world, particularly Europe.

By denouncing NATO so brutally, therefore, Macron may be shooting himself in the foot. To offend the sensibilities of fellow Europeans whom you want to rally to your vision is simply counterproductive.

Macron must reckon with the paradox of his approach: the more brilliant, energetic and imaginative he is, the more he runs the risk of isolating himself. A German friend who served in Chancellor Angela Merkel’s government recently confided to me that Merkel was becoming irritated by Macron, and in particular by the seemingly arrogant manner in which he was starting to treat her. In fact, she was almost feeling nostalgic for Macron’s predecessor, François Hollande.

Although Merkel may be nostalgic for the time when France had a weak president and Germany a strong chancellor, the reverse seems to be true today. Macron is frustrated not only by Trump’s total unpredictability, but also by the predictability, or even passivity, of Merkel.

In a world with little or no strategic leadership, Macron’s coherent and imaginative vision is welcome. But it will remain so only if he doesn’t get carried away by his own temperament. By insulting NATO, he risks isolating himself from governments in Brussels, Berlin, Warsaw and London that traditionally have been fierce defenders of the alliance.

Although Macron has an ideal vision of what Europe needs to become—a responsible, sovereign and autonomous power—he must tread a fine line in pursuing it. He should not encourage or accelerate the deconstruction of NATO, or deepen divisions among Europeans.

For all its limitations, old-style diplomacy also has merits—not least its emphasis on moderation, nuance and the search for compromise. No one, including Macron, can advance the cause of multilateralism in a unilateral manner.

Has Macron gone too far?

You can be talented, handsome, rhetorically skilled and politically brave, and yet suffer for it. In the long run, prudence and restraint are crucial ingredients of successful leadership, and it is precisely those two qualities that, so far, French President Emmanuel Macron appears to lack.

Macron wants to lead the European Union into the 21st century. But he will succeed only if he doesn’t go too far. If he overplays his hand, he will open himself up to a challenge from some other rising political leader. That could happen whenever Germany emerges from its domestic political malaise, if other member states decide to form a coalition against France, or if Macron alienates too many key players within the EU. The greater Macron’s ambitions, the higher the risk to his political future.

Politically, Macron is a contradiction in terms. A vocal anti-populist who employs populist tools, he has dismissed traditional political parties and called for politicians to be replaced by ordinary people. Accordingly, he insists that his La République En Marche! is not, in fact, a political party, and that he is neither of the left nor of the right. The main difference is that his program is not nationalist but pro-European, almost cosmopolitan, and that he opposes other populists. But his pro-European stance goes only as far as French economic interests allow, as he demonstrated when selecting nominees for the EU’s top jobs earlier this year.

Moreover, it’s worth remembering that Macron led the push for tighter regulations on ‘posted workers’—particularly those from Poland and Hungary—back in 2017, and that his toughest attack on Central and Eastern European populists was delivered from a French Whirlpool factory that was scheduled to move to Poland. Macron may sincerely want deeper European integration, but that didn’t stop him from nationalising a French shipyard to prevent it from being purchased by an Italian firm.

More recently, Macron has taken another page from the populist playbook by pursuing warmer relations with Russian President Vladimir Putin, and declaring NATO ‘brain dead’—language that was likely met with cheers in the Kremlin. Macron’s warning about NATO was meant as a wake-up call for Europe to secure its own defence autonomy. It was also a reminder that France is a nuclear power, meaning it doesn’t have to hide the doubts that other European leaders won’t voice.

Thanks to Macron’s efforts, Russia returned to the Council of Europe in June, following its suspension in 2014 in response to the annexation of Crimea. Then, at an ambassador’s conference in August, Macron voiced support for Russia’s return to the G8, and warned French diplomats not to stand in the way of his overtures to Putin. And in bilateral talks with Putin at France’s Fort de Brégançon that same month, it was Macron, not his guest, who spoke of a Europe that extends from Lisbon to Vladivostok.

But EU–Russia diplomacy isn’t the only area where Macron has been flexing his muscles. In October, he issued a surprise veto against EU accession negotiations with Albania and the Republic of North Macedonia, and he has since described Bosnia-Herzegovina as a ‘ticking time bomb’. Both moves are seemingly at odds with his pro-European stance, and doubtless delighted Putin.

In fact, Macron’s recent manoeuvres are clearly in his own personal interest. His embrace of Putin is probably meant to head off a challenge from the French far-right leader Marine Le Pen, whose past financial backers have included Russian banks with ties to the Kremlin. And by blocking North Macedonia’s and Albania’s accession, he is preventing any further strengthening of the EU’s Central and East European bloc, which could overbalance France’s voice in the European Council.

More broadly, Macron’s France finds itself in a geopolitical vacuum that has been created by Brexit in the United Kingdom, the rise of populists and nationalists in Italy, Catalonian secessionism in Spain and the consolidation of illiberal regimes in Central and Eastern Europe. The only reliable players left on the field are Germany and insular northern countries such as the Netherlands and Denmark. Because a Le Pen victory over Macron would strike a death blow to the EU itself, Germany has tolerated the French president’s ambitious initiatives. But its patience is wearing thin.

At the end of the day, the rules of the game in Europe are still set by Germany—and more specifically by Chancellor Angela Merkel. The problem is that Germany is too small to lead Europe on its own, yet too big not to do so. That’s why Macron would push through his choice of candidate for the head of the European Commission only when he found a German. Germany couldn’t force through its own candidate, so it had to accept Macron’s German for the job (now filled by Ursula von der Leyen, a former defence minister).

Nonetheless, Macron’s recent behaviour has made things more difficult for the Germans, who want incremental change rather than revolution. His warnings about NATO imply that Germany will need to expand its defence capabilities, for which there’s little support among German voters. If Macron is overly insistent, he could provoke German anger and resistance.

But Macron, like many others in Europe, has had enough of Germany’s own unilateralism on questions such as whether to admit refugees from Syria and Iraq or whether to ban arms exports to Saudi Arabia. He most likely wants to strike a deal with Merkel’s successor—be it German Defence Minister Annegret Kramp-Karrenbauer or someone else—on the EU budget, the question of expansion and the role of French firms in Germany’s defence build-up.

Historically, French diplomacy excels at grand bargains. But under Merkel, Germany has avoided such agreements, preferring the status quo or incremental changes, because it usually wound up paying extra. Macron’s hyperactive diplomacy exposes a post-imperial inferiority complex, the symptoms of which—whether Brexit or Putinism—are impeding Europe’s normalisation and hampering the EU’s mobilisation to counterbalance China and the United States. Macron’s rhetoric suggests that he wants to fight these symptoms. But his recent actions seem to be reproducing them.

Dealing with ‘problems without passports’: Australia–EU cooperation on counterterrorism

In a recent public lecture, former Australian foreign minister and outgoing chancellor of the Australian National University Gareth Evans commented, ‘Geopolitically, Europe’s role matters enormously, again, in a world where principled voices are in short supply … and where multilateral approaches to problem solving—particularly on those … issues … which Kofi Annan used to describe as “problems without passports”—have never been more necessary’.

While Evans cited climate change as the quintessential example, ‘problems without passports’ encompass all sorts of crises and challenges that transcend borders. The asymmetrical security threat posed by transnational terrorism is another case in point.

Despite sustained multilateral efforts over the past 18 years, the threat from terrorist groups seems to be constantly evolving rather than abating. Initial hope that the destruction of Islamic State’s ‘caliphate’ in Iraq and Syria would also signal the demise of the movement was misplaced. IS has shown itself to be resilient and adaptable as it seeks to shift its frontiers to other geographic locations in Asia and Africa. The influence of IS—especially through former fighters and sympathisers making their way to Europe or Southeast Asia—remains an ongoing challenge for security and law-enforcement agencies in Europe and the Asia–Pacific region.

In this complex, interconnected global and regional security environment, Europe and Australia are both confronted by security issues that require strategic and coordinated long-term efforts to match their fluid nature.

As Peter Jennings remarked in this context, ‘Australia and Europe also face shared threats that are not limited by geography and are increasingly high priority. Cooperation on counter terrorism and cyber security draws key intelligence and security agencies closer together … In many respects our alignment is natural given our shared values and similar strategic perspectives.’

As like-minded partners with a common rules- and values-based foundation that sets the parameters for political action, Australia and Europe are well positioned to exchange ideas, information and best practice. Their security partnership began with the end of the Cold War, but following the 11 September 2001 terror attacks in the US, Australia and the EU formally increased their cooperation and began to advance dialogue on foreign policy and security matters. The 2017 framework agreement between the EU and Australia, described by the EU ambassador to Australia as a ‘strategic upgrade’, aims to strengthen relations by ‘identifying concrete ways’ for closer, more effective cooperation.

One example of increased Australia–EU cooperation and knowledge exchange on security matters is the annual 1.5 track dialogue between ASPI and the Regional Program for Australia and the Pacific of the Konrad-Adenauer-Stiftung (KAS), a German political foundation and think tank with a global network. ASPI and KAS recognised in 2015 that Australia and Europe share similar challenges in countering terrorism and violent extremism—yet there was no (sub-official) forum for those involved in combatting these threats to share views, gain new understandings and explore avenues for strengthening cooperation.

The result has been a series of thought-provoking seminars alternating each year between Australia and Berlin or Brussels. The 2018 dialogue focused on how the fall of the IS caliphate in the Middle East has affected terrorism dynamics. Participants sought to identify the extent to which Australia and European states had adjusted their systems and outlooks to respond to the challenges posed by jihadism in the post-caliphate period. While discussions were held under Chatham House rules to allow for an open, confidential exchange, the main topics and findings are presented in a new special report for ASPI, compiled by Isaac Kfir and me.

Titled Shifting frontiers: addressing post-caliphate terrorism dynamics, the report covers the dialogue’s key themes, which reflect current issues in terrorism research, and links them to wider policy-relevant debates. In order to illustrate the breadth of perspectives, the publication features contributions by participants from Australia and Germany—notably Australia’s minister for defence, Linda Reynolds, who was then assistant minister for home affairs; the German parliamentary state secretary, Günter Krings; and Daniel Heinke, chief of detectives and director at the State Bureau of Investigations, Bremen Police.

These shared perspectives are testament to the strength of counterterrorism approaches grounded in joint values and principles, such as respect for the rule of law, human rights and fundamental freedoms. It’s not just pretty rhetoric to stress that Australia and Europe need reliable partners like each other that are responsive to the challenges at hand: in the face of transnational threats and quickly shifting threat vectors, it’s vital for upholding the rules-based order. This is especially acute when we’re dealing with the embodiment of ‘problems without passports’—the question of repatriating former IS members and their families.

Yet, a recurring emphasis on like-mindedness through common interests and values shouldn’t obscure a realistic look at where interests and values diverge. As has been observed in the context of the Australia–US strategic alliance, sometimes the happy lens of commonality—as important as it is—comes at the expense of understanding the finer nuances of a relationship and its cultural differences. Comparing and contrasting approaches with an open and analytical mind avoids blurred assessments.

As I note in the introduction to the report, identifying ‘knowledge gaps that have practical implications for countering terrorism’ is crucial. Often, failures of the imagination lead to an underestimation of the multilayered nature of terrorist phenomena. A nuanced, context-specific approach is key to avoiding overgeneralisations and policy responses that don’t correspond to reality—which is frequently more granular and complex than commonly assumed.

Remembering the miracle of 1989

This month marks 30 years since Europe—and human civilisation generally—began to undergo a miraculous transformation that is now etched in the world’s memory. By the summer of 1989, the Soviet Union was already in terminal decline. The only question was whether communism would disintegrate peacefully, or amid an explosion of violence and devastation.

In the Soviet Union itself, Mikhail Gorbachev’s policies of glasnost and perestroika had opened the floodgates of change, but Gorbachev still seemed to believe that the communist system could be salvaged through reform. Meanwhile, on the periphery of the Soviet empire, many feared that a potential collapse of the system would bring Red Army tanks back into streets and city squares. Memories of Soviet crackdowns in Berlin in 1953, Budapest in 1956 and Prague in 1968 remained vivid, as did the severe repression of the Baltic states in the run-up to World War II.

Born in terror, the Soviet Union had been sustained by jackboots and secret police. Nobody knew if it could survive without resorting to brute force once again. It was a nervous time for Europe.

But it was also a time of change. Efforts to suppress Poland’s independent trade union, Solidarity (Solidarnosc), had failed. Forced to compromise, the Polish communist regime held semi-free elections in June 1989, in which Solidarity won all but one of the freely contested seats. Meanwhile, in the three Baltic republics (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania), broad-based ‘people’s fronts’ had already been calling for more autonomy from the Soviet Union, and soon began demanding full independence.

On 23 August, two million people formed a human chain stretching 600 kilometres through Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, calling for independence. The timing of the so-called Baltic Way was no accident. Exactly 50 years earlier, Hitler and Stalin had entered into a secret non-aggression pact under which Eastern Europe was to be divided between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. That paved the way for World War II, and immediately spelled the end of freedom and independence in the Baltics.

But the central, potentially explosive arena in 1989 was the so-called German Democratic Republic (GDR)—that is, communist East Germany. It was essentially a garrison state, built for the protection of five Soviet armies—spanning 19 divisions and comprising 500,000 soldiers—that had been stationed there since 1945. Although the Berlin Wall became a powerful symbol of Europe’s bifurcation after August 1961, it’s worth remembering why it was needed in the first place: to prevent the collapse of the GDR, and thus of the Soviet outer empire in Europe.

A few days before the human chain formed in the Baltics, some 600–700 East German citizens had held a peaceful demonstration during which they crossed the barbed wire near Sopron, a small Hungarian town on the border with Austria. What became known as the Pan-European Picnic was the largest escape from behind the Iron Curtain since the building of the Berlin Wall. More to the point, it had been carefully planned to test the reaction of the Soviet authorities.

In the Kremlin, the Soviet leadership—or Gorbachev, at least—continued to believe that the empire was safe and could be reformed. The Baltic Way was tolerated, and the Pan-European Picnic was simply ignored. But the latent potential of those demonstrations soon became apparent. People began to flee the GDR by the thousands. Soon enough, the Hungarian authorities had no alternative but to open the border. Droves of East Germans flooded into Czechoslovakia in search of a route to the West. On 9 November, fumbling GDR leaders even opened the Berlin Wall itself.

The East German state would be gone in less than a year. Following democratic elections in March 1990, East Germans decided to merge with the Federal Republic of Germany. With the GDR gone, the collapse of the Soviet empire was all but complete.

Some think that the momentous change that began in 1989 was inevitable. They would do well to remember that in June of the same year, China’s elderly rulers had deployed tanks to crush (literally) the peaceful freedom movement in Tiananmen Square. And there were plenty of communist leaders urging a ‘Chinese solution’ for the demonstrations of 1989. In fact, at the Soviet command post just south of Berlin (which had served as command centre for the German Army during World War II, and which had been seized from Hitler decades earlier), Red Army marshals were awaiting orders to march in and save the empire by whatever means necessary.

No one can know what would have happened if more conservative forces in the Kremlin had prevailed. Most likely, there would have been widespread disorder and violence across much of the region, which would have put the West under substantial pressure to intervene. Open war would have been a distinct possibility. After all, large empires throughout history have generally gone out with a bang. If anything, the Soviet experience was an exception.

Thankfully, that order to the Red Army was never issued. Part of the reason was that Soviet leaders believed, mistakenly, that a crackdown was unnecessary, and that the system would survive. But it was also because democratic forces were starting to assert themselves within Russia itself. The rising leader in Moscow was Boris Yeltsin, who held no attachment to the nostalgia of an overextended and unsustainable empire.

Thirty years ago, Europe experienced a truly miraculous few months. Today, we should honour not only those who fought for change, but also those who refused to send out the tanks. Blood could have flowed through the streets of Europe once again, but it did not.

What the end of Chimerica means for Europe

The escalating rivalry between China and the United States is ushering in a bipolar world. While the past few decades have been defined mostly by cooperation among the world’s leading powers, the next few will be marked by zero-sum competition. Already, globalisation and the deepening of ties between countries are giving way to what has euphemistically been called ‘decoupling’. Countries and regions are sorting themselves into smaller economic and geopolitical units under the guise of ‘taking back control’.

All of these trends are on display in the fight over the Chinese technology giant Huawei, a multinational company that purchases components from the US, Europe, Brazil and elsewhere, sells its products in 170 countries, and is leading the expansion of 5G networks in many parts of the world. Until recently, Western businesses welcomed Huawei’s low-cost, high-quality products; its presence kept US and European technology firms on their toes.

But now, the Trump administration’s ban on sales of key components to Huawei by US firms, and its pressure on US allies to do the same, seems to have triggered a full-scale reversal of globalisation. If Huawei and other Chinese ‘champions’ are to survive, they must end their supply-chain dependency on the US.

Moreover, the Trump administration’s warnings about potential Chinese espionage have prompted many American universities to break ties with Chinese companies and educational institutions. US start-ups are refusing, or being blocked from accepting, Chinese investment. Not surprisingly, Huawei reports that its overseas smartphone sales have fallen by 40%. It now expects to lose US$30 billion in revenue over the next two years.

Behind the Sino-American conflict are two aspiring strongmen competing for primacy: US President Donald Trump and Chinese President Xi Jinping. Each has pursued an agenda of national rejuvenation and fundamentally changed his country’s standing in the world.

Trump believes that the US is suffering relative decline because it benefits less than others from the current global order. Convinced that as China grows stronger, the US necessarily becomes weaker, he has launched a campaign of ‘creative destruction’, undermining institutions such as the World Trade Organization and NATO, and scrapping trade deals like the Trans-Pacific Partnership. The idea is to force individual countries into bilateral renegotiations with the US while it is still in a position to set the terms.

For his part, Xi has radically recast the Chinese political system and put his stamp on economic and foreign policy. Through his ‘Made in China 2025’ policy, he hopes to elevate China from a low-tech manufacturing economy to a global leader in cutting-edge technologies such as artificial intelligence. His plan seems to involve acquiring Western technology and knowhow, and then driving Western companies out of the Chinese market.

The technological revolution Xi envisions would consummate China’s transformation into a big-data dictatorship. The Chinese Communist Party’s power will be secured by a 21st-century surveillance state, currently being tested in Xinjiang Province, where at least one million Chinese Uyghur Muslims are being held in concentration camps. And, beyond China’s borders, Xi hopes to use US$1 trillion in transnational infrastructure investment—his signature Belt and Road Initiative—to establish a sphere of Chinese influence stretching across Eurasia, Africa and the Pacific Rim.

But while Trump and Xi have disrupted the domestic status quo in their respective countries, their geostrategic agendas have merely accelerated developments that were already underway. Economically, the global balance of power has long been shifting from Washington to Beijing, making competition inevitable. What has changed is that the US–China relationship is no longer a complementary arrangement between developed and developing economies. Now that China and the US are increasingly vying for the same prize, a zero-sum logic of competition has set in—Chimerica is no more.

This change has come as a shock to Europeans, who now must worry about becoming roadkill in a Sino-American game of chicken. Recent polling by the European Council on Foreign Relations suggests that most Europeans—including 74% of Germans, 70% of Swedes, and 64% of French—would prefer to remain neutral.

These findings will certainly suit the Chinese. Back in 2003, when the US invaded Iraq, China started looking for diplomatic inroads into Europe. The reason, the influential Chinese academic Yan Xuetong told me, was that, ‘When we go to war with the USA, we hope Europe will at least stay neutral.’ It is thus little wonder that Xi and Chinese Premier Li Keqiang have been making the rounds in Davos and at the Munich Security Conference, pressing for multilateralism. The hope, clearly, is to drive a wedge between Europe and a US governed by Trump’s ‘America first’ administration.

But neutrality is not really an option for Europeans. As the US and China decouple, both sides will ask Europe to pick a side. Moreover, Europeans have begun to take note of the threat posed to their own companies by China’s state-capitalist economic model and closed market. A recent European Commission paper refers to China as a ‘systemic rival’ and proposes a new mechanism for screening Chinese investment.

The problem is that while Europe’s relations with China are cooling, so, too, have its ties to the US. Europeans want to live in a multilateral world where decisions are guided by rules and traditional alliances are observed. Trump and Xi want something else entirely.

Fortunately, although European voters have remained passive, the EU and key European governments have been thinking more about European sovereignty. There’s a growing realisation that if Europe doesn’t have its own competencies in AI and other technologies, European values will scarcely matter.

The question, then, is how to protect European sovereignty in the face of US secondary sanctions, Chinese investments and other external sources of coercion. The answer isn’t obvious. But if Europe succeeds, it could become a coequal power in a tripolar world, rather than merely a pawn in a game played by Trump and Xi.

Russia’s strategic priorities, viewed from within

While the European Union gears up for new leadership in the northern autumn and US President Donald Trump gets his 2020 re-election campaign going, Russian President Vladimir Putin is sitting steady in the saddle with a mandate stretching to 2024. But what, exactly, does Putin intend to do with his next five years in the Kremlin?

Like leaders of all major powers, Russia’s elite must regularly try to divine the future in order to shape the country’s strategic priorities in a way that anticipates likely challenges. The United States conducts such assessments every four years under the direction of the National Intelligence Council; the EU does so every five years, and has just published a semi-independent study of likely global trends between now and 2030.

In Russia’s case, geostrategic forecasting is one of the activities of the semi-official Primakov Institute of World Economy and International Relations (IMEMO), which has published a global outlook for 2035. Generally speaking, its assessment of future trends is similar to that of the US and the EU. Where the report gets interesting is in its appraisal of the implications for Russia. The authors identify several strategic dilemmas the country will face.

For example, according to the report, Russia’s top priority is ‘preserving and improving its position in the world hierarchy of powers and responsibility’. But achieving that will require a ‘structural reconstruction of the Russian economy’. Without far-reaching economic reforms—or what the authors describe as ‘radical changes’—Russia’s international standing will almost certainly decline. The same point is made with great force in Anders Åslund’s acclaimed book Russia’s crony capitalism.

Following the discussion of Russia’s economic plight, which is no small matter, the report addresses a number of complicated geostrategic issues. The authors expect an ‘inevitably long political conflict with the West in connection with Russia’s role in the post-Soviet space, first of all in defining the future of Ukraine and neighboring territories’. In the near term, they conclude that such tensions will make it necessary for Russia to turn to China and other parts of Asia.

The implication is that the authors see no possible resolution to the conflicts that Russia has created in its attempts to undermine its immediate neighbours’ sovereignty. The study simply takes for granted that the Kremlin will continue to pursue revanchist policies abroad, despite the obvious negative impact its aggressive behaviour has had on Russia’s international standing and domestic economy. It is as though Russia’s illegal incursions into Georgia and Ukraine are mere historical matters, admitting of no solution in the present.

As for moving closer to China, this has been a hallmark of the Kremlin’s foreign policy at least since Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March 2014 provoked Western sanctions. Already this year, Putin has paid a visit to Chinese President Xi Jinping in Beijing, and Xi has met with Putin in Moscow and St Petersburg.

The problem, as the IMEMO study shows, is that pursuing closer cooperation with China is not really a viable option for ensuring Russia’s long-term development. ‘In the long run’, the authors point out, ‘cooperation with China and other Asia–Pacific countries cannot become a strategic alternative to cooperation with the West’. Accordingly, the authors believe the Kremlin should be directing its efforts towards ‘working out its own agenda for possible active cooperation with’ Europe and the US.

The upshot, then, is that Russia has not only failed to modernise as it should, but it has also enmeshed itself in regional conflicts that have precipitated a crisis with the powers upon which its own development depends. This has forced Russia to rely ever more on China, even though it knows that becoming a junior partner to its eastern neighbour is not a desirable way forward. One way or another, Russia must find a way to restore relations with the West. This cannot happen immediately, given that the conflict in Ukraine remains a live issue, but it must be on the long-term agenda.

The obvious solution to the dilemma—admit that the conflict with Ukraine was a huge strategic mistake and seek an honest settlement—was probably beyond the mandate of a study like this.

The question, of course, is whether Putin himself takes IMEMO studies seriously, or even reads them at all. I sincerely doubt it. Most likely, shorter-term security assessments are what command his attention. Nonetheless, it’s notable that a respected semi-official institution with strong support among influential members of the Russian elite has produced such a report. Though its language is often cautious and obscure, it is a clear critique of Putin’s entire approach to foreign policy.

Moreover, the IMEMO is absolutely correct: Russia has created a situation in which its global standing might well deteriorate. Continued conflicts with its neighbours at the expense of its relationship with the West will inevitably prevent it from pursuing economic modernisation and development. And without a strong economic foundation, it will have no chance of securing a respectable ‘position in the world hierarchy of powers and responsibility’ that Putin seems to find so important.

Europe’s only decision

As the European Parliament election approaches, Europe is abuzz with speculation over who will lead the main European Union institutions for the next five years. Among the positions up for grabs are those currently held by European Commission President Jean-Claude Juncker, European Council President Donald Tusk, EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Federica Mogherini and European Central Bank President Mario Draghi.

Personnel issues are hardly trivial. In politics, personality matters, and it has often played a pivotal role in determining the EU’s trajectory. Still, the leadership name game shouldn’t be the main focus. Far more important is the debate over the EU’s 2019–2024 strategic agenda.

After holding an informal summit in Sibiu, Romania, earlier this month, European leaders will return to this issue in earnest later in June. And for all of the attention paid to the EU’s institutions, it is EU heads of state who will craft the bloc’s agenda. In other words, member-state governments, operating through the European Council, will be the actors to watch after the election results are in.

When the European Economic Community, the precursor to the EU, was established in 1957, its primary objective was to secure the peace between France and Germany, starting with a customs union for industrial goods (for the Germans) and a common agricultural policy (for the French).

This arrangement anchored the European agenda for decades. Then, when the Soviet Union and its empire collapsed, countries that had been trapped behind the Iron Curtain wanted to ‘return to Europe’. In the years since, the EU has undergone a massive expansion to include them. Its goal has been twofold: to aid the newer member states in their post-communist economic and political development, and to maintain continental peace and stability by bringing Central and Eastern Europe into the fold of EU institutions.

The immediate post–Cold War period was a time of self-confidence and optimism for the EU. Gradually, its strategic mission expanded beyond merely keeping the peace to projecting the European model of shared sovereignty and integration abroad. The EU model, it was said, would lead to more stable governance for the entire world.

Over the past decade, however, the EU’s effort to project its model outward has collapsed. Following the 2008 financial crash, the euro crisis and recurrent migration imbroglios, the EU has turned inward. At the same time, the EU’s immediate neighbourhood has transformed from a circle of potential friends and partners into a ring of fire.

Now, rather than trying to export stability, Europe’s strategic priority is to protect itself from the wider world. In trying to breathe new life into the EU after years of inward-looking crisis management, French President Emmanuel Macron has pushed for ‘a Europe that protects’. Following Macron’s call to arms in March, the EU leadership in Brussels has taken up that mantra and bundled various initiatives under the theme of protecting Europe in an age of global tumult.

Such protection is undoubtedly necessary. Migration pressures, the constant threat of terrorism and escalating economic disputes all demand stronger policy responses. And while addressing some of these issues has proved controversial and difficult, the larger protection agenda is being carried out.

Yet, looking ahead, it’s clear that the current measures won’t be enough. The EU finds itself in a world dominated by great-power rivalries, Chinese assertiveness and revisionist Russian belligerence. Worse, in confronting these threats, it can no longer count on the US as an unconditional friend and ally.

The EU now must choose between securing its own place on the global stage and becoming a playground for other powers. This is a strategic decision of the first order—all other policy choices will follow from it.

If Europe ignores or checks out of the dramas roiling the world from Amritsar in India to Agadir in Morocco, it will fail to ensure peace in its neighbourhood and betray its promise to its citizens to protect them from external danger. For the EU to uphold its original mission—peace and stability at home—it must become a global player.

The choice, then, is clear. Europe’s strategic mission in the coming years must be to secure its position on the world stage, and all matters of policy and personnel should be settled in a way that advances that objective. Obviously, a strong European Council president, working closely with a strong high representative, will be essential. Both will need to mobilise the resources and talents of all member states to prevent the EU’s constituent parts from being pulled in different directions by global forces.

If the EU’s member states embrace this mission, Europe will be positioned to act as a global player for years to come. Otherwise, they—and the EU as a whole—will find themselves on a merry-go-round over which they have no control.

The emotion of Notre Dame

People were chanting, praying and crying, or just frozen in total disbelief, as the flames engulfed ‘their’ cathedral of Notre Dame, the object of their individual and collective memory. The emotions of those who witnessed the fire in Paris on 15 and 16 April have been echoed around the world. Let us hope that this global outpouring of empathy in response to a tragedy will have lasting positive effects, in France and beyond.

Not since the two terrorist attacks that bloodied the French capital in 2015 had I received as many messages of sympathy (and interview requests) as I did after the fire broke out. They came from Australia, Japan, the United States, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and many other countries.

The fire also prompted an immediate rush of generous financial contributions to help rebuild the cathedral, not only from France, where hundreds of millions of euros were pledged in just one day, but from across the globe. In America in particular, wealthy donors were quick to support the cathedral that had rung its bells in grief for the victims of the 9/11 terrorist attacks in 2001.

Some may be slightly shocked by such a moving outburst of positive emotions, as if the fate of an 800-year-old building were more important than the survival of the planet, the lives of millions of refugees, or the plight of the world’s poor. We seem to find it easier to care about preserving the inheritance of the past than about saving the future. We would rather protect historical buildings than human beings.

And yet I understand and share the emotions triggered by the fire, as well as the sense of responsibility for handing this monument intact to future generations. Notre Dame was a familiar fixture for my grandparents, and I want ‘her’ to continue to be so for my grandchildren. If our collective duty as human beings is to repair and improve our surroundings as much as we can in our very short time on this planet, then the fate of the cathedral is a natural priority. I want history to see my generation as the one that did its utmost to rebuild Notre Dame, or perhaps make it even more beautiful, as a universal symbol of peace and beauty.

I am not a Christian. But as a Parisian, a Frenchman and a European, not to mention a citizen of the world, I was seized by a profound sense of impending loss when the fire began, as experts feared that the entire cathedral could collapse. I had to rush to see the building to keep a memory of it, before it became a field of ruins, a sea of ashes. I felt I owned Notre Dame, as an integral part of my history and even my life.

Countless millions before me could have said the same. Napoleon was crowned emperor in Notre Dame in December 1804. A generation later, the French literary giant Victor Hugo immortalised the cathedral in his novel The hunchback of Notre Dame, which was later made into successful films and a musical. And in August 1944, Charles de Gaulle attended a mass there to celebrate the liberation of Paris during World War II, when the city was not yet fully pacified.

But why do millions of people all over the world share my emotions? The cathedral’s beauty is certainly part of the reason, as is the spectacular nature of the fire that nearly destroyed it. A friend of mine, whose balcony looks out on Notre Dame on the left bank of the Seine, described to me what she could only call a ‘fascination with horror’. Paris was not burning, but its emotional heart was. What’s more, this gigantic fire was live on prime-time news. The most visited monument in Europe, according to the French authorities, was about to collapse. It was precisely this element of familiarity that helped to generate the near-universal empathy for the cathedral’s fate.

This reminded me of a debate I had 10 years ago with the American philosopher Martha Nussbaum, who described an experiment on mice. Only when a mouse they ‘knew’ was subjected to pain, she said, did the other mice express an interest in its suffering. The rest of the time, they were completely indifferent.

This empathy has turned something that started as a horror movie into a feel-good film, at least for now. French President Emmanuel Macron sensed the widespread emotion and used it masterfully in calling for national unity in the fire’s aftermath. For the past few months, France has experienced demonstrations and outbursts of violence every weekend and the country has never been so polarised in recent times. But Macron suddenly had a powerful argument at his disposal: such a tragedy calls for transcending petty divisions and embracing generosity and collective responsibility.

The positive emotions that emerge following such an event are usually intense and short-lived, and this time will probably be no different. The Notre Dame drama and Macron’s skilful response to it has given the French president some much-needed respite ahead of the upcoming European Parliament elections. But as former British prime minister Harold Wilson used to say, a week is a long time in politics. And the European elections are still a month away.

NATO’s Stoltenberg paradox

As it turns 70, NATO is facing its most severe challenges since the Cold War ended nearly three decades ago. The alliance has been rocked by Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea and its invasion of the Donbas region in eastern Ukraine, US President Donald Trump’s stinging criticism, and the United Kingdom’s Brexit-fuelled metamorphosis into little England. Despite these setbacks, NATO has significantly strengthened its commitment to Central and Eastern Europe in recent years. Yet it needs to do more.

True, the United States and its European NATO allies disagree on important issues such as defence spending, trade, climate change and the Iran nuclear deal—as the alliance’s current secretary general, Jens Stoltenberg, acknowledged during a recent visit to Warsaw. But, as Stoltenberg correctly pointed out, military cooperation within NATO is better than it has been in years. This ‘Stoltenberg paradox’ is arguably most evident in NATO’s progressive strengthening of its Eastern flank, including Poland.

Stoltenberg justifiably highlights NATO’s recent reforms. For example, the alliance has built up its new ‘very high readiness joint task force’. In addition, NATO has developed a series of large-scale military exercises along its eastern flank to show Russia that the alliance treats its obligations toward each member state seriously. This is especially important for Poland and the Baltic states, all of which have a border with Russia.

The rotational deployment of multinational NATO battalions in the Eastern flank countries has also demonstrated the alliance’s resolve. This enhanced forward presence has included the transfer of American military personnel and equipment to the region.

As a result, there are now 4,400 US troops stationed in Poland. This marks a great leap forward from the initial agreements signed by Poland’s former foreign minister, Radek Sikorski (regarding a missile defence base in the town of Redzikowo), and by me as defence minister (regarding a permanent US Air Force establishment in Lask).

The allies took another step forward at the NATO summit in Brussels in July last year, when they approved the new NATO readiness initiative, or ‘four thirties.’ The initiative requires the alliance to have an additional 30 mechanised ground battalions, 30 air squadrons and 30 combat vessels ready to deploy within 30 days. This is at the heart of NATO’s current doctrine of ‘deterrence by rapid reinforcement’.

And yet a key question remains unanswered: will allied deterrence prevent possible Russian aggression during those 30 days? NATO’s existing forward-deployed forces would not be able to provide protection, especially if Russia seized the Suwalki Gap (on the Poland–Lithuania border) or one of the Baltic states before reinforcements arrived. The alliance must do more to resolve this ‘30-day gap’.

Trump’s interventions, meanwhile, have raised other, knottier political questions. His statement that NATO was obsolete shook many in Europe and was a gift to Russia. And whereas Trump favours a business-oriented approach, the alliance is based on the binding principle of ‘all for one, one for all’. Without it, NATO would not exist. The UK’s decision to leave the EU further deepened European concerns.

But fears about the transatlantic alliance are not an excuse for Europe’s policymakers to float wildly unrealistic proposals, such as a European army independent of NATO.

French President Emmanuel Macron’s idea of ‘strategic autonomy’ seems equally nebulous. Macron recently proposed a European security and defense treaty—a kind of defensive Schengen agreement—and the creation of a European security council that would include the UK after it leaves the EU. This concept would establish an alternative structure to NATO and go beyond the EU’s common security and defence policy, which is just being rebuilt.

Faced with new threats, Europe should use the mechanisms and tools it already has. These have been on the table for a decade, but only in the past three years have policymakers been willing to use them.

For example, in 2017, EU leaders established ‘permanent structured cooperation’ to increase defence collaboration among member states and invoked the EU’s ‘solidarity clause’ at France’s request in the wake of terrorist attacks in that country. Furthermore, the EU signed a declaration of cooperation with NATO last year and has agreed to create a European defence fund. All of these initiatives will strengthen Europe without undermining the alliance.

The EU can continue to improve its military capabilities without having to create new structures that go beyond its existing legal framework. For starters, European leaders need to decide on the future of the EU battlegroups, which have been on duty for years but have never been deployed. They should also seriously consider expanding the EU’s existing military planning and conduct capability in order to have a fully fledged EU operational command in place after 2020. The EU has undertaken over 30 military, civilian and mixed missions, and the bloc plans to be even more active internationally under the recently adopted EU global strategy.

All those initiatives within the legal framework of the EU would strengthen Europe without undermining the role of NATO. And this should be our principle for long-term strategy and policy.

NATO enters its eighth decade amid continued disagreements between the US and Europe. We must hope that the Stoltenberg paradox disappears, and that the alliance further strengthens its military efforts to deter possible Russian aggression while reducing political tension between American and European allies. Poland and the rest of NATO’s eastern flank will be watching closely.

Brexit and the strategic vulnerability of a banana monarchy

Britain’s The Economist is renowned for its measure, sobriety and understatement. So when the lead editorial in its 16 March 2019 edition solemnly announced that ‘the country is lost … it is a laughing-stock’, clearly something very serious had happened. Given Britain’s legacy in the near ubiquitous Cavendish cultivar—Joseph Paxton won the Royal Horticultural Society prize for it in 1835—Britain might at last lay claim to the title of the world’s first banana monarchy.

The economic, political and social consequences of the Brexit shambles have been well documented, not least of all by The Economist over many months.

Major financial institutions are relocating to the continent, car factories are downsizing or relocating, while continuing austerity measures are widening the inequality gap and narrowing the prospects for an economic upturn.

The poverty of Prime Minister Theresa May’s leadership, to say nothing about her abysmal record in both domestic political manoeuvre and international negotiation, is stark. Even starker is the prospect of Scotland’s secession from the United Kingdom, surely an unimaginable price for arrogance and hubris. And for as long as Jeremy Corbyn continues to play Punch to May’s Judy, the Labour Party offers no real hope of salvation.

This may all look like a ‘Westminster bubble’ writ large.

But in an important strategic sense, the social consequences of the Brexit fiasco may prove to be the most dangerous, since they erode one of the central pillars of long-term national security. For, along with economic strength founded on sustained prosperity, national cohesion founded on equity and inclusion is a sine qua non of a state’s ability to defend itself against both external and internal threats. As Carl von Clausewitz hypothesised and Winston Churchill demonstrated, defence is the stronger form of warfare because it brings the nation together in common purpose. Divided and demoralised however, a nation’s vulnerability is exacerbated.

The United (but for how long?) Kingdom seems to be succumbing to a kind of autoimmune disease, its vitality eroded from within as its political leaders indulge in what Matthew d’Ancona described as ‘a panorama of snivelling self-interest, squirming caucuses and abject tacticians posturing as statesmen’. Britain is rendering itself strategically irrelevant.

The threat to the union is real and increasing. The parallel acts of parliament of 1707 and 1800 that established the legal status of the United Kingdom are under challenge as Scotland contemplates separation to pursue its own economic and political future as part of Europe, and Northern Ireland contemplates a borderless and integrated future with Eire that Brexit would preclude.

While some might consider a political integration of Northern Ireland’s Orangemen with the Republic of Ireland’s Catholics as fanciful, the short-term victories of the Democratic Unionist Party in manoeuvring May into a series of ill-conceived border controls and customs arrangements may well generate exactly that outcome. Sectarianism might thrive on poverty, but poverty has the knack of eroding faith.

Even more threatening to the survival of Great Britain as we know it is the complex of divides that now gnaws away at the nation from within: the divide between the wealthy elite that governs and the poor suburbanites who are governed; the divide between the affluent south and the hard-up Midlands and north; the divide between the young and the old; the divide between the Anglo-Celtic ‘little Englanders’ and the immigrant communities; the divide between the Europhiles and the Eurosceptics that permeates both the major political parties; and the growing divide between those who support a thriving and engaged democracy and those who have succumbed to a cynical and disengaged fatalism.

If the early results of European and North American analysis of cyber interference in political campaigns are anything to go by, Britain’s internal divisions make it a ripe target for exploitation by its anti-democratic adversaries. And the combination of alienation, apathy, cynicism, fatalism, indifference, issue fatigue and hopelessness renders it even more vulnerable.

The entire Brexit fiasco is one of the greatest self-inflicted wounds in British history, a strategic catastrophe entirely due to abysmal leadership on the part of two prime ministers and an opposition that is out of touch with itself and its voting base. Britain deserves better. The question is: how can the situation be retrieved?

The decision by the EU to give May only a limited time to obtain the agreement of the Commons almost certainly means that she will fail in that task, and that she will have to resign. While the cast of potential leaders offers little hope of a political adult taking charge, May’s resignation would provide the circuit breaker that could allow the UK government to take the entire issue back to the people. An informed second plebiscite on the matter would at least display confidence in the power of a democratic popular choice, as distinct from a continuation of the divisive infighting that has characterised the whole Brexit mess.

Failing that, the United Kingdom is doomed to dissolution, and Great Britain to the strategic insignificance that two major 20th-century conflagrations failed to deliver.