Questioning EU Enlargement (Routledge Studies on Democratizing Europe)

Questioning EU Enlargement

The status of the EU as a polity is unclear and ambiguous. There are different interpretations of what constitutes its core characteristics, as well as of the future direction of integration. To some, the EU is mainly a market, securing the free movement of goods and capital, and providing opportunities for economies of scale for European firms. To others it builds on a common European identity and common European values. Others again see the EU as the first step towards a democratic, supranational polity. This book takes a unique approach to the study of enlargement and tackles the following questions: • • • •

What kind of understanding of the EU do the enlargement processes speak to? Do decisions to enlarge mainly suggest that the EU is a free market, focusing on potential economic gains? Do they indicate that there is a sense of common European identity? Or is the focus primarily on securing respect for democratic principles and human rights?

Offering up-to-date studies of the EU enlargement processes and countryspecific in-depth analyses, this text will be a valuable resource for students and scholars of European Studies, International Relations and Politics. Helene Sjursen is Senior Researcher at ARENA, Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo, Norway.

Routledge studies on democratising Europe Edited by Erik Oddvar Eriksen and John Erik Fossum ARENA, University of Oslo

Routledge Studies on Democratising Europe focuses on the prospects for a citizens’ Europe by analysing the kind of order that is emerging in Europe. The books in the series take stock of the EU as an entity that has progressed beyond intergovernmentalism and consider how to account for this process and whether it is democratic. The emphasis is on citizenship, constitution-making, public sphere, enlargement, common foreign and security policy, and social and tax policy. 1 Developing a Constitution for Europe Edited by Erik Oddvar Eriksen, John Erik Fossum and Agustín José Menéndez 2 Making the European Polity Reflexive integration in the EU Edited by Erik Oddvar Eriksen 3 Questioning EU Enlargement Europe in search of identity Edited by Helene Sjursen

Questioning EU Enlargement Europe in search of identity

Edited by Helene Sjursen

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2007. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2006 Helene Sjursen for selection and editorial matter; individual contributors, their contributions All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-96572-8 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-37657-2 ISBN13: 978-0-415-37657-0

Contents

List of tables Notes on contributors Acknowledgements 1 Introduction: Enlargement and the nature of the EU polity

vii viii ix 1

HELENE SJURSEN

PART I

The EU as a post-national rights-based union 2 Justifying the second enlargement: promoting interests, consolidating democracy or returning to the roots?

17 19

SUSANNAH VERNEY

3 In spite of the costs? Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy

44

SONIA PIEDRAFITA

4 Turkey’s EU politics: consolidating democracy through enlargement?

62

GAMZE AVCI

PART II

The EU as an identity-based community 5 The importance of solidarity: Denmark as a promoter of enlargement MARIANNE RIDDERVOLD AND HELENE SJURSEN

79 81

vi

Contents

6 More than simply expanding markets: Germany and EU enlargement

104

MARCIN ZABOROWSKI

7 The case of Turkey: are some candidates more ‘European’ than others?

121

ÅSA LUNDGREN

8 Protecting the idea of Europe: France and enlargement

142

HELENE SJURSEN AND BØRGE ROMSLOE

PART III

Between norms and interests 9 Probably a problem-solving regime, perhaps a rights-based union: European integration in the Czech and Slovak political discourse

165

167

PETR DRULÁK

10 Double standards? Minority protection as a condition for membership

186

GUIDO SCHWELLNUS

Conclusion

201

11 The European Union between values and rights

203

HELENE SJURSEN

Bibliography Index

216 235

Tables

1.1 7.1 7.2 7.3 9.1 9.2 10.1

Ideal types of the EU EU financial assistance to candidate states (total, 1990–2000) Economic indicators: Romania and Turkey (1992) Political rights and civil liberties in some EU applicant states Five possible states of discursive structure Overview of the evolution of the discursive structure Types of arguments justifying minority protection in candidate countries

10 124 129 134 170 183 188

Contributors

Gamze Avcı is Research Fellow at the Department of Turkish Languages and Studies at Leiden University. Petr Drulák is Director of the Institute of International Relations, Prague. Åsa Lundgren is Researcher at the Department of Government at the University of Uppsala. Sonia Piedrafita is Ph.D. student at the Department of Political Science at the National University of Distance Education (UNED), Madrid. Marianne Riddervold is Ph.D. fellow at ARENA – Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo. Børge Romsloe is Research Assistant at ARENA – Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo. Guido Schwellnus is Researcher in European Politics at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology (ETH) in Zurich. Helene Sjursen is Senior Researcher at ARENA – Centre for European Studies at the University of Oslo. Susannah Verney is Lecturer in European Studies in the Department of Political Science and Public Administration at the University of Athens. Marcin Zaborowski is Research Fellow at the European Union Institute for Security Studies (EUISS), Paris and Lecturer in European Politics at Aston University, Birmingham.

Acknowledgements

This book started out with a workshop on ‘Justifying Enlargement’ in Ávila, Spain in May 2004 in the context of the CIDEL project (Citizenship and Democratic Legitimacy in the European Union). The workshop was hosted by José I. Torreblanca from the Universidad Nacional de Educación a Distancia, Madrid. I am extremely grateful to him, and to Sonia Piedrafita, for all the work that they put into organizing this event. I would also like to thank all the participants in the workshop for their valuable input. CIDEL was a joint research project between ten partners in six European countries. It was coordinated by ARENA at the University of Oslo and financed by the Fifth Framework Programme of the European Commission. I have benefited greatly from discussions within this project and would like to thank all its members. The intellectual and economic support provided at ARENA has as always been important. I thank in particular my CIDEL colleagues at ARENA: Agustín J. Menéndez, John Erik Fossum, Anne Elizabeth Stie and Marianne Riddervold. Børge Romsloe’s research assistance has been invaluable and is gratefully acknowledged. Most of all I would like to thank Erik O. Eriksen for comments, advice and support from the beginning to the end of this book project. Without the administrative, editorial and research assistance of Geir Kværk and Marit Eldholm this book would not have been completed. I cannot thank them enough. Last, but not least, I thank Nina Sjursen for crucial practical assistance. Helene Sjursen

1

Introduction Enlargement and the nature of the EU polity Helene Sjursen

Introduction As the debates and referendums across Europe on the ratification of the Constitutional Treaty have demonstrated, the European Union (EU) is a contested entity. It is not only in public debates, in political protest and contestation, however, that questions regarding the nature and purpose of the EU are raised. It is also so in the academic literature. Here, a main question is how to conceptualize this creature that fits neither the concept of ‘state’ nor that of ‘international organization’. What kind of polity is the EU? Its status is unclear and ambiguous. There are different interpretations of what constitutes its core characteristics, as well as of the future direction of integration. To some, the EU is mainly a market, securing the free movement of goods and capital, and providing opportunities for economies of scale for European firms. To others it builds on a common European identity and common European values. Others again see the EU as the first step towards a democratic, supranational polity. Can the enlargement processes help us to achieve a better understanding of the nature of the EU? In this book we ask what kind of understanding of the EU the enlargement processes speak to. Do they mainly suggest that the EU is a free market, focusing on potential economic gains? Do they indicate that there is a sense of common European identity, which guides the selection of candidates? Or is the focus primarily on securing respect for democratic principles and human rights? Surprisingly, although enlargement has been a fundamental feature of the European Union (EU) since its early days, few systematic studies of its significance for European integration have been produced. Rather, enlargements have been seen as isolated episodes, which do not tell us much about the EU as such. It is quite clear, however, that the question of membership and how it is dealt with is at the core of any political community – including the EU. In fact, one might argue that without looking at this issue, it would be difficult to get a clear picture of what kind of order is emerging in Europe. In order for an organization to find criteria for inclusion (as well as

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exclusion) of members one would expect it to have, or to be forced to form, an idea of what its fundamental purposes are. New applications for membership, and prospects of enlargement, inevitably raise questions such as who the Europeans are and what kind of values characterize Europe. Deciding where Europe stops, or should stop, is a particular challenge. What kinds of criteria are being used to determine this? Through an analysis of such questions, we seek to achieve a better understanding of the European political order: the EU qua polity.

Three conceptions of the EU Several possibilities arise in regard to the question of what kind of order is emerging in Europe. In this book we take as our starting point three ideal types, which depict the EU according to integrationist modes – economic, cultural and political – and modes of rationality – instrumental, contextual and communicative.1 We ask to which of these ideal types EU enlargement speaks. First, the EU might be on its way to be reduced to a mere problemsolving entity. Here the purpose of the entity would be to promote the interests of the member states. Thus, integration would be limited to, in fact dependent on, the member states’ perception of a clear advantage of committing to collective (European) rather than national solutions. The possibility of vetoing further integrative steps or proposals, should a member state find that they would be detrimental to its interests, would be taken for granted. Consequently, such an entity would not have supranational institutions in a strict sense. The institutions would be instruments of the member states rather than autonomous entities. Their main purpose would be to reduce the costs of cooperation rather than to take independent initiatives. The core of cooperation would, in this conception, be aimed at promoting the material interests of the member states through economic cooperation. One could also imagine cooperation in other issue-areas such as foreign or security policy if it were considered to provide discernible benefits to members. However, it would most likely happen only in situations of crisis where states consider that they face a common threat. Finally, such an entity would most likely be rather unstable, as the ‘glue’ that would keep member states together would be the continued expectation that cooperation and integration would bring more gains than losses for each of them. If such benefits were no longer in evidence, one might expect members to look elsewhere for solutions to their problems. Second, the EU might be moving towards a value-based community. From such a perspective it would be a geographically delimited entity seeking to revitalize traditions, mores and memories of whatever common European values and affiliations there are. A sense of common identity, a ‘we-feeling’, would function as a basis for integration. In such a polity, integration would not necessarily be limited to issues where member states

Introduction 3 would expect concrete benefits. As the polity would rest on a feeling of commonality this would facilitate expectations of solidarity across the borders of the member states and allow for an uneven distribution amongst members of the cost and benefits of integrative moves. Hence, contrary to a problem-solving entity, a value-based community might be expected to have moved beyond intergovernmentalism and towards transnational or supranational institutional arrangements. The common good of the polity would be a core concern justifying potential costs to individual member states. In such a polity, collective institutions would have a certain autonomy, and contribute to shape and define the collective understanding of the community’s identity and purpose. However, it is quite commonly argued that there is no basis for a common European identity, as the EU is composed of a number of groups and communities with often conflicting views on what would be the common good. Consequently, a third possibility would be that the EU is moving towards a rights-based post-national union. The polity would constitute an extension of the democratic constitutional state to the European level. Hence, as in a value-based polity, it would have autonomous institutions whose legitimacy would be derived not from the member states but directly from a European demos. Contrary to the value-based polity, however, integration would not rest on a feeling of cultural cohesion and common traditions. A post-national union would rest on universal rights and democratic procedures. This would allow for cultural pluralism and the collective will would be shaped through processes aimed at reaching a common understanding across different identities as well as interests. Even if these types draw on existing notions of European integration, they disentangle different aspects of the polity, approach them from a more abstract and principled perspective, and makes it an empirical question which of them are most viable. As they are ideal types, empirical findings are not likely to provide a complete fit with one of the models. However, they are useful and important tools helping us to provide order and make sense of the empirical material. Furthermore, as Eriksen and Fossum (2004: 438) argue, ‘[a] polity will most likely exhibit a complex and historically contingent weaving together’ of these three conceptions. As the EU is in so many ways an ‘unknown entity’ and also has a developmental path that is very different from that of European nation states, investigating how these different components are played out in the EU is particularly useful if we want to develop a clearer understanding of this polity and the emerging order in Europe. In order to assess to which of these ideal types enlargement speaks, we ask two core questions. First, why has the EU – with the exception of the British candidature in the early 1960s – systematically decided in favour of enlargement? Given the costs and risks of enlargement, why expand? And why have not individual member states, in particular those that expected to pay the highest price for enlargement, used their power of veto? If, for

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example, we consider that the EU is chiefly, as the first ideal type suggests, a problem-solving entity, where membership is derived from its discernable benefits, we would, at least at first sight, expect a veto from some of them. However, a much more detailed analysis is required in order to investigate the extent to which this means that the various enlargement processes speak to the second or third ideal type of the EU. The question is not only that of the basis on which the EU has decided to enlarge; equally important is how and in what way decisions to enlarge have been implemented. How have the norms and rules of the European Union been applied in accession processes? This is the second question raised in this book. As enlargement can be defined as a process through which new members accept a set of common action norms, we ask to what extent the norms and rules, the criteria for enlargement, have been applied in a consistent and similar manner to all states. This question of consistency is particularly relevant with regard to a potential differential treatment of the various applicant states.

State of the literature There are few systematic studies of the significance of enlargement for European integration. In recent years, however, a discussion has emerged on the general question of the role of norms in the enlargement process. In empirical terms this debate has focused mainly on the EU’s decision to enlarge to Central and Eastern Europe (CEE). Yet the question is also highly relevant with regard to the impact of the EU on political transformation in applicant states. The questions of when, how and to what extent the EU has had an impact on political transition in the new Central and East European member states have been in focus in a number of recent studies (Grabbe and Hughes 1998; Jacoby 2004; Kelley 2004; Kubicek 2003; Sadurski 2004; Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2005; Vachudova 2005; Zielonka and Pravda 2001). The consensus tends to be that transition in applicant states can best be understood with the help of rational-choice perspective. Milada Anna Vachudova (2005), who considers that the EU’s enlargement policy has played an important part in encouraging transition to liberal democracy in Central and Eastern Europe, underlines the importance of a credible offer of membership as an effective incentive to reform. The various contributors to Sedelmeier and Schimmelfennig’s edited volume come to a similar conclusion regarding the explanatory force of a rational-choice perspective. What seems to be missing in these analyses, however, is a theoretical conception that would allow for an investigation of the potential significance of an export of democratic norms, as opposed to any other norms or rules. Why, one might ask, is the transition to democracy of particular interest? Vachudova (2005: 259) provides an answer at the very end of her book when she applauds the EU’s enlargement policy by concluding that: ‘For better . . . the most

Introduction 5 powerful tool of EU foreign policy has turned out to be EU enlargement’. It would seem then that transition to democracy is particularly interesting because it is, so to say, a ‘good thing’. Yet, the tools used to analyse it cannot account for this normative standpoint. The same theoretical tools could in principle have been used to analyse transition to autocracy. Hence, these analyses cannot grasp, or even ask, to what extent the EU’s enlargement policy was successful in encouraging democratic transition in Central and Eastern Europe because of the legitimacy of the particular norms it exported, rather than because of an effective use of incentives. What is more, they cannot grasp why the acquired transition appears to be stable. With regard to the question of the EU’s decision to enlarge to Central and Eastern Europe on the other hand, a large number of authors, albeit from different perspectives, stress that norms must have played an important part (Fierke and Wiener 1999; Friis and Murphy 1999; Schimmelfennig 2001; Sedelmeier 2000a; Sjursen 2002). Fierke and Wiener (1999), who have examined EU and NATO enlargement, emphasize the importance of speech acts produced by the member states of the European Community and NATO during the Cold War. In documents such as the Helsinki Declaration (CSCE 1975), Western states promised to work for the spread of democratic principles and human rights across the East-West divide in Europe. These speech acts entailed a commitment that they could not escape from after the end of the Cold War. With the fall of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe they were reinterpreted to signify an inescapable promise of membership for the Central and Eastern European countries (CEECs) in Western institutions. Previous normative commitments had taken on a dynamic of their own. Sedelmeier’s (2000a) take on this issue is to emphasize the role of norm entrepreneurs in pushing for enlargement. Particularly important in his view was the role of policymakers within the European Commission. As they were amongst the actors associating most closely with a European identity they acted as ‘principled’ policy advocates. Consequently he accepts the possibility that norms – defined in terms of actors’ identity – can be used genuinely, although the existence of these norms are neither explained nor assessed. Further, he concludes that the impact of norms was uneven across different groups of actors in the enlargement process. For the policy advocates of enlargement the impact of norms was constitutive, whereas ‘rationalist calculations of reputation and social costs of deviation’ (Sedelmeier 2000a: 170) explain how these policy advocates could mobilize support for enlargement in the EU as a whole. Following Fierke, Wiener and Sedelmeier, Schimmelfennig (2001) seeks to combine the so-called ‘constructivist’ accounts of enlargement with a rational-choice approach. His take on solving the ‘puzzle’ of enlargement is to suggest that it is the outcome of ‘rhetorical entrapment’. Member states such as Germany and Denmark, who in his view had a self-interest in enlargement, used normative arguments strategically to shame those within the EU who were opposed, such

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as, for example, France or Spain, into accepting it. In this perspective, norms function only as constraints on the actors’ behaviour. This book builds on existing research on enlargement, but takes a different starting point by asking what the various enlargement processes might tell us about the EU qua polity. Furthermore, it takes the analysis a step further, first by challenging the assumption that is predominant in the literature that the only mechanisms through which norms and identities have an impact are self-interested calculations of costs and benefits. Norms do not only matter because it is costly not to comply with them, but because they are ends in themselves. They refer to principles or values that are considered valid, true or right. Second, we move beyond the existing literature through a distinction between value- or identity-based and rights-based norms. To emphasize the role of norms, as much of the literature on enlargement does, is only the beginning. There are numerous rule-sets, norms and identities. Hence a key question is what kind of norms have been important. The relevance of the above distinction is perhaps most clearly demonstrated through the debate on enlargement to Turkey. However, its broader importance when it comes to determining the borders of the EU should also be clear, as rights-based norms do not yield criteria for establishing borders. The question of where Europe stops is likely to become even more crucial in the years to come. If rights were the only mobilizing argument for enlargement, there would be few reasons why, for example, Canada should not become a member of the European Union. Also, liberal-democratic – rights-based – norms may be a necessary condition for enlargement, but we suspect that they may not on their own suffice in order to explain how member states may be mobilized to accept a costly enlargement. Consequently, the distinction between rights-based and value-based norms should allow us to establish a more nuanced picture of enlargement, the reasons why it has taken place and why certain prioritizations have been made. In turn it should also allow for a more nuanced picture of the nature of the EU polity. In fact, one of the pertinent questions with regard to the direction in which the EU is developing is that of collective identity: to what extent is this a necessary requirement in order for the EU to develop a legitimate polity as well as to establish a common will needed for collective action? Is it really needed? And to what extent is there any basis at all for nurturing the development of such an identity within the EU?

Theoretical approach If norms are not only adhered to because of the cost of non-compliance how can their importance be accounted for? If norms are not simply constraints on actors’ (self-interested) behaviour but also compel compliance because they are found to be right or valid, how can this be explained? What are the mechanisms through which norms are complied with? In this

Introduction 7 book we rely on deliberation as an alternative mechanism, underpinned by the concept of communicative rationality. This contends that actors are rational in the sense that they are able to justify and explain their actions with reference to intersubjectively valid norms, that is, norms that cannot be reasonably rejected in a rational debate (Eriksen and Weigård 2003).2 This conception of rationality provides us with alternative micro foundations for political processes to those in a rational-choice perspective, where actors are defined only as ‘utility maximizers’, who are rational in the sense that their choices are made on the basis of maximizing benefits in accordance with their own preferences. Whereas developments in the direction of the first ideal type of the EU may be accounted for with a rational-choice perspective, both the second and the third ideal types are more difficult to accommodate within such an approach. There is an explicit emphasis on language – on the force of reasons – in the communicative perspective that we do not find in the rational-choice approach. This builds on Jürgen Habermas’ (1987) theory of communicative action. Habermas considers that our communication through linguistic expressions – ‘speech acts’ – ‘play a central role in regulating and reproducing forms of social life and the identities of actors’ (Cronin and De Greiff 1998: x). The process of argumentation is considered to be the crucial mechanism of social coordination. Arguably this is so also in a rational-choice perspective. The actors may not always be mute in a bargaining process – such processes obviously entail exchanges of information between actors – however, the type of information that is conveyed in a bargaining process is different (Heath 2001). Here it is mainly a matter of signalling preferences that are backed by threats and promises, whereas the definition of actors as communicatively rational suggests that they are also capable of providing reasons for particular choices and that others are in turn capable of assessing the validity of those reasons. This opens for the theoretical possibility of an agreement between actors that is based on an understanding supported by mutually acceptable or identical reasons, rather than individual utility calculations. The perspective is similar to rational-choice analysis in the sense that they are both action-theoretical approaches. Social phenomena are in other words considered to be products of interaction between individuals. However, rather than focusing on monological actors with fixed preferences, the theory of communicative action focuses on dialogical actors ‘who co-ordinate their plans through argumentation, aimed at reaching mutual agreement’ (Eriksen and Weigård 1997: 221). In addition to the concept of actors as strategic and oriented towards realizing self-interest, we then have a conception of actors as understanding-oriented and seeking to reach agreement with other actors through argumentation. Here it is posited ‘that co-operation comes about when the process of reason giving generates a capacity for change of viewpoints’ (Eriksen and Fossum 2000: 257).

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This conception of actors as understanding oriented and thus able to shift from a purely self-regarding to an other-regarding mode of interaction is not the same thing as a conception of actors as altruistic. Rather the actor is conceived of as having: the ability to critically reflect on her own understandings of reality, interests, preferences, and maxims of behaviour; to estimate the consequences for other actors should she decide to pursue her own interests; and to participate in a discourse with others regarding the interpretation of interest and norms for the coordination of behaviour and interaction. (Lose 2001: 185) This opens not only for the possibility of a change of viewpoints as a result of interaction and communication, but also for the possibility that actors agree to certain decisions even if it goes against their own material interest. Most importantly, perhaps, this provides us with a theory where the actors are conceived of as capable of assessing the validity of norms. Based on Habermas’ theory of communicative action we may assume that support for – or at least loyalty towards – a policy, such as enlargement, can be obtained as a result of a process of deliberation where arguments and reasons are provided in favour of this policy, on the condition that the arguments are deemed legitimate by the parties involved. Or to put it differently: the arguments and reasons provided in favour of enlargement have to be of a type that others can support – they must be considered legitimate. Consequently, identifying which types of reasons have functioned as ‘mobilizing arguments’ in the EU’s enlargement policy should help us to provide a better understanding of the prioritizations made. We make an analytical distinction between three different types of discourses which enable us to distinguish between pragmatic, ethical-political, and moral arguments in justification of enlargement (Habermas 1993). Each of these speaks to one of the ideal types of the EU outlined above. In a pragmatic discourse, policy will here be seen to be justified with reference to the output that it is expected to produce. The approach is based on a means-ends type of rationality where actors are considered to take decisions made on calculations of utility, based on a given set of interests. This also means that one would not expect actors to support enlargement unless arguments could be found to support the idea that it would provide utility given their interests and preferences. The reasons for a particular policy choice could be material gain, as in a pragmatic discourse, but they could also be formulated with reference to an actor’s sense of identity or understanding of the common good. In an ethical-political discourse justification will rely on a particular conception of the collective ‘us’ and a particular idea of the values represented by a specific community. Here, one would seek to justify enlargement by referring to duties and responsibil-

Introduction 9 ities emerging as a result of belonging to a particular community. From this perspective communicative processes are context-bound; they are only possible in collectivities that have a ‘thick’ sense of identity. In such collectivities the relevant form of justification would be referring to what the appropriate conduct is, given the particular identity of the particular community in question. Finally, actors could explain their actions with reference to principles that, all things considered, can be recognized as just by all parties, irrespective of their particular interests, perceptions of the common good or cultural identity. In such a moral discourse the aim would not be to justify policy with reference to calculations of utility, nor with reference to the values of a particular community, but to find justifications that rely on universal standards of justice, regardless of the utility of the policy to the particular actors involved in the decision or the specific values or perceptions of the ‘good life’ embedded in the community. Although they are obviously not interchangeable, the first type of argument has much in common with the concept of ‘logic of consequence’ and the second and third types are related to the concept of ‘logic of appropriateness’ (March and Olsen 1989, 1998). Both concepts, which are also employed by some of the authors in this volume, are developed in new institutionalist theory and have more recently been adopted in the international-relations literature.3 The logic of appropriateness does however have a certain ambiguity to it that is not resolved in the way it is employed in the current international-relations literature in general, and in the sociological-institutionalist literature on enlargement in particular (Schimmelfennig 2001; Sedelmeier 2000a). To put it simply, the logic of appropriateness could imply both rule-following as a result of habit or a particular identity and rule-following based on a rational assessment of morally valid arguments. Consequently, to ensure analytical clarity, a third logic, pertaining to a rational assessment of morally valid arguments may be introduced: a ‘logic of moral justification’, which is the logic that underpins the rights-based perspective normatively (Eriksen 1999).4 Different criteria identify these logics and discourses: utility, values and rights (Sjursen 2002). Utility refers to an effort to find efficient solutions to concrete problems or dilemmas. Policymakers seek legitimization by achieving an output that could be seen as beneficial to given interests and preferences. Values refer to a particular idea of the ‘good life’ that is grounded in the identity of a specific community. Policy would be legitimized with reference to what is considered appropriate given a particular group’s conception of itself and of what it represents. Rights refer to a set of principles that are mutually recognized. In other words, policy would be legitimized with reference to principles that, all things considered, can be recognized as ‘just’ by all parties, irrespective of their particular interests, perceptions of the ‘good life’ or cultural identity. The connection between the ideal-types of the EU, the different conceptions of rationality, discourses and their key indicators are summarized in Table 1.1.

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Table 1.1 Ideal types of the EU Type of entity

Discourse

Conception of rationality

Indicator

Problem-solving

Pragmatic

Utility

Value-based

Ethical-political

Rights-based

Moral

Instrumental (logic of consequentiality) Contextual (logic of appropriateness) Communicative (logic of justification)

Values Rights

On this basis, three hypotheses regarding enlargement and the EU polity may be developed. The first is that the EU would prioritize enlargement to states where the benefits to the existing member states were considered particularly high. This would suggest that the EU is chiefly a problem-solving entity whose principal purpose is to promote the material interests of the member states. The second hypothesis is that the EU would prioritize enlargement to states towards which it had a particular sense of kinship-based duty. This would suggest that enlargement is not only – or not at all – a matter of (material) interests, but also a matter of values, and that a sense of common identity, however thin, is emerging in the EU. It would speak to a conception of the EU as a value-based community. Finally, the third hypothesis would be that the EU enlarges based on a concern to protect universal principles of human rights and democracy, and would prioritize enlargement to those states that would make this possible. This would be consistent with a conceptualization of the EU as a rights-based post-national union with a set of legally entrenched rights and democratic procedures. Together with the analytical framework outlined above, these hypotheses constitute a common starting point for the chapters of this book. The hypotheses, as well as the analytical framework, are adapted in each chapter, in order to suit the specific case that is being analysed and its particular empirical puzzle. The approach outlined here, although not applied in a similar manner in all the chapters of this book, is particularly useful when analysing a political phenomenon such as enlargement, where actors have to coordinate their plans of action through speech acts in order to reach collective decisions due to a lack of forceful compliance mechanisms. This does not preclude the possibility of bargains or compromises based on side payments to those that would not directly profit from enlargement according to a logic of consequences. The relevance of the analyses conducted in the following, as well as the credibility of their findings, might be questioned on the grounds that there is often a considerable gap between what policymakers say and what they actually mean. There could be a ‘hidden agenda’ involved. This can to some extent be controlled for by examining the consistency of the argu-

Introduction 11 ments presented (both consistency between different actors and consistency in the arguments of a particular actor). A further, and more obvious, credibility control is that of whether what is said corresponds to what is actually done. Most importantly, however, is that the ‘true’ motives of the actors involved may not be crucial. As rational-choice theorists argue, it is impossible for us to reach into the ‘hearts and souls’ of policymakers and thus to uncover their ‘real’ or ‘sincere’ beliefs and convictions. For methodological reasons they simply assume that actors are egotistical and self-interested and furthermore, the process of preference formation is considered as exogenous to the analysis. In this book we extend the range of possible rational arguments or reasons at the actors’ disposal. What is important is that the arguments and reasons in themselves are such that other reasonable actors can support them, that these are arguments and reasons that have a certain quality, which means they are considered legitimate or reasonable, and that as a consequence can lead to agreement on a policy. These arguments do not have to be valid by universal standards. Neither do they have to be the result of a deeply felt conviction on the part of the author. But they have to be able to mobilize support. The condition for this support is that the arguments are considered good and legitimate. As noted, the advantage of such an approach is to leave it open to empirical research to determine whether or not political processes can be seen to contain something ‘more’ than considerations of utility and strategic bargaining. Thus, the aim is not to reject or undermine the importance of such dimensions, but to try to improve our understanding of such political processes by introducing two further dimensions – a ‘value’ dimension and a ‘rights’ dimension – into the analysis. A focus on utility, which would be sufficient in order to explain the development of the EU in the direction of a problem-solving entity, is only seen as one way in which to understand enlargement. An important task is to assess whether or not the two other ways of justifying policy might have something to contribute. We want to investigate the question of whether such arguments played an equally important, or more important, role than those based on utility. If they did, this will be seen as an indicator of the EU becoming more than a problem-solving entity.

Towards a value-based community? Preliminary findings suggest that the most recent enlargement – to Central and Eastern Europe – speaks to the EU as more than a problem-solving entity (Sjursen 2002).5 However, they also suggest that it is difficult to see enlargement as only being concerned with securing democratic principles and human rights. In fact, a comparison of the qualitatively different reasons presented by the EU for enlargement to the CEECs and to Turkey suggests, in line with the second hypothesis, that ‘a sense of

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“kinship-based duty” contributes to an explanation not only of the general decision to enlarge to Central and Eastern Europe but of the differentiated support for enlargement to this group of states in comparison to Turkey’ (Sjursen 2002: 508). What emerges as a predominant pattern from this analysis is the description of East and West in Europe as two parts of the same entity. The aim of policies towards Eastern Europe was to ‘overcome the division’ and ‘to fulfil the aspiration of the peoples of central and eastern Europe to “rejoin Europe” ’ (Andriessen 1991). In a series of speeches to applicant states in CEE – Estonia, Lithuania, Bulgaria, Romania and the Czech Republic – Commissioner Hans van den Broek stated this same point: ‘You are a profoundly European nation’ (1997a, 1997b, 1997c, 1997d, 1997e). In the Commission profile of Poland as a candidate for membership it was argued that ‘For centuries Polish culture has been an integral part of European culture’ (European Commission 2000a). This was a constant factor in policy documents and speeches on enlargement to CEE during the 1990s. Further, the duty to ensure enlargement was successful was constantly emphasized: We in Western Europe must not disappoint the great hopes which the peoples of Eastern Europe have of receiving our aid in their current emancipation process. Our credibility depends on how consistently we set our course towards integration to achieve a new European identity. (European Parliament 1991a) Reference to the sense of a shared destiny, and a duty to enlarge, was a regular feature in the arguments for enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe. According to Commission President Santer (1998) ‘The collapse of the Iron Curtain ended the Cold War and presented us with a unique opportunity to unite Europe . . . We have a historical and moral duty to seize this opportunity’. According to French Prime Minister Alain Juppé (1993), the West Europeans had ‘a duty to solidarity’ with the Central and East Europeans. With reference to Turkey, the justifications for enlargement were different. Rather than a natural part of the European family, Turkey was described as an important partner to Europe. In the same speech, relations with Turkey were discussed together with relations with Israel and Morocco, while Eastern Europe was described as ‘belonging to the European family of nations’ (van den Broek 1993a). When a rationale for admitting Turkey was presented, it was explicitly linked to utility defined in terms of security: ‘We want a stable, Europe-oriented Turkey’ (Verheugen 1999) and ‘Turkey’s importance stems from its strategic position’ (van den Broek 1993b). Turkey was described as an important neighbour but lies in a different region. There was no suggestion of ‘reunifying Europe’ by enlarging to Turkey. ‘There is general recognition of Turkey’s

Introduction 13 importance to the Union . . . Turkey’s geo-strategic position and its steadfastness over decades as a secular, Moslem country . . . reinforces its position as a valued neighbour in a sensitive region’ (van den Broek 1997f). The main reason for enlarging to Turkey presented in the 1990s was neither that Turkey must be returned to Europe nor that the EU had a particular duty toward Turkey, but that Turkey was strategically important: The European Union and Turkey are linked in a strategic partnership. The Union wants to further integrate Turkey into the European structures. We need Turkey as a reliable partner in foreign and security policy. We want Turkey to be a stable democracy, respecting the rule of law and human rights. Our interest is that Turkey plays a constructive role in our common efforts to contribute to peace and stability in the region. (Verheugen 2000a: 4–5) The contrasting views of the East European applicants and the Turkish applicant’s place in Europe is striking in the two quotes below, where Prague is described as the ‘heart of Europe’ whereas Bogazici University is described as placed in a city at a crossroad of cultures: I am glad that here in the heart of Europe, in Prague, and thanks to the personal efforts and reputation of one of Europe’s most eminent Statesmen [Vaclav Havel], we are able to gather a group of such distinguished people to debate issues that effect our whole world. This reinforces my conviction that enlargement of the European Union is more than simply a political or economic process: it is another milestone in the development of our civilization. (van den Broek 1998) It is a great pleasure and honour for me to stand before you today in this famous Bogazici University situated in one of the most cosmopolitan cities of the world, a crossroad of cultures and civilisations with a glorious past and no doubt a dynamic future. (Verheugen 2000a) With regard to Turkey the reference to duty or kinship was virtually absent in the 1990s. Only two references to Turkey as part of the ‘European family’ have been found. One is in a speech by Hans van den Broek in Bucharest: ‘All are aware of the important geopolitical and strategic factors which favour Turkey’s integration into the European family’ (van den Broek 1997g).6 However, even then, there are no references to a duty to enlarge or a sense of solidarity, as was most often the case when Central and Eastern Europe was discussed. This might contribute to our understanding of why

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Turkey has not been prioritized in the EU’s enlargement policy. Furthermore, the fact that the element of kinship-based duty is so strong in the arguments related to enlargement towards Central and Eastern Europe might contribute to explaining why important financial efforts were, for example, put into helping Poland to fulfil the conditions for membership. Under normal circumstances Poland should not have been allowed into the EU during the first round of enlargement negotiations. It was less prepared than the other Eastern European countries and the negotiations with the EU were lagging behind the others. Much more research is necessary, however, not only in order to update, but most importantly to further substantiate, nuance (or revise) these findings as well as to assess what they tell us with regard to the nature of the EU qua polity. This is not least so, given that enlargement negotiations with Turkey opened on 3 October 2005. This fact suggests that the understanding of what it is to be ‘European’ is not contingent on pre-political categories. Identities are malleable entities and they are shaped and reshaped through communicative processes. But also, how do the above findings harmonize with the perspectives of individual member states? And further, is the Eastern enlargement an exception, or can past enlargements be understood in a similar manner? The selection of cases that are studied in this book is made with the aim of making analytical or theoretical generalizations, where these cases can tell us something about the relevance of the approach chosen. In this regard we may not be able to make broad empirical generalizations based on these selected cases. However, we should be able to identify a central theme in the study of the EU, that is, how it is governed by ideal factors and not only interest calculations, and ultimately to draw some conclusions about the nature of the EU.

Organization of chapters The chapters are organized in accordance with the three ideal types of the EU. Although most of them conclude that there are elements of at least two of the three ideal types at play, they also find a stronger emphasis on one, which has then been the guide for the sequence of the chapters. In Chapter 2 Susannah Verney examines the EU’s second enlargement – to Greece – in the early 1980s. She assesses to what extent the role of norms, and the emphasis on democracy, is a new invention in the European enterprise, or rather a long-term trend. In Chapter 3, Sonia Piedrafita examines the role of one of the perceived ‘laggards’ in the enlargement process: Spain. Turkey is in many ways a test case regarding the EU’s identity and purpose. In Chapter 4, Gamze Avcı focuses on the domestic Turkish debate and the extent to which, and in what way, the emphasis on democratic principles and human rights, has affected Turkish domestic politics. The roles of two of the ‘drivers’ in the enlargement process, Denmark and

Introduction 15 Germany, which are states that are usually considered to have had particular self-interests in enlargement are important. In Chapter 5 Marianne Riddervold and Helene Sjursen examine the role of Denmark, while Marcin Zaborowski looks at the case of Germany in Chapter 6. Åsa Lundgren returns to the issue of enlargement to Turkey in Chapter 7, and compares the EU’s enlargement policy towards Romania with that towards Turkey. The role of a second ‘reluctant enlarger’, France, is discussed by Helene Sjursen and Børge Romsloe in Chapter 8. They ask to what extent France was simply ‘entrapped’ by normative arguments and thus accepted enlargement due to the social costs of non-compliance. In Chapter 9 Petr Drulák compares the Czech and the Slovak Republics’ different paths to membership and their conceptions of the EU as a rights-based or identitybased entity. Finally, the issue of minority protection is given particular attention by Guido Schwellnus in Chapter 10. The EU’s emphasis on this criterion for enlargement has led many to argue that the EU employs double standards – something that would not be consistent with a rightsbased union, but would not be surprising for a problem-solving entity. In the concluding chapter (Chapter 11) Helene Sjursen asks what we have learned from the above case studies with regard to the conception of the EU as a problem-solving, value-based or rights-based polity.

Notes 1 These are based on Eriksen (2005) and Eriksen and Fossum (2004). 2 See also Habermas’ discourse principle, discussed in Eriksen and Weigård (2003: 147) and based on Habermas (1996: 107). 3 Two often-quoted international relations texts building on the new institutionalist perspective are Cowles et al. (2001) and Stone Sweet et al. (2001). 4 This is similar to Risse’s (2000) category of a ‘logic of arguing’. 5 The empirical analysis is based primarily on documents produced by different members of the European Commission as well as the statements produced by the meetings of the European Council and the Presidency of the EU. It is supplemented by some documents from member states. A search of all statements and speeches about enlargement produced by the Commission from 1991 until 2001, as well as all texts in the Council press archives (this includes Presidency conclusions since 1992) was conducted. 6 The other is in a speech by Javier Solana (2000) where he says that ‘[Turkey’s] accession, I am sure, will enrich the Union and will establish Turkey’s European identity’. And, later ‘For almost a century, Turkey has been resolutely affirming that it is a European country. And for over fifty years it has been decisively contributing to European stability and security . . . The acceptance of [Turkey’s] European identity is essential to ensure that Turkey continues to choose the European option’. Thus, these statements still differ from those with regard to Central and Eastern Europe.

Part I

The EU as a post-national rights-based union

2

Justifying the second enlargement Promoting interests, consolidating democracy or returning to the roots? Susannah Verney

As a historical case study concerned with a period now 30 years in the past, the second enlargement offers a window on European integration in a different, earlier phase than the other cases examined in this volume. The admission of Greece in 1981 is the sole example in the history of European integration to date of a single-country enlargement. The Greek case was also the first in which enlargement followed a democratic transition, providing an opportunity to explore the way in which the latter influenced the former. Moreover, the second enlargement offers a particularly good example of the puzzle identified in the introduction to this volume. Given the considerable risks that expansion entails for the delicately balanced European construction and its internal cohesion in all spheres, one might ask, following Sjursen in the introduction, ‘why expand’? Despite the member states’ possibility to veto any decision to enlarge, this national prerogative has been exercised only by de Gaulle when he decided to veto Britain’s application to join the EEC in the 1960s. How has it been possible to achieve this surprising consensus about enlargement? A study of the nature and type of arguments put forward in favour of Greek accession will allow us to investigate the basis on which the pro-enlargement consensus has been constructed. Following the analytical framework elaborated in the preceding chapter, the Greek case is examined with regard to three alternative scenarios for justifying enlargement – as a case of promoting interests, constructing identity or fulfilling rights. This chapter seeks the key to the puzzle through an examination of the debate leading up to the second enlargement, drawing on official EC documentation, plenary sessions of the European Parliament (EP) and articles in the press.1

The context of the second enlargement In 1975, when the Greek government submitted its application for full membership, enlargement appeared a particularly uncertain enterprise. In

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the first 15 years after the signature of the Treaty of Rome, the EC had only opened its doors once and this had proved to be a highly contested event. Of the four states that submitted membership applications in the course of the 1960s, the UK had initially been rebuffed, while Norway had negotiated accession but not implemented it following the negative outcome to the popular referendum. The entry of Denmark, Ireland and the UK finally occurred in 1973, 12 years after they had initially requested admission as full members. The application for the second enlargement was submitted just two years after the entry of the three new member states, at a time when the Community was already struggling to absorb the effects of the first wave of expansion. In the aftermath of the first enlargement, the feeling was widespread, to quote a contemporary newspaper, that: ‘The growing pains from Six to Nine . . . have been even more severe than anticipated, and [that] the Community system and its institutions are arguably stretched to the limit’.2 The prospect of a new expansion so soon after the first provoked a major outburst of angst. According to The Economist: It is the institutional implications of further enlargement which horrify officials in Brussels. They doubt that the creaking structure of the Commission and the Council could survive the addition of yet more member governments, each with its own special national interests to protect and defend.3 Such fears intensified when it became clear that the new wave of enlargement would not be limited to Greece but was also likely to embrace Spain and Portugal – leading one contemporary analyst to ask, ‘Is the Community of Twelve a contradiction in terms?’ (Tsoukalis 1981: 251). From the perspective of an EU with 25 members, facing the prospect of further integration to South-Eastern Europe, this 1970s version of the ‘Enlargement versus Deepening’ dilemma can only provoke a wry smile. However, while the challenges the Community confronted with regard to Mediterranean expansion appear small-scale compared to those faced by the EU three decades later, this does not mean that these dilemmas were not acutely felt at the time. Nor was the enlargement versus deepening question the only reason why a new accession application appeared premature in 1975. Just a few years prior to the official Greek entry request, there had been an attempt to give European integration a more explicitly political dimension. Notably, the aim of achieving European Union by the end of the decade had been proclaimed by the European Council (1972), while the following year saw the launch of European Political Cooperation. But then the oil crisis of 1973 drove all the member states’ economies into recession, causing the collapse of the Snake, the EC’s first attempt at mon-

Justifying the second enlargement 21 etary cooperation. As a result – to quote the Belgian Prime Minister, Leo Tindemans – the Community was soon ‘crumbling beneath the resurgence . . . felt everywhere, of purely national preoccupations’ (European Council 1976: 11). Originally, the central legitimating strategy of European integration had been the promotion of peace, cited as a fundamental goal in the preambles to the Treaties establishing the three European Communities. In the early post-Second World War period, the cause of peace had resonated strongly with the public. But three decades after the end of the Second World War, in a context of European détente, this no longer appeared such an overriding imperative. The Tindemans Report – published in January 1976, the month in which the European Commission issued its ‘Opinion’ on the second enlargement – suggested that the European idea was partly a victim of its own success in achieving peace, prosperity and détente. The report claimed that the Community was in need of a new raison d’être: Over the years, the European public has lost a guiding light, namely the political consensus between our countries on our reasons for undertaking this joint task and the characteristics with which we wish to endow it. We must first of all restore this common vision if we wish to have European Union. (European Council 1976: 11) The EC was clearly suffering from a crisis of direction and legitimacy, reflected in the predominant image of the mid-1970s as an era of ‘Eurosclerosis’ and ‘Europessimism’ (e.g. Dinan 1994: 69). At this point, the integration process seemed for the first time to be retrogressing – a development reflected in the academic study of European integration, in which neofunctionalist optimism gave way to a new emphasis on examining the EC as an intergovernmental organization. Meanwhile, with its political aspirations having suffered such a serious setback, the widespread view of the EC as a predominantly economic entity was indicated by the prevalent use of the term ‘Common Market’. Into the midst of this existential crisis came a new membership request from a country which – despite the prior existence of an Association Agreement referring to the ultimate prospect of full membership – appeared to be a singularly weak applicant. An unlikely candidate Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the second enlargement is that, in accepting the Greek application, the Community overturned one of the basic contemporary conditions for membership. As the Greek application was submitted almost two decades before the establishment of the

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Copenhagen criteria, it did not have to meet formal membership standards. As is well-known, the only formal criterion for EC entry under the Treaty of Rome was geographical, with Article 237 limiting the right to apply to European states, but providing no further indication of the basis on which the application should be judged. In practice, however, as Wallace and Edwards (1976: 2–3) noted, by the 1970s ‘the Community ha[d] gradually developed two rough criteria for membership, one political, the other economic’. The informal economic standard had been established at a very early point in the integration process, in response to the first non-member that asked to take part. Ironically enough, that first applicant was, of course, Greece. When the latter initially approached the Community in 1959, both sides deemed that Greece’s significantly lower economic development level precluded immediate full participation in the EC. Instead, the preferred option was association, allowing Greece to integrate more gradually through the creation of a customs union over a 22-year period. In the mid1970s, it was clear that Greece still did not meet the economic criterion. In its ‘Opinion’ on the Greek application, the European Commission estimated Greek GDP per capita at less than 60 per cent of the EC average. It also noted the appreciable gap between Greece and the poorest existing member states, with Greek GDP per capita only 84 per cent that of Ireland and 70 per cent that of Italy (European Commission 1976: 9, Table 1). As the poorest country to apply for Community membership so far, Greece’s much lower development level appeared likely to act as a brake on economic integration. This fear was expressed, for example, by The Times when it wrote that, ‘unless the Commission is in a position to force the pace, history shows us that integration proceeds at the pace which is acceptable to the slowest member-government’.4 It was precisely concerns of this kind that led former West German Chancellor, Willy Brandt, to propose a two-tier structure for membership of the EC.5 This idea, which subsequently became known as the ‘Europe of two speeds’, clearly indicated that accepting such an economically weak applicant was deemed to present a threat. Besides economic risks, Greek accession seemed likely to entail substantial financial costs. To begin with, it was expected to aggravate the existing intra-Community regional disparities and increase the financial burdens of an EC already haggling over the budget. The Commission suggested that if Greece had been a full member in 1976, the additional net cost to the Community would have amounted to 4 per cent of the existing budget (European Commission 1976: 8), but it was generally accepted that the true ‘price-tag’ of Greek accession would be much higher. Meanwhile, the large size and low productivity of the Greek agricultural sector6 could only add to the costs of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), already a central bone of contention within the Community of Nine. Greek participation would also aggravate the structural problems of the CAP, as a

Justifying the second enlargement 23 number of Greece’s major agricultural products were already in surplus within the EC. As The Guardian put it, for example, with regard to just one product, ‘Greek wine could make the wine lake deeper’.7 In addition to the potential economic complications for the Community itself, the prospect of Greek accession aroused vehement opposition from significant sectoral interests within the member states. In particular, the predominantly Mediterranean character of its agricultural production made Greek accession a threat to the interests of the most powerful national producer group in the Community of the 1970s – the French farmers. This became a major issue in French domestic politics in the runup to the 1977 municipal elections and the closely fought national election of 1978, with all the major opposition parties – the Gaullists under Jacques Chirac, the socialists led by François Mitterrand and the communists – declaring their opposition to Greek accession unless it was preceded by CAP reform in favour of Mediterranean agriculture. Nor were the French alone in these concerns: Italian government ministers also expressed similar sentiments, opposing Greek accession in the absence of prior CAP reform. While agriculture aroused the opposition of France and Italy, the prospect of free movement of Greek workers was anathema to the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG), already home to a large number of South European migrant workers and, from the early 1970s, trying to deter further immigration. In addition, the potential budgetary costs of Greek accession were not only a matter of concern for net contributors to the Community budget, such as Germany and the UK. Anxiety was also expressed on the part of net recipient, Ireland, that the admission of a new ‘poor relation’ would reduce its own benefits (Kontogeorgis 1985: 168).8 If the economic considerations were not already negative enough, Greek accession entailed the risk of importing a conflict into the Community. In the mid-1970s, Greece was entangled in a series of apparently intractable disputes with another EC associate, Turkey, over land, air and sea sovereignty in the Aegean. Moreover, the two countries had recently reached the brink of war over a third EC associate, Cyprus, following the Greek-inspired coup and subsequent Turkish invasion of the island in July 1974. Through Greek accession, not only was the EC in danger of becoming more directly embroiled in the problems of the Eastern Mediterranean, it also, having admitted only one of the parties to the Greek–Turkish dispute as a full member, would no longer be regarded as a neutral arbiter. As a contemporary analysis put it in relation to the EC–Greece–Turkey triangle, ‘in politics as in Pythagorean geometry, you cannot alter your relationship to one of two equidistant points without simultaneously changing your position as regards the other’ (Kohlhase 1981: 128). Hence, in admitting Greece, the EC ran the risk of alienating a country of considerable strategic significance during the Cold War, with which it had been working to develop relations throughout the previous decade.

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Thus, all things considered, Greece did not appear to be a promising candidate for membership. It was not even geographically contiguous with the existing Community, sharing no land frontiers with any of the member states and a sea border only with Italy. There was, however, one important consideration in Greece’s favour: geopolitics. Greece was a Cold War frontline state, a NATO member and home to important US bases. In the summer of 1974, the events in Cyprus and the ensuing regime change in Athens precipitated a major crisis in Greece’s relations with the Western bloc. The principal target was the US, widely perceived in Greece as the moral instigator of the 1967 coup and subsequent main supporter of the 1967–74 military dictatorship, and also held responsible for failing to prevent the Turkish intervention, if not actually inciting the events that led up to it. The demand for the withdrawal of the US bases, supported by all the opposition parties except the far right, became and remained one of the major political issues of the 1970s. However, the shock waves generated in Cyprus also triggered a more general outburst of the anti-Westernism traditionally latent in Greek society. The most immediate result was Greek withdrawal from the military wing of NATO in protest to the lack of support from its allies, thus destabilizing the Alliance’s strategic south-eastern flank. More generally, in the aftermath of the Junta’s fall, foreign journalists began to speculate that Greece might be moving towards neutralism or even a rapprochement with the Soviet Union.9 Concerns about Greece’s future direction were enhanced by the strength of the domestic Left and in particular, by the spectacular rise of the socialist party, PASOK, at that point a self-professed national liberation movement demanding disengagement from imperialist dependence and Western monopoly capitalism. In the first three years after the Junta’s fall, PASOK enjoyed a meteoric rise, doubling its vote to emerge as the official opposition in 1977 with 25 per cent of the total, alongside the 9 per cent of the pro-Soviet communist party. Thus, in the mid-1970s, the need to prevent Greece from spinning away from the Western orbit had become a serious consideration. European integration apparently offered a way to restabilize Greece’s Western orientation within a non-military framework which did not include the discredited US. However, the assumption that Greece gained EC entry for strategic reasons implies, first, a systematic prioritization of strategic concerns over economic interests and, second, that all nine member states regarded the overall good of the Western bloc as their paramount concern. The latter assumption raises some interesting questions, for example, about the way in which neutral Ireland, a non-NATO member far from the Cold War frontline, defined its national interests within the EC. Overall, the strategic scenario for Greek accession raises the question of how easy it would have been for the Nine to achieve consensus on paying the price of incorporating an under-developed applicant, with all its implications for the future

Justifying the second enlargement 25 viability of economic integration, in order to promote goals in the strategic sphere. In this sense, it fails to supply a convincing answer to our question – why was the immediate opening of accession negotiations with Greece not blocked by a single member state? This question becomes particularly intriguing given the golden opportunity at least to postpone Greek EC entry, offered by the European Commission (1976) in its ‘Opinion’ on the Greek application.

The route to entry The Commission’s recommendation essentially proposed combining a symbolic political ‘yes’ with an economic ‘not yet’. Essentially, it can be seen as a new formula for the delayed integration originally tried out in the Association Agreement. Thus, the Commission stressed that the Community should give ‘a clear affirmative reply’ to the Greek request, and that accession negotiations should be opened. Nevertheless, it also suggested that, given the ‘considerable magnitude’ of the structural changes to the Greek economy that would be needed for successful integration, ‘it would seem desirable to envisage a period of time before the obligations of membership, even subject to transitional arrangements, are undertaken’ (European Commission 1976: 9–10). However, this proposal for a ‘pre-accession period’ was roundly rejected by the member-state governments. Less than two weeks after the publication of the ‘Opinion’, the Council of Ministers agreed to the unconditional acceptance of the Greek application and the opening of negotiations with the aim of entry without delay following their conclusion. This put Greece on course for admission to the EC, even though it was clearly recognized that it would have difficulties in keeping up with the pace of economic integration. Thus, the acceptance of the Greek application, particularly under the unpromising circumstances of the 1970s, presents a most intriguing puzzle. Despite its apparently overwhelming disadvantages, this unlikely candidate was not only able to gain admission to the EC, but also to do so relatively swiftly. The membership application, submitted on 12 June 1975, was formally accepted by the Council of Ministers on 9 February 1976, with negotiations officially opening on 27 July. The Accession Treaty was signed less than three years later, on 28 May 1979, and formal entry took place on 1 January 1981. The whole Greek accession process thus took five and a half years from start to finish – a considerably more rapid affair than the third and the fifth enlargements, not to mention the singularly protracted Turkish case. How can this comparatively ‘easy’ accession be explained? Curiously, despite the interesting questions it poses, this has not really been addressed in the academic literature. Probably because they were dealing with a negotiation still in progress, the contemporary studies in

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English – which are few in number – tend to be policy-oriented, with an emphasis on analysing the potential problems of Greek EC entry for both sides and the practical issues raised by the Greek request (e.g. Tsoukalis 1979; Wallace and Edwards 1976). Several studies address the Community response to Mediterranean enlargement in general (Deubner 1980; Leigh 1978; Tsoukalis 1981: Chapter 3). While illuminating the influence of organized interests in the member states towards the detailed negotiating dossiers, they do not address the dynamics of the EC decision-making process and how this resulted in the positive decision in favour of Greek entry. Meanwhile, the studies in Greek language, both contemporary and subsequent, revolve almost exclusively around the question of ‘demand’, that is, the motivation behind the Greek desire to enter the Community and related issues such as potential costs and benefits, the evaluation of the Greek negotiating strategy and analysis of the domestic debate.10 The question of ‘supply’ – or why the EC should have been willing to satisfy this request – has not really been addressed. Instead, the predominant explanation for the success of the Greek accession application is to attribute it to the dynamic personal diplomacy of Prime Minister Karamanlis (e.g. Kontogeorgis 1985) and particularly to his high-level diplomatic contacts with the French President, the West German Chancellor and the British Prime Minister. This scenario places a heavy emphasis on the role of personalities in historical processes, implying a view of European integration as a process dominated by the Big Three states and their heads of state and government. Despite its theoretical implications, in the Greek-language literature the interpretation based on the Karamanlis factor has become so widely accepted that it has essentially precluded further discussion of the subject. As a result, the intriguing question of why the Greek membership application was successful appears not to have been the subject of any systematic research. In fact, contemporary accounts suggest that the decision to admit Greece was taken with some reluctance – or at least, ambivalence. In the months preceding the official membership bid, The Economist referred to the Community as welcoming Greece with ‘half-open arms’ and claimed ‘the way Greece is forcing the pace is acutely embarrassing for the Nine’.11 Following the submission of the accession application, the attitude of the Nine was described as ‘guarded’ and several EEC countries were accused of ‘speaking with forked tongues . . . approving in public but not in private’.12 According to Tsoukalis (1981: 136), at the crucial Council meeting which decided to accept the application, ‘the lack of enthusiasm for Greece’s entry was compensated for by the simple fact that no member government wanted to be seen opposing it’. As a result, it was even declared that ‘if Greece becomes a member, it will be largely by default’.13 This suggests a scenario in which the member governments, in the context of the Community decision-making process, felt collectively unable to

Justifying the second enlargement 27 reject the Greek application. But what made Greece an applicant they could not refuse? In order to solve this puzzle, we will now turn to an examination of the debate on the second enlargement.

Solving the puzzle After the honeymoon The first point to emerge from an examination of the discourse around Greek accession is that the debate fell into two distinct phases, with spring 1976 apparently marking the end of the ‘honeymoon’. This discursive shift was noted in contemporary accounts. William Wallace (1979), for example, described the member states’ response to the Greek application as a case of ‘grand gestures and second thoughts’. Our analysis suggests that in the first phase, the language of rights and values was predominant. The question of Greek relations with the Community was essentially framed as a political and even moral issue and perceived in a positive light. The kinds of reservations cited by The Economist, although no doubt expressed in private to journalists, were not prominent in the public discourse. In contrast, in the second phase, while the other elements were still present, there were growing reservations about the Greek candidacy and an increasing emphasis on the economic difficulties entailed. The changing tone is partly attributable to new circumstances. In June 1975, when the Greek government submitted its application, another subsequent enlargement did not seem imminent. Primarily for economic reasons, Turkey – which in the early years had pursued a parallel path to Greece, becoming the Community’s second Associate in 1963 – appeared unlikely to seek immediate accession. While some references can be found to the possibility of future Iberian membership, this did not appear to be an immediate prospect. In June 1975, Spain was still ruled by Franco and the greatest crisis in Spanish–EC relations was yet to come, with the freezing of trade negotiations and withdrawal of member-state ambassadors following the execution of five Basque activists in September that year. Meanwhile, 14 months after the military coup that ended its own dictatorship, Portugal remained in a state of revolutionary upheaval. At this point, it appeared highly possible that anti-Western forces would prevail: in Spring 1975, the radical Left still enjoyed ‘formidable assets’, including ‘control of the administration, unions, army, the media and political initiative’ (Maxwell 1995: 131). Moreover, as Commissioner Claude Cheysson commented, the Portuguese government had ‘not given any clear or even unofficial indication of its precise intentions regarding its aims with the Community’.14 Thus in the early phase, the debate could focus on Greece. As already mentioned, while the Greek candidacy had its problems, the country’s small size meant the costs were containable. But the April 1976 election

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victory of the Portuguese moderates and the post-Franco Spanish reform process opened the way for an Iberian–EC rapprochement. The Portuguese and Spanish accession applications, submitted in March and July 1977 respectively, resulted in a new tendency to treat the three applicants as a group. For example, the European Commission’s ‘Fresco’, published in 1978, considered the implications of a three-state Southern enlargement (European Commission 1978). As a result, the Greek candidacy began to be seen as a precedent for the more difficult case of Spain, to become the EC’s fifth largest member state, whose entry raised economic issues of a quite different magnitude. While specific circumstances encouraged ‘second thoughts’ about Greece, the dual-phase response was not unique to the Greek case. It also reflected the nature of European integration politics and the natural progress of an accession application. As noted by William Wallace, until the official decision to accept Greece as a candidate, the application was essentially treated as a matter of high politics. But once the opening of entry negotiations became imminent, the candidacy moved into the sphere of low politics (Wallace 1979: 21–2). Thus at this point, the debate refocused around the predominantly economic issues of the detailed negotiating dossiers. The corollary of this was that member-state responses before and after acceptance of the application involved different actors. While the first phase of the debate was dominated by national governments, the second phase brought in individual ministries and civil servants with their own departmental agendas, along with economic interest groups and the political parties that expressed them (Leigh 1978: 5).15 It was these new actors who mobilized opposition to Greek membership. However, the Council of Ministers’ decision in February 1976 to open entry negotiations meant that, when the climate changed, Greece was already on course for accession. Given there were no Copenhagen criteria for applicant states to meet, once the entry talks officially opened in July 1976 the progress of the Greek application depended on negotiating harmonization with the acquis communautaire and reaching agreement on transitional periods. As in every other case of enlargement to date, accession negotiations concluded successfully because no candidate government has ever been prepared to jeopardize the goal of accession for the sake of technical details. In the Greek case, the objections of powerful national interest groups within the member states led the Community to adopt quite a tough negotiating stance.16 There was also an attempt to postpone Greek entry, by suggesting a so-called ‘globalization’ of the negotiations with all three South European candidates. But these were just delaying tactics. Essentially, as Iakovos Tsalicoglou (1995) notes in his authoritative study of the Greek accession negotiations, once there had been a political ‘agreement to agree’, the accession process developed as ‘a ritual dance’ with EC

Justifying the second enlargement 29 entry as the eventual outcome. For this reason, the examination will focus on the period leading up to the crucial Council decision of February 1976, in order to ascertain precisely what factors shaped the initial ‘honeymoon’ climate with Greece.

Three forms of justification for enlargement Promoting interests? The most obvious explanation for the admission of new members to a process of economic integration would appear to be economic interests. However, an examination of the discourse suggests that whenever the Greek application was discussed in economic terms, this tended to result in an emphasis on the negative aspects of the Greek candidacy. In contrast, economic arguments in favour of Greek entry are rather hard to find. More generally, in the period leading up to February 1976, the economy is notable for its relative absence from the debate. The market has always been viewed as the central motor of the integration process and any extension of its scope may presumably be regarded as a positive development. However, during the Greek ‘honeymoon’ period, there does not seem to have been any serious attempt to justify the second enlargement in terms of direct trade benefits. This may be explained by the fact that in the mid-1970s, Greece was a rather marginal trading interest for all the EC members, accounting for less than 1 per cent of exports in all cases except the FRG (1.2 per cent) and Italy (1.5 per cent).17 Of course, there was potential for growth. According to the 1971 census, Greece had a total population of 8.6 million inhabitants, making the Greek market larger than those of recent EC entrants, Denmark and Ireland. Accession could also be expected to produce dynamic trade effects, entailing both trade intensification and trade diversion. But during the period under examination, such arguments do not appear to have featured in the debate. It was, however, argued that Greece could play a potential role as a ‘bridge’ to other markets. For example, in a European Parliament debate in November 1975,18 Greece was variously described as an ‘ideal intermediary’ for the expansion of European economic and trade relations with the eastern Mediterranean; ‘an excellent springboard’ for trade with the southern Mediterranean, the Middle East and Africa; and as a base for trade with the Arab world, particularly after the civil war in Lebanon had reduced the rival attractions of Beirut. The ‘bridge’ argument has also been heard in other cases: notably, a few years later, it was frequently suggested that Iberian accession would facilitate access to Latin American markets. In the Greek case, the very diversity of the geographical locations for which this candidate state was expected to act as a link suggests a rather unfocused argument.

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Another strand of economic arguments consisted of upbeat assessments of Greece’s current situation and future prospects, stressing, for example, the country’s improving economic situation, high growth rates and industrial progress.19 But such arguments tended to have a flavour of suggesting things were not as bad as some people might think. Moreover, they were often qualified by references to less encouraging aspects of the Greek economy. A typical example is provided by the Commission’s ‘Opinion’, which noted ‘a substantial improvement in the country’s economic situation’ characterized by high growth and the rapid development of key industrial sectors. Further down on the same page, it then referred to Greece’s structural problems, agricultural backwardness, regional disparities, substantial current account deficit and high inflation (European Commission 1976: 11). Other positive economic arguments – such as the claim that Greek agriculture did not pose a threat owing to its ‘complementarity’ with Community produce or the potential of Greece’s large merchant marine to enhance the EC’s global weight as a shipping power – are associated with the later period of accession negotiations rather than with the crucial phase of decision. In the early phase, it seems fair to say that the economic arguments in favour of Greek accession were peripheral, weak and nebulous. They certainly did not add up to a strong case in favour of admitting Greece. The discourse around the second enlargement clearly did not speak to an image of the European Community as primarily a Common Market. However, as already indicated, there is an alternative interest-based scenario for the second enlargement, which sees it primarily as a strategic affair. The argument that Greek accession could stabilize Greece’s shaken Western orientation and rebalance its relationships with its allies can certainly be found in the contemporary press. Die Welt, for example, claimed that, following Greek NATO withdrawal, EC entry ‘would bind Greece closer to Europe’.20 In the more poetic formulation of The Times, ‘it should be possible to balance the divorce proceedings in NATO with marriage negotiations in the Commission’.21 There was also the possibility of using the carrot of EC membership to entice the Greeks back into the arms of NATO. The West German Chancellor, Helmut Schmidt, openly expressed the hope that EC membership would facilitate Greece’s return to the military wing.22 But, given the significance of this issue for NATO member governments, public linkage of the two issues was actually rather infrequent. In particular, such arguments are hard to find in the official discourse of EC institutions.23 An important reason for this reticence was obviously the fear of negative repercussions on public opinion in Greece, where ‘EOK kai NATO: to idio syndikato’ (roughly translatable as ‘EC and NATO: the same gang’) had become the favourite slogan of the anti-Western Left. Given the strength of Greek anti-NATO sentiment, if West European

Justifying the second enlargement 31 governments had a strategic purpose in admitting Greece to the EC, the best way to achieve their goal would be to keep quiet about it.24 Thus, while the NATO argument may have been a powerful underlying motive, it did not feature prominently in the debate. A second category of security arguments concerned the potential impact of Greek accession on broader regional stability and the EC’s potential role as an international actor. The Greek accession application coincided with the early years of European Political Cooperation, when the EC was making early attempts to launch its role as an international actor and enhance its autonomy in relation to the US. The Mediterranean – the site of a growing Soviet naval challenge at this time – was a key region for these new ambitions. In the mid-1970s, the EC, which had signed trade agreements with ten Mediterranean states between 1961 and 1972, was attempting to develop a more coherent policy towards this strategically significant region. In this context, it was argued that Greek membership would improve the Community’s strategic position in the Mediterranean.25 In addition, as pointed out by Italian Il Popolo, ‘Greece will be the only Balkan country in Europe’.26 According to a Guardian leader, published on the eve of the Council’s decision on the Greek application, the British government saw Greek membership as an important strategic factor ‘in what may be an unpredictable and unstable situation in the Balkans after President Tito’s departure’.27 It was even suggested – by the rapporteur on behalf of the European Parliament’s Political Affairs Committee – that Greek EC membership could help to ‘ease’ the Cyprus situation.28 However, these positive arguments tended to be expressed in rather vague and general terms, without explaining, for example, through what mechanisms Greek membership could be expected to enhance the EC’s security and upgrade its regional role. Again, as in the case of the economic arguments, the debate on the Greek application did not make a particularly convincing case for the second enlargement as a way of promoting strategic interests. Meanwhile, particularly on the topic of the Greece–Cyprus–Turkey triangle, it was more usual to find negative arguments, expressing unease about the potentially damaging effects of Greek accession on EC–Turkish relations. The extent of this concern was indicated by the controversial references to Greek–Turkish relations in the Commission’s ‘Opinion’, which stated categorically that the Community ‘should not become a party to the disputes’ and called on the two sides to mend their differences (European Commission 1976: 7).29 In contrast, the ‘Opinion’ did not include any arguments relating a positive answer to the Greek application to its security dimension. Summing up, it would seem that the debate on the second enlargement did not primarily speak to the concept of the European Community as a problem-solving entity, whether in the economic or the strategic sphere. The predominant image presented in the discourse was neither that of a

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Common Market nor of a strategic substitute for NATO, while the dimension of a regional strategic actor was only weakly developed. The analysis will now move on to examine the second logic of justifying enlargement as a means of developing a collective identity. Constructing identity? Defining ‘Europe’ had become an important issue for the EC in the 1970s. As part of the attempt to develop the European Community’s political dimension, in December 1973, 18 months before the Greek accession application, the Nine Foreign Ministers published a ‘Declaration on the European Identity’ (Council of Ministers 1973). The main purpose of this document, produced in the context of the newly-established European Political Cooperation, was to provide a basis for ‘the framing of a genuinely European foreign policy’, including establishing the EC as ‘a distinct and original entity’ in relation to the US. The Declaration did not define European identity in terms of shared interests. Nor did it cite the common bonds of blood and soil usually invoked in nation-state-building processes. Rather, its reference point was the ‘cherished values’ of a common civilization. Notably, this included an EC commitment to defend the principles of representative democracy, the rule of law, social justice and human rights. How did this value-based process of European identitybuilding impact on the discussion of the Greek application? An important aspect of identities is the fact that they are mutable and fluid. Reflecting this, the question of Greek identity could potentially have played out in two different ways. Historically, there have been two concurrent views of Greece and its European credentials. The first, emphasizing the heritage of classical Athens as one of the points of origin of European civilization, saw Greece as an essential part of Europe. This tendency had been intensified by the flowering of literary philhellenism in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, with the 1820s’ War of Independence acting as a particularly effective catalyst. Declarations like the British poet Shelley’s ‘We Are All Greeks’ exemplified the idea that the Greeks were more than just European: rather, as descendants of one of the founding European cultures, they could be regarded as the quintessential Europeans. The second view focused on the more recent past when Greek society, incorporated successively into two Eastern-oriented empires, had been part of worlds often regarded as antithetical to ‘Europe’: Balkan, Byzantine, Orthodox and Ottoman. For example, Maria Todorova (1997: 93–4), in her study of the ‘orientalization’ of the Balkans, shows how in West European travellers’ accounts, ‘the Greeks were invariably described as cheaters and crooks’, being depicted as ‘fractious, unfriendly, obsequious, ignorant, superstitious, lazy, venal, intriguing, dirty, ungrateful, and liars’. These were clearly the characteristics of ‘The Other’ – not of ‘One of Us’.

Justifying the second enlargement 33 A decade after accession, this second interpretation had become predominant. Greece, embroiled in disputes with its south-east European neighbours, came to be seen as one of the ‘Balkan Ghosts’30 haunting Europe and its qualifications to be part of the European Union were openly challenged in the foreign press. In striking contrast, in the 1970s accession debate, references to Greece as an ‘Other’ are conspicuously absent. Instead, flowery references to ancient Greece and its significance for Europe abound in the accession discourse. For instance, a nice example of cross-party consensus on the Greek origins of European civilization appears in a November 1975 European Parliament debate. After the Socialist Group representative described Greece as ‘the fountainhead’ of Europe, the following speaker on behalf of the Christian Democrats referred to it as ‘the part of the world where the European ideal first showed its true face’.31 Perhaps the most vociferous proponent of a culturally-based vision of the European construction was French President Valéry Giscard d’Estaing. Following the successful conclusion of the entry negotiations, he described Greek participation in the EC as ‘a return to the roots’.32 On the one hand, such proclamations were clearly arguments for Greek inclusion, both reflecting and contributing to a climate in which Greece’s European identity appears to have been absolutely unquestioned.33 On the other, they can also be seen as a legitimating strategy not only for enlargement, but also for the European Community itself. Giscard d’Estaing’s formulation indicated that the admission of Greece, with all its cultural resonances for classically-educated Europeans, had a special symbolic significance. Implied in the ubiquitous references to Europe’s Greek origins was the idea that admitting Greece would consolidate the Community’s own ‘European’ nature. Incorporating the alleged birthplace of democracy would strengthen the perception of this recent construction as the repository of an age-old tradition of European values. In turn, this would presumably reinforce the claim of the EC – a Cold War creation, encompassing only part of a divided continent – to speak on behalf of ‘Europe’. In this sense, the discourse on Greek accession played directly into the contemporary identity debate within the EC and became an intrinsic part of it. Meanwhile, with regard to Greece, it appears that the experience of the military dictatorship of 1967–74 had played a key role. Like the War of Independence a century and a half earlier, this event seems to have consolidated the perception of Greece as European. The sense of shock generated by the 1967 Greek coup was intensified by the fact that it occurred in a country which West Europeans were accustomed to think of as the cradle of democracy. Despite a history of systematic praetorian intervention in twentieth-century Greece, there was a strong feeling within the EC that dictatorship was an unnatural state for this particular country. Despite having no legal treaty base to do so, the Community responded to

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the coup by unilaterally suspending key clauses of Greece’s Association Agreement and by repeatedly declaring that the latter’s evolution towards full membership was out of the question while the Junta remained in power.34 Subsequently, the 1974 regime change, apparently demonstrating Greece’s attachment to the fundamental European value of democracy, confirmed and reinforced the Community side’s perception of Greece’s European identity. Analysis of the accession debate indicates that the perception of Greece as indubitably European was based on a civilizational frame of reference. Echoing the value-based ‘Declaration on European Identity’, Greece was essentially seen as European due to its supposed adherence to European ideals, which in turn had been born in the shadow of the Acropolis. Moreover, EC accession was represented as a way of reinforcing and guaranteeing Greece’s ‘European’ nature. A characteristic example of this discourse is provided by the statement made by Commission Vice-President, Sir Christopher Soames, following the arrest of staunch Junta opponent, Ioannis Pesmazoglu, the chief Greek negotiator of the Association Agreement: Twelve years ago we had high hopes that here was a European country – indeed, the fount of our ideals of democratic liberty – which would in due course join us as a full member . . . We still continue to hope [for] the day when Greece becomes once again what she was, and when we can develop to the full our relationship with her as a European democracy among European democracies, a country which we can eventually, in happier circumstances, welcome into our Community itself.35 This statement not only highlights the way in which the questions of identity and democracy had become intimately entwined. It also indicates how they in turn had become linked with the prospects for accession, as the Community’s anti-dictatorship strategy developed in a direction apparently entailing the creation of ‘rights’ for Greece. This takes us on to the third ‘logic of justification’ and the accompanying vision of the European entity as a rights-based union. Establishing entitlements? Given the difficulty that the member states apparently had in saying ‘no’ to Greece, the question arises whether this country was deemed to have somehow acquired a ‘right’ to accession. Such an interpretation is not selfevident. While the Treaty of Rome includes an open invitation to all European countries to participate in the integration project,36 it contains no commitment to negotiate with candidates, let alone admit them: all it guaranteed was the right to apply. Moreover, in the 1970s, there had been an important precedent: the recent UK experience suggested anything other than an automatic right of admission.

Justifying the second enlargement 35 Meanwhile, it is true that the Association Agreement had explicitly designated Greece as a potential full member. According to Article 72: When the operation of the Agreement of Association has made it possible to envisage the acceptance by Greece of all obligations arising out of the Treaty setting up the European Economic Community, the Contracting Parties shall consider the possibility of Greek accession to the Community [emphasis added]. But this formulation amounts to considerably less than a binding legal commitment. It also indicates that membership was only expected to become an option when Greece was ready – which did not appear to be the case in 1975. Another possibility concerned Greece’s fulfilment of the political criterion for EC membership. As already mentioned, at this stage the political criterion – like its economic counterpart – was informal. It had emerged gradually during the 1960s, with the first step being the European Parliament’s 1962 Birkelbach Report recommending that membership be limited to democratic states (European Parliamentary Assembly 1962). The second step was the sanctions imposed against the Greek Junta. Subsequently, when European Union became an issue on the Community agenda in the early 1970s, official statements systematically linked this prospect to a democratic requirement – an integral element of the valuebased identity-building referred to in the previous section. Following the Junta’s fall, the Community decided the only condition Greece needed to meet before the reactivation of the Association was the establishment of parliamentary democracy by holding free and fair elections. Once these took place, there were no further political requirements and the way was open for the submission of the Greek membership application. But in this era before the Copenhagen criteria, was fulfilling the very basic political criterion of the 1970s regarded as creating an entitlement to membership? Analysis of the debate suggests that this was in fact perceived to be the case. During the last years of the military regime, a significant shift occurred in the pronouncements made by the Community side concerning the future of Greek–EC relations. From the first, there had been frequent official statements that the Association’s evolution towards accession was out of the question while Greece remained under military rule. But particularly during the critical year of 1973, when the Junta moved towards an apparent liberalization followed by a new crackdown, these statements subtly mutated into declarations that the dictatorship’s departure would open the way for full membership.37 Such statements, frequently reiterated, established the concept of a Greek ‘right’ to accession. In the process, the economic criterion was completely forgotten while there was a metamorphosis of the democratic criterion into a democratic reward.

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From a sine qua non for any development of Greek–EC relations, the establishment of democracy in Greece became the basis of an entitlement to full membership. The significance of this semantic shift was to become apparent following the end of the dictatorship. The Junta’s fall provoked an outburst of democratic enthusiasm. In the first European Parliament debate on post-dictatorship Greece, for example, the prevailing mood was one of overwhelming delight at the fall of the military government accompanied by expressions of hope ‘that Greece can soon take its place within the EC’. Typically, one speaker stated categorically that the potential economic difficulties should not stand in the way of Greek accession. Meanwhile, the rapporteur’s reference to 1980 as a possible date for Greek entry indicated that the assumption implicit in the Association – that full membership could be considered at some unspecified point following the completion of the customs union in 1984 – was being abandoned in favour of accelerated entry.38 Thus, from the earliest post-dictatorship days, a dynamic was created in favour of rapid Greek accession, in which political considerations were explicitly prioritized over economic concerns. Discernible throughout the ‘honeymoon period’ between the summer of 1974 and the spring of 1976 is a line of argument that the Community had a moral commitment to admit Greece now that it had fulfilled the EC’s democratic demands.39 Above all, in the most important document in the whole accession process, it is this sense of democratic obligation which supplied the fundamental rationale for accepting the Greek application. Indeed, what is striking about the Commission’s ‘Opinion’ is that democratic arguments provide almost the only justification offered for accepting Greece. Only two other factors are cited: the declaration of faith in Europe represented by the Greek application and the prior commitment to full Greek membership made in the Association. In the first of two key paragraphs, the Commission, noting that this was the first time the EC had received an accession application ‘from a country with which it already has close contractual links’, justified its recommendation to admit Greece on the basis of ‘the avowed aims of the Community in establishing the Association, and Greece’s return to a democratic form of government’ (European Commission 1976: 7, emphasis added). The earlier undertaking in the Association was apparently not deemed sufficient to stand alone as an argument, but instead was explicitly linked to the Greek regime change. The Commission’s formulation was characteristic of the way in which the provision on future accession in the Athens Agreement was addressed more generally in the debate on Greece. When cited at all, it appeared only as a supplementary rather than as a central argument.40 It would seem that Article 72 was not regarded as providing Greece with any kind of automatic right to full membership: rather, it was Greece’s move to democracy which operationalized it, creating the perceived Greek ‘entitlement’

Justifying the second enlargement 37 to accession. Thus, in terms of membership ‘rights’, it was not the commitment undertaken in the Association that counted as much as the democratic promise made to Greece during the dictatorship. Meanwhile, in the second crucial paragraph of the ‘Opinion’, the Commission recommended ‘a clear affirmative reply’ to the Greek application, claiming that: This request, coming a few months only after the restoration of democracy in Greece . . . represents a remarkable affirmation by the Greek people and their leaders of the overwhelming importance they attach to their country being committed to the cause of European integration. It is clear that the consolidation of Greece’s democracy, which is a fundamental concern not only of the Greek people but also of the Community and its Member States, is intimately related to the evolution of Greece’s relationship with the Community. (European Commission 1976: 9) The first argument here, that support for the European Community should be rewarded, was once again reinforced through direct linkage with the issue of democracy. But it is the second argument – concerning the democratic importance of EC membership – that was crucial. The strong sense of Community responsibility for Greece’s democratic future conveyed in the Commission’s statement was a theme which pervaded all discussions of the Greek application. The argument that full membership would be good for democracy became a mantra of the debate on Greece, systematically repeated by the majority of participants. Rather intriguingly, it never seems to have been explained how EC entry was expected to act as a democratic stabilizer. Apparently, it was regarded as so self-evident that accession would promote democracy that there was no need to provide any further clarification. However, the fact that this was an article of faith rather than a carefully substantiated argument seems in no way to have mitigated its persuasive power. On the contrary, the extraordinary effectiveness of this argument was precisely due to the fact it relied on moral force rather than intellectual appeal. Once the question of Greece’s EC membership had been framed in terms of promoting democracy, it became extremely hard to argue against it. Potential opposition to Greek accession was thus transformed into a negation of the country’s democratic prospects. And how could any serious actor vote against democracy, one of the Community’s most cherished ideals and an integral element of its developing identity?

Dynamics of the Greek debate Examining the arguments in favour of the Greek application for EC membership has apparently allowed us to solve the puzzle of the second

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enlargement. The answer to the question why there was no member-state veto appears to lie in the nature of the intra-Community debate. Greece, which appeared a singularly weak candidate when seen from the viewpoint of interests, became a strong contender once accession was transformed into a different kind of issue. In an era when the Community was attempting to establish a European identity, the EC’s anti-Junta strategy directly opened the way for Greek accession by turning enlargement into a question of values and especially of democracy. In this context, adherence to European ideals was perceived as evidence of European identity, creating a ‘right’ to membership. Reinforcing this, the universal perception that admission to the EC would stabilize Greek democracy made it virtually impossible to turn Greece away. In the words of the European Commission’s ‘fresco’ on enlargement, the Community was perceived as having been ‘entrusted . . . with a political responsibility which it cannot refuse, except at the price of denying the principles on which it is itself grounded’ (European Commission 1978: 6). Following so many declarations about the EC’s value basis and devotion to democracy, rejecting Greece because of the practical problems entailed in its membership would have meant a major loss of Community credibility and legitimacy. This was particularly significant at a time when the EC was trying to send a clear signal to Spain and Portugal about the potential rewards of pursuing a parliamentary pluralist path. It was also in this context that the Commission’s suggestion of a ‘preaccession period’ became an unviable option. Having advocated accession in order to support democracy, the proposal to postpone it for economic reasons appeared an inappropriate response: not only mean-spirited but also a non sequitur. For if accession would strengthen democracy, then rejecting or delaying Greek entry would weaken it. The result was a climate in which it became politically and ethically untenable for any member state to veto. Meanwhile, it was precisely the fact that accession was presented as an issue of principle that allowed consensus to emerge. While interests could be divisive, bringing out differences among the member states, values had the potential to unify by emphasizing concepts supposedly common within the Community. It was certainly easier to agree about the desirability of democracy than about tomatoes and peaches. Making enlargement a democratic issue essentially ended the argument, relegating the difficult questions to details of the negotiating package rather than determinants of the basic decision. A positive outcome was assured, because no member state would want to stand accused of undermining Greek democracy. Thus, turning enlargement into a value-driven policy was functional in terms of decision-making effectiveness. In the aftermath of the oil crisis when integration appeared to be degenerating into disintegration, the EC, in taking the major decision to embark on its second enlargement, was able to project a picture of unity.

Justifying the second enlargement 39 Decision-making was also facilitated by the limited number of actors involved. Our study indicated the different dynamics of decision-making during the two phases of the Greek debate. Following the acceptance of the Greek accession application, the development of Community negotiating positions on specific economic issues of Greek accession can be perceived as a two-level game. At this point, the key players at the European level seem to have been national governments whose respective negotiating stands reflected the interplay of different economic interests within the domestic arena. However, even at this stage, in the context of an intraCommunity bargaining process based on a predisposition to consensus, the possibilities that national producer groups could shape the decisionmaking outcome were strictly limited. At the end of the day, all the sound and fury of the French farmers’ obdurate opposition to Greek accession translated into a simple seven-year transitional period on a limited range of Mediterranean agricultural products. In contrast, in the basic choice to accept the Greek application, member-state governments appear to have been relatively untrammelled by the demands of domestic interests. However, the Greek case suggests a shift of emphasis away from the intergovernmentalism considered characteristic of the 1970s to a more intricate process involving a range of actors. The examination of the Greek debate indicates that two supranational institutions – the European Commission and the European Parliament – were active players, whose democratic activism during and after the Junta seems to have had considerable influence on the decision-making outcome.

Legacy of the second enlargement As our study has indicated, the way in which Greek accession was justified and legitimated does not appear compatible with a Community self-perception as a problem-solving entity aiming to maximize interests, the first of the three ‘logics of integration’. Instead, it speaks to both the other two: the value-based community founded on a conception of a common European identity and the rights-based post-national union. Examining the debate on Greek accession from the perspective of the early twenty-first century, it is worth remembering that it may have resonated somewhat differently in its own time. During the Cold War and especially in the context of Greece’s post-dictatorship anti-Westernism, references to consolidating Greek democracy could also be read as codewords for stabilizing the country’s political and military orientation to the Western camp. It can be assumed that all participants in the debate would have been aware of such an interpretation, although it would have been more influential for some than for others. However, regardless of the strategic considerations which might or might not lie behind the pronouncements of individual actors, the fact is

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that the debate was principally couched in terms of democratic ideals, with accession presented as an issue of values and not as a question of realpolitik. This discourse then acquired a life of its own, leading to practical political results. Our case study illuminates the power of speech. It shows how talking about enlargement has the potential to influence not only the Community’s internal composition in terms of its membership, but also the declared goals of European integration itself. The debate on Greece altered the opinions of its audience, setting the parameters of what it was acceptable to say about this particular candidate and shaping the outcome of the Greek accession application. In the course of discussing the Greek candidacy, arguments about enlargement were defined and refined, changing perceptions of its purpose. The admission of Greece, justified through a discourse of democratic obligation, elevated enlargement into a major moral mission. Meanwhile, the second enlargement and the debate it generated impacted on the nature of the European Community itself. For the decision to admit Greece not only reflected but also promoted a particular view of European integration. The acceptance of Greece on democratic grounds promoted the construction of a European identity, allowing a selfconscious assertion of European integration as a noble project based on rights and values rather than trade and farm subsidies. Above all, it played a key role in establishing democracy promotion as a major new legitimating strategy for the European Community, complementing the old goal of guaranteeing peace. In the midst of its mid-1970s malaise, redefining the role of enlargement – and by extension of integration itself – offered the EC a way out of the impasse. It gave the Community a new sense of purpose, supplying a grand new vision to replace the ‘lost guiding light’ referred to in the Tindemans Report. Subsequently, the democratizing project has come to be seen as one of the fundamental functions of integration itself. The justification put forward for admitting Greece – the ethical imperative of supporting democracy – subsequently became established as the main basis for EC expansion. It is striking that after Greece, with the sole exception of the EFTA accession in 1995, democracy promotion has provided the basic rationale for every subsequent enlargement. The Greek case thus set the precedent which opened the road to accession first, for Spain and Portugal, then for Central and Eastern Europe and presently, for South-Eastern Europe. After Greece, it was no longer possible to turn away any new democracy on the grounds of economic weakness. To do so would not only have made the EC and its successor, the EU, appear inconsistent. It would also have undermined the normative basis on which European integration subsequently developed. Once enlargement became linked to democracy promotion, it severely limited the scope for prospective de Gaulles willing to break ranks and reject candidate states. Thus,

Justifying the second enlargement 41 the Greek precedent appears to have been significant in establishing a positive response to accession applications as the default drive of European integration – a characteristic which seems only now to be changing in the context of the post-‘Big Bang’ enlargement ‘pause’. In this sense, the second enlargement, to date a comparatively neglected moment in the history of European integration, appears to mark a crucial milestone in its development.

Acknowledgement I would like to thank Sophia Michalaki and Dimitris Bourikos for research assistance in the preparation of this chapter and Helene Sjursen, Kevin Featherstone, Nikos Koutsiaras, David Phinnemore, Alfred Tovias, Hakan Yilmaz and the members of the ELIAMEP Comparative Politics Seminar 2004–5 for critical comments. The responsibility for the final result is mine alone.

Notes 1 More specifically, the European Parliament material consulted includes all the plenary sessions on Greece (I am particularly grateful to Ms Lena Kyranaki, formerly of the EP office in Athens for providing access to all the plenary debates 1972–80 in microfiche) and selected oral and written questions and reports. Official European Community documentation, including documents on the Mediterranean Enlargement process, European Council conclusions and European Commission press releases on Greece was drawn from the archive formerly held in the European Commission information office in London and currently held by the European Commission information office in Athens. In terms of the European press, The Economist was monitored systematically for the period 1974–9; other material was drawn from the archive of newscuttings on the Greek accession process held at the Greek Embassy in London in the 1980s (I am grateful to the former press attaché in London, Vassilis Kapetanyannis, for providing access to this material). The Greek press (newspaper archive of the Library of the Greek Parliament) was monitored selectively for the period 1974–9. The published archive of former Prime Minister, Konstantinos Karamanlis (Svolopoulos 1996) was also consulted. 2 Irish Times, 5 August 1975. 3 The Economist, 22 November 1975. 4 The Times, 17 March 1977. 5 The Economist, 10 May 1975. 6 The Commission’s ‘Opinion’ on the Greek application estimated Greek agricultural productivity at 40 per cent of the EC average and the agricultural workforce as representing 36 per cent of the economically active population compared to the EC average of 9 per cent (European Commission 1976: 14). 7 Guardian, 9 October 1975. 8 Guardian, 13 July 1976. 9 E.g. Daily Telegraph, quoted in Akropolis, 4 September 1974; The Times, quoted in Vradyni, 22 August 1974. 10 For a characteristic but by no means exhaustive selection of the contemporary bibliography, see Anti (a collection of the periodical is found in EOK kai

42

11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19

20 21 22 23

24

25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

Susannah Verney Ellada: Arnisi i Ypodochi, Athens 1978); see also Chatziargyris (1979); Fakiolas (1979); Gourgiotis (1976); Ioakeimidis (1979, 1980); Karpathiotis (1978); Kentro Marxistikon Erevnon (1980); Mitsos (1981); Papaligouras (1980); Papayannakis (1978); Pesmazoglu (1980); Syrianos (1979). The Economist, editions of 7 December 1974 and 10 May 1975, respectively. The Economist, editions of 26 July 1975 and 21 August 1975, respectively. Financial Times, 12 February 1976. Debates of the European Parliament, 14 May 1975, p. 89. Leigh also comments that in both phases, another potential actor within the member states – public opinion – remained ‘largely unarticulated’ (ibid.). For example, it was a major Greek complaint that, while for first enlargement countries, transitional periods had essentially been designed to protect the applicants, in the Greek case they aimed to protect the Community. A particular cause of resentment were the seven-year transitional periods for some agricultural products and the free movement of labour. Calculation by Dimitris Bourikos based on the International Monetary Fund, Direction of Trade Statistics: Yearbook 1982. EP, 12 November 1975, pp. 116 and 125. In the European Parliament, these arguments were particularly associated with Mr De Clercq, the Chairman of the EC Delegation to the Greece-EC Joint Parliamentary Committee (one of the institutions monitoring the Greek Association). See e.g. EP, 12 November 1975, p. 124; 10 March 1976, p. 70; 7 July 1975, p. 27. See also Lord Bethell, EP, 12 November 1975, p. 125. Die Welt, 13 February 1976. The Times, 18 September 1975. The Economist, 14 August 1976. The European Parliament provides an interesting example here. In the September 1974 debate on post-Junta Greece, the rapporteur, after initially suggesting that the NATO question ‘will play a certain role when we come to discuss full membership of the European Community’, subsequently retracted this suggestion, stressing that a return to NATO should not be seen as a precondition for EC entry (EP, 26 September 1976, interventions by Mr Corterier, pp. 147 and 158). No subsequent public linkage between the two issues was found in EP plenary debates in the period prior to February 1976. This appears to be corroborated by the way in which, at a later stage of the accession process, EC leaders would strenuously deny any relationship between the NATO question and accession to the EC. For a good example, see the statement made by UK Prime Minister Callaghan after a meeting with Karamanlis – just one day before the latter was due to meet with NATO Secretary-General Joseph Luns to discuss the opening of new negotiations between Greece and the Alliance with the aim of a Greek return to the military wing, Vradyni, 26 January 1978. E.g. EP, 7 July 1975, p. 27. Il Popolo, 24 September 1975. Guardian, 8 February 1976. Intervention by Mr Scott-Hopkins, EP, 12 November 1975, p. 119. These references caused uproar in Greece, where the Commission was considered to have touched on matters that were outside its mandate. After the eponymous book by the journalist, Robert Kaplan (1993). Interventions by Mr Giraud and Mr Boano, EP, 12 November 1975, pp. 121–2. Kathimerini, 22 April 1979. This refers of course to perceptions from the Community side. Within Greece, the identity question was a hot issue which divided the political world – and Greek society – down the middle (see Verney 1994).

Justifying the second enlargement 43 34 On the Community’s policy towards the Greek Junta, see Coufoudakis (1977); Haritos (1981); Pesmazoglu (1999); Yannopoulos (1975). 35 EP, 6 June 1973, p. 90 (emphasis added). 36 Its Preamble concludes with the signatories ‘calling upon the other peoples of Europe who share their ideal to join in their efforts’. 37 E.g. Sir Christopher Soames, EP, 14 March 1973, reply to oral question 36/72; and 12 December 1973, p. 124. 38 EP, 26 September 1974, pp. 146, 147, 150. 39 See e.g. the EP interventions by Mr Corterier, 24 September 1975, pp. 148–9; Mr Fellermaier on behalf of the Socialist Group, 14 May 1975, p. 83; Mrs Carettoni-Romagnoli on behalf of the Communists and Allies, 10 March 1976, p. 71. 40 For a typical example, see the ‘Opinion’ of the EP’s Committee of External Economic Relations, which after citing other arguments in favour of Greek accession includes the following brief sentence: ‘The Athens Agreement provides a further legal basis for Greek membership of the EEC’ (European Parliament 1976).

3

In spite of the costs? Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy Sonia Piedrafita

Introduction Since the early 1990s Spanish representatives have emphasized the negative consequences that Eastward enlargement might have on the integration process, the common policies, the institutions and the EC budget. Moreover, their support for the process has not been unconditional, in the sense that it has not been just a ‘yes’, but rather a ‘yes . . . but’, with certain demands both on the EU’s enlargement policy and on other linked issues. Despite all this, successive governments never threatened to veto the accessions and kept on professing their solidarity with Central and Eastern European Countries (CEECs) and confirming the moral duty to assist these countries in their process of socioeconomic and political transformation, regarding membership as the best means of achieving this goal and overcoming the division of the continent. Since the European Council ultimately decides by unanimity whether and when to ask for the Commission’s opinion on an applicant state, whether to give this the status of ‘candidate’, when to start the accession negotiations, and whether to accept its final terms, in principle each member state has the power to block any of these crucial stages of the decisional process. Accordingly, Spain could have vetoed the process whenever it considered its interests negatively affected, but it did not. This raises the question: why did Spain support Eastern enlargement to the (apparent) detriment of its own interests? According to a rational-choice approach, the Spanish government would not use its veto power, in spite of expected negative consequences, insofar as the (political) cost of opposing Eastern enlargement could be even higher. Other powerful member states were in favour, leaving Spain with no chance of blocking the process without discrediting itself and/or weakening its position in negotiations on other issues. Undoubtedly, this would also be against interest-maximizing premises. Under such circumstances, when it was difficult, if not impossible, for Spain to oppose enlargement outright, the best remaining option was to support enlargement and in the course of the accession process do its best to protect its

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 45 interests and get some concessions, using value- and norm-based arguments strategically to ‘make a virtue out of the necessity’. However, history provides us with some instances where member states, their national interests being at stake, have either used this veto power or threatened to use it as a negotiating tool, blocking a certain stage of an enlargement process. This would be the case of De Gaulle’s veto to the British application for accession to the EC in 1963, of France’s and Great Britain’s block of Spanish accession negotiations in the early 1980s, and of Spain’s threat to veto the conclusion of negotiations with Norway in 1994. More recently, some member governments have shown themselves to be rather reluctant to open accession negotiations with Turkey and seeking to avoid any guarantees that such negotiations will necessarily end up in full membership. Therefore, the question arises why the Spanish government declined to take a similar stance on the occasion of Eastern enlargement. Although interest-maximizing premises could explain some Spanish demands during the process, a further explanation might be needed in order to better understand why the Spanish government never threatened to veto Eastern enlargement in order to achieve its goals or get better outcomes. A significant difference between rational-choice and sociological approaches is the emphasis they put on different logics or ‘modes of social action and interaction that are characterized by different rationalities as far as the goals of action are concerned’ (Risse 2000: 3): • • •

the consideration of a set of national preferences and the anticipation of the consequences of the action, which has been referred to as the ‘logic of consequentiality’ (Elster 1984); the conception of the self in a social role, or the ‘logic of appropriateness’ (March and Olsen 1998); the assessment of morally valid arguments, or the ‘logic of justification’ (Eriksen 1999).

If the EU is conceived of as a problem-solving entity, the collective decision to enlarge eastward would aim at promoting the interests and preferences of the member states, with the latter acting purposely in order to achieve their goals and increase their respective welfare (instrumental rationality). The decision of the Spanish government to support Eastern enlargement would be based on a cost-benefit calculus and the ‘logic of consequentiality’ would satisfactorily account for it. If the EU is moving towards a value-based community premised on social and cultural citizenship, the Spanish government would consider what they are expected to do according to the collective identity and the norms to be applied (contextual rationality), with the ‘logic of appropriateness’ explaining Spanish support for enlargement. Finally, Eastern enlargement could speak to a different understanding of the nature of the EU, as a rights-based

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post-national union, with a set of fundamental rights and democratic procedures deeply entrenched in the ‘collective psyche’ of Europeans and in the EU institutional framework. In this case, Spanish support for enlargement would derive from the assessment of moral arguments stemming from universally-valid standards. This chapter seeks to contribute to a better understanding of the nature of the EU polity through a case study of Spain’s Eastern enlargement policy. First, the consequences for Spain of the EU enlarging to the East are analysed. The next section consists of a review of the main contents of Spanish Eastern enlargement policy in the 1990s, accounting for the choices that the government made with the purpose of getting the most satisfactory outcomes, following rational-choice expectations. The third section approaches the question from a sociological perspective in order to determine the relevance of the logics of appropriateness and of justification. The last section holds the conclusion.

Consequences of Eastern enlargement for Spain According to the assumptions of instrumental rationality such as it is considered in liberal-intergovernmental theory (Moravcsik 1997), domestic political systems generate a set of stable, weighted objectives concerning particular ‘states of the world’ (future substantive outcomes that might result from international interaction), which the governments pursue with the maximum efficiency afforded by available political means (Moravcsik 1998: 23). This ordered and weighted set of objectives, reflecting those of influential domestic groups, constitutes state preferences, which are formed prior to inter-state political interaction, and determine any significant foreign-policy action (dependent variable). State officials define these state preferences on the basis of domestic societal interests and act purposely in world politics. Each state seeks to realize its distinctive preferences under varying constraints imposed by the preferences of the other states and the asymmetrical distribution of power and information among them. Preferences might be grounded in ideas and values, but economic interests remain primary. International actors are considered rational when they interact to pursue their respective material and ideal welfare. This brings us to the key question of the possible consequences of Eastern enlargement for Spain. Clearly Spain is unlikely to benefit from Eastern enlargement as much as other member states, while at the same time the process may negatively affect its geopolitical and economic interests. Arguments in favour of enlargement based on proximity, interdependence, security and stability, hardly correspond to Spanish interests, given that Spain is much more affected in geopolitical terms by events in the Mediterranean area and has stronger economic ties to other parts of the world, in particular Latin America. In 1998, with the liberalization process in the CEECs already quite advanced, the exports to the CEECs only

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 47 represented 2 per cent of total Spanish exports and 7.4 per cent of the Spanish exports outside the EU. Moreover, these sales only constituted 2.4 per cent of total CEECs imports, thus making Spain one of their least relevant EU trading partners (López Moreno 1999; Viguera 2001). Spanish direct investments in the region were also very low and have not increased since the liberalization of East European markets.1 The process could also have far-reaching, negative implications for Spain. Due to the CEECs’ socioeconomic structure, their accession might constitute a threat to Spanish interests in commercial and budgetary terms. As far as trade is concerned, agricultural goods as well as materialintensive (iron and steel) and labour-intensive (footwear and textiles) goods are quite relevant in the production and export composition of both Spain and the CEECs. With regard to capital-intensive goods, both enjoy comparative advantages in those of lower range. In addition to this, Eastern countries’ labour force is cheaper and transportation costs are lower because of their proximity to the main markets for Spanish exporters. With regard to agriculture, competition might get even harder because Spain will have to compete with the CEECs for the allocation of production quotas and CAP compensations and will have to reduce protective tariffs required by the WTO for each new EU member. As regards the budgetary competition, and in order to assess the importance of EU funds for Spanish economy, it is worth noting that by 1999 Spain had become the first net recipient of structural funds, and the fourth as far as the agriculture funds were concerned, with a positive financial balance of 6 billion euro. Taking into account the regional prosperity of the CEECs and the situation of their agriculture holdings and prices, together with the 1999 Berlin Council decision to steadily reduce EU expenditure from 2003 onwards, it would be reasonable to assume that further accessions will take place at the expense of funds that the net recipients among the old member states have so far been receiving. Finally, in addition to public EU funds, also private direct investments may be re-directed from Spain to the emergent CEECs’ economies.2 With the prediction of such consequences, it is at first sight puzzling why the Spanish government supported Eastern enlargement at the 1993 Copenhagen Council without previously having assured a more favourable allocation of costs. According to rationalist approaches, not only are state preferences important, but their intensity also matters. The relative power of states is defined in terms of ‘asymmetrical interdependence’, which dictates the relative value of agreement to different governments, that is, the intensity of their preferences. When governments have varying preference intensities across different issues, it may be to the advantage of parties to exchange concessions (Moravcsik 1998: 65). Spain might have no particular gain from Eastern enlargement, but provided that other member states do, cooperation would be in the interest of all. In exchange of concessions on this issue, the Spanish government could have pursued other objectives,

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avoiding discredit and loss of support in other negotiations. The next section examines to what extent this may be valid.

Policy contents, exchanges and concessions Spanish attitudes towards the association policy After the collapse of the Berlin Wall, Spanish Prime Minister Felipe González (1982–96) seemed more fascinated by the subsequent events than could – in the opinion of some foreign diplomats – be expected from a prime minister of an off-centre European medium power. On the eve of the Council of Ministers meeting in Paris in November 1989 he played an essential role in getting the Twelve to reach a common supportive position towards the changes in the socialist bloc.3 Following this meeting he expressed his desire to advance on the EC institutional reforms, in order to facilitate a closer relationship with Eastern countries.4 Institutional reforms had been a priority of the government since Spain’s accession insofar as its voting power in the Council was not in accordance with its population size. The Prime Minister also insisted on the need to take into account, on the one hand, the possible consequences for Spain’s internal development of any EC policy towards the CEECs, and on the other hand, some important dimensions of Spanish foreign policy. Therefore, Spain had to ‘act positively in favour of these changes and defend at the same time its internal and external interests’.5 When time came for discussing the European agreements in the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Spanish Parliament prior to the 1990 Dublin European Council,6 and on the occasion of the Prime Minister’s address to the Parliament after the summit,7 representatives of the main political parties showed no opposition to the association policy. However, they were concerned about its consequences for the Spanish economy (due to trade liberalization), for the structural policy (due to the imminent integration of eastern German regions) and for other dimensions of the European foreign policy (e.g. Latin America and North Africa). In fact, prior to the June 1990 European Council, the Minister of Foreign Affairs had stated to the Parliamentary Committee that it would be convenient to accommodate the European solidarity with Spanish interests in view of reaching the unanimity required for the agreements to be approved. The European Council finally agreed to open exploratory talks on association agreements with some CEECs; to broaden and intensify efforts on security and cooperation with the Mediterranean countries under the framework of the upcoming Conference for the Security and Cooperation in Europe; and to increase the aid earmarked for Latin America (European Council 1990). In November 1991, the Spanish government furthermore threatened to veto the conclusion of the European agreements with Poland, Hungary

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 49 and Czechoslovakia because the aid proposed for their iron and steel production and exports could negatively affect the Spanish sector, which was undergoing a severe restructuring process. Moreover, further concessions on the textile and coal sectors had also been made. Spain finally accepted to sign the agreements in exchange for a declaration that would permit the government to control Eastern imports by starting an antidumping process or by applying a safeguard clause.8 In the coming months the Spanish government’s priority was the development of the cohesion principle within the framework of the Treaty on European Union (TEU), as well as the negotiations of the financial perspectives for 1993–7. The compromise on enlargement The Spanish government’s preference for postponing any decision on enlargement was reinforced by the fact that the 1990–1 Intergovernmental Conference (IGC) had not achieved an agreement on the institutional reforms, and this issue was considered essential before the accession of new members. Moreover, Spain’s worries for the cohesion policy increased with the negative result of the Danish referendum on the Maastricht Treaty in June 1992. At the European Council meeting held in Lisbon that month, Spain agreed to accept the EFTA countries9 as candidates, provided that their accessions were conditioned on the ratification of the TEU and the approval of the financial perspectives. Furthermore, the candidates had to assume the objectives of the economic and political union and fulfil the convergence criteria. Spain also managed to have the compromise include strengthened relations with the Maghreb countries (European Council 1992a). At the Edinburgh European Council in December 1992 Spain conceded the EC to start negotiations with Austria, Finland, Norway and Sweden, although Maastricht had not yet been ratified, in exchange for a rise of the ceiling of national contributions to the EC budget to 1.27 per cent and a new allocation of the cohesion funds that would be more favourable for Spain. The European Council also compromised on dealing with the Commission’s proposal for further action to promote the CEECs’ future membership in its upcoming meeting (European Council 1992b). With the financial perspectives approved and the TEU in force, the Spanish government took a stand with regard to EU Eastern enlargement based on two premises. On the one hand, the ‘widening’ of the Union should not affect the ‘deepening’ process it was currently undergoing (especially the achievement of the Economic and Monetary Union, EMU) and, on the other hand, the necessary institutional reforms should be carried out prior to enlargement. The European Community that Spain envisages cannot remain closed as a club for rich people. But neither can it give in to the temptation of

50 Sonia Piedrafita enlarging just to be larger . . . It must offer accession to the countries with the capability and desire to assume the acquis and the finalité politique of the Community. (González 1992: 20, author’s translation) Thus, the CEECs should first undergo further institutional and economic reforms in order to be able to assume the objectives and responsibilities of the Political and Economic and Monetary Union. Furthermore, according to the Spanish Socialist MEP, Enrique Barón, it was necessary to take the pertinent institutional decisions prior to any new enlargement, so as to prevent the EU from modifying its structure with each new member (Granell 1993: 73). However, when on 3 May 1993 the Commission recommended the Council to give a clear perspective for accession to the Eastern countries at the upcoming meeting of the Heads of State in Copenhagen, the Spanish government supported the Commission’s initiative and was in favour of giving the CEECs a clear reference of membership and of taking the necessary steps to speed up the process.10 The 1993 Copenhagen European Council agreed that ‘the associated countries in Central and Eastern Europe that so desire shall become members of the European Union’ but also established a set of conditions (the so-called Copenhagen criteria), which to some extent took the Spanish government’s claims into account. The applicant countries had to satisfy certain political conditions and be able to take on the obligations of membership including adherence to the aims of the Political Union and EMU. Moreover, the accessions would not take place unless the Union could absorb new members and provided that it did not affect the integration process negatively. The Spanish government also ensured that additional trade liberalization measures were accompanied by a compromise on approximating laws in the associated countries to those applicable in the Community – in order to prevent possible distortions in competition – and that the partnership between the Union and the Maghreb countries would be upgraded (European Council 1993). In June 1994 in Corfu, a coalition of the Southern member states persuaded the other members to accept the inclusion of Cyprus and Malta in the next round of enlargement, to delay negotiations until the 1996–7 IGC on institutional reforms, and to further develop the EU Mediterranean policy (European Council 1994a). The Essen Council later that year, in exchange of the Southern member states’ support for the pre-accession strategy, agreed to solve the Spanish problem with regard to the fishing policy;11 to ask the Commission to elaborate a report on the impact of enlargement upon the Community policies; to initiate trade-liberalization talks with Mercosur, Chile and Mexico; and to design a global, flexible and multi-annual Mediterranean policy similar to that of the CEECs – although without the accession prospect (European Council 1994b). Spain permitted Eastern enlargement to go ahead but its key demands had been met.

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 51 Spain’s preferences on the timing From the outset of the Spanish EU Presidency in the second half of 1995, Germany started pressing to open negotiations with a selected number of CEECs. Holding the Presidency brought pressure to bear on the Spanish government to work with the Commission in order to bring forward some sort of initiative. It was time to design the policy; the first applications for membership were being made and the EU had to take a decision on the guiding principles for the timing and scope of the process. The Spanish government’s policy proved to be quite dependent on this decision-making process and also on the development of the negotiations of other related issues such as the institutional reforms, the financial perspectives and the future of the common policies. At the plenary session of the European Parliament (EP) on 15 November 1995, Prime Minister González outlined his starting stance regarding the timing of accessions and the selection of candidates.12 He expressed a wish for both a ‘larger Europe’ and ‘more Europe’, and stated that: ‘those who suggest a free-of-costs process are missing the point’.13 The Spanish government could accept a quick ‘political membership’ but with longer transitional periods for the economic integration and with a compromise to guarantee the structural and agricultural policies. Disguised by the wish to protect the EU project, the Spanish government’s intention could have been to dilute the costs of the process and minimize the loss of receipts from the EU budget as a consequence of the CEECs’ accessions. At the European Council in Madrid in December, they finally agreed to call for the Commission’s opinions on the applicants and to start negotiations as soon as possible treating all candidates on equal terms (European Council 1995b). In 1996 the Spanish Popular Party won the parliamentary elections and José María Aznar assumed the office of Prime Minister. The previous discourse of the Socialist government had usually highlighted the EU collective interest and the government’s European spirit, while that of the new conservative government was dominated by references to the national interest, linking the success of Eastern enlargement to the solution of the financial aspects, the institutional reforms and the guarantee of the common policies. In the words of the newly appointed Foreign Minister: The EU is still the main factor of peace and stability for the continent . . . the unique real prospect for peace and prosperity for the Eastern republics . . . Enlargement . . . is a project assumed by all and supported by Spain, because we believe that the stability and prosperity of the continent depends on it. But it is a sensitive and complicated task, and, in order to carry it out successfully, the Government will defend the consolidation of the institutions and the acquis communautaire . . . and that

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When the Luxembourg European Council in December 1997 agreed to initiate the negotiations with the group of candidates proposed by the Commission in the Agenda 2000, which had been presented to the Council in July (European Commission 1997a), and to open the ‘screening process’ with all the candidates, José María Aznar expressed both Spain’s satisfaction for having contributed to the definitive burial of the European divide born in Yalta and the country’s particular solidarity towards the future EU members, due to its own historic experience (Torreblanca 1999: 113). However, it is worth noting that some progress had previously been made with regard to institutional reforms, the financial aspects and the common policies. The Treaty of Amsterdam (signed 2 October 1997) had convened a new IGC to solve the question of institutional reforms. Spain had agreed to postpone the decision against its own preferences, in exchange for the extension of the Ioannina agreement14 until the next accession and the Council’s compromise on working out a solution for the Spanish claim in the meantime (see Declaration 50 to the Treaty). Finally, the institutional issue was settled in Nice in December 2000, with a very satisfactory outcome for Spain, who lost a Commissioner but increased its voting weight in the European Council compared to the other large states (Elorza 2001). As for the financial aspects and the common policies, the Agenda 2000 had analysed the effects of enlargement on the application of the common policies as well as the financial perspectives, guaranteeing the agricultural and structural policies in spite of enlargement. However, there was still a long way to go to reach an agreement on the financial perspectives; the Spanish government’s strong defence of the structural and cohesion policy clashed with Germany’s preference for re-nationalizing some common policies and the United Kingdom’s wish to reduce the Community budget. Once the financial perspectives were approved in Berlin in March 1999, the Spanish PM reiterated his desire to speed up negotiations with the first wave of candidate countries and to start negotiating with the remaining CEECs. On 7 April 1999, he told the Hungarian Prime Minister, Viktor Orban, in Budapest that he wished Hungary’s accession to the Union would take place as soon as possible. On 13 July he insisted once more, this time to the Bulgarian President Meter Stoyanov, that the Spanish position at the upcoming Helsinki Council would be to defend a global negotiation process with all the candidates according to the ‘regatta’ principle, which established the same departure point for all while the development of the process would depend on each country’s individual progress. He also advocated starting negotiations with Bulgaria before the

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 53 end of the year. In September, on the occasion of the Polish Prime Minister Jerzy Buzek’s visit to Madrid, Aznar stated that Spain had always shown its support to Poland’s accession and wished it would be realized as soon as possible.15 Finally, the December 1999 Helsinki Council decided to open negotiations with all the candidates and, after the Nice agreement the following year, the process speeded up and agreements were concluded with most countries by December 2002.

The decision to support enlargement: appropriateness and justification Explanatory limits of the instrumental rationality The rationalist assumptions present in International Relation’s liberal theory and intergovernmentalist approaches to the study of the EU might offer a good explication for the ‘dispositional dimension’ (Carlsnaes 1992) of Spanish enlargement policy, that is, the choices that the government made on the basis of the national interest with the purpose of getting the most satisfactory outcomes once the process had been launched. But they fail to explain why the Spanish government neither opposed the initial decision to admit eventual enlargement nor blocked the process by threatening to veto it in order to achieve its goals or whenever its claims were not accepted. The reason does not seem to be that it was considered a highly costly option, with the risk of losing support in other negotiations, given the strong preference of some key member states as Germany. Two reasons for this can be identified. First, the Spanish government took a rather different stand in order to get its way on the occasion of EFTA enlargement despite facing similar strong preferences. During the Portuguese presidency of the Council in the first semester of 1992, some key member states were very interested in dealing as soon as possible with the membership applications of Austria, Finland, Norway and Sweden (since the agreement on the European Economic Area had been declared contrary to the Treaty of Rome by the European Court of Justice). The Spanish government then openly showed its opposition to deal with these applications prior to the approval of the financial perspectives presented by the Commission – in the view of the net contributors’ reluctance to increase the Community budget.16 Both the idea of including the four EFTA countries before the IGC on institutional reforms and the context of a restrictive budget made Spain believe that the compromise acquired in Maastricht on a cohesion policy, as well as its position inside the future European Union, might be threatened. As the European Commission’s Forward Studies Unit (FSU) had reckoned, enlargement was not to take place at the best moment for Spain insofar as it would imply the consolidation of the ‘Nordic perspective’ – a large customs union with its axis increasingly displaced to the North.17 In the

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Council of General Affairs held in Brussels on 11 May 1992, the Ministers from Spain, Portugal and Ireland expressed their governments’ intentions to veto any decision on the inclusion of the four EFTA countries until a satisfactory agreement on the cohesion funds had been achieved.18 The Spanish government also blocked the negotiations on the draft of a common position on fisheries presented by the Commission at the beginning of 1994. Again in December that year, Felipe González, backed by the Spanish Parliament, stated that the instruments of ratification of the accession treaties of Austria, Finland, Sweden and Norway would not be handed over to the EU unless Spain’s transitional period for the Common Fisheries Policy would come to an end.19 Second, the assumption that the Spanish government could regard opposition to Eastern enlargement as a highly costly option implies that it was considered as a possible action that eventually was not taken due to expected negative consequences. However, from 1989 to 1992, most Spanish representatives’ statements speak to the fact that Eastern enlargement was taken for granted. The President of the EP Institutional Committee in charge of preparations for the 1990–1 IGC, the Spaniard Marcelino Oreja, thought it was advisable to take a stand on the membership aspirations of these countries, although they were not prepared to become members in the short-term. He also asserted that Spain had an important role to play in a Europe whose centre was moving eastward (Oreja 1990: 36–44). In a session of the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Spanish Parliament prior to the 1990 Dublin European Council, representatives of the main political parties regarded the association agreements and the IGC on the Political Union as the first steps leading to enlargement.20 After the 1992 Lisbon European Council, the Spanish President explained in the Spanish Parliament that the CEECs should undergo further institutional and economic reforms in order to be able to meet the objectives of the Political Union and the EMU and to become future members of the Union.21 Thus it does not seem as if opposing Eastern enlargement was ever considered an option, a view that has been confirmed by interviews conducted with relevant policymakers.22 The question was when, rather than whether or who. The conception of self in a social role and the force of the moral arguments From a sociological perspective, it could be said that the Spanish government never opposed Eastern enlargement because it was the appropriate thing to do according to the EC collective identity. ‘The idea of community seeks to dictate a different type of intercourse among the actors belonging to it, a type of self-limitation in their self-perception, a redefined self-interest, and hence re-defined policy goal’ (Weiler 1991: 2480). As far as Eastern enlargement was concerned, the self as part of the

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 55 Community prompted, from the founding Treaties, to substitute age-old rivalries with peace and stability and to strengthen democracy; and from the Community culture, developed over time, to look for the interests of the overall system, not just for the individual interests (Friis 1998a). As Sedelmeier (2000a) highlights, from the origins of the EC to the end of the Cold War, the EC policymakers had also discursively constructed a particular role of the Community in its relations with the CEECs that ascribed a special responsibility to the EU towards Eastern Europe. This constitutive norm, which had become part of the collective identity, implied a fundamental regulative one: not to oppose the accommodation of the CEECs’ interests (including membership) on the grounds of selfinterest of the old member states. The legitimacy of the EU’s collective decision-making dealing with these demands should not derive from its efficiency in promoting the interests and preferences of its member states, but should be considered as a matter of identity and justice. However, in view of the Spanish attitudes in the negotiations of the European agreements, one could still wonder whether the policymakers refrained from opposing enlargement just because they feared high reputational costs. Although such circumstances also have an impact on the members’ behaviour, in the current case it should be considered a facilitating factor for Spain’s political action, rather than its cause, for two main reasons. In the first place, if it were the case that the Spanish government could not oppose enlargement, why did they not just limit themselves to accept the agreement? Instead, they contributed to give further legitimacy to the discourse. On the eve of the 1993 Copenhagen European Council, the Spanish State Secretary for the European Community, Carlos Westendorp, not only expressed the government’s support for the Commission’s proposal but also advocated speeding up the process, stating that the EU should not be ‘stingy’ but offer the CEECs a clear perspective and an ambitious goal,23 even when aware of possible negative consequences and with institutional reforms still pending. In the second place, Spanish policymakers seem to have taken a decision based on the assessment of moral arguments rather than on a cost-benefit calculus. When in 1976 the Spanish government first showed its interest in applying for EC membership, it had to tackle some member states’ reluctance based upon national economic interests. It did so, confronting these pragmatic arguments with moral arguments based on the promotion of democracy and the spirit of the Treaty of Rome potentially addressed to all European nations (Bassols 1995: 156–7). Eventually, the Council of Ministers decided in September 1977 to call for the Commission’s opinion on Spain, underlining the priority of the political features of Spanish candidature, in particular the contribution to the development and consolidation of the democratic processes in Southern Europe, as well as the new dimension that the construction of Europe would acquire

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(Bassols 1995: 201). For Spanish policymakers it was not legitimate to make a different interpretation of the spirit of the Treaty and the conception of the Community than the one they had made on their own country’s accession and in which they deeply believed. Insofar as Spanish political elites and public opinion had always regarded Europe as the best means for consolidating these values and overcoming obstacles rooted in the past, they did not have the moral authority to deny the same prospect for the new candidates. Moreover, the European discourse regarding Eastern enlargement as a historic opportunity and duty was part of the reasons that Spanish representatives would give for their policy; they could not oppose Eastern enlargement given its moral foundation: In the horizon of the coming new century, enlargement of the Union to the Eastern and Central countries . . . will become true. Europe will be reconciled with her own history and this great reunification will become a factor of security and stability for the whole continent. The challenge is moral, historical, and geopolitical, more than economic or financial. (González 1996: 17, author’s translation) Our party supports the integration of all the democratic Eastern and Central European countries in the Union. Moreover, it is a priority for us because if they assume the entire ‘acquis communautaire’, they have the indisputable right to become members, and nobody has the moral authority to deny them this right. This is why their membership is beyond question. (Aznar, author’s translation)24 We regard enlargement as a serious political project for the reunification of a Europe that can only be conceived of as united. We cannot conceive of Europe without Warsaw, Budapest, or Prague; it would be a partial Europe in little accordance with her history . . . Europe has been our political horizon, our reference of progress, liberty, democracy and social justice. We regarded Europe as the way to consolidate our democracy and advance in structural reforms . . . A country with this perspective cannot deny the same prospect to the current candidates. (Piqué, author’s translation)25 Not only does this argumentative line appear in the official statements, but the same reasons for the policy were also given by Spanish policymakers in personal interviews. Accessions of the four EFTA countries were always regarded as different insofar as these countries were considered to be ‘rich candidates’, who did not need accession as a means to consolidate demo-

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 57 cracy and pursue socioeconomic development; therefore, blocking or threatening to veto the process was considered a legitimate negotiating tool. By contrast, this political action was not considered legitimate in the case of Eastern enlargement since moral arguments spoke against it. The importance of the communicative interaction process The fact that the Spanish government did not oppose Eastern enlargement does not seem to respond to an instrumental rationality, with the logic of consequentiality accounting for such a political action. Once the EU reached a compromise on enlarging, the Spanish government tried to get the most satisfactory outcomes for their own interests within the framework offered by the European institutions. But, even in this case, the logic of consequentiality is neither the exclusive mode of social action nor the only one with an impact upon Spain’s policy formation. Not only was the policy both developed endogenously to EU policy-making and influenced by it, but the national interest and claims were also presented in a way that might be considered legitimate by the others, which also speaks to the ‘logic of justification’. The communicative conception of rationality does not solely designate consistency or preference-driven action based on a calculus of success, nor mere norm-conformity or accordance with entrenched standards of appropriateness; but rather public reason-giving: when criticized, plans of action can be justified by explicating the relevant situation in a legitimate manner. (Eriksen and Fossum 2004: 438) For instance, the linkage between the pre-accession strategy with the CEECs and the Mediterranean policy was justified by the Spanish Prime Minister in the following terms: We have confirmed the EU compromise in favour of an equal treatment for the East of Europe and the South of the Mediterranean Sea, insofar as they are both EU neighbouring areas and peace here depends on stability there. And this challenge is the same for all member states because the last enlargement to Fifteen has not led to an alteration of our priorities, but to widening our common responsibilities . . . This new European reality requires us to assume the responsibilities of our external projection. In fact, the German presidency has approached the EU’s relationship with their neighbours from a global and balanced perspective. The Spanish government has unambiguously shown itself in favour of a strategy towards the CEECs which makes their accession feasible. (González, author’s translation)26

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Also at the occasion of the 2000 IGC on institutional reforms, the quite ‘aggressive’ negotiating style of the conservative Prime Minister was carefully thwarted with numerous statements by Spanish representatives clarifying and justifying the action: Spain was not opposed to enlargement, in fact it would understand this better than any other member state due to its own historical experience; it was only defending a fair institutional agreement which had been pursued for long (Piqué 2001: 60–3). In addition to actions and claims being justified with legitimate arguments throughout the process, factors speaking to endogenous policy formation can also be observed. Although the acceptance of Eastern enlargement was unquestionable from the early 1990s, the Spanish government’s position regarding the timing and scope was more uncertain. On the one hand, it was quite unpredictable which countries would succeed with their economic and political transformations or when the EU would be prepared to absorb them. On the other hand, the Spanish government preferred to step back in the ‘fight’ about the future European borders and the timing of the enlargement process and not to define preferences until further progress of the debates.27 In June 1994 the representatives of the main political parties reproached the Socialist government for not taking the consequences of Eastern enlargement seriously.28 During the Spanish Prime Minister’s address to Parliament that December, opposition leader Aznar insisted on the fact that Spanish government should not be indifferent to the decision on the timing, manner and scope of the process.29 It was not until the plenary session of the European Parliament on 15 November 1995, under the Spanish EU Presidency, that Felipe González outlined his position on the issue: ‘A vaster Europe requires more Europe . . . The candidates do not want the Union to be diluted or common policies to be dismantled . . . or the abolition of the Structural Funds’.30 According to the Prime Minister, they wished a progressive integration of their economies with adequate transitional periods, but an immediate political membership: Spain wanted enlargement ‘to strengthen not to weaken [the Union]’.31 This stance implied a half-way solution that took into account both the claims for speeding up the process and Spain’s own preferences for defending the structural and cohesion policies and for prioritizing the EU’s ‘deepening’ process over its ‘widening’. The immediate political accession for all candidates gave moral legitimacy to the proposal, as it was justified on universally-valid principles such as non-discrimination and promotion of democracy and peace through membership. A slower economic integration was legitimized in impartial (not self-interested) terms of efficiency; it would reduce the negative transitional effects, with a better adaptation of the CEECs’ economies to the single market and a more limited impact on the structural and agricultural policies. However, the arguments did not mobilize much support and, eventually, the Spanish presidency’s proposal for the Madrid European Council of December 1995 was to set a date for starting negotiations with all the candidate coun-

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 59 tries and to let further advancement depend on their individual progress (the ‘regatta’ principle). Finally, the European Council agreed to open negotiations as soon as possible and treat all the candidates on equal terms (European Council 1995b). Not only did the Spanish government define its policy endogenously to the interaction process, taking into account and challenging claims from other participants, it also accepted an agreement based on the better argument that all the member states could live with (Eriksen 2000: 57). Also, at the European Council meeting in Luxembourg 1997, the Spanish government, in spite of defending the ‘regatta’ principle, acceded to the EU starting negotiations only with the candidates designated by the Commission, but the Fifteen also agreed to open the ‘screening process’ with all of them.

Concluding remarks The Spanish government’s decision to support Eastern enlargement in spite of the expected costs does not seem to respond to an instrumental rationality, although this offers a satisfactory explanation for the ‘dispositional’ dimension of the policy. Spanish policymakers acted as interest maximizers in dealing with the allocation of costs and they tried to get concessions on other issues given that other member states were more interested in (and benefited more from) Eastern enlargement. However, some relevant features of the policy remain unexplained, especially the fact that the Spanish government did not threaten to veto the process whenever its claims were not accepted. Spain’s attitudes to the inclusion of the four EFTA countries show how the unanimity requirement might be used as a negotiating tool, even when other member states have strong preferences. The analysis of the policy contents (acts and statements) furthermore prove the moral foundation of Spain’s support for Eastern enlargement, which was based, rather than on an anticipation of consequences, on the assessment of morally-valid reasons for action whose legitimacy stemmed mainly from Spain’s own experience, the collective identity and the communicative interaction process. The Spanish government’s initial caution (or reluctance) to the enlargement had more to do with the ‘when’ than with the ‘if’ question. As far as the decision on timing is concerned, Spanish representatives initially showed their fears for an early enlargement. However, both policies and preferences changed over time, closely connected to the EU decisionmaking process, where arguments and deliberations were of high relevance. Therefore, the content of the policy should not be regarded as fixed and exogenously established, but as developing endogenously to the interaction process with other EU actors. The Spanish government approached the decision-making process ready to be moved by reasons that could conflict with their antecedent preferences and interests, aiming to defend and

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criticize policies in terms of considerations that others might have reasons to accept (according to their own preferences and commitments), and prepared to cooperate in accordance with the results of the discussion (Cohen 1998: 100). All of these might speak for deliberative practice within the EU, with the EC evolving from a problem-solving entity, with its legitimacy deriving from the member states, into a polity in its own right, seeking to establish a fair system of cooperation founded on fundamental rights and democratic procedures for deliberation and decision-making.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Thomas Christiansen, Erik O. Eriksen, John Erik Fossum, Åsa Lundgren and José Ignacio Torreblanca for their comments and suggestions to this work. Special thanks to Helene Sjursen for her valuable input to the chapter. I am also grateful to the policymakers who have shared their time and knowledge with me.

Notes 1 Newspaper article by Carmela Martín, ‘Exports and Direct Foreign investment of Spain and the UE to the CEECS 1990–99’, Expansión, 16 November 2000. 2 The impact of Enlargement on the Spanish economy has been analysed in detail in Martin et al. (2002). See further the studies of a Spanish employer’s association, Círculo de Empresarios (2001) and of the Spanish Ministry of Industry, Tourism and Commerce (2002). 3 ‘Felipe Gonzáles intenta consensuar con Aznar y Suárez la política espanola sobre los Países del Este’, El País, 17 November 1989. 4 ‘Los Motivos de la Moncloa’, El País, 3 December 1989. 5 The Prime Minister’s inaugural address to the Spanish Parliament, 4 December 1989, cited in Torreblanca (2001: 65). 6 Foreign Affairs Committee 5, 16 April 1990. Session Diary of the Spanish Congress 69, IV Legislature. 7 Plenary Session 43, 27 June 1990. Session Diary of the Spanish Congress 47, IV Legislature. 8 ‘La CE rubrica los Acuerdos de Asociación con el Este’, El País, 23 November 1991. 9 The term is in the following used to refer to Austria, Finland, Norway and Sweden. 10 ‘La ampliación no debe servir para cargarse la CE’, El País, 14 May 1993. 11 The Council urged the Fisheries Ministers to adopt the necessary technical mechanisms in order to make full integration of Spain in the Common Fisheries Policy possible in 1996, thus reducing the transitional period previously established until 2003. 12 Agence Europe, No. 6605, 15 November 1995: ‘Presidents Haensch, Santer and González emphasize the ambition of the Union’s plans for entering the twentyfirst century’. 13 ‘González asegura que la ampliación de la UE al Este exige profinduzar la cohesión interna’, El País, 16 November 1995. 14 The Ioannina compromise took its name from an informal meeting of the Foreign Ministers in the Greek city on 27 March 1994, where they agreed that

Moral constraints on Spain’s enlargement policy 61

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

should members of the Council representing between 23 votes (the old blocking-minority threshold) and 26 votes (the new threshold) express an intention to oppose a decision being taken by qualified majority, the Council would do everything within its power to reach a satisfactory solution that could be adopted by at least 65 votes out of 87. The European Parliament’s Enlargement Task Force, official positions of the Member States, available at http://www.europarl.eu.int/enlargement/members/ default_en.htm. ‘Felipe González supedita la Ampliación de la CE al cumplimiento de los acuerdos de Maastricht’, El País, 5 May 1992. ‘A España le asusta una CE ampliada’, El País, 23 May 1992. ‘España Bloqueará la ampliación de la Comunidad si no recibe los fondos de cohesión’, El País, 12 May 1992. ‘España amenaza con no permitir la ampliación de la Unión Europea’, El País, 20 November 1994. Foreign Affairs Committee 5, supra, note 6. Plenary session 198, 1 July 1992. Session Diary of the Spanish Congress 204, IV Legislature. For this research, 20 one-hour-long interviews have been conducted with members of the Spanish Permanent Representation in Brussels, advisers for the Spanish government, deputies of the Secretary of State for European Affairs, diplomats from other countries, and members of the Commission and the European Parliament who participated in the policy formation or witnessed the negotiation process. El País, 1993, supra, note 10. Aznar, Plenary session 116, 21 December 1994. Session Diary of the Spanish Congress 117, V Legislature. Author’s translation. Josep Piqué, Minister of Foreign Affairs in the Joint Committee for European Affairs, session 2, 3 October 2000, and session 4, 28 November 2000. Session Diaries of the Spanish Congress, VII Legislature. Author’s translation. González, Plenary session 116, supra, note 24. Author’s translation. El País, 1992, supra, note 17. Plenary session 84, 29 June 1994. Session Diary of the Spanish Congress 85, V Legislature. Plenary session 116, supra, note 24. Agence Europe, 1995, supra, note 12. El País, 1995, supra, note 13.

4

Turkey’s EU politics Consolidating democracy through enlargement? Gamze Avcı

Introduction The Turkish candidacy for European Union membership presents a formidable challenge for the Union. It is not a new issue, it all began about four decades ago with the Ankara Association Agreement (1963) and it has intensified since the positive decision on Turkey’s candidacy status at the Helsinki European Council in 1999. Despite the long time period that has elapsed since the Association Agreement, which already then envisaged membership for Turkey, much uncertainty prevails within the EU whether Turkey will eventually, or indeed ever, join. An affirmative answer would require a much deeper commitment to Turkey from the EU than that exhibited thus far. Up to now, the Union has delayed or avoided a deep commitment to Turkey except for affirming her association status and right to candidacy (Avcı 2002). Even the European Council’s decision in December 2004 stating that Turkey fulfils the Copenhagen political criteria and the opening of accession negotiations in October 2005, came with reservations and strings attached (Council of the European Union 2006; European Council 2004a). Research on past enlargements reveals that possible answers converge around the triangle of rights-values-utility (Sjursen 2002; Sjursen and Smith 2001). None of them are unambiguous and definite in the Turkish case. Cost–benefit analyses do not necessarily work in the case of Turkey, at least not in the short-run (which is somewhat similar to Eastern enlargement). For many EU policymakers, Turkey is a costly addition for economic and even geopolitical reasons. Identity issues have also proven difficult to overcome. Hence, if kinship is a criterion (Sjursen 2002), the Turks are not next of kin: Turkey is considered to be too different. Thus, there is not a double puzzle like in the case of Eastern enlargement (Schimmelfennig 2001) but potentially a dual impasse the Turks have to overcome. Still, past and current Turkish governments have continued to work for admission to this exclusive ‘European club’. Especially, the eagerness of the current Justice and Development Party (AKP – Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi), a religious conservative government, appears ‘irra-

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 63 tional’ in this respect, if one considers identity issues, and possibly religion, as a dividing line. The AKP – like the previous coalition government, composed of the Democratic Left Party (DSP – Demokratik Sol Parti), the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP – Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi), and the Motherland Party (ANAP – Anavatan Partisi) – has chosen to stick to the reform path associated with candidacy and has even chosen to accelerate it. This is a puzzle to many. The difficulty with the existing explanations in the literature is that they are applied to, and concentrate on, the EU-side, as is also the case with Lundgren’s contribution to this volume. Although such an approach might be fruitful from the EU perspective, it has three different drawbacks. First, these explanations seek to analyse what motivates and justifies enlargement from the EU perspective and neglect the ‘demand side’ of enlargement (Mattli and Plümper 2002). Yet, with just the EU side under the lens, it is difficult to explain why reform happens in the first place in Turkey. Second, by solely looking at the ‘supply side’, one cannot capture the discussions and change within Turkey. How is the ‘carrot’ presented to the Turkish public? Why and how do Turkish policymakers choose particular propositions when it comes to EU-related reforms? Third, the Turkish scene represents possibly the other game board in a two-level game (Putnam 1988). The changes within Turkey have important repercussions for the EU as well. The main goal of this chapter is to understand how reform is (or is not) justified in Turkey. For that purpose I analyse the discussions around the ‘politics of enlargement’ in Turkey and explain the underlying logic of action used by Turkish policymakers. I argue that based on communicative rationality, a concept discussed in the introduction to this book, the Turkish politicians refer to agreed and accepted norms when justifying reforms. Further, the findings suggest that the Turkish case speaks to the image of a rights-based European Union, the third conception outlined in Chapter 1. The analysis focuses in particular on political parties in government, given that they shape the national process of preference and interest formulation and are critical when it comes to passing legislation required to meet the Copenhagen criteria. The chapter is divided into four sections. The first part briefly looks at the theoretical discussions surrounding EU enlargement. The second part identifies the tendencies in the justification of Turkey’s EU policy. The third and fourth parts of the chapter present the ‘politics’ and policies of EU-related reform and the actual reforms passed. The chapter concludes with implications for the theoretical discussions on ‘justifying’ enlargement within the EU.

The theoretical discussion Schmitter (1996: 14) suggested that the analysis of enlargement has taken place in a ‘theoretical vacuum’, in that enlargement has been dealt with

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largely outside the body of theoretical writing on integration. In the last couple of years, especially with Eastern enlargement, this has changed significantly. Today, a range of theoretical perspectives compete for influence when it comes to enlargement. A variety of conceptual tools is used to explain ‘why’ the EU chooses to enlarge. The parameters of discussion are rationalist approaches (variants of realism, liberalism and institutionalism) versus constructivist accounts. The rationalist approaches focus more on interests and power whereas constructivist accounts concentrate more on identity, values and norms. Furthermore, there are studies that explore enlargement as a foreign policy tool as well as how enlargement has contributed to the formation of a role of the EU in the promotion and defence of human rights and fundamental democratic principles. This is done mainly through mechanisms of conditionality. Institutional explanations concentrate on how EU institutions and their logics have ‘mattered’ in this process. The EU can be conceptualized as a problem-solving entity, a valuebased community or a rights-based post-national union, as discussed in the introduction of this book. Different ways of justifying policy can identify the dynamics behind these conceptions. In the Turkish case ‘rights’ are at the forefront rather than ‘values’ or ‘utility’. Enlargement is justified by referring to principles that are recognized as morally acceptable to everyone, irrespective of particular interests or cultural identity. As will be discussed later, this underlines a communicative rationality where learning and socialization are central rather than a strategic approach.

Turkey’s EU reforms: what logic of action? When evaluating the picture of recent years, it is clear that there has been a political avalanche of democratization in Turkey. Turkey may not fulfil all the Copenhagen criteria (which are rather vaguely defined) but the changes are unprecedented in contemporary Turkish politics. There have been substantial changes in particular in Turkey’s human-rights legislation and democracy. This has been made possible due to the EU-related reform process, which has changed political bargaining positions, redefined real interests and allowed for difficult political decisions to be made. Turkish public opinion, which is largely and consistently supportive of Turkey’s EU accession, has provided a firm base for the reform process (cf. Çarkogˇlu 2003). On the other side, the EU has provided a platform of socialization and learning. Turkish political parties have acted like rational actors and have responded to this. Those who did not support the process, or were disruptive, were marginalized such as the nationalist Euro-sceptic MHP (Avcı 2003). Turkish political elites have accelerated the reforms required for negotiating with, and eventually joining, the EU. They have taken action on the basis that this is the ‘right thing to do’ rather than on ‘who we are’ or ‘what

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 65 we get’. Action, in this sense, is no longer taken on the basis of a ‘logic of appropriateness’ associated with rules, routines, rights, obligations, standard operating procedures and practices (March and Olsen 1989). The behavioural change is rooted in different interpretations of the situation. The ultimate purpose of reform has been redefined. This is related to a process of learning where ‘behaviour changes as actors question original implicit theories underlying programs and examine their value’ (Haas 1990: 3). However, change has been gradual. The time period between 1999 and 2002 is defined by reactions to nationalist rhetoric, yet the period after the elections in 2002 exhibits different characteristics. Although in both periods there is a clear reference to ‘rights’, there are also differences between the two periods. Despite a general commitment to the EU reform process and three important EU-related reform packages, overall the ultra-nationalist MHP’s attitude polarized the political atmosphere between 1999 and 2002. The pro-Islamist AKP government and the Republican opposition emerging after 2002, moved to new, and in this case more powerful justifications. They acknowledged the Turkish public’s inherent belief that EU reforms were a good thing for the country and also became aware of the shortcomings of a national interest approach. The AKP and the Republican People’s Party (CHP – Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi) both declared that they were in favour of admission to the EU and have repeatedly stated that they will work towards that end. The AKP’s role in this is critical. It had also much to do with the political Islamists having rethought and redefined the West and Westernization (Dagˇı 2005). Being in power alone also aided the ruling AKP, which agreed to decisions which may go against its own interests. This broadened the appeal of legislation to a number of different groups. The AKP, which has pushed the reform process since 2001, is in a peculiar position as it is a pro-Islamist party. Secularists suspected that EU reforms were pushed through for very self-interested reasons and that the AKP was using democracy and the European Union as bulwarks against the ‘suppression’ of religion in Turkey. The AKP thus would be pursuing democratic reforms and freedom of speech especially in order to expand its own room for religious practice and even rule. Hence it would act rationally to ‘attempt to realize specific intentions’ (Eriksen and Weigård 1997). Nonetheless, the reforms passed, as will be discussed below, are much broader than that. The justifications used by the AKP indicate that the government is prepared to go beyond any kind of narrow self-interest. The reforms are justified in the name of the common good regardless of its effects on specific interests. Rights are expanded to various groups. This may have a beneficial effect on the AKP’s own interests but ultimately the interests are generalizable (Eriksen and Weigård 1997). This becomes apparent, for example, when Recep Tayyip Erdogˇan states that:

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The AKP, in their election manifesto, state that even asides EU membership; the Copenhagen criteria inevitably need to be fulfilled.2 Prime Minister Erdogˇan reconfirmed this more recently stating that ‘Turkey will adopt the Copenhagen political criteria and consider[s] them as the Ankara political criteria’.3 He underlined that ‘we continue progressing on our own path even if the EU fails to open accession talks with Turkey’. The reasoning is presented to indicate that Turkey needs to be aware of, and be part and parcel of, contemporary times. Only then can Turkey convey its messages and only then can Turkey – by using the means of the modern age – continue to exist on the international arena. In its manifesto, the AKP distances itself from nationalist arguments. It states that ‘the circles that are against our integration with Europe delay the accomplishment of the Copenhagen criteria with their ideological approaches in the realm of national sovereignty, national security, national interest, national and local culture’. In its government programme, the party states that it considers Turkey as a part of the political value-system of Europe.4 Clearly one can identify the elements of a rights-based justification. Two immediate questions emerge. First, what and why have things changed? Second, what are the consequences? Two levels have been important in this transformation process: the Turkish societal level and the EU’s role as an anchor. At the societal level, we can observe Turkey’s transformation from a country ultra-sensitive about its national identity to a more serious, self-confident EU candidate. Major shifts can be identified. The use of Kurdish or other non-Turkish languages is no longer considered to be a threat. The ‘Sevres syndrome’, which stands for the idea that the West is trying to divide Turkey, has lost its vehemence. Turkey’s progress is not only discernible on paper, but is real, and can be verified because it concerns constitutional and legal changes. Mental shifts in the bureaucracy and administrative ranks can be observed as well, in particular on critical issues such as the Cyprus question and the protection of religious minorities. At the EU level, the ongoing intertwining process of Commission policies (geared towards aligning Turkey with the Copenhagen criteria) has been crucial. Regardless of official positions or delays, the ‘snowball effect’ of EU bureaucratic procedures has led to discussions and socialization at various levels. The role of the EU has become important in that it has presented new opportunities and reshaped preferences in Turkey. Yet, change is not easy. Path-dependent behaviour is much easier to justify and to accomplish. Furthermore, when change occurs it often does not do so

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 67 simultaneously or in the same quality. This can be observed in a number of areas in the reform process. Differences among the judiciary or bureaucracy persist and at times provoke controversial responses among individuals and collectivities.

The reform process: a contested issue in Turkey’s domestic politics The EU reform process represents a major reference point of political battles in the candidate countries. Thus enlargement not only shapes the politics of Europe at large; it also largely determines the pattern of domestic political agendas and competition. This is not any different in Turkey. The candidacy period began during the ANAP–DSP–MHP coalition in 1999 and has continued with the AKP since 2002. The battle for reform has been carried on in both periods. Before discussing the reform process in Turkey, it is necessary to underline the progress made. The criteria for opening negotiations with the EU and eventually becoming a member require that the candidate country is a full-fledged democracy, respecting human rights. In the Turkish case so far (August 2005) nine packages of major reforms have been passed for this purpose. Most importantly, with these reforms Turkey has reduced the military’s influence on government, enshrined political dissent and religious pluralism, passed strict laws against torture, abolished the death penalty, and given substantial rights to the minorities in the country. This has not been an easy process as the following discussion will reveal. Until the Helsinki European Council (1999), Turkish political discourse on the issue of EU membership was relatively uncomplicated. This was largely due to a consensus among the major political parties, groups and elites that Turkey should pursue EU membership. Although there were clearly varying degrees of enthusiasm and nuances in their different approaches, no major Turkish political grouping or actor questioned the objective of EU membership in a substantial manner. After all, Turkish EU membership has been one of the major pillars of Turkish foreign policy since the 1960s. Nonetheless, very often this did not really lead to a deliberate and well thought-out assertion of support and public backing for EU membership. In the past, there was very little serious debate about what EU membership actually entailed. Changes, prospective costs and benefits of accession were not considered. The Turkey–EU debate was couched in very abstract and broad geopolitical or historical terms relating to general notions such as ‘becoming part of Europe’ or ‘becoming European’. Furthermore, given the apparent consent among political elites, many Turkish Eurosceptics were probably hesitant to deplore EU membership. Given that, one could possibly argue that past polling data on support for EU membership in Turkey may have overstated the real levels of public

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support. This ‘shallow’ consensus on EU membership was critically shaken with the initiation of the required reform process in Turkey. The process received its official start when Turkey was formally accepted as a candidate at the Helsinki European Council in December 1999. With this event, the reform process received an irreversible impetus. On the one hand, Turkey’s political parties in particular began wrangling over details of what the government was ready to concede to the EU.5 Very frequently the political debates around EU membership turned into ‘ideological’ confrontations between the nationalists and other parties. The MHP has been the primary source of nationalist opposition. But the military’s elite and left-wing nationalists, or extremists, have also repeatedly voiced their concern or opposition to certain EU issues. Despite its reservations, however, the military has been careful to distance itself from an ‘anti-EU’ label overall, because it believes that, as a NATO member, Turkey’s economic and political destiny lies in Europe, one way or another. On the other hand, support for EU membership has come more from business circles, liberals and, somewhat inconsistently, from the mainstream right-wing parties (the True Path Party, DYP – Dogˇru Yol Partisi, and ANAP).6 Occasionally pro-Islamist parties7 have voiced support for this step, when it corresponded to their purposes. Among these parties, the AKP voiced an all-out support for Turkey’s so-called EU project. Since 1999, two parties have stood out, one hampering and the other accelerating the process: the MHP and the AKP, respectively. By and large, ANAP, DYP and CHP have been supportive of Turkey’s EU candidacy. It is worth mentioning that nationalist overtones have been heard occasionally from all parties.8 Finally, NGOs have been very outspoken and generally very supportive of EU membership.9 Turkish public opinion has also been generally very supportive of membership. When asked in a referendum in May 2003 whether they would support Turkey’s membership, 72 per cent said ‘yes’ while 16 per cent said ‘no’ and 10 per cent gave no answer.10 Interestingly enough, the figures for support are higher than before the reform process started. This may not necessarily indicate that the public’s consensus is an informed one, but rather indicates the public’s desire for, and commitment to, the reform process. From 1999 to November 2002, the MHP’s role was overly noticeable because it was a coalition partner in the government and because it played a key role in passing (or not passing) reforms. Incidentally, the first three years of Turkey’s EU candidacy were under the governance of the coalition government led by Bülent Ecevit. Ecevit’s DSP received 22.3 per cent of the votes in 1999 and his coalition partners the MHP and ANAP received 18.1 per cent and 13.3 per cent, respectively. This reflected to a certain extent the ongoing fractionalization of the Turkish political system. On 18 March 2000 the government announced that the three coalition partners had finally reached a compromise on the commitments Turkey

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 69 would make to the EU. The ‘national program’ (NPAA) of short- and medium-term reforms announced 89 new laws, forthcoming amendments to 94 existing laws and proposed a massive overhaul of Turkish politics. This occurred only after long deliberations and much struggle. The NPAA appeared to be a joint declaration of the three coalition partners but also, in a way, as a symbol of all the difficulties the coalition partners had experienced when trying to agree on sensitive issues. Many of the requested and listed reforms were watered-down versions of what was truly requested by the EU. Despite the commitment made in the national programme, progress was inconsistent, particularly in some of the substantial areas. Most of the delay in the NPAA was caused by discussions of ‘national interest’. In other words, the required changes were seen by some political groups as too demanding on issues of national sovereignty. Once more, although nationalist tendencies existed in all three coalition parties, these tendencies tended to be more pronounced in the MHP. As a consequence, the MHP acquired a critical role in the coalition when it came to EU reforms. Its refusal to go along with certain reforms set the agenda for discussion. Parties either responded to the MHP’s objections or gave in to their protest. Frequently, the MHP’s attitude led to deadlocks within the frail coalition. This situation may have been predictable given the MHP’s ideological standing but it was delayed due to the streamlining effect of being in government and became more evident over time.11 The MHP’s attitude constrained the parameters of the EU discussions for the other political parties on already sensitive and difficult issues.12 The critical issues dividing the coalition government were issues of national interest, such as Cyprus, the abolition of the death penalty, allowing teaching, free broadcasting and publishing in the Kurdish language, and Turkey’s role in the European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI). In July 2002, Prime Minister Ecevit agreed to hold early polls in an attempt to fend off growing calls for his resignation after massive desertions of his party resulting in a loss of his government’s absolute majority in Parliament. The desertions were sparked by the political deadlock over Ecevit’s ill health and his coalition partners’ in-fighting over the EU-oriented reforms. Although Ecevit later changed his mind about holding early elections, the Turkish Parliament approved an early election date for 3 November 2002. The discussions on early elections overlapped with discussions on a final attempt to pass necessary EU reforms. As the Turkish Parliament finally approved elections to be held on 3 November 2002, on 3 August it also approved a package of human rights reforms it hoped would clear the way for Ankara to join the Union. The package was adopted after an overnight marathon session in the Turkish Parliament. It included the abolition of the death penalty in peacetime, to be replaced with life imprisonment with no possibility of parole. It also legalized broadcasting and education in languages other than Turkish, notably Kurdish. Furthermore, the package did

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away with penalties for criticizing state institutions, including the military; eased restrictions on demonstrations and associations; and allowed nonMuslim religious foundations to buy and sell real estate. The package was presented by ANAP and was passed despite the opposition of the MHP (on all reform items in the package), with the votes of the DSP, ANAP and opposition parties. The MHP voted ‘no’ en bloc. The other parties – despite their various previous statements – supported the package. There were defections from all of the other parties (government and opposition) but no consistent resistance to the package as a party line. In remarks made on 4 August, the MHP’s leader Bahçeli said that the MHP would appeal to the Constitutional Court in a bid to force Parliament to reverse its decision regarding the death penalty and minority rights. This petition was eventually rejected by the Constitutional Court in December 2002. Although early elections were triggered by Ecevit’s health and the disunity over the EU within the coalition, the 2002 election results were characterized as a massive reaction of the electorate to the established parties’ inability to master the economic crisis of 2001 and deliver on earlier promises. The economic crisis was an important turning point for Turkey. In February 2001, a public dispute between President Sezer and Prime Minister Ecevit had triggered a run on Turkish lira and caused a dramatic increase in interest rates. The result was rapid inflation, a severe banking crisis, a massive rise in domestic public debt, and a deep economic downturn (GNP fell 9.5 per cent in 2001). The government was forced to float the lira and adopt a more ambitious economic reform programme. This included a very tight fiscal policy, more structural reforms and high levels of IMF borrowing. This, combined with a mounting dislike of mainstream secularist establishment parties’ never-ending bickering, led to an entirely new party-political picture. ANAP, MHP and DSP were all wiped out. In conjunction with the economy and the constant quarrelling within the government, the coalition government (in this case ANAP and DSP)’s inability to use EU integration as a winning topic, rendered them eventually all obsolete. On 3 November 2002, the Justice and Development Party (AKP), which had pro-Islamic roots and was formed 18 months prior to the elections, won a landslide election victory. The AKP was built by Erdogˇan, the former Mayor of Istanbul, who campaigned on the grounds of liberal Islam and split with the more conventional Islamist leftovers of the old Welfare and Virtue Parties. AKP captured 362 out of 550 parliamentary seats, only a few seats short of the two-thirds absolute majority that would allow it to amend the Constitution without a referendum. 177 seats went to the Republican People’s Party (CHP), the Republic’s oldest political formation, and closely associated with Turkey’s secular establishment. Another eight seats went to independent candidates. Elections were declared void in three districts of the Eastern Anatolian Siirt Province. The victory made AKP the first party to govern without coalition partners

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 71 since 1991. However, it should of course be mentioned that the AKP won only 34.2 per cent of the vote, even if it ended up with 80.4 per cent of the seats in Parliament. That was the result of the 10 per cent electoral threshold rule, which in effect rendered 46 per cent of the votes cast by voters irrelevant. The victory arrived 38 days before the crucial Copenhagen summit, at which the EU leaders were to decide on a potential negotiation date for Turkey. The AKP’s leader Erdogˇan moved quickly to assure the West that he did not have an Islamic agenda and was committed to the secular principles that govern Muslim Turkey. Erdogˇan also promised support for Turkey’s bid to join the European Union right after the first unofficial election results. Once the government was sworn into office in late November, Erdogˇan embarked upon a series of trips to visit European Union leaders. He underlined his party’s commitment to EU-oriented reforms required to begin negotiations with and, eventually, to join the EU. For that purpose he lobbied EU leaders to support Turkey’s bid for membership. The AKP’s roots are pro-Islamist, but unlike the Welfare Party under Erbakan, it is publicly committed to pushing for membership in the European Union. The Welfare party, an openly Islamist movement, was ‘eased’ out of power in 1997 by the army with what has been described as a ‘postmodern’ or ‘soft’ coup. The AKP has repeatedly stated that even regardless of the EU, it is committed to fully secure freedom of expression and thought, transparent government, and the strengthening of local government. The AKP has presented itself consistently and credibly as a new type of a pro-Islamic party. The profile of AKP members are mixed, some hanker after radical Islam, but others are merely Islamic conservatives who would like to see their religion given some public recognition. The party itself insists that it is committed to the secularism of the Turkish state, and is merely opposed to the exclusion of religious symbolism from public life, such as the ban on women wearing headscarves in public facilities (which includes universities). It insists that it is Islamic in the same sense that Christian Democratic parties in Western Europe are Christian.

Reforms passed: a massive acceleration The reform process that has accompanied Turkish candidacy is an important measurement of progress and change in Turkish–EU relations. Overall, the EU accession process has been an important catalyst in Turkey’s human rights progress, especially in 2002.13 Achievements included the abolition of the death penalty; easing of restrictions on broadcasting and education in minority languages; shortened police detention periods; and lifting of the state of emergency in the formerly troubled south-east. The Ecevit government passed in total three harmonization packages.

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Since its election in November 2002, the AKP has accelerated the flow of reform. The opposition to the AKP has been confined to the CHP. The centre-left Republican People’s Party (CHP) was the only other party to win seats besides the AKP in the November 2002 elections. The CHP is considered to be the party most committed to secularism. Yet, despite their different philosophies on the issue of religion in politics, CHP’s leader Deniz Baykal agreed to act in unison when it comes to the EU. Thus reform packages under the AKP have been passed with the implicit support of the CHP. This support is more related to its secular party constituency and their ideological stance. Yet, more recently the CHP has felt the need to differentiate itself from the AKP, especially after the EU’s mixed decision in 2004 to open negotiations with certain conditions attached. For example, the CHP has become more ‘nationalist’ in its views on Cyprus.14 The Parliament passed the so-called fourth harmonization package on 4 December 2002. The package includes 32 articles and envisages amendments to 16 different laws. The legislation abolishes a law stating that police superiors must authorize the prosecution of officials at lower levels accused of torture. Prisoners have immediate access to lawyers and courts are barred from suspending sentences of convicted torturers. The reforms also seek to strengthen civil and political liberties, including a lifting of restrictions on freedom of association. Journalists are no longer required to disclose their sources to authorities. According to the package, nonMuslim religious foundations will be allowed to obtain properties. Associations will be able to stage international activities to reach their targets explained in their regulations. They will be able to open offices abroad, and become members of international associations or organizations. The fifth reform package, the second under the AKP government, became effective on 23 January 2003. It paves the way for a retrial of imprisoned Kurdish Democracy Party (DEP) deputies. According to the law, former DEP deputies who were granted a retrial by the European Court will have the right to apply to Turkish courts for a retrial within a year. The imprisoned leader of the outlawed Kurdistan Worker’s Party (PKK), Abdullah Öcalan is excluded from this right. Meanwhile, the Parliamentary Commission removed an article from the reform package, which would pardon university students suspended for disciplinary infractions, including the female students that insisted on wearing headscarves at universities. This additional clause was seen as an effort to address the AKP’s core voters but was later withdrawn from the package after public criticism and pressures. The AKP fought off criticism by stating that it would work to lift a ban on women wearing headscarves in universities and state offices, but that it was not a top priority for the new administration. The sixth package, passed in July, abolishes Article 8 of the Anti-Terror Law and extends freedom of broadcasting in Kurdish. The package also revoked the authority of the Secretary General of the National Security

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 73 Council (NSC) to appoint one member to the supervision board for cinema and music works. The sixth package also amends the related provision of the broadcasting law (RTUK) in order to guarantee the right to broadcast in non-Turkish languages. Despite the fact that the reform package of August 2002 had recognized such a right, no significant action had been undertaken until then. Moreover, the package provides guarantees in naming children. In several reported incidences, some civil servants denied registering traditional Kurdish names although the Turkish Supreme Court recognizes this right. In the realm of religious freedoms, the new clauses in the package ease the rules and procedures with regard to places of worship for other faiths than Islam. The seventh package of August 2003 eliminates the structural means with which the Turkish military could influence the political system in the past, and introduces larger scrutiny of military expenditures. The package was important in terms of changing the structure of the NSC. Underlining the advisory status of the military-dominated Council, new measures limited the number of times the NSC could meet, enabled the appointment of a civilian head to its secretariat and allowed greater parliamentary scrutiny on their military expenses. According to the amendments, a deputy premier can be appointed to oversee the execution of some of the NSC’s recommendations, a duty previously carried out by its secretarygeneral. Furthermore, the Parliament approved a bill in December 2003, attempting to remove policies of secrecy governing the NSC’s staff, bylaws and regulations, allowing decisions on these matters to be published in the government’s Official Gazette. This is a critical change given the prominent role the Turkish army has played in Turkish politics. The army regards itself as the guardian of the basic principles of the Turkish state (such as secularism, democracy and Turkey’s Westernization). It has led three coups and forced a pro-Islamic government out of power in 1997. The EU believes that Turkey must impose greater civilian control over the army. The eighth package includes abolition of State Security Courts used to try political and security-related crimes, and the removal of military representatives from boards overseeing higher education, radio and television. It also enshrines the legal equality of men and women for the first time, gives Parliament full control over the military budget and removes all residual references to the death penalty, which were scrapped by Turkey in an earlier reform package (the third). References to the death penalty were removed from the Constitution. The provisions that no death penalty can be imposed except in war and in cases where there is an imminent threat of war and except for crimes of terrorism were abolished. The ninth package passed in July 2004. In line with the amendment to the Constitution, the death penalty under certain laws was abolished. Although the death sentence was totally removed from the Constitution, there were references to the death sentence in many laws, especially in the

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Penal Code. These references were eliminated and changed to heavy imprisonment for life. The bill also ended the practice of having members of the military sitting on the Council of Higher Education (YOK), Supreme Board of Radio and Television (RTÜK), Communication High Council and the Council of Protecting Minors from Harmful Publications. Despite these nine substantial reform packages there have also been setbacks. When the Constitutional Court in March 2003 banned the proKurdish People’s Democracy Party (HADEP)15 – the successor of the Democracy Party (DEP) and the People’s Labour Party (HEP)16 – on charges of aiding the terrorist organization PKK and carrying out activities challenging the state, the EU called this a troubling departure from the country’s political and democratic reform efforts in recent years. A recent decision to uphold the Court’s verdict infuriated the European Commission and the European Parliament. The biggest criticism, however, has been that these reforms have not yet fully taken root. In addition to the nine packages, on 26 September 2004 (right before the EU Council in December 2004), Erdogˇan’s government pushed through far-reaching changes to Turkey’s 78-year-old Penal Code to bring it in line with European norms. The Code was supposed to be effective on 1 April 2005, but the government has announced a two or three month delay. The new Penal Code introduces heavier sentences for torture, life imprisonment for ‘honour killings’ and longer jail terms for drug smuggling and human trafficking. It also strengthens equality of the sexes, increases jail terms for child molesting and makes polluting the environment a crime punishable by imprisonment. However, the bill on the Penal Code was delayed because the government unexpectedly withdrew its own bill when facing pressure from radical MPs (in its own ranks) to introduce a controversial clause restoring adultery as a criminal offence in Turkey. Erdogˇan also argued that such a law would protect the family and women who have been wronged by their husbands. In face of domestic protests, opposition and EU criticism, the clause was pulled and the Code was eventually passed. Although this initially raised question marks about the sincerity of the AKP, eventually the passage of the Penal Code without it and the negotiation date offered by the EU improved the situation. Finally, a discussion on Turkey’s reform process without including the ‘unofficial’ condition of Cyprus would be incomplete. The impending accession of Cyprus, with or without resolution of the island’s split identity, has posed a major headache for Turkey. Erdogˇan, by taking the issue into the public sphere and trying to create a national debate, has pledged to revise Turkey’s traditional policy, which is generally considered as a ‘national cause’.17 Erdogˇan stated that he is ‘not in favour of the continuation of the policy that has been maintained in Cyprus over the past 30–40 years’.18 He said the AKP was neither supporting a view in line with the hardliners who have been defending a ‘no settlement is a settlement’ policy, nor pursuing a defeatist sell-out policy. ‘Our policy is a “solve it

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 75 and let it live” policy’, he said, stressing that a Cyprus settlement must be built on compromises from both sides and must be found acceptable by all peoples of the island. He said he still believed that a settlement regarding Cyprus was possible and reiterated the strong will of his party to bring about an end to the almost four-decade-old discussion on the island. The change of heart in the Turkish government was not well received by the Turkish–Cypriot side and by various groups within the Turkish establishment such as the military. Nonetheless, Erdogˇan’s success in persuading the Turkish public and the Turkish Cypriots in supporting the Annan Plan shows how the EU process has been able to shift parameters away from Turkey’s traditional policy on Cyprus. A more recent development has been that Erdogˇan was put on the spot by the EU when bargaining for a negotiation date for Turkey. Erdogˇan’s government had to concede in vague terms an intention by his government to recognize, by October 2004 – if only indirectly, through trade protocols – the Greek–Cypriot Republic. It remains to be seen how the AKP government will proceed with the Cyprus issue.

Conclusion EU enlargement studies increasingly focus upon how enlargement is justified on the basis of rights and what kind of effect this has on the EU as a rights-based entity. It is therefore worth opening the ‘black box’ in candidate countries and looking at their respective EU-policy justification in order to understand how politics come about in the specific environment of European enlargement. This chapter has argued that we need to broaden our analysis to include the domestic political dimension within Turkey when discussing European enlargement. There, the role of interest groups, political parties, governments and institutional frameworks becomes crucial. A discussion of the reform process shows that the EU issue in Turkey is increasingly discussed as a rights-based process. In a way, Turkish governmental elites have used constructivist rhetoric for rational objectives (Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2002). The strong resolve to do so among party political elites in Turkey has been particularly pronounced under the political Islamists. Whether the Union will change its views on Turkey based on this reform process remains to be seen. As argued by Moravcsik, ‘underlying ideas and discourses change only at rare “critical junctures”, which arise in response to political crises’ (1999: 671, italics in original). In the Turkish case, the critical juncture for the AKP has been determined by public opinion on the EU, its unexpected electoral success and the realization that the party needs to move beyond its own narrow self-interest. At the same time it is important to remember that the EU requires that ‘applicant states live up to certain economic and regulatory requirements;

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it also sets particular standards for fundamental rights protection; and it expects applicants to have a democratic system of government’ (Eriksen et al. 2005: 238). If Turkey has moved to narrow the gap between itself and the Union, the pressure on the Union will increase to be consistent with what it expects from candidate states. The EU will be compelled to justify its decisions. The trickiness in this situation is that ‘double standards and cognitive dissonance will be problematic’ (ibid.), if not impossible. The Copenhagen criteria are based on the logic of rights. The Turkish reforms have focused increasingly on an understanding that ‘the EU would prioritize enlargement to those states that respect the universal principles of human rights and democracy’ (Sjursen 2002: 495). Kinship and economic gain – also the less malleable choices in the Turkish case – have not been emphasized. Yet, the notion of ‘rights’ is more difficult to use as a mobilizing argument for enlargement within the EU (Sjursen 2002). Furthermore, the rights-based argument may be weak if not used in combination with the value-based one. The Turkish case will be the litmus test for whether the rights-based approach can be sufficient alone for a successful enlargement.

Notes 1 Turkish Times, 15–31 December 2002, Year 13, No. 313, available at: http://www.theturkishtimes.com/archive/02/12_15/. 2 AKP’s Election Manifesto, available at: www.akparti.org.tr (accessed 3 September 2004). 3 Turkish Press, 21 July 2004. See: http://www.turkishpress.com (accessed 3 September 2004). 4 AKP’s Government Programme, available at: www.akparti.org.tr (accessed 3 September 2004). 5 For a discussion of the various ‘turbulences’ caused by the democratization process after Helsinki, see Tsakonas (2001). 6 For example, see the statements of ANAP’s party leader Mesut Yılmaz in Hürriyet, 19 July 2000; Turkish Daily News, 11 September 2000; and Cumhuriyet, 10 October 2000. 7 Past and present Islamist parties include the Welfare Party (Refah Partisi, banned by the Constitutional Court in 1998), the Virtue Party (Fazilet Partisi, banned in 2000), the Felicity Party (Saadet Partisi), and the Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi). 8 See, for example, the discussions surrounding the Customs agreement between Turkey and the EU (Eder 1999). 9 The Turkish Industrialists and Businessmen Association TÜSIAD (Türk Sanayicileri ve Isˇadamları Dernegˇi) and the Economic Development Foundation IKV (Iktisadi Kalkınma Vakfı) are the leading organizations in favour of the EU. The IKV has frequently acted as an umbrella organization for other NGOs when gathering support for the EU movement. It has garnered support of as many as 200 NGOs when appealing to the government to focus on and speed up EU affairs. The Turkish Economic and Social Studies Foundation TESEV (Türkiye Ekonomik ve Sosyal Etüdler Vakfı), as well as the European Movement 2002, have also played a critical role with their activities geared towards educating the public and mobilizing EU supporters.

Consolidating democracy through enlargement? 77 10 In May 1998, 62 per cent said ‘yes’, 21 per cent ‘no’ and 17 per cent did not know. For a detailed overview, see Çarkogˇlu (2003). 11 For a discussion of the MHP’s nationalism, see Çınar and Arıkan (2002). 12 In Mesut Yılmaz’s words, ‘the MHP had some concerns pertaining to the preparation and implementation of the National Program. They have stated those views. We made changes on many issues by taking their views into consideration. We had the same difficulties when time came for the final arrangements’, Anadolu Agency, 21 March 2002. Available at: http://www.anadoluajansi.com.tr/. 13 See the Human Rights Watch, ‘Curbing Torture Top EU-Turkey Priority’, 30 January 2003, available at: http://www.hrw.org/press/2003/01/turky013003.htm. 14 ‘Turkey Divided over Europe’, C. Salhani in Washington Times, 19 December 2004. 15 The successor to HADEP is DEHAP which was established in 1997 due to HADEP’s expected dissolution. DEHAP dissolved itself in August 2005 to join the Democratic Society Movement (DTH – Demokratik Toplum Hareketi), a political party that includes former DEP members of parliament. 16 HEP was formed in 1991 and banned by the Constitutional Court in 1993. Its successor DEP was formed in 1993 and banned by the Constitutional Court in June 1994. Finally, HADEP was formed in 1994 as the successor to both these political parties. 17 Turkish Daily News, 28 January 2003. Available at: http://www.turkishdailynews.com.tr/. 18 ‘Turkey pushes for Cyprus Deal’, BBC News, 2 January 2003.

Part II

The EU as an identity-based community

5

The importance of solidarity Denmark as a promoter of enlargement Marianne Riddervold and Helene Sjursen

In this chapter we seek to contribute to the debate about the conception of the European polity by an explicit focus on Denmark’s position on EU enlargement. There are several reasons why Denmark is an important case to examine if we want to understand EU enlargement. First, Denmark held the Presidency both when the decision to enlarge was made, in 1993, and when the membership negotiations were concluded in 2003. Hence Denmark has, despite being one of the small member states of the EU, been a key actor in the enlargement process. Second, Denmark is generally considered to be a ‘Euro-sceptic’ member state, a reputation that was fortified with the popular rejection of the Treaty of Maastricht in 1993. However, contrary to the British support for enlargement, the Danish support for ‘widening’ has never been considered simply as the result of its reluctance to further ‘deepening’ of the Union. This in itself warrants further examination.1 Third, and most importantly, Denmark has from the early 1990s pushed not only for enlargement but for a process of enlargement that would allow all the states that sought membership in the EU to be treated equally, in other words to have an equal opportunity to enter the Union (Hansen 1996; IEP 1999; Riddervold 2002). Danish authorities have been particularly concerned about ensuring that the Baltic states were given the same opportunity as the Central and East European countries (CEECs) to negotiate for membership.2 In the words of Bertel Heurlin: Denmark’s re-establishment of diplomatic relations as one of the first Western countries in 1991 marked a substantial change and implicated the beginning of a unique position for the Baltic countries in Danish foreign policy. Bilaterally and through the regional organisations . . ., Denmark took a great responsibility upon itself in order to assist the former East Bloc countries in general and especially the three Baltic States. (Heurlin 1999: 4) Intuitively, one would expect both Denmark’s strong general support for enlargement, and its particular emphasis on enlargement to the Baltics, to

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be due to expectations of economic benefits or to concerns about national security. This would also be consistent with the argument that those states that were most strongly in favour of enlargement held this position due to expectations of material benefits (Schimmelfennig 2001). However, it is far from clear that Denmark would benefit in any particular way from enlargement in general or enlargement specifically to the Baltic states. In fact, Denmark moved from being a net beneficiary from the EU’s budget to becoming a net contributor in the context of enlargement. Likewise, it is not clear that Denmark’s position on enlargement was due to security concerns. In the early 1990s, taking a clear position in favour of enlarging Western institutions to these former Soviet Republics also entailed a security risk, given the uncertainty about the reaction of Russia. And in this early phase Denmark’s position was markedly different from that of most of its partners in the EU (Hansen 1996). How, then, can we understand Denmark’s position on EU enlargement?3 The above question is even more pertinent given that the main image of the EU in Denmark, both at the level of the political elite and in the population at large, is that of a so-called ‘problem-solving’ entity whose main purpose it is to provide discernible benefits, in particular economic, to its member states. Danish membership in the EU is usually justified in such terms (Fossum 2000; Friis 1998b; Riddervold 2002). How come, then, that Danish authorities as well as Danish public opinion strongly supported an enlargement that most likely would reduce the material benefits of Denmark’s EU membership? And how come, in particular, that there was such an emphasis on the Baltic states? The principal hypothesis of the chapter is that Denmark prioritized enlargement to the Baltic states to a large degree due to a sense of solidarity with these particular states. Hence, we follow the general argument in much of the enlargement literature that norms must have played a part in the decision to enlarge (Fierke and Wiener 1999; Friis 1998b; Schimmelfennig 2001; Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2002; Sedelmeier 2000a; Sjursen 2002). However, as noted in the introduction to this volume, to emphasize the role of norms is only the beginning. There are numerous rule-sets, norms and identities. In this chapter we seek to contribute to the theoretical debate regarding the role of norms by a twofold strategy. First, by examining the relative importance of instrumental versus norm-guided justifications for Denmark’s position on enlargement. Second, by discussing the impact of different forms of normguided justification. Furthermore, the mechanisms through which norms are complied with are contested in the literature on enlargement. Is norm compliance ensured through the mechanism of self-interested calculations? In this chapter we argue that norms are not only used instrumentally but also constitute the identity of the actors. Norms do not function only as constraints on actors’ (self-interested) behaviour. They constitute the world-

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 83 views and preferences of actors. We argue that it is on this basis that Denmark’s position on enlargement should be understood. After a brief discussion of the particular approach chosen (section 1), we turn to discuss to what extent Denmark’s strong support for enlargement and in particular its emphasis on the importance of the right of the Baltic states to enter the EU can be understood as based on calculations of utility (section 2). The hypothesis to be investigated here is that Denmark prioritized enlargement to the Baltics because the benefits to Denmark in doing so were considered to be particularly high, either in economic or security terms. After this we turn to examine the role of norm-guided justifications in the enlargement process by discussing the relative importance of values and rights as mobilizing arguments for Denmark’s position (section 3). Hence, in addition to the hypothesis pointed to above about a sense of solidarity as a mobilizing force in enlargement, an alternative hypothesis, that Denmark prioritized enlargement to the Baltic states in order to ensure the respect of democracy and human rights in these states, will be examined.

The approach In order to examine the hypotheses outlined in the introduction we focus on the arguments and reasons that the actors provided for their actions.4 We follow the approach outlined in the introduction to this book and make an analytical distinction between three different types or categories of arguments that might be used to justify enlargement: pragmatic arguments, ethical-political arguments and moral arguments (Eriksen and Fossum 2004; Habermas 1993; Sjursen 2002). In a pragmatic approach policy would be justified with reference to the output that it is expected to produce. The approach is based on a means-ends type of rationality where actors are considered to take decisions made on calculations of utility based on a given set of interests. This also means that one would not expect actors to support enlargement unless arguments could be found to support the idea that it would provide utility given their interests and preferences. In an ethicalpolitical approach justification would rely on a particular conception of the collective ‘us’ and a particular idea of the values represented by a specific community. Here, one would seek to justify enlargement by referring to duties and responsibilities emerging as a result of belonging to that particular community. In a moral approach the aim would not be to justify policy with reference to calculations of utility, nor with reference to the values of a particular community, but to find justifications that rely on universal standards of justice, regardless of the utility of the policy to the particular actors involved in the decision or the specific values or perceptions of the ‘good life’ embedded in the community outlining policy. Whereas the distinction between pragmatic arguments on the one hand and ethical-political and moral arguments on the other hand are probably

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fairly conventional, the distinction between ethical-political and moral arguments, or between values and rights, is perhaps less so in international relations. In the so-called constructivist literature for example, there is a strong focus on the role of norms (Katzenstein 1996; Ruggie 1998). However, little attention is paid to the fact that there are different types of norms and to the significance of this for understanding political processes and decisions. The distinction is nevertheless important in general because it allows us to highlight that some norms can be universally shared whereas this is not necessarily the case with all norms. While the concept of values is connected to the characteristics of a specific community and to the identity of the members of that community, ‘understood as collective representations of the good that vary according to cultural and social context’ (Eriksen et al. 2005: 240; Habermas 1996: 259), moral norms or rights are universal in the sense that they can be generalized and accepted by all in a free and open debate, independently of identities and belongings (Eriksen and Weigård 1997; Habermas 1996). We seek to identify the public reasons that may have mobilized central decisionmakers in Denmark to work for EU enlargement. Clearly, there may be a number of reasons for such a policy. What we investigate is primarily whether it has been based on normative reasons of a certain kind. We do not establish causal links in a conventional sense. Rather, we reconstruct, from a particular theoretical perspective, the course of events leading to the Danish position. On the bases of interviews, parliamentary debates, public documents and speeches we establish the meaning constellations of the participants – hence we establish a meaningful link from the actors’ point of view. We make no claims regarding the real or true motives of the actors. Rather, we seek to explain policy through the reasons that have been presented publicly in order to justify it. This approach is based on the presumption that policy-making is based on arguments given by proponents and which have to be comprehensible and acceptable for at least some co-decisionmakers for a decision to come about. We see decision-making as a communicative process where the actors give and take reasons that others may agree or disagree with. As decision-making processes are also oriented towards establishing a common meaning and opinion about what to do, this amounts to an explanation of the outcome.

Justification through efficiency – Denmark as a border state Is it possible to document arguments or reasons that would suggest that Denmark expected substantive economic or security gains from enlargement in general, and most specifically from enlargement to the Baltic states? Would these gains be important enough to convince Denmark to push for a firm commitment of the EU to enlarge to all the applicant states already in the early 1990s?

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 85 Security considerations Given Denmark’s geographic position as a relatively close neighbour to the applicant states in Central and Eastern Europe (compared to for example Britain or the Benelux countries) and in particular to the Baltic states, it is not unreasonable to assume that Denmark expected particular benefits from enlargement. Even in an increasingly globalized world, geographical proximity between states may lead to a more intense interdependence than between states that have larger distances between each other. This is particularly so in terms of security. Enlargement to border states may be a way of either stabilizing unstable neighbours and in that way enhancing national security, or in a more traditional conception of security, creating a buffer zone between the national territory and a perceived external threat from another territorial state. However, the evidence on the security dimension is ambiguous. It is quite clear that security considerations were important for the early Danish support for Baltic membership; however, it is not entirely clear that these considerations should be interpreted only as reflecting self-regarding calculation of national security benefits. That security issues were present in the minds of Danish policymakers with regard to enlargement is clear. According to Danish policymakers, ‘the enlargement of the European Union is the most comprehensive response to the security challenges and risks Europe is facing’.5 And, ‘security – for all of us – is at stake’ (Petersen 1996).6 Even the traditionally EU-sceptical political parties, such as the Socialist People’s Party (SF – Socialistisk Folkeparti), strongly favoured enlargement from the early 1990s and used security-related arguments to justify this: ‘We shall first and foremost place the Eastern enlargement on the agenda as the most important and decisive security-political project in Europe’.7 Furthermore: ‘My party is supportive of enlargement, but we also support enlargement to have a security-political perspective’.8 This is so even though, when talking about security in relation to enlargement, it was often the European interest in security that was highlighted, rather than the national security interest of Denmark itself: ‘And it is through the enlargement of the EU that we can contribute to security and prosperity on our own continent’ (Lykketoft 2001). With regard to the particular emphasis on the Baltic states, Danish political actors had already underlined the importance for Danish security of developments in neighbouring areas in the early 1990s. This then seems a likely cause for the Danish prioritization.9 Both in debates in the Folketing and in speeches by members of the government, Baltic membership in the EU and their integration into Western institutions was, especially in the first half of the 1990s, presented as something that would have positive consequences for Denmark in terms of increased stability and security. The following quote, from a newspaper article written by Niels Helveg

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Petersen while he was Minister of Foreign Affairs in Denmark is symptomatic: ‘The main [Danish] security challenge these days is to strengthen the political and economic stability in Europe and in particular in our neighbourhood. It is therefore in our own interest to contribute to the developments in the Baltic area’.10 The thesis of self-interest-based security considerations also finds support in the interviews. Government officials in the Foreign Ministry, and to a large degree the interviewed Folketing representatives, all claim that security considerations were central to their emphasis on Baltic membership in the early 1990s. However, as the above quote from Petersen shows, rather than a traditional conception of security, Danish authorities, as well as the parliamentary representatives, subscribed to a wider understanding of security. This is so both with regard to enlargement in general and to the Baltic states in particular.11 There is no evidence to suggest that ensuring enlargement to the Baltics was a matter of creating a buffer zone towards the former Soviet Union. Nevertheless, this emphasis on broader security challenges is presented as something that has particular benefits for Denmark: The Baltic States are a part of the Danish neighbourhood. This means that their further development in areas like democracy, security, economy, trade, culture and environmental protection has a great impact on Denmark. The purpose of Danish policy towards the Baltic States is to support the countries in their development. This is the best way to retain the security and stability of the Baltic Sea area.12 It was also to a large extent from this instrumental perspective of stabilizing an unstable neighbourhood that Denmark’s bilateral development assistance, ‘East support’ (Øststøtte), which was given mainly to these countries, was justified.13 Thus, security in Denmark is seen as closely related to security in its neighbouring region and is linked to more unconventional issues such as the environment, migration and international crime. Often, references to Baltic enlargement were linked to the Danish idea of ‘common security’, which has been a cornerstone of Danish foreign policy (Holm 1997).14 In the same vein it was argued by representatives from the Foreign Ministry that it is no coincidence that much of the bilateral support to the Baltic countries was directed to environmental projects.15 Security concerns do not, however, seem to provide a sufficient explanation for Denmark’s strong support for enlargement in general, nor for the candidature of the Baltic states. This is so because, contrary to its partners in the EU (as well as NATO), who chose to keep a low profile towards the Baltic states in order not to provoke Russia, Denmark strongly supported the claims of the Baltic states as early as during their struggle for independence.16 In the early 1990s, Russia opposed the integration of the former Soviet republics into Western structures, and claimed that they were a part of the Russian ‘sphere of interest’.17 If the

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 87 principal mobilizing force of Danish policy towards, and in relation to, the Baltic states were an expectation of increased national security, it seems quite paradoxical that Denmark, as opposed to most other West-European states, disregarded the potential security risk involved in provoking Russia during the tense period during and after the Baltic states’ independence.18 With the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to conclude that it made sense to take such a risk. Nevertheless, it remains a fact that Denmark’s policy differed from that of the other EU member states at that particular time.19 This requires an explanation. Several written and oral sources confirm that there was concern about how Russia might react to Denmark’s position.20 And in order to reduce the risk of negative reactions, Denmark actively worked to establish cooperative regimes in the region that included Russia. One such regime was the Baltic Sea Council, which was established in 1992 on Danish and German initiatives. Furthermore, in the first years after their independence, Danish actors almost consistently addressed Russia when arguing for Baltic EU membership: ‘I hope Russia will accept it and understand the peaceful purpose of it’,21 and: ‘No new “iron-curtains” must be drawn. Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania must be aware of the importance of maintaining and developing good cooperative relations with Russia’.22 How, then, can we understand the Danish position? There was concern in the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs ‘that something would happen in Russia that could lead Russia to once again try to gain influence in the Baltic states. And that this would lead to instability and migration-chaos’. And taking such a clear position in favour of the Baltic states is described in the aftermath as ‘taking a risk’.23 If the only concern of Danish policymakers was to enhance Danish security, why take such a risk, rather than just lying low? Could this be a matter of geopolitical interests and a desire to promote Denmark’s position as a regional power in the Baltic Sea area? Although an enlargement that did not include the Baltic states might not have entailed a particularly large cost in geopolitical terms for Denmark, as the candidature of states such as Poland would still have ensured a focus on the northern part of the EU, an enlargement to the Baltic states might have been considered an additional gain from a Danish perspective. Even though one might expect that policymakers would be reluctant to publicly admit to such ambitions for national influence, the possibility of increasing Danish influence in the region and in the Baltic countries was described during interviews as something that was being actively pursued. This ambition of influence is also to some degree underlined in speeches and Folketing debates.24 However, this was an objective that was actively pursued only after the decision to support the Baltic states in their struggle for independence and their aim of integration into Western structures had already been made.25 Hence, rather than the main aim, it must be seen as a positive side-effect of the early Danish support for Baltic membership, which in turn was pursued more actively and

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directly when it was discovered that ‘regional cooperation has added a whole new dimension to Danish foreign policy’.26 In sum, self-regarding considerations of national security benefits do not seem sufficient on their own to explain Denmark’s early, firm support of Baltic membership in the EU. On balance, the potential security risks that followed from Denmark’s strategy were as important as the potential security gains. Thus, other factors must be brought into the analysis in order to understand what tipped the balance in the direction of an active policy promoting Baltic membership rather than towards passivity or at least a ‘wait and see’ policy for Denmark. Can economic considerations explain this? Economic interests Representatives of successive Danish governments have presented EU enlargement – and thus enlargement of the internal market – as an economic ‘win-win situation’. The expected economic gains are long-term gains from increased commerce and trade, in particular in the Baltic Sea area: ‘Enlargement will, through increased trade in particular, contribute to economic growth and create new jobs in all of Europe, and not least in Denmark’.27 From the early 1990s, Danish governments presented the Baltic Sea area as a future growth area, with potentially positive effects for the Danish economy and Danish enterprises: ‘In our vision of the new Europe we see the creation of a growth centre in the Baltic Sea area and we wish to promote strongly this new zone of growth in Europe’ (Degn 1993). Prime Minister Poul Schlüter (KF) pointed to the positive economic effects for Denmark of a centre of economic growth in this region as early as 1992: ‘The Baltic Sea area as a future growth centre is a prospect that from all viewpoints is extremely positive’.28 This win-win situation and the Danish economic self-interests, especially in the Baltic Sea area, are also from early on reflected in, and used as arguments in favour of, investments in Eastern Europe and bilateral Eastern aid:29 Because one of the objectives of the East support is . . . to turn the Baltic Sea area into a growth centre . . . The Eastern countries and in particular the Baltic Sea area will in a long term perspective be of great importance to Denmark’s economy.30 However, as far as we have been able to establish, Danish authorities did not evaluate the potential economic gains (or costs) neither of enlargement in general nor enlargement to the Baltic states until 1996.31 So when Danish political actors used economic arguments to justify enlargement and pointed to the positive economic consequences for Denmark, this does not seem to have been based on positive knowledge of a net gain, as one would expect from a rationalist perspective. And furthermore, even if enlargement in a long-term perspective will

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 89 be profitable, which is expected by many actors although it is hard to predict, Denmark has had to increase its economic contribution to the EU, and accept a wide range of readjustments.32 Furthermore, Danish political actors admitted that the enlargement would cost: ‘There will be changes in the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) and in the structural policy; changes that might lead to fewer transfers to Denmark. But we are ready for this’.33 And also: ‘We are prepared to pay our part of the costs of enlargement, even if this for a period will imply additional payments for Denmark’.34 The costs of enlargement were seldom used as an argument against enlargement. Hence, enlargement was expected to provide longterm positive economic gains, however in order to justify the short-term economic costs, other arguments than economic ones were prevalent: ‘The effort for peace has its price, which the rich countries in Western Europe must be willing to pay’; and: ‘Securing peace and stability in Europe . . . making sure that we get a full European house – that costs . . . And that, we must be ready . . . to pay for’.35 This kind of reasoning, that one must be willing to pay for other reasons than as an investment for future economic gains, was also present in the largest opposition party’s, the Social Democratic Party (S), EU initiative of June 2003. This EU initiative was presented after the agreements with the candidate countries were signed, and expressed an actual willingness to accept less EU transfers when negotiating a new EU budget in 2004, stating that: The revision of the EU budget should be used offensively . . . we should already now prepare for wide-ranging and totally reasonable changes. Our goal in the negotiations should be the political substance – and not the narrow self interest . . . We must hold on to . . . that the resources are distributed according to needs. Therefore, the efforts should naturally be directed towards the new member states and only in a highly limited extent towards prosperous member states like Denmark.36 Support for a rejection of economic self-interest as a sufficient explanation of the Danish enlargement policy also comes in the responses from the interviewed government officials in the Foreign Ministry and representatives of the Folketing. When asked which economic gains make up for the costs they answer: ‘The enlargement cannot be outweighed economically’,37 and: ‘None. We know that it is not unproblematic [economically], but security considerations are decisive’.38 Finally, regarding the Baltic states, an official in the Foreign Ministry underlined that Poland represents a much bigger market for Danish business.39 Costs were not used as an argument against enlargement. Even the populist parties did not argue against enlargement as such when expressing unwillingness to ‘pay the bill’ for enlargement.40 But most importantly,

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it could almost look as if references to long-term economic benefits have been used to legitimize a policy developed for other reasons. This might be due to the general Danish debates on the EU, where economic arguments traditionally have dominated. If this is so, it might paradoxically be that economic justifications have been used rhetorically while the most important reasons for initiating the enlargement policy must be found elsewhere.

A normative dimension to enlargement? Because an exclusive focus on utility cannot capture Denmark’s position on enlargement, alternatives must be examined. Several studies point to a value dimension in the overall EU position on enlargement (Fierke and Wiener 1999; Schimmelfennig 2001; Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2002; Sedelmeier 2000a). The emphasis on values is also evident in the official documents of the EU. According to the Treaty on European Union it is open to all European states with a democratic system of governance.41 The official aim is to construct an ever-closer union amongst the peoples of all of Europe. Likewise, in addition to a certain number of economic criteria, criteria related to democracy and rights are unambiguously stated in the Copenhagen Declaration and later systematically repeated (European Council 1993; Verheugen 2000a, 2000b).42 This strengthens the idea that normative considerations have been important in the decision to enlarge also in the case of Denmark. However, such statements cannot be taken at face value. Further, if normative considerations were important, what are the mechanisms through which they could have an impact on policy choices? One possibility would be that actors in the enlargement process use norms instrumentally or strategically in order to forward their own material interests (Schimmelfennig 2001). Enlargement is from this perspective the outcome of ‘rhetorical entrapment’ as actors with a self-interest in enlargement have strategically used normative arguments to shame the rest of the EU into accepting it. Here, norms function only as constraints on the actors’ behaviour. However, this does not seem to have been the case with Denmark. Even though Denmark was one of the ‘drivers’ of the enlargement process, as shown, its policy cannot be explained by material interests alone. It looks as if some kind of a normative commitment, in addition to a concern for national security, has influenced Denmark’s position. To explain this we need a theory where the actor is conceived of as capable of assessing the validity of norms. We need a conception of actors as communicative and not only strategic, as outlined in the introduction to this volume. Without this competence, collective norms will not be produced in the first place. Neither will they be adhered to and reproduced in concrete situations such as enlargement. ‘Strategic rationality presupposes communicative rationality’ (Eriksen 2000: 48). Some norms will be

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 91 adhered to and others not, depending on the actor’s rational assessment of their validity and legitimacy. However, as noted in the introductory chapter, to argue that norms were important is just the beginning. There are numerous rule-sets, norms and identities (Olsen in Eriksen 1999: 216). Hence, an important question is what kind of normative arguments and reasons have been important. As noted in the first section of this chapter, we refer to two alternative forms of normative justifications that might have led Denmark to support enlargement. The first of these are ethical-political arguments that are revealed through references to values and traditions that are seen as constitutive of a European identity. One would thus use arguments and statements that explicitly include or exclude people from a European ‘community’ and perhaps also make efforts to describe people as part of a common cultural entity (or not). Alternatively, in order to understand Denmark’s prioritization of the Baltic states, one could imagine arguments that would indicate a particular sense of identity or commonality between Denmark and the Baltics rather than the EU and the Baltics. Indicators of a feeling of a community of values can also be references to ‘duty’ and solidarity to those that are seen as ‘one of us’, as opposed to references to justice and rights that would have a broader address. This last dimension is what has been labelled a moral approach to justification. Hence, in principle Denmark could argue for a solution that seems appropriate given a particular identity or role or a solution that appears ‘right’ or just according to standards that are not dependent on a particular cultural identity, in order to resolve issues such as who should be part of the EU. The distinction is important because it seems likely that the notion of universal ‘rights’ would be more difficult to use as a mobilizing argument for enlargement. It does not yield criteria for establishing borders. Thus the distinction might allow us to better understand the prioritizations made. By the same token this distinction signals a further difference between the analysis undertaken here and the ‘sociological-institutionalist’ analyses of enlargement (Fierke and Wiener 1999; Schimmelfennig 2001; Sedelmeier 2000a). At a theoretical level they do not make the distinction between ethical-political arguments and moral arguments. In turn this means that they cannot capture such an element of differentiation in the enlargement process. If we refer to Taylor’s ‘best account principle’, the approach chosen here is useful because it can make sense of the position of the other explanations, whereas the opposite is not the case (Taylor 1989: 58). The advantage of this approach is that it operates with a broader and thus more nuanced set of categories of reasons for action than the conventional approaches. Is there an ambiguity in Denmark’s arguments and policies on this issue of defending universal rights versus taking on a particular duty towards those that are ‘one of us’?

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Values or rights as mobilizing arguments? References to democracy and the importance of securing human rights can be found in many Danish statements about EU enlargement. Sometimes enlargement is also described as the most important or best way to ensure that the citizens of Central and Eastern Europe will live in liberal democratic states where human rights are respected and can be enforced. From such a perspective, Danish Prime Minister Poul Nyrup Rasmussen underlined Denmark’s moral responsibility to the Folketing in 1995: ‘Our ambition in the coming years, our duty in Europe, is to make a very concrete contribution to the stabilization of the democracies, securing of peace and new . . . prosperity in Europe, neither more nor less’.43 The then largest opposition party, the Liberal Party (V – Venstre), also argued that a reason for extensive aid to the CEECs was ‘that human rights are secured for the millions of people who for too many years have lived under repression’.44 They claimed that it was: [Denmark’s] most essential task to contribute to ensure that the development – the transition to democracy and the securing of human rights – which we have seen since the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989, is not stopped but on the contrary continues . . . [Denmark] must make the necessary effort to defend the values, the freedoms and the opportunities that the removal of the iron curtain has given the Central- and East-European peoples the chance to discover.45 The material does not, however, seem to point unequivocally to this as the principal mobilizing factor for Denmark’s position on enlargement in general. Most importantly, when it comes to the strong emphasis on human rights in the Baltic states, it seems more difficult to settle for this as the principal explanation. Arguably, the Danish position would be the result of a concern for ensuring respect for a principle of ‘equal treatment’ of all states applying for membership. However, this would hardly explain why Denmark’s principal economic and political efforts have focused on the Baltic states. In order to conclude that the prioritization of the Baltic states was also due to a general commitment to democratic principles and human rights it would be necessary to show that: 1 2

the Baltic countries have from the very beginning of the enlargement process been better at fulfilling the human-rights criteria than the others; or the Baltic countries have had a stronger need for assistance in assuring their citizens’ human rights than the other applicants.

Denmark could have seen preparation for, and membership in, the European Union as the best way to ensure the rights of all citizens in the Baltic

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 93 states. However, one would expect Estonian and Latvian membership in the EU to be ruled out until the political conditions were fulfilled – regardless of whatever self-interests Denmark might have in these countries becoming members. A particularly crucial ‘test’ in the case of the Baltic states would be the treatment of minorities. Together with the Romani people in many of the CEECs, Russian-speaking minorities were the most exposed and vulnerable minorities in the then applicant countries.46 The first alternative can easily be ruled out based on the treatment of the minorities in Estonia and Latvia. After independence was reached in 1991, Estonia and Latvia decided to use ethnic criteria for citizenship, making the Russian-speaking minorities stateless (Dorodnova 2000).47 Much progress has been made, but as late as 2001, the Open Society Institute (OSI) found that Estonia and Latvia still had some way to go to fulfil the Copenhagen criteria: ‘Notwithstanding much progress to date, the legacy of restricted access to citizenship continues to limit the rights and opportunities of many Russian speakers’ (OSI 2001a: 177).48 What then about the second alternative? There is evidence to suggest that Danish authorities did consider the ‘carrot’ of membership as an important tool for ensuring domestic reform on this issue, as well as ensuring democratic rule more generally. For instance in the debates in the Folketing (25 October and 21 November 1995) on the ratification of the European agreements with the Baltic countries, different political parties justified ratification based on such arguments. Anne Baastrup (SF) argued that ‘[the agreements] shall help the Baltic countries in building their democracies’. Even the Progress party, which traditionally is sceptical to economic aid, was in favour of supporting the Baltic countries economically and politically. And, according to a Liberal interviewee in 2003, this was considered to be ‘good for democracy . . . good for the peaceful development in Europe . . . And I think, we have a possibility of helping them with this’. The Danish commitment to the fate of minorities also comes through in practical policy-initiatives. According to a former representative at the OSCE’s office in the Baltic states in Riga, interviewed in 2001, Denmark was among the ‘best’ countries when it came to practical policy initiatives to facilitate integration of the minorities. Even if these projects were not large in economic terms, Denmark is considered to have initiated and implemented important efforts and projects to ease the integration of the Russian-speaking minorities.49 Furthermore, in 2001 ‘all member states signed bilateral treaties establishing visa-free travel with Latvia, but only Denmark extended this regime to include non-citizens’ (OSI 2001b: 271). According to the report, the policy conducted by the other member states ‘amounts to a form of indirect discrimination . . . and does not encourage the Latvian government in the direction of respect for and protection of minorities’.50 Foreign Ministry officials expressed a belief that the prospects of membership, and not least membership itself, have been and are important

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factors in improving the minority situation in Estonia and Latvia. EU membership was highly desired, and this was believed to provide incentives to change an ethnic and, according to the two states themselves, ‘nation-building’ policy: You only have to visit the Baltic states and talk to the population in order to understand how important Europe and regional cooperation are to them. The referendum in Latvia that resulted in increased rights for the Russian minority was not an easy one but the answer was positive and illustrated the ambition and desire of Latvia to become a member of the European Union. (Rasmussen 1999) The above quote from the Prime Minister is also an example of how the government pointed to concrete examples of the prospect of EU membership improving the situation for the Russian-speaking minority. This does not, however, necessarily mean that such concerns were the main reason for enlargement. In fact, the above arguments must be seen in connection with the high degree of domestic attentiveness given to this problem in Denmark. Danish parliamentarians have monitored the minority situation, as we will return to later, and it seems as if it was necessary for Danish governments to give clear examples of improvements of the situation as a result of tough demands from the EU, to legitimize the active Danish policy stance towards enlargement to these countries. Finally, the status of minorities in these countries was contested until the very closing of the membership agreements. For instance, in Latvia: Governmental policy in general, [does] not pay sufficient attention to concerns of civil society and minorities in the area of minority rights, such as the need for greater access to education and the electronic media in the mother tongue, greater promotion of minority languages, the need for dialogue between minorities and the State, and the effective participation of minorities in public life. (OSI 2002: 303) Even if legislation and institutional arrangements are in accordance with the demands of the Copenhagen Declaration, practical problems remain.51 Concerns about ensuring respect for democratic principles and human rights seem to have been present in the minds of Danish policymakers. However, it is not clear that this has functioned as the main mobilizing argument for enlargement in general or for the particular focus on the Baltic states. There is little focus on the Russian minorities as rightsholders in the early 1990s. If a moral logic were behind the focus on the Baltic states even from 1991–2, one would expect a clearer focus on the rights of the minorities in debates and speeches from this period. Rather it

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 95 looks as if there has been pressure on Danish authorities to work for the improvement of the minorities’ rights and to ensure that enlargement to these states were not accepted unless such principles were respected. In this sense it has been an important constraining factor rather than a mobilizing one.52 The conviction that the citizens of the Baltic states had the right to freedom from the Soviet Union was according to the interviewed Foreign Ministry officials a primary reason why Foreign Minister Uffe EllemannJensen was so engaged in supporting their struggle for independence and openly criticized Soviet pressure in the early 1990s.53 Such considerations of rights – the right to democracy and respect for human rights – and enlargement as a means to secure these standards, is further highlighted as a reason for enlargement by different actors during the entire period. This, however, does not explain why Denmark clearly gave priority to the Baltic countries in the enlargement process – and not to the citizens of any of the other countries who in this regard would have the same right to choose their relations with the Soviet Union/Russia. What then can help explain this prioritization? A particular duty towards the Baltic states? To make this and the issue of the willingness to take a security risk, as well as to accept economic costs, more comprehensible, we must turn to the value-based hypothesis. Prime Minister Poul Nyrup Rasmussen used the argument of a historical duty as a reason why Denmark actively supported EU enlargement, at the same time as a sense of a special responsibility towards the Baltic states was highlighted, when he stated: [It is] a historical duty – also based on the experiences we have – for European cooperation now to take the next big step, which is to give new opportunities to the Central and East European countries . . . In the EU, [Denmark has] consequently led the way when it comes to the expansion of relations with the Central and East European countries and not least the Baltic states.54 Still, there is little evidence of the Baltic states being viewed as a more ‘natural part’ of Europe than the other applicant states. Arguments about a particular duty to expand in order to finally unite Europe clearly also covers the Baltic states. Yet this cannot explain why these countries have been given priority in the Danish enlargement policy. As one of the Folketing representatives (SF) put it in an interview in 2001: ‘I do not think that one in any meaningful way can argue that the Baltic states belong more to Europe than, say, Norway or Poland’. What then, can explain the Danish priority given to the Baltic states from the very beginning of the 1990s?

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Though the assertion of the Baltic people being more ‘Scandinavian’ or ‘Nordic’ than the other applicants is rejected by some of the interviewed on the basis of different cultures, religions, languages etc., what clearly emerges is that they all – representatives in the Folketing as well as officials in the Foreign Ministry – share a sense of some kind of closeness and fellowship with the Baltic countries and peoples. Even amongst those actors who most clearly underlined security considerations as the main reason for the Danish policy towards these states, this commitment to security in the Baltics was explained as having something to do with who they felt closest to. The prioritization of the Baltic states (and the unofficial ‘distribution’ of candidate-countries amongst the EU countries) can be explained with reference to geography but is also linked to a feeling of some kind of closeness: ‘[Together with geographical location] it also has to do with who we know, that contributes to who it is natural to support’.55 The special Danish commitment to the Baltic states in the enlargement process, both within the EU when elaborating a common policy and directly through aid and other practical support, cannot be explained by idealism or security considerations alone: [The Danish assistance] is also idealistic, but if it was only to help, we could have chosen a number of other countries. It might be because of a sense of historical duty, or the feeling that there are some countries that are more like us . . . It is therefore natural to support the Baltic states and not Turkey, Hungary, Romania etc.56 This perception of closeness is further underlined by how all the interviewed pointed to historical relations between Denmark and the Baltic countries, even though they had difficulties in explaining exactly what these historical ties were, except from trade. A feeling of closeness or some kind of special solidarity towards the Baltic states is also evident in the interviews with the Foreign Ministry officials of 2001 and 2003. When confronted with the contradiction between on the one hand, explaining Danish policy towards the Baltic states as driven by security considerations, and on the other hand, acknowledging the potential security risks entailed in supporting Baltic membership in Western institutions in the early 1990s, a special relationship between Denmark and the Baltic states was given as a contributing reason for Danish policy. A feeling of solidarity with the Baltic states, a solidarity based on the countries being small and having a large neighbour, Denmark historically has had Germany as a large neighbour, was highlighted. The Baltic countries’ geographical position and the countries being small and thus making it easier to ‘make a difference’, were also pointed to as important reasons for the Danish policy. But, as one of the Foreign Ministry officials expressed in May 2003, this has also led to a sense of commonality and thus contributed to why Denmark has felt a

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 97 special solidarity towards the Baltic states, a special understanding, and a desire to help them. And this feeling of solidarity was, according to the official, a contributing reason for why Denmark took the chance and supported the Baltic states in their struggle for independence in 1991, when Denmark had the opportunity to help. One of the officials in the Foreign Ministry also referred to a feeling in the population in general of a special relationship with the Baltic countries. That this might be the case is supported by Danish opinion polls, where a larger number of the interviewed agreed that Denmark should work more actively towards Baltic membership in the EU than towards the other candidates’ membership.57 Other than geographical closeness, the Baltic countries being small with a large neighbour, and a sense of some kind of historical relationship through trade and commerce, it seems difficult to define exactly what lies behind the expressed sense of closeness: ‘I think it is mostly a feeling, and I am not sure [the feeling] is right’.58 Based in particular on the interviews it seems probable that such a feeling of closeness has been important for Danish policy. The very fact that it is hard to define in concrete terms what this sense of a particular solidarity is, might be a reason why this argument is not very widespread in the Folketing debates. It suggests a policy based on a tacit value consensus in which certain things are simply taken for granted and not considered necessary to spell out in detail. These are not moral arguments in the Kantian sense but rather implicit understandings of who ‘we’ are as Danes or as Europeans. A duty to unite Europe? It is not only with regard to the Baltics that this sense of a particular duty to enlarge based on a sense of solidarity is prevalent. The perception of a particular duty to enlarge is obvious also in Danish political actors’ reasoning and argumentation for enlargement in general: The Central and East European countries are natural members of the European family. The Danish Government has wholeheartedly and actively promoted the integration of these countries into European cooperation-structures . . . The time has come to create an undivided Europe . . . The historic task of our generation will be to extend the existing zone of stability to the rest of Europe. It will not be easy. But History will not forgive us if we fail. (Petersen 1994) There is a clear indication of a feeling and perception of a common European history and a ‘common destiny’ being used as justification for EU enlargement, by pointing to what is the right thing to do in this particular historical context – what Denmark has a duty to do. ‘We now have a joint historical responsibility to form the future of Europe’,59 ‘it is the

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responsibility of our generation to unite Europe’.60 And because of this duty, it is argued that the population must accept the costs related to enlargement: What is by far the most important is to have the courage to explain our historic chance and duty to the Danish population, which I do not think will come again if we do not use it now: The duty to give our modest contribution so that Europe is enlarged.61 ‘It is the present member states’, and thus Denmark’s, responsibility, that this happens’. If not, ‘the present member states’ shame is total’.62 This is also underlined in the way security is highlighted as ‘security and stability in all of Europe’.63 There is a widespread all-party use of this kind of argumentation. Furthermore, such justifications were used throughout the entire period. This is so also with regard to the traditionally EU-sceptical parties such as the Socialist People’s Party: ‘It is our historical duty to use all our strength to place [enlargement] on top of the agenda’.64 Their arguments are similar to those of the pro-EU parties: ‘From a conservative point of view, we want the EU enlargement to the Central and East European countries and the Baltics placed on top of the agenda, because here we have a historical duty’,65 and: ‘For the Radical Left, the vision is broad cooperation, an undivided Europe, bridge building’.66 Given the all-party agreement on enlargement and the strong popular support for enlargement, it is furthermore not plausible to argue that value-based arguments were used rhetorically by the government in order to gain support amongst the opposition and the voters.67 Rather, it looks as if there might have been costs involved in saying ‘no’, in the sense that it was not deemed legitimate to argue against enlargement, and this was not even done by the populist parties. Arguments that point to a historical duty and to the need for European unification are obvious in the written data, but this sense of duty is also evident in the justification for enlargement made by the interviewed officials in the Foreign Ministry and the Folketing representatives, both in the interviews conducted in 2001 and in 2003. Neither the value-based argumentation in the Folketing debates, nor the justifications of enlargement given by the interviewed, point to exactly what the specifically ‘European’ is, and when asked, the interviewed all had problems drawing concrete borders between Europe and non-Europe. Still, they all expressed a feeling of some countries belonging to Europe, and a duty to enlarge as a reason why enlargement must take place, in spite of its costs. There was a clear perception of who ‘naturally’ belongs to Europe and who does not, and thereby has a ‘right’ to join the EU, e.g.: ‘You might say they have a right to join because they are European’.68 They all expressed an understanding of some kind of geographic and identity-based dividing lines between Europe and ‘non-Europe’, that there are limits to how far the EU

Denmark as a promoter of enlargement 99 can enlarge as a European community, even though it is not clear what defines this community.

Conclusion The general argument in the enlargement literature suggests that the role of the drivers of the enlargement process can be understood as expressions of particular interests. However, we have found that this is not the case with Denmark. In fact, the emphasis on economic gains was particularly weak in the Danish context, thus weakening the ‘problem-solving’ hypothesis. This is even more surprising given that Danish membership in the EU is most often justified in such terms. Security considerations on the other hand, seem to have been more important for Danish policymakers, although we have argued that they cannot on their own be seen to have tipped Denmark unanimously in favour of enlargement. With regard to normative considerations we have, based on the distinction between rights-based and value-based justifications, suggested that a sense of solidarity is important in order to explain not only why Denmark has been one of the drivers in enlargement to CEE but why Denmark was a particular champion for the candidature of the Baltic states. Although the political criteria for enlargement have been considered as absolute by Danish policymakers, what emerges from the material is a sense of who belongs to ‘Europe’ that signals something else than, or in addition to, a concern for the respect for human rights and democratic principles. To understand this one must take into account the value-based conception. Thus, the findings of this chapter take the analysis of enlargement a step further by suggesting that although normative considerations were important, enlargement in the case of Denmark was not based on moral arguments in the Kantian sense but rather on a tacit value consensus that is perceived to imply certain duties and responsibilities. Consequently, and perhaps paradoxically given Denmark’s traditional reluctance to supranationalism in the EU, its position on EU enlargement speaks to the conception of the EU as a value-based community. Although the tacit value consensus that appears to have been at play must probably be distinguished from a sense of common identity in a ‘thick’ sense; arguments of a particular solidarity and sense of commonality have guided policy priorities. In turn this weakens the idea that there is not even a minimum ‘common cultural substrate’ amongst EU states.

Notes 1 See, for instance, the Folketing debate on the future of the EU, 26 February 2003, statement by Foreign Minister Per Stig Møller (KF – Conservative Party): ‘We are prepared for reforms to maintain the EU’s decision-making ability and its capability to deliver’; and Anders Fogh Rasmussen (2003).

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2 Interviews in the Foreign Ministry and in the Folketing 2001 and 2003. This focus is also obvious from parliamentary debates in the period. 3 The focus here is on the arguments and reasons presented by Danish political elites (including those set to implement the policy). 4 The chapter is based primarily on documents produced by the Folketing (Danish Parliament) and the Danish Foreign Policy Yearbook – DUPI-DOK from 1992–2003, which contains the official collections of Folketing debates, articles and speeches by government members etc. In addition to this, two rounds of interviews were conducted (June-July 2001 and May 2003) with representatives from the Danish Ministry of Foreign Affairs as well as from the main political parties in Denmark. Due to requests from some of the interviewees all will be treated anonymously. Translations from Danish are made by the authors. See also Riddervold (2002). 5 Foreign Minister Niels Helveg Petersen (RV – Radical Left Party), Morgenposten Fyens Stiftstidende, 11 March 1995. 6 See also the Danish Government (1995). On the Danish policy in these negotiations, see Kelstrup and Branner (2000). 7 Jes Lunde (SF), Folketing debate on the international political situation, 29 May 1999. 8 Holger K. Nielsen (SF), opening debate in the Folketing, 10 October 1997. 9 Security-related arguments were more widespread in the first half of the 1990s. One explanation for this could be that as the Baltic states established stronger ties to the EU and came closer to EU membership, there was less of a need for such arguments. On security-considerations, see also, among others, Archer (1997) and Hansen (1996). 10 Berlingske Tidende, 8 November 1993. 11 See also Heurlin (1997: 10): ‘What has been one of the main goals of Danish defence and security policy: To secure stability in the Baltic Sea area, not least by military means. But these means are the means of a wider security: Military cooperation, integration, the support for democratization, transparency and through this mutual trust’. 12 Uffe Ellemann-Jensen (V) when interviewed on the reasons for the active Danish policy towards the Baltic states in the early 1990s (Danish Foreign Ministry 2002). See also F. A. Petersen (1997). 13 A core principle of the East-support programmes was ‘the closer, the more’ (Hansen 1996). A high official in the Foreign Ministry working directly with development assistance highlighted the security aspect in an interview on 5 July 2001: ‘The main goal has, of course, been security. The reason why we have to give economic support [to the Baltic countries] is of course to create calm in our neighbourhood’. 14 References to a broader concept of security is widespread in the material, e.g. ‘The new security challenges in the form of regional conflicts, minority conflicts, environmental threats and cross-border criminality, are becoming increasingly clear’ (N. H. Petersen, De tre Stiftstidender, 10–11 June 1995). According to Foreign Ministry officials (interviewed in 2001), this is especially so when talking of security in relation to the Baltic states, where the focus on security includes highlighting issues such as environmental problems and migration. 15 Interviews 2001 and 2003. See also the Danish Government’s (2002) strategy for the Danish East support 2002–3. This argument is also found in the Folketing debates. As early as in November 1993, the Minister for Foreign Aid, Helle Degn (S), argued in favour of prioritizing environmental measures in the financial support to the Baltic states: ‘At the same time [as being important for the well-being of the Baltic people], environmental problems are a major threat to

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16

17

18

19

20 21 22 23 24

25 26 27 28 29

30 31 32

our own quality of life’ (Folketing debate on the Danish East support, 25 November 1993). Denmark was the first country to recognize Baltic independence in 1991 (Hansen 1996). Also, compared to the other Nordic states, ‘Denmark was by far the most eager and most efficient advocate of the quick admission of the Baltic countries to NATO’ (Heurlin 2001: 12). ‘The vehement Russian campaign against NATO enlargement thus cannot be seen in isolation from the Russian perception that, at a minimum, the states of the former Soviet Union remain within the Kremlin’s exclusive sphere of influence . . . Russians simply cannot come to terms with the fact that, for instance the three Baltic states are now fully sovereign actors in international affairs’ (Skak 2000: 15–16). As late as 1995, van Ham (1995) wrote that: ‘As Russia considered them part of the USSR, Moscow is reluctant to accept the idea that the Baltic states may become members of the EU and WEU, and has in particular raised strong objections against their joining NATO’. The potential risk related to the active policy in favour of Baltic integration into Western institutions was perhaps particularly strong with regard to Baltic membership in NATO. Still, a strong sense of the risks involved in an active policy in favour of EU enlargement to the Baltic states is confirmed in interviews in the Foreign Ministry (30 May 2003), and is also evident from Folketing debates in the early 1990s. Germany, for instance, chose to keep a low profile on this issue in order not to provoke Russia (Hansen 1996). On the cautious attitude of Western states see, e.g. Bajarnas (1995): ‘Much remains to be done to convince the international community that these newcomers on the international scene [the Baltic states] will not pose problems and risks to Europe’s overall stability and security’, and Viksne (1995): ‘Today the West is understandably reluctant to give a clear security guarantee to the Baltic states’. Interviews in the Foreign Ministry, 30 May 2003; Folketing debates from the early 1990s. Prime Minister Poul Nyrup Rasmussen (S), Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 24 June 1993. Petersen, Morgenposten Fyens Stifstidende, 11 March 1995. Interviews, supra, note 20. Petersen, Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 29 May 1997; Foreign Minister Møller in an interview about Denmark’s vision for the development of the Baltic Sea area and an enlarged EU (Danish Foreign Ministry 2002). Interviews, supra, note 20. Petersen, Morgenavisen Jyllands-Posten, 30 December 1997; and interviews, supra, note 20. P. N. Rasmussen, Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 30 May 1996. Opening of the Folketing, 6 October 1992. The Baltic states have received a large amount both from the ‘East support’ and through the Danish Investment Fund for Eastern Europe. The Baltic countries, Poland, St. Petersburg and Kaliningrad were given priority in Danish aid to the CEECs. Of Danish bilateral aid, which in 2000 amounted to 1.3 billion DKK, approximately one-third was given to the Baltic states. Degn, Folketing debate, supra, note 15. Interviews, supra, note 20; mail from the Ministry of Economic and Business Affairs/Ministry of Finance. Denmark passed from being a net receiver of EU funds (C239,7 million in 2000) to becoming a net contributor from 2001 onwards (C224,6 million in

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33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41

42 43 44 45 46 47 48

49 50

51

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2004) (calculations made by the European Commission, see the Folketing EU Information Centre: www.eu-oplysningen.dk/fakta/tal/Nettobidrag, accessed February 2006). Jacob Buksti (S), opening debate in the Folketing, 8 October 1998. N. H. Petersen, article in Erhvervsbladet, 22 February 1999. P. N. Rasmussen, Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 21 February 1995. ‘Ambitiøst S-udspil tvinger regeringen i defensiven’, Ugebrevet Mandag Morgen, No. 21, 2 June 2003. Folketing representative (SF), interview 2001. Folketing representative (S), interview 28 June 2001. Interview, 5 July 2001. The populist parties sometimes refer to the cost of enlargement, but then as an argument for changes and reforms that might reduce the cost of enlargement and not as an argument against enlargement as such. Article 49 TEU (ex Article O) states that: ‘Any European State which respects the principles set out in Article 6(1) may apply to become a member of the Union’. According to Article 6(1) TEU (ex Article F) ‘The Union is founded on the principles of liberty, democracy, respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms, and the rule of law, principles which are common to the Member States’. The emphasis on democracy as a criterion for membership goes back to the first years of the EU (European Parliamentary Assembly 1962). See also Verney in this volume. Debate on international developments, especially developments in Europe, 21 February 1995. Charlotte Antonsen (V), Folketing debate, supra, note 15. A. F. Rasmussen, opening debate in the Folketing, 5 October 1995. The term Russian-speaking minority is in this chapter used as synonymous with the Estonian/Latvian minorities, even though there are other small groups of ethnic minorities in these countries. Still in 2002, 22 per cent of the Latvian population was stateless (OSI 2002: 300). Further, the report points, among other things, to problems related to restrictions on the use of their language, which when coupled with citizenship and job requirements, tended to exclude them from mainstream society. For more on the situation for the Russian-speaking minority, see Dorodnova (2000, 2003); European Parliament (1999); OSCE Parliamentary Assembly (2004). Initiatives aimed at securing human rights were part of the East support, where the stated goal was to ‘create increased awareness and debate on democracy and human rights in the Baltic countries’ (Danish Foreign Ministry 1998). Until Latvia joins the Schengen area, probably in 2007, Latvian non-citizens can only travel to Estonia, Lithuania and Denmark without a visa. On the requirements for obtaining citizenship, see also ‘The problems of becoming a natural born Latvian’, by Julia Balandina in The Baltic Times, 10 November 2004 (www.baltictimes.com). For instance, the OSCE Parliamentary Assembly (2004) at their meeting in Edinburgh 5–9 July 2004 called upon the governments and national parliaments of Estonia and Latvia to approve legislation prohibiting discrimination and to exclude decision-making directed towards assimilation of national minorities. See further ‘OSCE parliamentary assembly criticizes Latvia, Estonia’, by Aaron Eglitis in The Baltic Times, 15 July 2004 (www.baltictimes. com). Officials in the Foreign Ministry confirmed in the interviews conducted in 2001

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53 54 55 56 57

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

68

and 2003 that promotion of human rights play an important role in the Danish foreign policy, but underlined that when it comes to enlargement, this was more so as an important criterion for enlargement than as a reason for enlargement as such. Interviews 2001 and 2003. This was also in line with the official Danish policy of non-recognition during the Cold War, as Denmark did not recognize the Soviet occupation in 1940. Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 26 May 1996. Folketing representative (S), interview 28 June 2001. Folketing representative (V), interview, 6 June 2001. For instance, in 1996, 45 per cent of the Danes agreed that Denmark should work actively towards Baltic membership, 25 per cent partly agreed while 14 per cent disagreed. With regard to the Central European countries (Poland, Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic), 36 per cent agreed, 29 per cent partly agreed and 16 per cent disagreed, while only 20 per cent of the Danes agreed that Denmark should work actively for enlargement to Romania and Bulgaria. Source: AIM-Nielsen for Ugebrevet Mandag Morgen, 11–18 March 1996, and DUPI-DOK. Folketing representative (V), interview, 6 July 2001. P. N. Rasmussen, supra, note 27. Peter Brixtofte (V), opening debate in the Folketing, 8 October 1992. P. N. Rasmussen, Folketing debate on the IGC, 10 May 1996. Elisabeth Arnold (RV), Folketing debate on the IGC, 28 May 1997. A. F. Rasmussen (V), opening debate in the Folketing, 7 October 1993. Steen Gade (SF), Folketing debate, supra, note 35. Hans Engell (KF), Folketing debate, supra, note 45. Jørgen Estrup (RV), Folketing debate on the domestic and foreign-political situation, 27 May 1999. The thesis of a sense of kinship-based duty is also to a large extent strengthened by how Danish actors, when talking about security in relation to enlargement, often highlighted the European interest in security, rather than the national security interest of Denmark itself. Folketing representative (S), interview, 28 June 2001.

6

More than simply expanding markets Germany and EU enlargement Marcin Zaborowski

Introduction Without doubt Germany has been the keenest and the most influential supporter of the Eastern enlargement of the EU. In fact, it is safe to say that without Germany’s support enlargement in 2004 would not have taken place when it did, indeed, it is not clear whether it would have occurred at all within the near future. Various reasons have been advocated to explain Germany’s support for enlargement. These ranged from egoistic self-interest (Markovits and Reich 1991) through a more complex notion of ‘benign hegemony’ (Bulmer et al. 2000) to an idealistic category of ‘civilian power’ (Tewes 2001). Outside academia the dominant view is that Germany’s enlargement policy is motivated first and foremost by its economic, security and political self-interests. Pragmatic considerations have certainly been considerable in the German debate, which often emphasized that enlargement would mean greater security and stability of its immediate environment, as well as potential economic benefits resulting from Germany’s privileged position in the region. But the Germans also stressed the normative role of enlargement – the policy was expected to lead to rapprochement in relations with CEE neighbours and create a new international environment in Central Europe marked by a lesser role for the states and an ever growing importance of transnational initiatives and civil society (Weizsäcker 1993).1 An important factor that influenced Berlin’s approach towards the enlargement and which had vital normative implications was the experience of the Franco–West German reconciliation. In Germany it is generally acknowledged that, despite its ambivalent economic implications, the rapprochement served the strategic interests of the Bonn Republic and its maintenance is often portrayed as an essential element of the German raison d’état (Hyde-Price and Jeffery 2001). The case of Eastern enlargement clearly benefited from this past experience and the comparisons that have been drawn in Germany. The parallels between Germany’s relations with France and its relations with the countries to the

Germany and EU enlargement 105 East – in particular Poland, and to a lesser extent the Czech Republic and Slovakia – became part of an official enlargement discourse in postunification Germany. For example, the former Chancellor Helmut Kohl famously argued that whilst the Franco–West German rapprochement jumpstarted European integration, the project would remain incomplete without Germany’s reconciliation with its Eastern neighbours and EU enlargement (Malinowski 1996). Consequently, opposing enlargement ran against a similar stream of political correctness as criticizing the rapprochement with France, which is still a rare phenomenon in Germany.2 This chapter argues that Germany’s enlargement policy should not be viewed as motivated by either pure self-interest or idealism. Material factors in Germany’s support for the enlargement are self-evident as determined by its geographical proximity to the new member states and its centuries-old economic links with the area. The importance of this factor was reflected in Germany’s choice of favourite candidates, which included first and foremost – Poland, the Czech Republic, Hungary and, to lesser extent, Slovakia whilst, until the late 1990s, it excluded Turkey and at times Bulgaria and Romania. On the other hand, no analysis of Germany’s enlargement policy could be complete without considering normative factors, and most importantly the impact of Germany’s past. It is, for example, evident that many German policymakers, including Chancellors Kohl and Schröder, viewed enlargement as a vehicle of reconciliation between Germany and its neighbours to the East. Whilst, perhaps, as the German elites consistently argued, the Federal Republic had most to gain from enlargement, it is also clear that no other state is equally as exposed to the risks and costs of this policy. It is therefore argued here that a rational assessment of costs and benefits of enlargement could not alone provide sufficient explanation of Germany’s position on the issue. Instead, Berlin’s enlargement policy demonstrates that multilateral solutions have instinctively been pursued by German policymakers when faced with a major international issue. This claim, if accepted, effectively means that historically informed norms influence Germany’s perception of its interests. In explaining Germany’s rationale in its enlargement policy this chapter alludes to the concepts developed by Helene Sjursen, outlined in the earlier part of this volume. According to Sjursen, supporting enlargement could be motivated by: 1 2 3

materially defined self-interest and clear expectations of immediate benefits; cultural and identity-related reasons; the view of the EU as a political project based on universal rights.

However, the essential question dealt with in this chapter is whether Germany’s enlargement policy was motivated by material (the first of the

106 Marcin Zaborowski categories above) or non-material (the second and third categories) considerations.

Germany’s role in EU enlargement The idea of integrating Germany’s Eastern environment with the EC found support in Germany even prior to the end of the Cold War. Loose ideas in favour of fostering CEEC’s participation in some aspects of the common market originated from within the left wing of the Social Democrat Party (SPD), which was looking for ways to revitalize the flagging Ostpolitik.3 Whilst the Cold War prevented these ideas from being seriously considered, by the end of the 1980s Bonn was increasingly hinting at the prospect of actual EC membership for its Eastern neighbours.4 With the collapse of communism the new CEE governments immediately identified Bonn as their main advocate on their way to a ‘return to Europe’. In December 1991 Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary concluded the so-called ‘Europe Agreement’, which liberalized these countries’ trade with the EC. Whilst the agreements lacked any meaningful political dimension and did not commit the EC/EU to the principle of enlargement, Germany, together with Britain, managed to push through a clause that recognized these countries’ desire to join the EC/EU in the future (Torreblanca 1997). Subsequently, Berlin continued to promote the principle of enlargement by supporting, for example, the report by EU Commissioner Frans Andriessen, which recommended that a set of criteria be established that would precondition starting actual membership negotiations with the former Soviet-bloc countries.5 With active German support, these criteria were agreed at the Copenhagen summit in 1993 leading to the prospect of Eastern enlargement becoming official EU policy. The Copenhagen criteria, as they became known, were both of political and economic nature, referring to the rule of law, democracy, human rights and an ability to compete in the common market. As such, the criteria were meant to provide objective standards against which the candidates would be assessed. However, the criteria also remained very broad and therefore open to interpretation and possible politicization. Essentially, the criteria reflected some key preferences held by the German government, which, deeply concerned with the developments in the former Yugoslavia, was determined that the conditions set out by the EU should aim to foster stability in its Eastern neighbourhood. A certain peculiarity of the Copenhagen criteria was the issue of human and minority rights. This was questionable from a moral point of view as the EU did not have any such standards for itself and had therefore to refer to the Council of Europe’s Charter of Human Rights, but the inclusion of this condition was strongly pursued by Germany. Bonn believed that setting a clear normative standard in this area would discourage the candidates from pursuing nationalistic policies, which, as the case of Yugoslavia

Germany and EU enlargement 107 demonstrated, could result in regional instability and uncontrollable migration of refugees to Germany. An additional ‘benefit’ of the criterion was that it would effectively exclude Turkey from the enlargement, which was conducive with Berlin’s preference at the time.6 Once agreed upon, the Copenhagen criteria spelt out a clear perspective for joining the EU for CEECs and other hopefuls who responded by putting forward their membership applications between 1993 and 1995. However, whilst politically the principle of enlargement seemed accepted, it was clear that the accession countries would struggle to meet all the legal and technical requirements that needed to be adopted prior to the opening of actual negotiations. Responding to this predicament the German EU presidency in 1994 established the ‘structural relationship’ for CEECs that permitted the candidate countries to participate in some of the EU’s internal affairs (European Council 1994b) and subsequently Bonn promoted the so-called ‘pre-accession strategy’ which gave candidate countries access to some EU programmes, including legal and technical assistance.7 Germany’s prioritization of candidates indicates that, at least initially, its policy was driven by its particular pragmatic and normative-cultural considerations with little regard for the objectivity of the process. Until 1997, Bonn/Berlin exhibited a preference for a quick expansion of the EU, preferably by 2000, but territorially limited, including only Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary (Stanislaw 1998). Germany initially maintained this position during the Luxembourg European Council in December 1997, when the issue of which countries should be invited to start negotiations was debated. However, eventually Bonn/Berlin bent under pressure from other member states, particularly the Nordic countries, and agreed that the EU should start negotiations with the group of six applicants recommended by the Commission (Poland, the Czech Republic, Hungary, Estonia, Slovenia and Cyprus), whilst continuing the so-called ‘screening’ of other candidates with a view that they should join the negotiations as soon as they met the Copenhagen criteria.8 Consequently, it was agreed at the Berlin European Council in 1999 that six other countries (Lithuania, Latvia, Slovakia, Bulgaria, Romania and Malta) would join the negotiations; however, Turkey remained outside the negotiating framework. It is important to point out that between the Luxembourg and Berlin European Councils there was a change of government in Germany with the Christian Democrats (CDU/CSU) being replaced by the Social Democrats and the Greens. The significance of this change will be returned to later. From the moment of the actual decision to launch membership negotiations, the FRG’s lobbying in favour of ‘speeding up’ the process showed signs of weakening. This happened essentially for two reasons. The first one was pragmatic, as a result of the increasingly sceptical view of the economic implications of enlargement, and of Germany’s own worsening

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economic condition. The second difficulty was political and had to do with an increasingly poor fit between the two key objectives of German European policy, ‘widening’ and ‘deepening’, which, up to this point, were seen in Berlin as perfectly reconcilable. In fact, enlargement was often perceived as a useful argument in favour of reforming the EU institutions and decision-making procedures. However, despite these issues and reservations Germany maintained its support for the principle of enlargement until the completion of the process. The relative weight of material and non-material considerations will be assessed in the following sections.

Material arguments Material explanation for Germany’s EU enlargement policy is seemingly self-evident and it is often taken for granted as the main reason behind Berlin’s behaviour. As discussed below, there is no doubt that the mere run-up to the enlargement resulted in fostering Germany’s economic links with CEECs. There was no reason why this trend should not continue after May 2004 and in effect contribute to increasing Germany’s weight in the global economy. Enlargement is also seen as enhancing the Federal Republic’s security, first of all by ending Germany’s status as an exposed borderland state and, second, by stabilizing its immediate environment. Finally, due to Germany’s past prominence in the area and its close political ties to new member states, enlargement was also seen as a return to the Mitteleuropa notion – expansion of the German cultural sphere. The new member states were seen in this context as becoming like-minded states that would be prepared to take Berlin’s lead in the enlarged EU (Curzon et al. 1999). These types of material arguments are addressed below. Economic benefits Economic links between the German Länder and their Eastern neighbours have been historically strong. In the middle ages many of the economic centres in the Bohemian Länder, Poland and Hungary were dominated by Germanic settlers with the main towns and cities of the region, such as Prague, Krakow and Budapest, being mostly Germanspeaking. The trading and municipal laws of CEE copied the laws of German cities, mostly of the Hanseatic League. In the nineteenth century the parts of CEE that experienced industrial revolution were at the time either occupied by Prussia/Germany, like western Poland, or were heavily populated by German-speaking people, like the western Bohemian Länder. The West German economic prominence in CEE was also substantial during the Cold War period with the trade relations being routinely linked to political issues in Bonn’s Ostpolitik (Garton-Ash 1994; Spaulding 1997).

Germany and EU enlargement 109 In the last decade of the Cold War, West Germany became the second trading partner for Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary, only outstripped by the Soviet Union. With the end of communism Berlin became an unquestionable economic leader in the region both in terms of trade and foreign direct investment. From the early 1990s CEE trade with Germany has accounted for roughly half of all their imports and exports with the EU and about a third of their overall trade.9 At the same time the economic significance of the region for Germany itself remained rather small and CEE–German economic relations have often been described as asymmetric (Malinowski 1996). This situation has led to CEE’s growing dependence on economic trends in the Federal Republic. However, the benefits of Germany’s ever growing economic presence in the region have been mutual and in many respects CEECs’ trade relations with Germany remained more equal than their trade with other members of the EU. For example, throughout most of the 1990s Poland, the largest of the new member states, had a relatively small deficit in its trade with Germany, with its imports on average just 5 to 10 per cent higher than its exports to its Western neighbour. This deficit appears insignificant when compared to the respective figures for Poland’s trade with Italy, which show that in 1998–9 Poland bought twice as much from Italy as it sold.10 In fact, the ratio of Poland’s deficit to Germany declined in 2000, and since 2001 Poland’s exports to Germany has been exceeding its imports.11 These statistics show that the expectations of German economic domination in CEE have been somehow exaggerated (Markovits and Reich 1991). But more importantly, although undoubtedly enlargement facilitates many opportunities for the German business, it is also apparent that no other country is exposed to the risks and costs of the policy to the same extent. For a start, Germany remains the major net contributor to the EU budget and all of the new member states are net beneficiaries. As a result of enlargement some of the East German regions will lose their right to benefit from structural and cohesion funds. Relocation of many German businesses eastwards combined with the westwards migration of Polish, Czech and other workers may affect the employment situation in Germany. The economic implications of enlargement are therefore potentially ambivalent for Germany, and they have been perceived as such since the late 1990s when enlargement entered the negotiations stage, which also coincided with a change of guard in Berlin. Prior to the change of government from the centre-right to centre-left in autumn 1998, Berlin’s view of the economics of enlargement was largely positive if not optimistic. When making the pro-enlargement argument the government spoke of bigger markets, numerous export opportunities and more jobs both for Germans and their CEE neighbours. In other words, enlargement was portrayed as a classical win-win situation. Yet, in the last years of Helmut Kohl’s administration a degree of caution started to appear in the Berlin’s view of enlargement, which was stimulated

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predominantly by the mounting costs of unification and Germany’s economic performance. The Finance Ministry raised some concerns about the implications of enlargement already in the mid-1990s.12 Nonetheless, as long as Kohl stayed in power these concerns were voiced only at the margin of the government’s position. The arrival of the red-green government in 1998 brought about a change in Germany’s European policy, and in particular in its perception of EU enlargement. Distancing itself from the embracing attitude of Kohl’s administration, the new government declared that more ‘realism’ was required in addressing EU enlargement and in particular in considering the economic implications of the policy. Schröder’s government also linked the enlargement debate to other economic and financial issues at the EU level. For example, Berlin argued more assertively for what it called a ‘fairer’ allocation of EU resources and for lowering Germany’s payments to the EU.13 Under a left-wing Finance Minister, Oskar Lafontaine, who resigned in a spectacular manner in March 1999, Bonn also pursued policies of tax harmonization and of synchronization of employment policies, which further served to undermine EU enlargement. Although calls for budgetary reforms were initiated by the former coalition, the new government pursued its policy in a way that antagonized other members states and disinclined them to support enlargement, which was often seen as a ‘German project’. More importantly, for the first time, Berlin directly linked budgetary reform with the Eastern expansion of the EU, declaring a ‘no enlargement without financial reform’ policy.14 Lafontaine’s EU employment policy could not be easily reconciled with extending the free movement of workers to those countries where the costs of labour units were considerably cheaper than in Germany. Finally, the tax harmonization proposal caused a lot of antagonism in the EU, chiefly in Britain,15 pushing for the time being the enlargement question further down the EU’s agenda. This new approach was not only caused by the political change in Berlin but also by the start of membership negotiations, which emphasized the technical and economic aspects of enlargement. The negotiations also brought the Länder into the process, whose view of enlargement was far more based on short-term assessments of costs and benefits of the policy. Whilst the Länder never opposed enlargement, since late 1997 their attitude was transformed from an unreservedly positive to ‘a range of “yes, but . . .” qualifications’ (Bulmer et al. 2000). Once the enlargement entered its technical stage, the scepticism of the Länder intensified in parallel with their concerns about the material consequences of the policy. This has been especially true for the Länder bordering the new member states, which came to argue that enlargement would provide incentives for businesses to relocate to the East whilst a likely migration of the cheaper Polish and Czech labour force would further increase the already high unemployment in East Germany.

Germany and EU enlargement 111 In addition, the Commission’s document Agenda 2000 proposed a number of measures involving cuts in the EU funds received by the poorer East German Länder (European Commission 1997a). In response to the Commission’s proposal the Bundesrat published a resolution in which the Länder reaffirmed their support for the principle of enlargement, however, they also stressed that the special concerns of the regions bordering with prospective members needed to be taken into consideration. The Bundesrat also called the proposed reform of the structural and cohesion funds ‘too drastic’ especially with regards to the Eastern Länder.16 It was also significant how the European Ministers’ Conference of the Länder welcomed the official start of the membership negotiations in 1998.17 The declaration issued at the meeting in April 1998 in Bremen once again expressed the Länder’s support for the process but it also put forward a number of reservations that needed to be tackled prior to the actual enlargement. In particular, the European Ministers stressed that transition periods for new members were imperative in some fields, such as the free movement of people. The negative impact of enlargement upon the border regions was also repeatedly stressed. In the late 1990s Bavaria emerged as a leading sceptic of enlargement arguing in favour of delaying the process.18 Bavaria also lobbied strongly for long transition periods on the movement of workers from CEE and for the rigid implementation of border controls by future members. In spite of its relative wealth, Bavaria also demanded that it and other border regions be given extra resources from the EU to compensate for their ‘vulnerability’ to the effects of enlargement. In support of these demands, Munich was successful in organizing a lobby group of the regions bordering the new member states. This group met for the first time in Graz in Austria in January 1998 and issued a typical ‘yes, but . . .’ declaration about enlargement that included most of the Bavarian demands.19 Although Bavaria’s preoccupation with the costs of enlargement was rather extreme in the German context, it was not unrepresentative for the general attitude of the Länder. Overall, since the late 1990s, the federal government and the states of the federation stopped stressing the economic benefits of enlargement. The prevailing rhetoric was now that enlargement would be worth pursuing despite its economic costs. However, whilst the economic benefits were being questioned, the argument about the security benefits of enlargement appeared more sustainable and was more consistently appealed to by German elites. Security and stability Arguably, the security benefits of enlargement are clear from a German point of view. With the end of the Cold War, the Federal Republic’s position of a Frontstaat was transformed – it no longer feared Russian tanks on

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its streets, instead, it started to fear regional instability in CEE and SouthEastern Europe. As the upheavals in the former Yugoslavia and the exSoviet Union were unfolding, the human and economic costs of these developments were especially felt in Germany, where the bulk of refugees from troubled areas chose to relocate. Reacting to these developments, the Federal Republic sought to promote stability, which became the leitmotif of its policy towards the countries of the former Soviet bloc. This, it was believed in Berlin, would be best achieved through the extension of Western institutions to the region and effective use of conditionality towards Germany’s immediate neighbours to the East. By completing the integration of CEECs into the West, Germany’s sensitive status as a frontier state would disappear, thereby considerably enhancing its security.20 Moreover, with CEEC’s membership in Western organizations, the socioeconomic transformation of these countries would be consolidated with obvious benefits for the FRG. Finally, Berlin also expected that the future accession of CEECs to common immigration rules as defined by the Schengen agreement would help diminish the level of migration into Germany.21 However, although these security considerations are clearly examples of self-interest, they do not necessarily fit into the category of exclusively pragmatic behaviour. Arguably, it would be more practical from the point of view of German security interests to promote the Eastern extension of NATO, requiring less effort and no sacrifices for Germany itself. Indeed the CEE states were themselves in favour of a quick enlargement of NATO taking precedence over their accession to the EU. However, in the early 1990s NATO enlargement was clearly unpopular with the majority of the German government, with Defence Minister Volker Rühe (1993) being the sole vocal advocate of the notion. The foreign minister Klaus Kinkel as well as Helmut Kohl himself clearly opted for a European solution to Germany’s security needs. Kinkel’s predecessor Hans-Dietrich Gensher argued that threats to Germany’s security were non-military in nature and as such could not be addressed by NATO (Tewes 1998). In addition, NATO enlargement, as opposed by Russia, was perceived as divisive and potentially weakening rather than enhancing Germany’s standing in the region and running against the traditional prioritization of Russia in German Eastern policy (Kamp 1998). The argument on NATO enlargement had clearly displayed the role of normative factors – due to historical reasons German elites retained an apparent preference for non-military solutions to address Germany’s security concerns. Normative reasons were also behind a change in opinion on the issue in 1994, when in response to a nationalist turn in Russia’s parliamentary elections (Zhirinovsky’s far-right party became the biggest one in the Duma), Berlin officially moved to endorse the notion of NATO membership for its Eastern neighbours. The tone of newspaper articles and parliamentary intervention at the time leave no doubt that a sense of

Germany and EU enlargement 113 kinship and responsibility for Germany’s Eastern neighbours played a major role in this process.22 It was also significant that during the ratification of NATO enlargement treaties the notion received support from all major parliamentary fractions, including the pacifistic Greens who either voted in favour or abstained (Tewes 2001). Despite this change of heart over NATO enlargement it remained clear that Berlin preferred other than traditional military and defensive means for promoting stability in its regional milieu. Germany’s security strategy towards CEE remained therefore focused on fostering domestic reforms, first of all on furthering democracy and the social market economy. EU enlargement remained the core instrument of this policy; however, the nature of Germany’s security concerns indicates that its calculations in this instance were not focused on protecting its borders against foreign aggression. In other words, whilst security concerns undeniably played a major role in Germany’s enlargement policy, it appears that a strictly material interpretation of this policy is oversimplified.

Non-material considerations As argued earlier, in addition to security and economic arguments Berlin’s enlargement policy was also motivated by its ‘instinctively’ multilateral approach to international politics as well as its desire to reach rapprochement in relations with Eastern neighbours. Both of these arguments are predominantly informed by Germany’s past and its postwar foreign policy culture, hence, they fall outside the material category. Germany’s instinctive multilateralism and enlargement The Federal Republic has been renowned for its strong preference for multilateralism and attachment to international institutions as a means of conducting its foreign policy. As argued by Helga Haftendorn (1996), Bonn/Berlin’s relationship with international organizations has been intimate and reciprocal. To explain why this has been the case it is important to consider Germany’s past. In particular two issues come at the front of all arguments about the peculiar nature of Bonn/Berlin’s international behaviour: its unsuccessful experience with the nation state and, as a consequence of this, externally imposed constraints upon its sovereignty (Heurlin 1996). With its sovereignty considerably limited in the wake of the Second World War, Bonn viewed its membership in international organizations as ‘an opportunity to change external restrictions into voluntary commitments’ (Haftendorn 1996: 96). Paradoxically, then, the internationalization of its surroundings and integration with the West served to enhance West Germany’s autonomy. The decision to join the European Coal and Steel Community and NATO facilitated West Germany’s international rehabilitation, gave it a platform for the conduct of diplomacy,

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and opened possibilities for its economic expansion in Europe and beyond. Consequently, then, Western integration served Bonn’s interests well and at the same time it kept its allies assured that enmeshed within international institutions, the Federal Republic would be prevented from acting belligerently. This perception was not considerably challenged until 1989. The end of the Cold War brought back the discussion about Germany’s role in the international community. Other countries, notably the USA, called upon Germany to return to normality and act in the international arena in the way that would reflect its economic power. ‘Partners in leadership’, the term coined by President Bush (senior) in 1989, came to symbolize the new international expectations placed upon Germany. These new perceptions were mobilized by some writers in the discipline of international relations, most spectacularly by John Mearsheimer (1990) whose famous article ‘Back to the Future’ suggested Germany’s return to a superpower status with all necessary assets including the acquisition of nuclear weapons. This line of thinking known as the ‘normalization debate’, also implied that the post-Cold War Federal Republic would be more assertive in its international behaviour and less inclined to support supranational integration (Maull and Gordon 1993). As regards CEE, the implications of this thesis were that Germany would either pursue a unilateral policy towards the region or it would pursue a limited enlargement hoping to form a pro-German block in the EU. More than a decade after the German unification it appears that the prophecies of the ‘normalizers’ remain unfulfilled. The FRG not only maintained its membership in the EU and NATO, but through the adoption of the Maastricht Treaty, it bound itself more strongly than ever to the EC/EU. Most importantly here, as demonstrated in Germany’s promotion of EU enlargement, Bonn/Berlin did not display unilateralism in its policies towards CEE. Although it is true that for the bulk of the enlargement process Germany did pursue a limited enlargement, there is no evidence that it did so in expectations of forming a block of likeminded countries inside the EU. For example, Germany always strongly championed Poland’s candidacy although, as demonstrated during the row over the war in Iraq and EU Constitution, it has been clear for some time that Polish and German perspectives on European integration would rarely converge. The same applies to other CEE states, for example, the other ‘pet-German candidate’ the Czech Republic shows no inclination to support Berlin in the EU context and its President Vaclav Klaus is known as one of the staunchest critics of Germany’s European policy. Rapprochement and the Franco–German model Bonn/Berlin has had a long tradition of linking European integration to developing new relations with its neighbours and overcoming a difficult

Germany and EU enlargement 115 past. Whilst much of this behaviour was driven by normative considerations it is also clear that West Germany’s international rehabilitation, and with it the enhancement of its sovereignty and gaining access to European markets, would have been much harder, if not impossible, without reconciling with France and other European neighbours as well as with Israel. Hence it is not fully appropriate to separate self-interest from normative aspects of this rapprochement politics, but equally, it cannot be denied that West Germany proved to be prepared to sacrifice its short-term interests for the benefit of good relations with its neighbours. For example, there is little doubt that the European Coal and Steel Community served better the interests of the French steel industry than those of the West German mines. The same applies to Euratom, which was set up predominantly for the purpose of financing the French nuclear programme. However, although establishing good relations with France might have been difficult or even at times frustrating for Bonn (e.g. the ‘empty chair crisis’) its overall assessment remained largely positive throughout the history of the Federal Republic. Importantly here, the major lesson drawn from this rapprochement is that it may be worth pursuing costly policies for the sake of good relations with neighbours and bearing in mind longerterm benefits. This thinking, which is rather untypical for French or British statesmen, is deeply entrenched in the German political philosophy and was applied to Berlin’s relations with its Eastern neighbours, Poland in particular. There are clearly many points of comparison between the Franco– German and Polish–German relationships, including geographical proximity, a difficult history and concerted efforts to overcome the past and develop close ties in a European context. These similarities prompted CDU politician Fridbert Pflüger to argue that Poland is Germany’s France to the East, both in terms of its geostrategic importance and the relationship’s past (Pflüger 1996: 183–92). In fact, a nascent linkage between European integration and relations with the East appeared already in Bonn’s Ostpolitik of the late 1960s and the 1970s. For example, Willy Brandt (1993: 51–60) argued that a connection between Ostpolitik and broader European policy was the main reason prompting his recognition of the Oder/Neisse border and that it inspired his famous ‘knee fall’ at the monument of the Warsaw ghetto in 1970. Brandt’s successor, Helmut Schmidt, argued that the Federal Republic’s deeper integration with the European Community and Poland’s cooperation with it were in both states’ fundamental interests. Schmidt (1993: 49–50) also officially maintained that the future of European peace rested on Germany’s cooperation with both France and Poland. After 1989, the Franco–German relationship was often flagged as a point of comparison and a potential model for the rapprochement of Polish–German relations and, to a lesser extent, Czecho–German relations (Pflüger 1996: 183–92). Two similarities were pointed out in this context,

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both of which were strongly related to European integration. First, as was the case between Germany and France, it was argued that the deep disagreements that existed in Germany’s relations with its Eastern neighbours could only be overcome through the emergence of exceptionally intimate links and even a degree of convergence in the future. Pflüger (1996: 183) illustrated this connection by arguing that Poland and Germany ‘could not be just casual friends but they must be like a married couple’. Second, it was suggested that the best way to achieve such an intimate relationship was to cooperate through multilateral channels, preferably through the EU, in a way resembling the Franco–German axis. As was the case in Franco–German relations there was therefore a clear preference in German–CEE relations to reconcile ‘through Europe’ rather than on a strictly bilateral basis. Consequently, a strong European and multilateral dimension can be identified in these two processes that is based on working on a common European project. In the Franco–West German case the first, and perhaps the most important, such project was the setting up of the European Coal and Steel Community in the early 1950s. This was followed by other similar initiatives in the contexts of the European Communities and subsequently the European Union. In the case of Germany’s relations with its Eastern neighbours, it was undoubtedly EU enlargement that came to act as a unifying factor. The importance of this factor was routinely flagged up by German policymakers when making their case for enlargement, especially, when arguing why the policy was worth pursuing despite its immediate high costs for Germany.23

Between material interests, values and universal principles This chapter has argued that Berlin’s role in the enlargement process was essential for its success. No other member state invested as much and acted as effectively in pursuing the policy as Germany. The most common explanation of Germany’s behaviour with regard to enlargement is its selfinterests, defined by most observers in material terms. This view has been questioned in this chapter. The principal argument made here has been that although Germany’s enlargement policy was driven by its self-interests, these were not exclusively defined in material short-term categories. In fact, as argued here, the material justifications of enlargement that suggested immediate economic gains and enhanced security appear unconvincing. Since the late 1990s the expectations of immediate economic benefits were replaced with concerns about the costs of enlargement, its impact on the German labour market and the social security system, as well as the fear that German businesses would migrate to new member states. On the other hand, the security argument concentrated on domestic stability in new member states rather than on the protection of the German border. Whilst promoting stability of Germany’s neighbourhood

Germany and EU enlargement 117 could be seen as an instance of self-interested behaviour, the argument does not easily correspond to a material explanation. The chapter also highlighted two aspects of non-material motives in Berlin’s policy: its instinctive preference to pursue multilateral solutions; and the link between reconciliation and enlargement. These aspects of Berlin’s European policy are routinely flagged by writers who argue that Germany’s foreign policy is less based on self-interest than is the case with other states (Maull and Harnisch 2001; Tewes 2001). This view is also disputed here. There is no doubt that Germany’s interest perception is heavily influenced by its past, but this does not mean that its behaviour is purely principled and idealistic. As argued here, multilateralism and rapprochement with France served well the interests of the Bonn Republic by enhancing its sovereignty and facilitating its international rehabilitation. There is, arguably, less need for pursuing these approaches in the post-Cold War environment; however, by now they became entrenched in Germany’s European diplomacy and its foreign-policy culture. In other words, multilateralism and the policy of reconciliation worked and delivered – one does not turn away from the approach that proved successful even when immediate benefits are not clear. It needs to be pointed out, however, that Berlin may have applied these approaches selectively in a way informed by its interest perception. For example, there is no doubt that Berlin invested more in the rapprochement with Poland than in reconciling with the Czech Republic, although the historical background of these two cases is comparable. It might not be insignificant in this context that Poland is the biggest country in the region, one of the largest member states of the EU and Germany’s strategic partner in CEE. It is apparent therefore that the rationale behind Berlin’s enlargement policy appears mixed and cannot be easily categorized as either materially or culturally informed, self-interested or idealistic. The process of integrating CEE with the EU has served the fundamental interests of Germany but it is unlikely to provide meaningful short-term gains. Enlargement has furthered the prospect of rapprochement with Germany’s neighbours, which enhances its standing in the region but it also contains a strong normative dimension. Through the Eastern extension of European structures, Germany’s environment is more stable and its internal and external security is enhanced. As a result of enlargement the nexus that emerged in Germany’s relations with the CEE states, and Poland in particular, is reminiscent of Franco–German relations, however, it is not clear whether this will continue to be the case in the enlarged EU (Zaborowski 2004). As regards the three types of considerations developed by Helene Sjursen in this volume, which may potentially have driven Germany’s enlargement policy, it is perhaps the normative value-based arguments that prevailed most strongly in Berlin’s justification of the policy. Germany consistently perceived enlargement in the context of a broader

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rapprochement process attempting to establish similar types of relations towards its Eastern neighbours, especially Poland, as it had developed with France. Chancellor Kohl and other prominent CDU figures routinely promoted enlargement by referring to normative considerations, stressing the notion of cultural closeness as apparent in the shared experience of Western Christianity, Renaissance and Enlightenment (Herzog 1997; Pflüger 1994). Two types of normative value-based considerations were therefore at play: first, Germany’s perceived need to pursue a multilateral, European route to achieve reconciliation with its Eastern neighbours; and second, a sense of cultural kinship with CEE states prevailed in the German approach. The absence of these factors in Germany’s policy towards the Balkan states and Turkey explains the difference in Berlin’s attitude towards these countries’ bids to join the EU prior to 1998. The change of government in 1998 produced a certain shift in emphasis from normative, value-related arguments towards more universal rightsbased and political considerations. Kohl’s government pursued, aggressively at times, a limited enlargement including Germany’s immediate neighbours to whom Germany felt a sense of responsibility and cultural closeness, and where German interests were most apparent. Kohl is also reputed for claiming that the EU is a Christian project and as such there is no place for Turkey.24 Equally, there was no enthusiasm in the CDU/CSU for EU membership for Romania and Bulgaria – both considered culturally alien countries to whom Germany owed nothing and where its interests were less significant. The success of the SPD and the Greens in November 1998 marked not only a political but also a generational change. Whilst Kohl’s generation was shaped by the memories of the Second World War, Schröder and Fischer were both far more influenced by the anti-establishment revolts of 1968. Hence, the sense of historical responsibility and cultural kinship, so acute in Kohl’s European policy, was far less pronounced in the policy of its successors. In this context, it is perhaps no coincidence that after Kohl’s departure, Berlin’s prioritization of CEE candidates weakened and Germany agreed to the ‘big bang’ mode of the 2004 enlargement. The Schröder government also endorsed the principle of Turkey’s membership and changed its citizenship law in a way that signifies, for the first time in German history, a shift from the perception of the nation as a political rather than an exclusively cultural community (Green 2004). However, it is not yet clear whether this change in Germany’s approach will endure, or whether it will alter with a change of government. It is clear, for example, that Germany’s support for starting membership negotiations with Turkey would not have occurred had the CDU/CSU remained in power. The Christian Democrats also maintain that they will oppose Turkey’s EU membership if they win the 2006 elections. In sum, Germany’s enlargement policy was not predominately determined by the expectations of immediate gains and calculated assessment

Germany and EU enlargement 119 of costs and benefits. It was argued here that Berlin’s policy was first and foremost influenced by cultural and normative considerations, although this should not suggest that self-interest played no role in this process. After the change of government in 1998 Germany’s policy showed signs of subscribing to the vision of the EU as a rights-based political union. This was first and foremost illustrated by Berlin’s decision to support the start of Turkish membership negotiations. Only time will show how consistent and sustainable the current evolution of Germany’s vision of the European finalité will be.

Notes 1 See also Joschka Fischer and Bronislaw Geremek, in Der Tagesspiegel, 17 February 2000: ‘Deutsch-polnische Beziehungen – Schlüssel zum Aufbau einer stabilen Europäischen Union’. 2 Arnulf Baring (1994) has been one of the best-known critics of this common orthodoxy in Germany. 3 Interview with Peter Glotz, chairman of the SPD in the 1980s, held in Erfurt, Germany, 12 May 1998. Interestingly, after the end of the Cold War Peter Glotz went to oppose the Eastern enlargement of both the EU and NATO. 4 ‘Der verhängnisvolle Irrtum eines Entweder-Oder’, M. Mertes and N. J. Prill in Frankfürter Allgemeine Zeitung, 19 July 1989. 5 On the implications of Andriessen report, see Harasimowicz (1994). 6 Interviews in the Chancellery, March 1998; and in the national Headquarters of the CDU and CSU, Berlin, June 2001. 7 ‘Falsche Hoffnungen’, Der Spiegel, 12 December 1994. 8 This European Council decision was based on the recommendation of the European Commission (1997a); for the decision of the European Council, see EU Bulletin, 12-1997, Agenda 2000 (1/5). 9 For example in 2000, 34.9 per cent of Polish exports went to Germany and about 23.9 per cent of Poland’s imports came from Germany. See statistics from the Polish Ministry of Economics, ‘Obroty handlu zagranicznego ogólem i wedlug krajów w okresie I-XII 2000 r.’, available at: http://www.stat.gov. pl/serwis/miesieczne/obr_handlu_zagr/index.htm. 10 See the data of the Ministry of Economics, Analysis and Forecast Department, ‘Poland’s Trade in 1999 Per Country Groupings’, available at: http://www.mg. gov.pl/struktur/DaiP. 11 See statistics from the Polish Ministry of Economics, ‘Obroty handlu zagranicznego ogólem i wedlug krajów w okresie I-VII 2000’, available at: http://www.stat.gov.pl/miesieczne/obr-handlu-zagr/index.htm. 12 See the article by Waigel, ‘Wer soll das bezahlen?’, Focus, 3 July 1995. 13 ‘Schröder fordert Niedrigere Deutsche Zahlungen an die EU’, Frankfürter Allgemeine Zeitung, 9 December 1998. 14 ‘Bundesregierung: Keine EU-Erweiterung ohne Finanzreform’, Frankfürter Allgemeine Zeitung, 3 December 1998. 15 ‘Britain out of Harmony Again’, The Economist, 28 November 1998. 16 ‘Entschließung des Bundesrates zur Mitteilung der Europäischen Kommission’, ‘Agenda 2000-eine stärkere und erweiterte Union’, decision by the Bundesrat, 28 November 1997. 17 See ‘Erweiterung der Europäischen Union’ (Beschluss Top 3), 19. Europaministerkonferenz in Bremen, 22–23 April 1998, available at: http://www. europaminister.de/medien/download/emk19.pdf.

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18 ‘CSU Warnt Erneut Vor Überstürzten Beitritten’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 12 May 1998. 19 See ‘Grazer Konferenz Resolution der an die mittel- und osteuropaeischen Laender angrenzenden Regionen der EU-Mitgliedstaaten betreffend die Hereausforderungen der EU-Osterweiterung’, Amt der Steiermaerkischen landesregierung, Graz, 29 January 1998. 20 Interviews with Friedbert Pflüger (CDU) and Marcus Meckel (SPD), Bonn, April 1998. 21 ‘Kampfansage an Flüchtlinge. Schengen-Staaten beschließen Aktionsplan’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 16 September 1998. 22 Interview with Friedbert Pflüger, Bonn, 2 April 1998. See also Pflüger’s speech before the Bundestag on 13 January 1994, ‘Für die Osterweiterung der NATO’ (Pflüger 1994); and further editor-in-chief Rudolf Augestein in Der Spiegel, No. 2, 1994. 23 Such arguments were made by Joschka Fischer and Bronislaw Geremek, see supra, note 1; and by Gerhard Schröder and Jerzy Buzek in Rzeczpospolita, 18 November 2000: ‘Wspolna przyszlosc ma na imie Europa’. 24 Interviews in the CDU and CSU headquarters, Berlin, June 2001.

7

The case of Turkey Are some candidates more ‘European’ than others? Åsa Lundgren

Introduction EU–Turkey relations date back to the early stages of the European project. Turkey’s belonging to Europe continues to be contested, however, and the country was only officially recognized as a candidate for membership in 1999. With the grand-scale enlargement of May 2004, the pressure on the EU to respond to Turkey’s request for a date for opening accession negotiations increased. In October that year, the European Commission (2004) announced that Turkey sufficiently fulfilled the Copenhagen political criteria and recommended that negotiations with Ankara be opened. Based on the decision taken by the Brussels European Council (2004a), the member states started negotiations with Turkey on its accession to the EU on 3 October 2005 (Council of the European Union 2006). It seems to be clear, however, that for certain EU actors, governments and political parties, fulfilling the stipulated political and economic conditions is not the issue. Some have claimed that Europe’s identity would be lost if Turkey entered the Union. They are thus echoing earlier statements by former German Chancellor Helmut Kohl who once said that a Muslim country like Turkey does not belong in Europe1 and by the former President of France, Valéry Giscard d’Estaing who in an interview in Le Monde in 2002 claimed that a future inclusion of Turkey in the Union ‘would be the end of Europe’ since Turkey ‘is not a European country’.2 This illustrates a vision of the EU as founded on a set of shared cultural values of a ‘thick’ and non-universal quality. Such a perspective contrasts with a rights-based conception of the EU, where eligibility is based on universal values, such as ‘liberty and solidarity, tolerance and human rights, democracy and the rule of law’ (Rehn 2005). From the latter perspective the EU could possibly embrace all countries, regardless of religion or historical background. The aim of this chapter is to explore whether feelings of kinship and a common culture have played a role in the enlargement process. Turkey is crucial in this regard, as Turks are often assumed to be culturally different from Europeans. I will proceed by comparing EU enlargement policy

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towards Turkey with its policy towards the Central and Eastern European countries (CEECs) in general and Romania in particular. Among all the CEECs, Romania has been least successful in meeting the Copenhagen criteria and was, together with Bulgaria, not considered ready for membership in 2004 when the other candidates entered. Yet, Romania started accession negotiations on 15 February 2000, while Turkey was still a ‘candidate country’. The fact that Romania’s European cultural identity does not seem to be challenged or questioned the way Turkey’s is, suggests that the cultural dimension is a factor in EU enlargement. Consequently, a comparison between Turkey and Romania can be fruitful when examining to what extent the driving forces in the enlargement processes are related to utility considerations, concerns for human rights and democracy or cultural values. From a utility perspective we would expect the EU to prioritize enlargement to those candidates where future economic or security gains were considered particularly high. From a rights-based perspective on the other hand, the expectation would be that the EU prioritizes enlargement to those states that would be able to protect human rights and democracy. However, Turkey scored higher than Romania on both economic and democratic indicators prior to the EU’s decision to enlarge to the CEECs in 1993. I therefore propose that the EU’s prioritizations cannot merely be explained with reference to utility calculations or a concern for human rights and democracy. A third possibility, that the EU’s prioritization with regard to enlargement is due to a particular sense of kinship-based duty, is therefore investigated. The empirical material in this chapter supports the latter hypothesis. This is not to suggest, however, that concerns for human rights and democracy are not important driving forces in the enlargement processes. Nevertheless, the findings suggest that guaranteeing respect for these principles is relatively more important in countries that are considered as a natural part of a ‘European culture’ than in candidate states that are regarded as ‘less European’. Thus, the existence of a European identity, albeit thin, cannot be excluded, at least when analysing the EU’s prioritizations in enlargement decisions. The chapter is divided into two parts. First, I investigate to what extent Turkey has really been treated differently from Romania and other CEECs. The fact that the CEE states were integrated into the Union way ahead of Turkey, does not, by itself, prove an unequal treatment. The reason why Turkey is lagging behind might simply be that the country has been less successful in adopting and implementing the political, economic and administrative conditions that are required for membership as well as for opening up accession negotiations. In order to decide whether Turkey and the CEE applicants were equally treated I compare the financial support and the ‘moral’ support that they received from the EU from 1990–2000. I then proceed, in the second part, to discuss why the EU pri-

The case of Turkey 123 oritized CEE applicants such as Romania in the early 1990s. By investigating whether the EU’s enlargement policy was informed by benefits, rights or culture, the purpose is to understand why Turkey was not included when the decision to enlarge eastwards was taken at the Copenhagen European Council in 1993.

Has Turkey received an equal treatment? Financial support The enlargement decision, which was declared in Copenhagen in 1993, was not only of symbolic importance. It was also the onset of a concrete and substantial preparation process, which implied substantive financial assistance. The Phare programme was created already in 1989 with the aim of helping the reform process in Eastern Europe. At the Essen European Council (1994b) a ‘pre-accession strategy’ was defined. This strategy consisted of three instruments: the implementation of the Europe Agreements; the Phare programme of financial assistance; and a ‘structured dialogue’ bringing together member states and candidate countries to discuss issues of common interest.3 The Europe Agreements provided the legal basis for bilateral relations between the candidates and the EU and they also became the framework within which the CEECs were preparing for membership. After 1993, the financial assistance from the EU was not just aiming at helping the reform process in general, but was directed specifically towards preparing the applicants in Central and Eastern Europe for membership. The focus on ‘accession priorities’ gradually intensified over the years. According to the Commission, a ‘total “preaccession” focus’ was put in place in 1997 following the Luxembourg European Council (1997a).4 A variety of programmes were designed in order to help the CEECs comply with the acquis in all relevant areas. This included, among other things, the strengthening of public administrations and institutions in order to make them function more effectively inside the Union; promoting convergence with the Community’s legislation; supporting agricultural reforms; rural development; and large-scale infrastructure projects in the fields of transport and environment. Another dimension of the pre-accession strategy was the participation in Community programmes and agencies. Turkey was not included in these programmes and strategies. It was not until December 1999 that the country was recognized as an EU candidate on an equal footing with other candidates, and only in 2001 a preaccession strategy was prepared. Financial assistance to Turkey has not come from Phare but from the Euro-Mediterranean programme (MEDA I and MEDA II) and has been considerably less generous. To get an idea of the size of EU financial aid to Turkey, a comparison with Romania and Poland can be useful.

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Table 7.1 EU financial assistance to candidate states (total, 1990–2000)

Poland Romania Turkey

Total (million euro)

Per capita (euro)

2,000 1,500 427

51 65 7

Sources: Poland: Delegation of the European Commission to Poland, ‘EU Assistance to Poland’, available at: http://www.europa.delpol.pl/index.php?id
aid&drukowanie
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ef8cdbcad010dd94169832e6730a4ce3. Romania: European Parliament: ‘Country Profile – Romania’, available at: http://www.europarl.eu.int/enlargement_ new/applicants/romania_home_en.htm. Turkey: Representation of the European Commission to Turkey, ‘Financial Assistance: Overview’, available at: http://www.deltur.cec.eu.int/ english/e-mali-view-pre.html; Turkish Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Turkey–EU Financial Cooperation’, available at: http://www.mfa.gov.tr/MFA/ForeignPolicy/MainIssues/Turkey AndEU/EUGeneral.htm; European Union summaries of legislation, ‘Partnership for the Accession of Turkey’, available at: http://europa.eu.int/scadplus/leg/en/lvb/e40111.htm. Note The figures refer to grants, loans are not included. The total amount for Turkey includes 31 million euro for emergency and rehabilitation actions after the earthquake in 1999. The figures indicating assistance per capita have been calculated on the basis of the countries’ population size as of 1995 (Poland: 39 million; Romania 23 million; Turkey 63 million).

From 1990 until 2000, the financial assistance allotted to Turkey in absolute terms amounted to approximately 28 per cent of what was given to Romania and 21 per cent of what was given to Poland. As outlined in Table 7.1, Turkey received 427 million euro while Romania received 1,500 million during this time period. When related to the population size, the differences between the countries are even more obvious: the figure for Turkey is 7 euro per capita, while for Romania and Poland the figures are 65 and 51 euro respectively. The main purpose of EU aid to applicant states is to give tangible, concrete help in their reform processes. But besides providing the recipients with much needed capital, it also has another dimension. From the EU side, the financial assistance to the ex-communist states was presented as an active support for their membership aspirations. Inversely, a very limited financial support can also be perceived as an indicator of a lack of such moral support. Although moral support will be treated separately below, it is worth emphasizing that there is no clear-cut distinction between financial and moral support. Most of the reforms required for membership are costly, both in political and economic terms, and difficult to implement for the candidates. It is thus important that they are provided with the necessary incentives. When analysing Turkey and the economic criteria, Mine Eder makes a comparison between IMF conditionality and EU conditionality: In contrast to IMF conditionality, where financial aid is primarily linked to the implementation of specific economic policies and is given

The case of Turkey 125 immediately once the policy changes take place, the EU conditionality has suffered from a timing problem offering benefits not during the implementation but long after it. (Eder 2003: 230) For the reforms required by the EU, the main benefit is membership. If there is not a clear prospect for that within a foreseeable future, reforms might indeed be difficult to carry out, especially if the financial support is meagre. In this respect, Turkey has been in a disadvantaged position compared to the CEECs. The country has only received around a quarter of the financial support given to Romania and Poland, or to the other applicant states for that matter. Calculated as aid per capita the gap is even wider. Since Turkey has not benefited from all the pre-accession funding and pre-accession strategies that have been available for the other applicants to help them get ready for membership, one has to conclude that Turkey has not been treated on an equal footing with the other applicants. One could only speculate on whether Turkey would have been able to satisfy the Copenhagen criteria earlier and even before some of the CEECs if the country had received more extensive and continuous financial support from the early 1990s onwards. In terms of such support, it seems that preparing the CEECs has been the priority for the EU, and only when that task was by and large completed in 2001–2, the financial assistance and pre-accession aid for Turkey increased.5 Moral support Financial assistance is not the only way in which the EU can support the domestic reform process and help applicant countries to meet the Copenhagen criteria. Another way is to provide what one could label ‘moral support’. This can consist of almost any measure that may boost the morale and provide incentives for reforms. To express solidarity; to show commitment; to encourage; to cooperate and be involved; to give advice in a constructive manner; and to send positive signals are some instances of moral support. The underlying assumption here is that the question of whether different candidates have received an equal treatment cannot be answered simply by looking at the existing conditions for membership and whether an applicant meets them or not. Instead, enlargement has to be seen as an interactive process over time. In the course of this process, the state aspiring for membership has to carry out reforms and adjust, but the question is also ‘whether the EU itself is doing enough to provide the kind of “signals” needed to create a virtuous cycle whereby domestic political and economic change and external inducements tend to reinforce one another’ (Önis¸ 2003a: 10). Ziya Önis¸ concludes, from a comparison of the EU’s policies towards Poland and Turkey, that the positive signals given to

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Polish reformers made their job considerably easier and had an instrumental role in the acceleration of the reform process. By contrast, the ambiguous signals sent to Turkey strengthened the position of domestic anti-reform and anti-EU forces and undermined the efforts of the reforming elements within the Turkish state and society (Önis¸ 2003b: 15). Evidence of the strong impact of signals from the EU is the effect of the decision at the Helsinki European Council of December 1999 when Turkey was offered candidate status. Although a date for opening accession negotiations was not given, the Helsinki decision nevertheless had striking consequences for Turkey’s domestic politics. A tide of reforms was initiated between 2000 and 2002, which would have been unimaginable a few years earlier (Önis¸ 2003b: 25). This indicates that not only the prospect of membership in itself, but also the moral support given ‘along the way’, provides incentives for reforms.6 It is important that the prospect of membership seems credible. The following section will investigate the extent to which the EU has shown commitment and whether the signals given have been clear and encouraging, or weak and ambiguous. The road to accession negotiations The membership offer given to the CEECs in 1993 was conditional and non-binding. Nevertheless, it did express a commitment to work towards accession and a promise to enlarge when the preparations were completed. By contrast, throughout the 1990s, Turkey’s status vis-à-vis the EU was continuously defined in vague terms. When the former communist countries appeared on the stage with the fall of the Berlin Wall, Turkey was immediately ‘relegated to the back of the queue’ despite having applied for membership already in 1987 (Verney 2002: 112). The presidency conclusions from the European Council meetings during this period display the ambiguous approach towards Turkey’s membership aspirations. Until 1997 the country was never mentioned within the context of enlargement. The only ambition expressed concerning Turkey was completion of the Customs Union, as illustrated in the Corfu European Council (1994b). The EU then noted that there had been a ‘convening of the EC–Turkey Association Council to deal in particular with the achievement of the Customs Union foreseen in the Association Agreement of 1964’, without mentioning that the Association Agreement also foresaw the possibility of Turkey’s full membership. The meeting of December 1994 resulted in an annex defining a ‘strategy to prepare for the accession of the associated CEEC’ and another reporting on ‘the future Mediterranean policy’ (European Council 1994b). Turkey was placed in the context of the Mediterranean policy and the only ambition mentioned was, again, the completion of the Customs Union. In Cannes the European Council (1995a) welcomed ‘the closer ties’ between the EU and

The case of Turkey 127 Turkey, and in Madrid, declared its intention to ‘actively continue the policy of dialogue, cooperation and association already under way with the Union’s neighbouring countries, and in particular with Russia, Ukraine, Turkey and the Mediterranean countries’ (European Council 1995b). The European Councils in Florence (1996a) and in Dublin (1996b) stressed the priority attached to ‘the strengthening and deepening of relations with Turkey’ and reaffirmed the importance of ‘the further development of the EU’s relations with Turkey in both the economic and political fields’. In the conclusions from the Amsterdam European Council (1997b) Turkey is not mentioned at all. This shows that European heads-of-state repeatedly emphasized the importance of closer relations between the EU and Turkey; however, there was never any recognition of Ankara’s aspirations for membership. Turkey was never referred to as an applicant state, neither as an associate member, although this had been the actual status since 1987. Turkey was located in the context of EU Mediterranean policy or was referred to as a neighbouring country, in line with Russia and Ukraine. Only at the European Council in Luxembourg in December 1997 were Turkey’s membership ambitions explicitly acknowledged.7 Despite this, the Turkish government regarded the decision in Luxembourg as discriminatory and politicized (Eralp 2004: 71). The conflict was caused by the fact that Turkey was excluded from the official list of candidates. The meeting in Luxembourg was, according to the Conclusions, ‘devoted to the launch of the overall process for enlargement of the Union’ (European Council 1997a). This process included an ‘enhanced pre-accession strategy’ centred on accession partnerships and increased pre-accession aid. It was decided that membership negotiations would begin with six of the candidates in the spring of 1998. Furthermore, the preparation for negotiations with the other five, Romania, Slovakia, Latvia, Lithuania and Bulgaria, would be speeded up. Turkey was treated under a separate paragraph. The European Council talked about the importance of drawing up a strategy to prepare Turkey for membership, but it was not included in the pre-accession strategy presented at the meeting and was only present in the margins of the overall enlargement plans. It is interesting to note that the Luxembourg European Council found it relevant to confirm Turkey’s ‘eligibility for accession’. This had been established already 34 years earlier in the Association Agreement as well as eight years earlier in the Commission’s opinion on Turkey’s application. The Agenda 2000 presented by the Commission in 1997 made the same statement (European Commission 1997b). This perceived need to reiterate what had already been established several times in the course of four decades indicates that Turkey’s eligibility is indeed contested. It can thus be argued that the CEECs have received a stronger moral support than Turkey for their membership aspirations. Since 1993 the former have been given quite clear and unambiguous signals concerning

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their future memberships, while the statements concerning Turkey have been more hesitant and non-committing. Even when the Brussels European Council (2004a) decided to open accession negotiations with Ankara, Turkey’s future place in Europe was contested.8

Benefits, rights or culture? Why was Turkey not included in the enlargement plans that began to take shape in the early 1990s? I examine this question by investigating to what extent the EU’s enlargement policy was based on utility calculations, respect for human rights and democracy or a value-based duty. This will be done by comparing two candidate countries: Turkey and Romania. Economic benefits According to a first hypothesis, the hesitant support of Turkish membership could be due to concerns about costs. This would imply that an inclusion, for instance of Romania, would be more beneficial, or less costly, to the EU in economic terms. In order to substantiate this hypothesis we need to find out the potential gains as well as the potential costs of enlarging to each of these states. It was acknowledged from the outset that enlargement would cost, at least in the short run. Enlarging to new members, much poorer than the EU-15, would inevitably burden structural and agricultural funds and force existing member states to increase their contributions to the EU budget. On the other hand, enlargement was expected to lead to an extended market and thus to increased trade and economic growth. Economists pointed to both static and dynamic gains from integration, that is, trade creation on the one hand, and economies of scale, enhanced competition and intensified research and development activity on the other (Scott 2004: 85–6). The Commission in 2002 argued that enlargement would ‘boost economic growth and create jobs in both old and new member states’ and claimed that numerous analyses have shown that the benefits of enlargement outweigh the costs.9 The Commission referred to a study of 1997 by the Centre for Economic Policy Research that estimated that accession of the CEECs would bring an economic gain of at least ten billion euro for the 15 old member states. As concerns the cost of enlargement, the transfers to the new members from the EU budget was expected to include only a ‘modest amount (less than 10 per cent)’ for the period up to 2006, and according to the Commission, the expenditures after 2006 would depend mainly on decisions about cohesion policy and agricultural policy. The Commission’s conclusion is that the increase in budget expenditures ‘will be a political rather than an economic issue’. Judging from the state of the Turkish and Romanian economies in the early 1990s, prior to the Copenhagen decision, is it possible to conclude

The case of Turkey 129 Table 7.2 Economic indicators: Romania and Turkey (1992)

GNP per capita (US dollar) GDP growth rate Agriculture (% of GDP) Consumer prices (% change) Unemployment (%) Total debt (% of GDP) Total debt (% of exports) Current account balance (% of GDP) Openness of economy (trade/GDP %)

Romania

Turkey

1,390* 15.1 20.0 211.2 8.4 12.7 55.7 6.4 35.0*

1,780* 5.0 17.6 70.1 10.0 47.7 185.1 2.0 35.0

Source: World Bank (1992) Trends in Developing Economies, Extracts Vol. 2: Emerging Capital Markets, Washington, DC. Note *1991 figures.

that rational economic self-interest was behind the prioritization of Romania? In Table 7.2 the two countries are compared on the same indicators that were used by the Commission in 1989 when presenting its opinion on Turkey’s application for membership and in 1998 in its first Progress Report on Romania (European Commission 1998). The criteria used by the Commission in the two reports to assess economic performance are partly overlapping. They are also largely the same kind of indicators that are used by international credit rating companies. In its opinion on Turkey’s application, the European Commission (1989) pointed to four kinds of difficulties with the Turkish economy: major structural disparities in both agriculture and industry; macroeconomic imbalances; high levels of industrial protectionism; and a low level of social protection.10 On the positive side, the Commission pointed to the improvements made when it came to criteria such as external debt and trade balance. When the Commission issued its first report on Romania in 1998, more or less the same parameters were used, but several others were also included such as fiscal discipline (current account balance) and exports of goods and services. The principal indicator of a country’s economic state is per capita income. In 1992, Turkey had a higher GNP per capita than Romania and also a higher growth rate and lower inflation. One advantage for Romania’s economy was its almost non-existent debt, much lower than Turkey’s. The World Bank classified Romania’s indebtedness level as ‘below average’ and Turkey’s as ‘moderate’. With this exception, the data in Table 7.2 indicate either a similar level of development in the two countries, or speaks in favour of Turkey. Still – even if the Turkish economy was as developed, or more developed than Romania’s, the size of the Turkish population would most

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likely have led to the assumption that the cost of enlarging to Turkey would be much higher. The size of the agricultural sector as a percentage of GDP was similar in both countries in 1992, but in absolute terms Turkey obviously had a significantly larger number of people employed in agriculture. European decisionmakers probably expected that the budgetary burden of including Turkey in the Common Agricultural Policy and in the structural funds would exceed the cost of including Romania. Because of its large population however, not only the costs but also the potential gains of a Turkish membership could have been expected to be larger. The inclusion of Turkey would have added over 70 million new consumers to the European market. The comparison thus suggests that the costs, as well as the gains, of integrating Turkey would probably be higher than for Romania. Consequently, this does not give any solid support to the hypothesis that the EU has prioritized enlargement to countries where the economic benefits would be particularly high. It is likely that there are stronger hesitations about enlarging to a country the size of Turkey than to a medium-size country such as Romania. But if the EU estimated that the gains would outweigh the costs with the addition of more than 100 million people in the 2004 enlargement, described by the Commission as an economic ‘positive-sum game’,11 then there is no reason not to expect that an inclusion of Turkey would not bring a net gain as well. What is probably more relevant in this context is, however, that the decision to enlarge does not seem to have been based on an estimation of costs and gains. The decision was taken first and the financial issues were solved later. Eleven years passed from the promise in 1993 to the enlargement in 2004; and as Torreblanca (2002) has argued, during the whole negotiation process, ‘EU institutions have allowed member states to trade their particular interests off one another, impose the costs on the candidates, or dilute them in time’. Furthermore, ‘by the time the Eastern candidates qualify for agricultural and structural funds, these will have been so thoroughly transformed that the financial impact of enlargement will be very moderate’ (Torreblanca 2002: 26). The EU has thus demonstrated that it might take precautions against financial costs by imposing additional restrictions or transitional rules on the candidates. This was shown once again in December 2004 when the Council opened for accession negotiations with Ankara to begin in October 2005. Although it was made clear that the purpose of the negotiations was full membership, it was at the same time added that Turkey might, in the end, have to expect long transition periods or even permanent exceptions, socalled ‘permanent safeguard clauses’. Those exceptions may become relevant for areas such as the free movement of people or the access to structural and agricultural funds (European Council 2004a). By taking these kinds of precautions the EU has certainly protected itself from any potential budgetary burdens that might follow from further enlargements.

The case of Turkey 131 Even if the hypothesis about economic benefits cannot be fully substantiated, EU enlargement policy could still be based on cost-benefit calculations. Instead of economic benefits, expectations about benefits in terms of increased security might explain the kind of prioritizations made. Security benefits Could security concerns have been the reason why Romania was promised membership long before the same commitment was given to Turkey? Looking at security in a traditional, military sense, both states are considered strategically important. Due to its participation in KFOR, the Partnership for Peace and many other regional projects aiming at promoting stability in South-East Europe, Romania has turned out to be a valuable strategic partner to the EU. Romania’s location is furthermore considered important for the EU’s security:12 Romania’s strongest asset lies in the field of the second pillar, the CFSP . . . The country’s location is in a region which is of key sensitivity for security in Europe, bordering as it does the Ukraine, Moldova, on former Yugoslavia (Serbia), and on the Black Sea area. (European Parliament 2000) However, as noted in the introduction to this volume, it has also often been claimed that Turkey would be a major security provider to the EU. In 1999, when Turkey was finally given candidate status, the ability to contribute to Europe’s security was one of the main reasons why many member states supported the decision (IEP 1999).13 In 1997, before Turkey’s potential accession was on the agenda, Commissioner for relations with Central and Eastern Europe, Hans van den Broek (1997g) stated: ‘All are aware of the important geopolitical and strategic factors which favour Turkey’s integration into the European family’. According to the current Commissioner for enlargement, Olli Rehn (2004a), those strategic factors were: ‘the unique geopolitical position of Turkey at the crossroads of the Balkans, the wider Middle East, South Caucasus, Central Asia and beyond, its importance for the security of Europe’s energy supplies and its political, economic and military weight’. Considering its military strength, its closeness to the Middle East and the fact that it has been a loyal NATO ally since 1952, Turkey can hardly have been considered less important than Romania for the security of Europe. The creation of political, economic and social stability on the European continent seems, however, more relevant than security defined in its narrow sense with a focus on geostrategic and military issues. NATO being the main provider of security in the traditional sense all through the 1990s, the EU’s main concern has been to create peace and security through trade, economic integration, consolidation of democracy, respect

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for human rights etc. In such a wider understanding of the security concept, enlargement, in itself, has been defined as security policy.14 After the fall of Communism a number of real and potential risks came to the surface in Eastern Europe. There were fears that nationalistic movements and ethnic conflicts would have spillover effects into the EU. There were warnings that social unrest, poverty and unemployment would lead to crime, mafia activities, illegal migration and drug smuggling that could spread to Western Europe. There were also concerns that the old communist regimes would be replaced with new authoritarian regimes rather than with democratic ones (Booth and Wheeler 1992; Gullgren et al. 1994; Schwarz 1994; Waever and Kelstrup 1993). The Eastern enlargement was thus regarded as an investment in the long-term security for everyone in Europe. Romania was facing the same problems as the other Eastern European states; social unrest, ethnic conflicts, political instability, human rights abuses, poverty and drug trafficking. Bordering Moldova and Ukraine, Romania also emerged as a transit country for illegal migration from beyond CEE. The flows of third-country nationals from the former Soviet Union and Asia have always been of more concern than illegal migrants from Eastern Europe since the former are even more likely to be linked to organized crime (Grabbe 2000). In this social and political context, enlargement was regarded as the best strategy to reduce the risks of instability spreading to Western Europe. ‘In the interests of security, stability and prosperity throughout Europe, the Community is accelerating the process of association with the countries of Central and Eastern Europe. This already includes Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Bulgaria and Romania’ (van den Broek 1993b). Turkey presented Western Europe with more or less the same risks as did Romania. The concern that the Roma population of Romania would migrate into Western Europe to escape prosecution was neither more nor less plausible than the risk of Kurdish mass migration from Turkey. Turkey is a major transit country for illegal migration from the Middle East and Asia, for arms trafficking and drug smuggling. As was also the case in Romania, political and ethnic conflicts, corruption, social unrest and ethnic and economic hardships challenged the stability of Turkey during the 1990s, problems that could be considered to potentially have spillover effects on the more affluent and stable EU countries. In the case of Romania and Eastern Europe, membership has been regarded as the natural ultimate goal. The instability that prevailed in Eastern Europe was presented as a challenge to security within the EU and the perceived solution was to extend the Union. In order to achieve stability and peace in Europe, the ex-communist countries were to become EU members. The same logic was not applied to Turkey, although one could assume the same risk for spillover effects being involved. However, instead of immediately suggesting a future accession as the solution, the EU did not consider Turkey to be ready for such considerations.

The case of Turkey 133 Even if Turkey may not have the potential to be such an important security provider to the EU as is sometimes claimed, we nevertheless have to conclude that accepting Romania’s membership earlier than Turkey’s cannot be explained by Romania being more likely to increase the security of the EU, or Turkish membership being more ‘costly’ in security terms than that of Romania. If the prevention of ethnic conflicts, social unrest and transnational crime was an important argument for enlarging to Eastern Europe, it is difficult to argue that the same reasoning would not apply to Turkey. Social and political instability in Turkey was, and is, as likely to have negative consequences for the EU as does the social and political instability in Romania. Democracy and human rights Concern for democracy and the protection of human rights and minority rights have been presented as one of the principal motives behind Eastern enlargement. By making democracy an absolute condition for granting membership, the EU has supported democratic transition in the applicant states. Democratic conditionality has two purposes. One is to help consolidate democratic systems in countries with membership aspirations. The other is to make sure that the EU does not undermine its own identity and credibility as a union of democratic states. Because of this double purpose it is not obvious how, exactly, the democratic criteria should be implemented. If the most important aim is to turn a candidate country into a stable democracy, it might be more effective to use such criteria with some degree of flexibility in order not to discourage a promising democratization process or to unnecessarily prolong the candidate’s membership since that could have negative effects. If the most important aim however, is to maintain the democratic character of the Union and its member states, it would be important not to compromise. The leverage of the EU as a promoter of democracy could also be undermined if the criteria are not applied in a strict and consistent manner. Can a concern for democracy and protection of human rights explain why Romania was promised membership years before Turkey? We would then expect Romania’s democracy to have been stronger than Turkey’s when the enlargement decision was taken in 1993. This, then, could have justified why Romania was included while Turkey was not, on the grounds that the EU wanted to protect its identity and credibility as a defender of democracy. Another possibility is that Romania was less democratic and therefore considered to be in need of more support in order not to fall into authoritarianism. According to independent evaluations from the years preceding the Copenhagen decision, Romania was, however, classified as less democratic than both Turkey and all the other CEE states. This is evident from Table 7.3, which indicates the countries’ scores on two dimensions: political rights and civil liberties.

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Table 7.3 Political rights and civil liberties in some EU applicant states 1990

Hungary Poland Estonia Latvia Bulgaria Turkey Romania

1991

1992

PR

CL

PR

CL

PR

CL

2 2 – – 3 2 6

2 2 – – 4 4 5

2 2 2 2 2 2 5

2 2 3 3 3 4 5

2 2 3 3 2 2 4

2 2 3 3 3 4 4

Source: Freedom House, ‘Country ratings’, available at: www.freedomhouse.org. Note ‘PR’ refers to political rights; ‘CL’ to civil liberties; measured on a one-to-seven scale, with one representing the highest degree of freedom and seven the lowest. Political rights include ‘electoral process’, ‘political pluralism and participation’, ‘functioning of government’ and some ‘additional discretionary political questions’. Civil liberties are defined as ‘freedom of expression and belief’, ‘associational and organizational rights’, ‘rule of law’ and ‘personal autonomy and individual rights’. Freedom House uses the concept ‘freedom’, not democracy, but what is actually measured corresponds with most definitions of democracy.

The only way for the second hypothesis to be confirmed is thus if we assume that the EU protects democracy by prioritizing candidates with the most serious democratic shortcomings. However, if that were the case, Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey should have been placed ahead of other candidates such as Hungary, Poland and the Czech Republic. Consequently, that an adherence to universal norms and principles could explain why the EU decided to integrate Romania prior to Turkey does not seem plausible. A value-based duty The use of a common culture and history is part of most political projects and the EU enlargement is no exception in this regard. A shared ‘wefeeling’ can be used to give meaning to political life, legitimize policies and create support. The relevance of such an approach is evident in the case of enlarging the Union to Eastern Europe, a process embedded in a narrative full of arbitrarily chosen historical references. The Eastern enlargement was described in terms of Europe’s ‘other half’ finally ‘coming home’. The disappearance of the iron curtain was considered a historic moment – a moment when Europe should become not only united, but ‘reunited, as if, at some point in time, before the iron curtain, a united Europe had actually existed.15 The aim, it was claimed, was to overcome ‘the divisions of Europe and restoring the unity of the continent whose people share a common heritage and culture’ (European

The case of Turkey 135 Parliament 1991b: 75). Consequently, in its opinion on Romania’s application for membership, the Commission declared that: ‘Romania’s accession is to be seen as part of an historic process in which the countries of Central and Eastern Europe overcome the division of the continent, which lasted for more than 40 years’ (European Commission 1997b). Commissioner Hans van den Broek (1997h) stated to the Romanian Parliament that he was convinced that Romania had ‘rejoined the mainstream of political life in Europe’. Cultural proximity was frequently emphasized when discussing the relations between the EU-15 and the CEECs. In documents and speeches from the early 1990s, the close ties between the EC and the CEECs were repeatedly stressed. The closeness was described as consisting of a common history, a common culture and common values: ‘Europe as a whole has a common cultural heritage which has its roots as much in the East as in the West’ (European Parliament 1995: 22). The existing EU members and the ex-communist states were said to ‘share the same past’ and ‘have the same roots’. In a speech on enlargement, Hans van den Broek (1997g) referred not only to geography, but also to culture, traditions and history, when emphasizing Romania’s belonging to Europe: ‘By its history, geography, traditions and culture, Romania is a profoundly European country, which has an important place in our common heritage’. One often presented argument for enlargement was that it would enrich the Union culturally. Commissioner Sir Leon Brittan, when discussing the challenge of helping Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Bulgaria, Romania and East Germany to ‘correct the follies and evils of forty years of Communism’, stressed the difficulty of this task considering that the Community itself was in a recession. Nevertheless, the reward, Brittan claimed, would be ‘enormous: the addition to a unifying Europe of an area of enormous historical and cultural importance to us all’ (Brittan 1993). Such perceptions of a common history and culture seemed to be followed by a sense of duty. The argument that the EC would have a ‘special responsibility’ for the reform process in CEE countries was continuously repeated in documents from the period when the enlargement process was initiated (Lundgren 1998; Sjursen 2002): As stated by the European Council held in Rome, the Community is aware of its special responsibility towards these countries . . . the Community has a duty to help consolidate and develop the general process of reform being undertaken in these countries. (European Parliament 1991b: 76) The Community and its Member States are fully conscious of the common responsibility which devolves on them in this decisive phase in the history of Europe. (European Council 1989)

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The relationship between EU-15 and Turkey was described in a different way. References to any common cultural or historical heritage were never made. Turkey was called a ‘partner of the first order for the European Union’, and Turkey and the EU were said to be ‘highly interdependent’ (van den Broek 1994). But instead of defining Turkey as a part of Europe, the country has usually been given the role of a bridge between Europe and Asia, as illustrated by the words of Leon Brittan (1994): ‘In an increasingly interdependent world, Turkey draws increasing strength from its position as a bridge between developed and developing neighbours, a bridge between Asia and Europe, a bridge between the religions of Islam and Western Europe’. The mutual interdependence that is said to exist between the EU and Turkey refers to economic and strategic issues only. There is no perception that Turkey could add any cultural value to the Union or that the cultural heritage of Turkey could be of importance for Europe as a whole. The most current arguments made as regards Turkey’s asset to the Union in cultural terms, are that the country can improve relations between the EU and the Muslim, and increase the diversity within the Union. This has also been emphasized by former Commissioner Hans van den Broek (1994): ‘Turkey’s Islamic culture is an asset in a continent which has always sought unity in diversity and which wishes to improve relations with the Muslim world’. Instead of pointing at anything that could symbolize closeness, common history or shared culture, Turkey is assigned the role of representing difference and ‘Islamic culture’. While van den Broek (1997g), when visiting Romania, described his host country as ‘profoundly European’, he made no such statements during his visits to Turkey. On one occasion he talked about ‘values which the European Union and Turkey share’. Those values are however specified as ‘the principles of law, democracy and the respect for human rights’ (van den Broek 1994) and have thus nothing to do with thicker, culturespecific values. The responsibility and duty that the EU was said to have towards Central and Eastern Europe was not extended to Turkey. Reassurances were given that Turkey would be treated on an equal footing with the other candidate countries, that Turkey was eligible for membership, that its Islamic culture was not ‘an obstacle to participation in the process of European integration’ (van den Broek 1994). But bringing Turkey into the Union was never described as a duty or as a responsibility. The quotes above, concerning Turkey, are statements made several years prior to any prospects of membership being given to Turkey. It might be possible that references to common historical roots and expressions of responsibility and duty towards an applicant state are not a cause, but an effect of a decision to accept it as a member. If so, one would expect Turkey to be described in a different way after 1999 when the country was given candidate status and preparations for accession could start. Was

The case of Turkey 137 there, then, a shift in the way Turkey was defined, historically and culturally, in relation to Europe? When the so-called pre-accession strategy was launched at the Luxembourg European Council in 1997, comprising the ten Central and Eastern European states plus Cyprus, it was described as ‘a moment of historic significance for the future of the Union and of Europe as a whole’ and as ‘the dawn of a new era’ (European Council 1997a). When the Helsinki European Council decided, in December 1999, that Turkey would be given candidate status, it simply concluded that ‘Turkey is a Candidate State destined to join the Union on the basis of the same criteria as applied to the other Candidate States’ (European Council 1999b). At the Council meeting, the President of the European Parliament Nicole Fontaine admitted that the Parliament was divided on the ‘burning issue’ of Turkey’s membership. Fontaine (1999) claimed that Turkey’s ‘accession would of course be to the Union’s advantage economically and politically’, but added that ‘it would not be possible to evade the problem of cultural integration’. Although advantageous for other reasons, Turkey’s membership was regarded as culturally problematic. In post-Helsinki documents from the Commission, Turkey is defined in a very similar way as it was in the first half of the 1990s. Being a ‘bridge between civilizations’ still seems to be the role designated for Turkey. Enlargement Commissioner Olli Rehn (2004a) stated that ‘as a large Muslim country firmly embedded in the European Union, Turkey could play a significant role in Europe’s relations with the Islamic world’. At a later occasion, Rehn further stated that: A Turkey where the rule of law is firmly rooted in its society and state will prove that, contrary to prejudices, European values can successfully coexist with a predominantly Muslim population. Such a Turkey will be a most valuable crossroads between civilisations. (Rehn 2004b) However, in the European Parliament, the Commissioner also claimed, quoting the President of the Commission in 1963, that ‘Turkey is part of Europe. It is forming constitutional ties with the European Community. Like the Community itself, those ties are intended to evolve’ (Rehn 2004c). Yet, Turkey is not described as part of Europe in the same way as the Eastern European countries. Turkey’s ‘Europeanness’ is understood as ties with European institutions and the adoption of universal values such as democracy and respect for human rights. And there are still no expressions of a sense of duty or responsibility on the part of the Union for making sure that Turkey gets ready for membership. The EU member states were also reluctant to enlarge to the East despite all the expressions of the shared culture and history (Torreblanca

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2002: 15–16). However, the Eastern enlargement was described as a ‘political imperative’, as something that had to be done: ‘We must do it, but we have to do it well’ (European Council 1995b). This reluctance only confirms, as is argued in the introduction to this volume, that there was indeed a strong feeling of duty towards the ex-communist countries in Eastern Europe. If this sense of duty had emanated from a concern for human rights and democracy, then there are no reasons why it should not have extended to Turkey as well. The fact that it did not is an indication that perceptions about a cultural affinity resulted in different treatments of Turkey and Romania. The decision to enlarge might have been taken reluctantly in both cases, but if ‘culture’ worked in favour of Romania, it has rather worked against Turkey. If and when Turkey becomes a member it will most likely be for other reasons than because of cultural factors. We can conclude that Romania, being part of Eastern Europe, was regarded as culturally closer to the EU than Turkey. The Central and Eastern Europeans were considered part of ‘us’ and there was a feeling of responsibility towards them which did not exist towards the Turks. Neither a cost-benefit analysis of material interests, nor a concern for democracy and human rights can explain why Romania but not Turkey was included in the enlargement preparations that began in 1993.

Conclusions As this chapter has demonstrated, Turkey has been treated differently than the other applicants during the process leading up to the 2004 enlargement. The financial and moral support given to the CEECs to help them prepare for membership has been more or less absent in the case of Turkey. However, a change took place in 1997, when explicit references were made to Turkey’s aspirations for membership at the European Council meetings, and when the Commission submitted its first set of Regular Reports, that is, assessed the progress made by each country in preparing for accession. Turkey was included in the same reviewing procedure as the CEECs, Cyprus and Malta. In 1999 Turkey was formally granted candidate status and was included in pre-accession strategies. And finally, on 3 October 2005, membership negotiations were opened. However, none of these later developments change the fact the CEECs have been given priority in the enlargement process. Only in the late 1990s, when the task of integrating the CEECs into the Union was already well on its way, did the EU begin applying the same policies to Turkey. What then, are the reasons for Turkey’s relegation to the back of the queue? Considering the state of the Turkish economy as compared to Romania’s in the years prior to the enlargement decision in 1993, it does not seem as if the EU prioritized enlargement to states where the foreseen economic benefits were particularly high. Turkey’s level of economic development and prospects for becoming an interesting market was cer-

The case of Turkey 139 tainly no less promising than Romania’s at the time. Neither can the EU’s policy be explained by security concerns, as the cost-benefit analyses also in this regard turned out to be very similar in the two cases. A concern to protect human rights and democracy was probably an important motive behind the decision to enlarge, however, it cannot explain why the EU prioritized Romania over Turkey. A stronger feeling of cultural affinity with the Eastern European excommunist countries is most probably one reason for the different policies towards Turkey and Romania. The hypothesis that the EU has prioritized enlargement to states towards which it has a particular sense of kinshipbased duty, can be at least partly confirmed. How, then, are we to understand that the policy changed in the late 1990s and that Turkey from 1999 onwards has been given candidate status, increased financial support, access to the same accession strategies as the other applicants, and a date for starting accession negotiations? A feeling of kinship can hardly have developed in a few years. One explanation is that even if the EU would give priority to applicants that are considered culturally closer, it does not exclude that other countries can be integrated as well. Assuming, from a deliberative perspective, that actors have to provide reasons for their acts and choices (Habermas 1996), another explanation is that it has become more and more difficult to treat Turkey differently to the other candidates. ‘Cultural closeness’ is not a condition for EU membership and to the extent that there were no valid (economic or political) reasons for excluding Turkey from the benefits of accession strategies and membership preparations, an unequal treatment would have been problematic to defend in the long run. If membership negotiations with Turkey proceed with the sincere ambition from the EU to make Turkey a full member, it might indicate that the EU is moving in the direction of a rights-based rather than a value-based entity. In this case, Christianity, for one thing, would be permanently out of the picture as a value that could be referred to as a common ground. The decisions made in Helsinki in 1999 and in Brussels in 2004 point towards a future EU as a civic political entity rather than an entity built on common cultural values. At the same time, there are circumstances which tell a slightly different story. When the European Council in December 2004 opened for accession negotiations to start with Ankara in 2005, the promise was given with some major restrictions. For the first time the Council introduced the possibility of permanent exceptions, not only from access to the structural and agricultural policies, but also from the free movement of persons. The meeting concluded that: Long transition periods, derogations, specific arrangements or permanent safeguard clauses, i.e. clauses which are permanently available as a basis for safeguard measures, may be considered.

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Åsa Lundgren The Commission will include these, as appropriate, in its proposals for each framework, for areas such as freedom of movement of persons, structural policies or agriculture. (European Council 2004a)

If that were to be the case it could then be questionable whether Turkey is really being offered full membership. The four freedoms are, after all, a core principle of the EU. Even with Turkey as a full member in the future, the fact remains that although Ankara applied for membership several years prior to the CEECs, it is not until all the latter are fully integrated member states that the door may open for Turkey. One can therefore conclude that perceptions about cultural affinity have played a role in the enlargement process.

Acknowledgements Many thanks to Marit Eldholm and Børge Romsloe for their comments and contributions.

Notes 1 Amir Taheri, ‘The Specter that is Haunting Europe’, Arab News, 16 June 2004, available at: http://www.benadorassociates.com/article/5183. 2 ‘Turkey Entry Would Destroy EU’, BBC News, World Edition, 8 November 2002, available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/2420697.stm. 3 On the pre-accession strategy, see the Commission’s web page: www.europa.eu.int/comm/enlargement/pas/index.htm (accessed 17 August 2005). 4 See the Commission’s web page: www.europa.eu.int/comm/enlargement/pas/ phare/intro.htm (accessed 17 August 2005). 5 The Accession Partnership with Turkey was adopted in 2001. One and a half year later, the Copenhagen European Council decided to increase pre-accession funding. 6 For a discussion on the EU and its impact on domestic democratic reforms in the Southern European countries prior to their accessions, see Pridham (1991: 223 ff.); Verney and Couloumbis (1991: 113). 7 The exact wording from the Presidency Conclusions was: ‘While the political and economic conditions allowing accession negotiations to be envisaged are not satisfied, the European Council considers that it is nevertheless important for a strategy to be drawn up to prepare Turkey for accession by bringing it closer to the European Union in every field’ (European Council 1997b). 8 In reaction to the decision, both the Austrian Chancellor and the French President announced that their countries would hold referenda on Turkey’s membership, see ‘Historic Turkey-EU deal welcomed’, BBC News, UK edition, 18 December 2004, available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/ europe/4106801.stm. One of the strongest opponents to Turkey’s membership, Angela Merkel, leader of the German Christian Democratic Party (CDU) reiterated her party’s position that Turkey should be offered a ‘privileged partnership’, not a full membership, and former German Chancellor Helmut Kohl said that it was ‘unfair, dishonest and cynical for European leaders to encourage

The case of Turkey 141

9 10 11 12 13

14 15

Turkey’. See the German Embassy in Washington DC web page: http://www. germany-info.org/relaunch/politics/new/pol_eu_turjey_12_2004.html?PHPSESSID
6fd419e368c2d200fcfclea7de200552 (accessed 17 December 2004). See the Commission’s web page for their ‘Basic Arguments’ for Enlargement, last updated 29 April 2002, available at: http://www.europa.eu.int/comm/ enlargement/arguments (accessed 17 August 2005). These difficulties were broken down into the following economic indicators; GDP per capita, percentage of the labour force employed in agriculture, inflation rates and unemployment rates. See supra, note 9. The EP’s report is from year 2000, but it is difficult to see any reason why Romania’s strategic importance would have been assessed differently around 1993. It has been argued by Jung (2001: 9) that Turkey does not have to be inside the EU in order to enhance EU security. It might even be better to have Turkey as a ‘security insulator’ between the EU and the Middle East. The same argument would then be valid also for Romania. In order for Romania to provide the EU with security, NATO membership would be more relevant than EU membership. The ‘security insulator’ argument is from Buzan and Diez (1999: 52). See for example, European Council (1995a): ‘the Union is determined to work towards stability and peace on the continent of Europe, by preparing for the accession of the associated European countries’. The Madrid European Council (1995b) is one example, where the enlargement is described as ‘a great opportunity for the political reunification of Europe’.

8

Protecting the idea of Europe France and enlargement Helene Sjursen and Børge Romsloe

In contrast to Germany, France is generally perceived to have been one of the laggards in the enlargement process. With various initiatives such as François Mitterrand’s idea of a ‘European confederation’, presented on 31 December 1989 (Mitterrand 1989b), as well as Prime Minister Edouard Balladur’s later idea of an international conference on stability in Europe (Balladur 1993), France provoked suspicion and disappointment in the applicant states and was accused of deliberately trying to prevent enlargement from taking place. At the core of the French argumentation prior to the large-scale Eastern enlargement of 2004 was the insistence that enlargement should only take place after the then European Community’s (EC) own institutions had been sufficiently reformed to be able to cope with an influx of new members. It did not help France’s case much that Mitterrand in June 1991 publicly declared that enlargement would take ‘tens and tens of years’,1 while German Chancellor Helmut Kohl had already two years earlier visited Poland and declared that Europe would be ‘incomplete’ without it, thus clearly identifying Germany as the champion of the Central Europeans inside the EC (Deloche 1998: 10–11).2 In this chapter we ask why France put such a strong emphasis on institutional reforms as a precondition for enlargement. It is generally considered that France used such arguments strategically in order to cover up its ‘real’ desire, which was to prevent enlargement from taking place. However, according to Florence Deloche (1998), who has authored one of the very few thorough empirical studies of France’s enlargement policy, France’s open insistence on the need for institutional reforms prior to enlargement entailed considerable economic and political costs. She argues that it was not in France’s interest to insist so openly on this point. Furthermore, one might ask why France did not simply veto enlargement if it really considered it to be contrary to its interests. It would not have been the first time that France opposed enlargement. President de Gaulle famously vetoed the membership application of the United Kingdom twice (in 1963 and 1967), and Valéry Giscard d’Estaing delayed Spanish and Portuguese accession during his presidency at the end of the 1970s

Protecting the idea of Europe 143 (Hendriks and Morgan 2001: 146–7). How, then, can the French insistence on institutional reforms be explained? Based on the conception of actors as communicatively and not only strategically rational, we investigate to what extent the French position may be understood as growing out of normative considerations rather than being the exclusive result of rational utility calculations of the cost of enlargement to French interests. We suggest, however, that these normative considerations would not be related to what would be ‘right’ in a universal sense, that is, from a moral perspective, but of what would be ‘good’ for the European Union. If such a hypothesis is substantiated it would imply that France developed a policy that was consistent with the French perception of its own and the European Union’s role in European politics at large. It would thus speak to a variant of the value-based conception of the EU. Furthermore, such findings would strengthen the argument that the EU is governed by a set of rules reflecting the constitutional make-up of the member states, who consider these rules to be valid and legitimate in themselves. In the first part of this chapter we refer to its theoretical and methodological premises. In the second part we investigate the mainstream hypothesis that France was opposed to enlargement and that the demand for ‘institutional reforms first’ was simply a device to delay or derail it. This would be consistent with the view that the laggards in the enlargement process were in fact ‘entrapped’ and could not openly argue against enlargement without a considerable loss of legitimacy and credibility. However, how can we best account for such a process of ‘entrapment’ actually taking place? This is the focus in the third part of the chapter. In the fourth part we turn to examine to what extent it is possible to substantiate the alternative hypothesis that there was a certain credibility to French claims that their goal was not to prevent enlargement but to ‘save’ the European Community from becoming a loosely coupled free trade area. In the conclusion the relevance of the findings in this chapter is discussed with reference to the overall research questions posed in this volume.

The approach Following the introduction to this volume, we examine the arguments and reasons for the French position on enlargement that have been presented by key French policymakers.3 We make a distinction between three types of arguments that may have been used to justify the French position: pragmatic, ethical and moral arguments. In a pragmatic approach, policy would be justified with reference to the output that it is expected to produce; in an ethical approach the emphasis would be on what would be considered appropriate given particular values of a particular community; and in a moral approach the issue would be to what extent policy could be justified

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with reference to universal standards of justice. Our core hypothesis is that the French position must be understood as the result of a concern for what it considered good for the Community as a whole, i.e. that the insistence on ‘institutional reforms first’ was due to a particular concern with France’s role as a guardian of the idea of a political Europe. This would suggest that French policymakers would primarily use value-based arguments to justify their position. The hypothesis challenges the mainstream accounts of French policy, that is, that French authorities considered enlargement to be detrimental to their interests and sought through different devices to delay it because they could not argue openly against it. There may clearly be other plausible accounts of French enlargement policy. However, we seek to find the most convincing one based on the available empirical evidence and relative to the theoretical framework of this book as well as to other existing accounts. Yet, how can we trust an analysis that is based primarily on what the policymakers themselves say? In order to ensure a sufficiently solid empirical basis for the analysis we have made use of a broad range of data – 140 statements in total – and checked their consistency across time, audiences and actors.4 The statements vary from short extracts at parliamentary hearings, official speeches, interviews in both French and foreign media, as well as press conferences in France and abroad, in particular the Central and Eastern European countries (CEECs). We have accumulated speeches and statements with a particular attention to key policymakers in the period. Out of this material we have further selected statements with an eye to representativeness on three levels. First, the statements were selected across policymakers (18 in total). France has experienced periods of so-called ‘cohabitation’, in which the president and the government represent opposite political camps. It has therefore been necessary to include a broad range of policymakers, such as the President, the Foreign Minister, the Prime Minister and the Minister for European Affairs. During the time period that we analyse, France experienced two cohabitations, in 1993–5 (socialist president and rightwing government) and 1997–2002 (right-wing president and socialist government). Thus, we selected a broad range of policymakers in order to check the consistency across the two-headed executive branch of the French enlargement policy. Second, the statements were selected across audiences. Policymakers might express their views differently in front of different audiences. In the case of French statements regarding enlargement we could for instance assume that the official statements would be more ‘positive’ to enlargement if they were declared in front of the candidate countries. Inversely, one might expect more ‘negative’ statements from French policymakers in front of a sceptical domestic audience. We have therefore particularly cross-checked statements within the French national debate and those made in the candidate countries. In this regard we have examined press

Protecting the idea of Europe 145 statements appearing in both foreign and French domestic press, as well as views expressed in both chambers of the French Parliament (the Assemblée Nationale and the Senat), and speeches and statements made in the CEECs. Third, we have collected statements across a broad time period, namely 1989–2002. We have included statements that date back to the fall of communism in Eastern Europe in 1989 to see how France responded to the initial demands from the CEECs of inclusion in the then European Community (EC). Moreover, we have collected statements with a particular eye to key decisions in the EU’s enlargement history, such as the Copenhagen Council in 1993, the Luxembourg Council in 1997, the Treaty reforms in Amsterdam in 1997 and in Nice in 2000, until the final agreement on Eastern enlargement made at the Copenhagen Council in 2002. Thus, we have checked the consistency of the French approach during a period of 13 years. This material may not be hard data in a strict sense; however, these statements are roughly quantified and allow us to reach a rather robust opinion about the decisive reasons behind the French position on enlargement.

The entrapment of France? The French response to the end of the Cold War was above all to call for reinforcement and deepening of European integration and for cooperative links with the East European countries. In line with this, President François Mitterrand argued in 1991 that enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe was ‘tens and tens of years away’: I would quite simply like the Eastern European countries, among others, newly liberated from Soviet rule and the oppression of communism . . . – who for reasons of fact and not because I do not want them to, cannot take part in the Community – to be able to debate with their Western partners in a position of equal dignity . . . Thus, I believe that in an intermediate phase, which could last for tens and tens of years, these countries would find themselves at ease discussing their common interests with the Western countries.5 French authorities took several initiatives aimed at strengthening the ties between the EU and the CEECs. Among them was Mitterrand’s own idea, launched on 31 December 1989, of establishing a European confederation: Based on the agreements made in Helsinki I expect that we will see, during the 1990s, the birth of a European confederation, in the true sense of the term, which will bring together all the states of our continent in a joint and permanent organization of trade, peace and security. (Mitterrand 1989a)

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Likewise, Prime Minister Edouard Balladur presented the idea of a Stability Pact in April 1993: It is desirable, as has been suggested, to convene an international conference with the aim of stabilizing the situation and establishing equilibrium in Europe. This conference could be prepared within the framework of the European Union and its conclusions thereafter presented to the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe. (Balladur 1993) A third initiative of France was that of a European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), set up in 1991 in order to support the economic transition in Eastern Europe (Mitterrand 1989b). However, apart from the EBRD, the reception of the above initiatives was lukewarm. They were mainly interpreted as devices aimed at replacing enlargement. Mitterrand stressed that the confederation should be seen as a first step towards enlargement and not as a substitute: To enlarge the Community without preparation and in dispersed order would mean assuming that the present net-contributors to the Community could do more than they are capable of. It would mean assuming that the candidate countries could bear the weight of harsh constraints represented by the Community standards without their authenticity disappearing and their resources being overhauled by foreign companies. We have to prepare. We have to organize in the coming years in order to find our path and to finally succeed in founding this Confederation which I truly desire. (Mitterrand 1992) Nevertheless, the plan was in the end rejected. As for Balladur’s Stability Pact, it was eventually adopted within the new framework of the Union’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) despite initial scepticism from Germany and the candidate countries (Deloche 1998: 19; Rummel 1996: 56). It is in fact often considered that French authorities’ insistence on ‘deepening first’ was simply a cover for its ‘real’ goal: to avoid enlargement altogether. And even as ‘late’ as in 2001 there were speculations about a possible French veto against enlargement.6 Yet the most common interpretation is that, conscious of the inappropriateness of refusing enlargement, French policymakers used the call for institutional reforms and the offer of loose institutional arrangements such as Mitterrand’s confederation as an excuse in order to delay the inevitable for as long as possible (Cole 2001; Grabbe and Hughes 1998; Pedersen 1998; Schimmelfennig 2001; Smith and Timmins 2000; Trouille 2002). To what extent can we consider that the French initiatives were simply presented because they were

Protecting the idea of Europe 147 the only way France could legitimately seek to delay an enlargement that was perceived to be against French interests? Is it possible to document that French authorities considered the cost of enlargement to be so high that it would be reasonable to assume that they simply considered enlargement to be undesirable? The cost of enlargement Some months after the Copenhagen summit in 1993, Mitterrand openly referred to the material cost of enlarging the EU: The present member countries of the Community would not be able to carry this burden. There are only three countries out of twelve that are so-called net-contributors, that is, they give more to Europe than they receive. These are Germany, Great Britain and France. The burden is already quite heavy. One cannot expect these three countries to carry the costs of all that is left to be done in Poland, in Hungary, in the Czech Republic, in Slovakia and everywhere else. (Mitterrand 1993) However, in general, French policymakers rarely used its cost as an argument against enlargement. Out of the material of 140 statements, very few – two made by Mitterrand and one by the Minister for European Affairs, Alain Lamassoure7 – refer explicitly to concerns about a possible augmentation of the national contributions of those who, like France, were already net-contributors to the EU budget: No, France does not oppose, but knows that when it comes to an increase in national payments to the Community, adding to the burden of the few net-contributors of which France is one, it is clear that many will resist.8 Some further statements can be found regarding the cost to the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP).9 Furthermore, in 1991, France blocked the negotiations in Brussels related to reforms of the CAP. To many, such a move was tantamount to blocking enlargement, as these two issues were by most actors seen as interlinked. France’s argument was that enlargement and the reform of the CAP were separate issues. Yet, Foreign Minister Roland Dumas’ claim that France would support the CEECs financially, and at the same time protect French national interests, was considered with scepticism: I did it in accordance with French policy which is to support the economical development of the Eastern countries, and to favour, to the greatest possible extent, their entry into the Community, when the

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Helene Sjursen and Børge Romsloe moment comes. This means to make partnership agreements, starting with commercial agreements, whilst at the same time protecting our own interests. Are the interests of France not legitimate? Our farmers face difficulties maintaining their income, the young are indebted, and prices of products are falling. Thus it had to be done with quietness and clarity, and what I did the other day I would do again if I had to. I wanted guarantees and I will have them. From that point everything will become clear and more straightforward.10

Finally, in 1994 France asked the Commission to make a report on the consequences of enlargement for the CAP. At the same time, Foreign Minister Alain Juppé ‘warned’ the supporters of a rapid enlargement that it was necessary to know the budgetary consequences for the CAP and the regional funds before enlargement could take place: France has pleaded, and obtained, that one of the first specific studies of the consequences of enlargement on the functioning of the European Union should be dedicated to the agricultural field. This has been reaffirmed at Essen. We have asked the Commission to investigate this question in order to evaluate the agriculture of the candidate countries and to see what kind of consequences enlargement would have upon the common agricultural policy.11 The above cannot be said to constitute overwhelming evidence in support of the idea that French policymakers were strongly concerned about the economic consequences of enlargement. Neither is it possible to document a concern for national security. There are no statements opposing enlargement with reference to potential losses for French security. To the extent that security considerations were mentioned by French policymakers, they referred to concerns about the overall stability of the continent.12 Hence, they follow the same logic as Balladur’s (1993) Stability Pact.13 The most common interpretation of France’s position is not, however, that France sought to prevent enlargement because of a potential economic or security cost to France itself. Rather, (geo-) political reasons are referred to in order to explain the French position. Most authors argue that France was concerned about enlargement provoking a shift in the balance of power within the EU in favour of Germany, thus weakening France’s position (Hendriks and Morgan 2001: 150–1; Pedersen 1998: 190–1; Schimmelfennig 2001, 2003; Smith 2004: 170; Torreblanca 2002; Trouille 2002: 54). And in fact, in an article in Le Monde, Balladur did express concern that France would have a less influential role within the Union as a result of enlargement: ‘The enlargement poses a further problem: the extension of the Union towards the north and the east of Europe might deprive France of the central geographical position that it presently holds in the Union’.14

Protecting the idea of Europe 149 However, rather than to conclude that enlargement should not take place, he suggested that measures should be taken to compensate for such a geopolitical shift: France is today the lever of balance between the other large states of the Union: Germany, Great Britain, Italy and Spain. To avoid being moved to the west, and thus marginalized by the Eastern and Northern enlargement of Europe, it must focus on several goals: further deepening the Franco–German relations, developing our cooperation with the United Kingdom, especially within the area of defence policy, forging more intimate bonds with Italy and Spain while stressing the role of the Mediterranean countries, and continuing the expansion of facilities and investments in the western regions of our country.15 In line with this, France’s Mediterranean initiative could perhaps be seen as an indicator of French concern about a shift in the balance of power within the EU in favour of Germany. According to Alain Juppé, the enlargement of the EU to the CEECs should not lead to a neglect of the South. He does not, however, refer to a concern about a Germandominated EU: The enlargement is secondly a necessity in order to honour the promises made towards Central and Eastern Europe at the Copenhagen European Council a few months ago. We must not allow the discussions we have had with these countries to be sidetracked at a time when we see rising anxiety there concerning the deterioration of the international situation. To complicate the task somewhat I hasten to add what some of my colleagues have already expressed; that enlargement towards the East must not cause us to neglect the South.16 Foreign Minister Hervé de Charette stated more explicitly that the Mediterranean initiative was launched to counterbalance increased German influence as a result of enlargement, when questioned on whether the centre of gravity in the future risked a displacement towards Berlin: ‘This is precisely the reason why we have, together with Spain and others, demanded and obtained that the coming enlargement towards the East, which we warmly receive, is accompanied by ambitious policies in the South. This is necessary for Europe’s equilibrium and stable borders’.17 However, there are only three statements in the material that discuss potential losses of political influence for France as a result of enlargement;18 and two regarding the need to ensure that the Mediterranean region is not neglected. Thus, it is also difficult to substantiate the

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argument that France’s ‘real’ position was that it was against enlargement due to geopolitical considerations. This lack of documentation would be understandable if one considered that the French government’s strategy was to conceal its real concern regarding the cost of enlargement. It follows that in order to sustain such an interpretation, in order to corroborate that France’s ‘real’ desire was to prevent enlargement, other evidence than publicly available documents would be required. However, surprisingly little such documentation is produced in the secondary literature. According to Schimmelfennig (2001: 53; 2003: 168) ‘the standard interpretation of French reluctance toward enlargement’ is that French policymakers were concerned about a possible geopolitical shift in favour of Germany. However, he does not refer to any primary sources, but rather to two secondary sources (Grabbe and Hughes 1998; Holvêque 1998) in support of this interpretation. What is more, Grabbe and Hughes do not, either, provide any evidence to support this ‘standard interpretation’. Trouille (2002) also provides a ‘geopolitical’ interpretation, emphasizing that France’s reluctance to enlarge should be understood as motivated by the fear of German domination. However, again, there are no references to empirical evidence. As for Pedersen (1998), who explicitly takes a Realist perspective, he also argues that France feared a German-dominated EU after enlargement. This is based on a single – secondary – source: a discussion between journalists in Bonn and the French ambassador to Germany, François Scheer, referred to in Fritsch-Bournazel (1994: 343; see Pedersen 1998: 188). Finally, Hendriks and Morgan (2001: 150–2) rely on an article by Minister for European Affairs, Pierre Moscovici,19 to stress the French fear of a geopolitical shift and argue that, given that it ‘cannot within reason openly resist the German “enlargement drive”, France pursued two hidden agendas: The first was to slow down the enlargement process; and the second to strengthen the Mediterranean policy as a counterweight to eastern enlargement’. Further weakening the idea that the French focus on institutional reforms was simply a cover for particular interests is the argument presented by Deloche (1998) that the French approach was in fact detrimental to French interests and led to a loss of political as well as economic opportunities (i.e. pp. 7–8). Incidentally, her argument may also explain why French authorities from the mid-1990s onwards increasingly sought to claim that enlargement was in fact favourable to France. Paradoxically, from an interest-based perspective, looking at the arguments and reasons presented by France with regard to its position on enlargement in this period, there are more references to a potential economic gain for France than the opposite. Nine statements refer to French support of enlargement due to expected economic gains.20 Furthermore, a report from the French Senate (1996) on the economic consequences of enlarging to the CEECs concluded that the costs were acceptable to the EU, and that the prospects for French agricultural exports in this part of Europe were good. All this

Protecting the idea of Europe 151 documentation, however, dates from the second half of the 1990s. In line with Deloche, this might suggest that an effort was made at this point to repair some of the damage done to French economic and political interests in Central and Eastern Europe, due to the open insistence on the need for institutional reforms prior to enlargement. To summarize: economic, security or (geo-) political arguments were only to a limited extent used to justify the French position on enlargement. There are few indicators in the material to support the idea that the reason why French policymakers insisted on institutional reforms as a precondition for enlargement was the fear of economic, political or security ‘costs’ to France itself. Furthermore, according to Deloche (1998), this policy, rather than protecting French interests, was detrimental to them. Most importantly, despite the fact that the standard interpretation in the secondary literature is that France was concerned about a loss of political influence and therefore sought to delay enlargement, very little evidence is available to corroborate this. Most authors simply posit, first, that France was against enlargement, and, second, that this was due to concerns about a loss of power within the EU. How, then, can we account for the French position?

The civilizing force of hypocrisy? As we cannot go into the minds of the actors or scrutinize their hearts and souls, we cannot be sure that what they say is what they really mean. However, neither can we be sure of the opposite. As already noted, most of the secondary literature solves this problem by simply assuming that political processes within the EU are governed by states’ national interests and, consequently, that insisting on institutional reforms must have been a disguise for such interests. Yet, if political processes are generally accepted to be about promoting particular interests, why did French governments bother to lie about their aims and objectives in the enlargement process? If all agree that European integration is driven by national interests, nobody would expect them to ‘cover up’ their interests. The apparently hypocritical arguments of French authorities are often explained with reference to the idea of ‘entrapment’ and ‘shaming’. According to this thesis, the actors with a particular interest in enlargement would use normative arguments strategically in order to shame those who were opposed to accept it (Schimmelfennig 2001). However, by suggesting that France was ‘entrapped’ and therefore did not openly oppose enlargement, authors also implicitly claim that the ‘norm’ of enlargement was accepted by all, including French policymakers. Otherwise the shaming would not work. An interest-based perspective such as that of rhetorical entrapment cannot account for this claim. Consequently, it might be that France was against enlargement, yet, this is not only poorly substantiated in empirical terms; it is also unaccounted for in theoretical

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terms. The prior commitment to enlarge cannot be explained with an interest-based approach because it makes reference to a moral duty. The fact that parties at least are hypocrites suggests that they pay homage to norms in order to reach agreement, and underlines the autonomy, validity and importance of such common norms: ‘The force of norms – the feature that makes manipulation and interpretation worth while – is that they have a grip on the mind; otherwise, there would be nothing to manipulate’ (Elster 1989: 110). In order for the social cost of non-compliance to be ‘real’ the actors themselves would have to believe in the validity and binding force of the norms that create it. If they did not, if the general assumption were that all actors pursue their own interests at all times, they would not need to fear a social cost, nor would it exist in the first place. How can this normative dimension be accounted for? In a communicative perspective this suggests that France found itself in a context where it was expected not only to justify its policy to the public (that governments are exposed to in a democratic state) but also to convince its partners in the EU about the rightness of its position. It points to the importance of reason-giving in decision-making processes in the EU, and that actors (in this case France) are required to justify and explain their preferences with reference to accepted norms or rules. In such a context, expectations of consistency arise and double talk will not endure public scrutiny (Eriksen et al. 2005). Refusing enlargement would counter the legal commitments that France as an EU member in other situations adheres to, as well as political claims about the importance of a united Europe, made by France throughout the Cold War. A communicative perspective thus allows for a different interpretation, in which the acceptance of enlargement would be based on a sense of moral obligation that has importance in itself. This idea may be substantiated by examining how French policymakers themselves justified refusing to veto enlargement to a sceptical home audience. In fact, several French policymakers explicitly pointed to the necessity of accepting enlargement and to the impossibility of refusing membership to the CEECs. In doing so, they refer either to the legal commitment to enlarge, as it is codified in the Treaty of Rome, or to a moral obligation, independent of the legal constraints. Such a commitment is perhaps most clearly expressed in the following quote from Hervé de Charette during a debate in the French Senate at the occasion of the opening of the Intergovernmental Conference in Turin in 1996: Do we, or do we not want the enlargement of the European Union? . . . It is imperative that we take, and this is the position of France, a warm, open and positive attitude towards the EU enlargement. It should be so because this is a historic step. For the first time in the history of our continent we face the opportunity to ensure, in a peace-

Protecting the idea of Europe 153 ful way, the unity of Europe. In whose name could we refuse this fundamental step? It is also, as you well know, the fundamental aspiration of these peoples – most of whom have been living under foreign rule for the last 50 years, and nearly all of whom have been subjected to an ideology that has ruined them – they aspire only to one thing: to sit down at our table and share our prosperity and democratic rule; in whose name, in the name of what egoism, in the name of what blindness could we refuse their aspiration, which is also in our interest?21 It was not only in the mid-1990s, however, when enlargement was in many ways a fait accompli, that such arguments were presented. Already in 1991, Mitterrand declared that the CEECs had a right to become members of the Community. His reference was to the Treaties: They have the right to become members of the Community. Just to ensure that there is no possible misunderstanding: they do have the right to become members. That goes for any European state provided they have clearly made the choice of democracy with all its implications: universal suffrage elections, multi-party system, freedom of expression, and so on . . . This is, by the way, already in the Treaties. (Mitterrand 1991) Minister for European Affairs, Elisabeth Guigou also referred to the Treaties: ‘any democratic European country, it is written in the Treaty of Rome, has the option and the right to enter the European Community. We do not deny this perspective, on the contrary’.22 As for Edouard Balladur, he emphasized the moral obligation when arguing that enlargement was ‘inevitable’: ‘We have neither a moral right, nor political motives or any economic interest to refuse the nations liberated from the Soviet rule to be part of the European Union’.23 Finally, in a number of statements Juppé for his part justified enlargement with reference to promises made during the Cold War: 24 In France our hope is that the new enlargement will happen: it is in the order of things, it is in line with the agreements we have made with the countries in telling them: when you have freed yourselves from the yoke of communism you will one day be called to sit among the European countries. (Juppé 1994a) The above quotes suggest that the norm of enlargement was accepted and internalized amongst French policymakers both to the left and to the right of the political scale.25 They provide a more nuanced picture of French policy, one where moral concerns were weighed against material interests, and in the end were given priority.

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This evidence is further reinforced by several statements (a total of 12) to the effect that it was important to be frank and ‘honest’ with the applicant states.26 The French argument was that it would be unfortunate to make the applicants believe that it would be easy to adapt to membership in the EU. They deserved to be told the ‘truth’: that their economies and political systems would need to undergo substantial reforms before entering the Union and that facing economic competition from the existing member states would not be easy. Thus, Dumas claimed in a parliamentary hearing that it would be difficult for the CEECs to join immediately because of their level of economic development, and that to give any other impression would be to fool them: With regard to the Central and Eastern European countries, the Minister has underlined that these countries cannot enter the Community in a short-term perspective, due to their weaklydeveloped economies. To assure the opposite would be misleading. Only after a period of transition in which they may catch up some of them could become fully-fledged members.27 Moscovici also stressed that enlargement represented a challenge for the CEECs when it came to adapting to the acquis: The candidate countries have a lower level of economic development than the Community average – the GNP per inhabitant is at present about one third of the average Union GNP – and their economical and social structures are still very different. It is very clear that a hastily executed immersion of these countries into an environment of free competition, into a market ruled by obligations and rigorous controls, would represent a major threat to their economic, social and even political equilibrium, a risk that it would be difficult for their populations to endure.28 Foreign Minister Hubert Védrine claimed that France never changed its discourse on enlargement, it had always warned about the possible difficulties related to the enlargement negotiations: France has been honest from the beginning, and has not changed its parlance. Now, the others are speaking in our way, but we have not been trying to gain popularity during the years. We have never said that everything is easy and that things will be fixed by themselves. We have always said that there are problems that will have to be solved by negotiations. We will get there because there is a political will to solve them, expressed by the opening of negotiations. On the contrary, I think that you should honour France that has not changed its discourse. I can understand that a part of the public may be disappointed,

Protecting the idea of Europe 155 but that is because they have been told just anything. If people in Poland were told that the problems would be solved shortly, that membership would take place the following year and that it was only a question of political will, if one has not properly explained to them that extensive negotiation is involved, people are naturally disappointed and do not understand.29 Yet, even if French policymakers considered it impossible to refuse enlargement, this does not necessarily mean they considered it to be in their interest, thus the above does not necessarily refute the (geo-) political hypothesis. However, it does suggest that the norm of enlargement was strongly engrained and that complying with it was considered necessary. It is this acceptance of a ‘yes’ to enlargement as the only legitimate course of action that is difficult to account for with an interest-based conception of political processes. An alternative theoretical perspective, allowing us to account for the validity of norms, is required in order for us to understand this. To sum up then, in order to account for the ‘entrapment’ of France, a communicative perspective, underlining the importance of reason-giving and the expectation of consistency that arise form verbal statements, is required. However, the empirical evidence that might corroborate the entrapment hypothesis, i.e. that France used the call for institutional reforms strategically, and that its ‘real’ aim was to prevent enlargement, is scarce. Based on a communicative perspective it is in fact also possible to develop a more nuanced picture of French policy than that of ‘entrapment’. This would suggest that the norm of enlargement was considered binding in and of itself and was given priority over any (putative) particular interests. Such a hypothesis is supported by the way in which French policymakers justified their refusal to veto enlargement to an enlargement-sceptic domestic audience. Yet, such a moral duty to enlarge does not help us understand why France insisted on institutional reforms. If moral arguments were the only ones at play, we would expect France to accept enlargement without many other prior conditions than the ones pertaining to respect for democratic principles and human rights. Why, then, the insistence on institutional reform?

France as the guardian of the ‘idea of Europe’ If we pursue the distinction between moral and ethical reasons and not only between strategic calculation and normative considerations, it is possible to provide a different understanding of why France insisted on institutional reforms. This would suggest that normative considerations have been at play in the French enlargement policy, but that the core of the policy was not a matter of what was ‘right’ from the perspective of all parties involved, but what was considered feasible given the particular context and given the particular role of the EU in European politics.

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Such an understanding may be substantiated in two ways. First, by examining the consistency in French policymakers’ argumentation regarding the need for institutional reforms in order to safeguard the EU’s political dimension. Consistency may be checked across different audiences; across different parts of the political spectrum; and over time. Second, this understanding may be further strengthened by examining if France also ‘practised what it preached’, i.e. whether or not it also worked to promote institutional reforms within the EU throughout the 1990s. More than 30 statements in the material refer to the importance of reforming the Union’s institutions in order to safeguard its political dimension and ensure it did not turn into a free trade area. These arguments are consistent across time, policymakers and different audiences. According to Moscovici, it was important that an enlarged EU did not lose its ambitions and turn into a simple free trade area: The effort required in view of the enlargement will be of a different nature, but still as considerable, to the present member states. In fact, it is vital to me that the enlargement will not lead to a loss of substance to the European Union, as regards the force of its common policies and its political ambition. The enlargement should not lead to a diluting of the European idea into a free-trade area. Again, we are facing, with unequaled acuity, the dialectic of deepening-widening, which is an inherent characteristic of the European construction.30 Mitterrand expressed concern related to a possible enlargement before reforming the institutions: My [other] worry is that there is too little preoccupation with the institutions. There is nothing solid without institutions. The enlargement of the European Union is necessary; it should not happen to the detriment of its deepening. The Union should have solid, effective institutions that can guarantee further developments with scrupulous respect to democracy. This will be the aim of the 1996 Intergovernmental Conference.31 Prior to the Luxembourg European Council, Prime Minister Lionel Jospin underlined the importance of maintaining the Union’s political dimension: In order for this enlargement to produce beneficial effects it is necessary to carefully define its conditions. The enlargement must not destroy the internal balance of the Union, in other words, it must not be weakened. What is more, it would not be in the interest of the candidate countries to join a Europe no longer capable of bringing them the expected support and protection, one that would have become powerless and ungovernable . . . During the European Council to be

Protecting the idea of Europe 157 held in Luxembourg in December, the Fifteen will make decisions concerning the very process of negotiating the enlargement. The Government will especially pay attention to ensure that enlargement does not jeopardize what remains the essential: the affirmation of a truly political Union. (Jospin 1997) In an article in Le Figaro, Lamassoure stated clearly that the French vision of Europe was not only as a market: ‘to us Europe is not merely a market, nor merely an economical and social area; it is a community of destiny between free nations, ensuring together the defence of their main interests’.32 The French doctrine of EU enlargement is well reflected in the following words by Juppé, expressed in Istanbul: I believe, as I said in my statement, that there are two ways of envisaging the enlargement. The first is to enlarge immediately to all of those who want to join, even if it means letting the European Union dissolve into what has always been, it is true, the dream of certain of our AngloSaxon partners – that is, a vast area of free trade without any real solidarity, without real personality. The other approach consists in saying: Europe is not simply a club of good friends or even simply a customs union, it is much more; it is a political, commercial and economic entity also in matters of foreign policy and external security, and thus it must be enlarged. However, one has to enlarge by taking precautions that the acquis communautaire will not be gradually dispersed. This is the mutual conception, I believe, of France and Germany. (Juppé 1994c) Minister for European Affairs, Michel Barnier, repeated the French policy on enlargement by stating that it would be a historic event, yet enlargement would have to take place within a political union: It is a historical duty: the enlargement of the European Union will mark the end of the division of Europe created by the Cold War. The peoples of a large part of Europe are here, at our doorstep. France wants them to join not only a single market, but first of all a political union. The fundamental stakes drawn up by enlargement is the construction of a united Europe or, on the contrary, of two or more Europes. In the latter case we will trade with everyone but discuss politics and social issues only with some.33 President Jacques Chirac continuously stated that institutions had to be reformed in order to prepare for enlargement: ‘I would first of all say that the institutional reform is indispensable and that we cannot imagine completing the enlargement of Europe without modifying the institutions’.34

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Likewise, Guigou pointed to two risks for the Community when it came to enlargement: first, that the economies of the accession countries would not be prepared to handle the rules and competition of the common market; and second that the Community would be reduced to a pure free trade area: It is important to work on the question of future membership while avoiding two pitfalls: the first risk would be that the candidate countries, due to bad preparation, do not experience a boost in their industry or economy as a result of membership; the second risk would be that the European Community dissolves into a large free-trade area, thus losing its present strength, that is, its tight integration.35 The risks of the Union being transformed to a simple free market organization were also emphasized by Juppé: Of course this enlargement entails risks: the risk of diluting the Union into a sheer free trade area, the risk of dispersing common policies that make up the identity of the European construction, the risk of paralyzing the decision-making process at the very centre of the Union. Thus it is necessary to prepare with care, without haste. Time is on our side.36 Furthermore, in Portugal, Dumas elaborated on the relationship between the widening and deepening of the Community in the following way: The Twelve could either deepen their union, and thus run the risk of increasing the gap between, on the one hand, their progress and, on the other, the difficulties of the countries in Eastern Europe; or they could open themselves without due care to these countries and thereby run the risk of seeing the Community structure crumble into a rickety rack. Each of the two approaches is not without reality and truth. (Dumas 1992) Also, when it comes to the question of consistency in words and action, France was amongst the promoters of institutional reforms and deeper integration after the end of the Cold War. In preparation for the Maastricht summit France actively sought to fix a date for the third phase of the Monetary Union (EMU) – implementation of the common currency. During these years Mitterrand also worked to strengthen the EC’s foreign policy dimension. Furthermore, according to Juppé, France played an important part in developing the accession criteria for the applicant states at the European Council in 1993:

Protecting the idea of Europe 159 France has participated in the elaboration of this Community initiative. It is France in particular that has presented the idea of a set of criteria that will enable us to judge when these countries are in a proper position to join the Community. It should be duly understood: this is not a stalling maneuver, but an attempt to help the countries of Central and Eastern Europe, to guide them on the road to membership. They will have to be informed of the membership conditions in order for them to be able to gradually work towards satisfying them.37 France’s role in elaborating such criteria is also underlined by Lamassoure: To avoid that the Community has to designate the good or bad countries, which ones to prioritize or not, the European Council has accepted the French proposal to establish a list of progress and convergence criteria as an instrument for objective measurement of how ready a country is to become a member of the Community.38 France stressed that the 1996 IGC leading to the Amsterdam Treaty, would have to result in more efficient institutions should the Union be able to handle the enlargement to the CEECs (Barnier 1995).39 When the results of the Amsterdam Treaty negotiations did not lead to the institutional reforms that France had pleaded for, particularly with regard to the size of the Commission and decision-making procedures, France, together with Italy and Belgium, insisted that an annexed protocol be introduced to the Treaty, stating that further institutional reforms were required before enlargement could take place. Concerning the necessary institutional reforms to the functioning of the Union it is first of all appropriate to remember that the Treaty of Amsterdam will contain a protocol of the institutions in view of enlarging the Union. It follows from this protocol that institutional reforms will have to be decided prior to the next enlargement, whatever its magnitude.40 According to John Usher, this served as the background for the enlargement negotiations at the Nice European Council: While the Treaty of Nice has received a rather negative press, it has to be accepted that the matters left unresolved at Amsterdam have now been resolved in a new Protocol on the Enlargement of the EU setting out the rules applying from 1 January 2004 with regard to the European Parliament, accompanied by a Declaration on the Enlargement of the EU setting out the common position to be adopted by Member States at the accession conferences. (Usher 2003: 183–4)

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Védrine also stressed the importance of this protocol when asked where he would draw the line in the ongoing debate on institutional reforms, to be realized prior to enlargement: In itself, acknowledgement of the necessity of a reform before the enlargement constitutes a victory to our ideas. All Europeans realize today that if the Union continues to enlarge without reforming, it will end up being paralysed or disintegrated, or both. For ten years, supporters and opponents of enlargement have disagreed. Today the synthesis is complete; the enlargement will take place, but it has to be seriously negotiated, mastered and preceded by an institutional reform. What reform? I note that we cannot say that we need to be more ambitious, by increasing the number of issues for the IGC to handle in order to prepare Europe for the next twenty years, and at the same time expect to conclude, during the French presidency in the second half of 2000, on the necessary preparations for enlargement from 2003 on. It is incompatible!41 Taken together, these statements suggest that if French policymakers were ‘merely’ hypocrites in their calls for institutional reforms, they were very consistently hypocritical. This is so not only over a time span of 13 years, but also when speaking to different audiences at home and abroad. Finally, and perhaps most unexpected, they were consistently hypocritical across party-political lines. There is a clear consensus in the statements from politicians both to the right and to the left of the political spectrum to suggest that the need for institutional reforms was important in order to safeguard the Community’s political dimension and prevent it from turning into a free trade area. Consequently, a plausible interpretation of the French position is that this dimension of the EC was considered valuable and important in itself. It is difficult to consider that a strategic use of arguments can be sustained so systematically in a democratic context, where policymakers are constantly required to publicly justify what they do, and where public positions are constantly scrutinized and questioned and suspicions of hidden motives are common. Consequently, the insistence on institutional reforms as a means to protect the achievements of the EU and to ensure its status as a political project – with the positive consequences that were considered to follow from this for Europe as a whole – would be more consistent with a value-based argumentation.

Conclusion It may well be that France was simply ‘trapped’ into accepting enlargement and that it ‘really’ would have preferred to prevent enlargement from taking place altogether. Further, it is possible that the French emphasis on institutional reforms was simply hypocritical and was used to

Protecting the idea of Europe 161 disguise its reluctance towards enlargement. However, we have suggested here that such an interpretation has several weaknesses. First of all there is little, if any, empirical evidence to suggest that French policymakers considered the cost of enlargement to be so high that they preferred to prevent it. This interpretation appears to rest mostly on implicit assumptions about what characterizes political processes and not on any documentation regarding French authorities’ concern about the negative consequences of enlargement for French interests. On the contrary, as Deloche (1998) argues, insisting on a slow enlargement process and institutional reforms was detrimental to French interests. However, the problem with an interest-based understanding is not only one of lack of empirical evidence. We have suggested that such an understanding is also insufficiently accounted for in theoretical terms. If France felt trapped into accepting enlargement, then this suggests that the norm of enlargement was actually accepted as legitimate and binding in a prior decision. Such a moral duty cannot be accounted for with a Realist or interest-based approach. In order to do so we need a theory that can explain the validity of norms. On this basis we have suggested first, that moral and legal arguments were important in order to bring French policymakers to accept the need for enlargement to take place. Our analysis suggests that a concern for what was right from a moral perspective led the French to accept enlargement. This indicates the importance of rights-based argumentation. However these arguments cannot explain the insistence on institutional reforms. If moral arguments were the only ones at play, we would expect France to accept enlargement without many precautions or conditions, except the ones reflecting the respect for democracy and human rights. Thus, the second step in our argument is that, in order to understand the insistence on institutional reforms, a value-based perspective is important. This would suggest that although France accepted enlargement as necessary it also considered it important to protect the existing Community. The insistence on institutional reforms may be interpreted as a concern for what, from the French perspective, was good for the Community – and for Europe – and a result of the French self-perception as a protector of the idea of a political Europe. Consequently, the conception of the EU as a problem-solving entity does not gain much support here. If the EU were a problem-solving entity, with states pooling their sovereignty only because of its (potential) utility, either in economic or security terms, it is highly unlikely that the member states would act in accordance with common norms, and what is more, that they would justify their actions in front of their domestic public opinion with reference to such norms. The findings speak to a conception of the EU primarily as a value-based entity. There was an important concern about doing what was good for the Community, even though this was costly for France itself in terms of economic opportunities and political

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influence. The findings also suggest that the structural constraints of the Community were such that France considered it impossible not to do what was right from a moral perspective i.e. to accept enlargement. This suggests that there is in fact a deliberative forum where positions must be justified – not only in front of a domestic but also a European public – and where expectations of consistency and coherence matter. French policymakers saw themselves as bound by a structure or context in which they were expected to justify their choices in a manner acceptable also to other parties.

Acknowledgements Many thanks to Erik O. Eriksen for comments and advice on this chapter.

Notes 1 Interview with Radio France Internationale (RFI), 12 June 1991. 2 ‘ “L’Europe est incomplète sans la Pologne” affirme M. Kohl à Lublin’, Le Monde, 15 November 1989. 3 Official documents and statements from 1989 to 2002 have been collected at the French Ministry for Foreign Affairs documentary web page: http://www. doc.diplomatie.fr/BASIS/epic/www/doc/SF. This data base contains all official declarations related to French foreign policy. The search for statements and speeches about French enlargement policy has been conducted with the following key words: [Élargissement] prior to the Maastricht Treaty of 1991; and [Élargissement de’Union européenne] after this date. 4 The searches brought out a total of 702 official French statements on ‘enlargement’ and ‘enlargement of the EU’. However, several statements were excluded as they were about the enlargement of other institutions (NATO, UN). This was particularly the case with the searches conducted with only ‘enlargement’ as the keyword (i.e. before Maastricht and the Treaty on European Union). 5 See supra, note 1. Authors’ translation. All the statements from French policymakers that are cited in this chapter are translated by the authors. 6 ‘Qui osera dire non à l’élargissement de l’Europe’, Le Monde, 25 November 2001; and ‘A whiff of veto in the air?’, The Economist, 29 November 2001. 7 Mitterand made such statements at a press conference at Palais de l’Elysée in Paris, 11 September 1991, and in a speech in Stockholm two years later (Mitterand 1993); while Lamassoure presented such an argument in an interview in the French newspaper Le Figaro, 29 September 1994. 8 Mitterand, press conference, ibid. 9 Roland Dumas, interview on Emission 7/7, TF1, 15 September 1991; Alain Juppé, intervention in the Senate on the ratification of the GATT agreements leading to the creation of OMC, 20 December 1994; Alain Lamassoure, interview on the French television channel La Chaîne Info (LCI), 2 November 1994; Hubert Védrine, remark at the closing of his interview with the Czech Minister for Foreign Affairs, Jaroslav Sedivy, 6 April 1998; Noëlle Lenoir, common press point of Foreign Minister Dominique de Villepin and European Minister Mme Noëlle Lenoir, at the closing of the EU General Affairs Council, Luxembourg, 22 October 2002. 10 Interview TF1, supra, note 10.

Protecting the idea of Europe 163 11 Intervention in the Senate, supra, note 10. 12 See i.e., Juppé’s intervention in the Assemblée Nationale (debate on Europe), 14 June 1994; Jacques Chirac’s statements during his visit to the Czech Republic, press conference in Prague, 3 April 1997; and Barnier (1996). 13 See Riddervold and Sjursen in this volume for the distinction between territorial security and a wider conception of security, which is more difficult to consider as linked to an interest-based perspective. 14 ‘Pour un nouveau traité de l’Elysée’, Le Monde, 30 November 1994. 15 Ibid. 16 Intervention during the public debate on the programme of the Presidency, EU General Affairs Council, Brussels, 7 February 1994. 17 Interview on ABC, 17 July 1996. 18 Balladur, Le Monde, supra, note 15; Barnier, interview with the Estonian newspaper Postimees, 13 October 1995, and with Le Figaro Magazine, 31 August 1996. 19 ‘Demain l’Europe à trente?’, Politique internationale, No. 83, spring 1999. What is more, Moscovici’s argument is about the need to balance widening and deepening, and not about a fear of German domination. 20 All the statements that justify enlargement with reference to economic benefits were made in the period 1996–2002. Six of the nine are collected from foreign media: interview with Jacques Chirac in the Czech newspaper Tyden, 31 March 1997; speech during the same official visit by the President to the Czech Republic (Chirac 1997); and interview with Chirac published in the two Mexican newspapers El Sol de Mexico and La Prensa, 30 May 2001; furthermore, speech made by Barnier (1996) in Austria; interview with Noëlle Lenoir on British ITV, 23 October 2002; and finally, interview with Hubert Védrine on Czech television Ceska Televize-CT1 and radio Cesky Rozhlas, 16 June 2000. The remaining three statements are from the French domestic debate: Moscovici (1997); interview with Lenoir on French Radio channel France Inter, 29 October 2002; and lastly Lenoir (2003). Furthermore, the claims are modest – pointing to mutual as well as long term benefits of enlargement, and balancing this with the argument of a potential institutional cost. 21 Debate on the IGC, French Senate, 14 March 1996. 22 Interview on Forum RMC – L’Express, 25 August 1991. 23 Supra, note 15. 24 See his article ‘Repenser l’Europe’, Le Monde, 18 November 1994; and further, Juppé (1993, 1994a, 1994b). 25 See also Mitterrand’s declaration on the programme ‘Aujourd’hui l’Europe’, TF1, 3 September 1992; Védrine’s response to a question of current affairs (Helsinki European Council), Assemblée Nationale, 14 December 1999; and Guigou’s hearing in the Foreign Affairs’ Committee, Assemblée Nationale, press release, 3 October 1991. 26 Cf. Mitterand, press conference, supra, note 8. 27 Hearing in the Foreign Affairs’ Committee, Assemblée Nationale, press release, 16 April 1992. 28 See supra, note 20. 29 Interview with journalists from the Polish daily press, 14 March 2001. 30 See supra, note 20. 31 Interview, La Dépêche du Midi, 20 October 1994. 32 ‘Europe’, Le Figaro, 15 September 1994. 33 Interview with the journal Les correspondances du Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, March–April–May 1996. 34 Press conference on Europe, Paris, 16 April 1998. 35 Press conference on France–Hungary, Budapest, 14 October 1991. 36 Debate, Assemblée Nationale, see supra, note 13.

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Intervention on ‘Community questions’, Assemblée Nationale, 29 June 1993. Hearing in the Foreign Affairs’ Committee, Assemblée Nationale, 24 June 1993. Barnier also stressed this in an interview with RTL, 26 June 1995. Minister for European Affairs, Pierre Moscovici, response to a written question in the Senat (EU institutional reform), 4 September 1997. 41 Interview with Libération, 9 December 1999.

Part III

Between norms and interests

9

Probably a problem-solving regime, perhaps a rights-based union European integration in the Czech and Slovak political discourse Petr Drulák

Introduction This chapter asks what kind of Europe Czechs and Slovaks have in mind when thinking and speaking about the EU. Is it a problem-solving regime; a value-based community; or a rights-based union? Moreover, this chapter asks why the Czech and Slovak paths to Europe diverged so sharply in the mid-1990s, with the Czech path being rather smooth and straight while the Slovak one was quite bumpy. Even a partial preliminary answer to this question may help us understand the future Czech and Slovak integrative strategies. I approach this question by reviewing the construction of Czech and Slovak identities in political discourse according to a long-term perspective. Discursive constructions of the nation, the state, and Europe in the Czech and Slovak discourses since the early nineteenth century are taken into account. On this basis, I argue that the bumpiness of the Slovak road to Europe partly is due to the fact that the construction of the nation as a community is historically much stronger in Slovakia than in the Czech Republic. Concerning the most favoured model of Europe, I claim that neither country is likely to conceptualize the EU as a ‘community’. Rather the concepts of ‘regime’ or, to some extent, that of ‘union’ are likely to prevail.

Conceptual framework Before starting the empirical analysis of Czech and Slovak political discourses, an elaboration of the concepts of regime, community and union is needed. I proceed in four steps. First, I argue that the three concepts represent elements of the discursive structures that shape political practices according to the depths of their sedimentation. Second, I connect the concepts of regime, community and union to specific ideas regarding the

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relationships between the nation, state, market and ‘the other’. Third, I establish five connections between the state and European levels, with respect to the three concepts. These five connections represent the five possible discursive structures that are researched. Finally, I operationalize the three concepts for empirical research on the Czech and Slovak political discourses. To start with, regime, community and union refer to three different concepts of democracy (Eriksen and Fossum 2004) which are relevant in both national and European contexts. They are analysed here as elements of relatively durable, national discursive structures (Waever 2002), which make some statements about Europe possible while precluding other statements within the analysed national context. Given the connection between political communication and actual policies, the structures facilitate one kind of policy on Europe while hampering other kinds. However, there is no easy one-way relationship between discursive structures and political practices. The causality between the two goes in both directions. The discursive structure can inhibit or facilitate certain kinds of political practice, while political events can also trigger changes in the discursive structure. But the relationship between discourse and practice is not only causal, it is also mutually constitutive (Wendt 1999); one cannot exist without the other. So even though it may sometimes be fruitful to try to tell them apart and identify the directions of causality in a particular event, this will often be impossible because the two cannot be treated as independent entities between which causal relationships can take place. Despite their durability these discursive structures are not immutable. Their openness to change depends on how deeply sedimented they are in the discourse. In other words, it depends on the degree to which the structures are internalized in actors’ behaviour. In this connection, I use two degrees of internalization: internalized, as opposed to innovative. Internalized ideas function as default values – they are evoked almost automatically, replicating numerous historical precedents. Internalized ideas are powerful as they provide any discursive practice with basic terms of reference. Yet innovation is possible. Structural changes result from a reflective appraisal of the struggle for recognition between the self and the other. However, this is usually connected with important political events (such as wars, falls of empires, or the rise of new actors). Structural change is then understood as the transition from one configuration of discursive structure to another. An historical record of the evolution of discursive structures can tell us whether they are internalized or innovative, that is, whether the particular kind of structure guarantees continuity, or whether it serves as a vehicle for change. Moreover, the more internalized the particular structure is, the more likely it is to appear again in the future. Having introduced regime, community and union as elements constituting national discursive structure, I need to clarify how these quite abstract concepts can be related to specific national discourses. In this respect,

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 169 I argue that the three concepts can be operationalized by an examination of national discursive connections between state, nation, market and significant ‘others’.1 Thus the distinction between value-based community and rights-based union can be related to the distinction between two models of the relationship between state and nation: the French model and the German model (Waever 2002: 33–6). The French model is close to the idea of union. It constructs state and nation as mutually constitutive; nation is based on state institutions and state depends on nation. In contrast, the German model is communitarian. It treats state and nation as independent entities: the nation is defined not by politics but by culture, language and blood. Besides the state/nation nexus, the relationship between state and market is also important (Hansen 2002b; Trägardh 2002). In this connection, a social-democratic welfare state can be distinguished from a liberalist minimal state. While the former emphasizes solidarity, social citizenship and a government that actively shapes the economy, the latter considers government as an impartial referee that minimizes any interference with what is perceived as the interactions of free economic agents. With respect to the three concepts, the problem-solving regime can be identified with the concept of a liberal minimalist state where no strong conception of the state/nation prevails, while both community and union imply an intensive involvement of the state with the economy, and hence imply a welfare state model. While community is based on a solidarity of shared values that is at odds with the individualist ontology of the minimal state, the union rights also include social and economic ones (Eriksen and Fossum 2004), which again implies a welfare state. The three concepts differ with respect to their construction of ‘the others’ against which they define themselves.2 First, a community defines its others in terms of cultural or territorial entities, such as specific states or religions that are seen as different and potentially threatening. In contrast, a union avoids these kinds of ‘maps of evil’; its others are primarily of a more abstract nature such as undemocratic practice, breach of fundamental rights, etc. Finally, a regime also relies on more abstract others. However, these take the shape of those national or international institutions that are seen as disrupting the free play of market forces. Moreover, the other also provides recognition to the particular identity. In this perspective, an important part of international interactions can be seen as a ‘struggle for recognition’ (Ringmar 2002; Wendt 1999, 2003) in which actors try to get their own identity constructions recognized by others. On this basis, the other is at the heart of identity construction, and, at the same time, makes the whole construction dynamic as the source of the struggle for recognition. So far the concepts of regime, community and union have been discussed with reference to the state level. However, each of them may also be defined with respect to the European level, and there are strong links

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Table 9.1 Five possible states of discursive structure Nation as:

Europe as:

regime union community community community

regime union community rejected other regime

between the two levels. These links are summarized in Table 9.1, which presents five possible configurations defining the discursive structures within which European policies may be embedded. I argue that the strongest links are based on analogical reasoning whereby the same models are sought at both levels. First, the state/nation conception of regime is likely to be accompanied by a conception of Europe as regime, too. The reason for this is that any other model of the European entity would imply a tighter integration at the European level than at the national level, which is unlikely to be supported by those who insist that the state should only have minimalist, regime-like functions. Second, support for union at the national level is likely to bring about support for union at the European level, as the very same abstract other that is referred to at the national level may be used at the European level. In this respect, nation-based universalism becomes Europe-based universalism.3 However, the relationship is more complex in the case of community. Unlike regime or union, community is primarily cultural; hence it may be politicized but does not have to be so. If it is politicized, there are three possibilities.4 First, the nation state imagined as a community will match Europe understood as a community, sharing the same non-European others. That would mean a direct politicization of culture (for example pan-German or pan-Slavic Europe). Second, the nation as a community can also become politicized in a manner that rejects Europe by constructing it or its values as a threatening other. Third, however, an outright rejection may give way to considering Europe as a regime. This may be seen as the least intrusive of the three models. If community does not become politicized, remaining only at the cultural level, then the political concept of the state/nation refers either to union or regime, as discussed above. Which of these three connections prevails is an empirical question. Having outlined five possible configurations of national discursive structure, the categories of regime, community and union still need to be operationalized with respect to specific historical data in the Czech and Slovak contexts. This is particularly challenging given that this review reflects on a period of more than two centuries, in which very different political systems followed one another in the current territories of the Czech Republic and Slovakia.

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 171 The operationalization of community is relatively uncontroversial in this respect, as it refers to a relatively widespread concept of an entity that is based on language (Czech and Slovak) and/or religion (Roman Catholic and Protestant). On the other hand, regime refers to entities that derive their legitimacy from the utility that their ‘users’ gain from them, such as the economic regime (for example a common market) and the security regime (for example a military alliance). Whereas the former should bring prosperity, the latter should bring security. The concept of union is most difficult to operationalize. I consider the idea of union to be present whenever the nation/state and Europe are defined in terms of institutions and procedures rather than in terms of language, religion, prosperity or security. However, given the length of the reviewed period, qualifications of the concept are needed in order to distinguish democratic unions from unions that may claim to be equally universal but are undemocratic. Hence, we use the concepts of feudal union and communist union to account for these. Communist union and democratic union mean two completely different things, and it may seem odd to use the very same concept of union to address them, yet I consider that their references to universalism, anti-nationalism and institutionalism turn them into bedfellows, however strange, as compared to communities and regimes. Having operationalized the concepts of regime, community and union, a contextualization of the concept of Europe is needed. There are three facets of Europe in the Czech and Slovak discourses. Europe is understood as either: West, Centre or East. However, the discourse often makes no clear distinction between Western Europe and Central Europe, and therefore one comes across two opposite perspectives on Europe: Centre/West and East. These two Europes have been played against each other in the discourse. While the former has been embodied first by the Austrian monarchy, whereby Austria was understood as Europe writ small (Sˇolle 1999: 476), and then by France, Britain or Germany, the latter has been represented by Russia, the Soviet Union and the Slavic nations, and was connected to the belief that non-Slavic Europe was decadent and that the future belonged to the Slavs. Given that it is the West-based EU that is the primary concern of this chapter, I identify Europe with the discursive construction of Centre/West. In this connection, East is interpreted as Europe’s rejected other. Finally, several caveats are in order. First, my ambition is to capture some salient features in the historical evolution of the Czech and Slovak discourses rather than to provide its complete description. The analysis is therefore highly selective, concentrating on the pieces that may be considered to epitomize the mainstream in the given period while leaving out other important contributions. Second, the interpretation of the discourses is often highly contested, and this chapter cannot do justice to the variety of possible interpretations. Lastly, the very operationalization of the concepts of regime, community and union may raise some questions,

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although I have tried to respect both the most important ideas behind these concepts, and the facts of the Czech and Slovak histories.

The Austrian Empire The Czech and Slovak experiences of modern sovereign statehood are relatively recent, starting with the foundation of Czechoslovakia in 1918. However, the conceptualization of the state/nation and Europe in Czech and Slovak thinking goes back longer than that. It reaches back to the late eighteenth century, when the Czechs and Slovaks were part of the Austrian Empire ruled by the Habsburg dynasty. This period marks the start of an important intellectual and cultural movement of national revival, which resurrected the decaying languages of Czech and Slovak, brought about the cultural emancipation of the two nations during the nineteenth century, and laid the grounds for their later efforts to gain political emancipation. The first modern construction of the Czech state/nation and Europe was still indebted to medieval concepts. At the start, the aristocratic concept of the state/nation as a feudal union within the feudal union of Europe dominated. Later, however, the understanding of the state/nation as a language-based community prevailed. The innovative construction of the state/nation as a community was accompanied by two different constructions of Europe, understood here as Centre/West. First, this was a rejection of Europe connected with an embrace of the Slavic East. Second, Europe, in the shape of Austria, was understood as a security regime. Despite the dominance of the communitarian conceptualization of the state/nation throughout the nineteenth century, the idea of the state/nation as a union was also present to some extent in shaping the conceptualization of Europe. The Slovak construction of the state/nation and Europe significantly overlaps with the Czech ones, particularly in the first half of the nineteenth century. The state/nation is understood as a community, while Europe is either rejected or conceived of as a regime. However, unlike the Czech discourse, the Slovak discourse lacks the concept of union both at the national level and at the European level. Czech lands The construction of the Czech nation as a feudal union being situated in the broader feudal union of the Austrian empire derived its meaning from the territory and institutions of the Bohemian kingdom. It was not based on language, as the nation was constructed as having two languages: German was the tongue of the elite and Czech the tongue of the masses. It emerged as a reaction of the aristocracy5 against the centralizing efforts of Vienna in the late eighteenth century (Hroch 1999: 18–19). Hence the aristocracy struggled for recognition of its ancient medieval freedoms against Vienna’s attempts at constructing an Austrian state/nation (pp. 25–6).

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 173 This construction of the nation as a feudal union started to change in the first decades of the nineteenth century when the Czech national revival, which was heavily influenced by Herder and the German nationalist reaction against Napoleon (pp. 155–7), gained momentum. Step by step, it was replaced with an identification of the Czech nation with the people who spoke the Czech language. This changed the external framework of the identity. The nation as a community was situated in Europe as a community. Given that the community was defined by language, the European community implied Slavic Europe, led by Russia. Consequently, Central and Western Europe became vicious ‘others’ against which the virtuous Slavic East was defined. However, given serious misgivings about Russian autocracy in the Czech elites (Cˇern´y 1995), and given the conflict of the Austrian authorities against pan-Slavism, a third conception emerged representing a tradeoff between the aristocratic and revivalist conceptions. Its author was Frantisˇek Palack´y, Czech national historian and political leader. Palack´y accepts the communitarian, language-based conception of nation, but he delimits the nation on the basis of the ancient institutions of the Bohemian kingdom, while insisting on a democratic interpretation of this previously aristocratic model. Thus, Palack´y’s concept of the state/nation is based on an interesting mixture of community-related and union-related features. Concerning Europe, Palack´y considers Austria as an institutionalized alliance against both Prussian and Russian hegemony in Central Europe. In this perspective, Austria as Europe writ small is seen as a useful security regime. However, Palack´y also hoped that the Austrian monarchy would transform itself into a federation that would recognize the rights of its members. In this respect, his conception of Austria goes beyond the mere security regime, hinting at a nascent union. Slovakia The situation in Slovakia was slightly different in the sense that there was no Slovak feudal union with which the local aristocracy could identify. The local noblemen saw themselves as a part of the natio hungarica, which was a nation in the feudal sense whose official language until 1792 was Latin (Brock 1976: 37). Therefore it was language (i.e. community) rather than any institution that provided the basis for the construction of the Slovak state/nation from the very beginning. The political importance of the Slovak language grew as a result of the process of Hungarization of the Hungarian kingdom beginning in the late eighteenth century, when Hungary abandoned its original identity of a feudal union (a kingdom with Latin as its official language), embracing the identity of a national community defined by the Hungarian language. This new, Hungarian, community-based concept of the state/nation represented an existential threat to the Slovak identity, which was also community-based, as it

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implied that all Hungarian subjects, including Slovaks, should speak the Hungarian language. From this perspective, Vienna was often seen as a possible ally against Budapest. So a pragmatic consideration of Europe, in the shape of Austria, as a protective regime corresponded rather well to the Slovak concept of state/nation as a community. However, this strategy often failed in practice, so that the Slovaks, more often than the Czechs, subscribed to the implied communitarian concept of Slavic Europe, rejecting the Centre and the West. This is also due to the fact that in Slovakia there was profound uncertainty about the status of the Slovak language and nation. For a long time it was not clear at which level (Slovak, Czechoslovak or Slavic) the community that Slovaks wished to belong to was located. Therefore, such key figures of the Slovak national revival as Pavel Jozef Sˇafárik and Ján Kollár are also key agents in the Czech national revival, while Kollár is also considered as ‘the first prophet’ (Cˇern´y 1995: 12) or as ‘the greatest exponent’ (Brock 1976: 50) of pan-Slavism. Czechoslovakia In 1918 Czechoslovakia was founded upon an innovative conception of the state/nation as a democratic union within a Europe also understood as a democratic union. The Munich agreement, the German occupation and the Soviet liberation challenged this construction, bringing back an internalized revivalist concept of the state/nation as a community oriented towards the Slavic East. However, this construction was only temporary and was soon replaced with a communist one. Although the construction of the state/nation and Europe as communist unions was to some extent innovative, the innovation took place within the framework of democratic union, whereby an alleged Czech democratic tradition was replaced with an alleged Czech revolutionary tradition. After the fall of communism, the new dissident elite turned back to ideas of a democratic union, trying to overcome the tension between Czechs and Slovaks by constructing Czechoslovakia as a civic, democratic union. Similarly, the dissidents tried to transcend the East/West divide by constructing Europe as an all-inclusive union based on the institutions of Western democracy. Masaryk’s democratic union After the First World War, the Austrian Empire fell apart and the Czechs and Slovaks started building Czechoslovakia as their own nation state. The first Czechoslovak president, Tomásˇ Garrigue Masaryk, was a decisive figure in that process, and his ideas laid the foundations for the official ideology of the new state. Drawing on Palack´y, Masaryk avoided a community construction of the state/nation based on language, coming up instead with a conception of union based on democracy. Masaryk con-

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 175 sidered democracy to be the most important feature of the Czechoslovak identity, and its most important contribution to mankind. His concept of democracy was anchored in the Czech religious reformation led by Jan Hus in the fifteenth century. Masaryk (1948/1895) contrasted the democracy of the Hussite Evangelical Church of the Czech Brethren with the autocracy of the Catholic Church. Hence, reformation laid the grounds for democracy, and connected the Czechs with the West. This also makes his construction of national identity universal, as the reformation stemmed from the reflection on universal problems; as Masaryk (p. 3) stated: ‘the Czech question is the question of mankind’. The connection with the West was further reinforced by Masaryk’s interpretation of the First World War as a clash between democracy (France, Great Britain and the USA) and theocracy (Austria, Germany). Given his Czechoslovak national identity construction as inherently democratic, he could make the logical link connecting the Czechoslovak democratic national identity with the West European (French and British) democratic international identity (Masaryk 1925: 513). Moreover, he argued that by constituting a theocratic coalition in the war, the Austrian empire could no longer serve as a protective security regime for Czechoslovak democracy (Masaryk 1994), and hence lost its raison d’être. In practical terms, Masaryk called for a European federation, and he provided inspiration for Coudenhove–Kalergi’s pan-European movement (Pons 1992). Hence, his conception of Czechoslovakia as a democratic union was complemented by a concept of Europe as a democratic union. However, Masaryk’s identity construction of Czechoslovakia and its place in Europe did not survive the Second World War. After the Munich agreement of 1938, Czechoslovaks felt betrayed by their Western allies, and the liberation of most of Czechoslovakia by the Soviet army in 1945 further strengthened pan-Slavic feelings, while weakening the attachment to the West. President Benesˇ (1948), a disciple of Masaryk, called for a new Slavic solidarity understood in terms of culture (‘we should co-operate with Slavic nations as we used to cooperate with France before the war’), economy (Slavic partners should be preferred where possible), and politics (against the German threat, cooperation on democratic basis). Hence, following the revivalist patterns, the state/nation was constructed as a Slavic community, being a member of a wider Slavic family led by the Soviet Union, which was expected to democratize. Even though this did not represent an outright rejection of Western Europe, it argued for an embrace of the East and more lukewarm relations with the West. Communist union However, Benesˇ’ conception was short-lived, giving way to the concept of Czechoslovakia as a communist country within the communist union.

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Communists defined the state/nation in terms of the revolutionary transition to a classless communist society. Their concept of the state/nation resembled a special kind of union defined by abstract institutions and procedures. Indeed, the concept of a communist union drew on the previous concept of democratic union as constructed by Masaryk. However, it replaced Masaryk’s democracy with communism (Gellner 1995) while interpreting the Hussite movement as a social revolutionary movement aiming at a classless society rather than as a religious movement (Nejedl´y 1951: 15–37). This revolutionary tradition provided the link between Czechoslovakia and the communist East in the same way that the democratic tradition identified by Masaryk had linked Czechoslovakia to the democratic West. Even though the communists occasionally used panSlavic concepts to mobilize support, they usually avoided communityrelated arguments, brutally suppressing ‘national ways towards communism’, or emphasizing proletarian internationalism, which, for example, united Czechoslovak and German communists against the Yugoslav ‘revisionists’, rather than using the traditional communitarian bounds. Even though the communist regime and its constructions of the state/nation and Europe enjoyed some popular legitimacy in the 1950s and 1960s, despite its serious crimes, the remnants of legitimacy basically disappeared after the Soviet invasion in 1968. Following this, society became passive, with the exception of small groups of dissidents who tried to come up with alternatives to the communist regime. The dissident network led by Václav Havel in particular was among the most active ones, and became a key agent of democratic change in 1989. When Havel was elected Czechoslovak president in December 1989 a new period started, marked by a radical break with the communist past and by a dominance of former dissidents in the public discourse. Dissident constructions of democratic union Havel and his dissident friends clearly rejected the communist conceptions of state/nation and Europe, yet they were also uneasy with the alternative of the state/nation as a community. Therefore, they sought inspiration in Masaryk, dusting off the conception of state/nation as a democratic union. Thus Havel warned against collective hatred in the shape of nationalism, and claimed that Central and Eastern Europe needed time to get used to ‘the other’ (Havel 1990a). The civic principle of union was often endorsed when the future of the Czechoslovak federation was addressed, especially as the tension between the Czech and Slovak political elites grew. For example, Czech Prime Minister Petr Pithart considered Czechoslovak relations as ‘a permanent test of our capacity to accept the other’,6 and argued for ‘values of citizenship which are higher than the values of nations’ (Pithart 1990). Similarly, Foreign Minister Jirˇí Dienstbier argued

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 177 that states should be built on civic principles, and not on national ethnic principles.7 This inclusive attitude was also present in the new construction of Europe, which was understood as all-inclusive, transcending the East/West division and including all the countries taking part in the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE). The CSCE and the Council of Europe were seen as the two most important forums of European integration at that time (Havel 1990b, 1990c). The Council of Europe in particular was expected to play the role of a ‘truly general institution of European integration’ (Dienstbier 1990a), giving rise to a European confederation (Dienstbier 1990b) that would have united Europe without the Warsaw Pact and without NATO. This inclusiveness was also applied to the traditional German other, which was referred to in unambiguously positive terms. The Czech Government (1990) welcomed German reunification as an ‘overcoming of artificial division’ in Europe and Havel even equated anti-German feelings with anti-Semitism (Havel 1990d). The threatening others were defined as being integral to ‘us’ rather than outside of ‘us’: in the shape of ‘our’ own evil, in the past (totalitarianism, international power politics), or in new risks (ecological disasters, nationalist or regional conflicts) (Dienstbier 1990b; Havel 1990a). However, this dissident construction of the state/nation and Europe in terms of union was challenged from the very beginning. Whereas the Czechs failed to make any distinction between their Czechoslovak and Czech identities, the distinction between Czechoslovak and Slovak identity was very important in Slovakia. The label of Czechoslovak was treated with growing suspicion there, and the traditional community-based construction of Slovakia clashed with the proclaimed civic construction of Czechoslovakia. The elections in June 1992 led to the political fall of the dissident elite around Václav Havel that had dominated the discourse since 1989, and to the rise of pragmatic and nation-oriented political forces, led by Václav Klaus in the Czech Republic and Vladimír Mecˇiar in Slovakia. Together they split the common state from 1993. At the international level, the so far exclusively Western clubs such as NATO and the EC proved to be more persistent than the dissidents originally expected, while the plans for a European confederation based on the CSCE or Council of Europe failed to take off.

The Czech Republic – between community and regime The new Czech political elite led by Václav Klaus constructed the state/nation and Europe differently from the Czechoslovak dissident elite led by Václav Havel.8 Radical economic reform, as their central political project, was the main source of identity, introducing an understanding of the state/nation and Europe as regimes. This occasionally brought about clashes with the EU. However, these clashes were mitigated by a

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supplementary construction of the state/nation and Europe as communities. Like regime, community represented a significant structural innovation as, unlike the internalized concept of community, it connected the Czech national community to Western Europe. It is this construction of the state/nation and Europe as communities that has prevailed since the late 1990s, when the new social democratic government rejected the idea of a minimal state, and thus the implied concept of regime, embracing the welfare state and what they see as European values. However, given that Europe is widely contested in Czech politics, the concept of regime is far from dead. On the contrary, it is still an open question which side prevails in the current battle between those who see Europe as a community and those who see it as a regime. The dominant construction of the state/nation and Europe oscillated between regime and community in the early 1990s. To start with, Klaus’ understanding of the state/nation was to a large extent shaped by neo-classical economics, making him perceive the state/nation primarily as a regime where only market relations between economic agents matter. In this connection, he stressed Czech uniqueness based on radical economic reform aimed at a minimal state, which was his main political project. He argued that the Czech Republic was ‘the only post-communist country where transformation enjoys wide public support’, which ‘creates the conditions for rapid accession to European structures’ (Klaus 1993). On the one hand, the construction of state/nation as a liberal economic regime guaranteed the West-European identity of the country. On the other, it implied the construction of Europe as a regime as well. This often clashed with the consideration of European integration after the Maastricht Treaty as a quasi-socialist institution that could bring back the economic interventionism banned by the liberal reform.9 However, this construction of the state/nation and Europe in terms of regime is also complemented by a more communitarian perspective. Unlike the community of Czech revivalists, this community is not defined by language and Slavic ethnicity, but refers to religion (Western Christianity as opposed to the Eastern Christianity) and to the historical belonging to the Holy Roman Empire. Klaus himself sometimes dropped his pragmatic perspective and talked about the St. Wenceslavian tradition (Roman Christianity and agreement with Germany) as the basis of Czech national existence, emphasizing the Czech choice of Christianity from Rome and not from Byzantinum one thousand years ago (Klaus 1992).10 Similarly, Milan Uhde (1993), chairman of the Czech Parliament, rejected ‘cosmopolitanism’, which he contrasted with ‘being at home’, which means ‘living with people whom one understands without the need for deep explanations, who share the mother tongue, history and experiences of difficult times in the second half of the twentieth century’. This kind of community at the state/nation level then fits well with Europe understood as community. Thus, Foreign Minister Josef Zieleniec

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 179 used the communitarian concept of home, arguing that ‘Western Europe is our home’, adding that this is not the case for other post-communist countries.11 It also helps us explain why a self-proclaimed ‘liberal eurosceptic’12 never left any doubts that full EC membership was an important priority of his government, arguing that there was no alternative to it. Still, the relationship with the EC was ambiguous. This ambiguity is reflected in the text of the Czech EU application of 23 January 1996 (Czech Government 1996). First, the document states that ‘the Czech national identity was for most of its history a part of multicultural entities’, however, it leaves out that these entities (including the Austrian empire) rarely receive a positive evaluation in the current Czech identity construction. Second, the Czech Republic is ‘devoted to the ideas of the liberalisation of economic activities and international economic relations’, while it merely ‘accepts the broader, non-economic aspects of European integration’ [emphasis added]. In other words, the Czech Republic is devoted to Europe as a regime, while it merely accepts Europe as a community. These constructions shifted to some extent after 1998, when Klaus’ party went into opposition and the Czech Social Democratic Party took over. However, the discourse tended to address the practical questions connected to the preparations for membership, without too frequently touching upon identity construction. Moreover, Klaus remained an important force in the public discourse. Europe therefore turned into a contested concept. Having said that, the most important shift initiated by the new government consisted in the abandonment of the concept of regime both at the state/nation level and at the European level, and in the endorsement of community as it was defined during the previous period. The Social Democrats rejected the minimal state, while endorsing the concept of the welfare state and emphasizing the value of solidarity both in the national and European contexts. On this basis, they argued that the construction of the welfare state would correspond much better to the integrative efforts than the previous concept of minimal state. The speeches of Prime Minister Vladimír Sˇpidla pointed to the idea of Europe as a community. On the one hand, he appreciated all the achievements of European integration. Thus, he argued that it is ‘a project which proved its merits bringing freedom, solidarity and European security’ (Sˇpidla 2003a), and he subscribed to the ‘mutual openness of the states as its basic idea’.13 Defending the draft European constitution, Sˇpidla argued that the Czech Republic had to be ‘at the helm of European integration and not tailing behind’, rejecting a Europe ‘where great powers clash without any control and wild supranational corporations rule’.14 On the other hand, he delimited the EU against the external others. Hence, Czech accession was justified by the fact that it would be in the ‘civilizational interest to join and not stay between the EU and Ukraine’.15 Similarly, when speaking about the future of Europe he compared it to ‘Renaissance

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Italy’ in a world organized into several global power centres (Sˇpidla 2003b), with which the EU should catch up.

Independent Slovakia On 1 January 1993, Slovakia became an independent state. The dominant political force was the Movement for Democratic Slovakia led by Vladimír Mecˇiar, who became the first Prime Minister of the new state. The Slovak state/nation was constructed as both a Western community and as a Slavic community, making it possible to see Europe both as a natural home and as a rejected other, depending on the political situation. At the start the Western option prevailed, but this changed when the largely pro-European Slovak rhetoric was more and more contradicted by the undemocratic practices of the Mecˇiar government. Criticism by Western institutions strengthened the option of a rejection of Europe. What Mecˇiar himself had previously called the ‘disaster scenario’ came into being in 1997, when NATO and the EU left Slovakia out of the first rounds of enlargement. However, this constituted a breach of the Mecˇiar government’s original commitment to seek Western recognition for Slovakia for which the government was duly punished at the next elections. The new, democratic government narrowed down the concept of community to its Western interpretation, arguing for Europe as a community as well. Not all important actors endorsed Europe as a community; some opted for the concept of Europe as a regime, yet without rejecting Europe. On this basis, Slovakia was able to initiate radical domestic reforms and to catch up with its Visegrad neighbours in EU and NATO integration. All in all, the discourse of the Slovak political elite, including Vladimír Mecˇiar as well as his opponents, was shaped by the conceptualization of the state/nation as a community to a larger extent than was the case with the Czech political discourse. Unlike in the Czech discourse, the definition of community is both traditional, emphasizing the bonds with the Slavic Europe, and innovative, constructing the Slovaks as a Western nation. In this respect, Slovakia was defined as a Danubian nation attracted by the West, where it would like to find economic and cultural impulses, but which is also naturally connected with the East and the South.16 Similarly, Slovak leaders deplored the ‘crisis of the Slavic world’.17 Slovak politicians highlighted their Western orientation. Vladimír Mecˇiar could even draw some comfort from arguing that the Slovak social democratic approach to economic transition, the ‘Slovak way’ (Mecˇiar 1998: 199–204), was closer to the European mainstream than the Czech, Thatcherite approach. Thus, speaking in the Council of Europe, Ivan Gasˇparovicˇ (1993), Chairman of the Slovak Parliament, argued that Slovakia was a successor of the early medieval state of Great Moravia, and that by that time it was already a part of European civilization. Mecˇiar (1993) spoke about the ‘Slovak interest on an irreversible path to Euro-

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 181 pean structures’, and about the ‘natural European identity of Slovakia’. He also pictured Slovakia as being a part of Europe from the sixth century, when there was a strong state on the Slovak territory, claiming that the territory hosted the first bishopric in Central Europe (Mecˇiar 1998: 182). Recognition of this Western identity was eagerly striven for. However, as criticism of Mecˇiar’s government by Western institutions grew, so did the Slovak dissatisfaction, often resulting in the quest for alternatives, and sometimes in the rejection of the Western European option. Mecˇiar (1998: 165–9) complained in 1995 that Slovakia needed to be encouraged by its Western partners and not just criticized, and that it should be evaluated by the same criteria as other countries in the region. He also equalled criticism of Slovakia with great-power arrogance. Gasˇparovicˇ (1994) perceived the relation between national and European identities as somewhat contradictory, claiming that the fall of the Soviet empire brought about the conditions for the emergence of independent states, but that the ‘idea of united Europe rejects the emergence of new states’. He concluded that the emancipation process had to be finished, and that only after that could the new Europe be built. As the tension between Slovakia and the West grew, Mecˇiar (1998: 190–5) compared the EU with the Soviet bloc, warning that the Slovaks had already been members of a union created forever with a unified culture. He stated that Slovakia wanted to preserve its national identity, whereas ‘integration prefers a universal culture suppressing national cultures’ (pp. 199–204); he expected people to ‘live as Slovaks with a national orientation’, and therefore Slovakia should not bow to everything coming from abroad. He also emphasized the significance of economic and cultural cooperation with Russia and the other Slavic nations. Nevertheless, the growing international isolation of Slovakia and its exclusion from the processes of both NATO and EU enlargement, eventually contributed to the defeat of Mecˇiar’s party in the 1998 elections. The new government made catching-up on EU and NATO integration its top priority. Its international efforts could be understood as a continuing struggle for recognition, drawing on the positions that were abandoned four years earlier. In this respect, the state/nation as community still prevailed. However, the Slovak political elite started to emphasize Slovakia’s Western identity, while the previously popular Slavic identity went unmentioned. The conception of Europe itself oscillated between that of community and that of regime. From the outset, OECD membership was considered an important test case ‘confirming that Slovakia belongs to the West’ (Kukan 2000), but full EU membership was clearly the highest prize. It was, as Foreign Minister Eduard Kukan (2003) put it: ‘the fulfilment of the desires of many generations of Slovak citizens to become equal, rightful, and respected actors on the European scene’. The EU was constructed as a natural framework for

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national identity. President Rudolf Schuster (1999) understood EU membership as the ‘accomplishment of our sovereignty’. Starting the Slovak national debate on the future of the EU, Schuster (2002) emphasized that the EU allows for national specificity, and argued that ‘we should not delimit ourselves towards Europe in a negative way’. Moreover, he supported the federalization of the EU, which would result in a federation with a European identity. However, this communitarian perspective of the EU was not shared by all. Some tended to see the EU as a regime. Pavol Hrusˇovsk´y, chairman of the Slovak Parliament, took a ‘national and Christian perspective’, emphasizing a spontaneous market economy and the importance of individual initiative (Hrusˇovsk´y 2003a), and arguing for ‘a Europe based on free and self-confident nations’ (Hrusˇovsk´y 2003b).

Summary The historical overview of the configurations of discursive structure allows for the identification of patterns of sedimentation and innovation in the Czech and Slovak political discourse. These are outlined in Table 9.2. Two configurations are particularly internalized. First, both nations share a well-internalized configuration that constructs the state/nation as a Slavic community, while Western Europe is either rejected or seen only as instrumental to prosperity or security. This configuration emerged in the period of national revival in the early nineteenth century and remained relevant until the fall of the Austrian empire. It briefly became dominant after the Second World War, and re-emerged in Slovakia in the 1990s. Second, the configuration of the state/nation as a union within Europe, understood as a union, is also well internalized, despite a broad variety of historical twists and turns. However, this is only the case with the Czech discourse. This configuration has its roots in the conception of the Bohemian aristocracy, and was then partially democratized by Czech historian Frantisˇek Palack´y, and later further developed by Masaryk. In Czechoslovakia, various implications of this discursive structural configuration were accepted in the Czech part of the country to a greater extent than in Slovakia, where they often were seen as part of a Pragueoriginated centralizing ideology, which was detrimental to Slovak interests. Thus, both Masaryk and Havel, important sponsors of the concept of union, have been far less popular in Slovakia than in the Czech Republic. Also, in 1946 the Czechoslovak Communists, who drew on the concept of union in their own way, won the parliamentary elections in the Czech part of Czechoslovakia, while being defeated in the Slovak part, and many Slovak communist officials were later prosecuted for their alleged nationalism. Hence, while Czechs tinkered with various kinds of union at the level of the state/nation, Slovaks tended to rely instead on community. The historical overview also hints at a host of innovations. Focusing only on the 1990s, two innovations can be identified. First, both the Czech

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 183 Table 9.2 Overview of the evolution of the discursive structure Sponsor

Period

State/nation

Europe

Feudal union

Feudal union

Community

Austrian monarchy Late eighteenth century Early nineteenth century Late nineteenth century Czechoslovakia 1918–38

Community/union

Rejected other/regime Regime/union

Union

Union

1945–8

Community

Rejected other

1948–89

Communist union

1990–2

Union

Communist union (rejected other) Union

Czech Republic 1992–8

Regime/community Regime/community

After 1998

Community

Community

Slovakia Slovakia (Mecˇiar) 1992–8

Community

Current Slovakia

Community

Community/rejected other Community/regime

Bohemian aristocracy Czech and Slovak revivalists Palack´y Democratic Czechoslovakia (Masaryk) Postwar Czechoslovakia (Benesˇ) Communist Czechoslovakia Democratic Czechoslovakia (Havel) Czech Rep. (Klaus) Current Czech Rep.

After 1998

and Slovak elites came up with the concept of the state/nation as a community within Western Europe understood as a community, which is at odds with the internalized concept of a national community as defined by the revivalists. This was the first time in modern history that Western Europe was understood as an embedding, natural community rather than as a regime, union, or rejected other. Second, the Czech political elite understood the state/nation as an economic regime for some time, and used the concept of regime when considering the nature of the EU.

Conclusions This review of the evolution of discursive structures brings us closer to answers to the two questions raised in the introduction: why did the Czech and Slovak paths to Europe diverge so sharply in the mid-1990s, and what kind of Europe are Czech and Slovaks likely to prefer?

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On the first question; the Czech and Slovak political discourses were embedded in two different structural configurations from the very start of their sovereignties in 1993. The Czech elite primarily constructed the state/nation and Europe as economic regimes, while also considering the state/nation as a Western community. Although the conception of Europe as a regime led to critical attitudes towards the EU, the elite saw this as a sort of internal criticism, without doubting the Czech position in the EU. In contrast, the Slovak political elite was ambiguous about their construction of the state/nation as a community, which was conceptualized as Western and then as Slavic. This ambiguity then turned the rejection of Europe into a real political option. The difference in discursive structure between the Czech Republic and Slovakia can be related to their historical evolution. The revivalist model of the Slavic community was more internalized in the Slovak discourse than in the Czech one, where it was repeatedly challenged by the concept of union. On the second question, despite the fact that in both countries the current European debate can be seen as a battle between the ideas of community and regime, a future consideration of the EU as a community is unlikely, while one as a union is possible, and one as a regime is probable. This prediction is based on the assumption that the more internalized a particular configuration is, the more likely it is to emerge in future. On this basis, Europe as a community is a recent innovation lacking any test of time, and so is less likely to be relevant in the future despite its current dominance. With respect to union and regime, their future relevance differs by country. While the Slovaks are very likely to subscribe to a regime model in line with the revivalist configuration, and are quite unlikely to push for union, to which they were lukewarm in the past, the Czechs may draw on their tinkering with union. However, their endorsement of regime is equally envisagable. Having said that, one has to concede that discourse analysis is not a crystal ball, that the future usually takes us by surprise, and that bold predictions are usually wrong. By default, we cannot predict what future innovations will be, or how sedimentation will work. Still, the collected empirical data provides us with solid grounds on which to base reasonable guesses about the future, and that has been the aim of this contribution.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Pavel Barsa, Erik Oddvar Eriksen, Jon Erik Fossum, Karin Fierke, Jan Karlas, Lucie Konigova, Petr Kratochvil, Helene Sjursen, and José Ignacio Torreblanca for their helpful comments on previous drafts of this chapter.

Europe in Czech and Slovak political discourse 185

Notes 1 I draw on the approach of the ‘Copenhagen school’, which focuses on the longterm discursive construction of national identity and Europe in the national setting (Hansen 2002a: 7; Moravcsik 1999; Waever 2002, 2004). 2 The Copenhagen approach neglects the nexus between ‘self’ and ‘other’, focusing exclusively on the ‘self’ (Waever 2002: 24). 3 Waever (2002: 34) thus observes how France tries to export its national conception of universalism to the EU. 4 As Waever (2002) observes, the culture-based model of nation/state is rather indeterminate in the sense that it does not address political institutions, and hence it is compatible with a wider variety of political structures at the European level than the institution-based model. 5 The concept was ‘transnational’, or more precisely ‘pre-national’, in the sense that the ‘nationality’ of the aristocracy was irrelevant. What mattered was their property on the territory of the Bohemian kingdom as well as the recognition of their aristocratic subjectivity. 6 Interview in Hospodárˇské noviny, 23 January 1990 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 37(11): 477–80, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 7 Interview in Betty, 11 February 1992 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 39(2): 212–16, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 8 Despite the fact that Václav Havel served as Czech president until 2002, his role in the domestic discourse and politics was quite marginal in comparison to the role of Klaus, and to the role Havel himself had previously played as Czechoslovakia’s president. 9 Interview with Klaus in Mladá fronta Dnes, 7 September 1992 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 39(9): 801–2, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 10 The question of the origins of Christianity in the Czech Republic is still contested. 11 Interview in Reflex, 4 January 1993 (Cˇeská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 40(1): 47–58, Prague: Czech Ministry of Foreign Affairs). 12 Interview with Klaus in Hospodárˇské noviny, 6 November 1992 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 39(11): 964–5, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 13 Article in Lidové noviny, ‘Vstup do EU a demagogie’, 27 January 2003 (Cˇeská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 50(1): 28–9, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 14 Article in Lidové noviny, ‘Neúspeˇch summitu lze napravit’, 15 December 2003 (Cˇeská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 50(12), Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 15 Supra, note 13. 16 Pavol Demesˇ, article in Narodná obroda, 1 April 1992 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 39(4): 443–6, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague). 17 Jan Cˇarnogursk´y, interview in Lidová Demokracie, 29 September 1992 (Cˇeskoslovenská zahranicˇní politika – dokumenty, 39(9): 840–3, Federal Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prague).

10 Double standards? Minority protection as a condition for membership Guido Schwellnus

Introduction When the EU decided at the Copenhagen European Council in 1993 to go ahead with enlargement, the political accession criteria required applicant states to guarantee the respect for and protection of minorities. The most often cited problem in the EU’s use of conditionality in the field of minority protection is the setting of double standards. This problem arises because the external use of minority protection as a membership condition did not follow established EU rules: the EU has neither developed special minority rights within the acquis communautaire, nor do the member states subscribe to a common standard (De Witte 2000: 4). Although the EU has in recent years addressed minority issues within the acquis, this has been exclusively through the concept of non-discrimination (Bell 2002; Schwellnus 2001; Toggenburg 2000). This norm has been a long-standing principle within Community law in the form of gender equality and the abolition of discrimination on the basis of nationality between member states. Since the Amsterdam Treaty, the nondiscrimination framework has been expanded to include ethnic and racial discrimination (Article 13 TEC). On this basis a Framework Directive on equal treatment in employment and occupation, and, more significantly, a Directive on equal treatment between persons irrespective of racial or ethnic origin (the so-called ‘Race Equality Directive’) were adopted.1 Finally, ‘membership of a national minority’ was included in the nondiscrimination Article 21 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights (2000) and thus has become part of the Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe (European Council 2004b; cf. Bell 2004).2 Despite the fact that the final version of the Constitutional Treaty for the first time mentions ‘respect for human rights, including the rights of persons belonging to minorities’ (Article I-2) among the fundamental values of the Union, the substantial provisions nevertheless do not go beyond non-discrimination. In the enlargement context, the EU has demanded both nondiscrimination and group-specific measures to protect minorities. There remains therefore a conceptual discrepancy between the internal non-

Minority protection as a condition for membership 187 discrimination-based approach and the external promotion of special minority rights beyond (and in addition to) this standard. Moreover, the EU applied differentiated pressure across applicants, dependent on whether minority protection was regarded as problematic and security relevant in the particular case. This is an indication that the EU’s focus on minorities ‘reflects pragmatic concerns for internal and external stability’ (Pentassuglia 2001: 22) rather than a principled concern for minority rights as such (Brusis 2003: 5; Hughes and Sasse 2003: 16; Kymlicka 2001: 375). Instead of being an externalization of a norm already deeply embedded in the liberal-democratic norms that form the normative basis of the Union as a community of values (Risse-Kappen 1996; Schimmelfennig 2000) or part of a general support for universal norms developing in the field, the EU’s external promotion of minority protection in the former communist countries – as well as the renewed international interest in minority rights after the Cold War in general – was triggered by the outbreak of ethnic conflict in the Balkan region with the disintegration of Yugoslavia. Hence, the attention to minorities, who had been all but forgotten in the human-rights-centred period after the Second World War (Jackson-Preece 2003), followed a ‘security track’ (Kymlicka 2001) leading to a special attention to minority protection in Central and Eastern European countries (CEECs), where it was considered to be of high relevance for securing stability and peace in the region.3 Minority protection is therefore a crucial case for the assessment of whether enlargement contributes to the European Union developing from a problem-solving into a constitutional entity based on values or rights. The fact that the insistence on special minority rights is not derived from EU norms but applied for instrumental reasons only in applicant states is not consistent with the idea of a rights-based Union. However, the story does not end at this point. The question remains, whether and on which grounds the EU justifies its policy in this area. Is conditionality with regard to minority protection presented as a problem-solving device, or is it defended on a normative basis resorting to value- or rights-based arguments? And if the latter is the case, what are the consequences of the discrepancy between instrumental causes and normative justifications of the EU’s external policy on minority protection? If the EU aspires to be a ‘normative power’ (Manners 2002) and gain legitimacy by justifying proactive human-rights policies with arguments referring to community values or universal rights, inconsistencies in the application of these policies constitute a major setback for the EU’s legitimacy (Franck 1990) and may well lead to ‘rhetorical entrapment’ (Risse 2000; Schimmelfennig 1997) or ‘backlash’ (Wiener and Schwellnus 2004), pressurizing the EU to live up to its claims. The focus of this chapter is therefore not so much on a causal explanation of the EU’s motivation for policy decisions or prioritizations in the field of minority protection, but on an analysis of the structure, the

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implications, and the effects of the argumentative discourse employed to justify these policies. To do so, the chapter analyses official EU documents (e.g. Commission communications, presidency conclusions of European Council summits, or EU human-rights reports) and statements of EU representatives (e.g. speeches) with regard to their argumentative justification of the EU’s involvement in minority protection issues in the enlargement context.

Justifying a double standard: value- and rights-based arguments for utility-based policy In accordance with the analytical framework of this volume, the analysis of this chapter is based on the distinction of three different types of arguments: utility-, value- and rights-based arguments, as outlined in Table 10.1. Applied to the EU’s justification with regard to their condition of minority protection, utility-based arguments claim that minority protection in Central and Eastern Europe is an efficient problem-solving instrument and in the EU’s interest, because it secures stability and peace in the region and thereby diminishes future risks and costs for the Union, e.g. in terms of war or mass migration. Value-based arguments refer to minority protection as a European standard and part of the EU’s community values, either by showing that it is part of the EU’s acquis communautaire, or by pointing towards other European norms developed e.g. in the context of the Council of Europe or the OSCE, which can be assumed to be shared among EU member states. Rights-based arguments present minority protection as being an integral part of universally valid and globally accepted human-rights norms, backing this claim with references to UN documents.4 Utility-based arguments could be expected to be predominant in the EU’s discourse not so much because it is assumed that security concerns were in fact the primary motivation behind the EU’s external promotion Table 10.1 Types of arguments justifying minority protection in candidate countries Type of argument

Utility-based

Value-based

Rights-based

Reference of argument towards:

Interests/ efficiency

Identity/particular community norms

Global/universal norms

Arguments backing the external promotion of minority protection:

Minority protection in the CEEC is in the EU’s interest, because it secures stability and peace in the region

Minority protection is a European standard and part of the EU’s community values

Minority protection is part of universally valid global human rights norms

Minority protection as a condition for membership 189 of minority protection (which is a plausible assumption but cannot be tested by argument analysis), but because a security-focused approach ‘provides a rationale for the differential treatment of East and West’ (Kymlicka 2001: 374) and therefore could be utilized to give a principled and legitimate justification for the applied distinctions (Franck 1990: 163). Minority protection could be presented as a problem-solving policy specifically suited for the area of Central and South-Eastern Europe where, after the end of the Cold War, resurging nationalism and the dissolution of multinational states has been identified as a major source of intra- and inter-state conflict.5 Moreover, security-related arguments would also give reasons for a pragmatic case-by-case approach leading to differential treatment of third countries, because in this line of reasoning the urgency of implementing minority rights varies with the likelihood of ethnic conflict in each particular case. Arguments justifying minority protection with reference to universal rights or particular European values, on the other hand, run the risk of exposing the discrepancies between the internal and external application of the minority norm, while leaving little room for a principled and coherent justification of double standards: if minority protection is a universal or specifically European norm, there is not much reason to deflect its application in current EU member states, and from a normative point of view minorities should be protected irrespective of the question whether a denial to guarantee their rights poses a direct threat to internal or external security. Arguments stressing the security threats posed by ethnic conflict and based on the assumption that minority protection is an effective measure to prevent the outbreak of ethnic violence play an important part within the EU’s argumentation: ‘A substantial share of present conflicts derive from ethnic tensions and infringements of rights of persons belonging to minorities. Tolerance and non-discrimination build stability and security’ (Council of the European Union 1999: 34).6 Additionally, it is argued that the enlargement process, which provides an important framework for the EU’s external pro-minority policy: has contributed decisively to achieving political stability, economic progress and social justice. Stable institutions, changes of government on the basis of free and democratic elections, reinforced protection of human rights, including rights of minorities, and market economy principles are now common features. The enlargement process makes Europe a safer place for its citizens and contributes to conflict prevention and control in the wider world. (Verheugen 2001) It is concluded that enlargement is in the EU’s interest, because ‘we profit from peace, stability and growth in this part of Europe’ (Verheugen 2002). The EU, however, combined utility-based arguments with other

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argument types: universal rights-based arguments were put forward in two different ways. First, it is commonly stressed that ‘the EU is committed to respecting the rights of persons belonging to minorities as part of universally recognized human rights’ (Council of the European Union 2002: 116) and that minority protection therefore forms an inherent part of the EU human-rights policy. Second, universal human rights and utility-based arguments are linked by stressing the role of human rights in general to achieve and sustain internal and external stability, part of which is the protection of minorities: Tensions and conflicts arising from flagrant and systematic violations of human rights and fundamental freedoms in one country or in a specific region are often a threat to international peace and security . . . The European Council recalls the fundamental nature of the principle of non-discrimination. It stresses the need to protect human rights whether or not the persons concerned belong to minorities. (European Council 1991) The use of universal rights-based arguments brings the problem of double standards to the fore. Although all EU member states subscribe to global human-rights documents, this consensus does not include minority protection. France, for example, has issued a reservation claiming the most important global minority-rights provision – Article 27 of the UN’s International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (CCPR) – to be inapplicable and unconstitutional. While this is already problematic, the problem is even more virulent in the case of value-based arguments, because the explicit link to particular community values reduces the possibility of combining the general support for a universal standard with arguments claiming its inapplicability to the internal situation; if minority rights are a specifically European norm, it is hardly convincing to claim at the same time that minorities need no protection in Western Europe. It is all the more surprising that the EU has emphatically and increasingly made minority protection a matter of European values: references to minority instruments to be implemented by candidate countries are exclusively to ‘European standards’, while universal instruments, which feature in general documents such as the annual human-rights reports, are omitted (Pentassuglia 2001: 23). Particular emphasis is placed on Council of Europe documents: ‘with regard to [the minority] criterion, the Commission devotes particular attention to the respect for, and the implementation of, the various principles laid down in the Council of Europe Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities’.7 Notably, this instrument is presented as constituting the ‘European standard’ without being ratified (and not even signed) by all current EU member states (Brusis 2003: 3).8

Minority protection as a condition for membership 191 The EU has also resorted to explicit value-based arguments. Commission President Romano Prodi repeatedly referred to the EU as a ‘Union of diversity and minorities’ (Prodi 2003) and established a link between minority protection and the integration project itself: ‘[A] united Europe is . . . the best safeguard for national, regional and cultural diversity. Because the European Union is founded on diversity, not on uniformity. The European Union is an “alliance of minorities” ’ (Prodi 2002a). Respect for minorities is presented as a fundamental part of European identity: Tolerance and mutual respect . . . are deeply rooted in Europe’s humanistic heritage . . . We need these attitudes more than ever in today’s Europe where we’re all members of minorities. Indeed, given our centuries of experience of living together, we should be leading the world by example. (Prodi 2002b) Such assertive language is also reflected in European Council statements that Europe ‘is founded on respect for diversity and on tolerance’ and should be based on ‘the diversity of its cultures and languages, a Europe, where social justice is promoted and the rights of minorities are protected’ (Council of the European Union 1997). Furthermore, the protection of minorities is in an increasing number of statements explicitly named to be part of ‘fundamental European values, i.e. respect for human rights and the rights of minorities, international law, democratic institutions and the inviolability of borders’ (European Council 1999a).9 The promotion of minority rights is therefore presented as an externalization of internally shared values (Risse-Kappen 1996): ‘The European Union is committed to encouraging . . . the promotion of the values and models on which it is founded: in particular, democracy, respect for human rights and minorities, the rule of law and the market economy’ (Council of the European Union 2000a: 54). In sum, although all three types of arguments are used in order to justify the EU’s promotion of minority protection in the accession countries, the EU increasingly relies on value-based arguments justifying the minority criterion as being part of the fundamental ‘European’ values that underpin the Union. The EU’s discourse thereby reflects the idea of the Union as a value-based community, with one of these values being respect for, and protection of, minorities. Such a justification aims to substantiate the claim that applicant countries have to fulfil the minority criterion in order to gain accession, just as they have to adopt other EU norms, e.g. the entire acquis. On the other hand, however, a value-based justification exposes the incoherent application of this particular norm within the EU. The EU’s argumentation therefore exacerbates rather than diminishes the problematic character of the EU’s external minority policy. In fact, it is

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precisely the resort to rights- and value-based arguments and the failure to provide a principled justification of the differential treatment of applicant states that renders this policy incoherent.

Discursive and policy effects of value- and rights-based arguments Although in the minority-rights case the EU’s normative aspirations obviously do not motivate or constrain actors to adapt their policies to the requirements of legitimacy directly, we can still assume the self-styled image of the EU as a value- and rights-based community to have an impact, either discursively, i.e. on the argumentative strategies employed by the EU to justify their policies, or on the policies themselves, if the need to legitimize policies leads to ‘rhetorical entrapment’ and forces the EU to live up to its normative aspirations. From a rhetorical perspective, we should as a discursive effect expect attempts to reframe the arguments in a more coherent way in order to deflect normative pressure to alter the policies (Schimmelfennig 1997, 2000). One possibility for such an attempt would be to try to reconcile the value-based claim that minority protection is promoted in the CEECs because it is a European norm with the de facto treatment of minority issues within the EU. Such a ‘realignment strategy’ can indeed be found in the EU’s argumentation. Justifications for the external minority criterion were linked with the minority-related norms that are actually enshrined in the internal acquis, namely non-discrimination, cultural diversity and the fight against racism and xenophobia. For example: Compliance with the principle of non-discrimination is an important element in the EU enlargement process. The European Council in 1993 included in the Copenhagen criteria that membership requires that the candidate country has established respect for and protection of minorities. (Council of the European Union 1999: 36) And: ‘The notion of the respect for and protection of minorities is a key element in the fight against racism, xenophobia and anti-Semitism in the applicant countries’ (European Commission 2000b: 11). Furthermore, the Commission named ‘combating Racism and xenophobia and discrimination against minorities and indigenous peoples’ as a thematic priority for the EU’s external human-rights policy, because ‘this is an area where the EU has significant internal as well as external policy competence’ (European Commission 2001b: 17).10 An even more direct way of presenting minority protection as an EU norm is by tacitly equating the external acquis spelled out in the Copenhagen criteria with the internal human-rights commitment of the EU codi-

Minority protection as a condition for membership 193 fied in Article 6 TEU, without noting that minority protection is not included in the latter: Article 49 of the Treaty on European Union states that any European State which respects the principles set out in Article 6(1) of that treaty may apply to become a member of the Union. These principles were laid down by the Copenhagen European Council in June 1993, which stated that membership required that the candidate country had achieved stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law, human rights and respect for and protection of minorities. (Council of the European Union 2000b: 24)11 On some occasions, EU officials even resorted to openly manipulating the formulation of the accession criteria in order to gloss over the tension between the internal and external acquis and link the minority criterion unambiguously to Article 6 TEU in order to fend off accusations of setting double standards: One of the criteria is: ‘the existence of stable institutions, guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law, human rights and respect for and equal rights of all the members of society, in particular of minorities’. Why do we have this criterion, which, I must admit, is contested by some people in applicant countries . . .? It is quite simply because it is a principle that we apply to ourselves. (Dreyer 1998: 20, emphasis omitted) Has this ‘realignment strategy’ been successful? This would only be the case if the minority-protection standard demanded within the enlargement acquis could in fact be subsumed under the established EU norms of nondiscrimination, cultural diversity, and combating racism and xenophobia. This, however, is not the case. That the EU’s internal and external standards are not easily reconciled is apparent if one follows how the EU’s internal development feeds back into the enlargement acquis: instead of evening out discrepancies between internal EU norms and accession criteria, implementation of the Race Equality Directive and adoption of general non-discrimination legislation has simply been included in the Commission assessment reports as a further condition to be met by applicants in addition to special minority rights. A second discursive effect would be the ‘spillover’ of the external minority discourse into the internal arena. Indeed, it could be argued that in this regard ‘the exogenous process brought considerable feedback: over the course of the last decade ‘respect for and protection of minorities’ has become part of regular EU-speak’ (Toggenburg 2004: 7). As a result, the EU’s continued efforts to justify its external promotion of minority protection in the CEECs as being part of the Union’s fundamental values sets

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the agenda for discussions within the EU and empower actors in support of developing an EU minority norm. One example can be seen in the ‘Austrian crisis’ in 2000. The inclusion of an openly xenophobic right-wing party in the Austrian government was claimed to constitute a breach of the norm of respect for and protection of minorities. While the perspective taken in this chapter again does not explain why the sanctions were undertaken,12 it gives important insights into the argumentative context of this claim; similar to the ‘realignment strategy’ within the external discourse, the accusations also linked the supposed EU norm of minority protection directly to the actually established EU policy against racism and xenophobia (Schwellnus 2001). Since this link was already established in the external discourse, it was only logical to apply it in the internal debate as well. However, this argumentative strategy, although initially effective in mobilizing support for taking action against Austria, proved to be problematic when it was transposed into practice. When the ‘three wise men’ were sent to Austria to scrutinize ‘the commitment of the Austrian Government to the common European values, in particular concerning the rights of minorities, refugees and immigrants’ (Ahtisaari et al. 2000: 3), they assessed the legal situation of national minorities in the country and came to the conclusion that its minority-rights system ‘protects the existing national minorities in Austria to a greater extent than such a protection exists in many other European Union countries’ (Ahtisaari et al. 2000: 10). The conclusion that the EU has largely failed in its attempts to reframe arguments in a coherent way without changing either the external promotion of minority rights in the CEECs or the internal EU standard with regard to minorities leads to the question of whether we can detect any policy effects resulting from the persisting incoherence inherent in the EU’s justification. The argument for such effects is that the misfit between the pursued policy and its proposed normative base exerts an adaptational pressure to close the gap between normative aspiration and policy practice.13 As for the moment, the record is mixed at best. On the one hand, it can be argued that the emergence of minority protection as an issue on the internal agenda of the EU has already led to certain institutional and policy results. The Austrian crisis probably played an important part in the rapid adoption of the Race Equality Directive (Guild 2000: 416; Toggenburg 2004: 8), which can be seen as the ‘expression of an increasing “internalisation” of minority protection in the EU-system’ (Toggenburg 2000: 25). Furthermore, the political aim of combating racism has been institutionalized within the EU with the establishment of the European Monitoring Centre on Racism and Xenophobia (EUMC) in Vienna, which reviews the different constitutional, legal, institutional and political measures of EU member states to combat racism and assesses their compatibility to EU legislation such as Article 13 TEC and the Race Equality Directive.

Minority protection as a condition for membership 195 As the latest step in this process, the Constitutional Treaty for the first time incorporates minority protection into the fundamental values of the Union (Article I-2), without, however, following up this commitment with any substantial minority-protection clause except the subsumption under the non-discrimination framework in Article II-82. On the other hand, all attempts to utilize the linkage with existing EU norms to press for the inclusion of special minority rights, e.g. in the Charter of Fundamental Rights, have failed; although NGOs as well as the European Parliament have argued that a separate minority-protection clause beyond non-discrimination was needed to fully implement the EU’s proclaimed value of cultural diversity and to conform to European minority standards, no such clause was included in the Charter (Schwellnus 2001: 7–11). These examples show that the EU’s internal normative evolution to address minority issues, even if it was triggered by the ‘spillover’ of the external minority criterion into the internal political debate, still follows the established path of non-discrimination rather than importing the externally promoted minority-rights standard (Toggenburg 2004: 8). There is, however, a second possible ‘solution’ to reduce this gap between the internal and external minority standards. Instead of ‘upgrading’ the current internal practice to match the externally set standard, the EU could also ‘downgrade’ the externally demanded standard to match the internal practice. This would not only include that the emphasis on minority rights in applicant countries should cease upon accession (De Witte 2000: 21; Sasse 2004: 79), we should also see the EU backing away from minority-related demands even before accession, if they prove to be too incoherent to uphold. For example, the EU has dropped demands that included collective minority rights (Wiener and Schwellnus 2004). This is most obvious in the EU’s promotion of the Council of Europe’s (1993) Recommendation 1201. Although the plan to transpose the recommendation into an additional protocol to the European Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (Council of Europe 1950) failed because of the collective content of the document, so that it was replaced in 1995 by the purely individualist Framework Convention on National Minorities (FCNM) (Council of Europe 1995), the Commission initially upheld both documents as representing the European minority standard; the initial opinions on the candidate countries in 1997 still included references to Recommendation 1201, and the Agenda 2000 explicitly acknowledged that it ‘recommends that collective rights be recognized, while the Framework Convention safeguards the individual rights of persons belonging to minority groups’ (European Commission 1997a: 44). More specifically, the EU pressed for the recognition of Recommendation 1201 by Romania and Slovakia in 1995–6. Although both countries accepted the inclusion of a reference to the document in their bilateral treaties with Hungary (Ram 2001: 72), they rejected the notion of

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collective rights and autonomy and interpreted the provisions in purely individualistic terms. Because this controversial re-interpretation could be justified on the basis of the codified standard as represented by the Framework Convention, it was finally accepted. Conversely, the EU discouraged Hungary to continue advocating collective minority rights for the Hungarian minorities abroad (Bessenyey Williams 2002: 239), and later dropped Recommendation 1201 from the agenda to support only the individualist approach of the FCNM. But even this standard, which was demanded throughout the monitoring phase, was not followed through. Although the situation of minorities has been criticized in several candidate countries, the Commission has judged almost all of them (with the exception of Slovakia until 1998) to fulfil the political criteria, of which the protection of minorities is a part. In the case of Latvia, even the failure to ratify the Framework Convention, which has been continuously presented as the most important document of international minority protection and the centrepiece of the ‘European standard’ in this area, has not met any consequences in the end, although the Commission has gone as far as to ‘urge’ Latvia to ratify it (Hughes and Sasse 2003: 19). Furthermore, the Commission’s final reports on the applicants that were admitted to the Union in May 2004 dropped the political criteria altogether, so that minority questions were only addressed in terms of transposing the EU’s anti-discrimination acquis into domestic legislation. By contrast, the assessment of the political criteria including minority protection was upheld in the reports issued at the same date for the candidates that were not included in the 2004 enlargement round, i.e. Romania, Bulgaria and Turkey. So, while there are indications that the condition of special minority rights is ‘phased out’ upon accession, the contradiction between the internal and external standards will remain. If it has to be concluded that the EU will not monitor minority protection after accession in the same way as during the enlargement process, possible effects on the applicant countries have to be addressed. Following Franck’s (1990) claim that legitimate rules exert a strong ‘compliance pull’, the negative impact that an incoherent application of conditions has on the legitimacy of EU conditionality has so far mostly been scrutinized with regard to its direct effect on compliance by the ‘norm-takers’ (e.g. Checkel 2000; Schimmelfennig 2002). Research in this direction has established quite conclusively that in the enlargement context, double standards do not significantly inhibit, let alone prevent compliance by accession candidates (Kelley 2004; Schimmelfennig et al. 2003). However, there may be long-term effects on the minority protection systems in the applicant countries after accession, and despite the fact that EU conditions have been largely fulfilled (Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2004: 675). Again, the signals are mixed. On the one hand, there are encouraging signs that the EU system is, if not supportive, at least permissive for farreaching national minority protection. For example, the European Court

Minority protection as a condition for membership 197 of Justice (ECJ) has not curtailed rules concerning the autonomy status of South Tyrol as a violation of EU non-discrimination rules (Streinz 1996: 28), but acknowledged that ‘the protection of . . . a minority may constitute a legitimate aim’ of national policy and therefore does not in itself contradict the non-discrimination principle.14 On the other hand, however, the ECJ rejected the restriction of minority rights to (national) citizens unless protective measures would be ‘undermined if the rules in issue were extended to cover . . . nationals of other Member States exercising their right to freedom of movement’.15 It follows that EU anti-discrimination rules may well contradict and in fact overrule the established European minority-rights standard that was promoted in the enlargement context, which views minority rights as citizens’ rights (Thiele 1999). It remains to be seen how the CEECs – especially those that have showed considerable reluctance to implement minority rights at all – will react to claims for the extension of minority rights to immigrants from other EU member states.

Conclusion This chapter utilized the distinction into utility-, value- and rights-based arguments to analyse the EU’s justification of setting minority protection as a membership condition for accession candidates. As the analysis shows, the EU had to justify an external policy that was initially adopted for instrumental, security-related reasons and therefore pursued in spite of a lacking internal standard. This led to serious problems with providing justifications for the policy – all the more so, because the EU has increasingly become entangled in a highly problematic identity discourse. The Union presents itself as a value-based community, with one of these values being respect for and protection of minorities. The shift from utility-based arguments regarding security and stability in the region towards a valuebased argumentation presenting minority protection as a European standard revealed the gap between the EU’s normative aspirations and its policy practice. What does this tell us with regard to the current nature and future development of the EU polity? The answer to this question is highly ambiguous. On the one hand, the setting of double standards is not consistent with the idea of a value- or rights-based Union, and the motivation for the EU’s proactive external policy in the field of minority protection seems to follow an instrumental problem-solving rationale, not a principled concern for minority rights themselves. On the other hand, the analysis of the arguments put forward to justify the policy reveals the strong normative aspiration to be a community of values and a rights-based Union. Were the self-image of the Union one of a purely problem-solving entity, we would see neither such a strong emphasis on value-based arguments, nor would double standards cause much concern. While the mere existence of normative rhetoric could be dismissed as yet another example

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of ‘organized hypocrisy’ (Krasner 1999) without any significant consequences, the analysis of the discursive and policy effects of the EU’s justifications suggests that it has an impact, at least in an agenda-setting sense: ‘Once the European Union has let the devil escape from the bottle, through its activist minority policy towards the CEECs, it may be difficult to put it back in after accession’ (De Witte 2000: 22). However, the feedback effects of normative justifications are not as straightforward as hypotheses about ‘rhetorical entrapment’ might suggest. The normative pressure exerted by the value-based external justification of minority rights did not directly induce the development of a similar standard within the EU. Instead, it triggered a development within the existing path of non-discrimination, thereby leading to a gap between the conceptual approaches to minority protection taken in both contexts. As shown by the unsuccessful ‘realignment strategy’ – i.e. the EU’s effort to link external policy justification back to internally established norms – this gap cannot easily be closed, but is likely to lead to enduring conceptual tensions and unintended long-term consequences that become salient after the applicants become full members of the Union.16 An enduring contestedness of minority protection within the EU is therefore to be expected (Wiener 2004: 205), and the political results may even be detrimental to the consolidation of the – still rather fragile – European standard on special minority rights, if the EU’s constitutional ambitions lead to an increased emphasis of its own set of rules based on fundamental rights and specifically the non-discrimination principle, under which the protection of minorities is subsumed.

Acknowledgements I would like to thank Marika Lerch, Helene Sjursen and Antje Wiener for their helpful comments on previous versions of this chapter. The responsibility for this version is, of course, mine.

Notes 1 Directives 2000/78/EC, OJ 2000 L303: 16–22 and 2000/43/EC, OJ 2000 L180: 22–26, respectively. 2 Additionally, minority issues are addressed via two other, far less institutionalized norms: First, the EU is officially committed ‘to respect and to promote the diversity of its cultures’ (Article 151 TEC; cf. Article 22 Charter of Fundamental Rights and Article II-82 Constitutional Treaty). Second, the Union has started several policy initiatives to combat racism and xenophobia. For a discussion, see Schwellnus (2001). 3 Examples for the rapid development of minority protection norms in the first half of the 1990s are the UN Declaration of Rights of Persons Belonging to National or Ethnic, Religious and Linguistic Minorities (1992), the CSCE Copenhagen Document (1990), the Council of Europe’s Charter for Regional and Minority Languages (1992), the CE Parliamentary Assembly’s Recommendation 1201

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4

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6 7

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(1993) and the Framework Convention on the Protection of National Minorities (1995). Security is also the rationale behind the approach to minority protection taken by the OSCE High Commissioner on National Minorities (established in 1992), which aims at conflict prevention in specific cases rather than monitoring the implementation of rights in general (Kymlicka 2001). There is, of course, a certain overlap between value- and rights-based arguments in the case of EU human- and minority-rights policy, because observing universal human rights can be argued to be part of the EU’s community identity (Lerch 2003). It seems, however, plausible to distinguish between arguments that explicitly stress the ‘European’ character of the promoted rights and arguments that resort to general human-rights standards. While these particular norms may be different from universal rights, they need not be explicitly set against them, as some strands of social identity theory might claim. This security-based argumentation is in itself not unproblematic, given ethnic tensions in Western Europe, e.g. in Northern Ireland or the Basque country. Western governments have sought to deflect this counter-argument either by denying that Western separatist movements present a threat to international peace and stability (Kymlicka 2001: 374), or by distinguishing minority issues from terrorist activities and excluding the latter from being a concern for international minority protection instruments – see e.g. the UK’s insistence on excluding terrorism from the mandate of the OSCE High Commissioner on National Minorities in order to prevent his becoming involved in the Northern Ireland conflict (Brett 1993: 158). The Communication from the Commission on Conflict Prevention also lists ‘oppression of the rights of minorities’ among the major causes of conflict (European Commission 2001a: 5). Answer given by Viviane Reading, European Commissioner, on behalf of the Commission (15 May 2001) in reply to Written Question E-0620/01, by Nelly Maes, MEP (Verts/ALE), to the Commission, 1 March 2001 oj 2001 C261E: 162. Until 1997, in the Agenda 2000 and the Commission opinions on the accession candidates, the EU also referred to Recommendation 1201, which includes some collective provisions going beyond the individual minority protection clauses of the Framework Convention, as an important Council of Europe document (European Commission 1997a: 44). Among the old member states, the Framework Convention has been signed, but not yet ratified by Belgium, Greece and Luxembourg; France has not even signed it. Cf. http://www.coe.int/t/e/human_rights/minorities (accessed 21 April 2006). It is important to note that this European standard is not necessarily ‘stronger’ than the UN provisions (so that referring to these documents may not so much be a matter of community values than an attempt to achieve the highest possible standard of rights), but that it rests on conceptual differences, e.g. by focusing on persons belonging to national minorities, which are citizens of their state of residence (cf. Thiele 1999). Cf. also the statement by Romano Prodi that ‘the European Union is based on the unchanging, fundamental values of democracy, respect for human rights, the protection of minorities and the rule of law’ (Prodi 2002). As the argumentative backing for this claim, the communication cites Article 13 TEC and the Race Equality Directive as well as the Charter of Fundamental Rights’ provisions on equality before the law (Article 20), non-discrimination (Article 21) and cultural diversity (Article 22). Cf. also the references in the EU Annual Report on Human Rights 2002 (Council of the European Union 2002: 116f). See also Council of the European Union (1999: 6) and European Commission (1999: 11).

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12 Merlingen et al. (2001) argue that purely domestic interests on the part of the most proactive actors (French president Chirac and Belgian premier Verhofstadt) were the main driving force. 13 This argument is similar to the position put forward in many studies of ‘Europeanization’, which argue that a misfit between EU and member-state rules leads to adaptational pressure at the domestic level; cf. e.g. Cowles et al. (2001). 14 ECJ Case C-274/96 Bickel/Franz [1998] ECR I-7637: para. 12. Other minorityrelated cases include Case C-379/87 Groener [1989] ECR 3967 and Case C-281/98 Angonese [2000] ECR I-4139. Cf. also De Witte (1999). 15 ECJ Case Bickel/Franz, supra, note 14: para. 29. In this case, the court saw no undermining effects when the right in question – that a trial against a Germanspeaker is to be held in German language upon request – was also granted to other German-speaking EU nationals and therefore ruled against the Italian government, which had argued that the measures were designed to protect the German minority and for that reason only to be applied to German-speaking Italian citizens. 16 This effect of a path-dependent development resulting in unintended consequences is very much in line with the expectations of historical institutionalism (Pierson 1996; Wiener 2001).

Conclusion

11 The European Union between values and rights Helene Sjursen

In this book we have discussed what kind of understanding of the EU enlargement speaks to. Our starting assumption was that the issue of membership and how it has been dealt with provides a particularly useful intake to understand the nature of a polity such as the EU. This is so because in order for an organization to find criteria for inclusion (as well as exclusion) of members some idea of its fundamental purposes would be required. New applications for membership, the prospect of enlargement, inevitably raise questions such as who the Europeans are and what kind of values characterize Europe. We identified three ideal types depicting the EU according to integrationist modes – economic, cultural and political, and modes of rationality – instrumental, contextual and communicative, and have assessed their salience with regard to enlargement. Even if these types draw on existing notions of European integration, they disentangle different aspects of the polity, approach them from a more abstract and principled perspective and make it an empirical question which of them is most viable. Consequently, we suggested that the EU may be conceived of as a problemsolving entity whose main purpose would be to promote and protect the interests of the member states; a value-based community where a common identity would be sought through the revitalization of the traditions, mores and memories of whatever common European values and affiliations there are; or a rights-based post-national union resting on universal rights and democratic procedures. The following main question was raised in the introduction: why has the EU – with the exception of the response to the British candidature in the early 1960s – systematically decided in favour of enlargement? It is quite clear that enlargement entails risks for the delicately balanced European construction. A number of – competing – interests and values are challenged, and the internal cohesion in all spheres of the Union may be jeopardized. Nevertheless the EU has already enlarged its membership five times,1 and in the latest round with as many as ten new states. We hold that the understanding of this puzzle of enlargement tells us something about the nature of the EU. Further, we have asked how and in what way

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decisions to enlarge have been implemented, with a particular eye to the issue of consistency. If for example the emphasis put on the political criteria, which speak to the conception of the EU as a rights-based union, has not been consistent, this might point us in the direction of the conception of the EU as a problem-solving entity. Answers to the above questions have been sought through analyses of cases that we would intuitively assume could be accounted for through a rational-choice perspective, or through the concept of rhetorical entrapment (Schimmelfennig 2001). The selection of cases was thus guided by the aim of making analytical or theoretical generalizations, where these cases, although not based on the same methodology, are supposed to tell us something about the utility of the approach chosen. We did not claim to be able to make broad empirical generalizations through the analysis of these cases, however, we have sought to identify a central theme in the study of the EU, that it is governed by ideal factors and not only interest calculations, and ultimately to draw some conclusions about the nature of the EU.

Beyond problem-solving? As noted in the introductory chapter, the predominant view in the existing literature on enlargement is that it is difficult to explain the EU’s decision to enlarge to Central and Eastern Europe as the exclusive outcome of a process of rational utility calculations. The findings in this book point in the same direction. In fact, we have found that this so-called ‘puzzle’ of enlargement is reflected also at the level of individual member states. We have examined the roles of two of the so-called ‘drivers’ in the enlargement process, Germany and Denmark, which are states that are usually considered to have had particular self-interests in enlargement, and to have used normative arguments strategically, in order to shame more reluctant states into complying with their own preferences. Furthermore, we looked at the perceived ‘laggards’, Spain and France, considering in particular to what extent they were ‘entrapped’ by the moral arguments of the enlargement ‘drivers’ and only accepted enlargement due to the social costs of non-compliance. Contrary to what is commonly argued it has been difficult to find documentation suggesting that arguments and reasons pertaining to its ‘utility’ were what mobilized Germany and Denmark to be strong supporters of enlargement. This does not mean that such considerations played no part in their decision. As Marcin Zaborowski notes in Chapter 6, material factors in Germany’s support for enlargement are fairly self-evident. There were expectations that an Eastern enlargement would increase Germany’s weight in the global economy due to the importance of German trade with the applicant states in Central and Eastern Europe. Further, there were also expectations that enlargement would contribute to expand the German cultural sphere as well as enhance its security by

The European Union between values and rights 205 ending its status as an exposed borderland and by stabilizing its immediate neighbourhood. Such prospects contribute to explain the initially supportive German position. However, they do not, according to Zaborowski, provide a sufficient explanation. With regard to another important promoter of enlargement – Denmark – arguments and reasons pertaining to expected utility are more difficult to find. As noted by Marianne Riddervold and Helene Sjursen in Chapter 5, there was no effort made to establish concrete knowledge of the impact of enlargement on the Danish economy until well after the EU had committed itself to enlargement. To the extent that material considerations were discussed, the expectation was that enlargement would entail a cost for Denmark. However, rather than being presented as an argument against enlargement, its expected cost was considered justifiable and acceptable. As a key Danish politician put it: ‘The effort for peace has its price, which the rich countries in Western Europe must be willing to pay’ (see p. 89). Similar arguments emerged in Germany in the late 1990s when the cost of enlargement came more sharply into focus. Rather than change the fundamentals of Germany’s position the arguments were modified to focus on the idea that enlargement was worthwhile pursuing in spite of the cost. Overall our findings suggest that normative arguments were not simply ‘used’ by the promoters of enlargement as strategic instruments to shame more reluctant member states into agreement. Rather, they had a genuine resonance in the respective national political communities. Thus, a more nuanced picture of the position of two of the strongest supporters of Eastern enlargement emerges. In the case of Denmark, the support appears to have been established on the basis of a sense of solidarity towards the applicants in CEE. Enlargement was not a contested issue in Danish politics. It was the subject of a value consensus and perceived as an act of duty. In the case of Germany, the traditional emphasis on multilateral solutions, as well as the emphasis on reconciliation, were important factors. As Zaborowski notes, this does not amount to ‘idealism’ in the sense of a ‘selfless’ sacrifice of German preferences. Rather, in line with the conceptual scheme of this book, it points to a value-based approach, according to which attachment both to the idea of reconciliation and to multilateralism may be seen to grow out of a particular, German, conception of what is the best solution not only for Germany but also for Europe as a whole. It is, however, with regard to the so-called enlargement ‘laggards’, that the ‘puzzle’ of enlargement is particularly pertinent. Why did these states, who were expected to pay the highest price for enlargement, and who considered that they had little to gain and more to lose from enlargement, still agree to it? And what might this tell us about the nature of the EU? Spain is generally considered to have been at the losing end of enlargement. Nevertheless, as Sonia Piedrafita underlines in Chapter 3, Spanish authorities never threatened to veto the enlargement to CEE even though,

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formally, they could. Likewise, France is usually considered to have been against enlarging, in its case due to the expectation that the Eastern enlargement would change the political balance inside the EU in Germany’s favour. However, as there is little empirical evidence to support this claim it appears to rest on the implicit assumption that actors seek to maximize utility. In the case of both France and Spain, the idea that they committed themselves to enlargement only because they were ‘forced’ to do so out of a concern for their reputation and due to the ‘social cost’ of refusing, is challenged by the findings presented in this book. In both countries enlargement appears as important in and of itself. As French Foreign Minister Hervé de Charette put it; a refusal simply could not be justified (see pp. 151–2): For the first time in the history of our continent we face the opportunity to ensure, in a peaceful way, the unity of Europe. In whose name could we refuse this fundamental step? It is also, as you well know, the fundamental aspiration of these peoples – most of whom have been living under foreign rule for the last 50 years, and nearly all of whom have been subjected to an ideology that has ruined them – they aspire only to one thing: to sit down at our table and share our prosperity and democratic rule; in whose name, in the name of what egoism, in the name of what blindness could we refuse their aspiration, which is also in our interest? And, according to Spanish Foreign Minister Josep Piqué: ‘We regarded Europe as the way to consolidate our democracy and advance in structural reforms . . . a country with this perspective cannot deny the same prospect to the current candidates’ (see p. 56). The detailed analyses of the perspectives of these four member states on enlargement to CEE suggest that they considered the EU to be ‘more’ than what is captured by the conception of a problem-solving entity, where states only remain members due to the expectation that this will more effectively protect their interest than if they stayed outside. If the EU had been considered to be a problem-solving entity, with states pooling their sovereignty only because of its (potential) utility, either in terms of economic, security or political gains, it is less likely that the member states would act in accordance with common norms at the expense of their interests, and what is more, that they would justify their actions in front of a sceptical domestic public opinion with reference to such norms, as was the case for example in France. Is this idea that the EU is about something ‘more’ than problem-solving a particular feature of the post-Maastricht period, when the political dimensions to integration became more visible in its institutional structure and common policies? Or is there something particular about the membership applications from the CEECs that triggered other considerations than

The European Union between values and rights 207 pure utility? The case study on Greece suggests that the conception of the EU as more than problem-solving is not new and that the response to the CEE applications is not unique. In Chapter 2 (p. 30), Susannah Verney finds that: The economic arguments in favour of Greek accession were peripheral, weak and nebulous. They certainly did not add up to a strong case in favour of admitting Greece. The discourse around the second enlargement clearly did not speak to an image of the European Community as primarily a Common Market. Incidentally, certain other permanent features of enlargement emerge through the analysis of Greece’s road to membership. They further reinforce the idea that speaking of the European integration process as one that started out due to instrumental problem-solving, with a focus only on maximizing interests or preferences, does not tell the whole story. Rather, the EU appears to have been ‘beyond’ problem-solving from the outset. First, and most important, is the agonizing over the implications of enlargement for the future of the evolving European construction. The concern that widening might lead to the end of deepening, which is expressed in all enlargements, points to the idea of the EU as a political entity with a much broader raison d’être than what is entailed in the problem-solving conception. Second, the role of the supranational institutions, the Commission and the Parliament, although they have not been particularly in focus in this book, emerges as important in shaping the consensus on enlargement already in the 1970s. Their influence, in particular that of the European Commission, is also well documented in the case of the East European enlargement (Smith 2004). Again, this underlines the limits to a problem-solving conception of the EU. However, our findings do not all point beyond problem-solving. First, in Chapter 10, Guido Schwellnus highlighted the existence of double standards with regard to the EU’s handling of the issue of minority protection. In his view the EU’s focus on the rights of minorities in the applicant states reflects pragmatic concerns for internal and external stability rather than a principled concern for minority rights as such. The EU itself does not live up to the standards with regard to minority rights that it has required applicant states to respect. Thus, Schwellnus argues, there is a gap between the EU’s normative aspirations and its policy practice. Although a certain ‘realignment’ between internal and external standards has taken place, this has in his view not entirely solved the problem of double standards. This points to the EU as a problem-solving entity. Second, while the positions of the selected cases of the old 15 member states on the issue of enlargement point to a conception of the EU as something more than a problem-solving entity, we have found that this is not necessarily so with regard to the new member states. Shifting the

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methodological focus to an analysis of the substantive content of political debates rather than analysing policy-making from the conceptual approach outlined in the introduction to this volume, Petr Drulák in Chapter 9 examined the conception of the state, the nation and Europe in Czech and Slovak discourses. He found that, in both countries, the conception of the EU as a problem-solving entity has a strong resonance. How might this impact on future developments within the EU? This will depend not only, as Drulák considers, on how deeply sedimented this conception is in the new member states, but also, amongst other things, on the nature of relations within the EU – and the potential that its institutional structures create for learning, adaptation or change of standpoints.

Accounting for the importance of norms in governing the EU While the conception of the EU as a problem-solving entity may be accounted for in theoretical terms with the help of a rational-choice approach, it is more difficult to account for a move beyond problemsolving if we rely exclusively on such theoretical tools. How, then, can we account for this? How can we account for the findings that suggest member states did not consider it proper to refuse enlargement either to Greece, or to the former communist states in Central and Eastern Europe, i.e. that norms are binding and make a difference when policy choices are made? Furthermore, if the EU is more than a problem-solving entity, how can this ‘more’ be conceptualized? In the introduction to this volume we pointed to the concept of communicative rationality, which conceives of social interaction as norm guided as well as reflexive. This suggests that actors are not only capable of critically reflecting on their own interests, preferences and understandings of reality, but also of engaging with other actors in a process of argumentation, providing reasons for their position with reference to intersubjectively valid norms. Further, it suggests that they are open to revise or reconsider their position in the face of better arguments. Depending on the actors’ rational assessment of their validity and legitimacy, some norms will be adhered to and others not. Without this competence of norm-following behaviour, collective norms will not be produced in the first place. Neither will they be adhered to and reproduced in concrete situations such as enlargement. Hence, on this theoretical basis it is possible to account for the findings that norms may coordinate action. Further, we pointed to an analytical distinction between the EU conceived of respectively as a post-national rights-based union and a valuebased community resting on a common identity, corresponding to moral and ethical-political arguments. While ethical-political arguments and the concept of values are connected to the characteristics of a specific community and to the identity of the members of that community, ‘under-

The European Union between values and rights 209 stood as collective representations of the good that vary according to cultural and social context’ (Habermas 1996: 259), moral norms or rights – referring to justice – are universal in the sense that they can be generalized and accepted by all, independently of identities and belongings (Eriksen and Weigård 1997; Habermas 1996). The distinction is important not only because it allows us to highlight that some norms can be universally shared whereas this is not necessarily the case with all norms. More concretely, we suspected that abstract – moral – principles might not on their own be sufficient to mobilize support for a costly enlargement. This was already substantiated by previous studies suggesting that the arguments that mobilized the EU to enlarge to CEE were linked to a sense of kinship between the EU-15 and these applicants (Sjursen 2002). Hence, in terms of accounting for the specific cases studied here, we expected the distinction to be particularly useful. Different categories of norms might have different functions in the enlargement process. Further, universalist, moral, arguments by definition do not contain any elements allowing the EU to distinguish between different applicants for membership, beyond their respect, or lack of such, for basic rights. Thus, we considered it important also for this reason to investigate if other factors or elements were relied upon in addition to, or instead of, moral arguments. Finally, as noted in the introductory chapter, it goes without saying that both elements are present in modern, democratic, nation states, although their weaving together varies. In order to achieve a clearer picture of the EU qua polity, understanding the particular blend in the case of the EU was considered valuable. We return to this later. Based on this approach, a theoretical account of how it can be that the duty to enlarge was not, in the cases studied here, pursued only because it would cost something in social terms not to do so (i.e. as a result of a form of rhetorical entrapment), or because it corresponded to particular interests (Grabbe and Hughes 1998; Schimmelfennig 2001; Sedelmeier 2000a) is possible. It allows for a better understanding of how it can be that enlargement was ‘an end in itself’. It might be added that, even if enlargement had come about as a result of a form of ‘hypocrisy’, where some states would have used normative arguments regarding the duty to enlarge in order to ensure an outcome in line with their own interest, these actors would not succeed unless the norms that they appealed to were considered valid, true or right in the first place. The mechanism of shaming or rhetorical entrapment will not work without this. Thus, even such an account of enlargement actually needs a concept of communicative rationality as the norms themselves must be held legitimate before they can be used manipulatively: ‘Strategic rationality presupposes communicative rationality’ (Eriksen 2000: 48). However, this approach is useful not only when it comes to accounting for the position of individual member states with regard to the decision to enlarge. It also helps explain the EU’s ‘realignment strategy’ with regard

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to the issue of minority rights. As Schwellnus points out, the fact that the EU did not live up to the standards with regard to minority rights that it actually required applicant states to respect led to pressures and a certain realignment in order to ensure consistency. That living by double standards is a problem for the EU is also underlined elsewhere. Wojciech Sadurski (2004: 67) observes, with reference to the EU’s use of political conditionality in the context of enlargement, that ‘this contrast between “external” and “internal” standards became, in the long run, untenable’. In light of the perspective adopted in this book, the requirement of consistency that the EU as a whole, as well as individual member states, face is the result of the existence of ‘deliberative sites for reason-giving and reciprocal justification’ (Eriksen et al. 2005: 238). This does not presume anything with regard to the motives of the different actors in pursuing such a realignment. Thus it may very well be as Schwellnus assumes – that the EU’s focus on minorities reflects pragmatic concerns for internal and external stability rather than a principled concern for minority rights as such. But how can we know that this is so? In fact, this perspective allows us to see the findings in Chapter 9 in a different light. This is so because while the existence of double standards as it is argued would be consistent with a problem-solving entity, the difficulty that the EU experienced in terms of living with them does suggest, in line with findings in other chapters, that there is more to the EU. What, then can we make of this? If the EU is more than problemsolving, does this mean that it comes closer to a value-based community or to a rights-based post-national union?

Values or rights? The evidence of a sense of ‘thick’ collective identity, as one would expect in the value-based conception, is scarce. Does this mean that the conception of the EU as a rights-based post-national union is the one that is most salient? Moral arguments, the importance of respect for democratic principles, and human rights played an important role in enlargement even as early as during the debate in the 1970s on Greece’s accession. In fact, Verney finds that once the issue of Greek accession had been turned into a question of democracy, rejecting its membership for economic or administrative reasons would have meant a major loss of Community credibility and legitimacy. Emphasizing the link between respect for democratic principles and enlargement was particularly important for the EC at that time as it was trying to send a clear signal to Spain and Portugal about the potential rewards of pursuing a parliamentary pluralist path. The emphasis on universal principles is also evident in Gamze Avcı’s analysis of Turkish reforms in the context of enlargement in Chapter 4. She finds that the EU has been a crucial catalyst for improving the humanrights record in Turkey – describing developments in recent years as an

The European Union between values and rights 211 unprecedented ‘political avalanche’ of democratization. In her view the changes have been possible due to the EU-related reform process, which has altered political bargaining positions, redefined interests and allowed for difficult political decisions to be made. She links the acceptance of reforms across party lines to the way in which they were justified – to their appeal to universality. Reforms were justified with arguments based on the idea that they represented the ‘right thing to do’ rather than on the basis of identity-related arguments of ‘who we are’ as Turks, or pragmatic considerations of what Turkey might gain from enlargement. Although it may be argued that reforms were in the interest of the ruling AKP, the interests were ultimately generalizable, which, according to Avcı, explains their acceptance across party lines. Is this emphasis on universal principles then all there is? While, as noted, there is scarce evidence of a sense of ‘thick’ collective identity reflecting, for example, religious, ethnic or linguistic commonalities, the findings in several of the chapters point to a, sometimes tacit, at other times more explicit, sense of ‘Europe’ (or the EU) as something distinctive. This sense of distinctiveness emerges in references made by representatives of EU institutions as well as of member states. Referring to various aspects of Europe’s distant as well as immediate past, they allude to a common European heritage. With regard to enlargement to CEE, the systematic references to the ‘artificial’ division of Europe imposed as a result of the Cold War are particularly striking. Enlargement was repeatedly and consistently described as an opportunity to once and for all overcome this ‘unnatural’ division. As also becomes clear in various chapters in this book, the process was considered one of re-uniting Europe, rather than ‘only’ uniting it. This is so even though it is debatable to what extent and in what sense Europe was ‘united’ prior to the Cold War. A typical example is the following statement by Spanish Prime Minister González, referred to by Piedrafita on p. 56: In the horizon of the coming new century, enlargement of the Union to the Eastern and Central [European] countries . . . will become true. Europe will be reconciled with her own history and this great reunification will become a factor of security and stability for the whole continent. The challenge is moral, historical, and geopolitical, more than economic or financial. There are also systematic references to the importance of peace, security and stability in the context of Eastern enlargement. Clearly, security arguments may be interpreted as indicators of interest-based rather than ethical-political or moral justifications of enlargement. However, such arguments take the shape of concerns for the security of Europe as a whole, and not for the security of particular states or of the EU exclusively. Further, the desire for ‘security’ is linked to ‘peace’ and ‘stability’

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and articulated as a common good that addresses all of Europe. Hence, as argued by Danish Foreign Minister Petersen: ‘The historic task of our generation will be to extend the existing zone of stability to the rest of Europe. It will not be easy. But History will not forgive us if we fail’ (see p. 97). It would seem that these references have a particular meaning in the European context. They are implicitly, or sometimes explicitly, linked to a collective experience of intra-European war. Thus, it is a matter of Europe being threatened by itself, and of Europe overcoming its own past, and not a matter of Europe being threatened by actors or factors outside of itself as the expectation would be from a Realist perspective. At the level of individual member states a particular ‘national flavour’ is added to the arguments outlined above. With regard to France for example, in addition to the emphasis on the historic dimensions to enlargement, there is a strong accent on the legal commitment to enlarge, as this is enshrined in the Treaty of Rome. Furthermore, a core characteristic of the French position is the emphasis on ‘political Europe’ as opposed to a mere common European market or free trade area. The intrinsic value of the EU is linked to this ‘political Europe’, which gives it its distinctiveness. Hence, as argued in Chapter 8, French policymakers speak not only of a duty to enlarge but of a duty to ensure that the enlarged Europe – for the good of all – remains a political Europe: ‘France wants them to join not only a single market, but first of all a political union.’ And, ‘we will trade with everyone, but discuss politics and social issues only with some’ (see p. 157). German policymakers, as already noted, add to the overall argument of reuniting Europe with the emphasis on multilateralism and the need for reconciliation. Furthermore, while recognizing the need to enlarge to the entire group of CEECs, member states appear to have particular attachments to particular states. This may be linked to a stronger sense of kinship with regard to these states. It emerges particularly clearly from the analysis of Denmark’s position on enlargement. This country’s emphasis on the importance of ensuring that the Baltic states were treated on an equal footing with the Central and East European applicants may best be understood as due to a particular sense of commonality with these states. In the case of enlargement to Greece, references to the particularities of what might be conceived of as Europe’s collective past were also crucial. This emerges for example through the following quote from Chapter 2, by Commissioner Soames (see p. 34): Twelve years ago we had high hopes that here was a European country – indeed, the fount of our ideals of democratic liberty – which would in due course join us as a full member . . . We still continue to hope [for] the day when Greece becomes once again what she was, and when we can develop to the full our relationship with her as a European democracy among European democracies, a country which we can eventually, in happier circumstances, welcome into our Community itself.

The European Union between values and rights 213 However, as noted in the introductory chapter, such allusions to a common European heritage are difficult to find when enlargement to Turkey is discussed. Does this mean that a thicker sense of identity, perhaps based on religion, is after all at play? In Chapter 7 Åsa Lundgren alludes to the possibility that what she defines as a lack of support for the Turkish candidature is due to the absence of a sense of cultural closeness. However, the apparent difference in treatment of Turkey and the Central and East European countries – the story of Turkey’s long road towards membership negotiations – may quite simply be explained by Turkey’s poor record regarding respect for human rights and basic democratic principles. What is more, the decision to open negotiations with Turkey in October 2005, testifies to the fact that attempts to bind the EU to a ‘thick’ identity have not been considered acceptable. In a manner similar to that observed with regard to the Greek accession, once enlargement has become linked to prospects of successful democratization, it severely limits the scope for states willing to break ranks and reject candidate states. What remains, however, is that when the commitment to enlarge to Turkey is justified this is done with reference to things other than the need to reach out to another member of the ‘European family’. Consequently, if we are to look for the arguments and reasons that may have mobilized the EU to accept enlargement, there is a difference between the CEEC and Turkey (Sjursen 2002). With regard to the latter, we must look to security arguments and strategic considerations. As suggested earlier, universal principles have acted mainly as a constraint rather than a positive motivation for action. What does this amount to? The EU is an entity that commits itself to the principles of modern constitutional democracies yet what emerges here is that it has something in addition to the commitment to these principles. This does not amount to a collective identity of the kind that we assume exists in a nation state, or indeed that would fit with the conception of the EU as a value-based community. However, it does point to a certain common value-basis, a sense of collective ‘us’ that encompasses the rest of Europe but not the rest of the world. Certain ‘supplements of particularity’ (Müller 2006) emerge in the arguments over enlargement that are balanced by the strong emphasis on universal principles. A certain sense of Europe This ‘in between-ness’ appears to fit with the concept of constitutional patriotism, where there is ‘a distinctive interpretation of those constitutional principles that are equally embodied in other republican constitutions – such as popular sovereignty and human rights’, and where these principles are interpreted in light of the polity’s own ethical-political history (Habermas 1998: 118). The concept of constitutional patriotism has often been interpreted as a concept that, due to its universalist morality,

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does not capture the elements of particularity that are required in order for it to trigger a sense of loyalty and allegiance amongst its citizens. As Müller (2006: 11) highlights, ‘why should those supporting universalist moral norms not give their loyalty to polities which realize them in a fuller sense or a more coherent fashion? Constitutional patriotism, at first sight at least, seems to beg this question’. Nevertheless, this is a misconception. In fact, ‘political agency, as envisaged by the proponents of constitutional patriotism, has been conceived as animated by a set of universalist norms, but enriched and strengthened by particular experiences and concerns’ (Müller 2006: 2). This co-existence of adherence to a universalist core and references to particular historical circumstances that rooted them in a practice – a lifeworld, which imprinted them with values and affection, appears similar to what we have found through the analysis of the EU’s enlargement policy. In turn this suggests that, contrary to what is generally assumed, there may be a certain basis on which a form of political attachment and loyalty may be built at the European level. Rather than a given culturalist substrate that ‘existed’ and was acknowledged prior to the integration process, it would seem that this sense of ‘Europeanness’ has gradually emerged, amongst other things through debates connected to the possibility of enlargement. Further, it has been defined and redefined as new applicants have knocked on the EU’s door. Consequently, as we assumed at the outset of this book, the prospects of enlargement have been an important factor in shaping the idea of what the Community, and later the Union, is or should be. They have been important factors in the process of constructing a ‘common Europe’. The democratic criterion for membership was first projected onto the European stage with the European Parliament’s Birkelback report of the early 1960s. Until then, the explicit normative reference had been to ‘peace’, whereas democracy had not been problematized. During enlargement to Greece, and later to Spain and Portugal, the importance of democracy was fortified. Further, with regard to the enlargement to Central and Eastern Europe 23 years later, an important argument in favour of enlargement to Greece was, as we have seen, about bringing Greece ‘back to Europe’. However, the way in which the many arguments about Greece’s and the CEECs’ European nature were presented suggest that enlargement was as much a matter of consolidating the Community’s and the Union’s own nature. Thus, debates on accession have played directly into debates within the EC/EU and become an intrinsic part of it. Ultimately, enlargement not only reinforces the applicants’ European nature but also the Union’s own ‘Europeanness’. Rather than being deliberately articulated (Delanty 2005: 131) a European self-understanding emerges, amongst other processes, through the arguments presented for enlargement.

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Enlargement and the future of integration With regards to the traditional concern that widening might threaten further deepening, the findings of this book do not give unequivocal answers. On the one hand, the do suggest that it is not necessarily the case that enlargement threatens further deepening. It may instead offer the opportunity to refocus the integration process, or further clarify its purpose and raison d’être. In so far as enlargement has been mobilized due to the existence of a sense of normative commitment, in turn this commitment may provide a basis for future integrative steps. Furthermore, with regard to new member states and their perspectives on the nature of the EU, it is not only that their understanding of the EU may change due to the exchange of arguments and perspectives taking place within the Union. By claiming their ‘right’ to membership in the EU, they have appealed to the very norms that make the EU something more than a problem-solving entity. And by arguing for a ‘fair deal’ in the accession negotiations, they have in fact subscribed to norms and principles that they may in turn be expected to respect also when this is not in their own interest. On the other hand, however, it may be that the universalist dimension ‘strikes back’, so to say, and makes it difficult for the EU to draw a line where enlargement should end. As noted, once enlargement has become linked to prospects of successful democratization, it severely limits the scope for states willing to break ranks and reject new candidates for membership. As the pressure to enlarge to even more states is likely to continue in the future, on what basis can the EU legitimately refuse, as long as the applicants adhere to the universalist core of constitutional patriotism? There is then a risk that although what we may observe through enlargement so far is a gradual process of defining and redefining the particularities of Europe, the universalist core will ultimately force out these particularities. If this is so, the EU might, in the very long-run be faced with a situation where its potential for commanding loyalty or establishing the kind of solidarity that is necessary in order to provide a basis for collective action, may dissolve. The success of EU enlargement, which is linked precisely to democratic transition, may then ultimately threaten the EU’s further integration. In order to solve this challenge the debate on borders would need to be uplifted to the global level, in which, according to a cosmopolitan logic, they would be drawn based on the ability of other regional entities to function properly, and with the aim of avoiding a system of domination of one single (regional) entity.

Note 1 In addition to these five enlargements, the EU also incorporated the former German Democratic Republic in 1990 following the reunification of Germany.

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Index

Agenda 2000 52, 111, 127, 195 agricultural policies 52, 58; see also Common Agricultural Policy agricultural production: Greece 22–3, 30; Romania/Turkey 130; see also Common Agricultural Policy AKP (Justice and Development Party), Turkey 62–3, 65–8, 70–1, 72, 74–5, 211 Amsterdam European Council (1997) 127 Amsterdam, Treaty of (1997) 52, 159–60 ANAP (Motherland Party), Turkey 63, 67–8, 70 Andriessen, Frans 106 Annan Plan, Cyprus 75 Anti-Terror Law, Turkey 72–3 appropriateness, logic of 8–11, 45 Association Agreements: CEECs 48–9; Greece 25, 27, 34, 35–6, 37; Spanish views on 48–9; Turkey 62, 126, 127 Athens Agreement 36–7 Austria: application 49, 53–4; minority rights 194 Austrian Empire 172–7 Aznar, José María 51–2, 56 Baastrup, Anne 93 Balkans: instability in 31, 187; orientalization of 32–3 Balladur, Edouard 142, 146, 148–9, 153 Baltic Sea Council 87 Baltic states accession: approach 83–4; Denmark as border state 84–90; German policy 118; normative dimension to enlargement 90–1; values/rights as mobilizing arguments 92–9; see also Estonia; Latvia, Lithuania Barnier, Michel 157

Bavaria, view of CEEC accession 111 Baykal, Deniz 72 Benesˇ, Eduard 175 Berlin European Council (1999) 107 Birkelbach Report (1962) 35, 214 Brandt, Willy 22, 115 Britain see UK Brittan, Sir Leon 135 broadcasting law (RTUK), Turkey 73–4 Broek, Hans van den 12–13, 131, 135-6 Brussels European Council (2004) 121, 139 budgetary reform, EU 110 Bulgaria: democracy/human rights 134; negotiations 52–3, 107, 118, 122, 127 Cannes European Council (1995) 126–7 CDU/CSU (Christian Democrats) Germany 107, 115, 118 Central and Eastern Europe (CEE) enlargement: consequences for Spain 46–8; German policy 104–6; justifications for 11–14; literature on 4–6; see also Balkans; Baltic states; Bulgaria; Czech Republic; Danish promotion of; Denmark; French enlargement policy; German support for; Greek accession; Hungary; minority protection; Poland; Romania; Slovakia; Spanish enlargement policy; Turkey Charette, Hervé de 149, 152–3, 206 Charter of Fundamental Rights 186, 195 Charter of Human Rights, Council of Europe 106 Chile, trade with 50 Chirac, Jacques 23, 157 CHP (Republican People’s Party), Turkey 65, 68, 70, 72

Cohesion Funds 109 Cold War 5, 106, 108–9 Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) 22–3, 89, 130, 147–8 Common Fisheries Policy 50, 54 Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP) 131, 146 common standards, minority protection 186–8 communicative rationality 7–11, 90–1, 143, 208–10 communist regimes, fall of 5 compliance, minority protection 196–7 conditionality, EU 124–5 Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE) 146, 177 conflict, Balkan states 187 consequence, logic of 8–11, 45 consistency, French policies 156 Constitution for Europe 186 constitutional patriotism 213–14 constructivist approaches to enlargement 5–6, 63 Copenhagen criteria 62, 64, 66, 76, 93, 106–7, 121–5, 158–9, 192–7; see also Copenhagen European Council; enlargement criteria Copenhagen Declaration 94 Copenhagen European Council (1993) 50, 55, 71, 123, 158–9, 186, 193; see also Copenhagen criteria Corfu European Council (1994) 50, 126 Council of Europe 177, 188, 190; Recommendation 1201 195–6; see also Charter of Human Rights; Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities criteria see enlargement criteria Customs Union, Turkey 126 Cyprus: candidacy 50, 108; partition 23, 24, 31; Turkish views on 72, 74–5 Czech Republic: accession 107; between community and regime 177–80; discursive structure 170–2, 208; historical evolution 172–7, 182–3; perspective on integration 114 Czech Social Democratic Party 179 Czecho–German relations 115–16, 117 Czechoslovakia: Europe Agreement 106; historical evolution 174–7, 182–3; labour force 110; trading partners 109

d’Estaing, Valéry Giscard 33, 142 Danish promotion of enlargement: approach 83–4, 204–5; justification through efficiency 84–90; normative dimension to enlargement 90–1; values/rights as mobilizing arguments 92–9 de Gaulle, Charles 19, 142 death penalty, Turkey 73–4 decision-making dynamics, Greek accession 38, 39 Declaration on European Identity (1973) 32, 34 ‘deepening’ process 49, 81, 145–7, 156, 158, 207 democracy consolidation see Turkey democracy criteria see enlargement criteria democratic principles 92–9 democratic union, Czechoslovakia 174–5; dissident constructions of 176–7 Denmark: accession 20; duty to unite Europe 97–9, 212; economic interests 88–90; historical duty towards Baltic States 95–7; security considerations 85–8; see also Danish promotion of enlargement DEP (Kurdish Democracy Party, Turkey) 72, 74 Dienstbier, Jirˇí 176–7 distinctiveness, EU 211–13 documentation, French integration policy 150–1 double standards, minority protection 207–8, 210; justification of 188–92 DSP (Democratic Left Party), Turkey 63, 67, 68, 70 Dublin European Council (1990) 48, 54, 127 Dumas, Roland 147, 158 duty to enlarge 12-14, 95–9, 121–2, 134–8, 209, 212; see also value-based arguments for enlargement DYP (True Path Party), Turkey 68 East, as rejected other 171, 172–3, 180–1 Ecevit, Bülent 68-71 economic crisis (2001), Turkey 70 economic criteria see enlargement criteria economic development, candidate states 154 economic growth, Baltic Sea area 88

Index 237 economic indicators, Romania/Turkey 128–30, 138–9 economic interests, Denmark 88–90; France 153, Greece 24, 29, 39; Spain 46, 55; see also material interests, CEE enlargement Edinburgh European Council (1992) 49 EFTA see European Free Trade Area elections (2002), Turkey 70–2 Ellemann, Uffe 95 enlargement criteria: democratic 35–41, 64–7, 133–4; economic 22, 29–30, 50–1, 108–11, 128–31; French role in 158–9; political 35–7, 50, 196: see also Copenhagen criteria; Copenhagen European Council equal opportunities 81; Turkey 121–8 Erbakan, Necmettin 71 Erdog˘an, Recep Tayyip 66, 71, 74–5 Essen European Council (1994) 50, 123 Estonia: accession 107; democracy/ human rights 134; minorities in 93–6 ethical-political arguments for enlargement 8–11, 83–4, 91, 143–4, 155–60; see also value-based arguments for enlargement ethical-political discourse 8–11, 212 ethnic conflict: Balkans 187; CEECs 189 Euratom 115 Euro-Mediterranean programme (MEDA I/MEDA II) 123 Europe Agreement (1991) 106, 123 Europe: conceptions of 167–84; Danish duty to unite 97–9; sense of 213–14; see also identity; European European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) 146 European Coal and Steel Community 113–16 European Commission: Forward Studies Unit (FSU) 53; minority protection 190, 192–3; Opinions 30, 36–7; as principled policy advocate 5; Reports 129, 196; role of 207 European Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms see Charter of Fundamental Rights European Council: institutional reforms 48, 49–50, 51–2; minority protection 191, 192–3 European Court of Justice 53, 196–7 European Economic Community 31, 32–4

European Free Trade Area (EFTA) 40, 49, 53–4, 56–7, 59 European Ministers’ Conference of the Länder (1998) 111 European Monetary Union (EMU) 158 European Monitoring Centre on Racism and Xenophobia (EUNC) 194 European Parliament: and minority rights 195; role of 35–6, 39, 207; views on Turkish membership 137; see also Birkelbach Report European Political Cooperation (EPC) 20, 31 European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) 69 European Union: between values and rights 203–15; conceptions of 2–4, 167–72; creation of 20–1; emphasis on values 90; French vision of 155–60; identity construction 32–4; polity 1–15; as problem-solving entity 82; role in Turkish reforms 66–7; see also Treaty on European Union; Europe Eurosceptics: Czech Republic 179; Denmark 81, 85, 98; Turkey 67–8 Federal Republic of Germany see Germany financial costs of enlargement: Balkan states membership 89–90, 98; French views on 147–51; Greek membership 22–3, 27–8; Spanish views on 46–8; see also enlargement criteria financial support, Turkey 123–5 Finland 49, 53–4 Florence European Council (1996) 127 Fontaine, Nicole 137 Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (FCNM) (CoE) 190, 195–6 France: as guardian of the ‘idea of Europe’ 155–60; material arguments 108–13, 116–19; minority rights provision 190; nation/state model 169; as net contributor 147; see also French enlargement policy; Franco– German Franco–German: reconciliation 104–5, 117, 118; relations 114–16, 149 free trade area, EU as 156–8 French enlargement policy: approach 143–5, 206, 212; civilizing force of hypocrisy 151–5; commitment to

238

Index

French enlargement policy – contd. enlarge 151–5; cost 147–8, 150, 161; geopolitics 148, 150, 161; rights based arguments 160; communicative perspective 150–1; value based arguments 160 Gasˇvparovicˇ, Ivan 180 Gensher, Hans-Dietrich 112 geopolitics: France 148–51, 155; Greece 24–5 German support for CEE enlargement: non-material considerations 113–19; role in enlargement 106–8, 204–5 Germany: nation/state model 169; nationalism 173; as net contributor 147; power in EU 148–50; reunification 177 González, Felipe 50, 51, 54, 56–8, 211 Greece, European credentials 32–4 Greek accession: context 19–25, 210, 212–13; debate 27–9; dynamics of debate 37–9; justification 29–37, 207, 214; legacy of 39–41; route to entry 25–7 Greek–Turkish relations 23, 24, 31 Green Party, Germany 107, 113, 118 Guigou, Elisabeth 153, 158 Habsburg dynasty 172 HADEP (Kurdish People’s Democracy Party), Turkey 74 Hanseatic League 108 harmonization packages, Turkey 71–4 Havel, Václav 176, 177, 182 Helsinki Declaration 5 Helsinki European Council (1999) 52–3, 62, 67, 68, 126, 137, 139, 156 HEP (People’s Labour Party), Turkey 74 hidden agendas 10–11; France 150 historical duty, Denmark 95–7, 98 historical links, Germany/CEEC 108–9 Hrusˇovsky´, Pavol 182 human rights 190: Baltic states 93–6; CEECs 106–7; criteria CEECs 133–4; criteria, Turkey 64–7, 133–4; progress, Turkey 71–5; reforms, Turkey 67–71; Romania 133–4 Hungary: accession 52, 107; democracy/ human rights 134; Europe Agreement 106; trading partners 108–9, 195–6 Hussite movement 175, 176

identity 208–9; collective 54–7, 210–14; common 2–3, 210–14; cultural 121–2, 134–9, 213 identity construction 169–70; Czech Republic/Slovakia 176–80; European 32–4, 38, 40; Spain 54–7 illegal migration 132 incentives for reform 93–4 income per capita, Romania/Turkey 129 independence, Slovakia 180–2 institutional reforms: as condition for enlargement 142–3, 146–7, 150–1, 156–60, 161; European Council 48-52 institutionalist analyses of enlargement 91 institutions, EU 2–3 instrumental rationality 53–4, 57; see also means-ends rationality; rational utility; utility integration: future of 215; goals 40; modes 2–4 interests, promotion of 29–32 Intergovernmental Conferences 49–50, 152–3, 159 International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (CCPR), UN 190 international institutions, German attachment to 113–16 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 124–5 Ireland: accession 20; national interests 24 Islamic culture, Turkey 136–7 Israel, EU relations with 12 Italy, trading partners 109 Jospin, Lionel 156–7 Junta, Greece see military dictatorship, Greece Juppé, Alain 12, 148, 149, 153, 157-9 justification, logic of 9–10, 45 Karamanlis, Constantine 26 kinship-based duty 12, 13–14, 121–2, 209, 212 Kinkel, Klaus 112 Klaus, Václav 114, 177-9 Kohl, Helmut 105, 109–10, 112, 118, 121, 142 Kollár, Ján 174 Kukan, Eduard 181 Lafontaine, Oskar 110 Lamassoure, Alain 147, 157, 159

Index 239 language-based community, Czechia 172–3 Latin American trade 29 Latvia: democracy/human rights 134; minorities in 93–6, 196; negotiations 107, 127 legal commitment to enlarge 152–3, 161, 212 Liberal Party (V), Denmark 92 liberalist minimal state 169, 178, 179 Lisbon European Council (1992) 49, 54 literature on enlargement 4–6 Lithuania 107, 127 Luxembourg European Council (1997) 52, 59, 107, 123, 127, 156–7 Maastricht Treaty (1992) 49, 53, 81, 114, 158 Madrid European Council (1995) 51, 58–9, 127 Malta, accession 50, 107 Masaryk, Tomásˇ 174–5, 176, 182 material interests, CEE enlargement 116–19; economic benefits 108–11; see also enlargement criteria means-ends rationality 8–11, 83; see also instrumental rationality, rational utility, utility Mecˇiar, Vladimír 177, 180–1 Mediterranean policy 57–8, 126, 149–50; see also Euro-Mediterranean programme Mediterranean trade 29, 31 Mercosur, trade-liberalization talks 50 Mexico, trade with 50 MHP (Nationalist Movement Party), Turkey 63, 65, 67, 68, 70 Middle East trade 29 migration: CEEC 110; Romania/Turkey 132 military dictatorship, Greece 33–4, 35–6, 39 military reform, Turkey 73, 74 minorities: Baltic states 93–6; CEE 106–7 minority protection: double standards 188–92, 207–8, 210; effects of rightsbased/value-based arguments 192–7 minority rights 195–6 Mitterrand, François 23, 142, 145, 146, 147, 153, 156, 158 moral arguments 64, 83–4; France 143–4, 161; Spain 54–7; see also

rights-based arguments for enlargements; justification, logic of moral constraints 6, 54–9, 82, 90, 213 moral obligation, France 152–60 Morocco, EU relations with 12 Moscovici, Pierre 150, 154, 156 Movement for Democratic Slovakia 180 multilateralism, Germany 113–14, 117 Munich Agreement (1938) 175 Muslim countries 121–2; see also Islamic culture; pro-Islamist parties, Turkey national program (NPAA), Turkey 69 National Security Council (NSC), Turkey 72–3 nationalist tendencies: CEE 189; Turkey 69, 72 nationalistic policies, CEE 106–7 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organisation): enlargement 5, 112–13, 181; Greek withdrawal 24, 30–1; KFOR 131; membership 68, 113–14, 131–2 negotiations: Greece 25–9; potential difficulties 154–5; Turkey 126–8 new institutionalist theory 9 Nice European Council (2000) 52, 159 non-discrimination, concept of 186–8 normalization debate, Germany 114 norms: compliance with 82–3; of enlargement 90–1, 153–4; importance of 5–6, 82–3, 134, 152, 208–10; of minority rights 192–3; types of 84; validity of 155 Norway, application 20, 49, 53–4 Öcalan, Abdullah 72 OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development) 181 Open Society Institute (OSI) 93 Orban, Viktor 52 Oreja, Marcelino 54 OSCE (Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe) 188 Palacky´, Frantisˇek 173, 182 Partnership for Peace 131 PASOK, Greece 24 Penal Code, Turkey 74 personalities, role of 26 Pesmazoglu, Ioannis 34 Pflüger, Fridbert 115, 116 Phare programme 123

240

Index

Piqué, Josep 56, 206 Pithart, Petr 176 PKK (Kurdistan Worker’s Party), Turkey 72, 74 Poland: accession 14, 53, 107, 114; culture 12; democracy/human rights 134; Europe Agreement 106; financial support 123–4; labour force 110; trading partners 89, 108–9 Polish–German relationship 115–18 political criteria see enlargement criteria political debate, Greek accession 37–9 political dimension, EU 156–7 political imperative, CEEC enlargement as 138 political influence, France 148–51 political practices 168–70 polity, EU: conceptions 2–4; literature 4–6; theoretical approach 6–11; see also Europe, conceptions of; problem-solving entity, EU as; rights-based post-national union, EU as, value-based community, EU as Popular Party, Spain 51 Portugal: candidacy 27–8; French veto 142; vision for EU 147, 158 power balance, EU 148–50 pragmatic discourse 8–11, 83–4, 143 pre-accession period, Greece 38 pre-accession strategy: German promotion of 107; launch of 137; Turkey 123–8 prisoners’ rights, Turkey 72-4 pro-Islamist parties, Turkey 65, 68, 70, 71 problem solving entity, EU as 2, 161–2, 187, 189, 204–8; see also polity, EU Prodi, Romano 191 Progress Party, Denmark 93 Race Equality Directive 186, 194 racism 194 rapprochement, Germany 114–18 Rasmussen, Poul Nyrup 92, 94, 95 rational utility approach to enlargement 64, 204–8; modes of 2–4; see also communicative rationality; instrumental rationality; means-ends rationality; utility reform process: Baltic states 93–6; Turkey 64–71 regional cooperation, Danish promotion of 87–8 Rehn, Olli 131, 137

religion 175, 178, 213 rhetorical entrapment 5–6, 192; France 143, 151–2, 145–55, 160–1, 209 rights-based arguments for enlargement 92–9, 197–8, 208–14; Greece 34–7; see also moral arguments rights-based post-national union, EU as 3, 6, 169–70, 187, 208–14 Romania: costs/benefits of membership 128–31, 138–9; criteria for accession 122–3; cultural proximity 134–8; financial support 123–4; minority rights 195–6; negotiations 107, 118, 127; security benefits of membership 131–3 Rome, Treaty of (1957) 22, 34, 53, 55–6, 152–3, 212 Rühe, Volker 112 Russia: and Baltic states 86–7, 95; see also Soviet Union Russian-speaking minorities, Baltic states 93–6 Sˇafárik, Pavel Jozef 174 safeguard clauses, Turkey 130, 139–40 Scheer, François 150 Schengen agreement 112 Schlüter, Poul 88 Schmidt, Helmut 30, 115 Schröder, Gerhard 105, 110, 118 Schuster, Rudolf 182 second enlargement see Greek accession security considerations 211–12; CEE enlargement 85–8, 111–13, 131–3, 148, 188–9; Danish conceptions 86; see also stability considerations, CEE accession ‘Sevres syndrome’ 66 SF (Socialist People’s Party), Denmark 85, 93, 98 Slovakia: discursive structure 170–2, 208; historical evolution 172–7, 182–3; independence 180–2; minority rights 195–6; negotiations 107, 127 Slovenia 107 Soames, Sir Christopher 34, 212 social-democratic: approach to transition 180–1; welfare state 169, 178, 179 Social Democratic Party (S), Denmark 89 social role, conception of self in 54–7 society, role in Turkish transformation process 66

Index 241 sociological analyses of enlargement 91 South Tyrol 197 sovereignty, Germany 113–14 Soviet Union: liberation of Czechoslovakia 175; relations with Greece 24; trading partners 109; see also Russia Spain: candidacy 27–8; French veto 142 Spanish enlargement policy 205–6; appropriateness and justification of 53–9; attitudes to association policy 48–9; compromise on enlargement 49–50; consequences of CEE accessions 46–8; preferences on timing 51–3 SPD (Social Democratic Party), Germany 106, 107, 118 speech acts 5–7 Sˇpidla, Valdimír 179–80 spillover effects, external minority discourse 193–5 stability considerations, CEE accession 111–13; see also security considerations Stability Pact (1993) 146, 148 State Security Courts, Turkey 73 states, solidarity between 95–7 strategic concerns, Greece 24–5, 40–1 Structural Funds 58, 109, 130 structural relationship, pre-accession countries 107 supranational institutional arrangements 3 Sweden, application 49, 53–4 theory of communicative action 7–8; see also communicative rationality timing, CEEC accession 51–3, 58–9 Tindermans, Leo 21, 40 Tito, Josip, Broz 31 trade benefits, Greek accession 29 trade liberalization 50 trade: Baltic Sea area 88; Germany/ CEEC 108–9 transition period, Turkey 130 Treaty on European Union (TEU) 49, 90, 193 Turkey: accession negotiations 126–8; candidacy 27; democracy/human rights 133–4; economic benefits of membership 128–31; equality of treatment 107, 123–8; financial

support 123–5; German policy towards 118; justification for enlargement 12–13; security benefits of membership 131–3; value-based duty 134–8 Turkish EU politics: domestic politics 67–71; human rights progress 71–5; reforms 64–71, 210–11; theoretical discussion of enlargement 6, 63–4, 213 Turkish–Greek relations 23, 24, 31 two-tier membership structure 22 Uhde, Milan 178 UK: as net contributor 147; French veto 19, 20, 34 United Nations (UN) see Annan Plan, Cyprus; International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights US bases, Greece 24 utility 9; maximization of 7; see also rational utility approach to enlargement utility-based policy 122; minority protection 188–92, 197–8 value-based arguments for enlargement 38–9, 90-9, 116–19, 188–92, 192–8; see also duty to enlarge; ethical-political arguments for enlargement; identity value-based community, EU as 2–3, 11–14, 143, 161–2, 169–70, 187, 208–14; see also Europe, conceptions of; polity, EU Védrine, Hubert 154–5, 160 Verheugen, Günter 13, 189 veto, power of 3–4, 37–9, 54, 142–3 War of Independence (1820s), Greece 32, 33 Welfare Party, Turkey 71 Westendorp, Carlos 55 Western bloc, relations with Greece 24, 30–1, 39–40 World War I 175 World War II: consequences for Czechoslovakia 175; reconciliation 104–5, 114–16 xenophobia 194 Yugoslavia: disintegration of 187; human rights in 106–7 Zieleniec, Jozef 178–9