Europe and the End of the Cold War

This book seeks to reassess the role of Europe in the end of the Cold War and the process of German unification. Much of the existing literature on the end of the Cold War has focused primarily on the role of the superpowers and on that of the US in particular. This edited volume seeks to redirect the focus towards the role of European actors and the importance of European processes, most notably that of integration. Written by leading experts in the field, and making use of newly available source material, the book explores ‘Europe’ in all its various dimensions, bringing to the forefront of historical research previously neglected actors and processes. These include key European nations, endemic evolutions in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, European integration, and the pan-European process. The volume serves therefore to rediscover the transformation of 1989–90 as a European event, deeply influenced by European actors, and of great significance for the subsequent evolution of the continent. This book will be of great interest to students of Cold War Studies, Contemporary European History and International Relations in general.

Frédéric Bozo is Professor of Contemporary History, Sorbonne (Univer- sity of Paris III, Department of European Studies). Marie-Pierre Rey is Professor of Russian and Soviet History, Sorbonne (University of Paris I, Department of History). N. Piers Ludlow is Senior Lecturer in Inter- national History (London School of Politics and Economics). Leopoldo Nuti is Professor of History of International Relations (University of Roma Tre). Cold War history series Series Editors: Odd Arne Westad and Michael Cox ISSN: 1471-3829

In the new history of the Cold War that has been forming since 1989, many of the established truths about the international conﬂict that shaped the latter half of the twentieth century have come up for revision. The present series is an attempt to make available interpretations and materials that will help further the development of this new history, and it will concentrate in particular on publishing expositions of key historical issues and critical surveys of newly available sources.

1 Reviewing the Cold War Approaches, interpretations, and theory Edited by Odd Arne Westad

2 Rethinking Theory and History in the Cold War Richard Saull

3 British and American Anticommunism before the Cold War Marrku Ruotsila

4 Europe, Cold War and Co-existence, 1953–1965 Edited by Wilfred Loth

5 The Last Decade of the Cold War From conﬂict escalation to conﬂict transformation Edited by Olav Njølstad

6 Reinterpreting the End of the Cold War Issues, interpretations, periodizations Edited by Silvio Pons and Federico Romero

7 Across the Blocs Cold War cultural and social history Edited by Rana Mitter and Patrick Major 8 US Paramilitary Assistance to South Vietnam Insurgency, subversion and public order William Rosenau

9 The European Community and the Crises of the 1960s Negotiating the Gaullist challenge N. Piers Ludlow

10 Soviet–Vietnam Relations and the Role of China 1949–64 Changing alliances Mari Olsen

11 The Third Indochina War Conﬂict between China, Vietnam and Cambodia, 1972–79 Edited by Odd Arne Westad and Sophie Quinn-Judge

12 Greece and the Cold War Front line state, 1952–1967 Evanthis Hatzivassiliou

13 Economic Statecraft during the Cold War European responses to the US trade embargo Frank Cain

14 Macmillan, Khrushchev and the Berlin Crisis, 1958–1960 Kitty Newman

15 The Emergence of Détente in Europe Brandt, Kennedy and the formation of Ostpolitik Arne Hofmann

16 European Integration and the Cold War Ostpolitik–Westpolitik, 1965–1973 Edited by N. Piers Ludlow

17 Britain, Germany and the Cold War The search for a European détente 1949–1967 R. Gerald Hughes

18 The Military Balance in the Cold War US perceptions and policy, 1976–85 David M. Walsh

19 Europe and the End of the Cold War A reappraisal Edited by Frédéric Bozo, Marie-Pierre Rey, N. Piers Ludlow, and Leopoldo Nuti

Europe and the End of the Cold War A reappraisal

Edited by Frédéric Bozo, Marie-Pierre Rey, N. Piers Ludlow, and Leopoldo Nuti First published 2008 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 © 2008 Selection and editorial matter, Frédéric Bozo, Marie-Pierre Rey, N. Piers Ludlow, and Leopoldo Nuti; individual chapters, the contributors Typeset in Baskerville by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear Printed and bound in Great Britain by TJI Digital, Padstow, Cornwall All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised 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

ISBN10: 0-415-44903-0 (hbk) ISBN10: 0-203-93095-9 (ebk) ISBN13: 978-0-415-44903-8 (hbk) ISBN13: 978-0-203-93095-3 (ebk) Contents

Notes on contributors x List of abbreviations xiii

Introduction1 FRÉDÉRIC BOZO, MARIE-PIERRE REY, N. PIERS LUDLOW AND LEOPOLDO NUTI

1 Who won the Cold War in Europe? A historiographical overview 9 MICHAEL COX

PART I Perestroika and its effects revisited 21

2 Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe, 1985–1989 23 MARIE-PIERRE REY

3 In the name of Europe: Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 36 SVETLANA SAVRANSKAYA

PART II Developments in Eastern Europe 49

4 Rumblings in Eastern Europe: Western pressure on Poland’s moves towards democratic transformation 51 GREGORY F. DOMBER viii Contents 5 The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end in Europe: Vatican Ostpolitik and Pope John Paul II, 1985–1989 64 BERND SCHÄFER

6 The international context of Hungarian transition, 1989: the view from Budapest 78 LÁSZLÓ BORHI

PART III German uniﬁcation between the superpowers 93

7 In the name of Europe’s future: Soviet, French and British qualms about Kohl’s rush to German uniﬁcation 95 JACQUES LÉVESQUE

8 Gorbachev’s consent to united Germany’s membership of NATO 107 HANNES ADOMEIT

9 The United States, German uniﬁcation and European integration 119 ROBERT L. HUTCHINGS

PART IV German uniﬁcation: seizing the opportunity 133

10 German uniﬁcation and European integration are but two sides of one coin: the FRG, Europe, and the diplomacy of German uniﬁcation 135 HELGA HAFTENDORN

11 France, German uniﬁcation and European integration 148 FRÉDÉRIC BOZO

12 A naturally supportive environment? The European institutions and German uniﬁcation 161 N. PIERS LUDLOW Contents ix PART V German uniﬁcation: concerns and misgivings 175

13 The United Kingdom and German uniﬁcation 177 PATRICK SALMON

14 Italy, German uniﬁcation and the end of the Cold War 191 LEOPOLDO NUTI

PART VI Soviet disintegration and the building of a new Europe 205

15 From the common European home to European confederation: François Mitterrand and Mikhail Gorbachev in search of the road to a greater Europe 207 ANDREI GRACHEV

16 International reactions to Soviet disintegration: the case of the Baltic states 220 KRISTINA SPOHR READMAN

PART VII Competing visions in the Euro-Atlantic area 233

17 Eastern Europe and the early prospects for EC/EU and NATO membership 235 VOJTECH MASTNY

18 Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 246 HANS STARK

19 The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP: old thinking, false starts and new imperatives 259 JOLYON HOWORTH

Bibliography 271 Index 282 Contributors

Hannes Adomeit is Senior Research Associate at the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, Berlin, and Director of Eastern Studies at the College of Europe in Natolin (Warsaw). His academic degrees are from the Freie Universität Berlin and Columbia University, NY. Among his publications are Imperial Overstretch: Germany in Soviet Policy from Stalin to Gor- bachev (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1998). László Borhi is a Senior Research Fellow, Institute of History, Hungarian Academy of Sciences; formerly holder of Hungarian Chair, Indiana University, Bloomington. A graduate of ELTE Budapest and Indiana University, Bloomington, his most recent book in English is Hungary in the Cold War 1945–1956: Between the Soviet Union and the United States (CEU Press, 2004) Frédéric Bozo is Professor at the Sorbonne (Université de Paris III, Department of European Studies). His main research interests are cold war history, transatlantic relations and French foreign and security policy. His latest book is: Mitterrand, la fin de la guerre froide et l’unification allemande. De Yalta à Maastricht (Paris: Odile Jacob, 2005, English translation forthcoming, Berghahn Books). Michael Cox holds a Chair in the Department of International Relations at the London School of Economics where he is also Director of the Cold War Studies Centre. He holds Fellowships at Chatham House London, at the Royal United Services Institute, Whitehall, and at the Institute of the Americas, the University of London. He is the author of over 20 books including in 2007 an eight-volume study for Sage entitled Twentieth Century International Relations. Gregory F. Domber recently completed his Ph.D. in American history at The George Washington University, where he defended his dissertation, ‘Supporting the Revolution: America, Democracy, and the End of the Cold War in Poland, 1981–1989’. He is currently a post-doctoral fellow at the Center for Democracy, Development and the Rule of Law at Stanford University. Contributors xi Andrei Grachev is a Russian political analyst and journalist. Deputy Direc- tor of the International Department of the Central Committee of CPSU and adviser for Mikhail Gorbachev he was official Spokesman of the President of the USSR until his resignation in December 1991. He has also been a visiting professor in Paris and Kyoto, and was a Senior Researcher at St Antony’s College, Oxford. Dr Grachev is the Chairman of the Scientific Committee of The World Political Forum (Turin, Italy). Helga Haftendorn is Professor emeritus at the Free University of Berlin. Until December 2000, she was Director of its Center on Transatlantic Foreign and Security Policy Studies. She has taught at the University of Hamburg, at the Military University, also at Hamburg, and has been a visiting professor at Georgetown, Stanford, and the European Univer- sity Institute in Florence. Dr Haftendorn has published widely on German foreign policy and international security affairs, most recently Coming of Age: German Foreign Policy since 1945 (Rowman & Littlefield, 2006). Jolyon Howorth has been Visiting Professor of Political Science at Yale University since 2002. Recent books include: Security and Defence Policy in the European Union (Palgrave, 2007); Defending Europe: the EU, NATO and the Quest for European Autonomy (Palgrave, 2003, edited with John Keeler); European Integration and Defence: the Ultimate Challenge? (Paris, 2000). Robert Hutchings is Diplomat in Residence at Princeton University, where he has also served as Assistant Dean of the Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs. In 2003–5, he was Chairman of the U.S. National Intelligence Council. His combined academic and diplomatic career has included service at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, with the National Security Council, and as Special Adviser to the Secretary of State. Jacques Lévesque is Professor of Political Science at the Université du Québec à Montreal. Among his recent books are The Enigma of 1989: The USSR and the Liberation of Eastern Europe (University of California Press, 1997), and La Russie et son ex-empire, co-authored with Yann Breault and Pierre Jolicoeur (Presses de la FNSP, 2003). Piers Ludlow is Senior Lecturer in International History at the LSE. An expert on the history of European integration and that of the Cold War, he is the author of The European Community and the Crises of the 1960s: Negotiating the Gaullist Challenge (Routledge, 2006) and editor of European Integration and the Cold War: Ostpolitik/Westpolitik, 1965–73 (Routledge, 2007). Vojtech Mastny directs the Parallel History Project on Cooperative Security (PHP), in Washington and Zurich. He has taught history and xii Contributors international relations at Columbia and Johns Hopkins, among other universities, and has written Russia’s Road to the Cold War (Columbia University Press, 1979) and The Cold War and Soviet Insecurity (Oxford University Press, 1996), among other books. Leopoldo Nuti is Professor of History of International Relations at the University of Roma Tre. He has published extensively in Italian, English and French on US–Italian relations and Italian foreign and security policy. His latest book is La sfida nucleare. La politica estera italiana e le armi atomiche, 1945–1991. Marie-Pierre Rey is Professor at the University of Paris I Sorbonne. She has published many articles and several books on Russian history. Among them: Les Russes de Gorbatchev à Poutine (Armand Colin, 2005) and Le dilemme russe: la Russie et l’Europe occidentale d’Ivan le Terrible à Boris Eltsine (Flammarion, 2002) Patrick Salmon is Chief Historian at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, London. He is a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society and a Foreign Member of the Norwegian Academy of Science and Letters. His publications include Scandinavia and the Great Powers 1890–1940 (1997). Svetlana Savranskaya is Director of Russia Programs at the National Secur- ity Archive at George Washington University, Washington, DC, and Associate Professor at the American University School of International Service. Bernd Schäfer is a Senior Scholar with the Woodrow Wilson International Center’s Cold War International History Project (CWIHP). Among else, he has worked in the field of GDR history, the Stasi and the role of churches. His publications include Staat und katholische Kirche in der DDR (Boehlau: Cologne/Vienna, 1998, currently translated for publication with Berghahn Books). Hans Stark teaches at the Center for European Studies, University of Paris III (Sorbonne Nouvelle) and works as a research associate at the Insti- tut français des relations internationals (Ifri). Educated at Institut d’é- tudes politiques (IEP) and at the Sorbonne, Dr Stark has published Kohl, l’Allemagne et l’Europe. La politique d’intégration européenne de la République fédérale, 1982–1998 (L’Harmattan, 2004). Kristina Spohr Readman is Lecturer in International History at the LSE. Educated at the University of East Anglia and Cambridge. She has also worked as research fellow at the NATO headquarters Brussels and as a Junior Research Fellow in History at Christ’s College, Cambridge. Her publications include Germany and the Baltic Problem after the Cold War: The Development of a New Ostpolitik 1989–2000 (London/New York, 2004). Abbreviations

AAN Archive of Modern Records, Warsaw AD Archives Diplomatiques AN Archives Nationales, Paris APRF Archives de la Présidence de la République Française CDU Christlich Demokratische Union CFE Conventional Armed Forces in Europe CFSP Common Foreign and Security Policy CMEA Council for Mutual Economic Assistance COE Council of Europe CPSU Communist Party of the Soviet Union CSCE Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe CWIHP Cold War International History Project DC Democrazia Cristiana EBRD European Bank for Reconstruction and Development EC European Community ECB European Central Bank ECU European Currency Unit EDC European Defence Community EEC European Economic Community EMS European Monetary System EMU Economic and Monetary Union EP European Parliament EPC European Political Cooperation ESCB European System of Central Banks ESDI European Security and Defence Identity ESDP European Security and Defence Policy EST-VM Foreign Ministry, Estonia EU European Union FCO Foreign and Commonwealth Ofﬁce FOIA Freedom of Information Act FRG Federal Republic of Germany GDR German Democratic Republic GFA Gorbachev Foundation Archive xiv Abbreviations HSWP Hungarian Workers’ Socialist Party IGC Intergovernmental Conference IMF International Monetary Fund INF Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces KGB Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti MAE Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, Paris MEP Member of the European Parliament MFN Most Favoured Nation MHZ Ministry of Foreign Trade, Warsaw MID Soviet Foreign Ministry MOL Hungarian National Archive, Budapest MSZ Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Warsaw NAC North Atlantic Council NACC North Atlantic Cooperation Council NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organisation NSA National Security Archive, Washington OAP Oral Archives on Perestroika, Gorbachev Foundation & Hoover Institution OSCE Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe PCI Partito Communista Italiano PDS Partei des Demokratischen Sozialismus PHARE Poland and Hungary: Assistance for Restructuring their Economies PZPR Polish United Workers’ Party RRPL Ronald Reagan Presidential Library SDI Strategic Defense Initiative SEA Single European Act SPD Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands START Strategic Arms Reduction Talks UN United Nations USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics WED West European Department WEU Western European Union WTO Warsaw Treaty Organisation Introduction

Frédéric Bozo, Marie-Pierre Rey, N. Piers Ludlow and Leopoldo Nuti

Any reader with some interest in Cold War history or contemporary international relations might wonder why he or she should bother to skim through, let alone read yet another volume on the end of the Cold War. The literature on the issue, this potential reader might rightly note, is already so vast as to fill an entire library with scholarly books, edited volumes, journal articles and monographs of all kinds, not to mention the huge amount of writings made available on the Internet by the many research institutions or projects which have been dealing with these events ever since they took place barely two decades ago, nor the vast media production, including hugely successful television series. He or she might point, in addition, to the already very large corpus of primary sources relating to these events, whether the impressive number of memoirs written by political leaders or officials involved in one way or another in these events or the growing amount of archival documents which have been made available by governments, sometimes very soon after the events, and which continue to expand as years go by and the ‘normal’ period of thirty years – the legal duration after which most governments make diplomatic documents available to historians – nears. So, he or she may ask, what is there to be said or written on the topic that is not already known? This informed reader’s objections are of course quite valid. From the moment it was over, the Cold War triggered a flurry of historical activity both more rapid and intensive than any historic event or period in the past, with the possible exception of the world wars – to which it can be compared at least from that very specific angle. And within the broader framework of the four decades of East–West conflict, the more specific period of the end of the Cold War – meaning the events leading to the peaceful liberation of Eastern Europe in the late 1980s, the unification of Germany in 1989–1990, and the break up of the Soviet Union in 1991 – has drawn the most attention from historians and international relations specialists of late. In fact, while the beginning of the conflict had long been the focus of the historiography (the key issue for decades being who was responsible for starting the Cold War), its ending has become the 2 F. Bozo et al. favourite theme of research and debate in the past fifteen years (the key issue having become that of the causes for the termination of the Cold War). So a certain feeling of saturation on the part of the informed public is very understandable. There are of course general responses to these objections. The writing of history is an ongoing process, which is determined by two main factors: the context and the sources – and both call for a constantly renewed effort on the part of scholars to make sense of the period. Concerning the former, historians never operate in a vacuum; they are bound to be influenced by their own historical context. Recent Cold War historiography is far from immune to the phenomenon: because they have been undertaken so soon after the events, the hitherto dominant narratives and analyses of the end of the Cold War have largely reflected the perceptions and interpretations which prevailed as the struggle ended. The context of the 1990s and of the ‘post Cold War’ period, which in many ways were in continuity with the pivotal years 1989–1991, has similarly influenced the writing of the history of the end of the Cold War along much the same lines. With the opening of a new historical phase – not least as a result of 9/11, which has turned the page from the immediate post Cold War and indeed closed the whole chapter of the Cold War – the time for a fresh effort at understanding and interpreting these events, perhaps in a more detached and – hopefully – methodologically rigorous manner, has arguably arrived. Concerning sources, a similar pattern is in play. Histor- ians depend for their production on access to their raw material, i.e. primary sources, and the quality of these sources necessarily has an effect on the quality of the end product. Because the historiography of the end of the Cold War originated so soon after the events at hand, it unavoidably suffered from the initially very partial availability of primary sources, most of all archival documents. In some cases, access to or publication of documents has been a selective – not to say a political – process, hence introducing a bias into the proceeding narratives and analyses. Now, nearly twenty years after the events, historians are on the threshold of a new phase, one in which access to documents on an ordinary rather than an exceptional basis is likely to become the norm. This also calls for renewed efforts to appraise the end of the Cold War in an objective manner. These arguments in our view amply justify a new phase of historical investigation which the editors would like this volume to pioneer, thus contributing to the customary renewal of the historiography. Yet we also pursue a more specific and focused agenda: to reinstate ‘Europe’ at the centre of the attention of historians looking at the end of the Cold War. Indeed we believe that the most conspicuous weakness of the historical literature dealing with this period so far has been the lack of focus on the old continent in all its aspects, somewhat of a paradox given the fact that the Cold War – which was far from being limited to Europe for most of its existence – inescapably ended there. When looking at the so far dominant Introduction 3 narratives and interpretations of the period, one is in fact struck by how little relative importance is given to the various European actors, processes or factors which have arguably played a significant role in these historic developments. Regarding actors, most accounts of the events of the second half of the last decade of the East–West conflict and particularly of the pivotal years 1989–1991 concentrate on the role of the two superpowers, the United States and the former USSR (with the partial exception of Germany, which is necessarily brought into the picture because of the centrality of its unification). In terms of processes, the end of the Cold War is mostly examined through this same superpower prism, with the emphasis typically put on the evolving dynamic of Soviet–American relations as the central explanation for the winding down of the East–West conflict at large. As for factors having played a central role in the demise of the Cold War, the historiography has tended to focus largely on those most identified with the Soviet Union, the United States, and their bipolar relationship – not least the strategic arms race and its corollary, nuclear arms control. The historiography of the end of the Cold War thus remains largely American–Soviet and marked by bipolarity: even if the dominant narrative cannot credibly ignore other important aspects – such as Germany unification – altogether, it is the skilful management of East–West relations by Washington and Moscow, the story goes, that was primarily to be credited with the peaceful termination of the conflict. But the problem does not end there. For much of the currently dominant historiography may best be described as unipolar, or American-centred, in scope and interpretation. The United States, it is implied, was the dominant player at the Cold War’s end, and all other actors, including the Soviet Union, played a lesser part. In fact, US strategic superiority was, according to one variant at least of the dominant narrative, the fundamental factor which brought the East–West conflict to an end, essentially by laying the groundwork for the US – or at least the Western – ‘victory’ in the Cold War. We believe that the time has come to move beyond the bipolar (or unipolar) reading of the end of the Cold War in order to understand this period in a broader, less simplistic framework, and we think that one way to do this is to emphasize the role of ‘Europe’ in its multiple dimensions or incarnations. In so doing, we intend, first, to bring to the forefront of historical research actors whose contribution to the end of the Cold War were crucial in shaping the outcome, whether key West European nations, including the FRG (whose role far exceeded that of achieving German unification and whose policies require analysis in all their various Euro- pean dimensions), Britain and France (which have often been caricatured as having played a minimal if not a negative role in these events) as well as other countries like Italy whose European policies have so far been much too neglected, or East European countries which were instrumental in bringing about these developments, not least Poland and Hungary which played such a key role in the peaceful termination of Soviet domination. 4 F. Bozo et al. We also wish to bring into the picture genuinely European processes which have played a major role in these events, first and foremost Euro- pean integration (which was instrumental in stimulating the Soviet Union’s opening to the West as well as Eastern Europe’s emancipation in the second half of the 1980s, making German unification acceptable to neighbouring countries in 1989–1990, and influencing the reshaping of the European order in the early 1990s), or the pan-European process, the impact of which on the end of the Cold War – what has been rightly named the ‘Helsinki effect’ – deserves to be closely examined, especially in its political, psychological and cultural dimensions. Finally, we want to focus on the processes of evolution and reform underway in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, factors that made the end of the Cold War possible in the first place and were, to a large extent, influenced by the dynamics of integration in the West and the attraction of the West Euro- pean ‘model’, as well as those of the pan-European process. This effort at a European-focused reappraisal of the end of the Cold War, in our view, is made possible and desirable as a result of the growing availability of new sources, including archives which are beginning to open up throughout the continent on a regular basis, beginning in Eastern Europe where the end of communism has made official records available very soon after the facts. We also wish to tap into the still growing corpus of memoirs and testimonies of all kind, as well as the oral history programmes which have sometimes been started at the time of the events in question and continue to expand. And we hope that this volume will further stimulate efforts on the part of governments and archivists to further declassify and make relevant evidence available and encourage the further development and struc- turing of oral history throughout the European continent. The structure of the book is both thematically and chronologically arranged. It thus starts with a historiographical overview by Michael Cox which looks at the current literature on the end of the Cold War before explaining why a greater degree of attention needs to be devoted to the European actors themselves, as opposed to the superpowers and the US in particular. Such a re-balancing exercise is necessary, he argues, not merely because it adds a greater degree of historical accuracy to the explanation of why the East–West conflict ended as it did – an important enough task – but also because it is likely to have a bearing on the way in which lessons are drawn from the Cold War by contemporary policy-makers and applied to the challenges of the post Cold War world. The next section focuses on Gorbachev and his reformist ideas. Marie- Pierre Rey’s chapter traces the evolution of the Soviet leader’s thinking about Europe during his years in power. At first, she argues, Gorbachev prioritized Soviet–US relations, with his European diplomacy serving primarily as a means of exercising additional leverage over Washington. In the latter stages of his rule, however, Gorbachev developed a genuine pan- European vision – notably the notion of a European common home – Introduction 5 which had an important influence on his policies even if it ultimately fell short of the desired outcomes. Svetlana Savranskaya meanwhile uses her contribution to highlight the rapidity with which Gorbachev altered the USSR’s approach to its Eastern European satellites and made clear that the Brezhnev doctrine no longer applied. As a result, the Soviet Union’s acceptance of the way in which communist rule was dismantled in Eastern Europe was entirely in line with Gorbachev’s ‘new thinking’. Logically enough the next three chapters look at Eastern Europe itself. Gregory Domber focuses on Poland and on the effects of Western pressure on General Jaruzelski’s regime. The transformation of Polish politics and the rise to power of Solidarnosc was primarily the outcome of internal dynamics, he argues, but to the extent that outside players were able to contribute to the fall of communism, the low-key European strategy of partial engagement was arguably more important than the higher profile – and historically more recognized – US imposition of economic and political sanctions. Bernd Schäfer’s chapter also discusses Poland, as well as the German Democratic Republic (GDR), while trying to assess the impact of Pope John Paul II and what he describes as the Vatican’s Ostpoli- tik. Once more the conclusion is a nuanced one which challenges some of the more extravagant claims of the existing literature. The Catholic Church and the Polish Pope at its head did have some psychological effect, especially in John Paul II’s country of origin. Overall, however, Catholic diplomacy was deeply cautious and much more intent on alleviating the everyday position of the church in each socialist country than on subverting the regimes. The Pope would thus have had little direct effect had not the tide of history already been running strongly towards the dissolution of communism in Eastern Europe. László Borhi’s piece, based mainly on recently released Hungarian diplomatic records, also questions historical orthodoxy and in particular the claim advanced in many of the Western memoir accounts that European and especially US leaders were consistently committed to the overthrow of Eastern Europe’s communist governments. Instead their engagement with Eastern European diplomats would suggest that the priority of all of the major Western players in 1989–1990 was the preservation of European stability and the maintenance in power of Gorbachev even if this meant a much slower rate of domestic political change east of the Iron Curtain. The next three sections of the book all focus on German unification. The first of these begins with a chapter by Jacques Lévesque which asks why the misgivings about too rapid a move towards German unity felt by three out of the four former occupying powers – Britain, France and the Soviet Union – proved so ineffective in slowing down Helmut Kohl’s rush for a united Germany. The answer he provides underlines both the flawed nature of the putative anti-unification ‘coalition’ – the stakes and aims of each were too different for cooperation to be easy – and the tactical errors committed by Gorbachev in particular. One of the results of its failure, 6 F. Bozo et al. however, is the ongoing ambiguity about Russia’s place within Europe. Gorbachev’s climb-down is also central to Hannes Adomeit’s chapter which seeks to explain the Soviet leader’s reluctant acceptance that the post-unification Federal Republic should be allowed to remain within the NATO alliance, albeit without NATO troops being initially stationed on the territory of the former GDR. One of the key factors, this chapter argues, was the failure of Soviet leader’s attempt to breathe new life into the Warsaw Pact, a setback which undermined Gorbachev’s vision of a new post Cold War European security system. The focus of Robert Hutchings’ chapter, by contrast, is on US policy and the way in which he believes unwavering American support for Kohl and German unification helped prevent a falling out between the Federal Republic and the three other former occupying powers which could have had disastrous effects for European stability and for the continuation of the European integration process. The plaudits won by President Bush’s handling of the events of 1989–1990 are hence well deserved and should not be forgotten amidst the more recent transatlantic tensions. The common thread linking the next three chapters is the way in which the transformation of Germany encouraged a parallel acceleration of European integration. Helga Haftendorn thus emphasizes how consistent Chancellor Kohl was in his belief that the united Germany which he sought to build needed to be fully integrated into a more united Europe. She then recounts how, after a brief phase of mutual incomprehension and doubt, Kohl and Mitterrand were able to re-forge an effective Franco- German partnership which pushed the integration process forward and brought the Maastricht Treaty of 1991 into being. Frédéric Bozo also focuses on Franco-German relations, challenging the conventional belief that Mitterrand’s France was hostile to German unification. This was not so, he strongly argues, since four decades of Franco-German reconciliation through the integration process had done much to lance the boil of animosity between Paris and Bonn. The French President was therefore rapidly able to join his German counterpart in a successful joint effort to turn the transformation of Germany into a spur for a parallel relaunch of European integration. Piers Ludlow’s chapter looks at the role in the unification process of the European institutions themselves. The European Commission he argues was particularly quick to welcome the German Wende, to appreciate the opportunities it opened up and to facilitate the rapid incorporation of the former GDR into the EC. But the European Council too was able to play a much more positive role in the process than might have been supposed in light of the all too obvious misgivings felt by some of its individual members. These misgivings represent the common ground between the next two chapters focusing on the UK and Italy. Patrick Salmon, however, argues strongly that Margaret Thatcher’s well known – and highly public – dislike of German unification should not be viewed as representative of the Introduction 7 British position. For while the Foreign Office and other members of Thatcher’s government were unable to prevent the Prime Minister from airing her misgivings about the potential power of the new Germany, they did succeed in preventing her private sentiments from pushing Britain into an actual policy of opposing unification, as shown by its constructive role within the context of the 2+4 discussions themselves. Italy too did not follow through with its early dislike of a rapid move to German unification, as Leopoldo Nuti demonstrates in his chapter. Giulio Andreotti, the Italian Prime Minister, was certainly unhappy with a rapid move to unity and the Italians also resented their marginalization within the international discussions of the unification process. Ultimately, however, Andreotti and De Michelis, his foreign minister, were able to transform their frustration into a more constructive approach loyal to both the Euro- pean and Atlantic pillars of post-war Italian foreign policy. The penultimate section switches the focus eastwards and concentrates on the demise of the Soviet Union. Andrei Grachev thus recounts the rise and fall of a pan-European dream shared by Gorbachev and Mitterrand. This vision pioneered by Gorbachev’s rhetoric of a common European home but given its most complete embodiment in the French leader’s controversial call for a European confederation was ultimately to come to naught, largely because of the collapse in the Kremlin’s power and influence first in the former Warsaw Pact and then within the Soviet Union itself. Kristina Spohr Readman meanwhile looks at international reactions to the quest for national liberation on the part of the Baltic states. This contribution too, underlines the ambivalence felt by many of the great powers towards the Balts’ aspirations of national self-determination and the widespread concern that premature moves in this direction could precipitate the end of Gorbachev’s rule. It was thus left to some of the smaller European players – and Iceland and Denmark especially – to champion the cause of Baltic independence. The final three chapters all concentrate on the re-shaping of Europe made possible and necessitated by the end of the cold war. Vojtech Mastny examines the multiple institutional frameworks which jostled for the task of bringing order to the transformed continent. He thus demonstrates why the hopes that were attached to a revitalization of the CSCE process – reborn as the OSCE – and, still more fleetingly, in the French notion of a European confederation, quickly fell by the wayside, to be replaced by a double strategy based upon the gradual incorporation of much of the former Eastern bloc into the two great institutional success stories of the Cold War West, namely NATO and the EC/EU. Hans Stark meanwhile concentrates on German priorities in the negotiations which were to result in the Maastricht Treaty and the birth of the EU. The Germans, he explains, were certainly powerful enough to leave a substantial mark upon the treaty provisions and upon the rules and procedures governing economic and monetary union in particular. But they were also obliged to 8 F. Bozo et al. accept the preferences of their partners, especially in the field of political union where the structures ultimately devised were highly intergovernmental in nature. And the focus on European foreign policy-making and common defence is maintained in Jolyon Howorth’s chapter which looks at the competing visions of a post Cold War security system. He argues that the widespread desire to create a ‘European’ structure to complement the Atlantic arrangements of NATO produced few tangible results during the first post Cold War decade, with much time being wasted in abortive discussions about the role of the WEU or the potentialities of Franco-German military cooperation. It has only been in the last decade, by contrast, that the notion of a European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP) has begun to strongly emerge. All told the chapters in this book do confirm the importance of the European dimension of the end of the Cold War. American power and might certainly had much to do with the so-called Western ‘victory’ in the Cold War. Many of the key developments, however, occurred within Europe and as such were inevitably deeply marked by the actions, calculations, and aspirations of European actors. These include, most obviously, Mikhail Gorbachev whose vision of a reformed Soviet Union and a transformed European framework, while ultimately unsuccessful, did much to trigger the avalanche of change which engulfed Europe. They include Helmut Kohl who charted a course to German unification which discom- fited many but which almost certainly represented the only means of satisfying the aspirations of the German people, east and west. They include too Kohl’s fellow Western European leaders, Mitterrand and Delors to begin with, who were such central players in the European relaunch, but also Andreotti and Thatcher’s successors at least, who were able to bounce back from their initial bewilderment and contribute to the process of building European unity. And, vitally, they also include the multiple leaders of the states of Central and Eastern Europe who lobbied hard to be included in both NATO and the EU. For the end of the Cold War in Europe was not something that just occurred in that brief moment of time when the Wall collapsed and the communist regimes of the Eastern bloc crumbled; it was instead a much longer process of change which endured at least up until 2004–2007 and the incorporation of much of Central and Eastern Europe into the EU and is arguably still ongoing today. This volume is the result of an international conference held at the Sor- bonne in June 2006 and organized by the Universities of Paris I – Pan- théon Sorbonne and Paris III – Sorbonne Nouvelle in cooperation with the London School of Economics Cold War Studies Centre and the Florence-based Machiavelli Center for Cold War Studies (CIMA), with support from the French ministry of higher education and research, NATO, and the Cold War International History Project (CWHIP). The editors wish to thank all those involved, most of all the contributors and authors, for having made the event and the publication possible. 1 Who won the Cold War in Europe? A historiographical overview

Michael Cox

It has often been remarked that victors do not merely harvest the fruits of war, but are then situated by virtue of their commanding position to write the ‘real’ history of how that war began, who fought it most ethically, and the key part they played in bringing it to a victorious and just end. As Orwell once remarked, those who dominate world history are always best placed to write it in their own image and to their own advantage. This chapter argues that this pattern of writing the past, and thereby defining its meaning, has been much in evidence in the wider US historiography on the end of the Cold War in Europe. This is not to reduce a complex literature to a single narrative. It is to suggest however that many Ameri- cans – though not all – have too readily adopted the politically convenient view that it was the US (and in some cases the US alone) that was in pos- session of all the main keys that finally opened the closed door to communist Europe in 1989. Many would no doubt argue that this is where the evidence has inevitably led them. But as Carr has classically shown, the conclusions historians arrive at are just as likely to be shaped by those who do the writing and when, as it is by those little nuggets of gold we call the facts.1 Still, as this chapter will try to show, many Americans’ rendering of the end of the Cold War not only makes for a one-sided triumphalist history; it has also had the effect of writing others – especially Europeans – out of the events that finally led to the overcoming of the continent’s 45-year-old division. Europeans may have got used to being written out of their own story, in much the same way as the US appears to have become habituated to thinking of itself as the indispensable European power after 1945. However, we need to challenge such vanity by pointing to the many important, and sometimes forgotten, ways in which Europe and Euro- peans helped make their own history in 1989. By so doing, we will not only be able to redress the intellectual balance, but hopefully challenge Amer- ican writers to reflect more critically on their own ways of viewing what, by any measure, still remains the most important event of the last part of the twentieth century. The chapter is divided into three main parts. Part one will provide an overview of what might best be described as the popular American version 10 M. Cox of why the Cold War came to an end. Part two will go on to discuss the roles performed by Europe and Europeans. Finally, the last section will suggest a number of reasons why it is important to bring Europe back in to the narrative as a player, one that does not merely observe what others do, but rather sees itself as an active factor in the historical process.

Winning is the American way Though many historians and students of international affairs are able to discuss 1989 in terms that have little to do with their place of birth or ascribed nationality, the fact is that many Americans continue to see the events of 1989 through a largely US prism. Of course there is a more complex story to be told here, and no doubt most American historians – as opposed to the overwhelming majority of ordinary Americans – would plainly deny the charge that they are guilty of telling the story about the end of the Cold War with a strong ‘American’ accent. There is some truth to this claim. In fact, some of the better studies on the late 1980s written by US scholars tell a complex tale in which many actors and several factors combined together to bring about 1989. This much we concede. Still, there continues to be a dominant narrative in which the United States remains central throughout while others look to have but walk-on parts in a play in which there is only one starring performance. Indeed, while most contemporary Americans seem perfectly happy to blame the USSR for having started the Cold War, they appear to give it little credit for having ended it. On the contrary, if a Cold War they apparently did not seek concluded at the end of the 1980s, then this was largely, if not entirely, down to US efforts. First, it was the US – it is argued – that played the central part in the checking of Russian ambitions, without which it would have been impossible to conceive of the huge changes that finally changed the world in 1989. Kennan to this degree not only turned out to be a brilliant strategist in the immediate post-war years but a prescient one as well.2 Admittedly, there was much disputing where containment ought to be applied, by what means and to what ends. Still, it was what Kennan’s original ‘X’ article termed the ‘patient’ and ‘long-term’ application of US power that ultimately brought about a change in the Soviet outlook and then, in turn, a withdrawal of Soviet influence from the heart of the continent. This simple tale about an American-inspired containment is usually married to a second argument about the wider role of the US in the international system. Here the empirical fact of the post-war boom merges neatly with the theoretical notion of hegemonic stability.3 The argument has been repeated in various ways but can be summarized in the form of a series of apparently irresistible truisms. Global order, it is argued, requires a global leader. There was no leadership in the inter-war period. And what Carr called ‘Twenty Years’ Crisis’ ensued. Lessons though were learned, Who won the Cold War in Europe? 11 and were especially well learned by the US.4 As a result, the US went on to lead the world to safety and to steady growth thereafter. This may have had many causes. However, it would not have happened without the US playing the twin role of lender of last resort and easily accessible market. America, in effect, became the indispensable nation providing a series of public goods that no other nation could. Naturally, not all of its post-war efforts were undertaken with the general good in mind. Nor did all of its actions help stabilize the international capitalist system. Indeed, when it broke the back of the Bretton Woods system in 1971, it looked less like a benevolent hegemon and more like a selfish superpower seeking to bolster its economic position at the expense of others. Still, without the US it is difficult to think of a successful globalization; and without globalization it is impossible to conceive of the death of communism in 1989.5 The third chapter in this special story begins with the election of a new kind of US leader in 1980, one who was determined to confront the Soviet Union in a more serious fashion.6 Inevitably, given his own chequered career and outspoken conservative views, Ronald Reagan’s role in ending the Cold War remains a highly contested and controversial one.7 Indeed, views vary from those who think he played no role whatsoever – it was all down to Gorbachev they insist8 – right through to those who fervently believe he saved the world from disaster. There is certainly more than one story that has been told about Reagan. There is also more than one Reagan it would seem. Thus according to some accounts, there was a wise and good Reagan, wise and good at least when he started talking to the USSR after 1984. There was however another Reagan – the hard-line cold warrior (or determined leader) – who spoke in strong moral terms in the early part of his two-term presidency about abolishing nuclear weapons, consigning the ‘evil empire into the trash-heap of history, and making America strong again’.9 Either way, Reagan still played a crucial role, initially in achieving what he claimed the US had lost in the ‘decade of neglect’ known as the 1970s, namely its position of strength, and of then having the wisdom to engage Gorbachev in serious discussions that led to four summits, an arms control agreement, and a climate of trust that laid the basis for what subsequently happened in 1989.10 Whether or not we see Reagan as a catalyst for change, a cause of dismay, or just plain lucky, there is agreement amongst most US historians that his presidency marked an important transitional moment in the history of the Cold War. But this still left much to be done by his successor George H. Bush. Indeed, the story about Bush’s own contribution to ending the Cold War has been told in great detail by a number former US officials, none more persuasive than President Bush himself!11 Bush, it seems, was faced by much scepticism within his own circle of advisers about the Gorbachev phenomenon. Scowcroft and Gates in particular were worried that Gorbachev would either be overthrown or that his policies would lead to an erosion of support for NATO.12 Either way it was 12 M. Cox reckoned that one should keep one’s powder dry and concede as little as possible.13 Bush too had his reservations. Yet even though he did not ‘want to make’ what he termed ‘a foolish or short-sighted move’, nor did he wish to be seen to be ‘lagging behind Gorbachev’ either. It was also evident he was far ‘less suspicious’ about the Soviet leader than a number of his colleagues.14 He was thus prepared to step up to the plate in what some have called his ‘finest hour’.15 Overcoming resistance from within his own administration he went on to set out a programme of carefully calibrated US responses. This offered US support to Gorbachev on the condition that the USSR began to take measures that would reduce its presence in Europe and open the way to possible European and German unification. This approach, it is reasoned, achieved two things. Most immediately, it sent out a clear signal that there would be few concessions on the cheap. More broadly, it held out the offer of US backing if Moscow moved in the right direction which, in the end, it did. This though was not all. As events began to unwind during 1989 Bush intervened even more decisively on the question of Germany. Here the US role is deemed to have been critical – vital even – not only in reassuring Germany’s Western allies that unification would not upset the balance of power in Europe but in reassuring Gorbachev too that a united Germany would not be at the expense of the USSR.16 Bush also takes credit for having then not exploited his own position of very real strength in relation to Gorbachev. Indeed, he now threw the increasingly beleaguered Soviet leader a series of lifelines. First, he reassured Gorbachev that having locked the new Germany into a reformed NATO, NATO itself would go no further. This was critically important for it sent out a signal – admittedly one that Gorbachev’s many enemies at home refused to believe – that this was not the beginning of a new US encirclement of its old enemy. Bush also talked in vague terms about a vast influx of US economic aid. In fact, for short while, there was much speculation about the possibility for a new Marshall Plan that would do for the USSR what the US had earlier done for Western Europe. Finally, Bush made it clear to Gorbachev, and thus to the Soviet elite as whole, that the US had no serious interest in seeing the disintegration of the Soviet Union itself. Of course, this was in the American national interest; however, it was in Gorbachev’s interest too, and this it was believed was vital if Gorbachev was to remain in power.17

And Europe? The story Americans so frequently tell themselves and others about 1989 raises several questions.18 The one we shall deal with here however revolves around the issue as to whether or not the repeated telling of the same kind of story in which American statesmen always seem to be taking the critically important decisions and making the more interesting Who won the Cold War in Europe? 13 speeches, does not end up sidelining or marginalizing others? As I have already suggested there is little doubt that it does, sometimes in ways that are more subtle than others, but nonetheless in ways that have had the consequence of making make too light of Europe’s own contribution to its own final transformation. Most obviously, what many American accounts tend to understate is the rather critical part played by Europeans themselves in the recreation of a new kind of Europe in the post-war years. Americans can of course claim (and do) that if it had not been for the US there would have been no European recovery in the first place; they could also argue (and again have done so) that inherent in the original Marshall Plan was a potential blueprint for drawing the East back into the more attractive West. Never- theless, it is by no means the whole story. The Europeans were not exactly mere onlookers. For example, many, including the offshore British, played a central part in both theorizing the Soviet threat19 and formulat- ing policies for Europe in the Cold War;20 some, in addition, played what many would now see as having been a critical role in the European recovery process too. Indeed, according to the influential though controversial Alan Milward, not only did the US not save Western Europe from a mythi- cal Soviet threat after the war, but Europe did not even need the Marshall Plan to recover its economic equilibrium.21 Nor did it require American leadership when it came to thinking about Europe’s future. Here again the initiative lay as much in European hands as it did in those of the Americans. The US may have made its own contribution to the creation of a new Europe. However, it was not American actions alone that made the new Europe a possibility, but rather a new kind of pragmatic European thinking about how to organize the relationship between former enemy states.22 If anything, the US was as much spoiler as supporter. Indeed, far from being in favour of a strong and united Europe, the US often acted in ways to ensure Europe remained as dependent as possible. Certainly, the development of Europe as an increasingly important player in international affairs with its own distinct approach to economic and global issues was one that Europeans – and not Americans – forged themselves in the years before 1989.23 Which brings us logically to the part performed by the new Europe in ending the Cold War itself. As we have already noted, much attention has been paid by American writers to the central role played by US diplomacy in the second half of the 1980s. Much less however has been paid to the part performed by the European Community itself.24 Indeed, in nearly all American narratives the Community hardly figures at all. No doubt its role is a rather unexciting one, much less dramatic perhaps than Star Wars and superpower summitry. Nonetheless, it is an important part of the story which begins in the 1970s when the USSR entered into a more formal relationship with the EC (largely in an effort to counter American ‘hegemony’)25 and continued under Gorbachev when, after some hesitation, he 14 M. Cox began to rethink the Soviet relationship with the European Community as part of his broader plan to create some kind of ‘European home’.26 Gor- bachev himself conceded that the USSR needed a partner in reform, and that the partner had to be Western Europe. As he noted ‘not a single issue’ could be decided ‘without Europe’27 – a Europe that was unques- tionably more prosperous, self-evidently more democratic, and undoubtedly much less of a drain on its protector across the Atlantic than his own particular patch of Europe was upon the USSR. This was also a Europe on the move in the 1980s and some in the East – including Gorbachev himself – feared that unless they boarded the train, there was every chance of being left even further behind. As the Soviet leader told his fellow Eastern bloc leaders in 1988: ‘To the West of our borders there is a new giant developing, one with a population of 350 million people, which sur- passes us in its level of economic, scientific and technological growth.’28 This other Europe moreover was keen to respond to Gorbachev, and in the wake of his famous UN speech of December 1988 offered a package of economic rewards to those countries willing to move more rapidly along the reformist path. The result was the creation of the PHARE programme of economic assistance to Poland and Hungary.29 European activism like the process of European integration itself may not, as one enthusiast has argued, ‘fostered the massive upheavals’ that later followed in the East. Nonetheless, it did impact on Soviet thinking and provided a powerful incentive for thinking the unthinkable in its own relations with Eastern Europe.30 This in turn raises another important question about Eastern Europe’s connection with the USSR and the former’s more general relationship with the other part of Europe. Here there can be little doubt that there were powerful pressures drawing Eastern Europe away from the USSR long before the upheavals of 1989. Moreover, this had little to do with anything the US said or did and more with the simple fact that the ‘socialist camp’ lacked the legitimacy of the liberal system in Western Europe. There were in addition two more material factors at work. One was the fact (usually unrecognized by peoples of Eastern Europe) that the Soviet ‘Empire’ so-called had become an economic burden to Moscow by the 1970s and 1980s.31 The other was foreign debt. Indeed, by the middle of the 1980s Poland, Hungary and East Germany alone owed West European banks and governments around $80 billion. There was of course no simple or even direct relationship between the Soviet decision to get out of Eastern Europe and these underlying economic realities. But there was some, as a number of Soviet leaders recognized at the time. Indeed, they had been complaining bitterly about the rising costs of Eastern Europe for a number of years, and the fact that they had to more or less give away their oil to countries that could give them little back by way of useful economic return. Nor were they unaware of the fact that after nearly 20 years of increased economic relations between Eastern Europe and Western Who won the Cold War in Europe? 15 Europe – facilitated by European détente in the 1970s – the former was effectively becoming more dependent on the latter. There is certainly evidence to suggest that this played a role in Russia’s calculations not to invade Poland earlier in the 1980s. There is some evidence too that they were thinking about this when they let Eastern Europe go a few years later. Hungary and Poland in particular were ‘drowned’ in what Moscow termed ‘financial dependence with the West’. Hence, those who criticized Gorbachev for having allowed them ‘to sail off’ into the West, ignored the very obvious fact that they had already done so economically.32 Europe too played a critical role in fostering long-term political change in the East. To be fair, Europe’s role in helping extend human rights’ norms eastwards has been given due recognition by a few American histor- ians33 and at least one US official.34 But again the important story they tell is not one that has found its way into the popular mainstream.35 Indeed, if and when Americans do talk about the impact of norms and rights on the Soviet bloc, they are more likely to praise what they did rather than a group of well-meaning Europeans who forced the issue onto the broader détente agenda during the 1970s. Indeed, what the majority of Americans often refer to as the ‘failed policy’ of détente, is hardly accorded any positive recognition at all in ending the Cold War. On the contrary, it is more often than not represented as a major disaster, one that not only failed to contain Soviet ambitions but might have even encouraged the USSR in its adventurism. There is however a very different – one might almost say European – story to be told here: one that begins with an Ostpolitik that many in the US were originally suspicious of, continues with a Helsinki process that at first it had no interest in,36 and concludes with the emergence of a group of like-minded intellectuals around Gorbachev who were keen to bring Western (largely European) values to the USSR.37 Of course, no serious analyst would argue that the process of European rapprochement and the Helsinki agreements led logically or inevitably to 1989.38 There is even some evidence to suggest that for a while it may have even stabilized things somewhat. But the stability proved short-term. Rela- tions between the two parts of Europe thawed considerably (albeit with a glitch or two along the way). Contacts developed. Even dissident groups emerged who took advantage of the new environment, much to the chagrin of the USSR at least until Gorbachev assumed office and embraced détente (including its human rights dimensions) himself.39 By itself détente may not have caused 1989. However, once again, like the spread of ideas and the rise in debt – which détente encouraged – it is difficult to imagine what finally happened without it.40 Nor should we discount Europe’s role in shaping Gorbachev’s reform ideas. As has been noted, Gorbachev increasingly came to see himself as part of a broader pan-European left that was seeking to move away from old dogmatic truths towards a new progressive formula that made more economic and political sense under conditions of modern capitalism. It 16 M. Cox was no coincidence of course that many of his most important contacts abroad were with members of a reform-minded European left. This included the Portuguese socialist Mario Soares, the Italian Communist Party (PCI), and those in Eastern Europe (most obviously Zdenek Mlynar) who had earlier theorized the attempt to establish socialism with a human face in Czechoslovakia.41 Gorbachev was also attracted to, as well as being influenced, by the European ‘social’ model – much more it seems than he was by the kind of unbridled free enterprise system on offer in the US. Gorbachev’s views were by no means fixed, and as critics have noted, by no means clear. Yet, in the transitional period between his own elevation in 1985 and the final collapse of continental communism a few years later, he laid out a vision for a reformed Soviet Russia within a wider continental framework that borrowed heavily from what he viewed as the West Euro- pean economic experience. Broadly social democratic in character, this accepted a role for the market, while still holding dear to some core ‘social’ values such as solidarity and social inclusion. In this he may have well have been a utopian; and perhaps there was no ‘Third Way’ on offer in a post-Keynesian world shaped by the kind of neo-liberal ideas by then dominant in Washington and influential in the IMF. That said, these ideas – now much derided – did play their part in preparing the ground for the kind of discussions that ultimately made 1989 a possibility.42 Naturally enough, not all of Gorbachev’s important contacts in Europe were with reform-minded socialists. Some in fact were deeply hostile to socialism in all its forms, and one in particular would have strongly resented even being thought of as a European! Yet there is little doubt that Margaret Thatcher too played her own very special role in the Gor- bachev story, not as a progressive friend of course, but as a fierce critic of anything that smacked of planning. Still, as Archie Brown has rightly shown it was probably Thatcher who first recognized that Gorbachev was someone with whom the West could do ‘business’.43 It was also Thatcher of all European leaders with whom Gorbachev seemed to enter into the most intense dialogue and discussion after 1985. Indeed, to read one of his advisers, Chernyaev, one gets the very clear impression that Gorbachev admired Thatcher a very great deal.44 But Gorbachev also developed a close intellectual partnership with another leader of a rather different political persuasion: namely François Mitterrand. Here again the evidence does not point to any simple connection between a major European figure and the end of the Cold War. Indeed, there is at least one school of thought who insist that in spite of his various protestations in favour of overcoming the European and German divide – something of which Thatcher can never be accused – Mitterrand made a last minute bid to ensure this might not happen. Yet this is not the whole story. As Frédéric Bozo has argued in this book, France’s close relationship with Germany constructed over many years within the context of its larger integration strategy, made possible a relat- Who won the Cold War in Europe? 17 ively smooth transition from one European order to the other in 1989. Of course, there were one or two bumps along the way. However, these could neither slow the process down and nor in the end did France seek to do so. If anything, the events of 1989 only gave further impetus to an integration process which France had always supported, and which it pushed even more seriously now as its preferred solution to the new German question.45 Finally, we come to the role played by German diplomacy in 1989. Here the figure of Helmut Kohl looms large in more ways than one; but loom he does in a most dramatic and independent fashion.46 No doubt Kohl was pushing against an open door that was already being pushed at hard by the East German people themselves. But push ahead he did with his so- called ‘Ten Points’, which though not quite the ‘bombshell they were in Washington as they were in London, Paris and Moscow’, were a shock nevertheless. They did however have the necessary and intended impact of asserting German leadership over its own future, and not insignificantly, of establishing his own place in a specific German history that would one day look back upon him as the father of the new German nation.47 Nor did Germany’s role conclude there. After the Wall came down in November 1989, it also employed a series of important economic incentives in the form of economic transfers to the USSR – ostensibly to support the cause of reform within Russia but also, quite clearly, to encourage the USSR to accept Germany’s entry into NATO. There were it is true other issues at stake. Yet, it still points to something that cannot be stressed too often: that on the road to 1989 and after, European nations staked out a position that was critical to the overcoming of the great European divide.48

Conclusion The analysis advanced here has addressed two big problems – one concerning the way in which many Americans conceive of their own very special role in ending the Cold War, and the other about the many important ways Europe and Europeans contributed to their own liberation. But does this really matter? Is this not just another historiographical storm in that proverbial teacup fought out by two members of the same argumentative family for control of the spoils? I would suggest not. There is more than mere ego at stake here. First, it matters because accuracy and balance matters, and it is vitally important therefore that we all tell a story about 1989 that neither privi- leges one side nor forgets the role played by the other. Second, it matters because the history of the Cold War matters, and if we get one part of that vitally important narrative wrong, then there is every chance we will get other bits wrong too. Finally, it matters because if Americans do conclude that they did indeed win the Cold War, and that hardly anybody else counted at the time, then this is likely to encourage the strategically 18 M. Cox dangerous notion that the US is not only bound to lead, but effectively has a right to. The twentieth century is littered with those who have persis- tently drawn the wrong lessons of history and gone on to commit the most egregious of strategic mistakes. If Vietnam was the bastard child of false lessons drawn from the 1930s and the policy of appeasement, then Iraq is the by-product of an American mindset that never for once questioned the assertion that the US – and the US alone – won the Cold War a decade and a half earlier.

Notes 1 Carr (1990). 2 See Cox (1990–1). 3 See Kindleberger (1973). 4 Ikenberry (2001). 5 Gilpin (1987). 6 Reeves (2005). 7 How controversial is explained well in Fischer (1997). 8 Kaiser (1992). 9 Pipes (1995). 10 For the latest attempts to privilege Reagan’s role in bringing the Cold War to an end see Matlock (2004); and Lettow (2005). 11 Bush and Scowcroft (1998). 12 As Brent Scowcroft admitted, he was ‘suspicious of Gorbachev’s motives and sceptical of his prospects’. Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 13). 13 The view taken within the CIA. See Gates (1996, p. 474). 14 Quotes from Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 9). 15 Cox and Hurst (2002). 16 The standard American account here remains Zelikow and Rice (1995). 17 Beschloss and Talbott (1993). 18 Garthoff, Raymond. ‘The U.S. Role in Winding down the Cold War, 1989–90’. In Njølstad (2004, pp. 179–195). 19 See for example Rothwell (1982). 20 Kent, John. ‘The British Empire and the Origins of the Cold War in Europe’. In Deighton (1990, pp. 165–183) 21 Milward (1984). 22 See the introduction to Haas (2004, p. xiv). 23 Lundestad (2003). 24 See Mastny, Chapter 17, in this volume. 25 See Yamamoto (2007). 26 See Rey (2004). 27 Quoted in Chernyaev (2000, p. 105). 28 Cited in Mastny and Byrne (2005, pp. 607–616). 29 See Bulletin, No. 12, and Bulletin, No. 6. 30 See Laurent, Pierre-Henri. ‘European Integration and the End of the Cold War’. In Armstrong and Goldstein (1990, pp. 147–151). 31 Lundestad (2000). 32 Quotes from Gorbachev’s conversations with Egon Krenz, 1.11.1989 cited in Armstrong and Goldstein (1990, p. 19). 33 Thomas (2001). 34 Maresca (1985). 35 See also Thomas (2005). Who won the Cold War in Europe? 19 36 On American ‘detachment’ and ‘passivity’ towards the Helsinki process between 1972 and 1977 see Korey (1987). 37 Robert D. English argues that even though the origins of certain key ideas about political and economic reform can be traced back to the 1950s and 1960s, what he calls ‘the détente epoch’ did undoubtedly give these ideas a ‘vital boost’. See English, ‘The Road (s) Not Taken: Causality and Contingency in Analysis of Cold War’s End’. In Wohlforth (2003, p. 251). 38 Oudenaren (1991). 39 Korey (1987). 40 This issue is addressed in a number of the essays in Summy and Salla (1995). 41 English (2000, p. 182). 42 Gorbachev (1987a) and Gorbachev (1995). 43 Brown (1996). 44 Gorbachev noted: ‘the simple fact that Thatcher supports perestroika is very important’. He went on to add, interestingly, that ‘the Americans regard this as her biggest mistake’. Quote from Chernyaev (2000, p. 104). 45 See Bozo (2005). 46 Spohr (2000). 47 See Hutchings (1997, p. 99). 48 Forsberg (2005).

Part I Perestroika and its effects revisited

2 Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe, 1985–1989

Marie-Pierre Rey

Officially launched in February 1986, during the Twenty-Seventh Congress of the CPSU, Gorbachev’s ‘New Thinking’ aimed to promote new diplomatic concepts and practices. Initially it was focused on US–Soviet relations which, given their strategic and geopolitical implications, occupied a major position in Gorbachev’s diplomatic activity, as shown by the fre- quency of the US–Soviet summits. However, the European theatre was not neglected, leading to tangible successes: one thinks, for example, of the Charter for the New Europe and of the signature of the CFE Treaty in November 1990. In this context, it is worthwhile re-focusing on Gorbachev’s approach to European questions, trying to understand their meaning within the New Thinking and their concrete impact on Gorbachev’s perceptions and actions. This re-examination is of particular importance given the improved access to documents now possible. This chapter will thus draw upon materials located in the Gorbachev Foundation Archives, in the Col- lection of Oral Archives jointly conducted by the Gorbachev Foundation and the Hoover Institution, on the Cold War International History Project (CWIHP) and National Security Archive (NSA) sites, and in French Presi- dential Archives. The first part of this chapter will show that while in 1985–1986, the New Thinking tended to promote a new diplomatic framework, the approach to European questions remained largely tactical and opportunistic, deeply influenced by mental and political images inherited from the Brezhnev years. From 1987–1988, Gorbachev’s European policy began to change, combining old tactical elements with pragmatism, and even a touch of idealism. This new approach, henceforth appreciated by the Western Euro- pean leaders, had concrete effects on the dialogue between the Soviet Union and Western Europe. This will be studied in the second part. Finally, from the end of 1988 and early 1989, Gorbachev’s approach to Europe became increasingly far-reaching, calling optimistically – or maybe naively? – for a renewed and ambitious ‘pan-Europeanism’. Motivated by external factors connected to the evolution of the international situation and by domestic factors connected to Gorbachev’s personal political 24 M.-P. Rey development, this effort finally failed as the third part of the chapter will show.

1985–1986, a tactical and opportunistic approach to European questions In February 1986, with the help of Eduard Shevardnadze, who had been appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs in July 1985, as well as of Aleksandr Yakovlev, former ambassador in Canada and Anatoly Chernyaev, his closest diplomatic advisor, Mikhail Gorbachev outlined his ‘New Think- ing’, that is, a set of diplomatic principles and guidelines which had been patiently elaborated from March 1985 onwards.1 The new approach to international relations was based on a few key themes: the fear of nuclear war shared by all peoples, the interdepen- dence of the problems faced by humanity, the ‘de-ideologization’2 of international relations and the end of the principle of class struggle in foreign policy. From these general principles, three practical ideas emerged: peaceful coexistence had to be cooperative, true security had to be mutual, and the USSR and the US had to promote the concept of ‘reasonable sufficiency’ in their strategic thinking. These principles denoted a drastic change in Soviet perceptions. The USSR did not see itself any longer as a fortress in danger nor did it dream any more of imperial power and of expansionism in the Third World; rather, it favoured internal development and promoted disarmament and rapprochement with the West. This policy, more rational than the previous aggressive one, would allow the Soviet Union to devote resources to civil use which had previously been absorbed by military development.3 Of course, many of the critiques implicitly or explicitly conveyed by Mikhail Gorbachev’s foreign policy speech during the Twenty-Seventh Congress were not completely new. During the 1970s, a readiness to re- examine the USSR’s basic foreign policy assumptions could already be found within the Party and in the Foreign Ministry (MID) apparatus, in particular on the part of the mezhdunarodniki, international relations experts who, for the most part, had graduated from the Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO) between 1955 and 1960, at the beginning of de-Stalinization and the Khrushchev era.4 But, and this is why Gorbachev played a crucial role, the New Thinking enunciated in February 1986, brought consistency and visibility to what had been until then a disparate set of partial insights shared by a handful of inside experts. The new Soviet desire to promote long-term peaceful coexistence and to slow down the nuclear arms race – in particular because of the Amer- ican SDI project which deeply disturbed them – led Gorbachev to priori- tize US–Soviet relations. Consequently, the New Thinking initially had a limited impact on European questions, which remained dominated, as in Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 25 the Brezhnev years, by a tactical and opportunistic approach. Indeed, while the Soviets were engaged in a process of serious dialogue with the US administration from the end of 1985 onwards despite all the difficulties involved,5 the new Soviet leadership attached limited importance to European questions. In particular, its perception of Western Europe remained quite vague despite Chernyaev’s early insistence on the region’s potential value to Soviet interests.6 Admittedly, Gorbachev had for the first time publicly stated that ‘Europe is our Common Home’ while leading a Soviet parliamentary delegation in London in 1984, and had employed the phrase once more in an interview given to French television during his trip to France in October 1985.7 But this expression had no true content yet, and Gorbachev’s approach to European questions was largely tactical. In 1985–1986, any dialogue with the Western European states had no meaning in itself for Gorbachev and his advisers, it was only a tool, an instrument that could be useful in influencing US–Soviet relations. Such dialogue was first a way of showing the US administration that while still privileging relations with Washington, Soviet diplomacy was in search of new interlocutors; and, second, a way of exerting pressure on the US administration to go further in the European disarmament negotiations. Receiving the French communist leader Georges Marchais in September 1987, Gorbachev asserted that he intended:

to use this visit to create precise difﬁculties for the US administration. [The US administration] was hurt by the recent position that we stated that we cannot see the whole world through the prism of USSR–US relations alone. The European course is important for us. We want to use all the existing resources, with no illusions about Mit- terrand, Kohl or Thatcher.8

More precisely, the new leadership hoped that it could use the Western European channel to force the US administration to give up the sensitive SDI project, about which most of the Western European leaders were reluctant, and sometimes hostile. In November 1986, in a discussion with Anatoli Chernyaev, Mikhail Gorbachev asserted:

We have to move forward in our negotiations with the United States. The important thing for us is to weaken their opposition. And not to allow them to impose upon us their evaluation of the situation. We have to establish contacts with the great [European] leaders. I have to go to Europe and meet Thatcher, Mitterrand. Shevardnadze has to go there more often. By all manner of means, we have to oppose the SDI.9

As far as its perceptions of Europe were concerned, however, the new leadership remained attached to a rather traditional model: as had been 26 M.-P. Rey the case in the Brezhnev era, Western Europe – in particular the EEC – was not perceived as an entity, but as a collection of individual states.10 And the main goal of Soviet diplomacy was to play one or more individual states off against the others, in order to weaken Western European solidarity. A report prepared for Gorbachev by Chernyaev and addressed to Alek- sandr Yakovlev in March 1986 clearly illustrated this point.11 Written to prepare for the meeting between Gorbachev and French President Mitter- rand the following July, the report was not optimistic about the potential or concrete results of the Soviet–French summit.12 Instead, it stressed the need to give a more systematic importance to the Soviet–British dialogue in order to encourage British diplomacy to become more independent from US diplomacy. However, in his report, Chernyaev also asserted that England could not constitute ‘for the USSR the pivotal power in Euro- pean matters’ and he stressed the need to give more attention to the FRG. But again, this was intended to weaken and disturb Western solidarities rather than to build a serious rapprochement with the FRG:

We have to pay more attention to the FRG, in a broad sense. If we succeed in attracting it towards us, then it would be a great success for our European and global policy. Immediately, again, everyone would be nervous in Paris and Washington and the other capitals. The Rapallo spirit is still alive and it still frightens a few.... The solution for German uniﬁcation lies in our hands and on this fact we can establish our policy of rapprochement with the FRG.13

Based on a tactical perception of Western European questions, this Soviet European policy did not convince Western European leaders most of whom were sceptical about Gorbachev’s ability to promote a radically new foreign policy. In July 1986, just back from the USSR, the French President praised Gorbachev’s personal merits in a letter to Margaret Thatcher but at the same time underlined his relatively small room for manoeuvre:

He has a great, quick and supple mind. He envisions the issues com- prehensively. It seems he has a true sense of realities concerning both his own country and the rest of the world.... It is precisely because he wants to see a powerful and respected USSR that he will try to mod- ernise his country, making the best use of whatever room for manoeuvre that the Soviet system from which he comes can grant him.14

This point of view was largely shared by other Western European leaders. Answering Mitterrand on 21 August 1986, Thatcher saw in Gor- bachev a man who, compared to his predecessors, was by no means ‘less committed to the Soviet system nor less nationalistic’.15 Chancellor Kohl’s Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 27 first judgement was even more severe since in 1986 he compared the Soviet leader to Joseph Goebbels16 before expressing a subtler point of view that appeared closer to the French and the British ones: ‘I feel for Gorbachev a sceptical sympathy. Some people think that he wants to establish a democratic republic. As for me, I think that he only wants to establish an efficient communism. This will increase the Soviet power of seduction.’17 This ‘wait and see’ attitude fed through into Gorbachev’s meetings with Western European leaders. Thus in October 1985, Gorbachev came back from his first trip to France rather disappointed: while he had succeeded in obtaining from Mitterrand a condemnation of the SDI, he had failed to get from the French President clear support for his proposals on disarmament, or a positive answer when he invited Mitterrand to enter into negotiations on nuclear weapons in Europe, separately from the Geneva process.18 Several months later, Gorbachev’s second meeting with Mitter- rand, on 7 July 1986, was only a qualified success.19 Admittedly, the two leaders were able to speak quite openly to each other, expressing their common opposition to the SDI and their support for the general idea of disarmament; but in return for his proclaimed willingness to exclude French and British weapons from the strategic dialogue with the US, Gor- bachev did not get anything concrete from the French President. More- over, when Gorbachev sought to secure potential allies over the European missile question, he had to face strong opposition from Kohl who was very suspicious of Soviet intentions and reluctant to enter into a dialogue with Moscow.20 Consequently, because of the Western European suspicion towards Gorbachev and because of Gorbachev’s inability to think about Soviet–Western European relations without resorting to a tactical and short-term schema, the years 1985–1986 remained disappointing as far as relations between the Soviet Union and Western Europe were concerned. From 1987 onwards, by contrast, deep changes began to appear both in Soviet perceptions and diplomatic practices towards Western Europe.

1987–1988, towards the idea of a European Common Home The ﬁrst signs of change appeared in February 1987 when Gorbachev, who was on the point of offering to conclude a treaty on the reduction of intermediate range nuclear forces without waiting for a breakthrough on START, outlined his perception of Western Europe to the Politburo. He began by reminding his colleagues of why he had dropped the former Soviet insistence on the inclusion of French and British nuclear missiles in nuclear negotiations, but then went on to express, for the ﬁrst time since 1985, a true interest in the EEC as a whole.21 He also deplored the fact that the Soviet apparatus did not know enough about the EEC, because 28 M.-P. Rey ‘no serious study is conducted on the European economy, nothing valuable comes from either the KGB or the Research academic institutes’.22 This new interest in Western Europe reappeared one month later, on the eve of Margaret Thatcher’s visit, when Anatoli Kovalev, the deputy foreign minister, presented a report on the ‘Common European Home’ to the Politburo.23 Kovalev underlined the independence of Western Europe and its ability to distance itself from American policy – two major reasons for which the Soviet Union had an interest in ‘inviting the Euro- peans and the others not to look at Europe through American glasses’. For Kovalev, who had been the head of the Soviet delegation to the Helsinki negotiations, ‘Europe was receptive to our Perestroika and our glasnost and this circumstance had to be exploited’. Obviously for him, the concept of ‘European Common Home’ was a new expression of the old utilitarian and opportunistic approach to Western European matters. But this was no longer the case for Gorbachev. Admittedly, old tactical elements were still present in the Soviet leader’s thought: ‘Our aim is not to turn Europe away from the United States but to oust the United States from Europe. Shall we succeed? I don’t know. But this aim, we cannot escape.’24 But alongside such ideas, a much more original perception of Western Europe could be perceived. In his comment on Kovalev’s report, Gorbachev began by stressing the necessity to move forward with peaceful coexistence and to rely more on Western Europe, because ‘without Western Europe, nothing important can be decided’. Then he focused on Europe’s key role in Soviet foreign policy, declaring to the Politburo members that ‘Europe is our business. There our interests are enormous’, and that ‘you have to understand that Western Europe is our essential partner’. Last, regretting that the Soviet apparatus was so ignorant about Western Europe, Gorbachev emphasized the necessity to study the organization, the functioning and the diversity of Western Europe and for this purpose, he asked Yakovlev to work on the creation of a Centre of European Studies – a comment which by January 1988 had led to the establishment of the Institute for Europe under Vitali Zhurkin’s direction. This March 1987 declaration is important: it demonstrates that as early as spring 1987, Gorbachev, in advance of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was supporting a complete revaluation of the role of Western Europe in Soviet foreign policy, perceiving it as a natural partner and even as a potential ally which shared strategic, geopolitical and diplomatic interests with the USSR. The next months were to bring a new decisive change in Gorbachev’s perception. Indeed, from the beginning of 1988, focusing on the concept of ‘European Common Home’, the Soviet leader began to assert that the USSR and Western Europe shared not only common strategic interests (as declared the previous year), but also common philosophical and political values. And this quickly led him to focus on the European nature of the USSR and on the European civilization which he wished to promote. On Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 29 29 March 1988, for example, in a conversation with Alessandro Natta, the General Secretary of the Italian Communist Party, Gorbachev clearly described his perceptions and objectives:

Everything which takes place in Western Europe, even questions about its integration, is of interest to us. Above all we think of ourselves as Europeans. We cannot think of improving the world situation with no participation by Europe which has great historical experience and scientiﬁc and intellectual potential. Nothing can replace it... A few words on the European Common Home: in promoting this expression, we start from the idea that among European countries there remain differences, true differences, but that at the same time we are all Europeans, united by historical, economic and cultural links, by ecology. We are linked by a common destiny. The idea of a European Common Home transforms the results of the Helsinki Process. The ‘bricks’ for the house will be a disarmament policy based on the principle of equal security, on economic links between countries, in particular between the EEC and the CMEA, on cultural exchanges, on the solution of ecological problems, and so on.25

The idea of the ‘European Common Home’ was consequently a way to overcome the Cold War by working together on a gradual rapprochement between the two parts of Europe. This rapprochement was to be strategic first and then political: in 1988, confident about the disarmament process, the Soviet leadership proposed not to dissolve the military alliances, but to transform them into political organizations that could actively contribute to the rapprochement. The rapprochement was also to take place on the economic level and in June 1988 a first ‘Common Declaration’ between the EC and the CMEA was signed, paving the way for an agreement on trade and economic cooperation at the end of the year. Last but not least, the European Common Home was meant to lead to the emergence of a European cultural community to be built upon respect for the Helsinki principles. However, at the same time – and of course this illustrates the complexity and the ambivalence of Gorbachev’s thought – each part of Europe was supposed to keep its own identity and own values. In other words, by mid-1988, Gorbachev, whose perceptions had considerably evolved from 1985, remained nevertheless attached to the specificity of the Soviet model and was still confident about its longevity. Western European leaders reacted with interest to these major innova- tions in Soviet Foreign Policy and the years 1987–1988 saw frequent meetings between Gorbachev and Western European leaders. Admittedly, Thatcher’s first trip to Moscow in March 1987 was still difficult and discussions which exposed irreconcilable points of view on nuclear questions attested to persistent mutual distrust. Moreover, Thatcher’s forceful condemnation of the expansionist and aggressive nature of communism and 30 M.-P. Rey its disrespect for human rights and freedom, plus Gorbachev’s strong defence of collective communist values against the egoism of capitalist regimes, illustrated that Cold War political stereotypes and mutual suspi- cions were still powerful on both sides. However, despite disagreements26 a dialogue could still take place. This confirmed Gorbachev’s conviction that discussions had to be encouraged and deepened, and that the peaceful Soviet intentions had to be better explained in order to be understood.27 It led also to some changes in Thatcher’s perceptions. On her return from Moscow, she wrote to Mitterrand on April 1987 comment- ing of Gorbachev that ‘it is in our interests to favourably welcome his efforts and to encourage him in the direction in which he has engaged himself.28 In December 1987, a new meeting between Thatcher and Gor- bachev (he was on his way to Washington) illustrated that the Soviet–British dialogue had definitely entered a new stage.29 Thatcher gave unconditional support to Perestroika and to the Soviet–US negotiations on disarmament, while Gorbachev deliberately stressed the Euro- pean dimension of the USSR and called for a policy of cooperation between the two parts of Europe. This willingness to work together was also perceptible in the new Soviet–West-German dialogue which had been reactivated through Hans- Dietrich Genscher’s efforts and President Richard Von Weizsäcker’s visit to Moscow in July 1987.30 In October 1988, during Kohl’s first trip to Moscow, both the German Chancellor and Gorbachev expressed the desire to promote bilateral relations. However, if Gorbachev stressed the necessity to respect ideological specificities, Kohl wanted to overcome the division of Europe (and implicitly the division of Germany), by using Gor- bachev’s own concept of a ‘European Common Home’.31 Finally, in late November 1988, the meeting between Gorbachev and Mitterrand, prepared by Shevardnadze’s visit to Paris in September, underlined a common willingness to engage in a privileged and institu- tionalized dialogue between France and the USSR and to work together to build a united European continent.32 In his head-to-head meeting with Gorbachev, Mitterrand outlined his geopolitical vision, stressing that the EC should not remain separated indefinitely from the rest of Europe, that in the long term (in 25, 50 or even 100 years, as Mitterrand stated), Europe would have to be united and that the time had come to give the European Common Home a concrete meaning, not only through growing economic and commercial exchanges but also through pan-European agreements on telecommunications, the space industry, ecology.33 In response, Gorbachev declared that ‘he saw in this potential unity a way for us to advance in the development of the continent, of European civilization.’ In no other high-level discussion, was the idea of a common European destiny and civilization expressed in such a strong and ambitious manner, and Gorbachev was fully aware of this.34 So by the end of 1988, the Soviet approach to Western European and Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 31 European questions had evolved considerably. Departing from the old approach focused on a tactical and opportunistic use of Western Europe, it shifted in the space of a few years to a more ambitious approach that recognized the specificity of Western Europe and offered to associate with it in the construction of a new ‘utopia for Europe’. However, for the time being, this approach remained largely theoretical, despite some concrete achievements like the June 1988 declaration. It would thus only be in the watershed year of 1989 that Gorbachev tried – unsuccessfully – to give this vision a more operational dimension.

1989–1990, the call for pan-Europeanism, a last attempt to solve crucial foreign and domestic issues From the beginning of 1989, the concepts of a European Common Home and pan-Europeanism began to be invested with new more concrete functions and aims by Gorbachev. For the Soviet leader, pan-European cooperation was supposed first to eliminate the bipolarity of the world, and so to bring security to the continent and provide a new diplomatic order. Based on a renewed Helsinki process, this new diplomatic order was to be grounded in the principles Gorbachev had enunciated on 7 December 1988 in his address to the UN General Assembly Session.35 In New York he had focused on ‘the principles of a new world order and on the urgent need for a future based on the co-development of all members of the international community’, publicly agreed to renounce the use of force and the threat of force, and stressed the principle of freedom of choice.36 Consequently, this pan-Europeanism would allow the USSR and the Eastern European countries to stay in the same geopolitical community, to maintain some of the former links between them – at a time when the old ‘communist solidarities’ were dissolving in Eastern Europe – and to bring the two parts of Europe closer to each other.37 But in the longer term, pan-European cooperation could also help solve the German question. Indeed for Gorbachev, German unification was inevitable because the division was not natural; but it should be achieved through the gradual convergence between the two blocs and within a pan-European framework. And at that time, this approach was largely shared by Mitterrand who, during his meeting with Gorbachev in Kiev in December 1989, insisted that European integration and German unification should not be contradictory but complementary processes, stating that: ‘It is necessary to make sure that the all-European process develops more rapidly than the German question and that it overtakes the German movement. We have to create all-European structures. The German component must only be one, and by no means the dominant element of politics in Europe.’38 To these diplomatic and geopolitical aims, were added economical, political and philosophical ones. First, the domestic economic reforms launched in 1987 and the resultant difficulties encouraged the Soviet 32 M.-P. Rey leadership to seek support for its growing reorientation towards the market economy through trade and cooperation with the EEC countries.39 More fundamentally, pan-European construction could also serve as a framework in which the reformed USSR and its reformed Eastern satellites could adapt by adopting a ‘socialism with a human face’, that is, a socialism that would be tolerant, respectful of the Helsinki principles, and influenced by Western European social-democratic values. This last point is quite important: increasingly disappointed in the conservatism of the communist parties (including some Western European ones40), Gor- bachev started turning in 1988–1989 towards social-democratic parties and sharing their values, as illustrated by the programme of the Twenty-Eighth Congress of the CPSU.41 And in September 1991, in his talk with the French socialist Pierre Mauroy, vice-president of the Socialist Inter- national, he characteristically emphasized his attachment ‘to democracy, glasnost, human rights and freedom, and to the socialist idea’.42 This demonstrated his willingness to allow the Soviet regime to evolve in its values and identity.43 Thus by the end of 1989, Gorbachev’s pan-European concept contained not only an ambitious diplomatic and geopolitical programme, but also a philosophical design to reconcile Russia with the European continent and with its long-term historical European identity. However, this concept quickly brought severe disappointments for the Soviet leadership. First of all with respect to the German question, Gorbachev’s expectation of a gradual process of reunification were eclipsed by the much faster process of change propelled by Kohl and his advisers. By the end of January 1990, Gorbachev was hence compelled to recognize the German right to unification, at a time when all-European structures still did not exist.44 Moreover, while Gorbachev had expected that the concept of pan- Europeanism might lead to a renewed community between the Soviets and Eastern Europeans through the promotion of ‘socialism with a human face’, he had to face a complete breakdown of relations between the Soviet Union and its former allies. Indeed, throughout the year 1989, as they started freeing themselves from the hold of the Soviet Union, in conformity with the principle of freedom of choice, the ‘new’ states advocated a complete break with the communist legacy. Consequently, by the end of 1989, Gorbachev’s dream was already largely compromised: Central and Eastern Europe had chosen to join the rest of the continent and to take its place in the ‘common home’ by absorbing a Western model, rather than through reconciling the two models. As Chernyaev recalled: ‘Gorbachev thought that bringing freedom to our Eastern satellites would lead them to adopt a socialism with a human face. He made an enormous mistake because these countries brutally turned their back on us.’45 The collapse of Gorbachev’s dream was then confirmed when first Hungary and then Czechoslovakia and Poland expressed their intention to leave the Warsaw Pact and their interest in NATO and, to a much lesser Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 33 extent, in the Western European Union. So by the spring of 1990, the concept of a pan-Europeanism based on the parallel disappearance of the two military alliances, was ruined by the sudden reinforcement of NATO and the quasi-death of the Warsaw Pact. Finally, while Gorbachev found in Mitterrand’s project of pan- European confederation launched in December 1989, a kind of echo of his own aspirations, he was obliged to share with the French president both US animosity and the hostility of the former Eastern bloc towards the idea. Whereas Mitterrand envisaged Europeans building the confederation without any interference from the United States, Central and Eastern European leaders including notably Vaclav Havel, clearly affirmed their preference for NATO structures rather than for a hypothetical European confederation. Moreover, when Mitterrand tried to give life to a pan Euro- pean political structure, he was suspected by the Eastern European leaders, possibly induced by the US administration, of doing his best to prevent their countries from entering the EEC.46 Finally, in June 1991, the Prague Conference which was supposed to give new momentum to the project instead led only to deadlock. Thereafter the idea of a European confederation, the only child of the Gorbachevian pan-Europeanist concept of a European Common Home, was definitively abandoned. Consequently, there were almost no concrete results of the Soviet concepts of pan-Europeanism and ‘European Common Home’. Gorbachev did not fulfil his diplomatic, geopolitical and political objectives. Never- theless, by getting rid of the old ideological Marxist–Leninist schemas claiming that the Soviet model was more valuable than the Western one and by signing the Charter for the New Europe in November 1990 – one which was explicitly based on Western European political and philosophical values, such as the respect for human rights and freedom – the Soviet leadership clearly gave a strong impulse to the Russian ‘return to Europe’ and to its reconciliation with its own centuries-old European destiny. However, while this trend was reinforced during the Yeltsin years, it has been increasingly questioned by President Vladimir Putin in his quest of a worldwide destiny for Russia. And today at the beginning of the twenty- first century, the Russian ‘return’ to Europe is still an uncertain challenge.

Notes 1 See the Gorbachev Foundation Archives (GFA), Chernyaev diary. A partial English translation is available at: www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/ NSAEBB192/Chernyaev_Diary_translation_1985.pdf; for the subsequent evolution, Gorbachev (2000, p. 187). 2 The expression would also be used by Shevardnadze, Pravda, 28.9.1988. 3 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo session, 30.1.1986. For confirmation of the importance of economic factors see GFA and Hoover Institution Oral Archives on Perestroïka (OAP): esp. testimonies of Anatoly Adamishin and Valentin Aleksandrov. 34 M.-P. Rey 4 See Rey (2004a). 5 Gorbachev reportedly complained in 1985 that Reagan was ‘so loaded with stereotypes that it was difficult for him to accept reason’. Chernyaev (2000, p. 53). 6 Cf GFA, Chernyaev’s diary, spring and autumn 1985. 7 See Rey (2004). 8 GFA, fond n°2, document 85sep02.doc, meeting between Gorbachev and Mar- chais, 2.9.1985. 9 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s diary: conversation between Gorbachev and Chernyaev, 11.11.1985. 10 See Rey (2002). 11 GFA, fond n°2, document n°57, report by Chernyaev for Gorbachev and addressed to Yakovlev, 10.3.1986. 12 Ibid. Chernyaev wrote in his report: ‘It is unlikely that we will receive here something essential and concrete for our European policy.’ 13 Ibid. 14 Mitterrand to Thatcher, 31.7.1986. Quoted by Védrine (1996, p. 383). 15 Archives de la Présidence de la République Française, (APRF), fonds URSS, correspondence with Great Britain, advisers’s files, Thatcher to Mitterrand, 21.8.1986. 16 The declaration was published in Newsweek, 27.10.1986. On its impact, see Adomeit (1998, p. 259). 17 APRF, advisers’ files, Kohl–Mitterrand meeting, 28.3.1987. 18 See Chernyaev’s bitter diary entry for October 7, 1985: Gorbachev’s week in Paris: yet another try in Russia’s centuries-long attempt to brotherly (sic) embrace Europe. And once again the response is irony, coldness, polite arrogance. This is again a Dostoievsky–Danilov– Blok situation (Mitterrand’s mean and haughty face during the entire time of a joint press-conference with Gorbachev was the face of Europe in response to our cordiality.). www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB192/Chernyaev_Diary_ translation_1985.pdf 19 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, document 86jul07.doc, report of the Gorbachev– Mitterrand meeting, 7.7.1986. 20 Soviet irritation at this was clear in Gorbachev’s comments to the Politburo: We can stimulate our relations with the United States through Europe, in particular through the FRG.... In the United States, they get nervous, as soon as we begin to establish contacts with Western Europe. And here, the FRG plays a great role. We have to think about serious steps. But for the moment, we do not have to establish contacts at the highest level. We still have to give lessons to the Chancellor. GFA, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo, 27.3.1986 21 Gorbachev explained the missile decision noting, ‘Anyway, there will be no war with France and Great Britain; this war is not possible.’ GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo, 26.2.1986. 22 Ibid. 23 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo, Kovalev report presented to the Politburo, 26.3.1987. 24 Ibid. 25 GFA, fond n°3, (Zagladin Fond), document n°7129, meeting between Gor- bachev and Alessandro Natta, 29.3.1988. 26 Gorbachev’s complained: ‘She is uncompromising on the nuclear matters; she Gorbachev’s New Thinking and Europe 35 spoke to me all the time about the Brezhnev doctrine, she reminded me that “we were occupying the Baltic States.”’ GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo, 2.4.1987. 27 Ibid. 28 APRF, advisers’ files. Thatcher to Mitterrand, 3.4.1987. 29 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, document 87dec07.doc, meeting between Thatcher and Gorbachev, 7.12.1987. 30 Bozo (2005, p. 49). 31 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, document 88oct24.doc., meeting between Kohl and Gorbachev, 24.10.1988. 32 GFA, fond n°2, opis n°2, document 88nov25a.doc., meeting between Mitter- rand and Gorbachev, 25.11.1988. 33 Ibid. 34 As shown by his comments to the Politburo. See Chernyaev’s notes from the Politburo, 24.11.1988. 35 In mid-November 1989, Gorbachev told Laurent Fabius: We need a Helsinki II, we need to bring the Helsinki process to a much higher level, that is, to build the European Common Home. Realistic politicians must frame the question as follows: we should not disrupt the creation of a system of international relations in Europe, but rather develop this system on the basis of new ideas and transform the existing institutions, on the basis of mutual understanding, into true tools for cooperation. GFA, fond n°1, opis n°1, Gorbachev to Fabius, 17.11.1989 36 See CWIHP Bulletin, Issue 12/13, Fall/Winter 2001, p. 29. 37 Gorbachev told Andreotti: ‘the best is to bind the two unification processes together so as to lead to a single pan-European process, to build a European Common Home, the objective of which is the new Europe.’ GFA, fond n°1, opis n°1. Gorbachev to Andreotti, 30.11.1989. 38 GFA, fond n°2, document 89dec06.doc., meeting between Mitterrand and Gor- bachev, 6.12.1989. 39 White (1993, pp. 112–119). 40 Rey (2003–4, pp. 141–167). 41 See also Mikhail Gorbachev, ‘Without any participation of Social-Democracy, the future cannot be good and successful’. In The Social-Democracy at the eve of the XXIst Century, Moscow, RAN, 1998, p. 66. 42 GFA, fond n°1, opis n°1, Gorbachev to Mauroy, 17.9.1991. 43 The necessity to cooperate with the social-democrats was also defended by the Direction of the Italian Communist Party, see GFA, fond n°3, document n°7125, Zagladin’s meeting with Natta, 29.3.1988. 44 See Anatoli Chernyaev, ‘Gorbachev and the Reunification of Germany: Per- sonal Recollections’. In Gorodetsky (1994). Also Valentin Falin’s testimony in OAP. 45 OAP, Chernyaev’s testimony, 24.5.2001. 46 Hubert Védrine, like Mitterrand, thought that the American administration induced the Eastern European leaders to decline the French proposal and to ruin the project, because it could not accept the birth of a European confederation integrating the USSR and not the US. See Védrine (1996, p. 448). 3 In the name of Europe Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe

Svetlana Savranskaya

If any single event or a series of events could authoritatively signify the end of the Cold War, it is probably the wave of peaceful revolutions in Eastern Europe and the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Although these events were brought about by internal causes, the position of the Soviet Union emerges as the most important factor making these changes possible. The Soviet permissive and even encouraging stance toward the democratizing developments in Eastern Europe, and Mikhail Gorbachev’s ultimate rejection of the use of force are difficult to explain in traditional realist terms. This general puzzle, posed in these terms as an ‘enigma’ by Jacques Lévesque, raises further specific questions.1 Why did the Gorbachev leadership act seemingly contrary to the long-standing Soviet interest of keeping quiescent allies along its Western border? Was the use of force ever considered as a possible scenario by the Politburo? What were the main factors determining the Soviet response to the unfolding crisis in Eastern Europe in 1989? This chapter will attempt to address these questions on the basis of newly available documents from the Soviet archives and oral history sources. Rather than focusing on the revolutions themselves, it will focus on factors affecting the Soviet decision-making in a wider context of European dynamics. The sources used in this paper come primarily from the Gorbachev Foundation, and from the materials and eyewitness accounts gathered by the National Security Archive for the oral history conference ‘The End of Cold War in Europe, 1989: New Thinking and New Evidence’.2 In a somewhat controversial fashion, I will argue that the peaceful Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe was not an enigma. In fact, looking at all the available evidence, it was the most rational and reasonable policy, which logically followed from Gorbachev’s own thinking, his domestic and foreign policy priorities, the advice he received, and the course of events unfolding in Eastern Europe in 1989, in which the main role was played not by superpowers, but by the politicians and citizens of those countries. In fact, using force in Eastern Europe in 1989 would have been insane, ineffective and suicidal for Gorbachev, because it would have Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 37 meant sacrificing everything he had fought for, and everything he had achieved with perestroika – both domestically and internationally. In fact, every serious, document-based account of the revolutions in Eastern Europe and the Soviet policy, or non-policy to the region, leads to the conclusion that by 1989 the use of force by the Soviet Union was highly unlikely and counterproductive.3 The Soviet non-use of force can only be called a puzzle if looked at from within two specific frameworks. The first one, which often serves as an implicit point of reference when the Soviet withdrawal is described as puzzling, is the traditional realist perspective – when one derives expectations from an abstract notion of balance of power and assumed security interests without an analysis of actual dynamics of events and personalities of the actors. And the second one is the narrowly focused analysis of Soviet policy toward Eastern Europe that provides some heavily determin- istic historical precedents and metaphors, and assumes a very high priority of Eastern Europe for Soviet decision-makers. Since East European countries were the Soviet Union’s most important and strategically vital sphere of influence (in view of a possible military conflict on the European continent), one would have expected that all means would be used by the Soviet leaders – beginning with diplomatic and political measures, and including military means if all else failed – to preserve the unity of the socialist commonwealth. However, the available evidence suggests that the new Soviet leaders were making decisions on the basis of their norms and beliefs that often contradicted such security considerations. That required redefinition of traditional security concepts on the basis of a new liberal internationalist vision and normative concerns. Strictly speaking, Soviet behaviour in Eastern Europe in the late 1980s makes no sense whatsoever from a realpolitik point of view. From his very first steps in power Mikhail Gorbachev generated hopes of reform and liberalization in the countries of Eastern Europe. Repudia- tion of the Brezhnev Doctrine was a necessary step that had to happen before Gorbachev’s new thinking could become credible in Eastern Europe. The early years, before 1989, showed signs of both continuity and change in the Soviet policy toward Eastern Europe. But the atmosphere, including the atmosphere at the annual meetings of the Warsaw Treaty Organization Political Consultative Council, became different almost immediately.4 The new leader was trying to introduce a new vision to the old system. He was trying, in Anatoly Chernayev’s words ‘to get rid of the burden of being the “big brother” to socialist countries’.5

The vision Gorbachev’s new vision of international politics was first outlined for an international audiences in 1987, and then most eloquently in his speech to the UN General Assembly on 7 December 1988.6 This vision comprised 38 S. Savranskaya a number of basic principles, among them: the absolute rejection of the use or threat of use of force as an instrument of foreign policy; freedom of choice as a universal principle, to which there should be no exceptions; and the supremacy of common human values. According to Archie Brown, this speech by itself can be considered one of the most important factors explaining the timing of the revolutions in Eastern Europe by providing an unequivocal answer to the question of whether the Soviets would intervene.7 A central part of Gorbachev’s vision was the idea of a common Euro- pean home based on universal human values, collective security and economic integration. It was a vision of a continent without borders, where people and ideas would move freely without fear of war or hunger. In this new Europe, both blocs would gradually dissolve their military organizations, and the functions would be taken over by the newly strengthened CSCE framework, and the United Nations. These values were quite obvious early on to people in Gorbachev’s immediate circle, but not to most Politburo members. Chernyaev notes in his diary after Gorbachev’s meeting with Helmut Kohl on 28 October 1988, that Gorbachev was carry- ing on a conversation as if they were already entering a new world, ‘because it is his values: freedom of choice, respect for each other’s values, balance on interests, rejection of violence in politics, common European home, liquidation of nuclear weapons, and so on and so forth.’8 Gor- bachev’s personal aversion to bloodshed and violence, also noted by many observers, played a great role in determining the choices of policy toward Eastern Europe. Gorbachev and the people whom he brought in to be in charge of the relations with the countries of Eastern Europe shared the belief that it was impermissible for the Soviet Union to interfere in socialist countries’ affairs and to dictate to them any policies or impose judgments. Vadim Medvedev, Central Committee Secretary in charge of the socialist countries emphasized this in his memoirs: ‘Gorbachev and all of us always stated in our meetings with leaders of the fraternal countries that the determination of a political course and the choice of the direction and model of development – was an exceptional right of the people and the party of every country. Any interference in this process from outside is inadmissible’.9 Combined with this principle of non-interference was the feeling of great responsibility, not to say guilt on the part of the Soviet Union for the imposition of the Soviet choice on the countries of Eastern Europe after the Second World War and for the crude Soviet domination of the region in the subsequent 50 years. The Gorbachev circle believed that they now had to find ways to help the socialist countries get out of the crisis and to democratize their systems.10 These two beliefs taken together provide an interesting dichotomy, because whereas the first prohibits any interference in others’ affairs, the second one implies that the Soviet Union still had an important role to Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 39 play in the domestic developments of those countries. Gorbachev and his colleagues acknowledged this duality by exercising greatest care in their dealings with Eastern European leaders, wishing to be able to support the reformers, and being reluctant to deal with conservative leaders. This duality manifested itself in the ambiguity and indecisiveness of the Soviet policy toward Eastern Europe noted by many scholars. Another common ground that the Soviet reformers shared was the fact that none of them, at least in the first five years of perestroika, questioned the socialist choice. They were trying to open up the system, to get rid of the old inefficient elements, to build a democratic and even market- oriented socialism, opening the interpretation to include earlier Euro- communist thinking. The name would remain; the content would evolve over time. This helps partially to answer the question why the Soviet leaders were not able to anticipate the ‘avalanche-like’ developments that led to the collapse of the socialist commonwealth. Because a socialist democracy had such a powerful appeal in their eyes, it was hard for them to see how other socialist states would not want to emulate the Soviet reform process. Leading the socialist commonwealth by purifying and implementing true socialist ideals had for a long time been Gorbachev’s aspiration as he explained to Fidel Castro in April 1988.11 The key appointments in the sphere of relations with socialist countries and in foreign policy in general were that of Eduard Shevardnadze as Foreign Minister, the replacement of Konstantin Rusakov by Vadim Medvedev as head of the Socialist Countries Department of the Central Committee (Otdel), and then as Ideology Secretary, the choice of Chernyaev and later Georgy Shakhnazarov as foreign policy advisers, the elevation of Alexander Yakovlev to the Politburo, and the replacement of Boris Ponomarev by Anatoly Dobrynin as head of the International Department. As Brown insightfully points out in his book, the link between the new thinking and the new political actors, between the power of appointment and the power of ideas led to very significant policy outcomes.12 The political coalition for reform that Gorbachev gradually built (he liked to call it a ‘democratic coalition’) was the crucial link between the ideas and beliefs of the new thinkers and real policy.

Soviet reassessment of Eastern Europe and policy recommendations The impetus to reform the relations between the socialist countries came from the realization by Gorbachev and those who were involved in policy- making toward Eastern Europe that the socialist bloc has become an economic burden rather than an advantage to the Soviet Union itself. Over the last few years preceding the reform, the Soviet Union had continually had an unfavourable trade balance with socialist countries, which it sup- plied with raw materials, oil, and gas, receiving in return manufactured 40 S. Savranskaya goods which were generally of low quality. In addition to this structure of trade, the Soviet Union gave substantial subsidies to the allies, especially when there was any threat of internal political instability in any of the countries. The last example of such manipulation had been Poland in 1980–81.13 One of the earliest frank discussions of the situation within the CMEA occurred during the Politburo meeting of 13 June 1986, after Gorbachev had attended a meeting of the Political Consultative Committee Session of the Warsaw Pact in Budapest. He described the critical situation in the socialist community, the absence of economic integration and foreign policy coordination and the need to shift to relations based strictly on mutual beneﬁt, not ideological or administrative factors.14 Two years later, the assessment of the socialist empire as a burden was already quite obvious in another Politburo discussion on 10 March, 1988. After describ- ing the crisis in the system of economic relations in the Eastern bloc, as being based upon ‘Western credits and our cheap raw materials’, Gor- bachev set out the hierarchy of priorities the following way: ‘In our relations with the CMEA, we have to take care of our own people ﬁrst of all.’ And the General Secretary also drew a stark conclusion – ‘in the economic sphere, socialism did not pass the test of practice.’15 It is surprising how well-understood the economic crisis of the socialist system was in the Politburo and among Gorbachev’s advisers. In October 1988, Georgy Shakhnazarov drafted a very frank memo for Gor- bachev for the Politburo session on the socialist camp. He raised the possibility that several Eastern European countries could ‘go bankrupt at the same time’ and noted that it was quite realistic, naming Poland, Hungary, Bulgaria and the GDR specifically. The memo posed a question about the existence of a Soviet general strategy toward the reform in Eastern Europe and whether the presence of Soviet troops in the allied countries was still warranted. The main recommendation was that ‘in the future, a possibility to “put out” crisis situations with force should be completely excluded.’16 Gradually, the Soviet leadership also understood that without letting Eastern European countries reform their economies, there would be no possibility for the Soviet Union to ‘enter’ the world economy and to integrate with the West, which was one of Gorbachev’s main goals. Research on integration and economic experimentation with market elements was gaining ground in Soviet academic circles, and Eastern Europe was often seen as a testing ground and a window to European integration. In 1989, Academician Andranik Migranyan of the Institute of the Economics of the World Socialist System of the USSR Academy of Sciences wrote about the Soviet desire for a new type of international economic interaction:

No longer regarding ourselves as an alternative model of development for the whole world community, and having realized the funda- Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 41 mental weak points of our own economic and political system, we are deliberately trying not to hinder Western-style international economic contacts. On the contrary, we would like to integrate with that system and adopt ourselves to its already existing structures. Signiﬁcant in this respect is the change in our attitude to the integration processes going on in Europe and in the West as a whole. Recent Soviet foreign policy gives us ground to outline a general road towards the single, transcontinental community.17

Thus, economically, as far as Eastern Europe was concerned, the cost of the ‘empire’ began to be perceived as exceeding its value. Strategically, the territory of Eastern European countries became less valuable with the arrival of long-range nuclear weapons. And in the late 1980s, when the probability of a military conflict in Europe was seen as infinitesimal, its strategic value diminished even more. The most striking evidence of the reassessment of the strategic value of the socialist camp in the Soviet leadership comes from a memo prepared by Chernyaev on the issue of German unification on 4 May 1990. He wrote:

The discussions about the fact that as a result of German uniﬁcation, and then a possible entry of Poland into NATO, the borders of the bloc would move to the Soviet borders – this [argument] is from yes- terday, this is a strategy of the time of World War II and the Cold War, when our own security was measured not only in the military, but also in the social and political sphere through the [socialist] commonwealth.... Our real security is being determined now at the Soviet- American [arms control] negotiations.18

Notwithstanding Gorbachev’s early calls for developing a strategy toward the socialist commonwealth, policy recommendations were slow to come, and only in 1989 do we see a more or less coherent effort to deal conceptually with the changes in Eastern Europe. Two very important documents show the depth of analysis and recommendations that were on Gorbachev’s table by early 1989: a memorandum from the Inter- national Department of the Central Committee, and a memorandum from the Institute of Socialist Countries (the Bogomolov Institute) of the Academy of Sciences. Both documents show the deep crisis of the socialist commonwealth, and emphasize the limited nature of the Soviet leverage. In a crucial conclusion of the ﬁrst memorandum, the authors point out that ‘it is unlikely that we would be able to use such steps as in 1956 and 1968, both because of the considerations of principle, and also because of the clearly unacceptable consequences for us.’19 The second memorandum lists those consequences more speciﬁcally and spells out the logic of why the use of force would be the least rational decision for Gorbachev to take: 42 S. Savranskaya A direct interference by the USSR using force in the development of events on the side of the conservative forces, who are isolated from the people, would absolutely clearly mean an end to perestroika, the loss of the world community’s trust toward us, but it would not be able to prevent a collapse of the socio-economic and socio-political system existing in these countries.’20

The question of troop withdrawal from East European countries was repeatedly raised in discussions with advisors, and sometimes at the Polit- buro. Both of the memoranda mentioned above suggested that troop withdrawal should be considered in the future. East European representatives raised it in their meetings with their Soviet counterparts. Gorbachev was well aware of such suggestions, but he usually spoke in favour of very gradual reductions without haste and stopping short of a complete withdrawal. Even on the eve of his speech to the United Nations announcing Soviet unilateral troop reductions in Europe, Gorbachev believed such a controlled turn of events was possible.21 No speciﬁc timetable was ever discussed. What strikes one when reading Soviet documents of 1988–89 on Eastern Europe, is how many times Gorbachev was warned about the impending collapse of Eastern Europe, and how aware he was about the real state of affairs. And yet, during the Politburo discussions, or in discussions with his closest personal assistants, on which Gorbachev was relying more and more in 1989, the use of force, or even the threat of the use of force was never proposed by anyone.

From style to substance: discarding the Brezhnev Doctrine Contrary to the belief that real changes in the Soviet policy toward Eastern Europe began as late as 1989, I would argue that the available documentary evidence shows a very early turn to a completely new definition of the Soviet role in the socialist commonwealth. The first step was taken during the conversations with the leaders of fraternal countries during their stay in Moscow for Chernenko’s funeral. Gorbachev credits that first meeting with ‘rejecting the Brezhnev Doctrine’.22 The next indication of change in the Soviet position on Eastern Europe came at the end of June 1985, when an article dealing with the socialist commonwealth was published in Pravda signed by Vladimirov.23 The actual author of the article was the conservative first deputy head of the Socialist Countries’ Department of the Central Committee, Oleg Rakhmanin. The article argued against ‘national models’ of socialism in fraternal countries, blamed them for nationalism and even Russo-phobia, and argued in favour of strengthening discipline within the socialist camp. The article was perceived by Gor- bachev as seriously undermining his new approach to Eastern Europe. At the Politburo session on 29 June 1985, he subjected Konstantin Rusakov, Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 43 the head of the Department of Socialist Countries to scathing criticism and later replaced him with Vadim Medvedev.24 On 21 October 1985, at a meeting of the Political Consultative Commit- tee of the Warsaw Pact, Gorbachev provided a lengthy analysis of the state of the international communist movement suggesting that it was going through difficult times, and that each communist country now had to interpret the situation independently. At that meeting Gorbachev announced his new approach to the allies: relations based on equality and the respect of national sovereignty and independence, and mutually advantageous cooperation in all spheres. He also stressed that these new principles meant full responsibility of each party for the situation in their respective countries.25 Probably the key document that gives one an insight into Gorbachev’s early thinking on Eastern Europe is the long memo that he sent to Polit- buro members on 26 June 1986 for discussion at the Politburo session on 3 July. He noted that the CMEA lacked genuine integration, and that a change of leadership was taking place in most countries of the Eastern bloc. Gorbachev underscored the special responsibility of the USSR for the fate of world socialism and the need to lead by example, not by the imposition of one’s will. The memo identified economic integration as the main task, with genuine coordination in foreign policy and the sharing of experience and information in internal policies being other priorities. Gorbachev concluded with a suggestion that there should be a discussion of Eastern Europe in the Politburo followed by instructions to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the KGB and the relevant departments of the Central Committee to develop a strategy for relations with socialist countries. This was the first of many calls for a strategy toward Eastern Europe which were never fully answered.26 The earliest statement by Gorbachev that force would not be used by the Soviet Union in Eastern Europe was made at the Politburo session that discussed the above-mentioned memo on 3 July 1986, when Gorbachev forcefully stated that ‘the methods that were used in Czechoslovakia and Hungary are no good right now, they will not work!’27 A similar statement was made to the socialist leaders during the session of CMEA in November 1986 in Moscow.28 However, it is not clear that they understood it as a statement of policy at the time and not just as rhetoric of the new General Secretary. It took until after the December 1988 UN speech for East Euro- pean leaders to believe that the Brezhnev Doctrine was no longer valid. One of the issues that came up repeatedly in discussions of the Soviet policy of non-interference in East European development was the concern that the West should not try to take advantage of the Soviet policy and speed up the changes thus destabilizing the situation in Eastern Europe. In this and other issues, Gorbachev began to rely on West European and US leaders as his peer group, which strengthened his identification with Europe even more. Margaret Thatcher and François Mitterrand were 44 S. Savranskaya especially trusted partners, on whom the Soviet leader relied in his hope for support on the German issue and the evolution of Eastern Europe. Gorbachev repeatedly indicated in his conversations with Mitterrand that the Soviet Union accepted evolutionary processes of change in Eastern Europe, and was not considering any forceful methods of dealing with the change.29 In some conversations with Western leaders, Gorbachev openly pleaded for support, asking if they could use their political weight to warn other (he usually meant the US) leaders from interfering in Eastern Europe. Examples of such requests are most pronounced in the conversations with Thatcher on 23 September 1989, with Helmut Kohl on 11 November 1989, and Mitterrand on 14 November 1989.

Soviet domestic political context in 1989 Reading Soviet Politburo discussions from 1989, one striking paradox stands out: the near complete absence of discussions about Eastern Europe which seemingly did not exist for the most part of the year, or at very least was a region where absolutely nothing of interest was happening. The spring of 1989 was dominated by the discussion of the coming elections and then by the surprisingly poor performance of the party candidates at the polls. The Congress itself began its work at the end of May with wide-ranging and very free discussions that were televised and widely watched. The use of force in Tbilisi on 9–10 April, and its discussion by the Congress of People’s Deputies, had a signiﬁcant impact on Gorbachev, and his thinking. If the domestic and limited use of force created such a powerful outpouring of emotion and criticism, what would the reaction be to a possible Soviet use of force or even threat of use of force in Eastern Europe? Another burning issue that preoccupied the Soviet leadership in 1989 with direct implications for Soviet policy to Eastern Europe was the effort to preserve the Union in the context of rising discontent in the Baltic republics. On 11 May, during a Politburo discussion of the situation in the Baltic states, Gorbachev made a very clear statement regarding forceful methods: ‘The use of force is excluded. We excluded it in foreign policy, thus it is even more inadmissible to [use it] against our own peoples.’30 Symbolically, on 9 November, as the Berlin Wall was falling, the Soviet Politburo was discussing the crisis of Baltic secession. In 1989, the issue of nationalism and ethnic tensions for the ﬁrst time assumed priority in the eyes of the Gorbachev leadership. The Central Committee Plenum on ethnic and national issues was held in September 1989. In November, in a statement verging on panic, Chairman of the Council of Ministers Ivan Ryzhkov prophetically warned of possible seces- sionist movements in Russia and Ukraine, concluding that ‘it smells of total collapse.’31 Domestic political concerns, and especially the looming threat of the dissolution of the Soviet Union lowered the perceived prior- Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 45 ity of Eastern Europe in the eyes of the Soviet leadership and affected their calculations about the expediency of the use of force in the region.

A common European home The vision of Europe and especially the idea of a common European home was central to Gorbachev’s thinking about the future of socialist regimes in Eastern Europe. He was concerned that in the eyes of Euro- peans the image of the Soviet Union was linked with invasions. Correcting this image was seen as a necessary precondition for being accepted as a civilized European nation. During the Politburo discussion of the new military doctrine of the Warsaw Pact, on 8 May 1987, Gorbachev brought up a conversation with Thatcher, which had left a lasting impression on him, where ‘she said that they were afraid of us. That we invaded Czechoslova- kia, Hungary and Afghanistan. This perception is widespread among the public there.’ To counter this image, Gorbachev advocated troop reductions and directly tied this argument to the need to think ‘about Europe: from the Atlantic to the Urals.’32 Europe, and the ‘return to Europe’ was one of the earliest ideas of perestroika, always involving the issue of Russian identity as a European state, and the implicit hope of pulling Europe away from the US. The idea of a common European home was based to a large extent on Gorbachev’s desire to turn the CSCE framework into the main structure of European security, which would mean the gradual dissolution of both the Warsaw Pact and NATO. Seen mainly as an irritant by his predecessors, the CSCE received renewed attention and support from Gorbachev practically as soon as he came to power. In fact, the very first foreign trip of new Foreign Minister Shevardnadze was to participate in the CSCE Vienna conference, at which the Soviet side made an unprecedented proposal to host a CSCE conference on the humanitarian dimension in Moscow. To make this possible, the Soviet leadership made significant changes in its human rights practices, including releasing political prisoners and putting an end to the persecution of prominent dissidents.33 In early 1988, in an effort to provide the concept of the common Euro- pean home with substance and to shift the intellectual centre of gravity in Moscow toward the study of Europe, the Institute of Europe headed by Vitaly Zhurkin was created under the auspices of the USSR Academy of Sciences.34 The Institute was involved heavily in preparation for the Paris summit of the CSCE in November 1990. Europe and ‘Europeanness’ figured prominently in the Soviet approach to Eastern Europe. Ambassador Yuri Kashlev, who was head of the Soviet delegation in Vienna, explicitly tied Gorbachev’s proposal to hold a summit in Paris in 1990 of the leaders of states which had signed the original Helsinki Final Act in 1975 to the ‘stormy’ events in Eastern Europe in 1989.35 The summit, with its Charter on Europe from Vancouver to 46 S. Savranskaya Vladivostok, was also the culmination of Gorbachev’s hope for European integration on the model of the common European home. Building the common European home was Gorbachev’s priority for Europe, which for him subsumed the more highly visible issue of revolutions in Eastern Europe. In his conversation with Mitterrand in Kiev in December 1989, the Soviet leader outlined his priorities in the following way: ‘I repeat, the first priority should be European integration, evolution in Eastern Europe and the European [security] process, creation of peaceful order in Europe.’36 Virtually all discussions of Eastern Europe in the Politburo placed the issue in the framework of the pan-European process. The idea that the common European home could be built on the basis of the mutual gradual dissolution of both military–political blocs was very persistent within Gorbachev’s circle of advisers and supporters, although it was not universally accepted within the Soviet establishment. Georgy Shakhnazarov was the strongest proponent of the idea of the dissolution of the blocs. He mentioned it repeatedly in his communications with Gor- bachev, and prepared a long and detailed memorandum on the issue on 14 October 1989. The memo showed how the Soviet acceptance of revolutions in Eastern Europe and withdrawal of Soviet troops would logically lead to the ultimate goal of the disappearance of the blocs, and of the strengthening of the CSCE structures as the main framework for Euro- pean security. The memo proposed to: put the process of relaxation of the military confrontation, which has already begun, onto a planned basis, and thus to envision the liquidation of the WTO and NATO by the end of the XX century. Within the framework of this process, we should define a number of interim stages, the most important of which should be the elimination of the military organizations of the two blocs by 1995.37 In this context, any use of forceful methods in Eastern Europe was seen as counterproductive. According to Shevardnadze, in the autumn of 1989, he and Gorbachev ‘were pressured to follow the scenarios of 1953, 1956 and 1968.’ The price of doing so was very clear to the Foreign Minister – it would have meant sacrificing: freedom of choice, non-interference, and a common European home.... The very thought of it or of keeping a tight leash on the countries that some call ‘buffer states’ was insulting to us as well as to the people of those countries.38

Conclusion After 1985, the Soviet Union gradually abandoned the old pattern of intervention and tight control over internal developments in East Euro- Soviet withdrawal from Eastern Europe 47 pean countries. It is important to note that during the second half of the 1980s the Soviet Union at any particular point in time still had the capability to control the socialist allies militarily: even in 1990 several hundred thousand Soviet troops remained in Eastern Europe. The choice of military intervention was seen as abhorrent and unacceptable to Gorbachev and his coalition, however. In their view, the Soviet Union would not become less secure if it were surrounded by independent friendly countries sharing the same problems and united by their common democratic reform. Moreover, its security would, in fact, grow stronger if democratization in the Soviet Union and in Eastern Europe led both the USSR and its allies to participate ‘in the common European process and form together with Europe a uniﬁed economic, legal, humanitarian, cultural and ecological space’.39 A crucial choice to abstain from the use of force and to encourage reform in Eastern Europe was made by the new leadership early on, and they stood by it. As Gorbachev’s interpreter-adviser Pavel Palazhenko states in his memoirs:

the decision to release Eastern Europe was made, and they did not go back on it when the full implications became clear ... I do not believe that the coming generation of leaders will ever have to make decisions of such magnitude or such agonizing difﬁculty.40

The transformation of Soviet policy toward East European countries can, therefore, be explained by three major factors. First, it was the inﬂu- ence of the new norms and beliefs that determined the crucial choices made by Gorbachev and his coalition. Second, the reassessment of the strategic and economic value of the socialist camp combined with internal political events in the Soviet Union in 1989 made Eastern Europe an issue of low priority for the Soviet Union. And, third, Gorbachev’s idea of the common European home made the use of forceful methods in one part of that home seem unacceptable and counterproductive. Europe was at the heart of Gorbachev’s vision for a new international order. Gradual mutual demilitarization and eventual dissolution of NATO and the Warsaw Pact, and economic integration between the CMEA and the EC was seen as the road to the common European home. A new Europe required a new pan-European security structure free of Cold War associations. This structure would be built on the institutional basis of the CSCE, utilizing the remaining infrastructures from both NATO and the Warsaw Pact. The events in Eastern Europe – Soviet support for democratization, the Soviet reserve during the revolutions of 1989, and ﬁnally the Soviet withdrawal of troops from the former socialist countries in 1990–91 – profoundly affected and in fact transformed international relations, and ended the Cold War. Gorbachev’s East European policy was an integral 48 S. Savranskaya part of his overall ambitious effort to reform the Soviet domestic system, put an end to the arms race that was exhausting the Soviet economy, and integrate the Soviet Union into the European community of nations within a common European home. Starting from these priorities and taking into account the unfolding events, the peaceful outcome looks perfectly logical and predictable.

Notes 1 Lévesque (1997). 2 Transcript of the conference, held on 1–3 May 1998 at Musgrove, St. Simon’s Island, Georgia. (Hereafter, the Musgrove Transcript.) 3 See especially Brown (1996); Zubok (2001, pp. 5–14); Lévesque (1997). 4 National Security Archive, Chernyaev Diary, 19.10.1985. 5 Ibid. 6 Gorbachev (1987a). 7 Brown (1996, p. 247). 8 NSA, Chernyaev diary, 28.10.1988. 9 Medvedev (1994, p. 34). 10 Author’s interview with Vadim Medvedev, 17.6.1996. 11 Gorbachev Foundation Archives (GFA), Fond 1, conversation between Gor- bachev and Castro, 5.4.1988. 12 Brown (1996, p. 212). 13 Musgrove Transcript, p. 58. 14 GFA, Fond 2, opis 1, Politburo session, 13.6.1986. 15 Ibid., Politburo Session, 10.3.1988. 16 Shakhnazarov (1993, p. 368). 17 Cited in Chafetz (1993, p. 108). 18 GFA, Fond 2, Chernyaev memorandum to Gorbachev, 4.5.1990. 19 GFA, memorandum of the International Department of the CC CPSU, Febru- ary 1989. 20 GFA, Bogomolov Institute Memorandum on Changes in Eastern Europe and their Impact on the USSR, February 1989. 21 GFA, Chernyaev’s Politburo Notes, 31.10.1988. 22 Gorbachev, Memoirs. 23 Pravda, 21.6.1985. 24 Chernyaev Diary, 5.7.1985. 25 Chernyaev Diary, 19.10.1985. 26 GFA, Fond 2, opis 1, Chernyaev notes. 27 GFA, Fond 2, opis 1, Politburo Session, 3.7.1986. 28 Brown (1996, p. 249). 29 See GFA, Fond 1, Gorbachev-–Mitterand conversations, 4–6.7.1989. 30 GFA, Fond 2, opis 3, Politburo session, 11.5.1989. 31 GFA, Fond 2, opis 1, Politburo session, 9.11.1989. 32 Ibid., Politburo session, 8.5.1987. 33 Kashlev (2005, pp. 154–157, 172–175). 34 Author’s interview with Nikolai Shmelev, 12.7.2006. 35 Kashlev (2005, p. 182). 36 GFA, Fond 1, conversation between Gorbachev and Mitterrand, 6.12.1989. 37 GFA, Fond 3, Shakhnazarov memorandum to Gorbachev, 10.10.1989. 38 Shevardnadze (1992, p. 118). 39 Ibid., p. 119. 40 Palazchenko (1997, p. 146). Part II Developments in Eastern Europe

4 Rumblings in Eastern Europe Western pressure on Poland’s moves towards democratic transformation

Gregory F. Domber

Early on the morning of 13 December 1981, General Wojciech Jaruzelski, the leader of the communist Polish United Workers’ Party (PZPR), declared martial law, ending a sixteen-month period of openness, freedom, and fluidity marked by the formation of the Solidarnosc trade union. By all accounts martial law was implemented flawlessly, quickly removing the opposition from the public sphere and returning social and political control to the communist powers. By August 1989 Solidarnosc would, however, be in a position to elect Poland’s first non-communist prime minister since the Second World War, leading the revolution to expel communist governments from throughout Eastern Europe. This monumental shift raises numerous questions about how the PZPR moved from utilizing military force to a willingness, less than eight years later, to agree to power-sharing and relatively free elections with the very opposition they had earlier sought to crush. Any complete answer to this riddle must take into account a combination of domestic and international pressures. Most literature on Poland’s transformation in the 1980s focuses on the internal dynamics and intricacies of the Polish system. These accounts are comprehensive and very convincing. Similar to the conclusions about Hungary’s ‘self-liberation’ laid out by Laszlo Borhi in this volume (Chapter 6), Poland’s transformation was primarily driven by domestic pressures and internal decisions. However, given the deep economic crisis in Jaruzelski’s Poland, it is important to note that such pressures and decisions were also at times affected by Western economic pressure. Con- trary to the triumphal claims of some American scholars, Poland’s transformation cannot be chalked up to the Reagan administration’s tough stance. Rather, without independent West European policies, Poland’s transformation might well have been very different. From the very beginning of the ‘Polish Crisis’ in August 1980, economic problems were a central component of the confrontation between government and opposition forces. As with workers’ strikes in 1970 and 52 G.F. Domber 1976, the 1980 unrest was preceded by food price increases announced on 1 July. For evidence of the crisis’s economic foundation one need look no further than the fact that the main opposition group, Solidarnosc, was a trade union. Moreover, two-thirds of the union’s twenty-one point declaration that formed the basis of the August 1980 Gdansk Agreements – most notable for requesting the right to form independent trade unions – dealt with work, salary, pension, consumer, and quality-of-life issues.1 The details of Poland’s economic woes are too complex to summarize here;2 however, a critical portion of the PZPR’s problems stemmed from the size- able loans First Secretary Edward Gierek had procured from the West to artificially prop up the economy in the 1970s and which had become huge debts by the end of the decade. By early 1981, Poland’s international debt had increased to $23 billion and would only continue to increase as the interest compounded.3 When General Jaruzelski declared martial law on 13 December 1981, he successfully – although temporarily – solved the political issue of how to control Solidarnosc. Declaring a state of war, however, did little to solve the economic basis of Poland’s problems. Just before Christmas, President Ronald Reagan enacted a series of economic sanctions against Poland (suspending LOT flights, repealing Polish fishing rights, cancelling agricultural aid, terminating shipments of dairy products, and suspending all Export–Import Bank credits), which greatly exacerbated Poland’s woes. To make matters worse, the Reagan administration worked overtime to ensure that America’s allies followed a similar policy. Writing on 5 January, Deputy Secretary of State Lawrence Eagleburger recommended that the US focus its policy on working ‘to maximize Western outrage and to back up the words with actions’ taking the particular action to ‘move the Germans toward a harder position’.4 After meetings with German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt to ensure that the Germans were in line with a strong Western response, the Reagan administration worked through the North Atlantic Council of NATO to push for a unified, tough policy against Poland. That process took a few weeks, but following a special ministerial meeting held on 11 January the NAC produced a united front which condemned the declaration of martial law as a clear violation of the Helsinki Final Act, considered the Soviet Union complicit in Poland’s actions, and suspended new economic credits and discussions of resched- uling Poland’s debt.5 The United States had successfully exported their formula of utilizing economic sanctions to punish the Polish government and to apply pressure for political reform and a return to national reconciliation. The effectiveness of economic sanctions to pressure Poland in the first half of the 1980s is, however, debatable. During the first few years after the declaration of martial law, the PZPR turned inward, focusing on political and social reforms meant to stabilize the regime. The beginning of 1982 saw the PZPR Politburo focusing on attaining economic support from the Western pressure on Poland 53 Socialist bloc and re-invigorating the party with a new programme, ‘O co walczymy, dokad zmierzemy’ (About what we are fighting for, where we are going). Issues such as price increases, three-year plans, inflation, and internal economic reform were the constant concern throughout the first half of the 1980s. Youth issues and problems encountered at the beginning of each school year dominated Politburo sessions. Reacting to workers’ demonstrations on 1 May and 31 August (the anniversary of the Gdansk Agreements) became a yearly ritual. The Party also worked to prepare for Central Committee plenums on economic reform and ‘the role of the working class in the party’ among other topics. In the first two years after martial law, Jaruzelski focused on policies to try to regain society’s trust by improving relations with the Catholic Church, eventually leading to Pope John Paul II’s visit in June 1983. The Politburo also created a new trade union. The decision to suspend martial law on 1 January, 1983 was taken in November 1982, and two partial amnesties of political internees were announced in July 1983 and July 1984. Beyond dealing with the leadership changes in the Kremlin, if foreign affairs came up at all between 1982 and early 1985, the conversations dealt exclusively with trips to and visits from communist bloc or developing countries and tended to focus on improving economic, propaganda, and scientific- technical cooperation.6 Of course, regardless of the attention foreign policy received in Warsaw, the West and the US continued to try to exert as much leverage through economic sanctions as possible. In May 1983, the White House adopted a new strategy toward Poland which was dubbed the ‘step-by-step’ policy. In this arrangement, the US would lift specific sanctions (e.g. increase Polish fishing rights or allow a few LOT charter flights) in response to Polish steps toward liberalization and eventual national reconciliation.7 While it is possible to draw a neat chronological line between Polish decisions to liberalize (suspend martial law, allow for the Pope’s visit, announce limited amnesties) and American moves to scale down sanctions, there is actually little to no evidence in Polish records that there was any causal link between Polish decisions and American pressure. While American diplomats did successfully use sanctions to gain the release of eleven prominent opposition figures, the ‘step-by-step’ approach did not hold enough weight to force any significant change in wider government policy, something a number of American diplomats were aware of at the time.8 America and the West’s real points of leverage came from Poland’s need to repay debts and desire for new credits9 – issues that were not even on the table until much later in the 1980s.10 In early 1985, however, the PZPR began to move beyond its domestic shell to engage with the capitalist world. The emphasis for foreign relations remained in the socialist bloc, but the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MSZ) was also charged with making moves toward the West. A yearly report, ‘Vital Foreign Policy Tasks for the PRL for 1985’, recognized that 54 G.F. Domber difficulties and tensions would continue to exist and that ‘the process of normalization in our relations with the USA will be long and difficult’, yet the MSZ stated that ‘activities with the goal of finally ending Western policies of political isolation against Poland, for example a path for developing higher-level official contacts particularly with Western Europe’ were a priority.11 Regarding economic concerns, the MSZ focused on ‘expanding economic relations, above all financial-credit [relations], the gauge of which will be negotiations regarding refinancing debt, the negotiation process for Poland’s entry into the IMF and World Bank, as well as elimin- ating discriminatory and protectionist barriers against Polish exports.’12 The MSZ also recommended a change of focus:

in the process of gradually normalizing relations with Western nations, it is essential to intensify activities with the goal of reorienting economic coordination on small matters and the policies of less confrontational partners. This process should not be run at the behest of trade enterprises with the large capitalist states (the USA, West Germany), but through dynamic enterprises with smaller nations.13

The MSZ was charged with increasing its Western contacts, moving away from a focus on the US toward an orientation toward the ‘smaller’ nations of Western Europe. In the year that followed, Jaruzelski’s Poland was very successful in meeting the goal of breaking its political isolation, even with West Germany. On 6 March 1985, West German foreign minister Hans Dietrich Genscher made an unofficial visit to Warsaw. During Soviet General Secretary Chernenko’s funeral a week later, General Jaruzelski met briefly with German Chancellor Helmut Kohl, UN Secretary General Perez de Cuellar, President Alessandro Pertini of Italy, President Mauno Koivisto of Finland, and Mikhail Gorbachev. Visits to Warsaw by West German Minis- ter of Economics Martin Bangemann, British Foreign Secretary Geoffrey Howe, Italian Prime Minister Bettino Craxi, and Japanese Foreign Minis- ter Shintao Abe followed in March, April, May and June. On 15 July the Paris Club of seventeen western creditor nations announced that it had agreed to reschedule $12 billion in debts Poland had owed from 1982 to 1984. Later in the year the Paris Club announced that $1.37 billion due in 1985 had also been rescheduled. The year ended strongly for Jaruzelski with trips to New York for the fortieth opening session of the United Nations General Assembly, where he met with Peres de Cuellar, John Rockefeller and John Whitehead of the Council on Foreign Relations, the President of Brazil (Poland’s most important trading partner in Latin America), King Hussein of Jordan, Spanish Prime Minister Felipe Gonzalez, new Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, Genscher, and Italian foreign minister Giulio Andreotti. These meetings were followed by a trip to Paris, during which Western pressure on Poland 55 Jaruzelski met with French President François Mitterrand – the general’s first visit to a Western capital since the declaration of martial law. So, the PZPR had begun to successfully break the political isolation imposed after December 1981. No significant economic initiatives or new trade agreements had been negotiated with the West Europeans, but Jaruzelski and the PZPR were gaining much more access to Western leaders. The MSZ, in particular, took a very optimistic view of the situation. The MSZ’s year-end review of international relations for 1985 stated, ‘We brought about significant progress in the process of normalizing relations with the developed capitalist nations. The results gained were quantita- tively and qualitatively much greater than those during 1982–1984.’14 They noted the progress towards breaking out of NATO-imposed isolation, particularly with Italy, France and, most importantly West Germany. In terms of relations with the US, the report concluded that ‘there remains an impasse.’15 In a report on the ‘Vital Tasks for Poland’s Foreign Policy in 1986’ the MSZ emphasized that in the second half of the 1980s ‘Polish foreign policy will be more active and less defensive than it was during the first half of the 1980s’, stressing that to improve Poland’s place in the international environment the MSZ needed to ‘cultivate political, economic, and cultural-scientific relations with capitalist nations (particularly Western Europe)’; to improve financial and credit relations; to continue to reschedule debt; and to gain access to new money for Poland.16 The Poles also had high hopes for 1986 because of events occurring beyond Poland’s control; in its analysis for 1986 the MSZ highlighted improved relations between the superpowers and continued success for the Reagan–Gorbachev summit process. From their perspective Poland had suffered the most relative to the other socialist countries during the first half of the 1980s ‘as an object and instrument of the West’s confrontational policies.’17 If the superpower dialogue led to a return to détente, Poland would have much greater opportunities for improved cooperation with Western European countries. So, in 1986 there appeared to be an excellent chance of improving Poland’s international situation. Throughout this period of transition in foreign affairs, the tendency in Polish policy to differentiate between Western Europe and the US continued to gain momentum. Tensions between the US and its European allies regarding technology transfer and related trade issues had been a major issue in the transatlantic relationship throughout the first half of the 1980s, notably in the crisis over the planned natural gas pipeline from Siberia to West Europe.18 In the middle of 1985, the Ministry of Foreign Trade (MHZ) took note of American and European disagreements about the rules governing technology transfer, referring specifically to Euro- peans’ belief that there were a growing number of instances in which technology transfer rulings had been used to increase the ‘competitive- ness of American firms in relation to non-American firms.’ The report 56 G.F. Domber also noted that the European Economic Community (EEC) viewed Amer- ican policy as a ‘critical hazard for West European industries.’19 Similarly, in February 1986 the Polish embassy in Washington sent a report back to Warsaw titled ‘American–West European Discrepancies on the Issue of East–West Economic Relations’ that outlined the major contentions West Germany, France, and Great Britain had with the Reagan administration’s policy toward trade with the communist world. The report concluded:

The main Western European countries’ present difﬁcult economic situation will lead to the development of economic calculations and aspirations to deepen economic relations with all socialist countries. Also, in the long term, the development of economic relations with socialist nations will play a vital role in hardening Western Europe’s standpoint in East–West relations, through, for example, strengthening their resistance to political pressure from the USA.20

While relations with Washington remained at an impasse, the PZPR began to see the possibility of improving relations with Western Europe. All these political gains in relations with Western Europe, however, did little to alleviate the PZPR’s main domestic problem. By 1986, the PZPR had successfully worked to pacify politically the Polish population and control dissidence (for example, mass participation in demonstrations on 1 May and 31 August had dropped each year since 1982), but no improvements had been made in the domestic economic situation.21 In response the PZPR Politburo had been spending a majority of its time on economic issues preparing for the ‘Drugi Etap’ (Second Stage) of economic reform in Poland, announced at the Tenth Party Congress from 29 June to 3 July 1986, which included timid attempts to introduce some market forces. Most foreign and opposition economists, however, saw little possibility that these minor changes would do much to improve Poland’s position. In fact, throughout the first half of the 1980s, Solidarnosc activists had been working on their own economic formula for reforming the economy. In the first months after the declaration of martial law, the opposition emphasized the economy as the key to returning Poland to normality.22 Moreover, the opposition was generally sceptical of government attempts to reform the economy and consistently argued that ‘the economic situation [would] deteriorate without Western credits.’23 In a more detailed analysis from late June 1982, an opposition expert argued that new Western credits were the only medicine that could heal Poland’s economic wounds; PZPR reforms or support from the socialist bloc would never be enough. Rather, it would take massive amounts of new money from the West, something along the lines of a Marshall Plan for Poland, to get the country working again.24 This economic argument remained one of the pillars of Solidarnosc’s programme for reform throughout the decade. Western pressure on Poland 57 In the build-up to the announcement of the ‘Drugi Etap’ in July 1986, it appears that the PZPR began to accept Solidarnosc’s argument; they agreed that new credits and new sources of foreign currency were essential to improving the economy. In a policy review of proposed goals for 1986, the MSZ emphasized the need to attain new money from the West.25 This need for increased foreign investment was also evident in a memo from January 1986, which outlined legal and governmental changes the PZPR should make to improve the possibilities of foreign investment.26 By early 1986, foreign and especially Western investment became one of the PZPR’s central goals in line with advice Solidarnosc activists had been giving for years. In the autumn of 1986, however, a political crisis with both domestic and international consequences surfaced, threatening the PZPR’s optimism about improved economic relations with the West and the possibility of gaining new economic credits. In the wake of the tenth PZPR Party Congress, General Jaruzelski announced another limited amnesty to release 369 prisoners, including two high-level Solidarnosc advisors, Bogdan Lis and Adam Michnik; 225 political prisoners, however, including the recently captured Zbigniew Bujak and other important dissidents, would remain in prison. In response Western nations rallied together to press the PZPR to release all remaining political prisoners. A full amnesty was announced and completed in September 1986, but the question remains about why the PZPR gave into foreign pressure. In an account of this period, Andrzej Paczkowski points to a 9 July meeting between Amer- ican deputy chief of mission David Swartz and the head of the American section of the Polish Institute for International Affairs (PISM), in which Swartz mentions that Washington ‘might abolish the embargo on credits for Poland’ if the PZPR took the step of releasing Zbigniew Bujak, as the probable impetus for the announcement.27 In a 28 July meeting with Bogumil Sujka (a member of the MSZ American department), however, Swartz mentioned no such possibility, focusing instead on a possible trip by the Polish Foreign Minister to Washington.28 If the Poles were seriously preparing to improve relations with Washington, the issue would most probably appear in this or other meetings with American officials in Warsaw. The more likely source of pressure which pushed the PZPR to expand the amnesty appears to have come from Western Europe. On 30 July 1986, the British ambassador presented a demarche from the EEC’s twelve members making it clear that relations with Western Europe would only continue to improve if the PZPR took steps to release Bujak and his co- conspirators. If these steps were not taken, Western Europe would halt all improvements in relations with Poland. A report ‘Concerning the Implica- tions of our Internal Situation for Relations with Western Europe’ stated, ‘the exclusion from the amnesty of the most active members of the opposition’ would ‘have an unfavourable impact upon our potential to 58 G.F. Domber conduct an active and effective policy towards Western Europe’, negatively affecting ‘the development of [Poland’s] economic and solvency situation.’29 This report appears in the records for the PZPR Politburo meeting on 12 August; by contrast no mention of Swartz’s overture is made. Meeting two sessions later on 9 September, the Politburo approved a resolution to widen the amnesty to include all remaining Solidarnosc activists. This decision focused primarily on logistics and the amnesty’s effects on the internal situation, but did mention a connection to foreign affairs – declaring a full amnesty would improve Poland’s ability to manoeuvre in international circles.30 The decision to release all remaining Solidarnosc activists from internment was announced two days later, with all internees (including Bujak) freed by 15 September. Without access to the Politburo transcripts from August and September 1986, it is difficult to show conclusively which source of pressure – the US or Western Europe – proved to be decisive.31 Clearly an offer of new Amer- ican credits would be enticing. However, given the fact that Swartz’s comments do not appear in the Politburo records and references to European moves do, it seems likely that Europe played the key role in this decision. The PZPR also had a lot more to lose in its existing relations with Western Europe. Relations with the US had hardly improved since the declaration of martial law. Taken against the background of Washington’s track record of only begrudgingly offering small incentives for steps toward liberalization as part of the ‘step-by-step’ policy, an offer to abolish embar- goes on credits may well have seemed like a bluff or a fishing expedition – particularly coming from a lower-level representative. Poland had, however, made real gains in relations with West Europeans. It had broken the political blockade and was now hoping that political gains would lead to improved economic relations. The European threat to end these relations if an amnesty was not implemented would have meant a return to the political and economic isolation of early 1982. Four years of hard-won progress would have been lost. The September 1986 amnesty was a watershed event in Poland’s democratic transformation. It proved to be the conclusive amnesty in Poland’s development; unlike previous amnesties, prisoners were never re- interned. The 1986 amnesty is also generally agreed upon as the final departure point for understanding Poland’s democratic revolution culminating in semi-free elections in 1989.32 A recent paper convincingly argues that the key period for understanding the transformation of the PZPR’s attitudes towards Poland’s internal opposition movement is the decade preceding the 1986 amnesty:

One could thus say that the fundamental part of the struggle between the opposition and the communists, who enjoyed a monopoly [on] power, was waged in a period from [1977], which made it necessary to learn how to ‘live with the opposition’, to the events of September Western pressure on Poland 59 1986, which inaugurated a negotiated transformation of Poland into a democratic country.33

With a fully functioning opposition movement begrudgingly accepted by the government, developments in Poland once again turned inward, with the PZPR focusing on economic reform and liberalization. In international affairs, the PZPR continued to make progress in relations with the West, particularly with the US this time. High-level contacts between Polish and American officials began two months after the amnesty, and the Reagan administration dropped all economic sanctions in February 1987. By November 1987 relations improved to the point where Vice President George H.W. Bush visited Warsaw in November 1987. In PZPR records, improving relations with Washington and Western capitals had little to no effect on the domestic situation. Rather, Poland’s continuing economic troubles eventually led to a new round of workers’ strikes in the spring and summer of 1988. Lech Walesa stepped in to calm the situation, showing his willingness to work with the powers-that-be. The most convincing arguments on why Jaruzelski decided to begin direct negotiations with Solidarnosc in the summer and autumn of 1988 are based on domestic pressures, especially the PZPR’s fears of another wave of strikes similar to 1970, 1976 and 1980. Everyone knew that the PZPR could not survive another round of nationwide strikes, forcing both sides to the negotiating table at Magdalenka. These early talks led directly to the creation of the Round Table framework and eventual elections in June 1989. There was, however, one crucial way in which international pressure continued to shape events in Poland. As a corollary to their argument that Poland’s economy could only be fixed with a substantial influx of Western money, Solidarnosc stated that the West would not contribute new money to Poland without Solidarnosc returning to a position of responsibility.34 In their original decision to impose economic sanctions, the NATO alliance had agreed that the PZPR would have to return to a dialogue with the Catholic Church and Solidarnosc for sanctions to end. While sanctions had been lifted the West continued to hold back any major influx of investment, contingent on the PZPR engaging in a direct dialogue with Solidarnosc. Solidarnosc’s leverage in economic matters is particularly evident in the trade union’s secret ‘Magdalenka’ meetings with the PZPR. At the working session on 16 September, 1988, Minister of Internal Affairs General Czeslaw Kiszczak made the following point in his introductory remarks:

The ‘round table’ could take a stance and eventually correct the economic model, which should ensure that reforms are effectively realized, achieve economic equilibrium, and dissolve the debt issue. The economic reform program’s success, through assuring equal chances 60 G.F. Domber and workloads to all forms of ownership, depends upon the degree of its comprehension and social acceptance.35

Walesa agreed that economic reform was important, but argued that making society more democratic and pluralistic was a more important goal. He also emphasized that a legalized Solidarnosc trade union needed to be part of that reform. For the rest of the meeting, arguments basically centred around the PZPR’s plea for necessary economic reform, coun- tered by Solidarnosc’s calls for greater pluralism. Walesa’s main source of leverage was undoubtedly the fact that without Solidarnosc’s support for economic reforms, society would never accept them. This position could only have been buttressed by the fact that including Solidarnosc in a political settlement was the key to gaining needed credits from the West. After Solidarnosc was granted legal status in mid-January 1989, thus removing the ﬁnal obstacle to holding the Round Table negotiations, both Solidarnosc and PZPR leaders began actively campaigning for new Western credits and investment: Polish Premier Mieczyslaw Rakowski visited Bonn in late January to speak with Kohl and Genscher; Undersec- retary of State J. Kaczurby visited Washington in February; a Polish delegation met with European Community leaders in March; in April French Foreign Minister Roland Dumas visited Warsaw and Walesa visited Rome; Solidarnosc activist Jacek Kuron, Minister of Finance Andrzej Wróbelski, Central Committee member Józef Czyrek, and Solidarnosc advisor Bronislaw Geremek all visited Washington while Walesa went to Brussels in May; in June Jaruzelski traveled to Brussels and Mitterrand visited Poland; in July Polish Foreign Minister Tadeusz Olechowski met with G-7 representatives and Bush, now the US President, came to Warsaw. The main purpose of each of these meetings was to inform Western leaders about the political changes occurring in Poland and to ask for economic support. From a brief comparison of PZPR and Solidarnosc requests made in Washington in May, it is clear that the former enemies were asking for very much the same kind of economic packages from the West.36 It remains unclear just how thoroughly these appeals for assistance were coordinated, but it is clear that one of the major outcomes of the Round Table process in 1989 was to have Solidarnosc and the PZPR working in similar directions in the hope of attaining much needed Western economic support. These coordinated appeals continued well into the months following Tadeusz Mazowiecki’s emergence as Prime Minister in the newly elected Sejm in August 1989.

Conclusion When looking for the causes and defining moments that propelled Poland’s transformation from 1985 to 1989, domestic considerations trump foreign influences. The vast majority of Polish leaders’ decisions Western pressure on Poland 61 were made as a response to internal stresses and concerns. This is not to say that Western policies were meaningless. Western, particularly Euro- pean, pressure appears to have motivated the PZPR’s decision to announce a complete amnesty for all political prisoners in September 1986 – an event that set the stage for developments that led to revolution in 1989. Moreover, in the period leading up to the final push for transformation, Western support for Solidarnosc – the policy of restricting new credits to Poland until the opposition was treated as an equal partner by the PZPR – gave the opposition another important bargaining chip. Domestic considerations were undoubtedly more important in the PZPR’s final decision to meet with Solidarnosc, but the added power the trade union enjoyed because of its favourable relationship with Western governments cannot be overlooked. From Polish sources it appears that in 1989 both opposition and government officials were clearly looking to the United States to take the lead in providing economic aid, an attitude which comes from complex cultural and historical trends. This fits quite well with the current triumphalist strain of scholarship in the US. The story behind the Septem- ber 1986 amnesty, however, contradicts that same scholarship. From Polish sources it is clear that America’s harsh sanctions did not motivate Polish attempts at liberalization, nor does it seem that the US’ offer of a carrot in 1986 affected the PZPR Politburo. Western Europe looks to be the motivating factor behind PZPR decision making. If Western Europe had not begun to engage Poland in 1985 and early 1986, these nations would not have had the leverage they needed to effect change. In this case, a more lenient, softer European approach to Poland gave the West the tools it needed to promote change in Eastern Europe. Western effects on Poland’s transformation in the 1980s should not be seen as only an American or simply a European success; rather, success came from a combination of policies. If the Reagan administration had not pushed NATO to impose sanctions following the declaration of martial law, Poland’s economy might not have crashed as hard in the early 1980s nor would Jaruzelski have felt such a strong sense of isolation. If Western Europe had not begun a rapprochement with Poland in 1985, the West would not have had any leverage to push for what turned out to be an absolutely essential step toward liberalization. Finally, if Western Europe and the US had not acted in unison in the late 1980s refraining from providing new cash and credits in the three years leading to 1989, Solidarnosc would have been weakened at the negotiating table when they argued for the political changes that led to the revolution of 1989. If some credit can be given to Western actions in the transformation of the situation in Eastern Europe therefore, neither the Americans nor the Euro- peans did it alone. The revolution witnessed in 1989 was the result of an awkward, abused, and often contentious Western alliance system that proved to be resilient and adaptable enough to triumph. 62 G.F. Domber Notes 1 See Paczkowski and Byrne (2007, pp. 70–80). 2 See, Wlodzimierz Brus, ‘Economics and Politics: The Fatal Link’. In Brumberg (1983, pp. 26–41). 3 Paczkowski and Byrne, p. xxxiii. 4 National Security Archive, Soviet Flashpoints–Polish Crisis Collection, ‘Memo- randum for the President on Poland, and Next Steps with the Allies’, 4.1.1982. 5 www.nato.int/docu/comm/49–95/c820111a.htm (accessed 5/2006). 6 Summary drawn from Politburo materials available at the Archiwum Akt Nowych (Archive of Modern Records or AAN) in Warsaw. 7 Interview with Ambassador John Davis, 23.11.1999. The timing of the White House decision is drawn from withdrawal sheets and declassified information in Ronald Reagan Presidential Library (RRPL), Paula Dobriansky Files, Box 90892, Poland Memoranda 1981–1983. This chapter builds upon Andrzej Paczkowski, ‘Playground of the Superpowers, Poland 1980–89’, in Njølstad (2004). 8 In the first months of 1984 American chargé d’affaires John Davis met with Adam Schaff, a well-known Polish intellectual who spoke for the highest levels of the PZPR, to negotiate lifting individual sanctions for the release of eleven imprisoned oppositionists including Jacek Kuron, Adam Michnik, Andrzej Gwiazda, and Henrzk Wujec, among others. For an American account see RRPL, NSC, European and Soviet Affairs Directorate, Box 91186, Vatican, ‘Poland: Response to Unofficial Emissary Schaff’ 9.2.1984. 9 Interview with Ambassador Christopher Hill, Warsaw, 12.5.2004. 10 See Domber (2007), Chapters 1 and 2. 11 AAN, KC PZPR, V/256, ‘Wezlowe Zadania Polityki Zagranicznej PRL w 1985 roku’, str. 18–55, January 1985. 12 Ibid. 13 Ibid. 14 AAN, KC PZPR, V/294, ‘Bilans Polityki Zagranicznej PRL w 1985 r.’, str. 40, c. December 1985. 15 Ibid., str. 42. 16 AAN, KC PZPR, V/294, ‘Wezlowe Zadania Polityki Zagranicznej PRL w 1986 r.’, str. 10, 11, and 27, 13.1.1986. 17 AAN, KC PZPR, V/294, ‘Prognoza Rozwoju Sytuacji Miedzynarodowej w 1986 r.’, str. 71, January 1986. 18 See Blinken (1987). 19 Ministry of Foreign Affairs Archive (MSZ), 2/89, W-7, Dep III (1985), AP 2413–15–85, ‘Pilna Notatka [od Ministerstwo Handlu Zagranicznych]’, str 2, 15.5.1985. 20 MSZ, 14/89, W-4, Dep III (1986), AP 2413–19–86, ‘Informacja Nr. 1–2/1986. Rozbiexnosci USA – Europa Zachodnia w sprawie stosunków gospodarczych W- Z’, str. 8–9, 6.2.1986. 21 See Dudek (2004, pp. 28–40). 22 KARTA foundation, Archiwum Opozycji, Czasopisma niezalexny 1976–1990, Warsaw, ‘Zmusic wladze to Porozumienia’, Tygodnik Mazowsze nr. 11, 28.4.1982. 23 For early scepticism of government reforms, see KARTA, ‘To same bledy’, Tygodnik Mazowsze nr. 17, 9.6.1982. For the quote see ‘Uwagi o kompromisie’, ibid., nr. 18, 16.6.1982. 24 KARTA, ‘Porozumienie a gospodarka’, Tygodnik Mazowsze, nr. 20, 30.6.1982. 25 See note 16. 26 AAN, KC PZPR, V/292, ‘Uzasadnienie’, c. January 1986. 27 Quoted in Paczkowski, ‘Playground of the Superpowers’, p. 388. Western pressure on Poland 63 28 AAN, KC PZPR, XIA˛ 1422, ‘Notatka z rozmowy z Radca-Ministrem Ambassdy USA p. Swarz’em’, str. 280–282. This note was sent to all Politburo members. 29 AAN, KC PZPR, V/314, ‘Notatka w sprawie implikacji naszej sytuacji wewnetrznej dla stosunków Polski z panstwami Europy Zachodniej’, str. 85–92; quoted in Paczkowski, ‘Playground of the Superpowers’, p. 389. In his analysis of the 1986 amnesty, Paczkowski tends to emphasize the American role to the detriment of the European role. As a member of the opposition in Poland throughout the 1980s, he would have been well aware of the opposition’s belief that new credits, particularly something like a Marshall Plan for Poland from the US, were a key to Poland’s economic recovery. This may have led him to overemphasize Swartz’s overture. 30 AAN, KC PZPR, V/316, ‘Propozycje w sprawie rozszerzenia zakresu stosowania ustaawy z dnia 17 lipca 1986 r. o szczególnym postepowaniu wobec sprawców niektórych przestepstw’, str. 179–187. 31 The vast majority of records of conversations from Politburo meetings were destroyed. The files do still contain information about topics discussed and decisions made, and include documents which were discussed. 32 See Dudek (2004, pp. 73–79). 33 Paczkowski (2006). 34 ‘Porozumienie a gospodarka’, p. 2. 35 ‘Spotakanie Robocze w Magdalence, 16 wrzesnia 1988 r., godz. 15.15–19.00’. In Dubinski (1990, pp. 18–37, here p. 19). 36 See Domber (2006). 5 The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end in Europe Vatican Ostpolitik and Pope John Paul II, 1985–1989

Bernd Schäfer

When John Paul II kissed the ground at the Warsaw airport on June 2, 1979, he began the process by which communism in Poland – and ultimately everywhere else in Europe – would come to an end ... All at once a single individual, through a series of dramatic performances, was changing the course of history. That was in a way appropriate, because the Cold War itself was a kind of theater in which distinctions between illusions and reality were not always obvious. It presented great opportunities for great actors to play great roles.1

‘Distinctions between illusions and reality’ certainly became part of the play when a Polish Pope entered the international scene on 16 October 1978 and visited his native country eight months later. A case in point is the actual background of the June 1979 visit to Poland by the Pope. Ironi- cally, it was Cardinal Karol Wojtyla of Kraków himself who had signalled twice during his election year an upcoming papal visit to Poland. In early 1978, he had invited Pope Paul VI to visit Poland in May 1979 to com- memorate the 900th anniversary of the death of Saint Stanislaw, a Kraków bishop martyred by soldiers of King Boleslaw the Bold while saying mass. The socialist government in Warsaw was appreciative to this idea as it might improve the country’s international reputation and identified Paul VI with an accommodating Vatican Ostpolitik.2 Then this Pope suddenly died and, after a brief interim, it was Karol Wojtyla who now became John Paul II. Within two weeks he announced publicly that he himself was going to accept the still open invitation, and this time he did not consult the Polish government beforehand. The latter had just begun to embrace Wojtyla’s ascent as a source of national pride for all Poles. Taken aback by such astute pressure and only able to postpone the visit by a month to move it away from the actual Stanislaw anniversary, Edward Gierek’s government gave in and invited John Paul II for nine days instead of the two originally envisaged.3 In turn, this now surprised Poland’s uninformed socialist allies and shook Leonid Brezhnev in particular.4 The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 65 This 1979 papal visit turned out to be neither the end of the Cold War nor the beginning of such. Officially unrecognized by socialist countries as an autonomous institution until 1989, the Catholic Church had clearly advanced onto the global stage in an unprecedented manner, through its Polish Pope. It hardly had capacities to perform a leading role, though, and its soft prodding of Eastern Europe and the USSR dubbed ‘Vatican Ostpolitik’ continued more or less unchanged. Rome’s diplomacy was extraordinary in its compartmentalization and adaptation to specific national patterns in order to enhance respective conditions for the local church. There were only four entities within the Warsaw Pact where the Catholic Church was politically relevant at least to some degree: in Poland and the GDR it had secured itself some room for manoeuvre. Predomi- nantly Catholic Lithuania at the margins of the USSR could not break from tight Soviet control until 1988. In Hungary, the weakened Catholic Church had entered a close symbiosis with the socialist state with Vatican blessing. The years between John Paul’s II accession to the papal throne and Solidarno´sć’s rise and temporary fall in Poland during the early 1980s represented the period of strongest papal and Vatican influence on currents in Eastern Europe.5 After imposition and relaxation of martial law in Poland, the truce between government and opposition prevailed there until the effects of Gorbachev’s domestic policies began to transcend national borders. Reviewing the different cases of Vatican policy between 1985 and 1989 towards those two countries offering comparatively wide manoeuvring space to the Catholic Church, i.e. Poland and the GDR, will help to explain the extent and the limits of the contribution of the Vatican and John Paul II to the Cold War’s ending.

Vatican Ostpolitik and the rise of the Polish Pope The Vatican’s Ostpolitik was a product of the pontificate of Pope John XXIII with roots in Italian considerations of Catholic outreach to the significant leftist forces in domestic Italian politics alienated from the church.6 Designed on an international level by Vienna’s Cardinal Franz König and ultimately identified with the Vatican’s ‘Foreign Minister’, Archbishop Agostino Casaroli, Catholic diplomacy started to establish contacts and dialogue with the governments of Yugoslavia and Hungary before it expanded to any socialist country of Eastern Europe except Albania and, of course, the Soviet Union. In realizing the often desperate situation of local Catholic churches, some of them condemned to only clandestine activity and ‘life in catacombs’, Vatican emissaries recognized the power and legitimacy of socialist systems and aspired to arrive at a ‘peaceful coexistence’ with them. Rome considered these systems as deplorable but insuperable and permanent. Since they held local Catholics ‘hostage’, including some of their clergy in prisons or in dependence on the state, almost every attempt at alleviating Catholic 66 B. Schäfer suffering through accommodation and compromises seemed to be warranted. Vatican Ostpolitik strove to achieve an opportunity for the church to safeguard a normal succession of its hierarchy, and guarantee its role in education and freedom to perform its sacramental duties. Rome’s diplomats also worked to establish permanent communication by local churches with the Vatican and Catholics in neighbouring states. With the primary focus on establishing and maintaining a hierarchy in close accordance with Rome, the rights of individual Christians concerning religious education and forming associations were on the agenda as follow-up steps only. Appointing a hierarchy with Roman and communist blessings proved to be difﬁcult enough. It involved extensive bargaining and compromise with socialist governments eager to maintain control over local churches and their Vatican ties alike.7 It became a hallmark of Casaroli and other high-ranking prelates of mostly Italian descent to conduct a secretive style of diplomacy in Eastern Europe which usually did not involve full consultation with local churches. Within Eastern Catholic ranks, Vatican Ostpolitik therefore became a major source of internal friction. During the course of its negotiations, Rome achieved progress in terms of safeguarding church structures in Yugoslavia and Hungary at sometimes considerable costs.8 It did not get very far with the Soviet Union, Bulgaria and Romania, mostly failed in Czechoslovakia, and affected the domestic balance in both Poland and East Germany. The election of a Polish Pope who knew each of these regional patterns all too well came as a major relief to Eastern European Catholics. It opened up a change of Vatican Ostpolitik, less in substance but clearly so in style and implementation. First of all, however, the October 1978 election shook the People’s Republic of Poland. Two days after the election of John Paul II, the GDR Embassy in Warsaw sent a telegram to Berlin the opening lines of which summarized the new situation in a nutshell:

Election of a Pole emotionally touches all levels of the Polish people. Extending also to [communist] party members, national gratification and national pride is dominant and furthered by officially instructed language. Communist party officials are worried about complications for church–state relations in Poland and a change of Vatican Ostpolitik.9

Polish authorities knew better than any others about Wojtyla’s record as Cardinal since 1964. As the intelligence service in the Polish Interior Min- istry predicted in November 1978, there is ‘high likeliness’ that as Pope he will address ‘the problem of human rights’ in the spirit of US President Jimmy Carter. Wojtyla was said to have been ‘one of the most extreme anti-communists’ among Polish bishops and had funded and supported The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 67 the secular leftist opposition Committee for the Protection of Workers (KOR). Moreover, the analysis continued, he has the ability ‘to win over people’ and ‘to choose appropriate tactics to gain popularity’, and he is ‘excellently educated’ and ‘exceedingly sly’.10 Yet despite this knowledge, Polish party leaders decided to embark on a course of publicly embracing the Polish Pope and appealing to national pride. At the same time the communist authorities intended to work on the ground with local bishops and other Catholics in a flexible manner, alternating confrontation and compromise. These tactics were clearly apparent before and during the June 1979 papal visit where Archbishops Casaroli and Luigi Poggi and Kraków’s new Cardinal Franciszek Macharski were approached to influence the Pope’s preaching or have his visit short- ened. Carrot and stick worked to a certain extent, and even the hard-line GDR Ambassador Günter Sieber concluded that ‘this pope seeks rather a dialogue than picking a fight’.11 Though many Poles, according to Sieber, would now ask: ‘The Pope visited Poland but what next? What is going to change? What is going to improve and become different?’12 Strikes and the rise of Solidarnosc between August 1980 and December 1981 answered those questions inconclusively. After a period of ‘double- rule’ between socialist government and opposition, more orthodox forces in the communist party prevailed for a time over reformers and the opposition with the imposition of martial law and emergency rule. In this period, the role of the Polish Church, the Pope, and the Vatican was mul- tifaceted. It was seriously affected by the death of Polish Catholicism’s towering figure Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski and the assassination attempt on John Paul II, both occurring in May 1981.13 These were highly emotional times, especially in Poland where religious activities peaked and the Catholic Church’s public profile reached new heights. Probably inevitably, the new Catholic Primate in Poland, Archbishop Józef Glemp, was considered a more malleable person than Wyszynski and the government was adept in exploiting this. Solidarnosc was a movement neither created nor controlled by the Catholic Church, but despite some ambivalence, it was obviously welcomed, condoned, and used as a vehicle to expand church positions and aim at guaranteed rights within Polish society.14 Before and after the imposition of martial law, most Polish church leaders including Pope John Paul II ultimately worked towards mediation rather than confrontation. From 24 September 1980 a Polish ‘Joint State–Church Com- mission’ with high-ranking members from both sides was reconvened after 13 years of interruption. Secret meetings behind closed doors functioned as a clearinghouse and a body for informal dialogue at regular intervals until 1989.15 Fear of Soviet intervention in Poland, whether real or imagined, was the overarching pattern inhibiting actions and limiting the options of the Vatican, the Polish Church, and the domestic opposition. As long as this external power configuration existed with no prospect of change, not even a Polish Pope could unhinge the power of the Polish 68 B. Schäfer communists. As demonstrated during the second papal visit to Poland in June 1983, the ruling party’s grip was weak and feeble and had to concede de facto ‘pluralism’ in many aspects of Polish society. Yet despite all perceptions of the erosion of its raw power, Warsaw’s communist leadership still very much existed. It seemed impossible to overcome through domestic developments only. By the mid-1980s, and after all Poland’s trials and tribulations, the Vatican under John Paul II seemed to continue its traditional Ostpolitik in now more consultative fashion. Quiet but intense diplomacy proceeded with the Soviet Union and the socialist states of Eastern Europe. Not the least of this was due to the Pope’s strong desire to visit Lithuania, Moscow, and the Russian Orthodox centre of Sagorsk. Furthermore, the establishment of official diplomatic relations between the Holy See and the United States in spring 1984 after more than a century of low-key contacts seemed to provide the Vatican with leeway to come to terms with the USSR as well. Also John Paul II wanted to visit Poland for a third time in 1987 and to establish diplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of his native country as a template for further contacts with the communist world. In addition, he had shown interest in visiting the first major East German Catholic convention to be held in July of 1987 in Dresden.16 For a while the Pope even harboured hopes of normalizing relations with Beijing and visiting China. All this warranted diplomacy rather than public political or moral exhortation. Just at the time, however, when the Vatican seemed to have returned to traditional smoother waters, Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika began to facilitate a change of entrenched configurations providing opportunities for the Catholic Church that the Vatican could hardly miss.

Special paths I: the case of Poland, 1985–1989 In international disrepute after the imposition of martial law and subsequent external economic sanctions, General Jaruzelski’s regime was content merely to hold on to power and establish a kind of domestic truce. Therefore it was willing to accept the Catholic Church at home, and the Polish Pope in Rome, in a stabilizing role provided the hierarchy was willing to play along in exchange for increased access to the public sphere. In parallel, the Warsaw government was eager to establish formal diplomatic relations with the Vatican to overcome isolation and increase its reputation. A major self-defeating blunder exacerbated the situation when in October 1984 the popular priest Jerzy Popieluszko from Warsaw’s Stanis- law Kostka Church was kidnapped and murdered by three officers from the Polish Ministry of Interior. The public trial of the culprits in Thorun in February 1985 revealed internal information from the state’s security apparatus that proved to be devastating in the eyes of the population. It also radicalized many Catholics and undermined episcopal attempts at The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 69 achieving compromise with such apparently reckless powers. Before his kidnapping, Popieluszko’s firebrand sermons had been hardly condoned by Primate Glemp who was also ready to have him buried at a public cemetery. Instead, furious followers enforced a funeral on church grounds attended by more than 300,000 people. For years, the site became a martyr’s shrine with people from all over Poland paying tribute to a perceived national hero. Orthodox watchdogs from the GDR Embassy in Warsaw noted how the Polish Catholic Church stepped to the ‘brink of open confrontation’ during the days surrounding the funeral. The church had demonstrated its clout as a ‘factor of order in society’ and proved it was ‘at its discretion whether or not to follow laws’. All this had contributed, the East Germans complained, to further ‘wavering vis-à-vis the church’ within Polish communist leadership circles. Some ‘comrades’ would now use ‘the church’s strength and their own weakness as a pretext to reach further compromise, even if they are not inclined to do so openly.’17 In March 1983, a Party Central Committee Report had identified only ‘three to four’ out of 85 Catholic bishops in Poland as preaching ‘politically negative content’. Of roughly 21,000 priests in the country, only 390 were defined as acting ‘sporadically’, ‘frequently’, or ‘systematically negative’.18 By late 1985, the communist security organs counted 1,000 priests as ‘hostile to the state’ and ‘roughly 80 to 100’ of them directly connected to the underground opposition. Polish security also listed all kinds of com- promising actions by priests making them susceptible to blackmail, like ‘drinking orgies, gambling, female relationships, gay activities, and child abuse’. A total of 109 out of the 21,000 were said to have fathered illegiti- mate children. There was an ongoing ‘dirty war’ with intact ‘enemy images’ in which Polish security now sought even closer cooperation with East German ‘comrades’. The communist party leadership hoped to use the year 1986 to ‘roll-back’ the Catholic Church to its pre-1980 positions, playing the Pope off against the local church, and holding the latter’s interests hostage to enforce papal complacency and moderation.19 Yet the domestic context of repressive actions and ongoing economic shortages became unbearable in conjunction with changes in the Soviet Union. Moscow gradually began to move away from previous commitments to maintain or reinstate the power of those communist regimes in Eastern Europe unable to sustain themselves. Such change was already sensed in Poland when the Warsaw government felt unable to prevent the Pope from coming to Poland a third time and invited him to visit in June 1987. Returning from the Vatican earlier that year, Jaruzelski had ordered his intelligence service to refrain from any arrests of Church-affiliated opposition activists but to fine them and seize their equipment instead. The secret Joint State–Church Commission would deal with any problems, including listening to tape recordings of priests engaging in ‘negative’ political actions. In general, he defined Church–state relations in Poland 70 B. Schäfer as an ‘ideological and philosophical dispute, not a battle against the church’. Cooperation would require the full respect of the Church as a partner, particularly in the fight against problems like ‘alcohol, drugs, morale at work, and crime’.20 The communist government flagged the visit as the advent of ‘national reconciliation’ and feverishly attempted to use it to finalize the establishment of diplomatic relations between Poland and the Holy See. Such a step would not only have constituted a gain in reputation. It was also hoped that a Vatican Pro-Nuncio in Poland would limit direct contacts between Polish Church representatives and Rome, thus increasing the influence of the government. The Vatican, however, saw through this and made diplomatic relations contingent on the fulfilment of ‘legitimate demands’ to enhance the status of the Polish Church. In September 1987, the frustrated Warsaw government suspended talks after the Pope insisted on the Polish Episcopal conference’s consent and a concordat-like domestic Polish agreement. The communists deemed this ‘unacceptable’, hinted that ‘without a Polish Pope’ relations would have been established before long, and insisted that the Warsaw government would not ‘pay any price’.21 In the end, diplomatic ties were to be established only in 1989 when the communist government was on its way out. The June 1987 visit of John Paul II to Poland was a clear indication that in the perceived absence of external threats the opposition was no longer afraid to act openly. It was not only that the Pope preached in a more outspoken fashion than ever and ducked the obligatory threat to shorten his visit. He indeed spoke as if the communist ‘challenge was over’ and ‘new tasks’ lay ahead.22 Political activities in all ten cities he visited including demonstrations and the use of forbidden slogans and symbols led to almost 100 arrests. The targeting for ‘admonishment talks’ of exactly 2,176 individuals by the security organs before the visit appeared not to have made a difference. ‘Polish comrades’, the Stasi noted in the aftermath of his visit, described the Pope as acting like a ‘King of Poland’. The visit had ‘inflicted greater damage than expected’ and this ‘cannot be amended for a foreseeable time.’23 Other analyses, like those of Minister for Church Affairs, Wladyslaw Loranc, deluded themselves with statistics according to which only ‘18 percent of the adult Polish population’ had noted the ‘political content’ of papal statements, the rest having perceived the visit as just a ‘religious event’.24 The Polish Ministry of Interior with its intelligence organs and its heavily armed riot police forces seemed to have been the last communist institution to take seriously the ‘fight against domestic counter- revolution’. At least this is the impression conveyed by the increasingly intensive security cooperation with the East German Stasi between the autumn of 1987 and July 1988. The Polish Interior Minister, General Czeslaw Kiszczak, planned a major multilateral intelligence gathering in Warsaw for October 1988 to discuss strategies for dealing with the Vatican The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 71 challenge and asked for a Stasi officer specialized in church affairs to be assigned to the GDR intelligence staff already operating in Warsaw.25 Yet a month after a revealing but disappointing visit to Poland by Gor- bachev, Polish communist power suddenly and irreversibly evaporated in August 1988 when over 150,000 workers in 30 factories across the country began a series of massive strikes. With the demise of the Soviet threat and the sheer impossibility of a reprise of 1981, General Kiszczak sought compromises in order to save communist interests and assets during a transitional period before a complete loss of power. Through mediation by the Catholic Church he met opposition leader Lech Walesa on 31 August 1988, initiating negotiations leading to the establishment of a ‘Round Table’. Under new Prime Minister Mieczyslaw Rakowski the Communist Party officially propagated ‘pluralism’ and a ‘Republic of Poland’ on 18 January 1989. The Joint State–Church Commission continued its work and presented on 4 April 1989 a draft law regulating Church–state relations, declaring the latter’s absolute neutrality and guaranteeing the former complete freedom of activities. The still nominally communist- dominated parliament accepted this draft on 17 May 1989 with only two votes against. Solidarnosc’s electoral victory in June brought a new government whose Catholic Prime Minister Tadeusz Mazowiecki was received for an audience by John Paul II on 20 October 1989. By then, with the Berlin Wall still standing and communist power in Warsaw the subject of a distant past, Poland had been in the midst of partisan political infighting for five months already, with Catholic clerics and lay people propagating divergent agendas, and candidates buttressing their positions with papal and other church statements and symbols.

Special paths II: the case of the GDR, 1985–1989 Developments in neighbouring Poland had no significant spillover effects on the GDR, either in terms of the society at large or concerning the 6 per cent of the East German population who were Catholics and their hierarchy. Whereas the 1979 papal visit to Poland had motivated the East German Stasi to go into overdrive and control the relatively small number of Catholics seeking to cross the Oder-Neisse border to see the Pope, the 1983 and 1987 visits of John Paul II to his native country failed to elicit any significant eastward activity by GDR intelligence and citizens alike. In part this was due to the reinstatement of visa requirements for East Germans wanting to travel to Poland in December 1980, but there was also a general sense in GDR society that ‘Polish models’ were of very limited attractiveness or relevance. Moreover, since 1982 the Stasi had deployed in close cooperation with the Polish Ministry of Interior an East German ‘operative group’ in Poland to become actively involved in the fight against ‘counter-revolution’ and ‘revisionism’ amongst Polish communists. Through monitoring the Polish opposition and Catholic Church and 72 B. Schäfer running its own agents, these clandestine GDR forces fought until 1988 an increasingly futile battle for Poland’s ‘Marxist–Leninist recovery’.26 The Catholic Church in East Germany, which had amounted to 12 per cent of the GDR population in 1950 but which, due to emigration to the West, had fallen to less than half that number by the 1980s, had enjoyed for a long time comparatively lenient conditions for any Catholic Church in socialist Eastern Europe before being surpassed in this regard by Poland.27 Specific Soviet policies and tactics concerning ‘Germany as a whole’, and GDR efforts after 1961 to gain international recognition as a second German state, saved the churches in East Germany from the excesses of persecution and repression prevalent in other parts of Eastern Europe during the 1950s and 1960s. Therefore the Vatican viewed GDR Catholicism after 1961 as a major potential partner for local churches living under deplorable conditions in countries like the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia, and also to some extent in Hungary and Romania. In close coordination with the Vatican, information and supplies were sent in an eastern direction. Eastern Europeans and Balts came to study at GDR seminaries, in other cases clandestine ordinations were undertaken, and theological contraband was smuggled continually. While this perspective dominated the image of the East German church in the Vatican, West German Catholicism and its political adherents fought bitterly with Rome over all-German symbols of unity and the preservation of traditional Western jurisdiction over GDR church territories. Since the late 1960s, however, the Vatican had also come to value the theologically conservative steadfastness of the tiny Catholic Church in the GDR over the increasing ‘insubordination’ of the progressive West German church. For Rome, it was therefore advantageous to follow in the footsteps of Willy Brandt’s Ostpolitik and, in 1973 and 1976 respectively, to create a separate East German bishops conference and to place church territories there under Vatican instead of FRG jurisdiction. Rome was also willing to recognize the GDR and establish diplomatic relations in order to obtain a Vatican foothold in the Eastern bloc through a nunciature in East Berlin. The GDR would certainly have agreed to this had the USSR not vetoed the plans in 1972, imperatively demanding that no Warsaw Treaty country was to establish official ties with the Vatican until Moscow had decided to do so first. After 1973, further Vatican measures to adapt the borders of church circumscriptions to intra-German borders were planned but placed on permanent halt after John Paul II became Pope in 1978.28 Initially, this change of Vatican policy was hailed in West Germany and lamented by the GDR government. A Stasi analysis from April 1979, however, proved correct in pointing out that the new Pope ‘does not have particular sympathies for the peculiarities of the “German question”.’ He would be ‘an anti-communist, but first of all a Pole.’29 The shelved issue of border adaptation turned out to be a peripheral issue in Vatican–GDR The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 73 relations. As had been the case during previous pontificates, under a Polish Pope two German Catholic Churches in West and East were both considered useful in their own right, with the latter serving as a bridge to Eastern Europe and a loyal Vatican bridgehead among German-speaking Catholics. Furthermore, before the advent of perestroika the GDR was considered in Rome as an influential force for moderation in Eastern Europe. At the peak of his ‘peace policy offensive’, GDR leader Erich Honecker met John Paul II on 24 April 1985 during a state visit to Italy. He succeeded in doing so over the objections of East German Cardinal Joachim Meisner in Berlin and thereby laid the groundwork for a potential ‘return visit’ by the Pope to the GDR. East German communists were instructed to use papal statements in internal discussions with church representatives and warned to avoid ‘taking on the Pope’ in public.30 All this made the East German government the only socialist government in Europe that honestly wanted the Polish Pope to come to their country. On the one hand East Berlin communists were convinced of the ‘constructive’ nature of GDR Catholi- cism and hence its ability to jointly organize such a visit. On the other hand, it would have visibly enhanced East Germany’s international reputation and highlighted the two-state status quo had John Paul II paid an exclusive visit to the German Democratic Republic. Such was indeed on the mind of the Pope and his close Italian advisers who viewed the GDR as a constructive socialist state which respected church rights more than almost any other communist state. Cardinal Meisner attempted to take revenge on Honecker by inviting the Pope to the first major official convention of GDR Catholics scheduled for July 1987 in Dresden. This would deny the GDR a papal visit to its East Berlin capital, the Berlin Cardinal thought. While the East German communist politburo had already agreed ‘in principle’ on 12 August 1986 to John Paul’s visit, it did not play along with this scheme and neither did the Vatican.31 Both sides finally agreed to negotiate an upcoming papal visit between church and state representatives in Berlin and jointly invite the Pope after an agreement.32 By 1988 the plan was mostly finalized, except for the sensitive question of a papal stay in West Berlin which was part of the Diocese of Berlin administered by a bishop residing in the East. Other- wise the programme was to start in East Berlin with an official state welcome and extend to various cities, including paying tribute to the Catholic Sorbian minority in Lusatia. With the GDR preoccupied in preparing for celebrations of its 40th anniversary in October 1989, and the Catholic Church having previously scheduled a West German Catholic convention in West Berlin for June 1990, both sides tentatively agreed to aim at a papal visit to the GDR in 1991. Obviously by this date events had taken a very different course. But, interestingly, planning for the visit continued for a surprisingly long time: thus in late November 1989, three weeks after the unintentional opening 74 B. Schäfer of the Wall, the GDR government reissued the invitation, a move which was seconded by a leading GDR Catholic church official.33 East German Catholicism was held in high regard in Italian Vatican circles for reasons mentioned above, such as its special status in the Eastern bloc and the GDR’s comparatively moderate policy towards the churches. Also it was seen as advantageous to have a German-speaking Catholic Church under immediate Vatican jurisdiction without interference by the FRG Bishops Conference, and unrestricted by the pre-1945 concordats which still applied in West Germany. Conveniently, the GDR government ignored these. Rome not only enjoyed its distant ‘direct canon law rule’ over East German Catholics. The latter were also seen as displaying a theology and spirituality considered ‘more sincere’ than Western models and more in line with papal teaching. Apparently, as long as they refrained from persecution, authoritarian Marxist societies seemed to have a deeper impact on internal Catholic strength, cohesion, and spirituality than materialist capitalist countries. The socialist states of Eastern Europe were in general seen as free of the vices of Western ‘permissive society’ like pornography, massive drug abuse, and excessive consumerism – a state of affairs which made the former bishop in Berlin, and now bishop in Cologne, Cardinal Meisner muse publicly in April 1989 how fortunate East Berlin Catholics were to stay in the more healthy Christian environment of the austere GDR:

I have always sensed clear differences [between East and West Germany] in terms of vitality of faith within the Church. But I realized that Christians in the Eastern part of my former Diocese of Berlin are not better than those in West Berlin, they just have fewer opportunities to sin. Thus, under conditions of West German society, Christians in the GDR would probably resemble an identical picture.34

Despite the dearth of available internal Vatican sources, it is not too far- fetched to assume reluctance and scepticism, if not apprehension and wariness, over the German question inside the multinational but still Italian-dominated Vatican and on the part of the Polish Pope himself. When the Wall fell on 9 November 1989, all East German bishops happened to be in the Vatican for their regular five-year report to the Pope and leading members of the curia. This gave them an opportunity to observe first-hand reactions in the Vatican including those of John Paul II. Clerical members of the delegation interviewed in the early 1990s, all report the caution, if not wariness, of their Roman interlocutors over a Germany unbound, and their sympathy for maintaining East German church identity. Once the subsequent rush to German unification began to affect the Catholic Church, the West German side had to realize East German Catholic resilience toward uncritically adapting Western models and a desire to keep ‘Eastern’ structures and certain customs of religious The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 75 practice as a part of a special identity. During the first half of the 1990s, the Vatican sided mostly with Eastern demands and helped preserve some of their institutions and structures against West German pressure.

Conclusion On 1 December 1989 Gorbachev was received in the Vatican for an audience with John Paul II where the head of the Catholic Church related that he prayed for the success of perestroika. At the end of a friendly exchange in which they agreed that it was the turn in Soviet policy that had changed Eastern Europe for the better, the Pope commented: ‘It is impossible if somebody claims that changes in Europe and the world must follow an exclusively Western pattern. This stands in contrast to my deepest convic- tions. If Europe is going to shape global history, it must breathe with two lungs.’ Gorbachev seconded the remark, calling it ‘a very appropriate image’.35 Since the early 1960s, Vatican Ostpolitik had aimed at improving conditions for the Catholic Church in the socialist states of Eastern Europe and in the republics of the Soviet Union. It challenged the status quo of politics that negatively affected the practice of Catholic religion and impaired relations between the national churches and the Vatican. In order to make incremental progress towards greater freedom of religion, the Vatican refrained from open or secret attempts to undermine or challenge the stability of socialist regimes. The election of a Polish Pope with anti-communist credentials in October 1978 changed this equation to a certain extent for the exceptional case of Poland, ‘the weakest link in the chain of socialism in Europe’ according to the neighbouring GDR. The Polish example, though, did not transcend borders or turn into a model for other states. Poland’s exceptionality and the invigorating effects of a Slavic Pope were more or less successfully contained by repressive communist authorities outside the ‘infected’ Central European country. In the Polish case, Pope John Paul II added one of several sparks to a sea filled with the fuel of discontent. The Polish opposition, aided by parts of the Catholic Church and the Pope alike, could at best reach a stalemate with Warsaw authorities in 1980–1981 before it was temporarily defeated. No Polish Catholic Church, or even a Polish Pope in Rome, could change the basic configurations of power in Poland without the prior diminish- ment and eventual disappearance of an external Soviet threat of intervention to ‘save socialism’. When the ‘Brezhnev Doctrine’ had been explicitly waived by a reformed USSR by 1988 at the latest, then – and only then – could the Polish opposition achieve a share of power and its ultimate takeover. Without the foundations laid by Vatican diplomacy in Eastern Europe before 1979, and Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski’s patriotic leadership of Poland’s Catholic Church, the election of Cardinal Karol Wojtyla could 76 B. Schäfer have led to a serious deterioration of relations between the Soviet bloc and Rome. Instead, initial communist apprehension did not materialize as Vatican policy towards socialist states expressed continuity until the rise of Gorbachev in the USSR. Only political reform from above in the cases of the USSR, Poland, and Hungary opened a new playing field in religious politics for John Paul II and his Curia. Except for Poland, the introduction of ideological and political reforms in those countries was independent from the actions of the Catholic Church. After 1986 the Vatican and local churches cautiously explored opportunities offered to them by political reform states in the Eastern bloc. Church–state patterns of behaviour and relations remained unchanged in states where political reform was lacking until late in 1989 (GDR, Czechoslovakia, Bulgaria, and Romania). In these cases neither the Pope, nor the Vatican, nor local Catholic Churches had any measurable effect until the overall situation changed in the wake of mass public protests. Last but not least, the Catholic Church and the charismatic Pope John Paul II himself undoubtedly represented a credible moral force for the dignity of the individual and undermined official propaganda of Marxist- Leninism. This ideology, however, had lost credibility and adherence amongst the overwhelming majority of the population in every socialist Eastern European country long before. Anti-communist feelings and eventual opposition were substantially more based on all shades of ‘secular’ rather than religious motivations. Furthermore, Catholic teachings in Eastern Europe contrasted the depths of local devotion with seculariza- tion, amorality, and permissiveness in the West, thereby almost elevating the antagonisms, shortages, and depravations of ‘real socialism’ to a more fertile ground for leading a Catholic life.36 Consequently, the Vatican and local church hierarchies were more concerned with augmenting Catholic freedoms and influence within Eastern Europe than with political, economic, or social transformation. Ironically, post-communist societies soon provoked a re-focusing of the Vatican’s struggle for ‘re-evangelization’ against adversaries and perceived ‘moral evils’ more elusive than the communists had been.

Notes 1 Gaddis (2005, pp. 193, 195). 2 Luxmoore and Babiuch (1999); Stehle (1993). 3 Federal Commissioner for Stasi Records (BStU), Central Archive (ZA), Main Directorate (HA) XX/4, 2489, Warsaw to Berlin, Telegram on Archbishop’s Casaroli’s Visit to Warsaw, 3.4.1979. 4 Luxmoore and Babiuch (1999, p. 213); Corley (1996); Corley (1994, pp. 40–42); Raina (1997). 5 Conspiracy theories about the alleged ‘Holy Alliance’ between Ronald Reagan, the CIA, the Pope, and Solidarnosc are likely to live on until Western archival material for the 1981–1983 period is declassified. See e.g. Bernstein and Politi (1996, pp. 235–291). The Catholic Church and the Cold War’s end 77 6 Carrillo (1991, pp. 644–657). 7 Casaroli (2000); Luxmoore and Babiuch (1999); Stehle (1993). 8 Máté-Tóth (1996); for an overview see Adriányi (2004). 9 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 2434, pp. 2–3. 10 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 127, pp. 20–29; Andrew and Mitrokhin (1999, pp. 508–509). 11 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 2787, GDR Embassy Warsaw, ‘Goals, Extent, and Meas- ures of Roman-Catholic Influence on Student Youth in the People’s Republic of Poland’, 2.7.1979. 12 German Federal Archive Berlin (BAB), DO-4, 4759. 13 Despite intensive investigation and speculation, there is still a lack of conclusive evidence as to whether Turkish assassin Ali Agca acted alone or as a hired gun. 14 Kühn (1999); Garton Ash (1983). 15 Tajne Dokumenty Panstwo-Kosciól 1980–1989 (London: Aneks, 1993); Raina (2001). 16 BStU, ZA, ZAIG. Stasi Information 326/86, Statements by Relevant Vatican Officials on Vatican Relations with the Socialist States, 11.7.1986. 17 BAB, DO-4, 1034. GDR Embassy Warsaw, ‘Policy of the Polish Communist Party Concerning the Roman-Catholic Church and Activities of the Clergy’, 4.2.1985. 18 Tajne Dokumenty, pp. 245–247. 19 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 1257, pp. 587–591, 611–617, 631–633. 20 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 2156. Report on Meeting with Polish Security Organs, Church Departments, on 15 and 16 April 1987 in Warsaw. 21 BStU, ZA, HA XX, 13627. GDR Embassy Warsaw, Recent Problems in Relations PR Poland-Vatican, 8.10.1987. 22 Luxmoore and Babiuch (1999, p. 285). 23 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 1210. Stasi Information on Papal Visit to the People’s Republic of Poland, 30.6.1987. 24 BAB, DO-4, 1034. GDR State Secretariat for Church Affairs, Report on Visit to Poland, 4.10.1987. 25 BStU, ZA, HA XX/4, 1257. Report by Stasi HA XX/4, 5.4.1988. 26 Borodziej et al. (2000). 27 For an overview: Schäfer (1999). An English translation will appear with Berghahn books in 2008. 28 Bernd Schäfer, ‘La place du Vatican dans la politique extérieure de la RDA’. In Pfeil (2000, pp. 233–244). 29 BStU, ZA, ZAIG, Z 2932, Bl. 5. 30 Saxony Main State Archive (HStA Saxony), LPA-Dresden, 12012. Minutes SED District Committee Dresden, 22.12.1986. 31 Foundation Party and Mass Organizations in the German Federal Archive (SAPMO-BA), DY 30, J IV 2/2/2179. 32 Grande and Schäfer (1994). 33 SAPMO-BA, DY 30, IV B 2/14/159. SED Central Committee, Church Affairs Division, Krausser to Herger, 24.11.1989. 34 Rheinischer Merkur, 14.4.1989. 35 Gorbachev (1993, pp. 131–142). 36 Gönner (1995). 6 The international context of Hungarian transition, 1989 The view from Budapest

László Borhi

This chapter will examine the attitude of the USSR as well as the Western powers to the transformation of Eastern Europe in the crucial year of 1989. It is primarily based on recently released Hungarian archival documents. These reveal what Soviet and Western politicians told Hungarians about their attitude towards transition. The space allotted to each country will reflect the availability of evidence and not just its political weight. It will be argued that there was a meeting of minds between Moscow and the West that the foundations of the Yalta structures should survive, albeit on a cooperative basis. As NATO’s Assistant Secretary General for Political Affairs Henning Wegener put it in November 1989, the ‘Warsaw Pact ... could well perform useful functions and enhance stability...’ if reformed on the basis of strict equality.1 From early 1989 Hungarian officials pushed for a radical transformation of the Warsaw Pact’s decision-making process. But opposition parties began to question the country’s membership of the organization early on in the year and top-level Hungarian officials broached the issue of neutrality in September. Quitting the pact enjoyed tremendous support because it would symbolize the regaining of lost sovereignty. Few predicted in January 1989 that by the end of the year Hungarians would be at the forefront of the dismantling of the Iron Curtain. As the year began reformers within the ruling party and the democratic opposition were split as to how far it was desirable or even possible to go towards full democratization and the restoration of national sovereignty. Although the Soviet leadership had seemingly reconciled itself to democratization, renounced the Brezhnev Doctrine, and agreed to partial troop withdrawal, Gorbachev was unready for the unification of the continent, or to renounce Moscow’s military and economic control of Hungary and was wary of the infiltration of Western influence. The West faced a dilemma. Fundamental political and economic changes were required in Hungary to avoid massive unrest, which in turn could throw the country into disarray with unforeseeable consequences for regional stability. But if changes spiralled out of control the consequences could be dire. Thus the West supported transformation along a tightrope: going far enough to satisfy the domestic appetite for democracy The international context of Hungarian transition 79 and to stave off economic collapse, but stopping short of upsetting the status quo and thus peace and stability in Europe. In July 1989 the deputy head of the Hungarian Socialist Workers Party (HSWP) Central Commit- tee’s foreign relations department, Imre Szokai, summarized the Hungar- ian perception of Western attitudes:

it is the ﬁrm view of our West European partners that to preserve European stability and the historically evolved status quo there should be no regime change in Hungary, Hungarian politics should not impinge upon the USSR’s security, military and political interests (they consider even mention of exit from the Warsaw Pact a dangerous ﬁction) ... The activities of (US) ambassador Mark Palmer and his associates are in stark contrast to this.2

But Palmer’s activity did not necessarily reflect the views of his government. He later admitted to having had ‘differences of opinion with some members of the Bush administration about how aggressively an ambassador could support the opposition.’3 Although Washington’s grand strategy was ‘to end the Cold War and the division of Europe through the peaceful, democratic transformation of the eastern half’, in its practical implementation US policy was cautious and not all that different from the European approach. Reforms outpaced even the boldest objectives.4 For example, the Bush administration envisaged a transition period of a few years to full democracy. This stance would soon be outstripped by events. Soviet moves were hard to predict. Although Gorbachev had repeatedly suggested that the Brezhnev Doctrine would not apply, these statements were not sufficiently unambiguous to be entirely relied upon.5 Moreover some elements of the Soviet elite were known to deplore the ‘loss’ of Eastern Europe.6 The threat of Soviet intervention influenced American thinking.7 Although successful Hungarian reforms could help perestroika, the loss of Eastern Europe could lead to Gorbachev’s removal, which in turn could end reform and Moscow’s reconciliation with the West. The retraction of Soviet power, which safeguarded regional stability, could also have adverse consequences like the reappearance of regional conflict or even the resurgence of German hegemony. Rapid changes in the East could hinder the Western integration process. Ultimately the preservation of stability prevailed in Western thinking. As Moscow’s rule over Budapest mellowed, Soviet and Hungarian visions for the future diverged and Hungary pushed for fundamental change in bilateral relations. The time seemed ripe for such a transformation. In the summer of 1988 Soviet foreign minister Shevardnadze admitted defeat in the Cold War: ‘The West beat us in all important fields, we are unable to bear the burden of the continual arms race ... Halting the arms race has absolute priority, we must use every occasion to reach agreements.’8 80 L. Borhi Gorbachev hoped that Budapest would ‘solve its problems by better utilizing the possibilities of socialism’9 and still wanted to ‘demonstrate the superiority of socialism.’10 The Soviets failed to realize that the ancien régime could be discarded altogether. In July 1989, when the multiparty system had already been recognized, Anatoly Dobrynin confided that the Soviet leadership had not even considered the possibility of a coalition government in Hungary.11 Was Eastern Europe still an asset? CPSU analysts thought that trade with Eastern Europe ‘greatly favoured’ the Soviet Union.12 Moreover Hungary suffered from a large and growing Soviet trade deficit in transferable roubles. But converting the system to US dollars, as proposed by the Hungarians, could produce a crippling Hun- garian deficit of $1.2 billion within a year. Hungary depended on Soviet energy but bilateral trade seemed a zero-sum game. ‘From the outset [the socialist states] formed a security zone, which provided strategic defence for the centre of socialism. Today ... the role of Eastern Europe remains essentially the same’, CPSU analysts argued in early 1989.13 The previous year Gorbachev had announced unilateral troop reductions in East-Central Europe and the western military districts of the Soviet Union. This coincided with Hungary’s budget-dictated decision in March 1989 to reduce its own forces and a party resolution on 16 May to push for Soviet troop withdrawal. But Gorbachev protested that the proposed reduction was hasty and should be a function of the Vienna arms reduction talks. The same applied to Soviet troop reductions. In Vienna, Hungary pushed for the reduction of Hungarian forces and Soviet withdrawal. Although it seemed that the Soviet military ‘no longer regarded the stationing of troops in adjacent states a prerequisite of security’, the Soviet position shifted slowly.14 In March Gorbachev rejected the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact, which he sought to retain on a democratized basis.15 Soviet deputy foreign minister Aboimov regarded ‘the presence of Soviet troops in Hungary an important guarantee of European security’ and was worried by statements demanding their full withdrawal.16 Soviet defence minister Dmitrii Iazov asserted that the Warsaw Pact was the only guarantee of European stability and would ‘remain strong irrespective of developments in Eastern Europe.’17 Gorbachev’s ‘common European home’ did not envisage European reunification as it ultimately unfolded. In April 1989 high-ranking MID officials explained that Gorbachev’s vision was built on ‘the respect for European political and territorial realities, [and] maintenance of the alliances’ based on cooperation. The German question would be solved on the basis of a common German identity but two German states.18 In briefing the Warsaw Pact allies on the Malta summit, Gorbachev declared that although there was an:

objective need for efforts to overcome the division of Europe [it was] unacceptable to realize unity based on the liquidation of socialism The international context of Hungarian transition 81 and exclusively on the basis of Western values, the replacement of the Brezhnev doctrine with a sort of Bush doctrine.19

Thus the initiative for liberation had to come from outside the Soviet Union. Neutral Austria, which had built a close relationship with Kádár’s Hungary was sensitive to challenges to Soviet control because of its precarious geographical position, the proximity of Soviet forces, and its vulnera- bility to a potential flood of refugees. Only two days after the HSWP Central Committee (recognizing a fait accompli) made the historic decision on 11 February 1989 to accept a multiparty system and the re- evaluation of the 1956 revolution, thereby removing the ruling party’s legitimacy, Prime Minister Miklós Németh explained to Chancellor Franz Vranitzky that Hungary would introduce democracy and a ‘socialist market system.’ Vranitzky stated that ‘the danger of domestic changes in Hungary spiralling out of control causes great anxiety in the Austrian leadership.’20 Hungarian diplomacy learned that the Austrian Socialist party, the SPÖ, was baffled and deeply troubled by the discussion of neutrality and the question of 1956 underway in Hungary and was sceptical about the possibility of ‘real elections’.21 FPÖ politician Friedhelm Frischenschlaeger stated that ‘European stability rested on the status quo.’22 The Austrians emphasized Gorbachev’s precarious position and the dire consequences of his potential removal. Aside from Wiener Allianz President Ernst Baumgartner, who advocated Hungary’s return to the principles of Leninism, Austrians recommended slow and predictable democratization.23 The General Secretary of the Austrian Foreign Ministry Klestil queried Foreign Minister Gyula Horn about the limits of transformation and asked when these would lead to tension with the USSR. Austrians feared the ramification of change for themselves. Foreign Minister Alois Mock was concerned that the Hungar- ian decision in February to remove the electronic border fence would increase the number of East European refugees arriving in Austria. Growing financial burdens could lead Austria to alter its refugee policy.24 By mid-summer, Austrian socialists expressed anxiety that the HSWP might fall to pieces and anarchy would set in, a danger just as real as the reversal of reforms. Their message, as reported by the Hungarian embassy in Vienna, was that ‘Hungary should not cause a headache for Europe again.’25Austrian views remained unchanged throughout the year. The Austrian right-of-centre Peoples Party’s spokesman reiterated that the USSR and the stationing of Soviet troops abroad was an important factor in stabilizing Eastern Europe, a statement likely prompted by rumours of an impending Romanian attack on Hungary.26 Austria was part of Italy’s Quadragonale initiative launched in Budapest in November, which aimed at promoting regional cooperation between Italy, Yugoslavia, Austria and Hungary in the field of industry, science, 82 L. Borhi transport and environmental protection. Italian Foreign Minister Gianni De Michelis saw this as Italy’s way of helping the region to find its place in the ‘common European home.’ But the project, which received Soviet and American blessing, was not entirely altruistic. Harking back to the old rivalry between Rome and Berlin, an Italian official explained in mid- October that it was ‘more advantageous for Hungary to use Italy’s mediation towards the EC than Germany’s.’ One must take into account, he argued, the problems with the balance of power which may arise ‘once Germany is unified.’27 The Hungarians were receptive, but problems arose with Yugoslavia and Austria at an early stage. In 1990 Quadragonale was broadened into a Pentagonale but the initiative petered out.28 The Hungarian Archives contain little evidence on Bonn’s policies towards the security and political aspects of the transition. With Ostpolitik Bonn had built close relations with Budapest. German economic activity was particularly strong and the FRG became Hungary’s largest Western trading partner. Bonn’s approach paid off in 1989 when the Németh administration drove a nail into the GDR’s coffin by opening the border to East German citizens who decided not to return to their homeland.29 This move was not intended to secure economic favours (which Budapest counted on and received), but as test case of Hungary’s democratization. In June, a German–Soviet joint declaration was issued, which affirmed the principle of self-determination and a commitment to overcome the division of Europe. A commitment to self-determination had already been made and Gorbachev’s notion of European unity was likely different from that of Chancellor Kohl, who on 12 June declared that Germany would do nothing to destabilize Poland or Hungary by intervening in their affairs. Two days later Kohl outlined his position on Hungary: Hungarians ‘should not accelerate events, because they could lose control over them and the system would terminate itself.’30 When Horn broached the question of Soviet troop withdrawal on the occasion of the German chancellor’s visit to Budapest in December 1989, Kohl did not express an opinion on the topic.31 Rather more information is available on French policies. Robert Hutch- ings has observed that ‘Eastern Europe had little place in this (French) strategic vision except as part of the distant goal of a Europe free of the superpowers.’32 French historian Thomas Schreiber has written that some French political circles were not enthusiastic after the Polish elections and the opening of Hungarian boundaries to East Germans – President Mitter- rand himself remained cautious.33 Both statements are supported by Hun- garian documentary evidence. Only briefly had Eastern Europe ever played a pivotal role in French policies. From 1920 Paris supported the Little Entente to safeguard France’s eastern security – against Germany and Russia – but failed to provide explicit security guarantees.34 From the mid-1930s the French backed away from the system they had created in Eastern Europe. Although the 1960s saw a renewed French interest in the The international context of Hungarian transition 83 region, Paris was not about to take responsibility for it and French economic activity in Eastern Europe was far smaller than that of West Germany. Mitterrand turned down Kohl’s offer for a common policy towards the region, even though France was wary of German designs in the eastern half of the continent. Paris may have found it too risky to support changes that threatened to upset stability behind the iron curtain. Domestic changes had to satisfy the criteria of stability and predictability. Initially Mitterrand was forward looking. In November 1988 he talked to HWSP First Secretary Grósz about the need to transcend Yalta and for Europeans to decide on their own fate. Mitterrand emphasized the need for cooperation ‘against American cultural expansionism on the wings of Japanese technology.’35 This was perhaps a subtle hint, that it was more important to rid France of the US than to rid the East of the Soviets. In early 1989 French business circles took an active interest in Hungary. Although in Hungarian estimation France recognized that Germany was making economic inroads, not even a symbolic measure was taken to facilitate Hungarian exports to France.36 French response to the abolition of the single party system was cautious. It was reported that because of the anxiety exhibited by political circles regarding the pace of reform, the French company Matra cancelled its plans to create a joint venture in Hungary.37 On 15 February Mitterrand’s adviser, Loic Hennekine, told a Hungarian diplomat, László Vass, that Paris supported Hungary’s reforms, but did not want these to destabilize the continent, or to lead to political and economic crisis.38 A Hungarian summary of French views emphasized that they deplored ‘demagogic’ demands such as Hungary’s exit from the Warsaw Pact. Paris did not understand why, in contrast to Poland, the government backed down against the opposition. A more gradual, predictable reform process was required.39 Although Jacques Attali opined that in ten years time Hungary might become a member of the European Community, on 28 February 1989 Minister of Planning Lionel Stoleru told the President of the National Planning Office, Ernö Kemenes, that the EC wanted to become a bastion in the economic struggle against the US and Japan and that therefore transition in the East should not impede the strong union of the Twelve. A rapid acceleration of the reforms in Eastern Europe, Stoleru thought, would lead to catastrophe.40 In October the HSWP was dissolved ending the party state system that had existed in Hungary since 1948. The communists’ rapid demise alarmed the French Socialist Party, which opined that the victory of the right-wing was not in the interest of Western Europe or Hungary.41 On 17 November Elysée Secretary-general, Jean Louis Bianco, explained that Western assistance to Hungary should not interfere with Hungarian– Soviet relations. The USSR had clarified the limits of East European change, which were the continued existence of the alliances and the inviolability of boundaries, conditions that the US and Western Europe accepted.42 Quai d’Orsay director, Jacques Blot, described the dangers of 84 L. Borhi an exclusive German orientation to a Hungarian diplomat arguing that France could provide the right political, cultural and economic counterbalance.43 In early December former president Valéry Giscard d’Estaing met state minister Pozsgay. Giscard claimed to agree with Mitterrand that the transition period in Hungary would be lengthy. But membership in the EC required compatible economies and membership in NATO, which according to Giscard ruled out even Austria’s entry.44 It was apparent to Hungarians that France wanted slow and limited change. According to a briefing on Mitterrand’s talks in the GDR that the Hungarians received from the French embassy in East Berlin, the Presid- ent regarded unification a German matter but preferred to maintain the GDR’s international status. Unification should not lead to destabilization in Europe or boundary changes.45 In Budapest in January 1990, while his Hungarian hosts underlined the importance of French support for the transition, Mitterrand declared that he came to give an impetus to bilateral relations and to discuss the future of Europe. Earlier, he argued, Europe had been under the ‘tutelage’ of great powers but the Bush– Gorbachev meeting in Malta offered the opportunity to transcend this. Since 1945 there had been no stable continental balance, and this would have to be rectified through negotiation. German unification was unavoid- able, but should not be hastened. It would take at least ten years to build a European confederation. Political and legal arrangements would have to be made between the two halves of Europe to guarantee security and economic cooperation.46 Thus the Soviet bloc would survive at least temporarily. In this respect there had been no change in Mitterrand’s position since 1988. Alongside France, Britain was the architect of the interwar order in Central Europe. London had sought to balance the French presence in the region and had tried unsuccessfully to identify a state on which to build British regional policy but soon became disenchanted with the successor states and renounced an active regional role.47 As Geraint Hughes has shown ‘traditional British policy towards Eastern Europe ... emphasized stability rather than self-determination ... violent uprisings ... could have a dangerous impact on European security.’48 In 1989 London perceived similar threats if the reforms went too far. Hutchings argues that ‘British thinking ... saw few prospects for meaningful change and many dangers for the cohesion of the West.’49 Geoffrey Howe, the Foreign Secretary, admitted that East European changes raised a number of strategic issues, primarily in Western policies towards the USSR.50 Initially London suggested that Hungarian reforms might improve Gorbachev’s chances. Margaret Thatcher, who had been sceptical about Kádár’s reforms, told Foreign Minister Péter Várkonyi in mid-March 1989 that the success of Hungarian perestroika could influence Gorbachev’s choices and serve as a model for the USSR.51 The British leader claimed to have told Gorbachev that Hungary was a showcase of socialist transformation.52 The The international context of Hungarian transition 85 phrase ‘socialist transformation’, a term used by the conservative wing of the reform communists in Hungary, suggested that Thatcher was mindful of Soviet concerns. A few days earlier the British ambassador in Budapest had asked opposition leaders to be more patient with the Hungarian leadership and not cause unnecessary complications.53 In September Thatcher assured Gorbachev of her sympathy with the Soviet position according to which reform in Eastern Europe should not question the Warsaw Pact.54 In acknowledging Soviet primacy in Eastern Europe, the prime minister acted in the traditions of British policy towards that region since 1944. The Hungarians were told that European stability rested on Soviet security, which enjoyed priority over reforms in Eastern Europe. The Foreign Office expressed Thatcher’s cautious views even more emphatically. On 11 October Foreign Office officials explained that the future of Eastern Europe depended on the progress of the USSR, which was the most dangerous state in Eastern Europe and hence needed – for the good of all – to feel secure. The dissolution of the Warsaw Pact would increase the Soviet sense of insecurity with unpredictable outcomes. Therefore Britain attributed great significance to regional stability and advised the reform states to be cautious: too many things should not be changed at once, although London hoped to provide economic assistance to Poland and Hungary. The question was how this could be done without jeopardizing mutual security. Finally the British declared that they hoped for the presence of reform communists – Pozsgay, Németh, Horn – in the coalition government after the election, which would be able to expect London’s support just like Solidarity in Poland.55 On 27–28 November State Secretary of Foreign Affairs László Kovács met William Waldegrave, David Ratford and Percy Cradock in preparation for Németh’s meeting with Thatcher. The prime minister’s dilemma, they informed Kovács, was how to help reforms without ‘causing problems for Gorbachev.’ Changes had to be ‘peaceful and evolutionary’ so as not to endanger European stability. They claimed that in her recent talks with President Bush, Thatcher had argued that in order to offset the uncertainty caused by the rapid change in Eastern Europe, the two military alliances needed to be preserved while broadening their contacts. Concerning the EEC, Thatcher’s proposal was a treaty of association for Hungary, but full membership would depend upon a long-term change of European structures.56 At their meeting on 13 December 1989 Németh claimed that for the first time it was unlikely that Moscow would intervene. The most important thing, he thought, was for Gorbachev to succeed. Although he was under fire ‘the KGB and the army stands behind him.’ Németh pleaded for Western assistance in the transition, which otherwise stood no chance. Hungary’s success could bolster Gorbachev and reforms in other socialist states, while failure could have a negative impact. Németh expressed his gratitude to Thatcher and President Bush for avoiding even the 86 L. Borhi semblance of profiting from East European processes. Németh was grate- ful for a Western policy that eschewed strident rhetoric – in contrast to 1956 – but this did not mean that he liked being told to stay in the Warsaw Pact. It is no coincidence that he tried to persuade Thatcher and later Bush that Moscow would not intervene. Had the Hungarian public known about the Western stance on the preservation of the status quo, it would have created an outcry. Thatcher stated that Gorbachev needed Hungary as a positive example as opposed to Poland, which in her view was heading for crisis due to its catastrophic economic state. She emphasized the need for a ‘responsible’ Hun- garian opposition. British aid took the form of a £25 million know-how fund.57 According to a Hungarian appraisal in early 1990 London was still worried about destabilization stemming from radical changes in Eastern Europe and emphasized that stability was to be preserved by the two alliances, Soviet security concerns being recognized as legitimate.58 In early 1990 Foreign Minister Horn told his British counterpart Douglas Hurd that Hungary was ‘looking for a new, realistic framework of security’ with neutrality being a viable option since the USSR no longer offered an ‘adequate guarantee’ given the uncertainty prevailing there. Hurd emphasized the importance of NATO in guaranteeing a US presence in Europe and in con- straining Germany, something which was a ‘European interest.’59 Just like the member states, the EC groped for an appropriate response to the eastern challenge. In January, Jacques Delors, the Commission President, talked about the advantages of a single European market, but concerning the common European house head of the EC Secretariat for Political Cooperation, ambassador Giovanni Januzzi told the Hungarian ambassador in Brussels that the EC had no intention of ‘surrendering its own building.’60 The Community sent mixed signals. At the G7 summit in July it was decided that the European Commission would coordinate aid to Poland and Hungary offered by the G24. Simultaneously Januzzi outlined EC expectations for Hungary, welcoming its rapprochement with the Community without expecting it to ‘eschew socialism’ and to adopt ‘wild capitalism’. Hungary could have a government under the leadership of the communist party with a membership in the Warsaw Pact like French participation in NATO. For the sake of European stability, Januzzi claimed, it was Hungary’s ‘obligation’ to remain in the Warsaw Pact.61 In the same month, a Hungarian request for the removal of quantitative limitations on Hungarian exports and a Yugoslav-type asymmetrical trade agreement was rejected. In September the EC decided on a 300 million ECU aid package to Poland and Hungary, with a further 50 million ECUs for environmental protection. By the Paris summit in November it became clear that changes in Eastern Europe were irreversible.62 As a result the PHARE programme was launched, Generalised Standard Preference was given and quantitative restrictions were lifted for Hungarian industrial products. But these concessions were carefully calibrated to involve only a The international context of Hungarian transition 87 small number of Hungarian goods, affected only a small percentage of exports and protected EC commodities from Hungarian competition.63 Early in the Cold War the US had sought to undermine communist regimes in Eastern Europe. After 1956 liberation was discarded and gradually the Soviet occupation of Eastern Europe was accepted even though the US never renounced democratization as an eventual aim. Having failed in 1956, Washington was cautious. In 1972 Secretary of State William Rogers told Kádár that the US wanted to develop bilateral relations ‘as it suits Hungary without disturbing its relations with third countries.’ On 13 February 1989 President Bush committed the US to a policy that moved beyond containment. The Cold War had to end where it started, in Eastern Europe, which was elevated to the top of the international agenda on 17 April. A free Eastern Europe would ‘reinforce further development in East–West relations and all its dimensions.’64 Hungarian–US relations improved over the decades, but still suffered from the remnants of the Cold War: trade controls on the US part, espi- onage and illegal acquisition of technology by Budapest. Although the Hungarians desperately wanted a relaxation of Cocom restrictions and permanent MFN status, both were denied. The American response to Hungary’s critical balance of payments deficit was insensitive. Presidential envoy John Whitehead complained about Hungarian surplus in bilateral trade. In April 1989, State Department officials told a Hungarian diplomat that Hungary ‘could not count on large financial support from the US even though political developments could possibly justify it.’65 Budapest understood that Washington expected predictable, gradual and peaceful change. Deputy Secretary of State Lawrence Eagleburger praised Hungarian boldness in opening the Austrian border and expressed sympathy for its reforms.66 US sources nevertheless suggested that Washington expected changes to remain under control. Moscow’s tol- erance limit was thought to be unpredictable.67 In May, Bush’s visit to Warsaw and Budapest was announced. Soviet reactions were mixed. She- vardnadze welcomed the visit and declared that Moscow would respect nations’ rights to choose their own path.68 But an article in the Soviet army’s periodical, Krasnaya Zvezda, of 12 May accused the US of ‘driving a wedge between the socialist countries’, of ‘trying to alter the balance of power on the continent’, and of ‘casting doubt on European realities.’69 In a private message on 4 July, Gorbachev asked Bush to be ‘more consider- ate if he wants to help.’70 In his dramatic visit to Budapest, Bush stressed non-intervention. Party President Nyers argued that Hungary’s freedom of manoeuvre had never been so broad since 1947. Németh claimed that the ‘Brezhnev doctrine is dead’ and said that Hungarian reforms could strengthen Gorbachev’s hand. According to the Hungarian records Bush echoing other Western leaders declared that he ‘did not mean to cause problems for Gorbachev or the Hungarian leadership and has no intention of interfering in the relations 88 L. Borhi between Hungary and its allies.’71 In Hutchings’s version Bush added, ‘the better we get along with the Soviets the better it is for you.’72 The President met members of the opposition, who made a poor impression. Referring to the modest economic package Nyers informed Gorbachev that the President’s visit had ‘left no illusions’ but that Bush emphasized American neutrality in domestic affairs.73 In late September President Szürös raised the question of Hungary’s neutrality to national security advisor Brent Scowcroft, who reiterated that the US ‘wanted to appear helpful but not provocative.’74 Beside concern about the Brezhnev Doctrine and perestroika there was another problem. On 13 September Eagleburger warned that ‘reform in the Soviet bloc and the relaxation of Soviet control over Eastern Europe are bringing long-suppressed ethnic antagonisms and natural rivalries to the surface and putting the German question back on the agenda.’ Eagle- burger suggested that the US would not be the key player: ‘it is ultimately the Europeans themselves who have the principal stake in making the transition to a new and undivided Europe a peaceful and orderly one.’75 Concern about regional security was not unfounded. Hungarian– Romanian relations plummeted and on 19 June the Ministry of Interior warned the HSWP leadership of Romanian preparations for military action against Hungary in the autumn.76 In this light, Hungarian leaders, including future Prime Minister József Antall reaffirmed Hungary’s commitment to the Warsaw Pact.77 Antall told Aboimov that Hungary wanted ‘guarantees’ within the alliance ‘against potential attack from the neighbourhood ... we cannot exclude the danger of [Romanian] attack.’ But Aboimov may have been aware that Hungary was already exploring other possibilities warning his interlocutor that ‘any breach of European stability would create a very dangerous situation.’78 In his assessment of the Malta summit, Gorbachev claimed that Bush ‘accepted the stabilizing role of the military-political alliances ... and caution was needed in the withdrawal of troops stationed abroad as well.’79 At Malta, Gorbachev pledged non-intervention, troop withdrawal, and an opportunity for Eastern Europe to choose its own political system. In return, Bush pledged not to take advantage of the situation.80 For the time being European security structures would remain. According to State Department officials the alliances would be ‘pillars of European security.’81 In 1989 communist rule in Hungary was on the verge of collapse. The only way out of impending economic catastrophe and the ever-increasing domestic pressure for democratization and the restoration of national sovereignty was for the ruling party to gradually dismantle its dictatorial rule. Archival records reveal what Western officials of various levels actually said about their policies towards Hungary, which can be reconstructed as follows. At least in part the Cold War was about the retraction of Soviet power behind the Soviet Union’s boundaries and the reunification of the The international context of Hungarian transition 89 continent. When the moment came Western powers saw both an opportunity and dangers ahead. Transition from a relatively stable and predictable world to an unpredictable and possibly unstable one was risky. Despite statements in memoirs to the contrary, relations with Eastern Europe were still subordi- nated to policies towards the USSR. Western leaders unanimously repeated that their policies in Hungary were not meant to ‘cause problems for Gor- bachev.’ Fears of German hegemony (amplified by the prospect of unification), the threat of regional chaos and conflict made a continued Soviet hegemony in a democratized and cooperative form an appealing solution. The West, while seeking ‘gradual and peaceful’ transition to democracy, put stability and peace before full self-determination in Eastern Europe. In the new structure, the two, cooperative parts of Europe would be bound together by a network of political, economic and security arrangements, but the division would stay nonetheless. The Soviet military presence in Eastern Europe would be reduced or even eliminated, but the Warsaw Pact would stay. Moscow gave repeated assurances that the Brezhnev Doctrine was dead and that it tolerated democratization wherever it led. But the Soviets made it clear that they preferred it to stay within the confines of socialism. The West was also willing to see democratic governments under reform communist leadership. Gorbachev hoped to preserve the Soviet bloc in a more democratic form: the Soviet leadership regarded the Warsaw Pact as a pillar of stability and peace. Strange as it may sound, in 1989, for the first time since 1945, there was a meeting of Soviet and Western minds about an important aspect of the European structure. But in the course of that year events in Hungary and Europe moved beyond this scenario and Moscow refrained from trying to halt the process. The West, in the face of irreversible transformation of East European scene and German unification would accept the eventual restoration of self-determination and the full loss of communist power in Eastern Europe. But continental reunification would be a long and painful process for the former subjects of the Iron Curtain.

Notes 1 ‘NATO at Forty: New Vision of East–West Relations’, 20.11.1989. In Hungarian National Archive (MOL), Küm, XIX-J-1-j, NATO 1989, 111. doboz, sz. n. 2 MOL, KS 288. f., 5. cs., 1078. öe. Javaslat a PIB részére, July 1989. 3 Bodzabán and Szalai (1994, p. 131). 4 Hutchings (1997, pp. 46–47). See also Beschloss and Talbott (1993) and Bush and Scowcroft (1998). 5 Békés (2004). 6 Kramer (2005, pp. 1–24). 7 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 36). 8 MOL, KS, 288. f., 5. cs., 1032. öe., 1988. A VSZ PTT varsói ülésszaka, 15–16.7.1988. 90 L. Borhi 9 Cited in Baráth and Rainer (2000, pp. 178–185). 10 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, VSZ 1989, 107. doboz, 001367/12. Gorbacsov beszéde a VSZ PTT bukaresti ülésén, 8.7.1989. 11 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 83. doboz, 001245/3. Barabás jelentése Palmer és Dobrinyin kijelentéseiröl, 25.7.1989. 12 Az SZKP KB Nemzetközi Osztályának feljegyzése, February 1989. Gorbacsov tár- gyalásai, 250–251. 13 Ibid. 14 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Európa 1989, 96. doboz, 00139/4. Szovjet álláspont a HCS tárgyalásokon, 16.1.1989. 15 Jegyzökönyv Gorbacsov és Németh 1989. március 3-i találkozójáról. Gorbacsov tárgyalásai, 156–168. 16 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 84. doboz, 003982. Jelentés Aboimov láto- gatásáról, 20.10.1989. 17 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Európa, 97. doboz, 00275/3. Jazov védelmi miniszter a VSZ-röl, 23.11.1989. 18 MOL, XIX-J-1-j, Moszkva tük 1989, 84. doboz, 002112. Feljegyzés moszkvai konzultációról, 24.4.1989. 19 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-r, 144/HGY, 94. doboz. Jelentés a Minisztertanácsnak a VSZ tagállamai vezetöinek tanácskozásáról, 4.12.1989. 20 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 00342/2. Jelentés a Min- isztertanácsnak, 15.2.1989. 21 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 001225. Osztrák vélemények az átalakulásról, 21.2.1989. 22 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 001225/3. Osztrák vélemény az átalakulásról, 3.3.1989. 23 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 00225/10. Megbeszélés Prattnerrel, 25.4.1989; Beszélgetés Baumgartnerrel, 18.4.1989. 24 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 00125. Jelentés Klestil láto- gatásáról, 7.3.1989. 25 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 19. doboz, 001225. Jelentés osztrák véleményröl, 6.7.1989. 26 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Ausztria tük 1989, 20. doboz, 003390. A bécsi nagykövet- ség számjeltávirata, 3.8.1989. 27 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, EK 1989, 110. doboz, 002988/6. A római nagykövetség jelentése, 10.10.1989. 28 See Leopoldo Nuti, Chapter 14, this volume. 29 See Horn (1991); also Horváth and Németh (1999). 30 Békés (2004, pp. 301–302). 31 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, NSZK tük 1989, 65. doboz, 004164. Feljegyzés Kohl láto- gatásáról, 21.12.1989. 32 Hutchings (1997, pp. 15–17). 33 Schreiber (2000, pp. 198–200). 34 Ádám (1993); Adamthwaite (1990). 35 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 00547. Tájékoztató Grósz franciaországi látogatásáról, é. n. 36 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 00428. A Külügymin- isztérium feljegyzése, é. n. (January 1989). 37 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük, 1989, 35. doboz, 0070/1. A párizsi nagykövetség rejtjeltávirata, 17.2.1989. 38 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 00104. A párizsi nagykövetség rejtjeltávirata, 15.2.1989. 39 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 001104/1. Francia nézetek az átalakulásról, 25.4.1989. The international context of Hungarian transition 91 40 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország 1989, 35. doboz, 001104/6. A párizsi nagykövetség rejtjeltávirata, 17.2.1989; ibid. 001104/8. Jelentés Stoleru és Kemenes megbeszéléséröl, 28.2.1989. 41 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 001104/1. Jelentés a francia szocialista párt véleményéröl, 3.11.1989. 42 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 00724/8. Feljegyzés Bianco és Vass megbeszéléséröl, 17.11.1989. 43 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 00724/9. Feljegyzés megbeszélésröl Blot külügyi föigazgatóval, 22.11.1989. 44 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Franciaország tük 1989, 35. doboz, 001104/9. Feljegyzés Pozsgay és Giscard D’Estaing megbeszéléséröl, 6.12.1989. 45 A Külügyminisztérium Irattára (Archive of the Foreign Ministry: KIT), NDK SZT 1990, 51. doboz, 108–13. Jelentés Mitterrand NDK-beli látogatásáról, 2.1.1990. 46 KIT, Franciaország SZT 1990, 26. doboz, 00160/6. Jelentés Mitterrand láto- gatásáról, 23.1.1990. 47 Batonyi (1999). 48 Hughes (2004, p. 134). 49 Hutchings (1997, p. 14). 50 Bodzabán and Szalay (1994, p. 153). 51 For Thatcher’s initial scepticism, Thatcher (1993, pp. 455–457). 52 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Anglia tük 1989, 15. doboz, 00412/13. Jelentés Várkonyi londoni látogatásáról, 17.3.1989. 53 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 83. doboz, 001245/1. Várkonyi feljegyzése Hornnak, 11.3.1989. 54 Cited in Békés (1999). 55 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Anglia 1989 tük, 15. doboz, 00412. A Külügymin- isztérium feljegyzése, 11.10.1989. 56 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Anglia tük 1989, 15. doboz, 004387. Kovács konzultációja a brit kormány képviselöivel, 27–28.11.1989. 57 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Anglia tük 1989, 15. doboz, 003935/1. Jelentés a Min- isztertanácsnak, 14.12.1989. 58 KIT, Anglia SZT 1990, 11. doboz, 00835. A londoni nagykövetség jelentése, 8.2.1990.; ibid. 2510. A Külügyminisztérium feljegyzése, 21.2.1990. 59 KIT, Anglia SZT 1990, 11. doboz, 0010801/1. Jelentés Hurd látogatásáról, 5.3.1990. 60 MOL, Küm XIX-J-1-j, EK 1989, 110. doboz, 00155/8. Németh József jelentése, 3.3.1989. 61 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, EK 1989, 111. doboz. A brüsszeli nagykövetség a Külü- gyminisztériumnak, 24.7.1989. 62 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, EK 1989, 111. doboz, 004275/2. Holland tájékoztatás az EGK párizsi találkozójáról, 18.11.1989. 63 See Van Ham (1993, p. 173). 64 Hutchings (1997). 65 MOL, XIX-J-1-j, USA tük 1989, 9. doboz, 00625/5. A washingtoni nagykövetség rejtjeltávirata Pataki megbeszéléséröl, 12.4.1989. 66 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, USA tük 1989, 9. doboz, 002245/3. A washingtoni nagykövetség rejtjeltávirata, 11.5.1989. 67 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, USA tük 1989, 10. doboz, 0016/2. A washingtoni nagykövetség feljegyzése, 15.5.1989. 68 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 83. doboz, 001057/1. Szovjet tájékoztatás a Külügyminisztériumnak, 12.5.1989. 69 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 86. doboz, 003062. Megjegyzések a Krasz- naja Zvezda cikkéhez, 30.6.1989. 92 L. Borhi 70 Matlock (1995, p. 198). 71 MOL KS 288. f. 11. cs., 4460. öe. Feljegyzés Bush látogatásáról. Emphasis added. 72 Hutchings (1997, p. 66). 73 Jelentés az MSZMP PIB-nak Nyers és Grósz 1989. július 24–25-i moszkvai láto- gatásáról. Gorbacsov tárgyalásai, 194. 74 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-k, USA admin 1989, 24. doboz, 4243–4/T. Az Országgyülés elnöki titkárságának jelentése, 26.9.1989. 75 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, USA 1989 tük, 9. doboz, 001335/1989. A washingtoni nagykövetség jelentése. 76 MOL KS 288. f., 59. cs., 1. öe. Az MSZMP KB NKO javaslata a pártelnökség számára, 30.6.1989. 77 As Horn put it: ‘[our] membership in the Warsaw Pact is not open to question.’ Jelentés Aboimov látogatásáról, 20.10.1989. MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 84. doboz, 003982. 78 MOL, Küm, XIX-J-1-j, Szu tük 1989, 84. doboz, 003982. Aboimov találkozója ellenzéki politikusokkal, 17.10.1989. 79 Jelentés a Minisztertanácsnak a VSZ tagállamai vezetöinek tanácskozásáról, opcit. 80 Matlock (1995, p. 272). 81 KIT, USA SZT 1990, 9. doboz, 0050. Várkonyi, Kamman, Hornblow, Swihart megbeszélése. Part III German uniﬁcation between the superpowers

7 In the name of Europe’s future Soviet, French and British qualms about Kohl’s rush to German uniﬁcation

Jacques Lévesque

The objections of the USSR, France and Britain to rapid German unification are generally well known. The purpose of this chapter is to highlight the following basic points. First, the disquiet of the three powers had something fundamental in common: a deep concern about reunification’s impact on the architecture of the European system of international relations. There were of course many differences between them, but also similarities in their areas of deepest concern. Second, from a historical and political perspective it may appear surprising or at least ironic that a ‘coalition’ of three out of the four victors of the Second World War, who had a veto power on the international status of a united Germany, could not even slow down, let alone stop, German unification. In fact, the ‘coalition’ was more virtual and tentative than fully fledged. Its failure to coa- lesce largely explains its failure to achieve its common purpose. Third, the fact that Soviet, British and French efforts to slow down the process failed does not mean that they were wrong or unjustified, as is often assumed. Some of their concerns have even proved to be valid. On the other hand, as of now, Thatcher’s fears have proved to be the most ill-founded. She believed that a united Germany was bound to seek and establish a venge- ful hegemony over Europe. Fourth, what was at stake for each of the three reluctant powers varied significantly in order of magnitude. So did their losses. The USSR lost the most; France lost the least and even gained the most by putting forward its concerns. Fifth, the pace and the terms of German reunification were not inevitable. It is also wrong to assume that Gorbachev did not have any other viable option than making all the concessions he made. Mitterrand and Thatcher were right to think that he could have prevented or changed the scenario that prevailed. He could have done so by actions and means fully consistent with the basic thrust of perestroika and ‘New Thinking’. Sixth, for Gorbachev and his reformist entourage the chief concern about German unification was not the issue of security and balance of power in Europe. For them, what was at stake was much more crucial: it was the question of whether the USSR would be 96 J. Lévesque part Europe. Each of these points needs to be further developed, beginning with last one to which all the others are directly related. One of the main goals, if not the primary one, of Gorbachev’s foreign policy was to anchor the USSR in Europe, politically, economically and in ‘civilizational’ terms. This was to be achieved by the gradual overcoming of the division of Europe. In turn, this was to be accomplished by a controlled process of rapprochement between the two halves of Europe, through bloc-to-bloc negotiations. In the process, NATO and the Warsaw Pact were to be ‘de-antagonized’ and become political rather than military organizations. They were to be gradually superseded by an institutional and organizational reinforcement of the CSCE capable of managing the pan-European process. The rapprochement between the two German states was to be the result rather than the focus of the process which was to be facilitated by a significant degree of democratization in the USSR and the Soviet bloc. This vision of the ‘Common European Home’ that had crystallized in Soviet ‘New Thinking’ by 1988 was not really new.1 It was the same concept of European reconciliation that had been advocated by Enrico Berlinguer and the PCI at the time of Euro-communism.2 It was shared by the West German SPD and what Berlinguer called ‘the Euro-Left’. Mitter- rand had a similar vision. Of course, the French President gave greater priority to West European integration than did Gorbachev, who nevertheless saw integration as a very positive trend and even as a source of inspira- tion.3 It was close to the broad concept of a European confederation that he proposed in 1989. Naturally, Thatcher, who had nothing to do with the Euro-Left, did not share this vision. But it is interesting and significant to note that she adopted a similar vision at the beginning of 1990, when she advocated the strengthening of the CSCE, as a way to ‘help balance German dominance in Europe’.4 Balancing and containing Germany was not the main concern of Gor- bachev and Soviet reformers (as it was for the military and the right wing of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU)). Neither they nor Mitterrand shared Thatcher’s deep distrust of Germany. So, let us focus on the specific forms and content of Gorbachev’s chief concern. It was voiced in a subliminal but very telling way in his famous outburst in front of Hans-Dietrich Genscher, the German Foreign Minister, after Helmut Kohl’s surprise announcement of his ten-point plan for reunification in the Bundestag on 28 November. Gorbachev said: ‘What is meant by Con- federation?... Where would the Federal Republic of Germany be, in NATO or in the Warsaw Pact? Or will it perhaps become neutral? What would NATO be without the FRG?’5 The last sentence has to be understood in reverse. Obviously, it was not the fate of NATO that preoccupied Gor- bachev, but that of the Warsaw Pact. He knew perfectly well that the loss of the GDR would spell the end of the Warsaw Pact, as proved to be the case. It is important to fully understand what this meant for him – a total disas- Qualms about Kohl’s rush to German unification 97 ter for his European policy. The Warsaw Pact was the USSR’s main structural affiliation to Europe. It was the most important framework and instrument for its influence in European affairs. Its disappearance without the emergence of a strong pan-European structure to which the Soviet Union would belong could marginalize the USSR in European political affairs and relegate it to the fringes of Asia. This was a nightmare for even a moderate Russian Westernizer like Gorbachev. In a private conversation with the US Secretary of State, Jim Baker, in February 1990, Gorbachev made it clear that the military dimension of German unification was not his chief concern. Saying that ‘there is nothing terrifying in the prospect of a united Germany’, he openly distanced himself from Thatcher’s main source of anxiety.6 Of course, in the flood of objections that he and Shevardnadze made to the inclusion of a newly united Germany in NATO, they very frequently invoked the military imbalance that it would cause. They had to convey the military’s opposition as well as the geopolitical view of the world that was prevalent within the political establishment – a view they shared to a large extent. But it cannot be overemphasized that their and the reformers’ main area of concern was the future of Russia’s place in Europe.7 It was part and parcel of perestroika. That is why, after accepting the idea of German unification, Gor- bachev’s team insisted so much on its ‘synchronization’ with the pan- European process and the establishment of pan-European structures through the institutionalization of the CSCE.8 The common thread running through the cascade of confused proposals made by the Soviet leaders to counter the inclusion of a united Germany in NATO, was the goal of making sure that the USSR would not be left aside from the pan- European process and would be solidly and structurally part of it.9 Their proposal for Germany’s simultaneous belonging to both NATO and the Warsaw Pact was not nonsense, as is often claimed. It would have given a new raison d’être and a new life to the Warsaw Pact and given a sound rationale for other East European countries to remain members. Of course, it would have compelled Germany to take Soviet interests into account. But in order for it to endure, Moscow, in its turn, would have had to take into account the interests of a Germany linked to NATO. As we know, in many other instances the Soviets insisted on a neutral Germany. They knew that without Germany, NATO would not fare much better than the Warsaw Pact. Therefore, if the Western powers could have been compelled to accept such an option, they would have been in a hurry to put the creation of pan-European political and security structures on the international agenda. The same rationale is to be seen behind Gor- bachev’s suggestion to Kohl’s chief adviser that it might be time ‘to get rid of both NATO and the Warsaw Pact.’10 The last proposal made by Gor- bachev before his capitulation is both pathetic and revealing in this regard. He suggested to Bush that the USSR should join NATO.11 In 98 J. Lévesque relation to his chief concern, this made sense. NATO would have become the pan-European political and security organization in which the USSR could have found its place. Russia’s place in Europe is an unresolved major problem that has painfully persisted beyond the end of the Cold War. The battle waged by Boris Yeltsin and even radical Russian Westernizers against NATO enlargement followed the very same rationale as Gorbachev’s earlier struggles. Their defeat has in no small measure alienated Russia from the West. Again, the chief concern of Yeltsin and the Russian liberals was the marginalization of Russia in Europe and not the military balance. Failing to stop the process and to obtain a reinforcement of pan-European structures, Yeltsin ultimately made the same pathetic, informal request as Gor- bachev, when he said during a press conference that Russia would not have a problem with the expansion of NATO if it were to be part of it. This is not to advocate Russia’s inclusion in NATO. One cannot imagine Poland and the three Baltic Republics accepting this, nor is Vladimir Putin interested in the idea anymore. It is simply intended to stress that finding a way to anchor Russia in Europe has been one of the major missed opportunities of the end of the Cold War. Given the current directions of Russian foreign policy, this objective will become more and more difficult, if not impossible to achieve.12 Let us now turn to the similarities and differences between the concerns of the Soviet, French and British ‘coalition’ in its efforts to prevent or slow down the German unification process and to explore some of the reasons for the failure of these efforts. The ‘synchronization’ of German unification with the pan-European process that was central to the Soviet approach was a concept widely shared by Mitterrand. For instance, in December 1989, one month after the fall of the Berlin Wall but two months before Gorbachev accepted the idea of a united Germany, Mitter- rand told him: ‘It is necessary to make sure that the all-European process develops more rapidly than the German question and that it overtakes the German movement. We have to create all-European structures.’13 For Thatcher, the creation of pan-European structures was a much lesser concern. For her: ‘The fundamental argument for slowing German reunification was to create a breathing space in which a united Germany would not be a destabilizing influence.’14 Her preoccupations were much more geopolitical and more centred on the ‘balance of power’ than were those of Mitterrand and Gorbachev. When she belatedly insisted on strengthening the CSCE, it was only one of several means ‘to help balance German dominance in Europe’, and it was definitely not the main one. Under- standing what a united Germany’s membership in NATO would mean for Gorbachev, she also saw the strengthening of the CSCE as a way ‘to avoid Soviet isolation.’15 If the future shape of the European international order was a shared concern, there were marked differences between the three partners’ per- Qualms about Kohl’s rush to German unification 99 ceptions of the most immediate area of concern. While it was the Warsaw Pact and Russia’s place in Europe for Gorbachev, for Mitterrand, it was the fate of the European Community.16 Mitterrand was afraid that once unified, Germany could lose interest in strengthening the EC, which he saw as the main source of European stability and as the main pillar and pole of pan-European construction. The tightening and development of the Community had been and remained Mitterrand’s foremost foreign policy commitment. For her part, Thatcher did not care for the EC, and definitely not for its strengthening. She even thought that the reinforcement of the Community would only serve further to buttress German domination of Europe. For her, Germany was bound to dominate a stronger EC and to make it a key instrument of its hegemony in Europe. She was convinced that a strong American presence in Europe and a robust NATO were the best instruments for containing Germany.17 And as if this was not enough, she initially insisted, with the same goal in mind, on the preservation of the ‘integrity’ of the Warsaw Pact. She favoured a democratized GDR within the Warsaw Pact and, at most, a loose German confederation. Out of his concern for the future of the European Community, Mitter- rand was careful to preserve the special relationship between France and Germany, the tandem that had been the driving force behind the construction of the EC. This put tight limits on the will of the French and British to act together. For instance, Thatcher as well as Gorbachev favoured the framework of meetings between the four victors of the Second World War for discussing the conditions of German unification. It is easy to understand why. The ‘coalition’ of the unwilling would have been in a three-against-one position. However, because of the forceful German opposition to a significant role for the four-power mechanism, Mitterrand did not press for it. Needless to say, the Franco-German partnership also put a limit on French cooperation with Moscow. While Mitterrand was careful not to antagonize Germany, Thatcher was not careful at all. She voiced her mistrust of Germany in a very blunt and offensive manner. She spoke of Germany as if it were genetically or at least ‘historically a dangerous power.’18 Even three years after reunification, she wrote in her memoirs that ‘Germany is by its very nature a destabilizing rather than a stabilizing force in Europe.’19 In February 1990, in a conversation with George Bush, she told him: ‘The Germans will get in peace what Hitler couldn’t get in war.’20 Therefore, in marked contrast to Mitter- rand, she paid no attention to preserving good relations with Kohl. It was her special relationship with Washington and the solid American support for Kohl that did put a brake on her opposition to unification. It must be stressed that Thatcher went further than Mitterrand in trying to match her concerns with those of Gorbachev. After reluctantly accepting German unification, she had no problem with Germany’s inclusion in NATO, but she nevertheless suggested to Bush that Soviet troops should 100 J. Lévesque be allowed to remain on the territory of the GDR for an indefinite period of time. This would have met an important concern of Gorbachev, while satisfying her own obsession with containing Germany. As a last resort, Gorbachev made a similar demand. Short of Germany’s simultaneous membership in NATO and the Warsaw Pact, such an arrangement would have given him the strongest hand possible in negotiations for defining a new international order in Europe. Earlier, Genscher and even Kohl had contemplated such an option as a concession that could be offered to Gorbachev. But it was at Bush’s insistence that Kohl and later Thatcher dropped the idea (it was much easier for the former to do so). The fragile character of the ‘coalition’ was reflected in the fact that each of the three partners expected and wanted the other ones to take the lead role in opposing or slowing down the unification process. The record shows that even Gorbachev who had the most to lose was the first to think that France, Britain and other European countries would be on the front line. For instance, a few days before the fall of the Berlin Wall, he told Honecker’s successor, Egon Krenz:

In recent talks with Margaret Thatcher, François Mitterrand, but also with Jaruzelski and Andreotti, all of these political leaders proceed from the [necessity of] safeguarding the post-war realities, including the existence of two German states. Posing the question of the unity of Germany is regarded by all of them as extremely explosive.21

Mitterrand and Thatcher relied primarily on Gorbachev. Reacting angrily to Kohl’s surprise announcement of his ten-point unification plan at the Bundestag on 28 November, the French President reportedly said: ‘He did not tell me anything! Nothing! I will never forget it! Gorbachev will be furious: he will not allow that to happen, it is impossible! I do not need to oppose that. The Soviets will do it for me.’22 Therefore, at different points in time, each partner felt let down by the others. Thatcher, who had expected a solid Franco-British axis of resistance to emerge, reproached Mitterrand for his refusal ‘to follow his and French instincts and challenge German interests.’ She characterized his ambivalence as ‘a tendency to schizophrenia.’23 For his part, Gorbachev felt abandoned when Mitterrand, the least enthusiastic member of NATO, came to Moscow in late May to press him to accept the united Germany’s inclusion in the Atlantic Alliance. After the Soviet leader finally accepted reunification on American and German terms, both Mitterrand and Thatcher commented bitterly about his behaviour.24 Kohl’s acceptance of the inclusion of a united Germany in NATO was the price he paid for the crucial backing of the US. Obviously the US, in its unwavering support for Kohl, played the decisive role in disciplining NATO members, making the Western Alliance the main institutional player in the process. If Mitterrand played a role in Gorbachev’s capitulation on Germany’s Qualms about Kohl’s rush to German unification 101 inclusion in NATO, as suggested by Frédéric Bozo, his conviction that NATO would not survive long after reunification, may also have helped bring about the Soviet leader’s grudging acceptance.25 NATO’s disappearance would indeed have convinced everyone of the urgent need to build the new European security system Gorbachev sought. As argued above, of the members of the ‘coalition’ it was Mitterrand who gained the most from their common reluctance. In order to conciliate him, Kohl agreed to make important steps that he would otherwise have been hesitant about taking on the road that led to Maastricht and the formation of a European Union.26 Mitterrand had a weaker hand than Gorbachev, but he played it much better. Before turning to Gorbachev’s poor performance, it must be stressed that another common concern of Thatcher and Mitterrand for the future of Europe was well founded. This was their fear that Kohl’s manhandling of Hans Modrow and the GDR and his rush to unification, ran the risk of causing Gorbachev’s rapid downfall. The Russian leader did not need to spell out this danger to Mitterrand for him to take it very seriously. And rightly so. Even now, it still seems amazing that a coup was not attempted against Gorbachev before August 1991. The terms imposed by the US for the international status of the new Germany as a full-fledged member of NATO were very harsh. Condoleeza Rice and Philip Zelikow, who at different levels were part of the US negotiating teams, are very candid about this. They write that the US goals were set as ‘if the Soviet Union suffered a reversal of fortunes not unlike a catastrophic defeat in a war.’ Indeed, they note, ‘the United States had decided to try to achieve the unification of Germany absolutely and unequivocally on Western terms.’27 Given the traditional Soviet view of the world, given Gorbachev’s catastrophic set- backs in Germany and Eastern Europe at the end of 1989 and the Baltic Republics’ proclamation of independence in March 1990, there was every reason to expect an attempt to overthrow him. Had a coup occurred in the spring of 1990, it would have had a much better chance of success than the later attempt had. Therefore, even if successful, Kohl’s and Bush’s course of action was nevertheless a risky one. What history records as great statecraft may often be, to a considerable extent, a matter of luck. History is contingent. German reunification did not have to happen the way it did. If Gorbachev lost the most, it is first of all due to inconsis- tencies in his policies. Let us explore why. Given the reforms that Gorbachev was pursuing in the USSR and the direction of his foreign policy, the demise of Honecker and his policies was bound to happen and to lead at least to a significant rapprochement between the two German states. But he completely failed to anticipate such a situation. He admitted to this author that it was only after the downfall of the Berlin Wall, that he began thinking about specific forms of rapprochement: 102 J. Lévesque My trip to the GDR in the summer of 1989 convinced me that changes were becoming inevitable. But when and how? No one could predict it. Incidentally, it seemed to me that the rapprochement of the German states was inevitable, but that the process leading to it would take a long time.... In any case, it was a task which did not yet require concrete practical solutions.28

This is particularly surprising given that several Soviet reformers had for some time been thinking through precisely this problem. As early as 1987, in the very spirit of New Thinking and the Common European Home, Vyacheslav Dashichev, a researcher from the Institute of the Economy of the World Socialist System, had developed such ideas, in a confidential presentation made at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.29 The core of his argument was that if the division of Europe was to be overcome in a decisive manner, it had to be addressed in the country where it was the most acute – in Germany. He outlined all the international advantages that the USSR could draw from taking the initiative and proposing, for instance, a confederation of the two German states. Two months before the fall of the Berlin Wall, at the beginning of September 1989, none other than the head of the International department of the CPSU Central Committee, the Germanist Valentin Falin, suggested such a scenario to Western visitors, thereby implying that it might soon become Soviet policy. Falin argued that a confederation would have allowed each of the German states to remain in their own alliance, at least for an initial period of time. It is therefore surprising that even after the collapse of the Wall, Gor- bachev did not take the initiative in making such a proposal. It is all the more surprising when one considers that bold initiatives were a trademark of his foreign policy. For instance, his bold initiatives in arms control had captured the imagination of political observers and earned him enormous political capital in Europe and around the world. This was not, however, the only inconsistency of his policy nor the only missed opportunity. On the one hand, he advocated reform and some degree of democratization for Eastern Europe, in a philosophical manner, so to speak. On the other, he did nothing specific to press for change in Stalinist regimes like the Czech and the East German ones.30 Before Honecker’s fall, he was careful not to give explicit signs of support to leaders like Modrow, whom Gorbachev’s reformist entourage saw as the most desirable leader for the GDR and for Soviet interests. Had he had pressed for Honecker’s departure and his replacement with someone like Modrow, in 1988 or as late as the spring of 1989, this most probably would have happened. The pace, forms and content of German re-unification could then have been entirely different. It is important to note here that in 1988 and the first half of 1989, all significant opposition forces in East Germany were in favour of two German states. Even as late as a month after the fall of the Berlin Wall, a Qualms about Kohl’s rush to German unification 103 poll showed that 71 per cent of East Germans preferred a separate state, while barely 27 per cent favoured unification.31 It was only in the following weeks that a more or less grassroots movement for unification developed and turned into a tidal wave. ‘Those who come late are punished by life’, Gorbachev told Honecker. This precept was one he should perhaps have heeded more himself, as he later admitted. In the weeks or months before what could be considered the first breach in the Berlin wall that took place in Hungary in the late summer of 1989, a joint initiative by Gor- bachev and an enlarged reformist Communist GDR government led by someone like Modrow, to propose some type of confederation of the two German states could have changed the course of history in Germany and in Europe. The initiative would have, for some time at least, given some popular legitimacy to the East German regime. The political credit and revolutionary international momentum would have been on the Soviet side. Gorbachev would have been in a much better position to set the agenda and negotiate the international terms of the inter-German process, in the context of a relatively more stable GDR. The decisive importance of seizing the initiative in order to deprive the USSR of possible political benefits is demonstrated by Kohl’s motivations and behaviour in November 1989. Given Gorbachev’s disarray and his initial decision to try to hold fast to the international status quo in the weeks following the fall of the Berlin Wall, Falin failed to persuade him to take the initiative and propose a German confederation. Falin had suggested to Gorbachev the more prudent concept of a ‘contractual community’ of the two German states put forward by Modrow on 17 November. Gorbachev met this idea too with a similar lack of enthusiasm.32 Nevertheless, Falin’s associate, Portu- galov, in meeting with Kohl’s advisor, Horst Teltschik on 21 November, told him that the idea of a confederation was being discussed by the Soviet leadership and let him believe that it could become Soviet policy.33 We know that it was this information that prompted Kohl to rush to prepare and present to the Bundestag his famous ten-point plan for unification, which shook the whole world. The record clearly shows that he felt the urgency of grabbing the initiative before the Soviets did. He wanted to avoid international attention and discussion being focused on a confed- eral formula.34 Even though it was very late for the Soviets to reap any really decisive advantages from such an initiative, Kohl sensed that they could have gained substantial benefits in the negotiations to come from acting first. Not knowing how these negotiations would turn out, Kohl wanted to keep some room for manoeuvre. It is interesting to note that, until late January 1990, he therefore avoided making a firm commitment in favour of a united Germany belonging to NATO.35 During a press conference in mid-January, when asked if a united Germany would be in NATO, he answered that it was too early to say. Such a statement worried the Bush administration. Until then, and given that unification had 104 J. Lévesque seemed a somewhat remote perspective not yet accepted by Gorbachev even in principle, Bush’s team had not been particularly disturbed by what could be considered as Kohl’s ambiguities. But by the end of January, it was made clear to the German Chancellor that the US would support his goal if provided he stood with Washington on the issue of NATO.36 From then on, Kohl fully complied, knowing how crucial US support was in the face of the reluctance or even opposition of many West European partners and the absence of specific Soviet proposals. This highlights how different the agenda and the international terms of German unification would have been if Gorbachev and a reformed East German leadership had taken the initiative in the first half of 1989 or even later. To be sure, such was the underlying direction of Gorbachev’s policies that this would not have ultimately prevented the unification of Germany or the collapse of the Soviet regime. However, a longer intermediate phase could have facilitated the emergence of a different international order in Europe in which Russia would have replaced the USSR. There are many reasons why Gorbachev failed to take bold initiative to try to steer the process in a direction favourable to the USSR. First, after the fall of the Berlin Wall, none of the world leaders, including Kohl, expected German unification to come quickly. When Kohl presented his surprise ten-point plan for unification on 28 November 1989, he had in mind a timespan of ten years. The Soviet leader thought that sitting on the status quo would serve to slow down the course of events and cool such expectations. As we have seen, he was convinced that British, French and other European objections would have the same effect. At the Malta summit of 3 December, there was little discussion of the German situation between Bush and Gorbachev. Bush brought up the British and French concerns without clearly dissociating himself from them, causing Gor- bachev to underestimate subsequent American support for Kohl. By late January 1990, when Modrow and Gorbachev did propose a confederation of the two German states, the idea had lost all momentum. Earlier Soviet initiatives are not the only possible scenario that could have produced very different terms for German unification. As we have seen, Gorbachev and, initially, Mitterrand also, insisted on the synchronization of German unification with the all-European process. Given the pace of events in Germany and the time that would have been needed to work out new pan-European structures, the Soviet Union proposed a sepa- ration between the settlement of the intra-German arrangements and the international issues involved in reunification, with the latter being postponed. As we know, Kohl, with immediate American support, categorically refused. But Moscow could have dug in its heels on this issue. Of course, there would have been a price to pay for the USSR. But it would have been a much lesser one than for trying to stop the whole process. Gor- bachev would moreover have won, if not outright approval, then at least a tacit understanding from Mitterrand, Thatcher and other Europeans. As a Qualms about Kohl’s rush to German unification 105 matter of fact, and with good reason, they were surprised how easily and how early the Soviet leader finally gave in on Germany’s inclusion in NATO.37 They were not the only ones to be taken aback. Many of Gor- bachev’s Soviet supporters were dismayed and shocked by that far- reaching concession. One of them was Falin, an early proponent of German confederation with strong ideological affinities to the West German social democratic party (SPD), who still claims that full inclusion of Germany in NATO could have been avoided. Gorbachev knew that blocking or postponing the resolution of the international status of Germany could have spoiled Soviet relations with a major, if not the main, European player. As we know, he made the NATO concession to Kohl directly rather than in the framework of negotiations with the US. Failing to get the USSR included in Europe on his terms, he opted for the benefit of founding a new and privileged relationship with Germany. To this day, from Yeltsin to Putin, this has been the most endur- ing success of his foreign policy. However it has not resolved the much more important issue of Russia’s place in Europe which has only become harder, if still possible, to pin down.

Notes 1 See Marie Pierre Rey, Chapter 2, this volume. 2 See Lévesque (1987). 3 This became the official Soviet view. The European Community was said to represent ‘a fundamentally progressive trend towards the reinforcement of inter- dependence between states’. See ‘Evropeiskoe soobshtchestvo segodnia. Tezisy Instituta mirovoi ekonomiki i mejdunarodnykh otnoshenii AN SSSR’, Mirovaia Ekonomika i Mejdunarodnye Otnosheniia, No. 12, 1988, pp. 5–19. 4 Thatcher (1993, p. 799). 5 The National Security Archive, George Washington University (NSA), ‘Record of Conversation between M.S. Gorbachev and Minister of Foreign Affairs of the FRG, H. D. Genscher’, 5.12.1989. Emphasis added. 6 See Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 182). 7 Ironically and sadly for them, most of the face-saving concessions they could get related to military matters: maximum troop levels in Germany as a whole and no NATO military deployment on the territory of the former GDR. 8 See Ts KhSD, 89-kollektsiia, perechen’ 9, dokument 100, ‘Ykazaniia dlia besedy Ministra inostrannykh del SSSR c Presidentom SShA, Dj. Bushem’. 9 See Lévesque (1997, pp. 219–238). 10 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 259). 11 Ibid., p. 277. 12 See Trenin (2006). 13 Quoted by Adomeit (1998, p. 460). 14 Quoted by Albrecht (2002). 15 Thatcher (1993, p. 799). 16 See Bozo (2005). 17 Thatcher (1993, pp. 790–807). 18 Quoted by Alter (2000, p. 133). 19 Thatcher (1993, p. 791). 20 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 207). 106 J. Lévesque 21 Quoted by Adomeit (1998, p. 421). 22 Quoted by Attali (1995, p. 350). 23 Thatcher (1993, pp. 791, 797). 24 Attali (1995, p. 541) and Thatcher (1993, p. 792). 25 Bozo (2005, p. 266). 26 Bozo (2005). 27 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 197). 28 Gorbachev, ‘Otvety na voprosy professora J. Leveka’, Moscow, 12 July 1995. 29 Dashitchev, ‘Nekotorye aspekty ‘germanskoi problemy’, 27.11.1987. Private copy sup- plied to the author. Shevardnadze was present at the meeting. 30 See Lévesque (1997, Chapter 3). 31 See Erb (2003, p. 97). 32 This section relies on Grachev (2008). 33 See Friend (2001, p. 21) and Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 118). 34 Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 118–119). 35 Boll (1996–1997, pp. 109–121). 36 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 173). 37 For a convincing rejection of the notion that Gorbachev made that final concession because of the financial assistance promised by Kohl, see Adomeit (1998, pp. 556–558). 8 Gorbachev’s consent to united Germany’s membership of NATO

Hannes Adomeit

The prospect of German reunification had been an important topic of international discussion in the autumn of 1989. But the opening of the Berlin Wall on 9 November transformed the discussion of reunification from a mere theoretical possibility to the single most important topic on the agenda of international politics. This, in turn, raised the question not only of the internal structure of the new Germany but also of its external status. Concerning the latter, the basic question was whether a unified Germany should be neutral or a member of NATO – or perhaps, absurd as this may seem in retrospect, a member of both NATO and the Warsaw Pact.1

Gorbachev and the Atlantic alliance: stage one The evolution of Gorbachev’s thinking on German uniﬁcation, NATO and the all-European process took place in the context of Soviet ‘New Thinking’. During the Cold War, NATO had provided the vital link between the US and Europe, and the American military presence constituted the foremost guarantee of European security. Consequently, as Soviet Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze was to acknowledge in Feb- ruary 1990: ‘Until quite recently our aim was to oust the Americans from Europe at any price.’2 The advocates of the ‘New Thinking’, however, adopted the point of view that the effects of a withdrawal of the US and thus the de facto dissolution of NATO would be destabilizing. A withdrawal of American forces would create insecurity amongst West Euro- pean countries and encourage them to enhance their military integration. This would duplicate US defence efforts and work to the detriment of the Soviet Union. It could also induce European states, acting individually or multilaterally, to produce and deploy nuclear weapons. The US presence had served as a restraint on West German nuclear ambitions. If the Ameri- cans were to leave, Bonn could demand its own nuclear weapons. Such perceptions were endorsed by Gorbachev as early as 1986. In talks with West German Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher, he said that he had no wish to undermine NATO: ‘We are of the opinion that, given 108 H. Adomeit the alliances that have taken shape, it is essential to strengthen those threads whose severance is fraught with the danger of a rupture of the world fabric.’3 To Henry Kissinger, in January 1989, he expressed the opinion that the Europeans needed the participation of the USSR and the US in the ‘all-European process.’ Stability in Europe was a ‘common interest.’4 Similarly, during his visit to Bonn, in June 1989, he told his German hosts that the Joint Soviet–German Declaration adopted on that occasion:

does not demand that you, or we, should renounce our uniqueness or weaken our allegiance to the alliances. On the contrary, I am conﬁ- dent that maintaining [this allegiance] in our policies will serve to consolidate the contribution of each state to the creation of a peaceful European order as well as to shape a common European outlook.5

In Gorbachev’s perceptions in 1989, the prospect of German unification even enhanced rather than detracted from the importance of the two military alliances. ‘Now is not the time to break up the established international political and economic institutions’, he told visiting French Foreign Minister Roland Dumas shortly after the opening of the Berlin wall. ‘Let them be transformed, taking into account internal processes, let them find their place in the new situation and work together.’6 Similarly, in a briefing for the leaders of the Warsaw Pact on the Soviet–American summit meeting on Malta in December 1989, he stated that the two alliances ‘will be preserved for the foreseeable future’ because they could make a ‘contribution to strengthening Euro- pean security’ by becoming a bridge between the two parts of Europe.7 It could be argued that such arguments predetermined the Soviet consent to membership of a unified Germany in NATO. This, however, was not the case. In mid-February 1990, both the Western and the Soviet position on Germany’s future security status were only beginning to take shape. Ambiguity surrounded both positions. The Western preference for a unified Germany’s alliance membership was muddied by the discussion of whether the whole of Germany should be a member of the Atlantic Alliance politically but remain outside its military organization (that is, have a status similar to that of France); what ‘association’ with the Atlantic Alliance would be all about; and what was meant by the extension of NATO’s ‘jurisdiction’. Gorbachev was torn between various positions. He recognized the dangers of Versailles but did not seem to be averse to a neutralized and perhaps even demilitarized Germany. He allocated important security functions to the Atlantic alliance and American forces in Europe but opposed the logical extension of this framework to unified Germany’s membership in NATO. He agreed with chancellor Helmut Kohl to let the Germans decide the form and speed of unification but left open the question of whether this also applied to its external aspects, including the right of the Germans to decide to which alliance, if any, they wanted to belong.8 United Germany’s membership of NATO 109 However, in late February, all the ambiguities and with it any flexibility in negotiations seemed to dissipate, and on both sides. In what amounted to a reversal of the American position, at a meeting at Camp David on 24 February, Bush and Kohl agreed that:

a uniﬁed Germany should remain a full member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, including participation in its military structure. We agreed that US military forces should remain stationed in the united Germany and elsewhere in Europe as a continuing guarantor of stability. The Chancellor and I are also in agreement that in a uniﬁed state, the former territory of the GDR should have a special military status [that] would take into account the legitimate security interests of all interested countries, including those of the Soviet Union.9

This position remained ﬁrm throughout all the subsequent negotiations with Moscow.

Stage two: Soviet retrenchment The turn to a more uncompromising Soviet stance occurred roughly at the same time. With a view to the upcoming Two Plus Four negotiations, Gorbachev warned that Moscow would resist Western efforts to dictate the proceedings: ‘We rule out such a method’, he said in an interview with Pravda published on 21 February, ‘whereby three or four [countries] first come to an arrangement between themselves and then set out their already agreed-upon position before the participants. This is unacceptable.’10 On the form which an agreement should take, he thought that there should be a peace treaty. On substance, the treaty should provide for a role for both NATO and the Warsaw Pact, and he called any change in the military–strategic balance between the two alliances ‘impermissible.’11 New and more intransigent inflections on the German security issue also surfaced in the foreign ministry. Shevardnadze formed a working group to deal with the German problem and the Two Plus Four negotiations, and on 24 February assembled the Ministry of Foreign Affair’s Collegium, including his deputies and 14 other officials, ostensibly to drive firm stakes into the international negotiation ground. The Collegium derided the ‘prescriptions advanced in some Western countries’ and specifically the idea that the NATO membership of a unified Germany would be in the Soviet interest. It was unacceptable that anyone but the Soviet leaders and people themselves should seek to determine what constituted the essence of Soviet security and how best to safeguard it. The USSR had its own notions as to how to do this and ‘certainly, any variants envisaging the membership of unified Germany in NATO do not correspond to these notions.’12 Gorbachev now also retracted his position that unification was the pre- rogative of the Germans themselves. He objected to a procedure whereby 110 H. Adomeit ‘the Germans agree among themselves and then propose that the others only endorse the decisions already adopted by them.’13 Similarly, on 6 March, during the second and last of Hans Modrow’s visits to Moscow, he even eschewed the terms ‘German unity’ and ‘unification’, asserting instead that it was ‘by no means a matter of indifference how the rapprochement (sblizhenie) of the two German states takes place.’ He also warned that the ‘fanning of speculation, the tendency to annex the GDR, and the policy of creating faits accomplis do not correspond to a responsible approach to a solution of a problem as sensitive to the fate of Europe and the world as the German question.’14 In other words, article 23 of the Federal Republic’s constitution as the point of departure for unification was definitely out of the question. This apparently firm stance has, however, like many previous Soviet positions, been severely undercut by the course of events. The parliamentary elections in East Germany on 18 March produced a stunning victory for the conservative parties, which polled 48 per cent of the vote. The SPD, which had been regarded as the front-runner, received only 22 per cent, and the PDS 16 per cent. The most disastrous performance was that of the Alliance 90, the umbrella party for groups like the Neue Forum that had been in the forefront of the democratic revolution of the preceding year; it garnered less than 3 per cent of the vote. No reform socialism in the GDR, then, but clarity that the new government under Prime Minister Lothar de Maizière (CDU) would not support anything but Kohl’s preference for unification under article 23. This did not deter the Politburo from reiterating what had now become an untenable position. The reiteration came in the form of Politburo ‘instructions’ (direktivy) for Shevardnadze for his talks with Bush and Baker in Washington on 4–6 April. They were issued on 2 April on the basis of a draft that had been prepared a few days earlier and sponsored by Shevardnadze, Defence Minister Yazov, KGB chief Kryuchkov, Polit- buro foreign policy kurator Yakovlev, Central Committee secretary for the military industry Baklanov, and Deputy Prime Minister Belousov.15 She- vardnadze was instructed to emphasize to Bush and Baker that:

the uniﬁcation process should take place not in the form of an Anschluß of the GDR but should be the result of agreements between the two German states as equal subjects of international law. We should emphasize that, naturally, we favour the existence of the GDR as an independent state for as long as possible.

Concerning the external aspects of uniﬁcation, Gorbachev now dis- pelled Western hopes to the effect that his and Shevardnadze’s failure to demand a neutral status for uniﬁed Germany had presaged Soviet consent to NATO membership. In reference to the talks between Gorbachev and Modrow, TASS reported: United Germany’s membership of NATO 111 It was stated with full determination [at the talks] that the inclusion of a future Germany in NATO is inadmissible and will not take place, whatever arguments may be used. One cannot allow the breakdown of the balance [of power] in Europe, the basis of stability and security, and of mutual trust and cooperation.16

On the face of it, this settled the question: uniﬁed Germany’s membership in NATO was unacceptable. Other solutions had to be found. The Polit- buro directives conﬁrmed this position:

We should emphasize that the most appropriate form of a German settlement would be a peace treaty that would draw the line under the past war and determine the military-political status of Germany. It should have as its necessary elements the partial demilitarization and the establishment of a reasonable sufﬁciency (razumnaia dostatochnost’) for the armed forces.... If Baker were to react negatively to the idea of a peace treaty, we should inquire about his vision of the forms for a peace settlement with Germany.17

At the beginning of May, in what Gorbachev’s foreign policy adviser Anatoly Chernyaev called a ‘rough’ (zhestkii) meeting, the full Politburo discussed the German problem for the first and last time.18 Shevardnadze, assisted by his adviser Tarasenko, had prepared a position paper which, following by then well-established practice, was redrafted and turned in a more uncompromising direction by the Third Department of the foreign ministry. The paper was to serve as a point of reference for his upcoming participation in the first round of the Two Plus Four negotiations in Bonn. It was co-sponsored by Yakovlev, Yazov, and Kryuchkov but was apparently still not tough enough to satisfy the more conservative Politburo members, including prominent and influential Politburo member Ligachev, who severely criticized it. Furthermore, with the exception of Shevardnadze, the sponsors of the new directives remained silent. Gorbachev sided with the conservative majority faction. He burst out heatedly at one point, stating categorically: ‘We will not let Germany into NATO, and that is the end of it. I will even risk the collapse of the [CFE] negotiations in Vienna and START but will not allow this.’19 Notwithstanding his seemingly inalienable negative stance, within just a few weeks of his outburst, Gorbachev did consent to a unified Germany in NATO. What had happened?

Stage three: the consent to NATO membership When Chernyaev was asked when it was that Gorbachev changed his mind he unhesitatingly replied: ‘At the Soviet–American summit.’ When the supplementary question was put to him, what had induced him to do so, the answer was equally short and precise: ‘Baker’s nine points’.20 112 H. Adomeit From 16 to 19 May, Baker had again visited Moscow and talked to Gor- bachev and Shevardnadze, with the German problem as the main focus of discussion. The Secretary of State presented a comprehensive package of (nine) incentives designed to persuade Gorbachev to accept the basic foundation of all subsequent and supplementary measures for a German settlement. The incentives were as follows: the limitation of the size of armed forces in Europe, including in Central Europe, in a CFE agreement, with further reductions to be provided for in CFE follow-on negotiations; the earlier start of arms control negotiations on short-range nuclear missiles; a reaffirmation by Germany that it would neither possess nor produce nuclear, biological, or chemical weapons; the pledge that no NATO forces would be stationed on the former territory of the GDR during a specified transition period; an appropriate transition period to be agreed upon for the withdrawal of all Soviet troops from German territory; a comprehensive review of NATO strategy and a change of NATO’s conventional and nuclear force posture; a settlement of Germany’s future borders, that is, essentially confirmation of the Polish–German frontier; the enhancement of the functions of the CSCE to ensure a significant role for the Soviet Union in Europe and linkage of a summit meeting of that organization with the finalization of a CFE treaty, both to take place at the end of 1990; and the development of Germany’s economic ties with the Soviet Union, including the fulfilment of the GDR’s economic obligations to the USSR.21 In the subsequent weeks, however, it seemed as if the nine points had made no impact whatsoever. At the Two Plus Four negotiating table and at home, Soviet representatives still vacillated between the various mutually incompatible positions they had advanced earlier. The breakthrough in the controversy about Germany’s security status occurred only at the Soviet–American summit in Washington, 30 May–3 June.22 On 31 May, in response to President Bush’s review of the assurances, Gorbachev initially reiterated the intransigent Soviet position (letting a united Germany join only NATO would ‘unbalance’ Europe), and he repeated the alternatives he preferred: Germany should either be a member of both alliances or not belong to any alliance. Shevardnadze supported the dual membership idea and Gorbachev added that perhaps any country could join either alliance, musing whether the Soviet Union should apply for NATO membership. The American president then intro- duced an argument that other US and West German officials had begun to employ at lower levels. Under the CSCE’s principles in the Helsinki Final Act, all nations had the right to choose their own alliances. Should Germany, too, not have the right to decide for itself which alliance it wanted to join? Gorbachev nodded and agreed in a matter-of-fact way that Germany did have such a right.23 This constituted de facto consent to unified Germany’s membership in NATO and came completely unexpectedly. But from the American view- United Germany’s membership of NATO 113 point, it was important to ascertain whether Gorbachev’s change of position was merely a lapsus linguae and temporary aberration or a radical change of position. If the latter, it was important to induce Gorbachev to commit himself publicly to it. Prompted by a note from one of the participants, Bush said: ‘I am gratified that you and I seem to agree that nations can choose their own alliances.’ Gorbachev confirmed this by saying: ‘So we will put it this way. The United States and the Soviet Union are in favour of Germany deciding herself [after a Two Plus Four settlement] in which alliance she would like to participate.’24 There was great surprise and consternation among the Soviet participants. In the meeting room, they almost physically distanced themselves from Gorbachev’s remarks.25 There had been no prior consultation or coordination. Gorbachev had acted unilaterally and spontaneously. Even Chernyaev had not been alerted to the impending change of his chief’s position.26 As for a public commitment to the change of position, the NSC staff prepared a statement for the president to deliver on 3 June, at the end of the summit. It submitted the draft statement to Soviet ambassador Alexander Bessmertnykh for his review and approval by Gorbachev. There were no objections. The statement read:

On the matter of Germany’s external alliances, I believe, as do Chan- cellor Kohl and members of the Alliance, that the united Germany should be a full member of NATO. President Gorbachev, frankly, does not hold that view. But we are in full agreement that the matter of alliance membership is, in accordance with the Helsinki Final Act, a matter for the Germans to decide.27

Yet, it would seem that at this stage Gorbachev’s change of position was neither unconditional nor irreversible. For him, vaguely and incongru- ously, there still existed different options, one of which would somehow make it possible to avoid Germany’s full membership in NATO.28 Such ambiguities were reflected in his public stance. On 12 June, in his report on the Soviet–American summit to the Supreme Soviet, Gorbachev said that he had ‘told the [American] president that I think that the American presence in Europe, since it fulfils a certain role in maintaining stability, is an element of the strategic situation and does not represent a problem for us.’ He also outlined a solution, according to which ‘the Bundeswehr would, as before, be subordinate to NATO, and the East German troops would be subordinate to the new Germany’, which obviously meant that they would no longer be subordinate to the Warsaw Pact.29 However, this applied only to a ‘transition period’. What, if anything, would happen thereafter was left open. The murky security waters were muddied further by the ideas, all mentioned in his report, of ‘associate membership’ of the GDR in the Warsaw Pact, a unified Germany having to ‘honour all obligations’ inherited from 114 H. Adomeit the two Germanys, and by his return to the ‘dual membership’ proposal.30 Only one thing was crystal clear: there was a complete and deliberate lack of clarity in the Soviet stance, except for the fact that the notion of a unified Germany in NATO as being absolutely unacceptable was no longer valid. This became apparent in the Two Plus Four meetings at foreign ministers’ level where clarification was achieved as to the form that NATO’s first eastward expansion could take. It was agreed that non-integrated German units could be stationed in the former GDR immediately after Germany regained full sovereignty; that German NATO-integrated forces could be stationed after the withdrawal of Soviet troops but no allied forces; that Germany would not produce or possess nuclear, bacteriological, or chemical weapons; that NATO would transform its structure and its role in Europe, emphasizing its political role; and that Germany would strive for a rearrangement of German–Soviet political and economic relations in a comprehensive bilateral treaty and accept the Polish–German borders as final. Favourable conditions were also created by the commitment of the G7 to assist the Soviet Union financially; Lithuania’s suspension of its declaration of independence; and the emasculation of the conservative opposition of Soviet party and foreign ministry officials as well as military officers. The formal consent to unified Germany’s membership in NATO occurred during Chancellor Kohl’s visit to the Soviet Union from 14 to 16 July. On 11 July, in a letter to Kohl, Gorbachev had confirmed his invitation to the German chancellor to visit the Soviet Union, including the suggestion for a side-trip to Stavropol, the town and krai where he had grown up and begun his career, and the small North Caucasian mountain resort of Arkhyz, about 100 miles south of the city. The suggestion was obviously meant to provide a personal touch to the visit and set the stage for a repe- tition of the informal conversations which the two leaders had had in June 1989 along the banks of the Rhine. On 15 July in Moscow, the two leaders exchanged papers on the provisions to be contained in a treaty on partnership and cooperation between the Soviet Union and Germany. Gorbachev acknowledged that Germany should regain full sovereignty. On the central issue of NATO, Gorbachev said that membership of unified Germany in that alliance constituted the most important problem. De jure the question was unambiguous. De facto matters were more complicated. NATO authority could not immediately be extended to the former territory of the GDR. A transitional period was necessary. Kohl and his foreign policy advisor, Horst Teltschik, like Bush and his advisers six weeks earlier, were stunned, but the German chancellor outwardly reacted calmly and was eager to make sure that there had been no misunderstanding. When pressed, Gorbachev clarified that Germany could remain in NATO, but NATO had to take into consideration that its authority could not be extended to the territory of the former GDR for a transitional United Germany’s membership of NATO 115 period, that is, for as long as Soviet troops continued to be stationed there. He reinforced this historic concession by a second commitment. The final settlement in the Two Plus Four framework should provide for the immediate abolition of Four Power rights. A separate treaty should govern the status of the Soviet armed forces on the territory of the former GDR. The details as to what was meant by de jure and de facto NATO membership were settled on 16 July in Arkhyz and the final agreement was announced at the neighbouring spa of Zheleznovodsk as follows. The unified Germany was to comprise the Federal Republic, the GDR and Berlin. The rights and responsibilities of the Four Powers would end after the achievement of German unification, and unified Germany was to enjoy full and unrestricted sovereignty. The unified Germany, exercising its unrestricted sovereignty and in accordance with the Helsinki Final Act, could decide freely and by itself which alliance it wanted to belong to. The unified Germany and the Soviet Union were to conclude a bilateral treaty providing for the withdrawal of Soviet troops from the GDR within three to four years. Another treaty was to cover the consequences of the introduction of the Deutschmark in the GDR for this transitional period. For as long as Soviet troops remain stationed on the territory of the former GDR, NATO structures would not be extended to this part of Germany. The immediate applicability of articles five and six of the NATO treaty would remain in effect. Non-integrated units of the Bundeswehr – that is, units of the Territorial Defence – were, by contrast, allowed to be stationed immediately after unification on the territory of the GDR and Berlin. Troops of the three Western powers were to remain in Berlin for so long as Soviet troops remained within the former GDR. The Federal government undertook to conclude corresponding agreements with the three Western governments. The Federal government expressed its willingness to make a binding declaration in the CFE talks in Vienna to reduce the level of the armed forces of a unified Germany to 370,000 men within a period of three to four years. And the unified Germany would refrain from produc- ing, storing, or controlling nuclear, biological, and chemical weapons and continue to adhere to the Non-Proliferation Treaty.31

Summary and conclusions Gorbachev, in Chernyaev’s view, had changed his mind at the Soviet–American summit at the end of May 1990, and one of his reasons had been Baker’s nine points. He also mentioned two more substantial reasons: first, Gorbachev was impressed by the reasoning that a neutral Germany could, and one day might, seek access to nuclear weapons. Second: ‘The West had the better arguments.’32 These included the idea that the presence of the United States on the European continent in NATO did not stand in contradiction to all-European processes but could 116 H. Adomeit be reconciled with them. One does get the feeling, however, that Gor- bachev’s foreign policy adviser was more convinced of the validity of this argument than Gorbachev. The representatives of the main institutions of the Soviet system never accepted it. Another factor explaining Gorbachev’s consent needs to be added: in the spring of 1990 the Soviet Union was running out of options – for two reasons. First, the idea of a neutralization of Germany failed to attract support not only in Western Europe and in the US but also in Eastern Europe. Second, notions such as ‘associate membership’ of the eastern part of Germany in the Warsaw Pact or ‘dual membership’ of unified Germany in both alliances were rendered obsolete by the rapid disintegration of the eastern alliance. At the February 1990 Open Skies foreign ministers’ meeting of NATO and the Warsaw Pact in Ottawa, only two foreign ministers called for the neutralization of Germany: Shevardnadze and East Germany’s Oskar Fischer. This line-up was repeated at the mid-March Warsaw Pact foreign ministers’ conference in Prague. Czechoslovak foreign minister Jiri Dienst- bier said that neutrality would be ‘the worst alternative’.33 The Polish foreign minister, Krystof Skubiszewski, too, stated that a neutral Germany would ‘not be good for Europe’; it would ‘foster some tendencies in Germany to be a great power acting on its own.’34 When the East German foreign minister was replaced a few weeks later as a result of the free elections in the GDR, this left the Soviet Union as the only country in Europe more or less seriously discussing the neutrality option. As for the Warsaw Pact, as late as 12 June Gorbachev – reporting to the Supreme Soviet on the results of the Soviet–American summit in Washing- ton – stated that the rival blocs would continue to exist ‘for longer than might be imagined.’35 Was there a direct connection between Gorbachev’s consent to membership of united Germany in NATO and the continued existence of the Warsaw Pact? In all likelihood there was, and the reason why may lie in the willingness of the Soviet political and, nolens volens, the military to convert the Warsaw Pact from an instrument of Soviet domination and control into a political institution respecting the sovereignty of its member states. A transformation of the Warsaw Pact, they hoped, would be feasible even after the systemic changes in Eastern Europe because the ‘state interests’ of the member countries of the pact would remain essentially unchanged. The Soviet reform concept was presented to the Pact members at the meeting of the Political Consultative Committee (PCC), essentially a Warsaw Pact summit conference, on 7 June 1990 in Moscow. The declaration adopted at the summit stipulated that efforts would be initiated ‘to transform it [the Warsaw Treaty] into a treaty of sovereign, equal states that is based on democratic principles.’ The ‘character, functions, and activities of the Warsaw Pact’ were to be thoroughly reviewed. The organization was to change from a military alliance to a political organization United Germany’s membership of NATO 117 with military consultation; the centralized, Soviet-controlled command structure was to be abandoned, which in practice meant that a Soviet deputy minister of defence would no longer be the pact’s commander-in- chief and that perhaps the Supreme Joint Command would be dissolved; the member states would gain control of their own national forces in conformity with the principle of full national sovereignty; and for the duration of the existence of multilateral institutions representatives of the member states would fill positions by rotation.36 However, as Georgy Shakhnazarov, Gorbachev’s adviser on Eastern European affairs, recognized, most of the Warsaw Pact member countries, while negotiating reform, or appearing to do so, were at the same time preparing to leave that organization.37 Above all, the new governments in three of the four countries where Soviet troops were still stationed – Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary – made it clear that they wanted the Soviet forces out as quickly as possible. This put the Soviet Union in an awkward position. In the preceding era, its armed forces had fulfilled important political and strategic functions, foremost, to maintain its vassals in power and safeguard the empire against external threats. In the form of status of forces agreements, their presence had legal justification. But after the revolutions of 1989, these rationales no longer existed: the socio-economic systems had changed fundamentally; NATO was no longer regarded as a threat; and the legal basis of the presence of Soviet troops had been called into question. The practical repercussions of these developments on the Soviet forces in Germany were considerable: if the North- ern, Central, and Southern Groups of Forces were to be withdrawn, the Western Group of Forces in Germany would find itself in a militarily untenable position. Its supply lines would be cut. Furthermore, after the 18 March elections, these forces would find themselves in a political environment that would make them an unwanted anachronism. Thus, the universal lack of support for a neutralized Germany, the failure of the effort to convince the new Eastern European governments of the attractiveness of a reformed Warsaw Pact, and with Soviet forces being asked to leave the area, Gorbachev had little option but to accede to Western demands.

Notes 1 These issues are explored in more detail in Adomeit (1998). 2 Shevardnadze in Izvestiia, 19.2.1990. 3 Soviet News (London), No. 23 (July 1986). 4 Pravda, 19.1.1989. 5 Pravda, 13.6.1989. 6 New York Times, 5.11.1989 (italics added). 7 Pravda, 5.12.1989 (italics added). 8 Kohl (1996, p. 272). 9 Quoted by Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 216). 118 H. Adomeit 10 Pravda, 21.2.1990. 11 Ibid. 12 Pravda, 26.2.1990. 13 Interview in Pravda, 21.2.1990. 14 Pravda, 7.3.1990. Gorbachev’s emphasis on sblizhenie had been apparent earlier, in his telephone conversation with Modrow on 12 February: Hoover Institution Archives, Box 3, Zelikow-Rice Project on German Unification, ‘Zapis’ osnovnogo soderzhaniia telefonnogo razgovora M.S. Gorbacheva s Predse- datelem Soveta Ministrov GDR Kh. Modrovom, 12 fevralia 1990 goda’. 15 TsKhSD archives, ‘Vypuska iz protokolia No. 184 zasedaniia Politburo TsK KPSS ot 2 aprelia 1990 goda. O direktivakh dlia peregovorov Ministra inostrannykh del SSSR s Presidentom SShA Dzh. Bushem i Gosudarstvennym sekretarem Dzh. Beikerom (Vashington, 4–6 aprelia 1990 goda).’ 16 Pravda, 7.3.1990. 17 Ibid. (italics added). 18 Chernyaev (1993, p. 347). The record of the meeting has not been made available. 19 Ibid. (italics added). 20 Author’s interview of Chernyaev on 25.6.1993. 21 Baker (1995, pp. 250–251); Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 263–264); and author’s interview with Robert Zoellick, who had prepared the nine points, 5.7.1994. 22 Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 276–281), and Beschloss and Talbott (1993, pp. 215–230). 23 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 277). Participants in the meeting on the Soviet side included Shevardnadze, Chernyaev, Akhromeev, Falin, Dobrynin, and Alexan- der Bessmertnykh, the Soviet ambassador in Washington. 24 There is an important discrepancy between the American account, as reconstructed by Zelikow and Rice, and the Soviet version, as contained in Gor- bachev’s and Chernyaev’s memoirs. According to the latter account, ‘the Soviet Union’ was omitted in Gorbachev’s reply (Gorbachev (1995, vol. 2, p. 175); Chernyaev (1993, p. 348)). 25 Author’s interview with Zoellick, 5.7.1994, Baker (1995, p. 253) and Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 277–278). 26 Author’s interview with Chernyaev on 25.6.1993. 27 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 281). 28 Author’s interview with Chernyaev on 25.6.1993. 29 Pravda, 13.6.1990. 30 Ibid. (italics added). 31 Derived from Kohl’s statement at the 16.7.1990 press conference in Zheleznovodsk: Pravda, 18.7.1990, and New York Times, 17.7. 1990. 32 Author’s interview with Chernyaev on 25.6.1993. 33 New York Times, 18.3.1990. 34 Ibid. 35 Pravda, 13.6.1990. 36 Text published in Pravda, 8.6.1990. Details were to be fleshed out at another meeting on 14–15 June in Strausberg near East Berlin. 37 Author’s interview with Shakhnazarov on 3.12.1994. 9 The United States, German unification and European integration

Robert L. Hutchings

Policy makers are used to hearing that when something bad happens in the world, it was their fault – but that when something good happens, they were not a factor. So as one who played a certain supporting role in these events on the US side, I find it nice to return to a period in which Amer- ican diplomacy, by most accounts, got it right. American diplomacy during the period of German unification has been widely praised for its skill, foresight, and unwavering support for the goal of a united Germany. ‘If America has so much as hesitated’, German Foreign Minister Hans- Dietrich Genscher later said, ‘we could have stood on our heads’ and gotten nowhere.1 If the ‘how’ of the story has been well told, the ‘why’ has been somewhat neglected. From the beginning, the ‘German Question’ in American eyes was intertwined with the goal of European integration, so the conduct of American diplomacy during the period was embedded in a certain conception of Europe’s future – one that sometimes put us at odds with our European allies, particularly France. The American vision was of an expanded ‘Euro-Atlantic’ community, in which a more united Europe that included the new democracies farther east would remain embedded in an overarching transatlantic security framework. The slogans ‘Europe whole and free’ and the ‘new Atlanticism’ were meant to capture this vision, which was often at odds with a growing European conception of a freestanding ‘post-Yalta’ European order focused principally on western Europe, with eastern Europe coming into this picture only after economic, monetary, and political union were well advanced. The ‘first draft’ of the history of this period was told through press accounts, unclassified official documents, interviews, and memoirs, mainly from the German, American and, to a lesser extent, Russian perspectives. Over the past decade, newly declassified documents from the German, Russian and American archives, a sampling of which are cited in this chapter, have helped enrich and for the most part substantiate the judge- ments reached in these early accounts. We are now in the early stages of the ‘second draft’ of the history of German unification, in which new accounts, some based on privileged 120 R.L. Hutchings access to archival material not yet made public, have offered new or revisionist accounts of French, British, and Russian diplomacy during the period.2 These accounts have contributed to a deeper and more multi- layered understanding, especially of French and British diplomacy. The passage of time also may provide a more balanced perspective on this period than was possible in contemporaneous accounts. Yet European scholarship published during a particularly bitter period in transatlantic relations under President George W. Bush beginning in 2001, risks trans- ferring current antipathies to the historical record of a very different Bush Administration a decade earlier. The phenomenon of seeing Europe as ‘not-America’ may have spilled over to historiography as well.3 There is also the danger of ‘selection bias’, as historians marshal new evidence supporting a particular interpretation and impose an air of historical determinism to a period that was in fact highly contingent. In particular, scholarship aiming to assert European ‘ownership’ of this period, while a welcome contribution to the literature, may have the effect of replacing the America-centric historiography of the immediate post- unification period with a revisionist Eurocentric interpretation.4

A counterfactual: unification gone bad With these considerations in mind, let me try telling the story a different way, by means of a counterfactual scenario. Let us imagine that German unification came out badly – very badly. What might that have looked like, and how might it have happened? This may help to frame the role the United States actually played during the period. In his celebrated essay, ‘If Grant had Been Drinking at Appomattox’, James Thurber imagined how the American Civil War might have ended differently if an inebriated General Grant had surrendered to General Lee rather accepting Lee’s surrender. It may be instructive to apply a similar device here, as a way of opening our minds to alternative possibilities. First, let us imagine that instead of siding with Chancellor Kohl, Presid- ent George H.W. Bush had joined Thatcher, Mitterrand and Gorbachev in resisting unification and trying to assert Four-Power control over the process. Instead of the dozens of phone calls and meetings with German leaders to coordinate our strategy to facilitate unification, imagine that we snubbed the Germans and undertook this kind of intense coordination with Britain, France and the USSR to oppose it. The Bush Administration, in this scenario, would have insisted that unification was ‘not on the agenda’ and chastised Kohl for moving too fast. We would have convened urgent meetings of the Four Powers to dictate the terms and timetable for inter-German rapprochement. Where would all this have led? Let us speculate. Germans in the Federal Republic would have repudiated Four-Power authority over their national future. The actions of their supposed allies would have generated The US, German unification and European integration 121 huge resentment, which would have spilled over to protests against the allied military presence on their territory. Public attitudes toward NATO and even the EC would have been poisoned. Meanwhile, the GDR in this scenario would have imploded nonetheless. By the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the forces of disintegration could no longer have been checked. A drive toward unity was coming, whether the world was ready for it or not. Abandoned by their allies, the Germans would have had no choice but to cut the best deal they could with the Soviet Union, which held effective veto power owing to its 400,000 troops in East Germany. The price the Germans would have had to pay for unification might have been steep. At a minimum it would have entailed restrictions on German sovereignty, a continued role for the Four Powers into the indefinite future, and Germany’s withdrawal from NATO and the Western European Union. This line of thinking is not entirely fanciful, by the way. In February 1990, I sent to President Bush a list of theoretically possible security outcomes – 18 in all – that began with a reunified Germany with its sovereignty restored and its alliance relationships intact, and ended with a neutralized, demilitarized Germany. The ultimate outcome was number two on the list – a fully sovereign Germany with its alliances intact but with certain restrictions on military activities in the territory of the former GDR – but this happy outcome was by no means a foregone conclusion. We worried a great deal that the outcome might be much worse. Indeed, at his meeting with Bush at Camp David in February, Chancellor Kohl floated the idea of a ‘French solution’ whereby Germany would remain in NATO’s political alliance but not in its integrated military structure.5 Kohl also ruminated about the implications of a German withdrawal from NATO in a meeting with President Bush in Washington on 8 June, 1990. I quote from the official German transcript of the meeting:

A German exit out of NATO would create an unstable situation in Europe ... France and Great Britain might join together as the Euro- pean nuclear forces and create an ‘Entente Cordiale’ ... [N]on nuclear European states ... would stand alone in terms of security concerns. This type of constellation – a neutral Germany, two Euro- pean nuclear powers, and other non-nuclear states – would not only have negative consequences for the EC, but also for political integration. It would not take Germany more than ten years before there would be a discussion of why they do not have nuclear weapons. This alone would be catastrophic.6

What of the EC in this scenario? We can imagine that economic motivations would have kept Germany in the Community, but with decidedly less enthusiasm and with no Franco-German ‘engine’ – meaning no political union, perhaps no EMU, and probably no eastern enlargement. (On this 122 R.L. Hutchings last point, a 1994 CDU/CSU White Paper warned that the EC’s failure to stabilize east central Europe would leave Germany ‘once again caught in the middle between East and West ... tempted by its own security constraints to try to effect the stabilization.’)7 Further, under the highly conflicted unification scenario I have described, the Germans would have little incentive to resolve the border issue with Poland. With everything still unsettled, they would have figured it was better to leave this for future generations to resolve. This would have excited revanchist dreams amongst the expellee communities in Bavaria and fuelled nationalist paranoia in Poland. Instead of an historic rapprochement, German–Polish relations might have been strained to the breaking point. The Poles, in this climate, would have been in no mood to mend fences with Lithuania and their other eastern neighbours. Borders in east central Europe (none of which predate the First World War) would have been seen to be open to revision. The post-communist transitions in this region would have been overwhelmed by ultra-nationalism. The Soviet Union might or might not have disintegrated in this scenario. Either way, leaders in Moscow would have looked west and seen unfinished business in east central Europe. The Cold War division of Europe would have been only partly overcome; the entire continent would have been ‘renational- ized’. Europe would have been not quite whole, not quite free.

The United States and German unification So much for ‘what ifs’. My argument is not that the United States caused German unification or that the revolutionary year of 1989 would have been unimaginable without US leadership. Nor do I discount the role of Euro- peans in the self-liberation of the continent. Indeed, I give pride of place to the Poles in this process. The Berlin Wall would not have fallen in Novem- ber 1989 but for the successful challenge to communist rule in Poland earlier that year, and there were a dozen instances where Poland’s peaceful revolution might have broken down.8 Rather, my argument is that the United States played an important facilitative role by throwing its weight fully behind the processes of peaceful democratic change in east central Europe, and that the US role in German unification was decisive in ensuring that it came out right – with Germany enjoying full sovereignty from the moment of unification, with its EC and NATO affiliations intact, and with all of Europe accepting and even welcoming this outcome. Having written about this period in some detail already, let me focus selectively on a few areas that have been the subject of debate in some of the new scholarship.9 First, we saw unification coming, sooner than the Germans themselves, and so had considered our approaches within a broader strategic review. In March 1989, long before the fall of the Berlin Wall, a closely held National Security Council memorandum to President Bush put Germany at centre stage: The US, German unification and European integration 123 Today the top priority for American foreign policy in Europe should be the fate of the Federal Republic of Germany.... Even if we make strides in overcoming the division of Europe ... we cannot have a vision for Europe’s future that does not include an approach to ‘the German question’.10

When Bush, speaking in Mainz, Germany, at the end of May, called for the United States and Germany to become ‘partners in leadership’, the prospect of German unification was already embedded in our strategy.11 In the background of our thinking was the judgement that the old bipolar order was fast breaking down. The European allies had long since stepped out from under the shadow of superpower domination in the west and were poised to do so in the east as well. Poland and Hungary were on the brink of major change, pushed from below by democratic opposition forces and facilitated from outside by the advent of a reformist Soviet leader who seemed predisposed to allowing the east Europeans to find their own solutions. For policy makers in Washington, the April 1989 Polish Roundtable Agreement, which called for freely contested national elections, was the mobilizing event. It was apparent to us then that the Roundtable Agree- ment, if fully implemented, was the beginning of the end of communist rule in Poland. And if communism was finished in Poland, it was finished everywhere in eastern Europe, including East Germany, which in turn meant that German unification had just leapt onto the international agenda.12 These, of course, were very large ‘ifs’; Washington’s appreciation of the potential for such sweeping change was by no means a predic- tion that it would actually occur, much less that it could occur in a matter of months. Yet the potentialities inherent in these events underscored how much was at stake and how critical the US role would be. While the countries of eastern Europe increasingly were going their own ways, the European Community was embarking on a bold new drive for unity, heralded in the Single European Act of 1986. At the very time of the Polish Roundtable Agreement in April 1989, a committee chaired by European Commission President Jacques Delors issued its report calling for a three-stage approach to Economic and Monetary Union. This approach, facilitated by publication of the Cecchini Report on ‘the costs of non-Europe’ and by Thatcher’s surprising (and later lamented) acceptance of the move toward EMU at the EC’s special summit in Brussels in February, was formally adopted at the Madrid session of the European Council in June.13 Thus, thinking in Washington in early 1989 was influenced by the prospect of impending major change in both east and west Europe. Additionally, a new set of Soviet foreign policy initiatives under Gor- bachev, most notably his December 1988 announcement before the UN General Assembly of dramatic unilateral force reductions, had ushered in 124 R.L. Hutchings a more fluid east–west environment that yielded new opportunities for intra-European engagement. Germany, of course, was pivotal in all these respects. Just as it was at the beginning of the Cold War, the struggle over the future of Germany was also a struggle over the future of Europe and the future of the transatlantic relationship. When the Wall fell, the US Administration was already prepared to lend its strong support to German unification, while the Soviet, British and French leaders declared the unification was ‘not on the agenda’ and sought to convene meetings of the four wartime powers to exercise control over the process. Chancellor Kohl’s ‘ten-point’ speech of 28 November, aimed at creating a framework for rapprochement between the two Germanys, evoked sharp rebukes from Moscow, London and Paris. At the time, we in the US Administration knew very well of the antipathy of the British and French, to say nothing of the Soviets, toward unification and suspected that they would seek to derail or at least postpone the process. Although some scholars have tried to challenge this interpretation, new archival evidence reveals an alarming degree of anti- unification collusion among British, French and Soviet leaders in this early period.14 Visiting Moscow in late September, Thatcher told Gor- bachev: ‘Britain and Western Europe are not interested in the unification of Germany. The words written in the NATO communiqué may sound different, but disregard them.’15 In her memoirs, Thatcher recounted two meetings with Mitterrand at the EC Summit in Strasbourg in December, in which she proposed creating an ‘Anglo-French axis’ to ‘check the German juggernaut’.16 Gorbachev and Mitterrand compared notes a few days after the opening of the Berlin Wall. The words were careful but the meaning unmistakable. Gorbachev, alluding to a prior discussion with Mitterrand on the ‘problem’ of unification, stressed that ‘as far as I understand, we have a mutual understanding of this really cardinal issue.’ Without specifically agreeing, Mitterrand responded that he had felt it ‘necessary to contact you again to hear confirmation directly from you.... There is a certain equilibrium that exists in Europe, and we should not disturb it.’17 A month later, in their meeting in Kiev, Mitterrand told Gorbachev.

We should not change the order of the processes. First and foremost among them should be the European integration, the evolution of Eastern Europe, and the all-European process ... Kohl’s ... ten points have turned everything around. He mixed all the factors together, he is rushing.18

Some scholars have observed that nothing much tangible came of these efforts. Gorbachev, Thatcher and Mitterrand grumbled and commiserated with one another, but never mounted a combined set of policies in The US, German unification and European integration 125 opposition to unification.19 This is true as far as it goes, but it begs the question how far it might have gone had the United States not actively sought to neutralize first British and French, then Soviet, obstructionism. What if President Bush had joined the others in a combined Four Power effort to oppose, delay, restrict or ‘supervise’ (to use Mitterrand’s term) the process? What if we had merely sat on the sidelines, leaving this for the West Germans to manage alone? New archival evidence makes it clear that whatever French intentions may have been, Gorbachev believed that France and Britain were with him and acted, in the critical period immediately following the fall of the Wall, on the basis of a perceived anti-unification coalition.20 It is also clear that Chancellor Kohl feared such a coalition and felt that France had tried to ‘play the Russian card’.21 For his part, President Bush, after meeting with Mitterrand on Saint Martin in mid-December, came away with the impression that ‘in contrast to the efforts within the French bureaucracy, [Mitter- rand] was resigned to eventual German unification’ but ‘cautioned against events in Germany moving too fast’.22 The totality of the evidence suggests that Mitterrand and especially foreign ministry officials at the Quai d’Orsay were caught unprepared and reacted instinctively and clumsily to the prospect of German unification, but that by January of 1990 Mitterrand had come to realize that unification was coming and so would not jeopardize French–German relations in a vain effort to stop it. He therefore sought to work with the Germans to gain certain assurances about the European integration process, in the end securing French interests rather well. Similarly, as Patrick Salmon has ably documented, Thatcher’s personal antipathy to unification was never translated into effective opposition to unification on the part of her diplomats.23 At the EC’s Paris Summit on 18 November, Mitterrand and other Euro- pean leaders were at pains to relegate German unification to the distant and indefinite future. From the American and German perspectives, such French tactics – which included Mitterrand’s suggestion that he and Gor- bachev pay a joint visit to East Germany in December24 – risked reinforcing Soviet hopes that the unification process could be derailed altogether. Sim- ilarly, the comment of a French official at a 10 December meeting of Four Power ambassadors in Berlin – that ‘the purpose was to remind the Germans who is in charge of Berlin’25 – played into Soviet efforts to invoke Four Power prerogatives over Germany’s future. Thus the American role in neutralizing British and French resistance in this early period, and holding off Four Power involvement, was critical to overcoming Soviet opposition. Immediately after Kohl’s ten-point speech, Secretary of State James Baker, after meeting with Bush in the White House, laid out ‘four principles’ that the President would present to Gorbachev in their upcoming (1–2 December) meeting off the coast of Malta and at a NATO summit in Brussels immediately thereafter: ‘self-determination should be pursued 126 R.L. Hutchings without prejudice to its outcome’ and should be a ‘peaceful, gradual ... step-by-step process’; if unification should come, it should occur ‘within the context of Germany’s continuing alignment with NATO and an increasingly integrated European Community’ and should respect ‘the inviolability of existing borders’.26 These principles, endorsed almost verbatim by the NATO Summit in Brussels on December, were also meant to help set the agenda for the EC Summit held five days later in Strasbourg, where a similar set of principles was adopted. Whether EC leaders might have rallied around these principles on their own is debatable, but it is clear that US leadership on this issue greatly strengthened Kohl’s hand in his difficult negotiations at Strasbourg, where Italian Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti supported Thatcher in her famous assault on Kohl.27 US leadership was similarly critical in securing Soviet acceptance of united Germany’s remaining in the western alliance system. As Bush put it in a letter to Kohl on the eve of the latter’s trip to Moscow for a crucial meeting with Gorbachev in early February 1990, ‘In no event will we allow the Soviet Union ... to try to force you to create the kind of Germany Moscow might want, at the pace Moscow might prefer.’28 By this time, and certainly after the East German elections in mid-March, the question was not whether German unification could be achieved but what kind of Germany would emerge from the process, and with what implications for the future of Europe and the transatlantic link. Would united Germany remain in NATO? Would it enjoy full sovereignty from the moment of unification? If not, what would this mean for the future of Europe? It was important, then, that negotiations undertaken via the Two-Plus- Four process (the two German states plus the four wartime allies) did not become a venue for debate over the alliance relationships of a future united Germany. At the first meeting of the Two-Plus-Four, Baker reiterated the US view of its scope:

The primary purpose of the Two-Plus-Four process is to facilitate the unity of the two Germanys.... The timing and form of uniﬁcation are internal issues to be decided by the Germans themselves.... A ﬁnal settlement under international law should terminate four-power rights and responsibilities in an expeditious, straightforward, and legally binding way.29

Immediately after the meeting, Baker cabled Genscher to express his concern about the Soviet suggestion that Four-Power rights should continue even after uniﬁcation:

This delinkage could lead to an ongoing singularization of Germany and a period, of uncertain duration, during which Germany’s sovereignty would remain infringed.... There is no reason, 45 years after World War II, to retain Four Power rights over a unified, democratic Germany.30 The US, German unification and European integration 127 When Baker met with Gorbachev in Moscow in mid-May, the Soviet leader continued to maintain that ‘a unified Germany in NATO was impossible for them’. Baker’s cable back to Bush that night described a ‘long and at times difficult day’ but also noted that Gorbachev had no answer to Baker’s reminder that according to the Helsinki Final Act, all states have the right freely to join or leave alliances.31 It was a point that President Bush picked up on two weeks later during the Washington Summit with Gorbachev, winning Soviet agreement for including a statement to that effect in the official communiqué. The ‘Declaration on a Transformed North Atlantic Alliance’, issued at NATO’s London Summit in early July, helped secure Soviet consent. Thereafter, intense German–Soviet negotiations led to the breakthrough agreement in the Caucasus in mid-July. Back in Washington, we privately called it ‘V-E Day II’, signifying the belated liberation of the continent, nearly half a century after the Allied victory in Europe in 1945.

A certain conception of Europe The very speed of the process facilitated Soviet acquiescence, in that we and the West Germans could present Moscow with a series of faits accompli that it found increasingly difficult to oppose. However, it also meant that the post-unification, post-Cold War security order in Europe had to be built during a period of rapid and disorienting flux. In the process, American conceptions of a ‘New Atlanticism’, intended to reconcile the twin goals of European integration and a US-led transatlantic security order, increasingly collided with European efforts to build a more cohesive and assertive European Union within a ‘post-Yalta’ economic and political community. Our ultimate strategic goal was the unification not just of Germany but of Europe as a whole, and the two processes had long been linked in American thinking. In the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, the United States had lent strong support to the goal of European unity. John Foster Dulles had been secretary of the ‘American Committee for a United States of Europe’ before he became Secretary of State, and Marshall Plan aid explicitly required European coordination via the Organization for European Economic Cooperation and so created a framework for the future European Economic Community. Before the signing of the Treaty of Rome in 1957, President Eisenhower remarked that this would be ‘one of the finest days in the history of the free world, perhaps even more so than winning the war’.32 Of course, even in these early days and certainly later, American attitudes about European unity were ambivalent. On the one hand, we wanted a more united and capable Europe and knew in any case that American policy had to take into account the reality of a more assertive EC. On the other, we did not always like the kind of EC that seemed to be 128 R.L. Hutchings emerging and so adopted policies that seemed to oppose the Community at every turn. It was not that American attitudes toward European integration were duplicitous – that would be too facile an historical judgment – but that the two strands of thinking were equally strong and frequently in conflict. It is a fair judgement, as Geir Lundestad has argued, that while the Bush Administration was more supportive of European integration than any of its recent predecessors, it nonetheless saw a more united Europe operating within an American-led Atlantic framework.33 In post- unification Europe, absent a common external threat, the question was posed starkly: was the ambition of European Union compatible with a continued strong transatlantic link? Baker’s ‘New Atlanticism’ idea, detailed in his two Berlin speeches of December 1989 and June 1991, tried to bridge the gap by proposing a system of interlocking institutions. The hope, as expressed in President Bush’s speech in Prague in November 1990, was that the end of the Cold War would create the conditions not only for a continued transatlantic relationship but a stronger and more natural one, freed from the unnat- ural imbalance of roles and responsibilities that the Cold War had imposed.34 Our overarching perspective, at least for the immediate post-Cold War period, was that the United States had to remain in Europe to balance Russian power and provide stability so that a more united western Europe could extend its zone of democratic stability eastward. This meant that NATO had to survive as the key institutional link binding the United States to Europe; its survival, in turn, called for its radical transformation, with a new balance of European and American roles and responsibilities. The United States also needed to embrace European unity, including the effort to create a common European foreign and security policy, while also maintaining the vitality of transatlantic security – two competing tasks that proved hard to reconcile.35 On the positive side of the ledger, the US readily supported Delors’ proposal, seconded by Kohl, for putting the European Commission in the lead role in coordinating G-24 assistance to central and eastern Europe, a job that the Commission performed admirably. With the strong support of the Germans, we also negotiated the first ever US–EC Declaration of Prin- ciples, designed to put relations on a more regular footing. Inauspiciously, however, the document was published at the Paris Summit of November 1990; just as US–EC negotiations in the Uruguay Round trade talks hit an impasse. In debates over the ‘new European architecture’, Baker’s ‘New Atlanti- cism’ increasingly collided with ‘Europeanist’ visions of a post-Yalta security order. European integrationist efforts accelerated in early 1990, as the French sought to lock in German commitment to deeper European integration before unification was consummated. In April, just before the The US, German unification and European integration 129 Dublin EC Summit, Kohl and Mitterrand sent a joint letter to the Presid- ent of the European Council calling for the need to accelerate progress toward economic and monetary union as well as ‘to transform [political] relations ... among the member states into a European Union’. Spurred by this Franco-German initiative, the Dublin Summit duly focused on preparations for an intergovernmental conference on EMU, and a second summit in late June (‘Dublin II’) endorsed a parallel IGC on European political union, with its agenda left deliberately vague so as to secure Thatcher’s consent. US attitudes toward these developments were ambivalent. We welcomed in principle the move toward closer unity, which was in any case for EC members, not us, to decide. However, we worried that setting the ambitious goal of political union – which went far beyond the real intention of most member governments, including the French! – risked bogging the EC down in protracted internal debates and shifting focus away from what we considered the priority task of integrating the new democracies of the east into western institutions (an agenda almost wholly missing from Dublin I and II). In the debate over ‘deepening’ versus ‘widening’, the United States came down on the side of the latter – not, as some suspected, to dilute the EC, but to ensure that the fledgling democracies of eastern Europe were not consigned to a kind of ‘no-man’s land’ (to use Vaclav Havel’s term) between a more cohesive west and a chaotic east. As early as President Bush’s speech in Leiden in July 1989, following his visits to Poland and Hungary, the US had sought to extend the ‘Atlantic idea’ eastward. NATO’s London Summit of July 1990, in addition to helping condition the Soviet leaders to united Germany’s membership in NATO, also took the first steps toward integrating the eastern European countries into the alliance. This, we hoped, would make it easier to the European Community to open its doors to eastern enlargement by effectively resolving the eastern European security dilemma. Thus, the differences between widening and deepening were not so much about ultimate goals as about timing and sequence: whether tangible steps toward a ‘Europe whole and free’ should take precedence over EMU and EPU, or whether, as the French argued, eastern enlargement had to await the internal transformation of the Community. More fundamental transatlantic differences emerged over French-led efforts to develop a European security and defence identity. In early December 1990 Mitterrand and Kohl circulated another letter to their EC counterparts proposing the Community’s eventual absorption of the Western European Union into the EC as its security and defence arm.36 This proposal, like the ‘Eurocorps’ idea floated shortly thereafter, seemed to herald a European security capacity operating outside the Alliance framework. President Bush broached our concerns directly at the NATO summit in Rome in November 1991: 130 R.L. Hutchings The United States has been, is, and will remain an unhesitating proponent of the aim and process of European integration. This strong American support extends to the prospect of political union – as well as the goal of a defense identity ... Even the attainment of European union, however, will not diminish the need for NATO ... We support the development of the WEU because it can complement the alliance and strengthen the European role in it.... But we do not see the WEU as a European alternative to the alliance.37

Transatlantic differences were papered over at Rome and at the EC’s Maastricht Summit the following month, but the underlying conﬂict was left unresolved. It was an inauspicious way to usher in a post-Cold War order. Our NATO-centric approach might have been feasible had we been prepared to undertake the kind of fundamental restructuring of the Alliance that some in Paris were urging on us. But we could not have it both ways – preserving a level of American dominance that was anathema to the French (and others) while also insisting that any European effort be made within the Alliance framework. The French position was in many ways the mirror image of ours.38 The French wanted a separate European security capacity but systematically undermined efforts to transform NATO in ways that might have made that ambition feasible. In the end, no amount of ‘architectural’ creativity could overcome the inherent contradictions between the two approaches.

A new transatlantic partnership? Jacques Attali, Mitterrand’s security adviser during the period, later recounted a conversation in September 1992 with US national security adviser Brent Scowcroft in which General Scowcroft told him that ‘one of the explicit projects’ of President [George H.W.] Bush’s second term was to have been a ‘Euro–Atlantic Union’.39 Indeed, establishing a new transatlantic partnership – one that recognized, encouraged, and accom- modated a more united Europe – would have been a central focus of US policy had Bush been re-elected. Would the effort have succeeded? Certainly, US–European relations would have been accorded a primacy under a second Bush term that was lacking under President Clinton, so transatlantic relations probably would have fared better in the mid-1990s. Yet Attali’s judgment that ‘Euro- Atlanticism serves as camouflage for US domination of Europe’40 was telling, for the underlying contradictions between the Europeanist and Atlanticist conceptions of Europe’s future would have persisted and indeed grown more acute no matter who inhabited the Oval Office. Moreover, there were structural reasons militating against such a transformation – above all, the demise of the bipolar international system and the growing disparities between US and European military capacity and strategic priorities. The US, German unification and European integration 131 Thus, to flash forward a decade, the breakdown of transatlantic consensus over Iraq beginning in 2002 was not only a consequence of policies and personalities but a manifestation of a longer term and probably inevitable erosion of transatlantic solidarity. These changes were building up throughout the 1990s, but they were largely obscured by the sugar- coated rhetoric of NATO communiqués. Iraq simply brought them into full view. If the breakdown had not occurred over Iraq, it would have occurred over something else. The task now is to fashion a new transatlantic relationship on the basis of today’s realities and tomorrow’s challenges, rather than out of a nostal- gic effort to recreate the alliance of a bygone era. If anything good comes out of the crisis over Iraq, it may be that this dispute will catalyze a more honest and realistic debate about the future of transatlantic relations. Perhaps now that we are liberated from the excessive expectations of the immediate post-Cold War period, such a transatlantic debate can produce, over time, a new and durable consensus around the values and interests we continue to share despite current political differences.

Notes 1 Pond (1993, p. 186). See also Cox and Hurst (2002) and Haftendorn (2006, pp. 304–305). 2 Many of these new accounts are cited below as well as represented elsewhere in this volume. For an earlier overview, see Spohr (2000, pp. 869–888). 3 Garton Ash (2004, esp. Chapter 2). 4 See Michael Cox, Chapter 1, this volume. 5 Teltschik (1991, p. 162); Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 252). 6 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, doc. #305). 7 ‘Reflections on European Policy’ by the CDU/CSU parliamentary group in the Bundestag, 7.9.1994. In Europe/Documents no. 1896/96, Agence Europe. 8 See, for example, Hutchings, ‘Europe between the Superpowers’. In Skinner (2007). 9 Hutchings (1997). 10 Memorandum from Scowcroft to Bush, ‘The NATO Summit’, 20.3.1989, cited in Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 28). 11 Kohl, by contrast, had said as late as 1988 that he did not expect to see German unification in his lifetime. See Stent (1990–1, p. 60). 12 Hutchings (1997, p. 9). Outside of government, William Hyland had come to a similar judgment: If there is some kind of new order in Hungary, Poland, and perhaps Czechoslovakia, with less of a Soviet presence ... then the question is whether that can be applied to East Germany. And if it is, aren’t you just a step or so away from the unification of Germany...? Cited by Oberdorfer (1998, p. 346). 13 For a condensed version, see Cecchini (1988). 14 See, e.g., Bozo (2005) and Schabert (2002). 15 Chernyaev’s notes on the Thatcher–Gorbachev meeting, in The End of the Cold War in Europe, 1989: ‘New Thinking’ and New Evidence (Musgrove, 1998), Doc. 53. 132 R.L. Hutchings 16 Thatcher (1993, pp. 792, 796–797). 17 Gorbachev Foundation Archive (GFA); telephone conversation between Gor- bachev and Mitterrand, 14.11.1989. Notes of A.S. Chernyaev. Translated by Svetlana Savranskaya for the National Security Archive. 18 GFA; conversation between Gorbachev and Mitterrand, Kiev, 6.12.1989. Notes of A.S. Chernyaev. Translated by Svetlana Savranskaya for the National Security Archive. 19 See, e.g., Bozo (2005, pp. 156–167). 20 Adomeit (1998, pp. 459–460), and Biermann (1997, p. 352). See also Adomeit (1994, p. 216). 21 Weidenfeld (1999, p. 158); see also ibid., pp. 94–95, 109–110, and Teltschik (1991, p. 47). 22 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 201). 23 See Patrick Salmon, Chapter 13, this volume. 24 Adomeit (1998, p. 460); Weidenfeld (1999, p. 42). 25 International Herald Tribune, 12.12.1989. 26 ‘Statement by Secretary of State Baker, November 29, 1989’, in Golden and Brown Wells (1990, pp. 346–347). 27 See Leopoldo Nuti, Chapter 14, this volume. On Andreotti’s similarly uncon- structive role at the NATO summit in Brussels, see Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 200). 28 Bush Presidential Library. Bush to Kohl, 9.2.1990. 29 State Department cable State 159968, 18.5.1990, declassified on 29.5.1997 (FOIA #9504381). 30 State Department cable State 148610, 9.5.1990, declassified 29.5.1997 (FOIA #9504381). 31 Cable from Baker to Bush, May 19, 1990 (SECTO 07015 from USDEL Secret- ary in USSR; declassified 29.5.1997), paragraph 12. 32 Milward (1992, p. 375). 33 Lundestad (1998, esp. pp. 111–119) and Lundestad (2003, pp. 223–248). 34 ‘Remarks to the Czechoslovak Federal Assembly’, White House press release, 17.11.1990. 35 See, e.g., Bush’s intervention at the NATO Summit in London, 5.7.1990; declassified 25.5.1999; Case No. 98–0142-F. 36 For more see Hutchings (1997, pp. 143–173, 271–300). 37 ‘A Time of Decision for the NATO Alliance’, Intervention at the NATO Summit, Rome, Italy, 7.11.1991, US State Department Dispatch, 11.11.1991. 38 Cf. Bozo (2005, pp. 255–258). 39 Jacques Attali, ‘A Continental Architecture’. In Gowan and Anderson (1997, p. 351). 40 Ibid. Part IV German unification Seizing the opportunity

10 German uniﬁcation and European integration are but two sides of one coin The FRG, Europe, and the diplomacy of German uniﬁcation

Helga Haftendorn

The sudden collapse of the Berlin Wall on 9 November 1989 focused the world’s attention on Germany. Already during the summer the winds of change had been blowing through Eastern Europe but the most conservative of all communist states, the German Democratic Republic (GDR), had tried to shun all calls for reform. Instead, it had shown itself totally unresponsive to Soviet General Secretary Gorbachev’s counsel that ‘those being late will be punished by history’.1 The Federal Republic had supported the reformist Hungarian leadership in opening the Hungarian– Austrian border for GDR refugees. But it was sceptical whether the replacement in East Berlin of ageing and ailing Secretary Erich Honecker by Egon Krenz indicated any positive change. None in Bonn yet dreamed of a collapse of the regime. Chancellor Helmut Kohl and Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher were not even in the country when the Wall crumbled as they were on a state visit to Poland.

The German question is back on the European agenda The changes in Eastern Europe and, though somewhat belatedly, in the GDR, put the German question back on the European agenda. The big issue was whether the post-Second World War status quo could be overcome without destabilizing the European state system. Already in the past a close link had been recognized between solutions to the German question and the building of European structures. Chancellor Adenauer had embraced the process of European integration as a means of anchoring West Germany in a close alliance with the Western powers, above all with France and the United States.2 He had argued that West European integration was a precondition for reunification because it was a means to dispel the lingering distrust of Germany acting irresponsibly. As the years passed, reaching a modus vivendi on the territorial status 136 H. Haftendorn quo with Moscow and improving the fate of the Germans in the GDR became more important in the short term than restoring German unity. In the 1970s and 1980s, ideas of a ‘European peace order’3 or a ‘Common European Home’4 were developed as means to overcome the East–West conflict. The CSCE Final Act and its principles on state behaviour as well as the FRG’s treaties with Moscow, Warsaw and East Berlin set up a new European security system. In a climate of détente the German question lost some of its urgency. Now, the issue was whether the existing European structures were adequate to absorb the negative effects of the changes underway. When the unexpected did happen on 9 November 1989, German leaders busied themselves in an effort to contain its potentially dangerous effects. Above all they reassured Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev and Germany’s Western partners that Bonn would not permit events to get out of hand.5 But a new perspective was needed on the future course of German policy. The Chancellor felt he could best achieve both ends by emphasizing the importance of the Federal Republic’s integration into the Atlantic Alliance and the European Community which was ‘like the air needed to breathe’.6 Under all circumstances European integration should be continued; German reunification was not considered its alternative. In Kohl’s view, ‘German unity can only be achieved if the unification of the old continent proceeds. Policy on Germany and on Europe are but two sides of one coin.’7 He recalled the Franco-German initiatives for a European Monetary System (EMS) and the Single European Act (SEA) of 1986 that had brought the first substantial revision of the European treaties and rejuvenated the EC. The Delors Report further recommended that the first stage of a European Monetary Union (EMU) begin on 1 July 1990. Initial ideas about a European political union had also been floated.8 At the regular German–French consultations in Bonn on 2–3 Novem- ber 1989, Kohl had assured the French President that Germany would adhere to the previously agreed schedule for deepening European integration. Doing so would strengthen Europe’s attractiveness, for the Central and Eastern European countries also.9 When at the concluding press conference François Mitterrand was asked whether he was afraid of a German reunification, he replied that he had to accept the facts of history as they were. He considered the German desire for reunification absolutely legitimate, and its realization depended on the will of the German people. But he also acknowledged that the process worried Germany’s partners and the other European states as well.10 Indeed, it could not be overlooked that the Four Powers with special responsibilities for Germany as a whole (Britain, France, Soviet Union and United States) as well as Germany’s neighbours were greatly concerned about the evolving situation in the centre of Europe. Mitterrand, in spite of his empathy with the German cause, was also The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 137 unenthusiastic about the prospects for potential German reunification but he – just like his British colleague, Margaret Thatcher – still counted on the Soviets to prevent it from happening. Above all, he was concerned that his European agenda might fall apart. The Strasbourg summit planned for 8–9 December 1989, was intended to give a push towards strengthening European integration. To avoid it being overshadowed by recent events, Mitterrand invited his European colleagues to a special dinner discussion at Paris on 18 November. According to various accounts the meeting took place in a very chilly atmosphere. While Kohl emphasized the close relationship between policy on Germany and European integration and stated the need of freedom for all people as well as their right to self- determination, Mitterrand, much to the chancellor’s dismay, demanded that democratic reform in Central and Eastern Europe be stabilized first. Then decisions could be taken to strengthen the European Community’s ability to act more forcefully in economic, monetary, and political affairs.11 The French plan, however, went against the British Prime Minister’s wishes. Thatcher was as sceptical about deepening European integration as she was about German reunification, and urged her partners to do everything possible to slow down events. When Kohl continued to push, she burst out in a towering rage and said that there were other important issues to consider, including the role of the Four Powers, the Helsinki Final Act, the continuation of change in Eastern Europe and the very fate of Gorbachev and perestroika.12 ‘Any attempt to talk about either border changes or German reunification would undermine Mr. Gorbachev and also open up a Pandora’s Box of border claims right through central Europe.’13 Thatcher’s strong reaction and Mitterrand’s aloofness with regard to the fast moving events in Germany served as a warning to the chancellor that European leaders were wedded to the status quo.14 When Kohl announced his ‘ten points’ in the Bundestag on 28 Novem- ber, they came like a bolt out of the blue. They promised quick humanitarian and financial help to the GDR and opened up the perspective of an eventual all-German federation provided democratization advanced. The Chancellor also pointed out that a future German ‘architecture’ should be embedded in a European order of peace, and follow the rules and norms of international law including the right to self-determination. He further affirmed his view that the flexibility of the EC would assist reform in Central and Eastern Europe, called for progress in the CSCE processes, suggested taking big new steps in arms control and disarmament, and – finally – expressed his hope for progress toward ‘a situation in which the German people can regain their unity by exercising their free will, taking account of the interests of all concerned and assuring peaceful cooperation in all of Europe.’15 138 H. Haftendorn Overcoming widespread concern Kohl’s ten points caused much concern among Germany’s partners, both regarding their substance and the fact that neither they nor the Soviet leadership had been consulted in advance. While the Chancellor was speaking in the Bundestag, Horst Teltschik, the Chancellor’s main foreign policy aide and author of the ten points, handed copies of the speech to the Bonn ambassadors of the Four Powers.16 Only the US president had been briefed beforehand although because of a communications breakdown he had not received Kohl’s message before the news came out of the ticker. Except for the Greens, all German parties – including the opposition SPD – applauded the Chancellor for his audacious initiative. Foreign Minister Genscher, although he had not been informed beforehand either, decided to put national unity over party competition and also backed Kohl’s plan.17 Even more clearly than the chancellor, Genscher – a former refugee from the GDR himself – saw that unification had come within reach and supported it as best as he could. The only foreign leader who backed Kohl at once was George H. Bush. He, like most Americans, felt that a German reunification was only natural after the Wall had come down. Other political figures were less obliging. The annoyance was particularly pronounced in Paris as the Chancellor had not mentioned his plans to Mitterrand in a letter he had sent the day before. Though the French President was careful not to criticize Kohl’s initiative openly, he had some doubts about the accountability of German policy. But his reaction was much more balanced than that of Thatcher. She was haunted by the nightmare of a ‘German Europe’ and candidly called for an Anglo-French initiative to restrain the ‘German juggernaut’.18 She soon came to realize, however, that both Mitterrand and Gor- bachev were less reliable allies in her efforts to prevent German unification than she had imagined. Because of Britain’s opposition to further European integration, London did not offer itself to Paris as a preferred ally. Mitterrand wanted to increase his claim to European leadership and to provide a binding framework within which to contain German ambitions by urging an ever closer European Union, while Britain was still trying to safeguard its political autonomy. Further criticism of Kohl’s actions came from the Dutch and the Italians. The real test, however, was the Soviet reaction. Would Gorbachev play the anti-Hitler coalition card when he met Mitterrand in Kiev on 6 Decem- ber, 1989? The French President complained to him that ‘Kohl’s speech, his Ten Points, turned everything upside down. He confused all the factors. He is hurrying. I told Genscher that, and he didn’t very much contradict my conclusions.’ Gorbachev agreed and observed that Kohl’s theses amounted ‘to a diktat...’ adding that ‘even Hitler did not always speak in such a tone.’19 In recounting this memorable encounter Adomeit reports that French and Soviet views coincided on the relationship The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 139 between German reunification and the processes of both Western and pan-European integration. Mitterrand’s objective, though, was not all- European structures but deepening West European integration. Mitterrand and Kohl agreed on the need for strengthening the Euro- pean Community.20 A French priority was a European monetary union, built on increasing coordination and liberalization of capital flows, and restraining the dominance of the Deutschmark. Only thereafter could other institutional questions be tackled.21 Mitterrand detailed his proposal at the Strasbourg Summit and called for the opening of an intergovernmental conference in early 1990 for its preparation. Kohl also advocated steps towards strengthening the EC. In his view, essential building blocks besides the implementation of the Single Market and preparations for EMU, were constructing a European political union and enlarging the powers of the European Parliament (EP). Kohl thus accepted Mitterrand’s agenda, but added his own items, such as institutional reform and more rights to the EP. The exact timetable proved controversial. Knowing that giving up the Deutschmark in exchange for a common European currency was not popular in Germany, he suggested postponing preparations until after the German elections in December 1990.22 With his proposals Mitterrand established a linkage between reunification and his European programme. He did not question the right of the German people to reunite into one state when the occasion had come and the international conditions warranted. But he felt that the time was not yet ripe and instead reaffirmed the authority of the Four Powers.23 In various conversations and messages, Mitterrand served notice that there was a linkage between European monetary union and German reunification. If Kohl did not want to risk French support for his agenda on the German question, he had to adjust his priorities accordingly. Support for EMU and an early intergovernmental conference were not formal French preconditions, rather political expectations – at least they were perceived this way in Germany.24 After Kohl had affirmed his support for an intergovernmental conference with a broad agenda on deepening various aspects of European integration, thus emulating Mitterrand’s position, on the first day of the Strasbourg Summit, Kohl expected some kind of public endorsement of German unity in return. On this issue a bitter controversy evolved. The Italians, the Dutch, and also the French voiced objections. Most ardently – though not unexpectedly – Thatcher opposed any move that could be interpreted as support for German reunification. Instead, she asked for a binding guarantee on the inviolability of Poland’s western border, something that Kohl at this stage was not yet prepared to give. Thatcher also raised strong objections to the French proposal for an intergovernmental conference which she felt was premature.25 In various interviews she repeated her concerns and complained that the German chancellor and his foreign minister were oblivious to Europe’s long-term needs.26 140 H. Haftendorn It was difficult to find a common wording for the conclusions that covered up the differences. Thus the participants reaffirmed their obligation to implement the SEA, establish a monetary union and set up an intergovernmental conference for preparing the necessary changes in the EC treaties though the date for this conference was left open. The reference to German unity for which Kohl had fought very hard was attached to the report on developments in Central and Eastern Europe. The participants expressed their commitment to establish a situation of peace in Europe in which the German people could regain their unity by exercising their right of self-determination, provided it was done peacefully, democratically, in recognition of the existing agreements and treaties, and in consonance with the principles of the CSCE Final Act. German unification should further be implemented in the context of East–West cooperation and incorporated into the perspectives for European integration.27 In his memoirs Kohl writes that he never experienced an EC summit held in such an icy atmosphere. To him, his partners’ questioning had almost resembled that of a tribunal.28 The cause was an apparent paradox. In the past, Western leaders had reiterated their commitment to German reunification quite freely believing that this topic would forever remain theoretical; while they had privately adhered to the view that European security interests were best served by the division of Germany. How could this contradiction be overcome?

Joining strategies for German unification and European integration The solution lay in a combination of international, pan-European, and West European structures. According to a joint Soviet–American proposal, the international aspects of German unification were discussed and settled by Two Plus Four talks between the two German states and the Four Powers with special rights and responsibilities regarding Germany as a whole.29 These results were then considered and approved by a CSCE meeting that took place the day before unity was restored. The most intricate link, however, was the measured double act between steps leading to German unification and the Maastricht Treaty which ushered in a new phase of European integration. It was conducted in a pas de deux by the German Chancellor and the French President. In order to work in harmony, the looming mistrust between them had to be overcome. To do this, Kohl visited Mitterrand at Latché where he spent his vacation. The Chancellor informed him on the developments in the GDR and his plan for concluding an agreement between the two German states on a contractual community (Vertragsgemeinschaft) in order to prevent the GDR’s haemorrhaging and its economic collapse. He was still moved by the warm reception he had received in Dresden in Decem- ber where the crowd had no longer shouted the slogan which had marked The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 141 the early stages of the East German revolution, ‘We are the people’ (Wir sind das Volk) but ‘We are one people’ (Wir sind ein Volk) instead. Kohl, though, assured the French President that German unity was not around the corner; it would take years to be implemented.30 As on other occasions, he emphasized that a unified German state should be anchored in a process of European integration that would lead to an ever closer supranational union. In this endeavour Germany and France had to work as the engines. Mitterrand replied that any solution of the German question was up to the decision of the two German states; no other country had any right to interfere. But he asked Kohl to also consider Russian feelings. In addition, the restoration of German unity should be safeguarded by other measures, such as a guarantee on the German–Polish border. Further, German and European unification must be realized hand in hand.31 Neither Mitterrand nor Kohl wanted a neutral Germany or one with a special status. The Chancellor assured the President that German unity could not be restored by recreating the Bismarckian Reich; to have done so would have meant that Germany would fall between two stools.32 He asked Teltschik to prepare a paper on an all-European security system into which united Germany could be integrated. According to this paper, Germany should be a fully sovereign state, entitled to decide on its own security though in consideration of international law and the interests of its partners. As Europe’s Kernland it needed to keep in mind that a stable balance of power depended on overarching security structures which, besides Germany, also included the nuclear powers Britain and France as well as the United States with its superior military forces. Germany should also entertain cooperative relations with the Soviet Union. But it should neither be neutralized nor demilitarized, and remain a member of both NATO and the Western European Union (WEU). It should adhere to the CSCE process, contribute to arms control and disarmament (especially renouncing ABC-weapons), and support reform in Central and Eastern Europe.33 After the breakthrough on the German question had been achieved in Moscow on 10–11 February 1990, Kohl flew to Paris to inform Mitterrand about his talks with the Soviet President. Gorbachev had assured the chancellor that it was up to the Germans to decide on the future of their country.34 Mitterrand agreed that the Four Powers were not entitled to prevent reunification but he said they had a droit de regard. He also advanced a proposal, originally made by Genscher, that the results of the Two Plus Four talks should be approved by a CSCE conference. On the top of the French President’s priorities, however, was European integration, and he urged Kohl to agree to bring the intergovernmental conference forward to April which the Chancellor continued to decline. To Kohl’s proposal for a European political union, Mitterrand reacted with the idea of a European confederation, not without adding that this could only be a long-term project.35 Kohl informed Mitterrand again when he 142 H. Haftendorn returned from his visit with the American President at Camp David. Bush had emphasized that united Germany should remain a member of NATO though the question was still open whether NATO forces would be stationed on GDR territory.36 On the question of the Polish border Mitterrand was sincerely concerned that Kohl might impede democratic transformation in Eastern Europe if he were not more forthcoming towards Warsaw’s legitimate security concerns. He was not using the border issue to stall the process of German unification but urged the chancellor to clarify his position and work for a bilateral border treaty as unilateral declarations would not suffice. Kohl, recalling that the Bundestag had recently confirmed the finality of the current German–Polish border in a solemn declaration, expressed his concern that these manifestations of German good will counted so little. He argued that only a united Germany was entitled formally to recognize the German–Polish border. Kohl, though, was less concerned about international legitimacy than about potential domestic opposition from the still powerful organizations of expellees. But he agreed with Mitterrand’s suggestion that Poland should take part in the Two Plus Four negotiations when border questions were discussed.37 The President of the European Commission was a staunch supporter of linking German unity to a strengthening of European integration. Delors was committed to unification taking place in a European framework. In a speech in Strasbourg on 17 January 1990, he suggested GDR membership in the Common Market – an idea very favourably received in Bonn. By mid-February, though, he was concerned that the great attention the German issue received might slow down the process of deepening Euro- pean integration, irrespective of statements to the contrary. In a letter to the Irish Prime Minister and EC Council President, Charles Haughey, the German Chancellor in turn supported Delors’ idea of a special European summit to be held at Dublin at the end of April. He suggested that this meeting convey two messages: one on the determination of members to build a political union; and the other directed at the people of the GDR, expressing solidarity and offering special assistance for economic transformation.38 At the same time he asked whether it might be useful also to take a procedural initiative for institutional reform.39 After the conclusion of the German–German economic and monetary Union, the GDR – though still a third country – became a quasi member of the EC.40 A touchy subject was whether the EC should set aside special funds for assistance to East Germany which the German government had requested. Kohl, though, strongly repudiated Delors’ position that this necessitated an increase in the overall EC budget. The Chancellor was aware of the strong opposition from the other EC members to any increases in their financial contributions or to redistribution of structural assistance funds. Kohl therefore pledged that he would not request any additional funds for alleviating the burdens of unity.41 Germany instead The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 143 planned to have a national unity fond (Fond Deutsche Einheit) to provide for transfers from the old to the new länder. A precondition for a successful summit was getting Thatcher on board the European train. Fearing the implications of events on European integration, the French President used his talks with other political leaders to shield his European agenda from potential negative repercussions resulting from the German question. Given the strong British opposition to an Economic and Monetary Union, at this stage it seemed more difficult to prevail over British concerns on deepening European integration than on the German issue. At an informal meeting of the EC foreign ministers on 20 February agreement was reached that German unification should take place in a European and a CSCE framework. This understanding paved the way for a rather relaxed discussion on the German question at the German–British consultations on 30 March 1990. At issue was no longer whether Germany should be reunited, but how it should be done and how the security questions, above all German membership in NATO, should be dealt with without destabilizing Gorbachev.42 The Dublin special summit on 28 April 1990, gave a strong signal for moving forward with European integration. The EC presidency announced that the Single Market would be fully implemented by 31 December, 1992, that agreement had been reached on the creation of an EMU, and that the SEA would be amended by a treaty including also cooperation in foreign and security policy. It also welcomed the prospects for a reunification of Germany taking place under the European roof. In a joint letter to the EC President, Kohl and Mitterrand had requested steps toward building a political union, arguing that deep transformations in Europe made it necessary to accelerate the build-up of Europe in line with the stipulations of the SEA.43 Accordingly, the Council called for institutional reforms to boost the democratic legitimacy of the EC, increase the effectiveness of its institutions, ensure unity between the EC’s economic, monetary and political actions, and provide for a common foreign and security policy. The implementation of these goals was to be discussed at a second intergovernmental conference and all reforms were to take effect on 1 January 1993.44

Finalizing German unity and concluding the Maastricht Treaty While the Ottawa agreement on Two Plus Four talks had paved the road toward German unification, the Dublin Summit prepared the way for deepening European integration.45 A second Dublin summit, held on 25–26 June 1990, heard a progress report on the work done so far. It resolved to call a second intergovernmental conference – besides the one preparing EMU – and mandated it to provide for the transformation of the predominantly economic European Community into a Political Union with a common foreign and security policy (CFSP) of its own. This 144 H. Haftendorn conference began its work by mid-December 1990 and finished together with that on the EMU at the end of 1991.46 The Gulf War accelerated Europe’s determination to be able to speak with one voice. But to suggest expanding the authority of the Union to foreign and security affairs opened a Pandora’s box of controversial questions. How much of their sovereignty should the member states transfer to the union, in which way could the legitimacy of the European Parliament be enhanced, to what other issues – such as social policy – should the authority of the union pertain? Because of strong British objections against building supranational European structures, the next special Euro- pean summit at Rome in October 1990 had to confine itself to fairly general conclusions.47 It was now up to the presidency and the German–French tandem to find a way out of the predicament. In a joint letter to the Italian EC president, Kohl and Mitterrand detailed their views on ‘the foundations and the structures of a strong and cohesive Political Union that is close to the citizens of Europe and follows the path charted by its federative commitment.’48 The intergovernmental conferences met through 1991 and tackled a whole gamut of critical issues. Because the meeting on EMU had begun only after agreement on the most sensitive issues had been reached, the negotiations were cumbersome because of their many details, but the difficulties were not insurmountable. This was different from the conference on the Political Union which all leaders, Kohl excepted, had tended to put on the back burner. Most controversial were the powers of the Euro- pean Commission, majority voting in the Council and the new legislative processes. Predictably, special bones of contention were the substance of the CFSP and of a European security identity which caused British and Dutch concerns that these might undermine NATO cohesion. In April 1991 the Luxembourg Presidency submitted a first draft treaty in which the structure of the new union resembled a temple resting on the three pillars of EMU, CFSP, and cooperation in legal matters and other domestic affairs, each differing in its degree of supranationality. Although Delors criticized the three-pillar concept as ‘organized schizophrenia’49, it was accepted by the Council meeting in Luxembourg on 28–29 June as a basis for further discussions. The final version was approved by the Council at Maastricht on 9–10 December 1991.50 The Maastricht Treaty, setting up the European Union, was signed on 7 Febru- ary, 1992, and entered into force on 1 November 1993, after having been ratified by all 12 EC members. A giant step toward the deepening of Euro- pean integration had been taken.

Conclusion This account of events demonstrates that solving the German question and strengthening European integration were not contradictory goals but The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 145 could be achieved by complementary processes. Three factors made this possible. First, a historical window of opportunity had opened up in Europe when Mikhail Gorbachev came to power. For once a politician was at the helm in Moscow who valued transformation and modernization more than orthodoxy and confrontation. In order to solicit support for the reform of his country, he was even prepared to concede German unification and the country’s right to choose its alliance membership. The second fortunate fact was that the German government could base its policies on close cooperation with both the United States and France; Kohl and Genscher built on trusted personal relations with their American and French counterparts. The German–French pas de deux, though, was not foreordained and had to overcome mutual mistrust and concern. It also was not unalienable and was at times superseded by closer Franco-British and German–American collaboration. But it pressed onwards in the joint endeavour to safeguard German reunification by strengthening European integration. A third feature was that German leaders were always aware that Germany, because of its unhappy past, could never be above suspicion. German policy was thus marked by political restraint. Within certain limits, Kohl and Genscher were prepared to sacrifice their own national interests in order to discharge their historical task of bringing about the reunification of Germany.

Notes 1 Adomeit (1998, p. 412). 2 See Hans-Peter Schwarz, ‘Das außenpolitische Konzept Konrad Adenauers’. In Gotto (1975, pp. 97–155). 3 Brandt (1968, pp. 85–86). 4 Gorbachev at a joint press conference with Mitterrand, 5.7.1989. Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 345–356). 5 Telephone conversation between Kohl and Mitterrand, 11.11.1989, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 511–512); telephone conversation between Kohl and Gorbachev, 11.11.1989, ibid., pp. 515–517. On the calls to Thatcher and Bush see Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 104–106). 6 Conversation between Kohl and Delors, Bonn, 5.10.1989, in Küsters and Hoff- mann (1998, pp. 443–447). 7 Kohl (2005, p. 985f.). 8 See Knipping (2004, pp. 224–231). 9 54th Franco-German Consultations on 2–3.11.1989 in Bonn, Küsters and Hoff- mann (1998, pp. 470–476). 10 Ibid., p. 472, note 8. On the French position see Schabert (2002, pp. 290–298). 11 Bozo (2005); Weidenfeld (1999). 12 Kohl (2005, p. 984). 13 Thatcher (1993, pp. 790–796). 14 Kohl (2005, pp. 581, 956 988). In political affairs perceptions matter as much as do facts. While Kohl considered Mitterrand as trying to delay unification, the French president saw himself as a staunch – albeit reluctant – supporter. 15 Kohl to Bush, 28.11.1989, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 567–573); see also Kohl (2005, pp. 990–996). 146 H. Haftendorn 16 Teltschik (1991, pp. 42–67). 17 Genscher (1995, pp. 671–675). 18 Thatcher (1993, p. 797). 19 Adomeit (1998, p. 459f.). 20 Kohl basically did so in respect for French priorities. On various occasions he remarked that for him close German–French relations mattered more than Europe. He was concerned that some day Gorbachev might propose the neutralization of Germany, and because of their pacifist leanings the German people would not be able to withstand the offer. Then Germany would fall between two stools. Kohl (2005, p. 584f.). 21 Schabert (2002, pp. 355–369). 22 Kohl to Mitterrand, 9.12.1989, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 614–615). 23 Bozo (2005, p. 147); Weidenfeld (1999, pp. 135–138). 24 Mitterand to Kohl, 1.12.1989, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 599–600); Weidenfeld (1999, pp. 145–148). 25 Ibid., p. 146. 26 See Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 719–720). 27 Europa-Archiv, vol. 45 (1990), no. 1, pp. 5–18; Weidenfeld (1999, pp. 145–152). 28 Kohl (2005, p. 195). 29 See the accounts by various participants: Genscher (1995, pp. 724–875); Kiessler and Elbe (1993); Teltschik (1991); Zelikow and Rice (1995). See also Haftendorn (2006, pp. 275–310). 30 Though Kohl was aware of his partners’ concern that unification might come too fast, he felt that the window of opportunity might only be open for a limited period and thus tried to bring it about as soon as possible. See Kohl (2005, p. 1033) and Genscher (1995, p. 813). 31 Conversation between Kohl and Mitterrand at Latché, 4.1.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 683–690). 32 Telephone conversation between Kohl and Mitterrand, 2.2.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 757–758); Kohl (2005, p. 584f.). 33 Memo from Teltschik to Kohl, undated, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 771–776). 34 Kohl (2005, pp. 1048–1051); Teltschik (1991, pp. 137–143). 35 Conversation between Kohl and Mitterrand in Paris, 15.2.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 842–852); Bozo (2005, pp. 196–202). 36 Telephone conversation between Kohl and Mitterrand, 5.3.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 909–912). 37 Telephone conversation between Mitterrand and Kohl, 14.3.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 943–947). 38 Conversation between Hartmann and Ludewig with Delors, Paris, 16.2.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 852–853). 39 Kohl to Delors, 13.3.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 935–936). 40 ‘Die Europäische Gemeinschaft und die deutsche Vereinigung’, Bulletin of the European Communities, Supplement 4/90, pp. 9–210. 41 Kohl and Delors, 20.7 and 1.8.1990 and telephone conversation, 20.8.1990, all in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 1402, 1448–1449, 1479–1481). 42 20th German–British Consultations, London, 30.3.1990, in Küsters and Hoff- mann (1998, pp. 996–1001). 43 Message from Mitterrand and Kohl to Haughey, 18.4.1990, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 45 (1990), no. 11, p. 283. 44 Council Conclusions, 28.4.1990, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 45 (1990), no. 11, pp. 284–288; see also Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 1006–1007). 45 This process was again accompanied by close contacts between the German Chancellor and the French President; see conversation between Kohl and The FRG and the diplomacy of German unification 147 Mitterrand at Assmannshausen, 22.6.1990, in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 1247–1249). 46 Council Conclusions, 25–26.6.1990, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 45 (1990), no. 16, pp. 9–16. 47 Council Conclusions, 27–28.10.1990, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 46 (1991), no. 1, pp. 9–16. 48 Message from Kohl and Mitterrand to Andreotti, 6.12.1990, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 46 (1990), no. 1, pp. 25–27. 49 Knipping (2004, p. 254). 50 Council Conclusions, 28–29.6.1991, in Europa-Archiv, vol. 46 (1991), no. 15–16, pp. 394–408; Council Conclusions, 9–10.12.1991, ibid., vol. 47 (1992), no. 3, pp. 91–96. 11 France, German unification and European integration

Frédéric Bozo

Ever since the Schuman declaration of 9 May, 1950, the relationship between European integration and the German question has been a dialectical one for France. On the one hand, the former was a response to the latter: although there were other motivations as well – strengthening the Western bloc against the backdrop of the worsening Cold War was obviously a key dimension – the Schuman Plan, for Paris, essentially aimed at assuaging the German problem through European integration, a goal which remained central to French European policies thereafter. On the other hand, from the1950s onwards, French attitudes vis-à-vis the German question were increasingly influenced by the positive effects of Franco- German reconciliation and by the reassuring perspective of the ‘construction’ of Europe. At the same time, however, the interplay between European integration and the German question was at the core of the dilemmas which pervaded France’s policies in the following decades, thus explaining some of its ambivalences on both scores. First, European integration had to be sufficiently tight to provide a secure framework to control German might, but not to the point of jeopardizing France’s own autonomy (this was to a large extent what underpinned the EDC drama). Second, while France, ever since the early 1950s, had consistently expressed its support of Germany’s eventual reunification, keeping a balance between France and the FRG was essential for the pursuit of European integration and for the success of Franco-German reconciliation. Although General de Gaulle had famously characterized German unity as the ‘natural destiny of the German people’ as early as 1959, it could hardly be seen by the French as a matter of urgent priority during the Cold War. So which of these two logics would prevail? The end of the Cold War and German unification in 1989–1990 were the ultimate test. While the dominant narrative of French policy in the face of these events has emphasized the country’s dilemmas – France, in essence, was unsympa- thetic if not hostile to German unification and was hesitant to accept a deepening of European integration in that context – this chapter argues that, in fact, the original dialectics clearly determined France’s choices. France, German unification and European integration 149 Thus, in spite of some inevitable frictions, German unification was accepted as a matter of course after four decades of Franco-German reconciliation and of European integration, and the process resulted in a major relaunch of the latter under the concerted leadership of Paris and Bonn, thus leading in less than two years to the quantum leap of the Maas- tricht Treaty.1

The return of the German–European dialectics in the 1980s In contrast with the second half of the 1970s – when the East–West status quo seemed to freeze the German question, and the drive towards Euro- pean unity appeared to lose momentum – the dialectical relationship at the core of France’s German and European policies regained increasing relevance throughout the 1980s.2 By the early years of the decade, the FRG’s looming identity crisis, combined with the pacifist movement fuelled by the Euromissiles debate, seemed indeed to inaugurate a new era of uncertainty about the fate of Germany in the East–West confrontation. According to the French ambassador in Bonn, the ‘new Cold War’ was fostering the ‘re-emergence of the German question’, at least in the ‘consciousness’ of the Germans, thereby reawakening familiar fears of an eastward ‘drift’ among the FRG’s partners and allies.3 While the FRG’s Western orientation in fact clearly prevailed after the decision to deploy US intermediate range missiles in December 1983, the coming to power of Mikhail Gorbachev in 1985 soon confirmed this trend: the abandon- ment of Soviet confrontational policies and the coming of a ‘new détente’ in the next few years seemed to call the status quo into question, at least in the long term, thus prolonging the perception of German ‘uncertainties’ well into the second half of the 1980s. In short – although it should be kept in mind that the unification of Germany remained a most unlikely prospect until the events of 1989 – the last decade of the Cold War, in a context characterized by the transformation of the East–West conflict, was marked by the progressive reopening of the German question, a trend which could not remain without effect on French policy. France’s reaction, in fact, was in accordance with the historic pattern: the response was the strengthening of bilateral ties and of the European integration process in order firmly to anchor the FRG to Western and especially European institutions, and to France itself. President Mitter- rand’s January 1983 speech in the Bundestag was, in retrospect, decisive: held on the twentieth anniversary of the Elysée Treaty signed by de Gaulle and Adenauer, the speech essentially aimed at supporting Chancellor Kohl’s pro-Western stance and – with national elections only weeks away – his country’s Euro-Atlantic orientation by spectacularly reaffirming Franco-German strategic solidarity. It thus marked the beginning of a close personal relationship and the starting point of an intensified bilateral cooperation which, by the time of Mitterrand’s re-election in May 150 F. Bozo 1988, had become ‘organic’.4 The new impetus given to European integration was, of course, inseparable from the stepping up of the bilateral relationship; the acceleration of European integration in the second half of the decade was, indeed, to a large extent, the French – and in fact the Franco-German – response to the return of the German question against the backdrop of the intensification of détente. ‘There is nothing other than the construction of Europe’, Mitterrand explained in February 1987, ‘otherwise Germany will play off the East against the West’. The more détente intensifies, his foreign minister told a prominent West German politician in June 1988, the stronger the EC has to become.5 In addition to its growing East–West role, the FRG’s rapidly increasing economic might was, of course, another incentive to intensify European integration; by the beginning of Mitterrand’s second term, the latter had thus become the foremost objective of French policy and, by 1989, the key project in that regard was economic and monetary union (EMU) which the 12 – at the request of West German Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher – had adopted as an objective the previous year. By the time of the revolutionary events of that autumn, EMU was thus seen by the French as a decisive lever in order to embed the FRG’s growing economic and political clout in an integrated European framework as well as a major step in the direction of a European Union. The dialectics, of course, worked both ways. Throughout the 1980s, the evolution of the German question was indeed increasingly perceived by the French through the prism of European integration and Franco- German rapprochement, as shown by discussions at the highest level. Mit- terrand’s conversation with Kohl in Bad-Kreuznach in October 1984 was a clear illustration of this pattern: while the former was keen to emphasize that ‘reunification’ was a possibility (‘all that is not impossible is possible’, he argued), the latter responded that this issue would become but ‘a relative problem’ thanks to Franco-German cooperation.6 The intensification of Franco-German rapprochement and the strengthening of the EC were hence reassuring factors against the backdrop of the progressive reopening of the German question – German unification, of course, was not a concrete, let alone a current issue until the fall of the Berlin Wall – thus assuaging France’s traditional ‘incertitudes allemandes’, especially in the second half of the decade. As a Quai d’Orsay memo underlined in 1986, ‘there remain, on both sides, tacit worries which are more present within intellectual and political milieus than in the wider public’, but ‘opinion polls in France and in the FRG show the reality of reconciliation between the two nations’.7 Thus, by the time of the events of 1989, the bottom line of France’s policy was clear: ‘to manage the German problem’, wrote the director of political affairs at the Quai, essentially ‘means to firmly anchor the Federal Republic to the [European] Community’ thanks in particular to the ‘privileged instrument’ of Franco-German relations, while leaving the door open to the progressive overcoming of the country’s division France, German unification and European integration 151 through rapprochement between the two Germanys.8 (Meanwhile, the German problem had characteristically become less and less salient in Franco-Soviet relations throughout the decade: as the Quai d’Orsay was prone to emphasize, the traditional pattern of trying to prevent Germany’s resurgence thanks to an entente – if not an all out alliance de revers – with the Soviets had become obsolete as a result of European integration and of rapprochement with the FRG; in fact, by the end of the 1980s, the German question was virtually absent from Franco-Soviet conversations.)9 Of course, this does not mean that by the time that the Wall fell, the French had entirely overcome their misgivings with regard to the German ‘problem’. Rather, the latter was ever more narrowly equated with the somewhat volatile issue of Germany’s continued participation in the Euro- pean integration process: might an increasingly powerful Germany not grow more reluctant to commit itself to building Europe? As a senior French political figure confided to a German colleague in early 1989, ‘the questions raised in France about German evolutions’ have changed: they no longer focus on the risk of an Eastward drift, but on ‘Germany’s intentions with regard to European integration’.10 To be sure, in a context of rapidly changing East–West relations, both concerns – Germany’s potential Eastward drift and its possible turning away from the EC – were not easily dissociable. As the top Quai d’Orsay bureaucrat recognized in a discussion with German colleagues, ‘those not familiar with German foreign policy’ could question the ‘firmness’ of the FRG’s commitments towards the EC and Franco-German relations as a result of the importance given by Bonn to relations with the East – a thinly veiled criticism of Bonn’s increasingly active Ostpolitik at a time when Paris and Bonn were trying unsuccessfully to coordinate their Eastern policies.11 By 1989 however, the German question, as seen from Paris, had less to do with Germany’s hypothetical Eastward drift, let alone with an even more unlikely unification – after all, most Germans no longer seemed to believe in its likelihood – than with the much more concrete and pressing issue of the FRG’s continued engagement in the European integration process and in the bilateral relationship – an issue which gained relevance against the backdrop of the growing weariness of West German public opinion vis-à-vis the EC and of Bonn’s increasing national assertiveness in both economic and political terms.12 And while other kinds of issues complicated the Franco- German equation during the first semester of 1989 (including arms control) it was the German attitude towards EMU which, unsurprisingly, was followed with the most attention in Paris. In particular, Kohl’s failure – mainly under domestic pressure – firmly to commit his government to a clear calendar for the summoning of an intergovernmental conference (IGC) on EMU by the end of 1990, as Mitterrand now wished, was seen with some concern in the run up to the EC Madrid Summit of 26–27 June. As France prepared to assume the EC presidency in the second half of 152 F. Bozo 1989, this issue had already become the litmus test of Franco-German relations and of the integration process.13

From Berlin to Strasbourg During the summer of 1989, the German question was brought back centre stage as a result of the East German refugee crisis; by the autumn, the crumbling of the Berlin Wall had reopened it for good, thus leading in the matter of a few months to German unification. Again, it should be underlined that, contrary to the widespread view, Mitterrand’s France did not attempt to slow down, let alone impede, the process, whether by solic- iting Gorbachev’s help or by supporting the fledging GDR. Although – as elsewhere – a more gradual transition towards German unification would have been preferred, at no point during that period did Paris even con- template such a scenario.14 (French public opinion, it should be noted, was overwhelmingly favourable to German unification throughout the period, a fact too often overlooked which, of course, mirrors the long term effects of the German–European dialectics and helps understand what France’s actual policy was.)15 Mitterrand, in fact, had been among the first to recognize the ‘legitimacy’ of German unity in the summer, provided it took place ‘peacefully and democratically’ – a line to which he kept throughout the process by distinguishing between unification per se, which was the business of the Germans, and its international ramifications, which had to be dealt with internationally.16 Unsurprisingly, however, the events of the autumn of 1989 almost instantly brought to the fore the issue of the interplay between the German question and European integration, which from then on served as the touchstone of France’s attitude. ‘[The EC] may contribute and, in fact, offer a response to what would become of the German problem in case of reunification’, the French President declared publicly early October; ‘in the name of what should one accuse the German people of aspiring to grow together again?’, he asked two weeks later while rejecting fears of the FRG turning away from the integration process as a consequence of its rapprochement with the GDR.17 By early November 1989, with events in the East accelerating, there seemed to be no disagreement between Paris and Bonn on this line: ‘only “within Europe” is progress in the German question possible’, said Kohl during a summit meeting with Mitterrand in Bonn; ‘the pursuit of European construction will bring us closer to the day when the division of Europe is overcome and Germany reunified’, responded the president (the next day, Mitterrand famously stated in a joint press conference held together with the chancellor that he was ‘not afraid’ of German unification).18 Yet events in Berlin in the evening of 9 November inevitably challenged this apparent harmony. ‘Everything will remain under control if progress towards ending Germany’s division does not proceed faster than that in France, German unification and European integration 153 the construction of Europe’, Mitterrand’s strategic adviser Hubert Védrine had written some three weeks earlier.19 The President evidently shared this view; his key reaction to acceleration in the East was indeed to increase the pressure on the FRG to secure a firm date for the opening of the IGC at the Strasbourg European Council in December, and the opening of the Berlin Wall unsurprisingly confirmed his determination. Although unification still appeared as a rather distant outcome, the prospect of a powerful, unified Germany – which could well choose to go its own way – necessitated the stepping up of European integration in order to keep German economic might firmly embedded in the EC. Con- versely, Mitterrand – ever the tactician – felt that ongoing developments constituted an opportunity to obtain the FRG’s definitive assent to the launching of EMU: in its drive toward unification, ‘Germany’, he told Dutch Premier Ruud Lubbers ten days after the fall of the Wall, ‘will need to be considered European’ – and therefore to yield to French pressure.20 By the end of November, Mitterrand’s scenario, however, seemed to be in jeopardy, thus creating a brief period of tension in relations between Paris and Bonn. On 28 November, Kohl famously announced his ten- point plan, which represented a major step toward German unification – now his explicit objective – thus provoking surprise and sometimes dismay abroad. While Paris – like the other capitals, including Washington – resented the lack of prior information and of reference to the international environment and especially to the EC in the speech, the Elysée quickly passed the message to Bonn that the French ‘could live’ with the plan.21 Yet Kohl’s speech did little to assuage concerns raised by his letter to Mitterrand of the previous day, in which the Chancellor, in essence, called for the postponement for a year of the decision to summon an IGC: this decision, he argued, should be made by the European Council in December 1990 on the basis of a fresh evaluation of the reality of economic convergence between member states.22 Whereas Mitterrand’s stated objective was to have the 12 take a firm decision on the summoning of the IGC in Strasbourg two weeks later, Kohl’s turnaround – Bonn had given signs of acquiescence in the previous few weeks – caused consternation at the Elysée. To be sure, the French understood that domestic politics played an important role in German procrastination on EMU: with general elections in the autumn of 1990, Kohl was increasingly hesitant to commit himself to a policy which, in essence, signed the death sentence of the Deutschmark. Yet in the light of his ten-point speech the next day, the letter inevitably raised – this time in concrete terms – the issue of the compatibility between the acceleration of the German unification process and the pursuit of European integration, of which EMU was to be the spear- head. Was German unification acting as a ‘brake’ on European integration, a somewhat worried French president asked Genscher on 30 November?23 By early December 1990, the looming uncertainty with regard to Germany’s continued European commitment was thus, 154 F. Bozo unsurprisingly, fostering growing concerns with regard to German unification per se: the latter, Mitterrand warned, simply could not ignore the ‘tempo’ of Europe’s transformation.24 Kohl’s letter provoked a short trial of strength between Paris and Bonn. Mitterrand held fast: in his reply to Kohl on 1 December, he insisted that the 12, at Strasbourg, would have to take unambiguous decisions with regard to EMU.25 The Chancellor, Mitterrand’s adviser Elisabeth Guigou underlined, had to be made to understand that postponing the IGC would raise questions ‘not only on EMU, but about Germany itself’.26 And on 5 December, Mitterrand wrote to his EC counterparts that he was determined to give centre stage at Strasbourg to the ‘fundamental issue’ of EMU: setting a date for the IGC, he insisted, ‘is already perceived as the clearest possible proof of our willingness to have the Community take a new step’.27 But Kohl seemed unwilling to yield: while acknowledging the need for Strasbourg to give a ‘clear political signal’ on the continuation of European integration, he remained elusive with regard to the specific issue of the IGC – an attitude which he justified with a reference to ‘domestic politics’.28 The uncertainty proved of short duration, however. Shortly before the EC summit, the Chancellery informed the Elysée that Kohl was ready to rally Mitterrand’s position and to allow the 12 to take a firm decision on the IGC. As a result, the gathering in Strasbourg opened on 8 December in exactly the fashion wished by the French presidency, with Kohl effectively agreeing to a clear calendar for the launching of the EMU, in order, he said, to ‘demonstrate our willingness to move forward’.29 To be sure, the rest of the summit was not devoid of tensions between Kohl and some of his counterparts – Margaret Thatcher, but also Lubbers and Giulio Andreotti – which mostly revolved around the volatile issue of Germany’s recognition of the Oder-Neisse border; yet the Chancellor’s definitive acceptance of EMU undoubtedly made possible the other important achievement of the summit, i.e. the endorsement by the 12 of a political declaration recognizing the right of the German people ‘to recover its unity through self-determination’ within ‘the perspective of European integration’.30 In spite of initial fears, the Strasbourg Summit thus ended up as a success for the French: EMU – their main European priority – was now on track, and the risk of German unification colliding with the pursuit of European integration was diminishing. In fact, the message from Stras- bourg was, in many ways, that the latter made the former acceptable. As Mitterrand commented a few days later, ‘The Germans have understood that they cannot at the same time show excessive hurry – at least in the eyes of some – towards the East and slow things down towards the West’.31 Yet Strasbourg was not the outcome of a quid pro quo whereby the Germans accepted to reaffirm their European commitment through their acceptance of EMU in exchange for their partners’ acceptance of their France, German unification and European integration 155 unification – there was, at any rate, no such explicit bargaining between the Germans and the French.32 After years of repeating on both sides that European integration was the response to the German question, the deal, if any, was implicit: ‘there is a future for Germany’, Kohl had told George Bush a few days before Strasbourg, ‘only under a European roof’.33

From Dublin to Maastricht Strasbourg, however, was not the endpoint. Although German unification was clearly on its way, its modalities and pace were still uncertain as 1989 drew to a close. As for European integration, while the firm decision to launch EMU came as a relief to pro-Europeans, the long term effect of the autumn’s events remained unclear. Thus while the Strasbourg Council’s outcome in many ways vindicated four decades of German–European dialectics, the summit fell short of triggering a new dynamic, let alone guaranteeing a full-scale relance of the integration process. The first few weeks of 1990 were a defining moment. While many had believed that the transition in the GDR could be kept under control, it had become obvious by early January that the East German regime was doomed; the ensuing acceleration of the unification process – which came as a surprise in Paris as elsewhere – was not without its effects on the Franco-German couple. Ever since the Chancellor’s ten-point plan, the relationship between Paris and Bonn had been put to the test, with Mitter- rand’s concerns regarding the firmness of Kohl’s European commitment being echoed by the latter’s questioning of the degree to which the former supported unification.34 True, their informal meeting at Mitter- rand’s home in Southern France on 4 January had helped dispel what were essentially mutual misperceptions: while the President had emphasized that unification was for him ‘a reality’, the Chancellor had reiterated that ‘German problems can only be solved under a European roof’.35 Yet with Gorbachev essentially giving a green light to German unity late January (within two weeks the two Germanys and the four powers had reached an agreement at Ottawa on the ‘two plus four’ process for the diplomatic supervision of German unification), reciting the old mantra no longer sufficed. By early February, the acceleration of events was having a catalyzing effect on European thinking in Paris and Bonn. Following up on Jacques Delors’ recent call for a European federation, Guigou recognized the urgent need for a political relaunch of the integration process in a memorandum for Mitterrand dated 6 February. She argued that the EC should ‘quickly devise an institutional setup in order to ensure that Germany will determine its orientations in the framework of the Community’, thus laying out a strong case for a major initiative which would transform the EC into a fully fledged ‘European Union’.36 In Bonn, Kohl’s entourage was thinking along similar lines; thus Joachim Bitterlich, Guigou’s 156 F. Bozo counterpart in the chancellery, warned a week later that events were likely to accelerate after the elections in the GDR on 18 March. As a result, there was a need to ‘embed Germany into the European process’ and therefore to urgently ‘devise a common Franco-German initiative’ in order to achieve political union – a longstanding German goal – in addition to EMU.37 Kohl said that he was ready for ‘much more intense’ bilateral relations and for ‘the political union of Europe’, Guigou emphasized after her meeting with Bitterlich – so she asked Mitterrand, ‘why not take him at his word?’38 Although the idea of a Franco-German relance of European integration was thus ripe by mid-February, it would take another six weeks for it to happen. To be sure, Mitterrand and Kohl had essentially restored their close relationship by then, and – as their discussion at the Elysée on 15 February had shown – they broadly agreed on the fundamentals: while the former repeated that German unification was not a problem for him, the latter declared his determination to preserve the ‘treasure’ of Franco- German friendship and European integration.39 Mitterrand, moreover, was quite aware that, irrespective of the acceleration of events, French public opinion continued to be largely in favour of German unification and of the pursuit of European unity.40 The French President, however, was not yet quite ready for a fully fledged EC initiative with the German Chancellor, for two sets of reasons. First, Mitterrand was still not completely comfortable with the international ramifications of the unification process, which he believed Kohl tended to overlook in his rush to unity; in particular, the issue of Germany’s recognition of the Oder-Neisse line – which Mitterrand considered to be a prerequisite to German unification in spite of Kohl’s hesitation – was weighing on the bilateral relationship, as their ‘stormy’ telephone conversation on 14 March illustrated.41 Second, the French and the Germans were not quite in unison with regard to EC priorities. Mitterrand thus continued to consider the implementation of the Strasbourg decision on EMU to be the absolute priority, but Kohl resisted his request to set an earlier date for the beginning of the IGC than that of December 1990, as decided at Strasbourg. By contrast, Kohl had resumed with increased determination the effort initiated prior to Strasbourg to put institutional reforms on top of the EC agenda. As his most senior adviser Horst Teltschik explained to his French counterpart, Jacques Attali, on 15 March, this was intended ‘to defuse worries with regard to German unification’ and to make EMU ‘more acceptable’ in the Federal Republic. Mitterrand, however, was wary of a move which, in the current circumstances – the unification process having clearly strengthened Kohl’s hand in the European debate – could well lead to a push towards an overly ‘federalist’ model of political integration as favoured by the Germans, rather than the more ‘intergovernmental’ model preferred by the French.42 As had been the case before Strasbourg, the acceleration of German unification was thus impinging on Franco-German relations France, German unification and European integration 157 and on the European debate – only Bonn was now pushing while Paris hesitated. Once again, however, the speeding up of events served as a catalyst. The brief tension between Bonn and Paris over the issue of the Polish border issue, which had reached its apogee in early March, encouraged both sides to devise a joint European move: ‘the Germans will want to prove good European partners’ as a result of the stir created by the Oder- Neisse debate, Mitterrand confided to Portuguese Prime Minister Anibal Cavalco Silva.43 Meanwhile, elections in the GDR on 18 March had confirmed the East Germans’ desire for rapid unification, thus fulfilling Mit- terrand’s early requirement that German unity should be achieved ‘democratically’. With the ‘two plus four’ negotiations now underway (the first meeting of the political directors was held on 14 March), it was clear that the process would indeed be quick, thus leading the French to respond positively to Kohl’s offer of a new European initiative. Germany ‘is firmly anchored’ to the EC, Mitterrand claimed on French TV in late March, adding that he would shortly ‘demonstrate this together with chancellor Kohl’.44 To be sure, as ever with Franco-German initiatives, the joint move required some fine tuning in order to blur if not to resolve the remaining divergences, on the nature and scope of political union in particular. On 19 April, Kohl and Mitterrand co-signed a letter to the President of the European Council, Irish Prime Minister Charles Haughey, in which the two suggested that the Dublin Council on 28 April should decide to launch the preparatory work for an IGC on political union to be held in parallel with that on economic and monetary union, with a view to having both EMU and the political union operational by 1 January, 1993. The French and the Germans thus launched the process which, in less than two years, led to the signing of the Maastricht Treaty and the establishment of the EU – along lines which, it turned out, reflected to a large extent the French ‘model’ of an intergovernmental political union, with a common foreign and security policy at its core.45 As Kohl’s former aid Bitterlich later remarked, ‘it had taken three, or at the most, four months’ for the Franco-German tandem to adapt to the new situation and ‘to face its joint responsibility with regard to European unification’.46 Again, there was no Franco-German quid pro quo between German unification and European integration: the former, rather, cat- alyzed the latter and, conversely, the latter eased the former – in accordance with the historic pattern. The hitherto dominant narrative of the events of 1989–1990 – according to which, in the words of Philip Zelikow and Condoleezza Rice, the European relance was but a ‘hasty’ reaction to ‘French dismay and frustration’ over German unification – misses this pattern and seriously over- looks the Franco-German contribution to the management of these same events.47 Quite on the contrary, France’s attitude toward German unity – beyond episodic frictions caused by the international ramifications of 158 F. Bozo unification rather than German unity per se – was fundamentally dictated by the long term effects of bilateral reconciliation and of European integration on perceptions of Germany among both decision makers and the wider public. From Strasbourg to Dublin and then to Maastricht, the Franco-German and European decisions of 1989–1991 were, first and foremost, the logical outcome of that very same historic process. To be sure, there were other key actors and other decisive factors behind the successful diplomacy of the end of the Cold War and German unification – first and foremost the United States and the dynamics of the Western alliance – and the present reappraisal is not in any way intended to minimize their contribution. Yet the Franco-German and European parts of the story have so far been unduly neglected: with hindsight, they too represent a major contribution to the peaceful management of the end of the Cold War and German unification as well as a defining moment in the architectural construction of a Europe whole and free.48

Notes 1 For a reappraisal of French policy based on archival research, see Bozo (2005) and Bozo (2007). 2 On the German–European dialectics in the 1970s, see Weinachter (2004). 3 Froment-Meurice (1998, p. 659). 4 Védrine (1996, p. 416). 5 Private collection, Conseil des ministres du 11 février 1987; Ministère des affaires étrangères (MAE), Archives diplomatiques (AD), Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6782, cabinet du ministre, compte-rendu, Entretien du Ministre d’Etat avec le comte Lambsdorff (22 juin 1988), 24.6.1988. 6 Private collection, Compte-rendu d’entretien entre le président de la République et le chancelier Kohl, Bad-Kreuznach, 30.10.1984. 7 MAE, AD, Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6776, sous-direction d’Europe orien- tale, note pour le ministre, ‘Situation des relations franco-allemandes’, 26.3.1986; see more generally Bozo (2005, pp. 33–35, 49–53 and 86–94). 8 MAE, AD, Directeur politique (DP), box 305, Dufourcq note, ‘De l’Europe d’aujourd’hui à celle de demain’, 20.2.1989. 9 See, e.g., MAE, AD, Europe 1981–1985, URSS, box 5694, Centre d’analyse et de prévision (CAP), note, ‘Caractères du dialogue franco-soviétique au sommet (1966–1980)’, 16.5.1984; and MAE, AD, Europe 1986–1990, URSS, box 6685, note de J. Blot, ‘Visite de M. Gorbatchev en France’, 30.6.1989. 10 AD, Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6800, Assemblée nationale, Présidence, Compte-rendu de l’entretien avec M. Otto Lambsdorff, 31.1.1989. The French politician was Laurent Fabius, President of the Assembly. 11 AD, Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6772, Telegram Bonn 144, Secret, 19.1.989. 12 Archives nationales (AN), 5AG4/CDM33, CAP note, ‘La relation franco- allemande’, 30.4.1989; concerns about German public opinion and the EC had loomed for some time: see e. g. AD, Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6769, CAP note, ‘La RFA et la Communauté européenne’, 11.5.1987. 13 Private collection, Guigou note pour le président de la République, ‘Quelques réflexions à la suite du discours du chancelier Kohl devant le Bundestag’, 28.4.1989. (While less dramatically than between Bonn and Washington or London, the issue of negotiations with Moscow on shorter range nuclear France, German unification and European integration 159 weapons (SNF) did create a brief misunderstanding between Bonn and Paris in the spring of 1989.) 14 See Bozo (2005, pp. 156–167); see also Schabert (2002). For an analysis of the sources of the ‘black legend’ of French opposition to German unification, see Bozo (2007). 15 According to a poll in late November 1989, 71 per cent of the French believed that German unification was desirable (against 15 per cent of the opposite opinion), a figure which did not change substantially in the following months and which was comparable to US figures; see Brand-Crémieux (2004, pp. 33ff.). 16 See Mitterrand’s interview with five European newspapers, 27.7.1989, in Poli- tique étrangère de la France. Textes et documents, (PEF), July–August 1989, pp. 72–82. 17 Press conference held in Caracas, 10.10.1989, PEF, Sept.–Oct. 1989, p. 120; speech to the European Parliament, 25.10.1989, ibid., pp. 175–183. 18 The minutes of the 2 November meeting between Mitterrand and Kohl are in Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, p. 473). 19 Private collection, Hubert Védrine, ‘Réflexions sur la question allemande’, 18.10.1989. 20 Private collection, handwritten notes by Védrine on meeting between Mitter- rand and Lubbers, The Hague, 20.11.1989. 21 Teltschik (1991, p. 60). 22 See Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 565–567). 23 See AD, Europe 1986–1990, RFA, box 6800, Telegram Diplomatie 25193–94, 4.12.1989; and Genscher (1995, p. 676ff.). 24 Private collection, meeting with President Roh Tae Woo, Paris, 30.11.1989. 25 AN, 5AG4/6926; Mitterrand to Kohl, 1.12.1989. 26 AN, 5AG4/7010, Guigou, note pour le président de la République, Votre entretien avec le chancelier Kohl, lundi 4 décembre à Bruxelles [the meeting did not actually take place], 3.12.1989. 27 AN, 5AG4/6926, Mitterrand to Kohl [and to the other EC leaders], 5.12.1989. 28 AN, 5AG4/6926, Kohl to Mitterrand, 5.12.1989; see also Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 614–615). 29 Private collection, ‘Déjeuner du 8 décembre 1989, Strasbourg’, handwritten notes by Guigou. 30 On all this, see Bozo (2005, pp. 153ff). 31 Private collection, Council of Ministers, 13.12.1989. 32 On this, see Schabert (2002, pp. 424–425). 33 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, p. 607). 34 See Bozo (2005, pp. 194–202). 35 Private collection, Kohl-Mitterrand meeting in Latché, 4.1.1990; see also Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 682–690). 36 AN, 5AG4/AH35, note de Guigou pour le président de la République, ‘L’union politique de l’Europe’, 6.2.1990; ‘if the EC accompanies [the unification process]’, Guigou added the next day, ‘we will not prevent Germany from becoming predominant – it already is – but at least we will prevent it from determining itself in a totally autonomous manner’: AN, 5AG4/AH35, note de Guigou pour le président de la République, ‘L’unification allemande et la communauté’, 7.2.1990. 37 AN, 5AG4/7010, note de Guigou pour le président de la République, ‘Compte- rendu de mon déjeuner avec Joachim Bitterlish (sic), conseiller du chancelier Kohl’, 13.2.1990. 38 AN, 5AG4/AH35, note de Guigou pour le président de la République, ‘Votre dîner avec le chancelier Kohl, jeudi 15 février 1990’, 13.2.1990. 160 F. Bozo 39 Private collection, Mitterrand–Kohl dinner, handwritten notes by Guigou, 15.2.1990; see also Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 842–852). The Elysée, it should be noted, was already expressing its preference for a ‘fast track’ unification process under art. 23 of the Grundgesetz – i.e. in essence the absorption of the GDR by the FRG – which had the advantage of preserving Germany’s international and especially European commitments; see Bozo (2005, pp. 198, 201, 218–219). 40 AN, 5AG4/7010, note de Théobald pour Bianco, ‘Sondages relatifs à la réunifi- cation allemande et à l’Europe de l’Est et de l’Ouest’, 6.2.1990. 41 See Bozo (2005, p. 228ff.) 42 AN, 5AG4/CDM33, note de Guigou pour le président de la République, ‘Entretien avec les collaborateurs du chancelier Kohl, MM. Horst Teltschik et Joachim Bitterlich’, 15.3.1990. On these Franco-German debates, see Stark (2004) and his chapter in this volume. 43 Private collection, meeting between Mitterrand and Anibal Cavaco Silva, 23.3.1990. 44 Quoted in Le Monde, 27.3.1990. 45 On the negotiation that led to Maastricht, see Bozo (2005, pp. 303–325). 46 Joachim Bitterlich, ‘In Memoriam Werner Rouget. Frankreichs (und Europas) Weg nach Maastricht im Jahr der deutschen Einheit’, in Rouget (1998). 47 See Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 365). 48 See Helga Haftendorn, Chapter 10, in this volume. 12 A naturally supportive environment? The European institutions and German unification

N. Piers Ludlow

At first sight the international discussions and negotiations which surrounded the reunification of Germany and the end of the Cold War in Europe could be seen as a partial return to traditional great power diplomacy. Faced with great questions about Europe’s overall balance and shape, and Germany’s place within this new Europe, the smaller Euro- pean powers were all but banished to the margins as the traditionally dominant players reasserted their influence. The 2+4 mechanism in particular looks superficially like a return to the diplomacy of the immediate post-war era, albeit with a more active role for the Germans themselves than was either possible or likely in the late 1940s. The rhetoric of Margaret Thatcher and some of her fellow leaders meanwhile, with their constant references to the German problem and the dangers that an unbound Germany might pose to the whole international status quo, also have an element of timewarp about them. Some of the Iron Lady’s sentiments recalled the views of that generation of British leaders – Clement Attlee, Anthony Eden or Harold Macmillan – whose perceptions of Germany had been shaped by both World Wars and by decades of deep Anglo-German antagonism. After all the hyperbole of the mid-1980s when European integration appeared to have rediscovered its dynamism, the events of 1989–90 might thus be used as evidence that the deeper realities of European diplomacy had not altered nearly as fundamentally as some of the enthusiasts for integration believed. On closer inspection, however, it becomes apparent that traditional great power diplomacy had not succeeded entirely in displacing European multilateralism. For alongside the resurgence of power politics à l’ancienne, there was also a significant element of newer, multilateral European dialogue and cooperation. There is thus ample scope for a study of the European institutions and the question of German reunification. This chapter will set itself three basic tasks. First of all it will seek to establish how the institutions of the European Community reacted to the events in Berlin and East Germany and then move on to suggest a number 162 N.P. Ludlow of factors which might explain why the collective EC reaction was rather less cautious – not to say churlish – than that of several of the individual member states. Second, it will trace the way in which this relatively positive reaction was translated into Community action on the issue. Or to put it another way, what did the European institutions contribute to the unfolding of Germany unity during the 11-month period between the fall of the Berlin Wall and the full incorporation of the neue Bundesländer into the Federal Republic? And third, the chapter will seek to establish what effect the whole process of German reunification had on the subsequent trajec- tory of European integration. Did Brussels reap the rewards of its early and positive reaction to events in Berlin? Or would the clear-sightedness shown by Jacques Delors and his colleagues in the immediate aftermath of 9 November, 1989 prove to be a short-term triumph only? Throughout, the focus will primarily be on the two European institutions that mattered most in this affair, namely the European Commission and the European Council.

‘A friend of the German people’ – Delors and 9 November Jacques Delors, the President of the European Commission, could justifi- ably lay claim to having been one of the first active European politicians to react in an entirely positive manner to the fall of the Berlin Wall. Even before the moment when the Wall came down, he had made a speech in Bonn, in which he had departed from the prepared text and confronted the question of German reunification head-on adding: ‘The European Community offers the most realistic framework for this prospect, provided it strengthens its development and reinforces its magnetism. Thus our Community, your Community, has a rendezvous with all Germans. In order to meet you, has it not already travelled an irreversible distance?’1 He was thus well prepared to talk to the German press on 12 November. Asked how he envisaged the role of the Community in the new situation created by the fall of the Wall, he responded:

First of all I would like to say that I share with our German friends their emotion, their joy and their hopes. The European Community is the centre of gravity of European history. It is towards the Community that the inhabitants of the German Democratic Republic, of Poland and Hungary are looking. We must not disappoint them, we most offer them our assistance and our cooperation.2

Similar sentiments were repeated to journalists of many other nationalities in the days that followed. Furthermore, Delors also appeared immune from the doubts that afflicted many of his fellow leaders once it became clear, at the very end of 1989 and the first weeks of 1990, that the timetable for actual reunification was likely to be much shorter than The European institutions and German unification 163 originally foreseen. On 9 January an interview he gave on the topic to the Irish Times attracted a favourable response within the German Chan- cellery.3 And a week later his speech to the European Parliament setting out the Commission’s priorities for the year ahead made clear his willingness to see and to assist a rapid move towards German unity. East Germany, he reminded MEPs, had always had a special status within the EC – the Treaty of Rome contained several protocols dealing with Berlin and the Soviet zones of Germany – and while it was up to the Germans themselves to choose the form and the manner of reunification the Community should not hesitate to welcome the additional population:

she [East Germany] has its place within the Community if she asks for it, as long as this process is accomplished, as the European Council in Strasbourg insisted, through free self-determination, paciﬁcally, democratically, respecting the principles of the Helsinki Final Act, in the context of East–West dialogue, and within a broader perspective of European integration.4

Brussels would not stand in the way of whatever was decided in Bonn. The contrast with the ill-concealed distaste of Thatcher towards rapid reunification, or even with the hesitation which President Mitterrand was to show in publicly affirming his support, was very striking indeed.5 Part of the explanation for the rapidity of Delors’ acceptance of the idea of reunification can doubtless be found in the personal rapport between the Commission President and the German Chancellor. The two men had already developed an effective working relationship over a number of the key European debates of the late 1980s and Delors was particularly conscious of the debt that he owed Helmut Kohl following the successful conclusion of the so-called Delors I budgetary package of 1987. Without the Chancellor’s political backing – and willingness to shoulder a significant portion of the increased costs – this vital component of the Community’s revival in the latter half of the decade would not have been possible. Support for reunification was thus in a sense an opportunity for Delors to return the favour. But a full explanation needs to go beyond this theory – however appealing. For a start there was a certain element of pragmatism in the Commis- sion President’s stance. The Brussels institution wields little direct power and knows full well that it can only exercise influence if it is able to maintain strong links with those who actually possess the capacity to take key decisions within the EC, namely the national governments. Adopting a position which might alienate the Community’s largest and richest member state was thus not a risk to be taken lightly. Conversely, cement- ing further the Bonn–Brussels relationship would stand the Commission in very good stead in all future Community controversies. Supporting Bonn, especially at a time when other allies were proving less than reliable, thus made good tactical sense for Delors and the Commission. 164 N.P. Ludlow Calculations of this sort were flanked by a genuine enthusiasm for the transformations occurring in Eastern and Central Europe. In a speech to the College of Europe in mid-October, the Commission President had waxed lyrical about the changes underway in Warsaw, Budapest and elsewhere, changes which he asserted reflected in part the gravitational pull of the European Community and which strengthened the case for more European integration rather than less.6 In such circumstances, it would have been somewhat illogical to have objected strongly as the most central domino of all in Eastern Europe, the GDR, toppled over. (Although it is of course true that some leaders like the British Prime Minister were illogical in precisely this way.) There was also what could perhaps be described as a more structural reason why the Commission reacted in the way that it did. The Commis- sion, it should be recalled, was a real newcomer to the field of East–West relations and European political, as opposed to commercial or economic, diplomacy – indeed one of the manifest sources of Delors’ enthusiasm for the changes underway was precisely the way in which he perceived these as an entrée for the institution into fields of activity from which it had been previously excluded.7 As a result it had little background in traditional diplomacy and almost entirely lacked staff with extensive experience of Cold War and geopolitical issues. Many of those assigned tasks connected for instance to the Commission’s new mandate to coordinate the G-24 aid effort to Eastern Europe had little relevant experience and were instead recycled agricultural or commercial experts. In most respects this was a disadvantage – and a cause for concern.8 But it did mean that, unlike many within the Quai d’Orsay, the Foreign Office, or the Farnesina, those responsible for discussing the Commission’s response to the events of 1989 had not spend their careers working within an environment where discussions of the ‘German problem’ or the various scenarios under which Germany might be unified and the manner in which this might disrupt Europe’s geopolitical balance remained common currency. Instead they were much more likely to approach the issue with little eye to the past and a much greater openness to the emotions and excitement generated by the fall of the Wall – the sort of ‘common sense’ reaction also shown by a significant percentage of the European general public but much less widespread amongst diplomats and foreign policy experts. To put it perhaps more simply, the European Commission had no institutional memory of Germany as a problem for Europe. On the contrary, the Germany with which most of the Commission had had experience of dealing was the least problematical of the larger member states. It was less inclined to throw its weight about in a disruptive manner than Britain or France, and better at implementing Community law than either Italy or France. It was the biggest contributor to the Community budget and the economic dynamo pushing forward Europe’s economic revival in the late 1980s. And it was an enthusiastic supporter of many of the institutional reforms at a The European institutions and German unification 165 European level which the Commission was most eager to see – notably greater powers for the European Parliament.9 Seen from this perspective, greater German power and influence was thus a welcome prospect rather than a threat. A 20 per cent increase in the size of Britain or France would have been a much greater cause for alarm in Brussels than an increase in German power! Delors’ personal instincts on this issue were thus almost certainly backed up by similar reactions amongst his staff. This was all the more likely to have been the case, given that the Commission shared many of the Federal Republic government’s own over-optimistic assumptions about how quickly the costs of reunification could be covered and the benefits of a greater population might begin to accrue.10 German reunification was hence seen in Brussels as a likely source of medium term economic dynamism rather than as something which would adversely affect the economic performance of the Federal Republic (and hence Europe as a whole) for over a decade to come.

Collective support despite individual misgivings: the European Council and German reunification The European Council’s collective reaction to 9 November and to the events that followed can also be described as reasonably positive. This may at first sight appear a somewhat contentious statement. After all, the informal dinner held in Paris on 18 November, 1989, at which the heads of government of the Twelve had an initial discussion of the events in Berlin is generally regarded as having been a somewhat fraught event with both Thatcher and Ruud Lubbers, the Dutch Prime Minister, having made their misgivings clear.11 As Bozo notes, there was also a somewhat artificial avoidance of the issue of reunification itself at this dinner, since neither Kohl nor most of his interlocutors wanted to debate the issue, albeit for rather different reasons.12 Furthermore, the Strasbourg Council three weeks later was far from smooth, with Kohl being subjected to an interro- gation on the issue of German unity which made him feel as if he were on trial, and the European Council’s statement on the issue having required a delicate negotiation which took the whole of the night of 8/9 Decem- ber.13 It was thus only at Dublin in April 1990 that the assembled leaders were able to give German unity their unqualified blessing. Kohl’s retrospective relief at this development and the striking contrast he draws between discussions in Strasbourg and those in the Irish capital, do both underline the efforts that he and other German leaders had gone to so as to reassure their European partners and the extent of the mental adjust- ment that Thatcher, Mitterrand, Andreotti and the others had been obliged to make.14 But our historical knowledge of how tense discussions had in fact been, should only make it more remarkable that the European Council managed to convey a public image of openness towards and then support for the reunification of Germany. At Strasbourg, for instance, the 166 N.P. Ludlow Council conclusions noted that the Twelve ‘seek the strengthening of peace in Europe in which the German people will regain its unity through free self-determination’15 while in Dublin the Community’s leaders expressed their ‘rejoicing’ at the process of German unification. The December 1989 summit had also mandated the European Commission to investigate the practical implications of Germany unity and prepare a Community response – a step which would finally result in the Commis- sion Communication on German reunification approved by the Twelve at the Dublin Council.16 In both its words and its deeds, the European Council seemed thus to have taken a somewhat more positive line than the sentiments of some its members might have implied. Given that the Council works by consensus and that its conclusions require unanimous approval, it is therefore worth asking why the hesitations of Thatcher and several of her fellow leaders were not more clearly reflected in the collective European response. The first and the most obvious factor was clearly the presence in any collective European meeting of Kohl himself. It is surely no coincidence that most of the more tactless and strongly worded statements of opposition to German reunification seem to have emerged from bilateral meetings not involving the Chancellor rather than from multilateral meetings at which he was present. And while Thatcher in particular, was a forceful enough personality not to have shrunk from making her sentiments clear, regardless of Kohl’s presence, it is also clear that Kohl and his many allies would never have allowed the emergence of any European statement that opposed or obstructed German reunification. But the importance of Kohl’s presence goes beyond this ability to prevent overt opposition being expressed. For West Germany was not merely a member state of the Euro- pean Community and Kohl hence a member of the European Council; in the late 1980s the German Chancellor was beyond dispute the dominant member of the European Community’s collective leadership and someone well accustomed to exercising a decisive influence over the direction taken by the Twelve. This reality reflected Kohl’s seniority, his role as the doyen of Christian Democrats who collectively accounted for half of the EC member states, his strong links with several non-Christian Democrat leaders notably Mitterrand and Felipe Gonzalez, his track record in several previous Community negotiations notably those on the EC budget and, most fundamentally, his country’s status as Europe’s most geographically central and richest member state. The Chancellor was not therefore just a member of a club where all are to a certain extent duty bound to respect each others’ sensitivities; he was the most powerful leader within this club and someone whose support was much sought and whose animosity was much feared. Germany’s centrality was further augmented by the fact that the Community was in the midst of rapid internal evolution. The late 1980s were a halcyon period for European integration. The relance carried out in The European institutions and German unification 167 the middle of the decade and centred on the creation of a fully working internal market by the end of 1992, had spilled over into a much more wide-ranging advance encompassing monetary integration, discussions of political union, institutional reform, and the redefinition of the European Community (the middle ‘E’ for economic had already been de facto dropped) as an outright European Union. In such circumstances virtually all of the member states had pressing issues upon which they needed Germany’s support or on which they feared Germany’s opposition. Obstructionism on the issue of German reunification was hence a stance likely to have serious repercussions elsewhere in the European debate. Little wonder then that Kohl’s fellow leaders chose not to dig their heels in too much in Paris, Strasbourg or Dublin. Instead it was much more logical to do as the French Presidency did in the Strasbourg negotiations over the exact wording of the Council statement on German unity, and bargain acquiescence in a positive formula, for German support for other crucial European issues – in this case monetary union. The context of generalised progress towards greater integration also mattered because it legitimised the idea of coping with German unity by means of rapid European advance. The notion of la fuite en avant has a long pedigree in the history of European integration, going back at least as far as the 1950 proposal to launch a European Defence Community. But in the late 1980s it was an option readily turned to given the speed of the EC’s advance. It was thus possible for most of Kohl’s fellow leaders to comfort themselves with the belief that a new, reunified and more powerful Germany, would also be a Germany safely contained within a new, more powerful European union. Any potentially destabilising effects of Germany’s increased size would be significantly reduced by this fact: it would, as the well-worn formula put it, be a European Germany rather than a German Europe. And each leader’s individual ability to bargain for aspects of the new Europe which he or she held dear would be improved by preserving their relationship with Kohl and not seeking to obstruct his progression towards German unity. It was only Thatcher who was of course as opposed to further European integration as she was to German unification, for whom this expectation provided no comfort whatsoever – a fact which goes a long way to explaining her eventual isolation on both issues. For everybody else the prospect of more European integration represented both a possible solution to many of the difficulties which reunification might pose and a tactical incentive to avoid outright confrontation with the single most powerful figure within the European Community.

Enlargement without accession: the Community institutions and the absorption of the GDR The practical effects of Commission support for and European Council acquiescence in German reunification were felt over the next 11 months 168 N.P. Ludlow during which time the EC had to adjust to an increase in its size and population without the normal, lengthy membership negotiations which have typically accompanied enlargements. This process, although overshadowed by the much higher profile 2+4 negotiations and ignored altogether by at least one supposedly authoritative account of the diplomacy of reunification, involved detailed talks on the margins of the 2+4 meetings between David Williamson, the Secretary-General of the Com- mission, his deputy Carlo Trojan, and Hans Tietmeyer, who led the German delegation finalising the international aspects of unification.17 Both the European Commission and the European Council were thus obliged to demonstrate that their verbal expressions of good will towards the unification process could be translated into actual negotiating flexibility and a willingness to adapt to a transformation which ended up taking much less time than most had expected. But in order to fully appreciate the role of the Community institutions in the unification process, it is probably best to break it down into a number of separate components. The first aspect of Community involvement was the negotiation of a trade agreement with the GDR. Such a step brought East Germany into line with Poland, Hungary and Czechoslovakia which had also taken advantage of their altered political status to devise new commercial arrangements with the European Community. But it also reflected the initial belief, in Brussels as much as elsewhere, that reunification would take much longer than it actually did. As a result, it was widely believed that there would be some utility in revising the commercial regime between the GDR and the EC, thereby encouraging trade flows to anticipate political reunification and full EC membership. This would help make the integration of the former East Germany into the Community that much smoother and less disruptive. In the event, of course, the acceleration of the reunification timetable all but overtook the negotiation of a commercial treaty, emptying it of much of its intended purpose. The treaty was only signed on 8 May 1990, less than six months prior to date on which German reunification and the consequent enlargement of the European Community became a reality.18 And it was soon made redun- dant by the de facto customs union between the GDR and the Twelve planned as part of the transitional phase bringing the new German Länder into the Community.19 Its negotiation was nevertheless a first indication of the type of practical step that the EC was willing to take to smooth the reunification process. Much more significant was the Commission’s three-stage plan drawn up to smooth the actual enlargement process. Work towards this had started at the very end of 1989, fulfilling the mandate received at Strasbourg. In January, the so-called ‘Bangemann Group’ was formed within the Euro- pean Commission, bringing together a small high calibre group chaired by the German Commission Vice-President Martin Bangemann which would investigate the various adaptations which would be needed both to The European institutions and German unification 169 ready the Community for the absorption of the GDR and, where possible, to ready the GDR for the coming into force of European rules. This committee would meet weekly between February and July 1990.20 Its first major product was the Commission communication presented to the Dublin Council in late April.21 This document set out a three-stage plan for bringing the former GDR into the EC. The first so-called interim stage was to start when the State Treaty (Staatsvertrag) between the two German states entered into force. At this point the GDR would have to take on board much of West German economic legislation and in the process adapt itself to life within the EC as well. The Commission would actively oversee this implementation so as to ensure that Community competition and state-aid rules were being met. Also to start during this period was the introduction of Value Added Tax (VAT), a complete overhaul of the East German social security and tax systems, and the gradual introduction of a full market economy into the formerly communist state. Once unification occurred, the interim phase would then give way to the transitional stage. From this point Community legislation would apply directly to the neue Bundesländer. In recognition of former GDR’s special circumstances, however, a number of special transitional arrangements could be negotiated, temporarily exempting Eastern Germany from full Community rules. The Commission expected these derogations to apply primarily to environmental rules, competition policy, and the introduction of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) to the former GDR, but it was ready also to take special account of the multiple previous trade arrangements entered into by the East German state primarily with other Eastern bloc countries. All of these special dispensa- tions, as well as the transitional phase itself, would have to come to an end on 1 January 1993, as the full European internal market entered into force. Stage III from 1993 onwards, would thus see the former GDR as a fully fledged part of the European single market.22 This plan of action was approved in Dublin by the European Council, thereby ushering in a further stage of Commission activity in the form of discussions with the West German government about the compatibility of the Staatsvertrag and the Einigungsvertrag with European rules. This reflected the Council’s desire that the Community be fully involved with the ongoing negotiations. It was for this reason that Williamson and Trojan found themselves in a number of meetings with Tietmeyer from 5 May onwards. These resulted in several significant changes being made to the draft treaties. And the Commission’s involvement also meant that its own work preparing the necessary authorisation for the transitional measures to be applied in stage 2 of the three-stage plan could proceed on the basis of accurate and detailed knowledge about what was emerging in the 2+4 negotiations. Given the subsequent acceleration of the unification timetable this was of great importance – as it was the Community institutions had to proceed with almost unprecedented speed over the summer 170 N.P. Ludlow and autumn in order to approve all 21 transitional measures before the interim arrangements expired on 31 December.23 In the end all of the necessary legislation had been passed by early November. Finally in assessing the Commission’s role, some mention ought to be made to the aspect of Community help that did not materialise, namely that of substantial monetary aid. This was something that Delors did offer Kohl, pointing out that conditions in neue Bundesländer were far further behind European norms in terms of affluence than was the case for most of those regions elsewhere in the Community that already benefited from generous structural assistance. The German Chancellor was determined, however, to avoid a situation in which any of his European partners ended up paying for German unity, either through an increase in the total size of the Community’s budget or through a reallocation of existing funds away from their expected beneficiaries.24 This, it ought perhaps to be noted, was one of the last examples of the type of chequebook diplomacy for which Germany had become renowned at a European level. All told, however the Commission could pride itself on having performed a genuinely constructive, if relatively low-profile, role within the unification process. Much of its work was highly technical and largely impenetrable to those not versed in the intricacies of European law. But without it, the relatively smooth legal absorption into the Community of the five new German Länder would not have been possible. The Commission President personal support for unification had clearly also been of some importance in discussions at Strasbourg and Dublin in particular. Delors’ presence as one of the sole non-Germans invited to the Berlin celebrations of 2–3 October 1990, was hence fully merited as were the warm tributes he received from Kohl.25 Likewise, the European Council role, while less obvious, was also of some importance. For not only did it give its approval to the Commission’s actions at various points thereby permitting the rapid drawing up of the transitional arrangements, but more fundamentally it also very publicly signalled European approval of Germany’s unexpectedly rapid progress towards reunification. The warmth of the Dublin statement about German unity was particularly notable. At a time when so much about Europe and about Germany’s place within it seemed to be open to negotiation, this symbolic affirmation of the compatibility between Germany’s national aspirations for unity and its long-standing European engagement was of great political importance, not least within Germany’s internal debate. At both Commission and Council levels, the European dimension of German reunification was thus something of genuine significance.

A spur to progress – or a source of new difficulties? The effects of German reunification on the EC If there was a European dimension to the unification story, it is also the case that Germany’s transformation had an impact on the Community’s The European institutions and German unification 171 subsequent development. The final section of this chapter must therefore consider the way in which the events of 1989–90 altered the EC’s advance. And in particular it must consider the long-debated question about the interconnection between German unity and economic and monetary union (EMU) within Europe. The first and most obvious effect of German unification was on the morale and confidence of the Commission in general and its President in particular. This was already running fairly high – as noted above the integration process had been advancing with some rapidity since the mid- 1980s. The transformations of 1989 and the politics of 1990 were however to take Delors’ self-confidence to unprecedented heights. His speech in January 1990 to the European Parliament is a case in point. For while this did include a short passage about the possible risks and dangers to the European project posed by the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe – he rebutted for instance the idea that European integration had been an outgrowth of the Cold War and should therefore cease as the Cold War came to an end – the vast majority of the speech was illustrative of the excitement and ambition with which the Commission President regarded the future. And nowhere was this more so than in the field of foreign policy where it is quite clear that he perceived the Community as whole but the Commission in particular playing an ever greater role. The surprise decision at the G-7 summit in July 1989 to entrust the task of chair- ing the G-24 committee for coordinating relief to Eastern Europe to the European Commission was perceived, it would appear from this speech, as just the start of the Commission’s emergence as a key foreign policy player. Almost inevitably such soaring ambitions were to provoke a member state reaction. This chapter is clearly not the place to rehearse in any detail the complex intergovernmental negotiations which were to culmi- nate in the Maastricht treaty of December 1991. It is clear however that one of the many reasons why the member states were to devise the complicated three pillar structure of the European Union so detested by Delors was to control the ever more grandiose aspirations of the Commission to play a role in the foreign policy field. Few member states were willing to envisage the Commission playing the sort of diplomatic and external political part dreamt of by Delors in January 1990. As a result, while the French Commission President was to be spared the fate of his equally over- ambitious predecessor, Walter Hallstein, and was able to serve out the remainder of his term in Brussels, his final years were marked by a strong element of frustration at the way in which his wings had been clipped at Maastricht. And this disappointment combined with a number of later mishaps (notably the Danish referendum result of 1992 and the crisis of the EMS) to ensure that the Commission’s mood would dip dramatically from mid-1992 onwards. As was to be the case for the Federal Republic itself, some of the Commission’s gloom and depression throughout the 172 N.P. Ludlow mid to late 1990s was directly related to, even if not entirely produced by, the exhilaration and euphoria which had characterised the decade’s start. The linkage between German reunification and Maastricht extends beyond the fate of the Commission’s foreign policy ambitions however. This is not to say that there is much validity in the often repeated assertion that there was a Franco-German bargain in which Kohl accepted EMU in return for Mitterrand’s acquiescence in Germany unity. This argument fails to grasp either the complexity of intra-Community bargaining which is always more complicated than simple Franco-German deals or the fact that there was already considerable momentum behind EMU before the Wall came down. But it is to acknowledge that the determination with which Mitterrand, Kohl, Delors and several other of the key actors sought to move forward towards European union was greatly increased by the unification process. The onward drive of European integration generally – and not just EMU – was therefore directly increased by what happened on 9 November, 1989, and its aftermath. Furthermore one could even argue that German reunification and its consequences contributed to the removal of the single biggest obstacle faced by those hoping to press on towards European union, namely Margaret Thatcher. For amongst the numerous factors that contributed to the British Prime Minister’s political demise, her doomed but very public opposition to German reunification was certainly of some importance. It is thus possible to assert that both the timing and the contents of the Maastricht Treaty were significantly influenced by the transformation of Germany which had occurred between 1989 and 1990. Similarly connections can and should be drawn between German unity and some of the EU’s trials and tribulations in the mid to late 1990s. It is thus possible to argue that the EMS crisis of 1992 which was to prove so serious to the British debate about, if not to the progression of the majority of other member states towards, EMU was directly linked to the distorting macroeconomic effects caused by Germany’s short-lived post- unification boom. Similarly, the dynamics of European Union politics since unification have been strongly affected both by the disappearance of a Germany so often prepared to resolve budgetary and other disputes by a liberal use of the chequebook and by the more general underperfor- mance of the German economy – both trends which to some extent at least are products of reunification. Such interconnections, however, while almost certainly possible to mul- tiply still further, should not really surprise. As profound a transformation as the end of the Cold War system into which the EC had been born and the reunification of the Community’s largest member state could scarcely have failed to have had a serious impact on the process of European integration. What is surprising, however, is the failure thus far of most analysts – either those exploring the development of the EU or those studying the wider international politics of Western Europe – to draw The European institutions and German unification 173 attention to the number and depths of interconnectedness. This chapter is thus intended as a small contribution towards the undoing of this serious historical oversight.

Notes 1 Delors (2004, p. 277). 2 Ibid. 3 Teltschik (1991, p. 102). 4 Bulletin de la Communauté Européenne, Supplement 1/90, p. 9. 5 See the chapters by Salmon and Bozo in this volume; also Bozo (2005). 6 Bulletin CE, No. 10, 1989, pp. 124–6. 7 This was particularly clear in his January 1990 speech to the European Parlia- ment. Bulletin CE, Supplement 1/90, pp. 8–11. 8 See e.g. Froment-Meurice and Ludlow (1990). 9 See Hans Stark’s chapter. 10 La Communauté Européenne et l’unification allemande, Bulletin CE, Supplement 4/90, pp. 9, 16. 11 Teltschik (1991, p. 38). 12 Bozo (2005, p. 138). 13 Ibid. pp. 153–6. 14 Kohl (1996, pp. 359–61). 15 Cited in Financial Times, 11.12.1989. 16 See David Spence, ‘The European Community’s negotiations on German unification’. In Heisenberg (1991, pp. 29–33). 17 The book which completely omits to mention these Commission talks is Zelikow and Rice (1995). 18 Bulletin CE, 5/90, p. 74. 19 Bulletin CE, 6/90. 20 Spence, ‘The European Community’s negotiations’, pp. 30–1. 21 ‘The Community and German unification: communication from the Commis- sion to the Special Session of the European Council in Dublin on April 28, 1990.’ SEC (90) 751. 22 The three stages and the likely problems involved are well summarised in La Communauté Européenne et l’unification allemande, Bulletin CE, Supplement 4/90, pp. 10–16. 23 Delors (2004), p. 295 includes a tribute to all of those who forwent their summer holidays in order to meet this timetable. 24 See Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, documents 362, 363, 376 and 388). Also Delors (2004, pp. 293–4). 25 See e.g. Kohl (1996, p. 360).

Part V German uniﬁcation Concerns and misgivings

13 The United Kingdom and German uniﬁcation1

Patrick Salmon

The myth of British opposition to German unity dies hard. Looking back on the history of German unification from the vantage point of October 1990, Britain’s ambassador in Bonn, Sir Christopher Mallaby, was able to record the appreciation of German officialdom for the positive and creative role played by the British in the 2+4 process.2 But there was also, he said, a darker side to the story of Britain and unification. This was due almost entirely to the perception that Margaret Thatcher was essentially hostile to unification – a perception so deep-rooted that it distorted Britain’s role in the eyes of German politicians and the public at large. Diverted by Thatcher’s numerous negative comments, Germans overlooked Britain’s positive contribution to the unification process, saw her hand at work even on issues where she was not involved at all, and under- valued the supportive statements made by other members of the British government. If the United States, not surprisingly, was awarded the ‘gold medal’ and France, despite Mitterrand’s evident reservations, won the silver, Britain ended up with the bronze. The implication was that Britain was not only less helpful than the other allies, but also less important. Over 15 years later perceptions seem to have changed little – least of all in Germany itself. Yet it can be argued that throughout the process that led to unification, Britain’s policies on Germany were closely aligned with those of its allies. If the British expressed reservations they did not concern the principle but the timing of the process and the framework within which it was to take place. They were based on well-founded fears for existing international political and security structures, as well as the future of Gorbachev and the movement for reform in the Soviet Union. Moreover, at a practical level Great Britain made a vital contribution to German unity. While the Germans and the Americans may have set the pace, it was the British legal experts, in the 2+4 negotiations, who ensured that unification took place without damage to the structure of international relations. This was not high-profile activity: in fact it was grind- ingly slow and complex; but it was indispensable – as German officials were among the first to acknowledge. But that is not how most people saw it at the time, and it is not how 178 P. Salmon most people view it now. For this, as Sir Christopher Mallaby pointed out, there is one overriding explanation: Margaret Thatcher. She was not the only leader to have reservations about unification. The difference was that while most others kept quiet, she expressed her opposition openly and apparently tried to do something about it: Thatcher’s memoirs record an attempt to construct ‘an Anglo-French axis’ to slow down the process or even to halt it entirely.3 In fact this phase was short-lived. By February 1990 at the latest, Thatcher had accepted that unification was going to happen. The problem then was that she still did not keep quiet: she repeatedly expressed her doubts, often in the most inflammatory terms, precisely at the same time as British officials were working patiently with their 2+4 colleagues to bring about a satisfactory outcome. Thatcher believed that ‘the German problem’ was inherent in a German national character that derived from Germany’s late unification and had led the country to veer ‘unpredictably between aggression and self-doubt’. It was a problem that greater European unity would intensify rather than resolve. A reunited Germany would dominate Western Europe, and its inherent economic dynamism would lead it to look East as well as West, thus acting as ‘a destabilising rather than a stabilising force in Europe’. Only a continuing American presence and close Franco- British relations could contain German power, ‘and nothing of the sort would be possible within a European super-state’.4 Thatcher’s position on Germany was already well known before the unification process began in the autumn of 1989, but it became unmistakably clear as the process gathered momentum. A series of challenging statements by the British Prime Minister was inaugurated by her interview in the Wall Street Journal on 25 January. Here, according to Chancellor Kohl’s closest adviser, Horst Teltschik, was the point at which she emerged in her true colours for the first time and gave free rein to her hostility.5 Thatcher remained trapped, in Teltschik’s view, in the classic tradition of nineteenth-century British diplomacy, viewing a united Germany as a threat to the continental balance of power. In fact, on this occasion Thatcher’s language was remarkably moderate. In this interview as in most of her less measured statements, Thatcher was expressing some hard truths about the practicalities of the unification process. The problem was that over Germany she was both realistic and prejudiced. All too often, her listeners heard only the prejudice. A speech to the Young Conservatives in Torquay on 12 February was interpreted by the West German press as an attempt to delay unification as long as possible by placing major obstacles in its way. In late March, after sending a warm message to Kohl, congratulating him on the German government’s resolution on the question of the German–Polish border, Thatcher gave another provocative interview, this time in Der Spiegel. Relations between Prime Minister and Chancellor were frosty at the Königswinter conference in Cambridge at the end of March – the The UK and German unification 179 conference that was supposed to set the seal on better relations between the two countries. Then, in June, came further intemperate remarks on Jimmy Young’s radio show. In mid-July came the ‘Ridley affair’, when Nicholas Ridley the Trade Secretary, was forced to resign following the publication of an offensively anti-German interview in the Spectator. Shortly afterwards came the leak of Charles Powell’s report on Thatcher’s famous seminar with historians of Germany, which had been held at the end of March. Thatcher’s attitude on Germany was very similar to her attitude towards the handover of Hong Kong, as explained in an interview by Lord Wilson, Britain’s second-to-last Governor of the colony:

The thing which I think is not often, or not always realised is that although that was her basic, emotional position and she always said how terrible it was she was pushed into things by the Foreign Ofﬁce, on every point where it really came to the crunch she took the sensible, pragmatic decision and said yes. Later she would say: I should never have done this; I regret that I was persuaded; my arm was twisted. But actually when it really came to the crunch she was pragmatic and sensible.6

Her way of resolving the contradiction between heart and head – over Germany if not over Hong Kong – was to speak out as if British policy had nothing to do with her – as indeed in a sense it did not. It is significant that many of her most inflammatory pronouncements were delivered after the commitment to German unity had been made in the 2+4 decision at Ottawa. One of the difficulties of interpreting British policy on German unification derives from the quite natural assumption that Thatcher made British policy, or at least had a very large hand in making it. As far as Germany was concerned, this was not the case. She did not like German unification or the speed at which it was proceeding but she did nothing to stop it or slow it down. She did not intervene in the 2+4 negotiations – in fact there was hardly any ministerial involvement at all – but she did not stop making provocative statements. In many respects Thatcher was her own worst enemy. Her shrill rhetoric diverted attention from the very pertinent questions that she was asking about the unification process: what it would cost; what the frontiers of a united Germany would be; what would happen to Allied rights; above all, what the new security arrangements in Central Europe would be. It also reflected one of her strongest underlying motivations: the fear that rapid unification would destabilise the reform process in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, possibly leading to the overthrow of Gorbachev. Others, of course, made the same calculation and drew the opposite conclusion: that the unification process must be completed as quickly as possible. In Thatcher’s case prejudice (anti-German) and sentiment 180 P. Salmon (pro-Gorbachev) formed a fatal combination: fatal not to the essence of British policy, but to the way in which it was perceived. Does this mean, then, that Foreign Office attempts to construct a sensible policy were thwarted only by Thatcher’s hostility to Germany? This is certainly the view held by many of those close to the centre of British policy-making at the time. It was the dominant view, for example, among the retired ambassadors who spoke at the witness seminar on German unification held at the Institute for Contemporary British History in 2000.7 Or did some of the problems lie with the Foreign Office itself: with the quality of the information it was receiving; the quality of the advice it gave; and the extent to which it was willing to challenge the Prime Minister? Behind these questions lies a larger one: the extent to which British policy could carry any weight at all in a situation in which the key players were bound to be the Federal Republic, the United States and the Soviet Union, and in which hostility to ‘Europe’ had deprived Britain of a forum for exerting influence which more pro-European powers (notably France) could exploit to the full. Moreover Europe had created divisions at the very heart of government. Geoffrey Howe’s memoirs bear testimony to the depth of the Prime Minister’s mistrust of the Foreign Office as being unre- liably pro-European.8 Given these constraints, the task of constructing a policy on Germany was bound to be challenging. Before the fall of the Berlin Wall there were certainly signs that the FCO was evolving a coherent view of Germany: one that recognised the quickening pace of events in Central and Eastern Europe and the need to acknowledge German aspirations to self-determination. Planning papers in 1987 and 1988 had recognised the impact of Gorbachev on the German question. In 1987 the Planning Staff produced a paper on ‘The German Question and Europe’.9 It suggested that on the question of German unification there was ‘no prospect of significant change in the medium term’. Gorbachev was unlikely to repeat Stalin’s offer of 1952 and, in any case, the Germans would not trade unity for neutrality. But it argued that in the longer term change was inevitable, with profound consequences for British foreign policy. Soviet rule in Eastern Europe would come to an end ‘probably by the middle of the next century and perhaps much sooner’. This was followed in 1988 by a paper entitled ‘East/West Rela- tions and the Future of Europe: Or, Genscher looks for opportunities and we think we’ve got problems’.10 Both papers provoked debate; neither could come up with much in the way of policy prescriptions. There were also echoes of earlier preoccupations in fears that any loosening of Cold War bonds would reawaken the German ‘Drang nach Osten’ or ‘enable the Soviet Union, as the major Eurasian power, to achieve its historic aim of dominant influence over the whole of Europe, without needing to use force’.11 On the other hand, there was felt to be nothing wrong with the idea that the Germans might wish ‘to match their political weight to their economic power’. On the The UK and German unification 181 contrary, ‘A more active diplomacy by so like-minded a country is in general something to welcome.’12 More worrying was the feeling that, despite apparently having so much in common with West Germany, Britain lacked means of influencing German policy. There was nothing comparable with the close institutional and personal bonds underlying the Franco-German axis within the Euro- pean Community. And this in turn, many at the FCO felt, was largely the result of the Conservative government’s refusal to engage actively with ‘Europe’, or respond to the changes that were taking place in the east of the continent, or show sympathy for German aspirations. By the summer of 1989 relations with the Federal Republic did not seem to be in very good shape. The ‘basic problem’, as one FCO official put it, remained ‘our own rhetoric. So long as that is perceived in continental Europe as being negative and “anti-European” we will make less progress with our policies than, for the most part, they deserve.’13 As the crisis in the GDR deepened, in September and October 1989, British policy put the stress on self-determination, in line with Britain’s long-standing position. This was appreciated by West German government: indeed at this time Britain was perceived by West Germans as the most encouraging of all the major West European powers: more open- minded and more helpful than either France, the Benelux countries or Italy.14 In October 1989 a confidant of Kohl went out of his way to express thanks for a party conference speech in which Thatcher had pressed for change in East Germany. Mallaby subsequently explained that ‘British policy was to welcome reform and to look for an act of self-determination in East Germany, rather than assuming automatically at that early stage that we had to aim for unification. There was a preference in London for not moving too fast and for clear certainty about the wishes of the East Germans.’15 This recol- lection is confirmed by a memorandum prepared by the West European Department (WED) that guided British policy throughout the autumn, and indeed was not formally superseded until the 2+4 decision in Febru- ary 1990.16 The German question, it stated, was now back on the international agenda. The prospects for full reunification now looked much more realistic, but traditional fears of Germany still survived. While being sympathetic to their aspirations, British policy should be to encourage the West Germans to continue to exercise caution, take their allies into their confidence and not to ‘go it alone’. It should also bear in mind our position in Berlin. Britain could influence the speed and timing of the movement towards reunification but could not stop it, and should not try to do so. Our public line, the memorandum concluded, should be to encourage calls for freedom in the GDR, and support self-determination in the form of two separate acts by the populations of the two German states. Though it soon came to appear unduly cautious, this policy was not far out of line with those of Britain’s allies, including the Federal Republic 182 P. Salmon itself. In the autumn of 1989 reunification was still viewed as, at best, a distant prospect. There were many, and not only in the United Kingdom, who felt that there was still a possibility that the GDR could reform itself, and that unification would in any case be blocked by a Soviet veto. Unifi- cation was therefore only one of a number of possible outcomes and, at this stage, not necessarily the most plausible. Policy could not be decided without information, and much of the Foreign Office’s time was spent in asking questions – and, they felt, not getting answers, particularly from the Germans – about such crucial issues as the implications for NATO and the European Community, Germany’s future frontiers and whether or not there was to be a peace treaty. Many within the FCO felt that a gradualist approach might be overtaken by events and that a two-state system could not work in the long run, since the GDR’s sole rationale was ideological. Without Communism it would simply not exist. But, above all, the Foreign Office felt that there were fundamental questions that would need to be resolved in the end, whatever the pace of events. And one certainty was that the German question could not be resolved by Germans alone: there would have to be a forum in which the issues could be discussed with Germany’s Western allies and the Soviet Union – something like, in other words, what eventually became the 2+4 framework. Despite limited resources, the hard-pressed British embassy in East Berlin kept the Foreign Office well informed. It was in touch with the leading opposition groups and its reporting conveyed the extent to which demands for German unity came from the bottom up: from the East German people themselves. Bonn, meanwhile, was dealing with politicians and officials who were staring into the unknown: who feared catastrophe as least as much as they welcomed the prospect of change, and who wanted the reassurance that their friends and allies stood behind them. Throughout the autumn, and with growing intensity after the fall of the Berlin Wall, there was growing pressure, not least from Bonn, to reformulate British policy in a more positive direction. Mallaby warned on 7 December: ‘Our line can hold at present. But we need to prepare to cope with faster movement on the German question in case we are faced with it.’17 At this stage the demand was perhaps for a change more of presentation than of substance: nevertheless the FCO was fully aware of the fact that even this could not be achieved without a steer from above. As early as 23 October the head of the Planning Staff argued that British credibility and influence in Europe were damaged by ‘the feeling that the UK has no vision and does not wish to have one’.18 Thatcher, however, sought to discourage ‘speculation’ on Germany’s future. Whatever their formal position, she believed, Britain, France and the Soviet Union were fundamentally opposed to unification. A Heads of Mission Conference held on 9 October to discuss the future of NATO was ‘told right at the beginning that the Prime Minister did not wish us to consider the consequences of a possible reunification of Germany, because, at the beginning of October The UK and German unification 183 1989, it was not a reasonable use of our time.’19 For Sir Rodric Braithwaite, the ambassador in Moscow, this was ‘the first clear indication that I had that Mrs Thatcher wasn’t in touch with reality’.20 In November, according to Colin Munro, deputy head of mission in East Berlin, ‘we were actually asked by London to desist from reporting the developments that we were observing, for example the calls for unity in the street demonstrations that started in Leipzig but spread to other cities’.21 Even those who wished to speak up more openly, notably the newly appointed Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd, felt unable to do so. Indeed Hurd’s formula – expressed on no fewer than three separate occasions in the days following the fall of the Berlin Wall – that unification was ‘not on the agenda’ came to symbol- ise British ambivalence.22 Wrong-footed, like the Federal Republic’s other allies (and Genscher), by Kohl’s ten-point plan in late November, Thatcher intensified her efforts to arrest the momentum towards German unity.23 She was thwarted first by the Americans. When the four principles announced by James Baker, the US Secretary of State, were reiterated by President Bush in Brussels on 4 December, Thatcher realised that ‘there was nothing I could expect from the Americans as regards slowing down German reunification’.24 But she was interested in Gorbachev’s proposal for a four-power ambassadors’ meeting in Berlin as a potential mechanism for preventing the pressure for German unity from becoming irreversible. And she still had hopes of Mitterrand – as indeed she was encouraged to do by their conversation in the margins of the Strasbourg Council on 8 December. In one sense, Strasbourg served a purpose in laying down self-determination as the central principle. This was an important statement on Germany’s future – and what the British had been saying all along. It was the line to which Hurd and the Foreign Office continued to try to hold. But Thatcher’s visible hostility opened up a potential breach which Soviet diplomacy was not slow to exploit, suggesting that Britain and the Soviet Union had a shared interest in the continued existence of a reformed GDR, and in slowing down the trend towards reunification. Signs of tension between the Foreign Office and the Prime Minister over Germany had been visible for some time. By late October 1989 senior officials were worried by the indiscretion with which Thatcher expressed her views on Germany, and in particular by the impact this was having on relations with the United States. Douglas Hurd was alerted to the problem, and a number of senior advisers wrote personally to Thatcher pleading with her to welcome the developments that were taking place. Among them was Sir Michael Alexander, Britain’s ambassador to NATO, who wrote on 3 November urging her to ‘make a major statement on European issues’, since it was ‘vital that the German problem be acknowledged by HMG [Her Majesty’s Government] as being of crucial importance and that we make plain our determination to be involved, sympathetically, in the search for solutions’.25 184 P. Salmon The latent stand-off between the Foreign Office and the Prime Minister came into the open in early January 1990. In a telegram from Bonn at the beginning of January, Mallaby pleaded again for a public statement that would counteract the widespread German conviction that Britain was ‘perhaps the least positive of the three Western allies, and the least important’.26 The Foreign Office was told that the Prime Minister thought this statement ‘showed a lack of understanding of British policy which she finds alarming. She would like to see any reply before it is sent.’27 Mallaby had called earlier for an improvement of presentation: he was now calling for a change of policy. The Strasbourg declaration no longer formed the basis for a credible British position: something more positive was required. British thinking was therefore not far out of step with the policy reap- praisals that were taking place in West Germany and the United States in 1990, and for precisely the same reason: a recognition of the widening ‘gap between their policies and the realities on the ground’.28 But Mrs Thatcher still had to be persuaded. It took about three weeks for the Foreign Office to wear down her resistance, mainly by means of extensive briefing for her meeting with Mitterrand on 20 January and a major seminar on East–West relations and Germany to be held at Che- quers on the 27th. There was an element of appeasement in the Foreign Office’s advice – the briefing for her meeting with Mitterrand included Mallaby’s idea of a transitional period before full unity was achieved – but the message on Germany was clear. ‘What we could not produce,’ Hurd told her, ‘was a blue print for stopping German unification.’29 The Foreign Office was insistent that neither Helsinki nor the EC treaties nor the North Atlantic Treaty could be used to veto German unification. The question was simply ‘how best to influence the process of achieving it so as to maximise the British and Western interest and to minimise adverse repercussions elsewhere, particularly in the Soviet Union’.30 The documents record the process of attrition; they do not pinpoint exactly when the change took place. One obvious milestone was the Che- quers meeting on 27 January. This was ostensibly a wide-ranging security review but, according to Sir Percy Cradock, the Prime Minister’s foreign policy adviser, ‘what it was really about was getting the Prime Minister over the principle of reunification and on course with the issue of the moment, namely its terms’.31 But there is no documentary evidence of a dramatic turnaround at this or any other point in January or early February. Given what I have said earlier about Thatcher’s unwillingness to acknowledge unpalatable decisions, this is not surprising, and it is unlikely that any definitive document exists. There are some hints. After meeting Thatcher on 10 January Hurd explained that ‘The Prime Minister remained very wary of German reunification but recognised that it would be difficult to stop and the question therefore was the sort of language and steps that could be used to hedge it around.’32 In a meeting with Count Lambsdorff on 30 January she seems The UK and German unification 185 to have implicitly accepted the principle of German unity while expressing her fear that NATO would break up if events moved too rapidly: again she spoke of a transition period in which difficult NATO, EC and four-power issues could be sorted out.33 On the other hand, this was also the period that saw some of Thatcher’s most outspoken expressions of opinion: notably her Wall Street Journal interview on 25 January and her speech to the Young Conservatives in Torquay on 12 February. Yet Thatcher’s remarks need to be placed in context. In early February 2+4 was on the agenda, but there was no guarantee that it would actually happen. The main thrust of the information reaching Thatcher was that, either out of ‘euphoria’ or because the GDR was on the verge of collapse, the Germans were increasingly determined to go full tilt for unification, without waiting to consult their allies or the Soviet Union. Indeed the Federal government was reported as being ‘“adamant” that four-power discussions on Germany would not be acceptable’.34 Moreover, British officials felt, the West German government had no real understanding of the precariousness of Gorbachev’s position. In these circumstances it was understandable that Thatcher should take every opportunity to remind the Germans of the wider picture. But this was not what they wanted to hear, and Anglo-German relations were to get worse before they got better. Hurd’s speech in Bonn on 6 Feb- ruary was meant to mark a new beginning but fell flat despite a last-minute addition hinting at the possibility of a 2+4 framework. The West German government merely expressed disappointment with Hurd’s speech, but its public reaction to Thatcher’s Torquay speech was much tougher. By late February Mallaby was obliged to report that ‘Britain’s public standing in Germany is at its lowest for years’.35 On 28 February, two weeks after the Ottawa decision, the FCO’s press office was finally able to issue a press line emphasising British support for the principle of German unity, while ensuring that the security implications and other external aspects were properly considered.36 This was as far as Britain’s public statements went, and it was more than counterbalanced by the fallout from further Thatcher pronouncements over the ensuing months, not to mention the leak in July of Charles Powell’s record of her Chequers meeting with historians in March and, also in July, Nicholas Ridley’s notorious Spectator interview. But in fact something had changed. The key to the change was the 2+4 decision on 13 February. That decision was itself a vindication of British policy concerns: that unification was not an exclusively German matter, and that the final outcome must be compatible with Western security interests. Hurd’s visit to Washington at the end of January had shown that British thinking was closely aligned with that of the United States: indeed in some respects the British may have been ahead of the Americans in conceptualising what was to become the 2+4 framework.37 Inevitably, 2+4 would mean months of detailed negotiation on the practicalities of 186 P. Salmon German unification. But detailed negotiation was something the British felt they were good at. They also had expertise – one of the Foreign Office’s legal advisers, Michael Wood, was the co-author of an authoritative study of The Legal Status of Berlin, published in 1987 – and they entered the talks well prepared. The groundwork was laid from an early stage.38 At the beginning of Sep- tember 1989 the head of WED asked the FCO’s German expert for a description of Allied rights and responsibilities relating specifically to Germany as a whole (as opposed to Berlin) and to the question of reunification (as opposed to a peace settlement). In late December Sir John Weston, the Political Director, decided, in the words of one of the legal advisers concerned, ‘that we needed to get to the bottom of the legal issues but mustn’t be seen to be trying to block unification. He realised that something had to be done – so we just got on with it.’ On 22 December the FCO’s legal adviser, Sir Arthur Watts, produced the first draft of a discussion paper on the legal and procedural issues surrounding the various possible outcomes, and their implications for European security structures.39 The process of clarifying the issues continued through January and the first half of February 1990; then, immediately after Ottawa a small team of officials from WED, legal advisers and the Bonn embassy got to work. Britain’s greatest contribution, one of them subsequently argued, was in clarity of thinking. The Americans and Germans ‘drove the show’, with the French and Russians playing very little part. The British played a vital role as drafters and the only ones really thinking through the issues. Another member of the team recalled it slightly differently: the Western four formed an informal subgroup of lawyers. The Germans did not like it, but Michael Young, the tough US lawyer, insisted on it. The British and Americans worked closely together and drove the process. Apart from the drudgery of drafting, the British legal experts brought a creative touch to the proceedings. They came up with the device of ‘suspending’ Allied rights (QRR) to get round the technical problem of making unification legally effective from day one, in other words prior to ratification of the Final Settlement. They also acted as a shield for the Americans during the final tense hours of the negotiations, when a crisis arose over the question of the deployment of NATO troops on the territory of the former GDR. The Americans and British were united on the issue, but the German negotiators chose to view it as an example of British intransigence and even personal malevolence – allegations they were to retract when tempers cooled. It was therefore a happy end of sorts and, within the narrow circle of those who knew the full story, the British contribution was much appreciated. To quote Sir Percy Cradock:

In the end the bulk of the rescue work on Germany was done by the Foreign Office ministers and officials, who laboured with great skill The UK and German unification 187 and devotion together with their ministerial colleagues to the Two Plus Four negotiations.... The British contribution earned genuine German gratitude, as I saw when I visited Bonn in the summer of 1990.40

But in terms of public image the damage had been done and – as I suggested at the beginning of this chapter – the image remains virtually unchanged today. In essence the problem was one of presentation. If, as has been argued, British policy was largely in step with that of Germany’s other allies, this was not how it seemed at the time. In the absence of positive signals from the Prime Minister, Britain was bound to appear obstructive and negative. Since Britain could do little to inﬂuence the pace and direction of uniﬁcation, the most rational approach would have been an early acknowledgement on the part of the Prime Minister that German unity was going to happen: that Britain could do nothing to stop it and must therefore accept it with a good grace. No such statement was made. Much of the blame for this presentational failure lies with Thatcher. She accepted policy de facto but could not resist making statements that undermined it. Apart from her anti-German prejudices, however, many of her reservations were well founded. This was the case, for example, with the Wall Street Journal interview that caused the Germans so much concern. It was often more a case of thinking aloud, of playing with ideas, than of expressing outright opposition. Some of the blame must therefore lie with the Germans themselves, for expecting the kind of comforting reassurance that Thatcher was never in the business of giving: to Germans or to anyone else. There is no doubt, however, that her views would have carried more weight if they had been more temperately expressed. Above all, Thatcher allowed her utterances to obscure the fact that the achievement of German unity was in a real sense her doing. As Cradock had told her:

From the wider standpoint, what was happening was an immense victory for the West and for principles she had been foremost in advocating. It might not be an unalloyed pleasure for her. But it would be tragic if, because of this private qualiﬁcation, we failed to be given the credit due and allowed ourselves to be edged away from the centre of inﬂuence in the new Europe that was emerging.41

On the other side, the Foreign Office emerges as the voice of moderation, realism and practicality. It may have been willing to stick to compromise solutions – the two-state formula or the confederation formula – for too long. On the other hand, it was difficult to construct policy in a vacuum. It would have been pointless to insist on major policy changes at a time when events were moving so rapidly that even the key players – 188 P. Salmon Kohl, Bush, Gorbachev – were being repeatedly wrong-footed. There was much high-quality reportage, especially from East Berlin; and in the autumn of 1989 the East Berlin embassy was active in forging links with the unofficial East German opposition. And the Foreign Office did not compromise on the advice it gave to Thatcher: that unification was going to happen, that this fact should be welcomed and the appropriate adjust- ments made. Although Hurd was new to the job and could have been more assertive, he did stand up to Thatcher and he became increasingly effective as he established good relations with foreign statesmen like Baker and Hans-Dietrich Genscher. In Britain, as in other countries, the prospect of German unification aroused complex emotions. Thatcher was not wholly opposed to German unity; the FCO was not 100 per cent in favour, and in any case no one could know for sure what German unity would mean when it eventually materialised. The uncertainties emerge vividly from the recollections of an official still serving in the Foreign Office:

No one – not even Maggie – had visions of a renascent atavistic Germany. But German power and influence, already the preponder- ant European state, extended, magnified and compounded – that was something many did not relish and some probably feared. I remember my then head of department returning from a PUS [Permanent Under-Secretary] morning meeting at the time (say spring 1990) visibly shaken. A map purporting to show the distribution of power and spheres of influence in the new Europe had been published in the press that morning and had done the rounds at the meeting. It stole the show. North, South, East, West – it was Germany, Germany as far as the eye could reach with the UK vanishing into insignificance, depicted as a tiny almost microscopic offshore island. Shock waves ran through the entire gathering it seems. You may say this was evidence of genuine fear of that dreaded German resurgence. But I don’t think this was what the PUS et al. were registering. My then boss was very pro-German (German wife) for example. I think it was Britain’s final inglorious eclipse in prospect that struck the deep dismay. And closely allied to that the half-formed perception of a well- meaning Germany force-feeding us and other Europeans – force- feeding because Germany couldn’t help it: that would be the sheer reality of the distribution of power in Europe – lashings of all those things it thought were good for us and made for a better world.

In considering the options open to British policy in 1989–90, one has the impression of a missed opportunity: no major changes were needed, only a little more public expression of support and understanding. Britain could have done nothing to prevent unity, but it could have welcomed it more openly. This would have won the gratitude of Germans – Kohl in The UK and German unification 189 particular – at a time when they were feeling exposed and vulnerable as well as elated. At bottom it was a matter of personalities: things would have been different if Kohl and Thatcher had got on as well as Kohl and Major were to do only a short time later. Yet there remained a problem in British–German relations – one that had been identified by British diplomats before unification and remained unchanged afterwards. Analyses from 1987–89 and 1990 are almost identical except that the latter are coloured by the realisation that Germany was now a much bigger and more influential power. The Germans liked the British and got on well with them, but did not give full weight to British policies. Britain did not matter to Germans in the way that France did, and British diplomacy still lacked the leverage to ‘convince them that our policies must be taken seriously’. British ambivalence towards Germany was also part of a wider ambivalence towards the European project. Hostil- ity to European integration was not confined to Thatcher. It survived her fall, grew in intensity and remains alive and well at the heart of British government and British society. In this context Germany both mattered and did not matter. It was a symptom of a fundamental problem, but the problem would have existed whether Germany was united or not.

Notes 1 This chapter is based on material collected for a forthcoming volume of Docu- ments on British Policy Overseas. All unpublished documents cited are taken from files of the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. Senior FCO officials and ambassadors are identified by name; other officials and those still serving in the FCO in 2006 are not. The views expressed in the paper are those of the author and should not be taken to reflect those of the British Government. 2 Letter to John Weston, 11.10.1989. 3 Thatcher (1993, pp. 790–9). 4 Ibid., p. 791. 5 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 719–20). 6 Churchill College Archive Centre. British Diplomatic Oral History Project interview, 19.9.2003. 7 Staerck and Kandiah (2003). 8 Howe (1994, Chapters 38–39). 9 Dated 29.9.1987. 10 11.7.1988. 11 Minutes on draft Planning Staff paper, Aug-–Sept. 1987. 12 Mallaby despatch, 8.7.1988. 13 Minute by Ratford, 29.7.1989. 14 Mallaby to Ratford, 23.10.1989. 15 Staerck and Kandiah (2003, p. 40). 16 Memorandum on the German Question, 25.10.1989. 17 Bonn tel 1202 to FCO, 7.12.1989. 18 PUS Papers, Minute by Cooper, 23.10.1989. 19 Staerck and Kandiah (2003, pp. 27–8). 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid., p. 38. I have seen no documentary evidence for this, though it is 190 P. Salmon supported by oral testimony from an FCO official who, however, started working on German questions only in January 1990. 22 His memoirs reveal how uncomfortable he felt in being unable to speak out more wholeheartedly: Hurd (2003, p. 383). 23 See the record of ‘a memorable lunch at No. 10’ on 18 December in Urban (1996, pp. 101–17). 24 Thatcher (1993, pp. 795–6). 25 Alexander (2005, pp. 179–83). See also Cradock (1997, pp. 111–12). 26 Bonn tel 12 to FCO, 5.1.1990. 27 Powell to Wall, 9.1.1990. 28 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 158). 29 Powell to Wall, 10.1.1990. 30 Minute from Hurd to Thatcher, 16.1.1990. 31 Cradock (1997, p. 112). 32 Minute from Wall to Weston, 10.1.1990. 33 Powell to Gozney, 30.1.1990. 34 Bonn tel 137 to FCO, 5.2.1990. 35 Bonn tel 228 to FCO, 22.2.1990. 36 FCO tel 11 to Priority Guidance, 28.2.1990. 37 Washington tels 229 and 235, 30.1.1990, recording Hurd’s meetings with Bush and Baker. 38 Unless indicated otherwise, this paragraph and the next are based on interviews with two serving members of the FCO, conducted in July 2005 and Febru- ary 2006. 39 ‘Germany: Legal and Procedural Considerations’, 22.12.1989. 40 Cradock (1997, p. 113). 41 Ibid., pp. 111–12. 14 Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War

Leopoldo Nuti

The purpose of this chapter is to sketch out the main Italian reactions to the radical transformation of the international system between 1989 and 1991. Overtaken by the events as were all its European counterparts, the Andreotti–De Michelis government overcame its initial puzzlement and adopted a policy which mixed old and new approaches in order to foster a European environment where German reuniﬁcation could safely evolve. As for its sources, the chapter is almost entirely based on secondary ones. Unfortunately, there are no primary Italian documents available for these years, nor have many of the key Italian protagonists written any particularly signiﬁcant recollections of the role they played.1

Italian foreign policy in the 1980s Italian domestic politics underwent a remarkable period of change in the late 1970s. In 1979 the long search for an entente between the Commu- nist Party (PCI) on the one hand and the centre and moderate left on the other had apparently come to an end. The Communist defeat in the 1979 elections set the stage for the creation of a new parliamentary majority based on cooperation between the centre and the moderate left and the exclusion of the PCI itself. The creation of a new coalition was accompanied by several major changes: the symbolic shift of the post of Prime Minis- ter to non-Christian Democratic leaders (the Republican Giovanni Spadolini held the post from 1981 to 1982, and the Socialist Bettino Craxi from 1983 to 1987), a gradual economic reprise and increasing success in the struggle against domestic terrorism.2 This new phase of Italian domestic politics was matched by a parallel attempt to reintroduce some dynamism into Italian foreign policy. The foremost aim of the new activism was to compensate for the loss of prestige which Italy had suffered throughout the 1970s, when the combination of economic weakness, terrorism and political instability had made Italy appear an extremely fragile and unreliable partner.3 From 1979 onwards, therefore, there is much evidence of an unprecedented Italian willingness to engage in a more incisive foreign policy than in the past, with the two 192 L. Nuti crucial steps in this direction being the decision to deploy the cruise missiles and Italian participation in the multinational force posted in Beirut between 1982 and 1984.4 The former played a pivotal role in the modernization of the Alliance’s nuclear forces, while the latter was a real watershed in the use of Italian armed forces, as for the first time since the Second World War Italy sent a large expeditionary force abroad.5 This dynamism on the Mediterranean and Atlantic fronts was accompanied by similar activism in European affairs. Throughout the first half of the 1980s, Italy supported multiple initiatives aimed at strengthening Western European political cooperation, culminating in the June 1985 meeting of the European Council in Milan when the Italian Prime Minis- ter, Craxi, who held the Council Presidency played a major role in shaping the decision to convene an Intergovernmental Conference which would lead to the Single European Act. The Craxi government also strengthened Italy’s dialogue with both Gorbachev and several Eastern European governments while also openly supporting some key dissidents within the Soviet bloc. This effective approach to Eastern Europe enabled Italy to increase its influence in the region.6 At the same time, Italy also built a promising network of regional connections with some countries of East and Central Europe through the so-called Alpe Adria initiative, a low- key yet potentially fruitful experiment in regional economic cooperation among Western, Eastern and neutral countries. By and large, therefore, Italian foreign policy in the mid-1980s moved along the traditional routes of post-war Italian diplomacy, trying at once to strengthen both the Atlantic alliance and European integration, while at the same time featuring a remarkable drive to stake out a higher profile for Italy, as well as a strengthened resolve to have the country included in the main decision-making bodies of the West. The awareness of the risks that Italy had undertaken bolstered the confidence of diplomats and politicians alike in the new course. Coupled with the general optimism generated by a new phase of economic growth, this steadfastness gave to the Italian foreign policy of the second half of the 1980s a certain buoyant attitude, as if the country had earned special consideration through the more innovative and assertive tone of its policies in the previous years. No one summed up this attitude in clearer terms than the doyen of Italian diplomacy, Roberto Ducci, who wrote this revealing assessment on the very same day of NATO’s dual track decision:

Thanks to its participation to the modernization program of the Atlantic nuclear arsenal, as well as to the de facto degradation of the smaller allies, Italy now has the possibility for the first time since the war to become a member of the Western Negotiating Group which de facto will direct the global negotiations with the Soviet Union which will take place in different episodes, at different times, and whose existence will often be denied. I do no doubt that this possibility, which for Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 193 the time being is only theoretical, may become a concrete one, as long as the government of our country has the political willingness and our diplomacy succeeds in what will be its greatest mission in the second half of the century: namely, to find a place, in a position of parity with the great powers and therefore of full dignity, in the negotiations first for a truce, and later for peace.7

Italy and German unification This upbeat mood was to be severely tested in the following two years. When the process of change in Eastern Europe stepped up its tempo in the early summer of 1989, Italy was going through the birth pains of a new cabinet. Ever since the 1987 elections, cooperation between the Christian Democrats (DC) and the Socialists (PSI), based on the permanent exclusion of the PCI had remained the cornerstone of the new course of Italian politics, but there were recurrent tensions which were overcome only in July 1989. The new government was established under the leadership of Giulio Andreotti, one of the most experienced and enig- matic DC statesmen, and featured one of Craxi’s closest collaborators, Gianni De Michelis, as Foreign Minister. This duo, which was meant to project a symbolic image of the close cooperation between the two main political forces behind the government, would remain in power, after a minor crisis and some changes in the cabinet structure in April 1991, until the national elections of April 1992. They were to face some of the most important challenges of the whole post-war period, but they were reasonably well equipped for the task: besides being actively involved in government since 1947, Andreotti had been Foreign Minister without any interruption since 1983, and had therefore an unprecedented firsthand knowledge of the international politics of his time. Cautious, reserved, sarcastic, accused of all sorts of illicit and shady deals, Andreotti had weathered more storms than any other Italian political personality of his times, always coming out on top of his opponents, and was a well known figure, albeit one who was not always wholeheartedly appreciated in the diplomatic circles of his time. According to a remarkably incisive portrait sketched by Jacques Delors, the President of the European Commission, Andreotti:

impressed and simultaneously discomforted his colleagues. He impressed because he had sharp mind, a sense of repartee, and at times a wicked sense of humour. But he also provoked reservations ... through his often original stances on foreign policy issues.... But it must be recognised that he did much for Europe.8

De Michelis, on the other hand, was undertaking his first important ministerial assignment and would add some innovative, if not always consistent, 194 L. Nuti ideas to Andreotti’s more sure-footed approach. They enjoyed a remarkably stable parliamentary majority, by Italian standards, and with their respective parties fully determined to support them, they could rely on an unusual basis of domestic strength. Both approached the transformation of Europe’s political landscape with interest and prudence at the same time, but would be greatly perplexed when faced with the prospect of German unification. The issue of German unity, in fact, posed a great challenge to Italian foreign policy from a substantive as a well as a formal point of view. Aside from the security risks provoked by a hastened reunification that might irritate the Soviet Union, a united Germany would also imply for Italy a weakening of its relative status among European powers. A divided Germany, while much stronger economically, had much in common with Italy, even though the analogy should not be overstated: both displayed a similar enthusiasm for European integration as a tool to overcome their previous aggressive records, shared a similar past as defeated countries, and as such were kept out of the UN Security Council and did not enjoy the nuclear status of their French and British counterparts. A united Germany, on the other hand, was an unknown entity which might move beyond its status of mere economic giant and nurture dangerous great power aspirations, thus leaving Italy alone and confronted with a possible return to the old struggle for power in Europe. In addition, from a more formal point of view, Italy had little, if any, specific right to participate in the negotiations over reunification, and this possible exclusion from the table at which the future of Europe would be settled, strengthened the traditional Italian feeling of resentment at any great power directorate. Parity, as underlined by Ducci’s comments above, loomed large as an aspiration of Italian foreign policy. That Andreotti himself was not enthusiastic about German reunification was well known. In 1984, a passing remark he made at a public festival about the inevitability of the division of Germany and the dangers of pan- Germanismus had created a minor, but serious, diplomatic crisis between Italy and the Federal Republic.9 Things were obviously patched up quickly and in subsequent bilateral meetings the two countries displayed a remarkable entente, but in November 1989, when the issue of reunification assumed a totally unexpected immediacy, many suddenly remembered what the Italian Prime Minister had publicly stated only a few years before. Kohl’s memoirs clearly reveal the extent of his disappointment at the very lukewarm, timid support he received from his Italian counterpart:

as far as Germany was concerned, [Andreotti] repeated several times that it was a nation but two states, and this was his solid position.... Unfortunately I was about to realize that the most influential representative of the Italian Christian Democrats had a sceptical position on the issue of German reunification. I had hoped for much stronger support from him.10 Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 195 And in another passage:

In those weeks and months there were some statements which made me ask if for twenty years we had after all worked together in vain. What might have gone through the head of my old friend Giulio Andreotti when, as far as re-uniﬁcation was concerned, he spoke about ‘pan-germanismus’?11

Andreotti’s reaction, as a matter of fact, fell somewhere in between the stronger negative response of Margaret Thatcher and the more flexible approach developed by François Mitterrand. As late as October 1989, a few days before the fall of the Wall, he was regarded by the French Foreign Ministry as believing that the issue of German reunification was not ‘a current one’ for the time being.12 Then, in the immediate aftermath of the dismantling of the Wall, Italy displayed an even greater prudence towards the consequences of that momentous event and Andreotti seemed once again to agree with Gorbachev who, during his visit to Rome in late November, had declared that German reunification was not part of the current diplomatic agenda.13 Gorbachev, as a matter of fact, arrived in Rome on the 29 November, the day after Kohl had explained to the Bun- destag his ten points for reunification, and obviously both the Soviet leader and the Italian Prime Minister were under the shock of this totally unexpected development. Even taking into account the resentment produced by Kohl’s rather surprising initiative, however, Andreotti comes across as consistently sceptical about hastening a possible unification. It would take some time to rally Italy to the viewpoint that the reunification was really imminent. At the Brussels NATO meeting in December, Andreotti adopted a very careful position. After President Bush’s long introductory speech summing up the results of the Malta meeting and openly advocating the Alliance’s full support for the cause of German reunification, Andreotti was the first to break the ice, introducing an embarrassing note of caution which contrasted strongly with the US President’s green light to the project. In spite of Kohl’s enthusiastic approval of Bush’s speech and undeterred by the Chancellor’s odd remark that after Bush’s comments the meeting could be adjourned, Andreotti went ahead with his own observations and warned about the possible consequences – for the Baltic states for instance – were the principle of self-determination to be applied to the GDR. His recommendation that governments should try not to lose control of events elicited warm support from Thatcher.14 A few days later, at the Strasbourg meeting of the European Council, the Italian Prime Minister returned the favour and supported the famous assault which Thatcher unleashed against Kohl, particularly on the issue of the preservation of the current European borders.15 All the Italian perplexities were exasperated when the issue went a step 196 L. Nuti further and the formal procedure for discussing the problem of reunification was announced. On 10 February, 1990, the West German Foreign Minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher declared that German unification would be dealt with within the 2+4 framework, thus rejecting any notion that it might be discussed inside a wider framework such as the CSCE where Italy could take part. Clearly this step left Italy completely out of the loop and at the North Atlantic Council held in Ottawa, on 13 February, 1990, De Michelis tried to express his country’s resentment at being left out of such important negotiations as well as at the secretive way in which the 2+4 mechanism had been discussed and approved without consulting him. De Michelis’s efforts to reopen the issue, in spite of the support of the Dutch Foreign Minister, only elicited a very sharp rebuttal from Genscher himself, who basically told him that German reunification was none of his business.16 The deterioration of German–Italian relations was finally halted when Kohl met Andreotti in Pisa during a meeting of European Christian Demo- crats, a few days after the Ottawa meeting. Only then did Andreotti openly accept the inevitability of reunification: in his final official statement he declared that his government had an entirely positive view of the process of German reunification since it was developing in full conformity with the policies of NATO and the EC. The steps towards unification, he added, had not been unduly hasty.17 Shortly afterwards, by late February, De Michelis would tell the House of Deputies that German unification was not only inevitable, but also ‘just’ and that it would provide ‘the cornerstone of the new building of a united Europe’.18 Eventually Italy had come round to accept the inevitable, but its warm support for all efforts to reinforce Euro- pean cooperation reveals a strong uneasiness about the future.

Italy and the new international system: old and new approaches Faced with the new challenges unleashed by the fall of the Wall, Italian foreign policy would respond with a mixture of old and new approaches. The first of these was European integration. The quest for European unity had been one of the key features of post-war Italian diplomacy, and it was only natural that even a pragmatic, non-ideological personality such as Andreotti would turn to such a reassuring framework in order to contain the unpredictable consequences of German unification. In pursuing this course with remarkable tenacity, he found not only the support of those Italian political forces that had always had a soft spot for the Federalist approach to European integration, but also of those key sectors of the Italian economy which believed that an economic union was the medicine needed to cure the many distortions of the country’s economy.19 Support for closer European political cooperation had become almost a routine feature of Italian foreign policy in the second part of the 1980s. Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 197 By early 1988 the Italian government had once again pledged its support to a popular petition which called for the European Parliament to be given a Constituent Mandate. Likewise, Italy consistently supported Delors’ plans for closer economic cooperation, and the Italian delegate on the Delors Committee, Tommaso Padoa Schioppa, played an important role in drafting the Report for an Economic and Monetary Union approved in Madrid in June 1989.20 As a result, Andreotti told Mitterrand in October that his government shared the French intention to implement the Report as soon as possible, even if that implied putting some pressure on a reluctant Chancellor Kohl.21 The unexpected crisis opened by the fall of the Wall and by Kohl’s ten points made the implementation of an EMU all the more indispensable, and at the Strasbourg Council in December Italy vocally supported the opening of an intergovernmental conference. Throughout this period, Andreotti played an important role in seconding the French initiatives in this direction, thereby indirectly increasing the political pressure on Germany. A few months later in Dublin, Andreotti and De Michelis would similarly approve the convoca- tion of a second IGC intended to discuss political union. For Italy, which had always regarded the process of European integration as the best way to reduce the internal tensions of the continent and prevent a return to the tensions of the old European balance of power, the acceleration of the construction of Europe was by far the best possible framework to contain the consequences of German reunification. In the following months, Andreotti and De Michelis were given an extraordinary opportunity to regain some of the ground lost with Italy’s exclusion from the 2+4 talks. In the second half of 1990, Italy held the Presidency of the European Council, which offered the Andreotti government a chance to plot the difficult course towards the creation of the European Union. On 27–28 October 1990, an Extraordinary European Council met in Rome and approved two documents, one on European Political Union (EPU), which expressed the desire to gradually transform the Community into a Union, and the other on the European Monetary Union (EMU), which stipulated that the European Monetary Institute was to start work on 1 January 1994. Shortly afterwards, on 14–15 December 1990, a summit meeting of the Twelve’s heads of state and government convened two intergovernmental conferences (IGCs) on political union and on economic and monetary union. By and large, Andreotti and De Michelis had achieved the goals they had set themselves, and earned some very positive remarks in the process, but in spite of the adroit managing of the negotiation about the two IGCs, the Italian presidency of the EC will probably best be remembered for the caustic cover of the Economist which compared it to a bus driven by the Marx Brothers. While not entirely justified, this comment did pinpoint a certain lack of coordination in the Italian initiatives, particularly between Andreotti and De Michelis themselves. Nevertheless, not only did Italy play an important organizational 198 L. Nuti role during its Presidency, but its representatives also offered some substantial contribution to the subsequent negotiations in the two IGCs. Padoa Schioppa, for instance, was once again instrumental in crafting a compromise on the difficult issue of the deadline for the creation of the Euro, and the dual deadline of 1997 and 1999 was actually his brain- child.22 Much more controversial was the role played by De Michelis in trying to offer an Italian contribution to the definition of a common foreign and security policy. In September 1990, when the European Council began discussing the future role of the Western European Union (WEU) in preparation for the impending IGC on political union, De Michelis suggested the full incorporation of the WEU in the future union, and in the following weeks the Italian government, together with the Belgian one, seemed to be fully supportive of the idea.23 Andreotti and De Michelis then slightly toned down the initial Italian enthusiastic position by suggesting that they meant a long-term change, not an immediate one; but they also made clear that in the future such a prospect would indeed entail, as Andreotti declared to the European Parliament in November, ‘an exclusive system of security, quite separate from wider link-up now offered by NATO’.24 In February 1991 Italy expressed again its full support for the Franco-German proposals aimed at strengthening the political union by the gradual merger of the WEU into the future EU.25 Shortly afterwards, however, the Bush administration began to signal its concern that any such an initiative might eventually lead to the decoupling of US and European security. The famous ‘Bartholomew message’ of 22 February 1991, sparked a very lively debate and some irate reactions amongst the European allies, but its impact was undeniable: it was now clear that the US was not supportive of a drift that might entail the eventual dislocation of NATO.26 While it is not possible to demonstrate that the following Italian volte-face was purely the consequence of the US demarche, there is no doubt that shortly after Bartholomew’s intervention the Italian position shifted towards a mediating role, to the point that in October De Michelis joined his British counterpart, Douglas Hurd, in signing a joint declaration which tried to elaborate a possible compromise:

the WEU should be entrusted with the task of developing the Euro- pean dimension in the ﬁeld of defence, it will develop its role in two complementary directions: as the defence component of the Union and as the means to strengthen the European pillar of the Alliance.27

Perhaps the Italian shift was caused by different views within the government. Hutchings openly states that Andreotti and his security adviser, Umberto Vattani, were closer to the American position than De Michelis.28 Faced with the possibility of an Atlantic crisis, the Prime Minis- Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 199 ter may have decided that the Italian support for the strengthening of the Union had to be toned down and made compatible with the overall framework of the Transatlantic relationship, thereby reining in his more colourful, and less predictable, foreign minister.29 The unfolding crisis in the Persian Gulf, as well as the increasingly loud rumblings of war coming from across the Yugoslav border in the summer of 1991, may also have been important in persuading Andreotti that the country’s security was best left in the safe haven of the Atlantic alliance. This shift, however, is somewhat revealing of how Italy approached the new phase of European integration. The Maastricht process meant different things to different people: for a few hardcore Federalists, it meant a step towards the fulfilment of their aspirations; for some policy entre- preneurs, some of the country’s leading industrialists, and some experienced economists, it meant the only possible way to regain control of a deteriorating economic situation through the imposition of an external straightjacket; for many politicians and diplomats, it meant the only possible way to prevent the new Germany from running adrift by placing it into a very tight political and economic framework. All believed that the new Europe was a worthy cause, but except for a few Federalists, not many believed that it was worth an irrevocable rift with the country’s main ally for the previous 45 years. In light of the above, it may be interesting to add a few final reflections on the second major international initiative that Italy embarked upon during this period, namely the Pentagonal/Central European Initiative. The origin of the project was as a sort of spontaneous outgrowth from a number of connections built during the 1980s, when the states of Danu- bian–Balkan Europe had developed an innovative approach to transnational cooperation by encouraging the growth of mutual contacts. Austria, in particular, had been quite active in establishing a wide array of connections with East–Central European states, trying to function as a bridge between East and West.30 Italy, which since the 1960s had actively tried to penetrate Eastern European markets, sponsored and supported a regional project known as the Alpe Adria Initiative. This had begun in 1978, trying to promote cultural and economic exchanges between bordering regions in a very low-key fashion. Limited in its scope, the initiative was nevertheless quite path-breaking in trying to foster the development of stronger ties between bordering regions of states that belonged to opposite blocs or, in the case of Austria and Yugoslavia, preserved their neutrality. Its members included regions from Austria, Germany (Bavaria had observer status), Italy and Yugoslavia, with Hungary joining in the mid-1980s. The Alpe Adria Project worked at seven levels, with organizational structures kept to a minimum (regional planning and environmental protection; traffic; culture; economy; agriculture and forestry; health and hygiene; tourism), and it was able to play quite a relevant role in 200 L. Nuti circumventing Cold War barriers by promoting cooperation in these fields. The Pentagonal initiative was, from a substantive if not from a formal point of view, its logical development. It began on 11 and 12 November 1989, when the foreign ministers of Austria, Hungary, Italy and Yugoslavia concluded their first quadripartite meeting by agreeing to hold regular sessions of political consultation and by approving several joint economic and technical initiatives. The latter were meant to promote industrial, scientific and cultural cooperation, with special emphasis on the setting up of infrastructure and the protection of the environment. The agreement was seen as a sort of qualitative step forward, as it marked the transition ‘from a loose grouping of border regions to an association of states that could play a broader role in a restructured Europe’.31 It must be stressed, however, that the fact that it took place barely two days after the fall of the Berlin Wall, gave the meeting a totally unexpected political significance that none of its participants would have dreamed of when the project had been conceived. On 20 May 1990 the four foreign ministers were joined by the representative of the Czechoslovak government, which had also shown its interest in the project. At the Vienna–Bratislava meeting the five delega- tions agreed to intensify cooperation in the region and to set up two working groups to deal with the issues of national minorities and of the production of environmentally-safe energy, as well as to hold joint discussions on the future structure of Europe and the role of the CSCE. In August of that same year there was a meeting of the foreign ministers and the heads of government of the five countries, where representatives of the Bulgarian and Rumanian governments were also admitted as observers. Yet another meeting was held in November, in which Poland participated as an observer. Finally, in the June 1991 meeting held in Dubrovnik, Poland officially joined the organization, which was renamed the ‘Hexagonal Group’, while Albania and Sweden participated as observers. With the outbreak of the Yugoslav crisis at the end of that month, however, the Hexagonal was faced with a crucial test. Italy clearly tried to use it as a possible tool to contain the development of the crisis and to prevent the dissolution of the Federation, but the degradation of the situation made the initiative more and more irrelevant to the new security challenges. Unable to stop the descent into war or to scale the conflict down once it had started, the Central European Initiative, as it was renamed when Yugoslavia was replaced by Croatia, Slovenia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, gradually lost its original importance in spite of some later attempts to revive it.32 Only in the second half of the 1990s would it pick up some speed again, and increase its membership to the current level of 17 countries. How relevant was this initiative in preventing the disruption of East Central Europe, in light of the increasing turmoil which quickly spread through the region after the early phase of enthusiasm that followed the Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 201 end of the Communist regimes? As both NATO and the EC showed a marked reluctance to act swiftly when confronted by the new problems of the region, there seemed to be an initial opportunity for a smaller, more flexible international cooperative structure to fill the gap.33 Nevertheless, when the whole area was beset by a resurgence of violent ethnic strife and by severe economic difficulties, the Hexagonal slowed down its activities and proved somewhat ineffective in containing the new problems. It could still be argued, however, that the new organization provided a useful, even if limited, stop-gap in the immediate aftermath of the dissolution of the Warsaw Pact by offering a first opportunity to some of the Central and Eastern European countries to cooperate with one of their Western counterparts. In other words, it fulfilled a significant role as a bridge, albeit temporarily limited and geographically restricted, to countries which were not being offered any other opportunities by either NATO or the EC/EU. Italy’s interest in sponsoring this initiative can probably be interpreted in the same light as its support for European integration, namely to provide some sort of re-insurance against the possibility that the new course of European politics might turn out to be too unpredictable and troublesome. Some observers felt at the time that the Hexagonal might pave the way to a return to the diplomatic formulae of the past, and that the Italian initiative, rather than being conceived in a spirit of cooperation, was instead just a more sophisticated version of old power politics, with Italy trying to build up its influence in its area of interest and to prevent either the penetration by other actors into the region or the formation of a hostile bloc. Was Italy, in other words, trying to build a sort of ‘soft’ hegemony in Danubian–Balkan Europe and to collect the her- itage of the former Austro-Hungarian empire? Was there, as many felt at the time, a subtly anti-German tinge to the whole project, as if Italy feared the irresistible drive of German economic and political penetration in the region? Post-war Italian foreign policy had featured an apparent hostility to power politics and this low-key approach had had the paradoxical effect of increasing Italian influence in several areas where Italy was regarded as a less threatening presence than some other European powers. Its efforts at organizing the Danubian–Balkan region, therefore, may be looked upon as an attempt to build some sort of sub-regional bloc in which Italy could play a leading role by being the bridge linking the European Community and the Danubian–Balkan countries. Although more economically fragile than the bridge that Germany might offer, it was politically far less likely to provoke fears of a renewed bid for hegemony. Besides, Italy enjoyed a favourable position vis-à-vis the Danubian–Balkan region from yet another point of view. The reformers of the new East–Central European democracies rejected the planned, bureaucratized economies of their socialist past, but in many cases they were also wary of the risks inherent in a sudden dramatic shift to free enterprise, since their societies might not be psychologically prepared to face the harshly 202 L. Nuti competitive aspects of a capitalist economy as well as the simultaneous loss of their former welfare guarantees, limited as they might have been. In such circumstances, Italy was seen as offering an interesting model of economic development for these countries, with its successful proliferation of small and medium-sized enterprises that had been one of the main factors of Italian economic growth in the 1980s.

Conclusions From this brief survey of Italian reactions to the momentous events of 1989–1990, the main conclusion that can be drawn is that the Italian government showed basically the same attitude as many of its European counterparts, namely a mixture of preoccupation, concern, but also willingness to fully explore the available set of national, multilateral and supranational tools to prevent the transformation of the international system from jeopardizing all the positive achievements of the previous 50 years of European and Atlantic cooperation. The threat posed by German reunification was therefore gradually turned into a challenge and finally into an opportunity to try a quantum leap and achieve all those European goals which had proved elusive during the 1980s and that would serve the dual purpose of fulfilling the country’s European aspirations and containing the new Germany. A similar assessment can be made of the Central European Initiative, conceived both as a way to expand the country’s economic influence into a potentially rewarding new area, but also as a bridge into the new Europe for the Eastern Europeans as they emerged from 50 years of isolation from their Western counterparts. Protection of national interests and ambitious multilateral and supranational projects, therefore, were often two sides of the very same coin. No starry-eyed ideal- ists, Andreotti, De Michelis and the key figures of Italian diplomacy also wanted to make sure that the new European Union would be safely couched within an Atlantic framework. As the Bush administration signalled its concern for the future of NATO and the transition to the post- Cold War era ran into its first problems in the Gulf and Yugoslavia, Italian foreign policy clearly sided with those other Europeans who were not willing to endanger the security relationship with their most important ally. While it may not have played the central role ambitiously envisaged by Ducci in 1979, Italy was marginalized only at the time of the 2+4 negotiations, and its role in shaping the post-Cold War European order was not insignificant. Nevertheless, in the years that followed the country would not be able to keep up this active profile as its domestic political system, so closely intertwined with the structures of the bipolar world, could not survive the demise of the international order whose main features it reproduced, as a sort of microcosm, on the domestic Italian political scene. Italy, German unification and the end of the Cold War 203 Notes 1 The significant exceptions here are Padoa Schioppa (1992) and Carli (1993). Andreotti’s own writings on the Soviet Union stop at Gorbachev’s early years: Andreotti (1988). 2 Craveri (1995, Chapter 7). 3 Maurizio Cremasco, ‘Italy: A New Role in the Mediterranean?’ In Chipman (1988, p. 218). 4 Ministero della Difesa (1985); Ferraris (1993, p. 346, note 95). 5 Lagorio (1998, pp. 114–115). See also Angioni (1984) and Caligaris (1984, pp. 262–268). 6 On Italy’s foreign policy in the 1980s, see Di Nolfo (2003). 7 ‘Il posto dell’Italia nel mondo’, 12.12.1979. In Roberto Ducci, Roma, Ministero Affari Esteri, undated, p. 225. Emphasis added. 8 Delors (2004, p. 265). 9 See L.V. Ferraris, ‘Una Germania o due Germanie: fatti.e. illusioni’. In Serra (1990). 10 Kohl (2005, p. 963). 11 Ibid., p. 1015. 12 Bozo (2005, p. 118). 13 Ferraris (1993, p. 438); Kohl (2005, p. 961). 14 Bozo (2005, p. 150); Kohl (2005, p. 1007); Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 133–134). 15 Favier and Martin-Roland (1996, p. 235); Thatcher (1993, p. 737); Bozo (2005, p. 154). 16 Genscher (1998, pp. 347–348). 17 Sud Deutscher Zeitung, 17.2.1990, cited in Chronik 2+4 Vertrag, www.2plus4.de/, viewed 20.5.2006. 18 Ferraris (1993, p. 439). 19 Dyson and Featherstone (1999, esp. Chapter 11). 20 Delors (2004, pp. 417–418). 21 Favier and Martin-Roland (1996, p. 229). 22 Padoa Schioppa (1992); Delors (2004, pp. 451–452). 23 van Eekelen (1998, pp. 59–61). 24 Luoma-aho (2004, pp. 106–127). 25 Ibid., p. 11. 26 Hutchings (1997, pp. 275–281). 27 ‘An Anglo-Italian Declaration on European Security and Defence in the Context of the Intergovernmental Conference on Political Union’, Europe Docu- ments, 5.10.1991. 28 Hutchings (1997, p. 278). 29 Andreotti’s claim to Mitterrand that he was informed very late of the Anglo- Italian initiative does not sound very convincing: Bozo (2005, p. 465 n. 63). 30 Sucharipa and Lehme (1991); J.F. Brown, ‘The Views from Vienna and Rome’. In Gordon (1987). 31 Moore (1990). See also Sunley (1990). 32 Reisch (1993, pp. 30–36). 33 For an argument in favour of a bolder EC policy towards these countries, see The New York Review of Books, 24.10.1991.

Part VI Soviet disintegration and the building of a new Europe

15 From the common European home to European confederation François Mitterrand and Mikhail Gorbachev in search of the road to a greater Europe

Andrei Grachev

During the second half of the 1980s François Mitterrand and Mikhail Gor- bachev lived an intense experience of exclusive political cooperation and complicity, a kind of political romance that eventually resulted in a common project for what they both called ‘Greater Europe’ (la Grande Europe/Boljshaia Evropa). Yet they both started from quite different and distant positions. Despite the fact that they were both, for their own reasons, attached to the historic tradition of Franco-Russian/Soviet special relations (according to Hubert Védrine, Mitterrand was convinced that de Gaulle’s return from Moscow in 1944 after the signature of the Franco- Soviet Treaty ‘six years after the return from Munich was affirmation that the solid Entente between France and Russia was a necessity for European equilibrium’)1 they were separated by many political and personal features. The first of these was certainly age: Mitterrand, unlike Gorbachev, belonged to the generation that had been deeply marked by the personal experience of a terrible war. The second difference was the contrast in education and political culture in general, particularly sensitive in their approach to the idea of Europe. While Mitterrand was deeply involved in the process of European integration with the Franco-German couple at its heart, Gorbachev, especially in the first years of his rule, was basically ignorant about the reality of an integrated Europe. With regard to the German problem, until 1988 at least, he certainly underestimated the specificity of the German issue and the depth of the national trauma of division inherited from defeat in the Second World War. Finally even the fact that one was a classic West European socialist while the other (paradoxically until he became the General Secretary of his party) was a convinced communist, created between the two a psychological barrier that in some respects was more difficult to cross than the ideological opposition between Gorbachev and such hard-line conservatives as Ronald Reagan and 208 A. Grachev Margaret Thatcher. So what historic and political logic brought them together? As we shall see, it may be precisely these important mutual differences distinctions that allowed two outstanding political actors to come first to close mutual understanding and finally to concerted action, based not just on reciprocal tactical advantage, but also on a shared strategic vision of Europe’s common future. This last took the form of two differently labelled, but substantively convergent projects: Gorbachev’s ‘common European home’ and Mitterrand’s ‘Conféderation européenne’.

Russian approaches, French reserve It cannot be considered a historical accident that both Gorbachev’s first and last official trips abroad during the six and a half years of his stay in power happened to be the visits to France to meet with Mitterrand. The first visit was to Paris in October 1985 six months after his election to the post of General Secretary; the last was to Latché – Mitterrand’s country home – in November 1991 several weeks before his forced resignation from the post of the first President of a Soviet Union that was about to fall apart. On both occasions the two leaders spoke extensively about Europe and the different tonality of the two visits marks clearly the enormous distance they had both travelled in bringing together their approaches towards the continent’s future. By evoking his project of the common European home in the course of his October 1985 visit to Paris, Gorbachev was still following the traditional instrumental approach of Soviet diplomacy towards Europe, despite his evident intention to distance himself from the Brezhnev–Gromyko tendency to consider Europe as just a trophy to be disputed between the two superpowers. As a former deputy to Gromyko recalled: ‘In Moscow, after the several decades of the Cold War, Europe was considered as a political card in the strategic game with Washington rather than an independent entity which had its own value.’2 Gorbachev’s visit to Paris took place just one month before his first summit with Ronald Reagan in Geneva in November 1985 and was largely devoted to the preparation of the superpower encounter. Gorbachev was hoping (and his hopes were confirmed) that Mitterrand’s impressions, once transmitted to Reagan, would prepare the ground for a breakthrough in Geneva in the USSR’s relations with the West. That was why he chose Paris to announce some of his new initiatives in the field of disarmament despite the fact that these were directed more to American than to European ears. For example while in Paris, Gorbachev for the first time proposed a 50 per cent reduction in the US and Soviet strategic arms in return for a halt by the Americans of the Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI) and outlined Moscow’s plan to eliminate the Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) and cruise missiles. Common European home to European confederation 209 At the same time, following the classical Soviet diplomatic scheme, the Soviet leader wanted to profit from his visit to France in order to play the European card against the US. Gorbachev wanted to remind Reagan that Russia felt much more at home in Europe than the Americans and that Soviet leaders did not need to go through Washington in order to speak directly with the Europeans. And yet this traditional Soviet approach already differed considerably from Brezhnev’s times. The underlying philosophy of the new Soviet European strategy was worked out by Gor- bachev’s new diplomatic team in which hard-line Americanists close to Gromyko had been replaced by liberal Europeanists such as Vadim Zagladin, Anatoly Kovalev, Anatoly Chernyaev and, at a later stage, Valentin Falin. These advisers to the new General Secretary were conscious of the political fiasco which had resulted when the former Soviet leadership had tried to assert Soviet influence in Europe using an increased military build-up and intimidation by adding the SS-20 Euromis- siles to the pre-existing Soviet conventional supremacy. The reasoning of Gorbachev’s team was simple:

if by threatening Europe, the old Soviet leadership succeeded only in pushing it closer to the US, what was needed to win back the sympathies of the Europeans and undermine the American presence in Europe was a new peace offensive from the Soviet side in the direction of Europe that would not be limited just to propagandistic statements and a change of rhetoric but would announce the abrogation of the ‘offensive elements’ in the Soviet military potential destined for the European theatre.3

In sum, while the new tactics were ‘soft’, the goal remained the traditional one of driving a wedge between the members of the Atlantic alliance. In accordance with this line, Gorbachev’s first variant of the common European home, although it remained almost as vague as de Gaulle’s promise of a ‘Europe from Atlantic to the Urals’, had as its foundation the traditional purpose of Soviet diplomacy: to ‘decouple’ the security of the European continent from the US–Soviet strategic struggle and assure for Moscow a comfortable position face to face with the rest of Europe. This was precisely why the initial reaction of most Western European leaders, including François Mitterrand, towards Gorbachev’s project was polite but sceptical. Answering a direct question from one of the journalists in October 1985 regarding his attitude towards the concept of a common European home, Mitterrand preferred an evasive answer: ‘I would not personally make use of [this idea]’.4 Already, however, Gorbachev’s personal vision of the ‘common Euro- pean home’ could not be reduced to the mere propagandistic slogan or trick of which he was suspected. In contrast to most of his diplomatic 210 A. Grachev advisers he incorporated much more profound content into the formula. Launched during the initial, optimistic, stage of perestroika, it reflected his belief in the capacity of a ‘reformed’ and democratized socialism in the East to converge with the ‘humanized’ (and probably social- democratized) capitalism in the West in one common project of Euro- pean unification. The political framework for this idealistic conception had to be provided by the gradual rapprochement of the two integrated structures: the European Community in the West and the transformed and renovated Soviet Union, surrounded by its allies, in the East. Gorbachev chose Paris as the pulpit for the presentation of his new European policy for obvious reasons. France, as Moscow’s privileged partner, was expected to be the first Western country to follow the Soviet Union in launching a new edition of détente. A political myth popular in the Kremlin since the times of de Gaulle’s exit from NATO conceived of France as the ‘weak link’ in the Atlantic chain. French diplomacy had actively cooperated with the Soviets in favour of the constructive outcome of the Helsinki process. Even Mitterrand’s defiant position on the question of SS-20s was not interpreted by Gorbachev’s team as a deviation towards Atlanticism from the traditional Gaullist line since by now the mutual elimination of Soviet and US Euromissiles had become part of Gorbachev’s list of top priorities. In addition, Soviet experts continued to believe that the French were marked forever by an anti-German syndrome which would always fit well with Moscow’s own concerns about Germany. (And Mitterrand’s allergic reaction to the perspective of German unification, at least in the first months that followed the fall of the Berlin Wall, proved that they were partly right). But above all, France with Mitterrand as its head represented for Gorbachev the political leader of Europe. So what better place than Paris in which to address the whole of Europe? Naturally, if the French were to be gained for the cause they had to be flattered and deserved some political presents. The eloquent Eduard She- vardnadze, for instance, did not hesitate to call France ‘the world’s clock’.5 Gorbachev, moreover, reserved several important announcements for his visit to Paris. He confirmed the radical change of the Soviet view of the EC as a ‘political entity’ and called for the establishment of an EC–CMEA cooperation treaty. Mitterrand was the first Western leader to whom he announced his intention to withdraw Soviet troops from Afghanistan (probably hoping that Mitterrand would pass on this news to Reagan). And already in his first tête-à-tête with Mitterrand on 1 October 1985, Gor- bachev announced to the French President that in the future the USSR would be ready not to count or in any way include French nuclear forces in US–Soviet inventories and disarmament negotiations. In July 1986 when Mitterrand arrived in Moscow, Gorbachev made another effort to seduce the French President, outlining new Soviet initiatives about conventional arms control and confidence building measures (for the Stockholm conference) and for the first time evoking the possibil- Common European home to European confederation 211 ity of a new version of the Helsinki process. Again this was a rather traditional Soviet courtship of the French, seeking to offer them the privileged role as the ‘generator’ of a new détente and at the same time a flattering function of mediator between the Soviet and American leaders. This did not prove to be enough for Mitterrand, however. It took the two leaders no less than three years – until 1988 – to build mutual personal trust and to reach the level of political complicity that eventually allowed them to carry out concerted actions in 1989–1990. And despite the fact that Gorbachev did not hesitate to show his impatience and even irritation at the reserved attitude of the French president to his insistent offers, Mitterrand continued to remain unimpressed. His reservations indeed turned into open expressions of disagreement on the occasion of the Gorbachev–Reagan anti-nuclear pact almost concluded at Reykjavik in 1986. Mitterrand was certainly sensitive to the gestures of political attention shown by Gorbachev. He was pleased to be the first Western leader to welcome the new General Secretary on an official visit. Yet no more than a month later after the first US–Soviet summit in Geneva, and still more on the occasion of the Reykjavik summit and in the course of the preparation of the INF Treaty in 1987, he could observe that Gorbachev’s diplomacy, despite all the niceties that were addressed to the Europeans (1987 was even formally declared to be the Year of Europe in the Soviet political calendar), once more displayed the traditional Soviet penchant for discussion of the world’s major problems with the Americans, marginalizing Europe in the process. Another specifically French worry resulted from the declared intention of the leaders of the two superpowers at Rejkyavik to start moving towards a denuclearized world without (in the American case) consulting their allies and certainly ignoring the specificity of the French autonomy of ‘dis- suasion nucleaire’. It took some time for Gorbachev’s team to understand why France reacted more hostilely to this even than the British (who were much more closely tied to the US defence strategy) despite the fact that Moscow had made a major concession in accepting the exclusion of the French and British nuclear arsenals in inventories drawn up in arms control negotiations. Gorbachev and Shevardnadze were also embarrassed by Paris’ reluctance to applaud the elimination of Soviet and American Euromissiles. They certainly disregarded a factor that counted greatly for France: namely that the advance of US–Soviet nuclear disarmament exposed the French force de frappe much more than the frontal pressure employed by the Soviets in the era of Brezhnev and Gromyko. Furthermore, the suggested denuclearization of Europe increased the importance of conventional forces where Soviet supremacy remained absolute. And certainly the French were not at all enthusiastic than the Soviets about the prospect of remaining face to face with the Soviet Union within a putative common 212 A. Grachev European home for so long as Gorbachev’s promises to reform and democratize the communist system within the USSR had not produced concrete results. Despite the disappointment and even the feeling of resentment provoked by the ‘capriciousness’ of Paris – Shevardnadze even shared these feelings with French Foreign Minister Roland Dumas saying that the Soviets felt that they had not been rewarded by Paris for their ‘historic concessions’6 – it was probably this firmness of the French position that eventually forced Gorbachev to turn with more attention to the European concerns in general and to start, from 1988 and the signature of the INF Treaty with the US onwards, to adjust his position on conventional weapons to the wishes of the Europeans. Addressing the sceptics in the Soviet Politburo he said on one occasion:

As a reaction to our proposals concerning nuclear disarmament we are being reminded (by the West) about conventional arms and weapons. We are ready to resolve this problem also. We are in favour of equilibrium on all types of weapons including conventional ones.7

In May 1987 Gorbachev publicly declared that the Soviet Union recognized the importance and necessity of Western Europe’s security links with the United States. That signalled a real departure from the traditional Soviet strategy of seeking to drive wedges between different members of the Atlantic alliance still present in the ﬁrst stages of Gor- bachev’s own Westpolitik. And in Washington in December 1987 on the occasion of the signing of the INF Treaty, Gorbachev took great pains to stress the necessity of achieving a similar breakthrough on conventional weapons to that which he and Reagan had sought on nuclear weapons at Reykjavik one year earlier.8

The ardour of a converted sceptic By 1988 the attitude of the French President had also begun to alter. First, with the impressive escalation of Gorbachev’s disarmament initiatives that spread from the sphere of nuclear disarmament to that of conventional arms – the Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) negotiations had begun in Vienna – Mitterrand obtained guarantees concerning the elimination of the Warsaw Pact’s military supremacy within Europe. Coupled with the confirmed and apparently irrevocable US–Soviet nuclear détente, this opened up a genuine possibility of realizing the longstanding dream of French political and strategic thinking: the liberation of Europe from its position as a hostage of superpower confrontation, obliged (in the case of its Western half) to seek protection under the US nuclear umbrella. For the first time in post-war history, Europe could start reflecting about its own future security system and defence strategy. Common European home to European confederation 213 The second reason to speed up the formalization of the new European structures was the likelihood of the zone of Soviet domination in the Central and Eastern Europe collapsing after the formal revocation by Gor- bachev of the ‘Brezhnev doctrine’. Mitterrand feared that if the building of an integrated Europe had not yet been formalized by the time such a collapse occurred, then the whole future of the process launched in 1957 might be jeopardized. Observing the unexpected acceleration of political developments in the East, he perceived a double necessity: to accelerate the construction of a political Europe in the West and to propose a kind of ‘waiting room’ for the Central and Eastern Europeans who, he was convinced, would need a considerable transitional period in order to adjust to the new political and economic realities after they had recovered their freedom. The first priority on the Eastern front for Mitterrand remained the question of the internal evolution of the Soviet Union, however. By 1988, the French leader’s evaluation of Gorbachev’s role in the changed nature of international politics and of his chances of success in his project of internal democratic reforms had changed considerably. From a rather sceptical though intrigued observer – after his first prolonged tête-à-tête with Gorbachev he shared with Dumas his impression: ‘this man seems not to realize all the consequences that the realization of his plans might provoke in his country and on the world scene’ – he had turned into an almost passionate fan of Gorbachev’s political adventure (if the term passionate can be applied at all to Mitterrand). According to Dumas, Mitter- rand was ‘charmed’ (envoûté) by Gorbachev.9 And one should not forget that as a convinced socialist, Mitterrand could not remain indifferent when discovering behind the Iron Curtain the realization of the long- standing dream of traditional European social-democracy, namely repen- tant communists in the process of conversion to democratic socialists. Conscious of the vital role that the continuation of democratic reforms inside the Soviet Union could play for the positive change of the situation in Europe and in the world, Mitterrand unhesitatingly gave priority to the support of Gorbachev over the encouragement of opposition movements in the countries of the Warsaw Pact and still more in the Soviet republics for fear that they might additionally endanger Gorbachev’s political position. During at least three G7 meetings, Mitterrand behaved like a pressing lobbyist in favour of Gorbachev calling for a positive reaction to the Soviet leader’s requests for economic assistance. Another reason why the French President was concerned about the probable collapse of the pro-Soviet regimes in the Central and Eastern Europe was his fear of the eventual destabilization of the situation in this sensitive region of Europe. Apparently Mitterrand was obsessed by a possible return to 1913 on the question of the post Second World War borders which might result were the Yalta and Potsdam dividing lines to be annulled. And as an ardent partisan of the theory of large continental 214 A. Grachev blocs, successfully tested in the West of the continent, he was sympathetic towards Gorbachev’s project of grouping the countries of the Warsaw Pact into a loose democratic alliance around the reformed Soviet Union in a form of association inspired by the example of the European Community.

Towards a meeting of minds Gorbachev for his part was moving from 1988 onwards towards a meeting point with Mitterrand guided by his own political agenda. On the diplomatic side, having signed the INF Treaty with Ronald Reagan and facing the uncertainty provoked by the change of the US President, he turned to Europe. But he did not do this merely to seek diplomatic help. An important element behind the gradual change in Gorbachev’s approach towards Europe was the political logic of the evolution of perestroika. Thus Europe would be transformed from just an instrument of Soviet diplomacy and means of exerting political pressure on the US into a privileged partner in his principal undertaking – the internal reform of Soviet society. With the advance of perestroika and the accumulation of its internal contradictions, Gorbachev started to feel the need not only for a truce with the West and of the end of the ruinous arms race, which he had to obtain ﬁrst of all from the United States, but also of Western assistance for his societal reforms – something which could be provided only by Europe. It was this ‘internalizing’ of Europe as a political horizon for perestroika that gradually changed the nature of Gorbachev’s concept of a common European home and opened the road for the merging of his political action with that of François Mitterrand. In November 1988 while receiving Mitterrand in Moscow, Gorbachev said that it was time for France and the USSR to build Europe together and proposed the idea of annual Franco-Soviet summits.10 This marked the start of Moscow’s delicate balancing act between Germany, whose potential economic assistance was playing a more and more important role in the solution of the worsening economic problems of perestroika, and France which remained for Gorbachev the number one political partner in the construction of new European architecture. In July 1989, one month after his historic visit to the FRG, Gorbachev went to Paris where he addressed Mitterrand as the political leader of integrated Europe and proposed the upgrading of the relationship between the USSR and the EC. Gorbachev also urged Mitterrand to support his proposal to call for a second Helsinki summit. From Paris, Gorbachev ﬂew to Strasbourg where he pleaded in favour of a widened Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals that would combine the character- istics of a common economic and legal space with a pan-European security doctrine. All of this would constitute his common European home composed of ‘two wings’ growing out of the Helsinki process (thereby associating the US with the process). ‘We need one Europe, a peaceful Common European home to European confederation 215 and democratic Europe, and we see our future in such a Europe’, Gor- bachev told the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe.11

The rise and fall of a Franco-Soviet vision Then in 1989 came the political landslide in Eastern Europe. Poland followed by Hungary opened the season of ‘velvet revolutions’. Later came the turn of the two German states. Both Gorbachev and Mitterrand were forced to shift from their serene exchange of ideas about the distant future of Europe to immediate reactions as they sought to catch up with events. And in such circumstances, although guided by different concerns, they were obliged to accelerate the rapprochement of their two projects. François Mitterrand wanted above all to protect the integration process in Europe and advance the construction of the political union of Euro- pean states beyond the point-of-no-return. Gorbachev, by contrast, urgently sought the confirmation of an organic connection between the Soviet Union and Western Europe in order to soften the impact of the imminent break-up of the Warsaw Pact and the announced secession from the USSR of the first Soviet republics, starting with the Baltic states. And both were hypnotized by the unpredictable consequences of the unavoid- able coming together of the two Germanys. The eruption of the German volcano caught Gorbachev and Mitter- rand unprepared despite the fact that both had admitted the inevitability of German unification at some unspecified future point. And yet both had been convinced that they had enough time ahead of them to elaborate and codify the major elements of the new European architecture finding in due time an appropriate place for the German state (or states). ‘The Germans can wait’ was the unofficial assumption shared by the top political leaders in most European capitals and also in Washington. In fact it was as late as June 1989 during his first official visit to the FRG that Gor- bachev not only discovered the extraordinary economic power of Germany but also realized that the Germans were ready to trade their support of his reforms for the keys to national unification that were, in their view, kept by the Kremlin. The political coup de foudre in relations between Gorbachev and Kohl must have been another reason that pushed Mitterrand to make new moves in the direction of the Soviet leader. Con- scious of the fact that France would never match Germany as a potential economic backer of perestroika, Mitterrand in order to attract Gorbachev chose to play the political card: a common political project for Europe’s future. The first step in this direction was to support the Soviet proposal to reactivate the Helsinki process and the CSCE. In summer of 1989, Mitter- rand and Dumas agreed to Shevardnadze’s proposal to advance by two years the convening of a new CSCE summit and accepted to organize it in Paris in November 1990. Hoping to transform the Helsinki process into a 216 A. Grachev Helsinki structure, French and Soviet diplomats believed they could establish a solid political framework capable of controlling and directing the flood of new European history. But when the Berlin Wall suddenly fell, all political calendars had to be readjusted to the new reality. No one – in the East or in the West (even in Bonn) was prepared. The wind of political panic could be felt in Moscow, Paris, London and Washington. Naturally the leaders of the four victor-powers were anxious to see how the new Germany would behave after it decided to start the movement towards its unification without demanding permission from the former victors of the Second World War. But beyond that each leader had his or her own specific worries. Gorbachev was preoccupied by the fact that inside the Soviet Union the ‘loss’ of Germany could be used by his political opponents against perestroika. Bush and Thatcher feared that Western Germany might exit from NATO and chose neutrality as the price for unity demanded by Moscow. Mitterrand shared some of these worries (he feared that the Soviet tanks would either move to close the intra-German border, as in 1953, or would be used by Soviet military to oust Gorbachev – an assumption that was wrong but only by two years) but was mostly concerned by the fate of the European Community. Haunted by the spectres of 1913 and 1939 he also was more than ever obsessed by the question of the future of Germany’s borders, particularly in the East. Everybody was afraid to make the first move fearing that it could be a faux pas provoking the others. Nobody knew what to do and everybody’s eyes were turned more on Gorbachev than on the Germans. But Gor- bachev was no more ready than anybody else to plan for the new. He too wanted to consult with the others. Fortunately in the first days of Decem- ber he had a scheduled summit meeting with Bush in Malta that provided a chance for the superpowers to coordinate their action. Mitterrand, acting not only as the French President but as a spokesman for Europe, also suggested an emergency meeting with Gorbachev to speak about both Germany and Europe. The emergency Franco-Soviet summit took place in Kiev three days after Gorbachev’s meeting with George Bush on 6 December 1989. While from the US President Gor- bachev received the assurance of a cautious approach towards the sudden acceleration of East European and German history (there will be ‘no dancing on the wall’ as Bush put it) from Mitterrand he was expecting much more: in particular complicity in slowing down German unification. This perspective announced in Helmut Kohl’s ten point plan before the Bundestag on 28 November threatened to reduce the role of both the French and Soviet leaders to that of mere observers. The remedy according to Gorbachev was twofold: first, an attempt that soon proved to be futile to prolong the parallel existence of the two independent German states and second, a radical acceleration of the construction of the new all- European structures that could harbour the unified German giant. Common European home to European confederation 217 On the first point both Presidents were immediately unanimous: it was essential to ‘check’ the Germans – naturally not by rebuilding the Wall or blocking their movement towards the unification but simply to slow the process down in order to gain time for both the Soviet Union and France (not to mention the other former victor powers) to catch up with events. Mitterrand wanted to get from Kohl a confirmation of his fidelity to the European project before the eventual unification of Germany. Gorbachev needed time to regain political initiative abroad and at home and to decide what to do with the GDR. Both were also in agreement that since the Germans ‘refused to wait’ it was necessary to speed up the elaboration of some general European framework that would serve as a sarcophagus for the sort of political ‘Chernobyl’ that Europe was living. Forced to improvise Gorbachev tried in Kiev to renovate his project of the common European home with elements he had at hand. He thus spoke of an Alliance of alliances (meaning some form of coordinated structure between NATO and the Warsaw Pact) and re-visited the idea of a new edition of the Helsinki process which could be adapted to the new context without sacrificing its initial basis, namely the legitimization of the post-war borders and the confirmation of the existence of the two German states. For Mitterrand it was equally clear that the long-term perspective of the future common home had to be urgently made more concrete. It was obvious to him that Gorbachev’s formula did not provide precise political answers to the diverse questions of political and juridical interrelation between various and extremely heterogeneous elements of the emerging Greater Europe. Mitterrand tried to react to Gorbachev’s concerns in his own specific way. While in Kiev he announced to Gorbachev his intention to press on with his planned visit to the GDR (at the invitation of the by-now ousted Honnecker) and even, to Gorbachev’s surprise, suggested that he and the Soviet leader might go to Berlin together. And then upon his return to Paris, Mitterrand unexpectedly called for a European Confederation from the Atlantic to the Urals in his 1989 New Year Eve speech. This confederation would consist of several concentric circles beginning with the Franco- German core, including the rest of the EC (Western Europe) and then embracing the East – i.e. both the countries of Eastern and Central Europe and the USSR. All of it would be built according to CSCE standards. In fact this was the French attempt to fill the rather hollow formula of the common European home, with much more concrete contents. As so often in history it was on the basis of common fears that authors of the two initially different visions of Europe ended up by making common cause. In the traditions of French diplomacy, this new project was directed tous azimuts. Its basic merit was that it was sufficiently vague to fit different interpretations. It was planned to serve as a cover for Western European integration protecting it from the instability and eventual chaos in the East. It formulated a promise of a European future 218 A. Grachev (after a transitional period lasting an unspecified amount of time) for the Eastern and Central Europeans. And it represented a generous offer to the reformed Soviet Union of Mikhail Gorbachev to join the Greater Europe. The only important power that was not invited to participate in this project was the US. In this Mitterrand was going even further than de Gaulle since he envisaged a strategically autonomous Europe that would not need an Atlantic connection for its security. Paradoxically this vision of a Europe cutting its strategic relations with the US (while embracing the Soviet Union) was an even bolder innovation than Gorbachev’s vision of a Euro-Atlantic civilization (and security system) spreading from Van- couver to Vladivostok. Indeed, in the course of the Malta summit, Gor- bachev had told Bush that Moscow regarded the American military presence in Europe as a positive factor and a necessary guarantee of world strategic stability.12 Mitterrand’s proposal for a confederation was enthusiastically supported by Moscow since Gorbachev immediately saw it as a mechanism for stabilizing both Comecon and the territory of the Soviet Union itself, and as a tool to oppose separatist and centrifugal currents. The effectiveness of the political alliance between Gorbachev and Mitterrand was also demonstrated by the convening of the successful pan-European summit in Paris in November 1990 which ended by transforming the CSCE into the Organization of Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and by adopting the Paris Charter. But the summit marked both the peak of the idea of Greater Europe and the moment when its fortunes began to decline. From the winter of 1991 – with the accelerated dislocation of the Warsaw pact and the aggravation of the political crisis inside the Soviet Union – the prospects of a Greater Europe started to fade. Different reasons are cited to explain the eventual failure of the concept of confederation. The first of these was the fact that this idea conceived in Paris failed to obtain the support of the main political players on the European scene of the time. This was true of the West – where both the US and the Germans politely ignored it. And it also was true of the East since the former members of the Warsaw pact and of Comecon were in no way ready to bind themselves once again in a single structure with Moscow but without Washington. Even the Czech president, Vaclev Havel, to whom Mitterrand offered the privilege of co-sponsoring a major conference in Prague in June 1991 convened to discuss the idea, showed his extreme reservations. But the main reason for the plan’s failure lies elsewhere. For, the idea of confederation was based on the hypothesis of a political symmetry between the processes of change in the West and in the East of Europe (including that within the Russian giant itself) and eventually on the idea of a possible convergence between East and West. But a structure conceived as standing on two legs – one Western, one Eastern – could not Common European home to European confederation 219 remain solid when reliant on only one. Thus while Mitterrand deployed enormous energy in late 1989 and early 1990 and resorted, as we now know, at times to the language of ultimatums in order to obtain from the German leadership the formal confirmation of a timetable towards the accomplishment of an integrated European Union, Gorbachev was obliged to preside helplessly over the disintegration of the former Soviet Union’s economic and political unity.13 And the reason for this contrast was not the fact that one leader was more experienced and skilful (or perhaps cunning) than the other – in these qualities they were a perfect match. Instead, as would become clear from the march of the events (although visible only in hindsight), it was an illusion to assume that the rationality and logic of integration that after the decades of post-war development prevailed in Western Europe, would be easily accepted by societies and political elites in the countries of the East just freed from the constraints of a different form of forced integration imposed upon them by the totalitarian Soviet system. I remember the last (official though very informal) meeting between Gorbachev and Mitterrand in Latché in November of 1991 several weeks before Gorbachev’s forced resignation. The two Presidents, seated for their final tête-à-tête in a kind of peasant hut on Mitterrand’s estate, evoked again and again their common European dream. Intellectually they were in perfect entente with each other. Yet when Gorbachev once more referred to the perspective of a Greater Europe based on two piers, Mitterrand brought him back to reality, saying ‘for the time being there is one, as to the other in which we are certainly interested, that is where your problem is.’14 One month later this second pier fell apart. Fifteen years on, a new common European home, born as promising political idea in Moscow, is now emerging as a reality but following a quite different design and, alas, not including Russia.

Notes 1 Védrine (1988, p. 98). 2 Author’s interview with Anatoly Kovalev. 3 Author’s interview with Valentin Falin. 4 Cohen (1998, p. 36). 5 ‘Visite en France d’Edouard Chevardnadze, Paris 10–12 Octobre 1988’, Actual- ité Soviétique, 19.10.1988. 6 Author’s interview with Roland Dumas. 7‘V Politburo Tse Ka KPSS...’, Moscow: Alpina Business book, 2006, p. 32. 8 Newton (2003). 9 Author’s interview with Roland Dumas. 10 Newton (2003, p. 167). 11 Gorbachev’s speech to the Council of Europe in Strasbourg, 11.7.1989. 12 Author’s interview with Mikhail Gorbachev. 13 Attali (2005, p. 331). 14 Author’s personal notes. 16 International reactions to Soviet disintegration The case of the Baltic states1

Kristina Spohr Readman

Given the recognition of the decisive role played by the Baltic republics in the transformation, disintegration and collapse of the USSR, it is surprising that research into the international aspects of the Baltic independence struggle in the story of Soviet disunion has so far tended to be neglected.2 Based on a variety of declassiﬁed Western and Soviet source material, this chapter examines Western diplomacy surrounding the Baltic quest for statehood, and explores the extent to which Western policies had any direct inﬂuence on the Soviet Union’s collapse.

The dominance of Realpolitik The Baltic ‘popular fronts’ were first born in the mid-1980s as movements that supported Gorbachev’s programmes for economic and political restructuring. By the summer of 1989 they pursued a full-scale Baltic independence struggle. What turned the Baltic case from an acute political issue within the USSR into an international one, was the nationalists’ appeal to the rule of law and Western support. Western governments had stressed the ‘people’s right to self-determination’ and their ‘non- recognition’ of Baltic incorporation into the USSR ever since the 1940s. The fact that the Baltic states were forcefully incorporated in the USSR and that this annexation was subsequently not recognised by the Western powers, was a significant difference to any other Soviet Socialist Republics’ independence claims. It granted legitimacy for their cause and tied the West to the Baltic quest. Moreover, the Western (great) powers were seen as a good counterweight to the Soviet Union; and on a deeper ideological level, the ‘West’ stood for everything the popular fronts aspired to: freedom and democracy. Against the historico-legal background, it is not surprising that while contacts with the new Eastern European governments were helpful and their revolutions inspiring, the leaders of the Baltic independence movements preferred to look further to the West for support. But what were the reactions of the Western powers to the Baltics’ independence struggle and to the emerging fissiparous tendencies of USSR more generally? Although Western governments had been aware of International reactions to Soviet disintegration 221 developments in the Baltic republics for some time, they kept pushing the Baltic matter aside hoping it would be resolved within the Union context.3 The West’s policies in late 1989, in the overall context of Eastern Euro- pean and Germany’s transformation and changing East–West relations, were dominated by calculations of Realpolitik: the US and West Germany in particular did not want to provoke the Soviet Union or worse, endanger Gorbachev’s domestic political position by pressing publicly for Baltic independence. It was feared that Moscow would consider Baltic recognition as interference in an internal Soviet matter, and that, consequently Gorbachev’s relatively favourable position on the German question would harden.4 Still, with the powerful Baltic–American lobby and conservatives keeping the issue alive, behind the scenes the US government was anxious about the Baltic situation. At the Malta summit in early December Bush threatened Gorbachev with a US ‘response’ to any Soviet repressive measures.5 It was however obvious that Washington was not going to risk war over the Baltic republics. The crux was that eventually an informal understanding with the Kremlin appeared to have been reached that no force would be used against Baltic republics.6 Thatcher – who opposed German unification and preferred to support Gorbachev – also saw the Baltics as an issue to be left on the backburner. On 24 November 1989 she told Bush that Downing Street had ‘decided not to pursue [the Baltics] at the moment because it would undermine Gorbachev’s larger efforts’.7 Interestingly, in her memoirs she later glossed over such calculations by solely writing in a more pro-Baltic tone that in principle it was for her never a question of ‘whether but when they must be allowed to go free’.8 As for Mitterrand, so preoccupied was he with the German question, that there is not a single mention of the Baltic issue in his advisor’s very detailed notes on their daily conversations during November and December 1989.9 In general, it appears that there was no scope for and little interest in publicly pressing for Baltic independence in late 1989. Even if the Baltic quest for national self-determination did raise Western awareness of their historico-moral responsibility, they had bigger fish to fry. The Baltic republics were seen as playing a minor – even if for the future of the USSR potentially dangerous – role. They belonged de facto to the territory of the communist superpower, and the West was obsessed with avoiding any provocation of Soviet hardliners by ‘overactively’ supporting the Balts’ cause. Caught between the idealism of actively backing self-determination by principle and Realpolitik calculations, it was convenient for the great Western powers to use the Kremlin’s Baltic rhetoric as a pretext for inaction. By early 1990, the Soviet Union had slithered into severe economic and political crisis. Gorbachev’s nationalities troubles spread to numerous Soviet republics; and in the Armenian–Azerbaijani conflict, Moscow resorted to using force. Washington was alarmed by these events fearing 222 K. Spohr Readman that military intervention could mean ‘the destruction of perestroika’, and thus ‘losing the principal advantage of Gorbachev’s presence’. It was considered necessary to rein in the rhetoric of self-determination in support of nationalist movements inside the USSR.10 French thinking went along similar lines. Paris’ main concern was Gorbachev.11 In Britain too, the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) highlighted that Gorbachev’s courageous reform programme was not to be put at risk, and that ‘the changes in Eastern Europe, now possibly affecting the Baltic States, should not be seen as prejudicing security or stability in Europe.’ London held that the Baltic peoples and Soviet authorities should resolve their difficulties themselves.12 At the same time, the FCO was worried about a potential Soviet–Baltic standoff. To be better informed, it embarked on an up-to-date fact finding mission on the Baltics. They contacted British embassies in the Nordic countries and Moscow, and sought in-house clarification on Britain’s non-recognition policy.13 The results of first free elections in the USSR in spring 1990 reflected the success of the separatist popular front parties, and Lithuania declared the re-establishment of national independence on 11 March. Estonia and Latvia followed suit, but were more cautious in their public declarations, speaking of resuming independence after a period of transition. Now, the West could not continue to look solely to the Kremlin; and any vague beliefs that the Soviet leadership might eventually let the Baltics go quietly, lost their validity due to the new realities. The Western powers had to react to the declarations of recently elected parliaments – which they recognised as legitimate legislatures. If Mitterrand, according to Attali, was furious at the turn of events blaming the Lithuanians, the Quai d’Orsay certainly was more subtle.14 It emphasised that although France had never recognised Baltic annexation, it was not now the right time to re-establish diplomatic relations, since neither Republic ‘exercised sovereignty over its territory’. Consequently, the desire to see a ‘negotiated [peaceful] process’ was expressed;15 a desire also expressed by Bush and Thatcher.16 Thatcher however was adamant that ‘keep[ing] Gorbachev in the saddle’ was the main priority, while the FCO was closer to the Quai’s broader position.17 To be sure, the FCO too held that diplomatic relations were a premature move and that Moscow and Lithuania had to reach an outcome satisfactory to both. But there were also more practical concerns the FCO staff kept considering, which pointed to the future: the questions of economic viability of potentially independent Baltic states and the question over the Baltic gold which the Bank of England had held.18 As an immediate Western neighbour of the Balts, Finland shared the goal of a peaceful solution – an obvious choice given the country’s geopo- litically precarious position adjoining the USSR. But, even if Finland held strongly onto the CSCE principles of self-determination, Finnish president Koivisto did not hide his opinion that the Soviet Union had legitimate International reactions to Soviet disintegration 223 security interests in the Baltic area. Moreover, he thought that the Lithua- nians had manoeuvred themselves into a cul-de-sac and that realistically they could not expect any practical help from the West; the latter was a view, privately shared by Kohl and Mitterrand.19 As against this, Bush in his memoirs – similar to Thatcher in hers – later emphasised that ‘no one was more desirous of seeing the Baltics independent than [the American administration]’, and that the criticism ‘that [they] did not recognize the new Lithuanian government because [they] were more interested in supporting Gorbachev than the independence of the Baltic states’, missed the point because ‘the only way the Baltic states could achieve lasting independence was with the acquiescence of the Kremlin’. While hindsight makes this reasoning look like the only sensible strategy, we have to wonder how Bush could have been ‘so sure’ that Gorbachev would eventually grant acquiescence and allow independence. There was as little inevitability in the Baltics gaining independence as there was in the re-establishment of German unity.20 If Bush considered active support of the Baltics a high-risk strategy (not least because if the Soviets in response would crack down, the US would not got to war over them), his choice of indirectly supporting Gorbachev by taking a more low-key approach to the Baltics and in private conversation advocating Soviet–Lithuanian reconciliation through discussion was a risky strategy nonetheless. The Lithuanian declaration of independence put the West’s Baltic policies (i.e. the non-recognition policy) on the spot, outing them for what they were: a legalistic rhetoric and passive continuation of an old Cold War policy. This is not to say that the rhetoric did not have its uses for the Baltic peoples, who made the most of it. But the Western politicians ex post facto emphasis on ‘strategy’, only clouded the truth that there was little Western willingness or scope for imaginative pro-Baltic politics below the level of offering diplomatic relations. The West’s main focus was on Gorbachev and the promotion of Lithuanian–Soviet negotiations as the only viable political path to independence, while implying that time was not ripe for any proactive Western support.21

The leadership of the small The Western dream of smooth Soviet–Baltic independence negotiations was abruptly shattered, when the Kremlin imposed an energy blockade on 18 April. Gorbachev had violated his own assurances that no coercion would be used. Still, Kohl continued courting Gorbachev and the USSR, always with the ultimate goal – German unification – in mind. Considering Baltic aspirations a disruptive factor, he sought to decouple the Baltic question from the unification issue.22 If the rhetoric of self-determination was a crucial driving force in unification diplomacy, in the Baltic case it remained mere rhetoric without ‘material’ backing – something Kohl did 224 K. Spohr Readman not hesitate to tell Lithuanian Prime Minister Prunskiene later in May, and over which there seemed to be an Anglo-Franco-German tacit agreement.23 Indeed, the US administration which was hoping to balance its desire to support the Baltics and to keep the Soviet Union on board in the hope of achieving agreements on arms control, troop withdrawals and the successful international settlement on the German unification talks, was forced into prioritising. German unification was identified as the most pressing goal as it tied in with wider European security concerns.24 Thatcher’s and Mitterrand’s main interest lay in Western accommodation with Moscow and in Gorbachev’s secure position in the Kremlin, hoping that stability in the USSR would guarantee stability in Europe.25 Although admitting that France was in a ‘terrible contradiction’ between keeping Gorbachev and supporting Lithuania, Mitterrand cautioned the US President about recognising Lithuania: ‘It would be as if the United States sent an ambassador to Alsace’. In Mitterrand’s views all provocation of the USSR had to be avoided – especially at such a critical moment of German unification (with its impact on the European integration process). He was adamant that all the West could do in response to a Soviet embargo was to impose economic sanctions.26 Essen- tially all Western leaders including the British agreed: at bottom, for the sake of successful Western–Soviet diplomacy regarding Germany, Gor- bachev had to prevail. It is here that we must turn to the small states of Iceland and Denmark, which emerged as forceful advocates of the Baltics’ cause. Already in January 1990, the Nordic Ministerial Council had begun investigating the possibility of creating cultural ties with the Baltic republics, and in view of developments in Lithuania in particular, informal contacts were established between February and April. Copenhagen was particularly active. By late March the Danish Foreign Minister Uffe Elleman-Jensen was busy pushing for the establishment of Danish–Lithuanian cooperation and building relationships amongst others in the areas of trade, environment and education.27 Iceland went even further at the level of high politics, congratulating the Lithuanians upon their declaration of independence, and urging the Soviet Union to initiate talks with the democratically elected representatives of Lithuania without prior conditions. Iceland’s Foreign Minister Jon Baldvin Hannibalsson used the NATO Foreign Min- isters’ meeting on 3 May to criticise his allies whom he accused of having a half-hearted attitude in their Baltic policies.28 One can only speculate as to why these two Nordic countries were such keen advocates of the Baltic republics – a stance that caused a certain amount of tension amongst their other Nordic partners (Finland, Sweden and Norway were rather more cautious) and their NATO/EC allies.29 US Secretary of State James Baker told Kohl: ‘the smaller the NATO partner, the stronger the steps demanded against the Soviet Union – most by International reactions to Soviet disintegration 225 Iceland.’30 Surely, size, geography, cultural affinity, spirited defence of independence and other factors played their part.31 If Hannibalsson was the most direct and open politician in supporting Baltic aspirations and Bush leant towards a cautious and principled Baltic approach which he sought to balance with his Realpolitik concerns, Kohl, Koivisto and Mitterrand on the contrary, were closer to accusing the three Soviet Republics of selfishness and disregard for Gorbachev’s precarious political position.32 There were fears of Lithuanian overzealousness, and that it would all end in bloodshed. Following this logic the French president proposed to the Americans a Franco-German initiative of a ‘common Ostpolitik’, which received US encouragement.33 Mitterrand and Kohl then sought to defuse the Lithuanian crisis by sending a letter to the Lithuan- ian leader, Vytautas Landsbergis on 26 April, urging him to suspend Lithuania’s independence declaration and start negotiations with Moscow. Hannibalsson branded the letter dishonourable, while the Amer- ican government ‘debated hotly whether the United States should pressure the Lithuanians to accede the German and French initiative’. Whereas Robert Gates, Robert Blackwill and Condoleezza Rice wanted to avoid leaving fingerprints on a document that could be seen as an effort to dissuade the Baltic republics from seeking independence, Bush thought it was a good idea.34 Bush hoped the Kohl–Mitterrand letter would cause Landsbergis to cooperate with Moscow. This was his Realpoli- tik thinking, which is not to deny that Lithuanian independence aspirations were an important concern. The US President was clearly torn between supporting the Lithuanians and keeping Gorbachev on side over Germany and arms control.35 Rather than retaliating against the Soviets – something that was demanded by the American press and Congress,36 but not endorsed by the US government and its allies – Bush and his advisers decided that the suspension of economic initiatives would be suitable pun- ishment.37 In May cracks appeared in the Soviet Union’s tough façade, due to a desperate need of economic assistance. While Bush – under heavy domestic pressure – vowed that the US would not give Gorbachev any money or trade agreement, unless the Soviets changed their policy towards Lithuania and committed themselves to continuous economic reform, Kohl was determined to help out Gorbachev with deutschmarks, not least to ensure the USSR’s amenable position on Germany, and to prevent the Baltic crisis impinging upon German interests any longer.38 Only at the superpower summit of 30–31 May was a tacit breakthrough achieved, with the US agreeing to the long-awaited US–Soviet trade agreement, while the Soviets promised to lift their embargo against Vilnius, and enter into a dialogue with the Baltics on the independence issue. Still, Bush left no doubt that the Baltic issue would remain a problem in US–Soviet relations until the Baltic peoples were granted self- determination.39 226 K. Spohr Readman Despite these relatively positive developments, it must be noted that Washington’s policy seemed on the whole more reactive than proactive – and was conducted out of a sense safeguarding political integrity, and a commitment to a rhetoric that stemmed from the Cold War. In other words, the US administration’s ‘language’ tied them to a particular policy out of the necessity not to lose international credibility and the moral high-ground, rather than being part of a positive pro-Baltic political strategy. The same could be said about British and French and to some extent even German Baltic policy. While, at this juncture American politico-economic linkage policies seemed to have broken the Lithuanian–Soviet deadlock peacefully, it was the rise of the USSR’s heartland Russia and its leader Boris Yeltsin during spring/summer 1990 that ultimately challenged the Kremlin’s confrontational course on Lithuania. Yeltsin, elected chairman of the Russian Supreme Soviet on 29 May 1990, had run on a highly national platform; and in a spectacular display of solidarity between rebellious republics, had met with Landsbergis in Moscow on 1 June. Eleven days later the Supreme Soviet of Russia declared Russia’s sovereignty from the USSR, which was followed over the summer by similar declarations by Uzbekistan, Moldova and Belarus. This domino effect of nationalist spillover inside the USSR and Yeltsin’s power projection, made the supra-structure of the Soviet state look ‘like a hollow shell’40 – a problem Gorbachev recognised only too well. In an attempt to regain control at home, he declared his readiness to work with Yeltsin, as well as to negotiate with Baltic leaders (within the Soviet constitutional framework that is).41 Lithuania froze its independence declaration on 29 June, and Moscow responded by lifting its embargo on 1 July. The first Lithuanian–Soviet crisis was over, but de facto independence remained unachieved.

Failed repression Contrary to Baltic hopes, little changed after July. Indeed, in the autumn of 1990 the international focus shifted away from Europe to the Gulf, with the US looking for superpower consensus over military action to free Kuwait. Even if Bush expressed the hope that a US–Soviet honeymoon over Iraq might enable them to work together to solve the Baltic problem, the reality was that the Kremlin and the White House remained uneasy over Europe. At home, Gorbachev felt an ever greater pressure from Yeltsin’s Russia and other Republics. Indeed, as republic leaders were taking matters into their own hands, the Soviet Union as an entity was slipping out of Gor- bachev’s. In this context, political self-preservation, the preservation of the Union and that of the USSR’s international status became Gorbachev’s three priorities. He turned to the hardliners, and on 23 November 1990, presented his new Union Plan: to rebuild the federation from the centre. International reactions to Soviet disintegration 227 A month later at the Congress of Peoples’ Deputies Gorbachev emphasised the need for strong executive power and for restoring order to the country. A series of changes in governmental posts too signalled the Soviet leader’s new hands-on orientation. In particular, the appointment of former first secretary of the Latvian Communist Party and chief of the Latvian KGB, Boris Pugo, as Minister of Internal Affairs sent a clear, threatening message to the Baltic. Despite this shift, Gorbachev could count on the loyalty of Kohl, Bush, Mitterrand and Thatcher and their Realpolitik calculations. Fearing the Soviet Union’s economic and political collapse, they all placed their trust in Gorbachev, who now capitalised upon the significance which the personal politics they had cultivated, had gained.42 The great Western Euro- pean powers kept their Baltic policies low-key, even if by now they conducted meetings at ministerial and official level (though not in the Baltic republics, for which Western officials would have needed Soviet visas), discussed cultural relations, and were keen to prevent Gorbachev from succumbing to pressures by the military and KGB to repress the Baltics.43 Iceland and Denmark continued most visibly to lend support to Baltic demands for independence, using the UN and the CSCE, but also NATO, the EC and the Nordic Council as platforms. They established cultural links, examined trade connections and provided financial aid.44 The boldest action was probably the opening of the first Baltic information bureau, in Copenhagen on 20 December 1990,45 and the holding of a ministerial conference with the foreign ministers from the Nordic countries and Baltic republics (the so-called 5+3 meeting) on the same day. The latter ended with a declaration that first the ‘de facto’ participation of the Baltic states in the CSCE process had to be raised with the perspective of their full participation in the future; second that the foreign ministers of the Baltic states should be granted observer status in the Council of Foreign Ministers of the CSCE; and third that the Baltic issue ought to be on the agenda of the Valletta meeting and the Conflict Prevention Centre.46 Even if Sweden, Norway as well as Finland were more hesitant in their Baltic policies than their two Scandinavian allies, they nevertheless appeared to be taking a more positive and united stance.47 And here, the Nordic Council’s strong December declaration regarding the Baltic republics’ future CSCE status was an important move. As the FCO somewhat negatively noted ahead of the 5+3 meeting: ‘if it goes ahead, [it] will take the overt diplomatic relationship between the Nordic States and the Baltic governments an important stage further. It is the sort of high- profile activity which may well be counterproductive.’48 The Council declaration’s content had a special history. Iceland (with Denmark and Norway in tow) had lobbied throughout the summer of 1990 for Baltic representatives to gain admission as observers to the November 1990 CSCE Paris summit on the future of a post-Cold War Europe. The British Foreign Office too had internally been toying with 228 K. Spohr Readman similar ideas, but did not in the end consider the moment right to be pushing for Baltic ‘observer status’.49 France eventually granted them special status and an accreditation, only to be vetoed by Gorbachev just before the Conference began. The Balts were thus excluded at the last minute. As could have been expected, most Western participants remained suspiciously silent. Only Denmark and Iceland took action by arranging for a Baltic press conference, so that their voices could be heard.50 This is not to say that there was not some great power interest in Baltic CSCE participation. But it was a long-term consideration, as the worry for the moment was the ‘trap of equating support for the Baltic States with dismemberment of the Soviet Union’.51 The crucial turning point in the story of the Baltic independence struggle occurred at the beginning of 1991, in the shadow of the Gulf War and following the sudden and surprising resignation of Eduard Shevard- nadze as Soviet Foreign Minister on 20 December 1990. On 13 January – just before the launching of air war against Iraq – Soviet special forces including the KGB tried to crush the peaceful revolutions by military force and regain control in Vilnius. A similar assault later also occurred in Riga. Numerous Lithuanians and Latvians were killed and injured. Tallinn luckily escaped bloodshed. If we assume that Gorbachev gave the relevant orders52 – which went against his promises to abstain from using force and his general language on observing human rights – we can only speculate about his motives. The question is whether the crackdown was a sign of Gorbachev’s determination to hold onto the Union, which then failed because of Yeltsin’s political involvement in the Baltics, instant international reactions once the bloodshed reached the world via the media, and probably the Soviet army’s reluctance to be involved in internal policing, or whether it can be interpreted as having been planned as limited in scope from the outset because Gorbachev in truth was unwilling to attempt to retain power through force.53 It seems most probable that Gorbachev took a calculated risk going for a smallish last-ditch effort along with his new hardline allies, while hoping that he did not gamble all his credibility away.54 The bloody events in Vilnius and Riga certainly resulted in a political and moral victory for the Baltic people, and brought Western public opinion to their side. Under pressure, the Western governments, who had been sent warning signs from the Baltic about a possible crackdown already in late 1990, harshly condemned Soviet violence.55 Faced with such criticism at a time when the USSR most needed Western monetary aid, Gorbachev withdrew the troops by late January, and negotiators were appointed on 1 February to conduct discussions with Baltic leaders. On 9 February the Lithuanians voted for independence in a referendum; on 3 March the Estonians and Latvians followed suit.56 Consequently, in February, the Icelandic parliament passed a resolution calling upon the government to establish diplomatic relations with International reactions to Soviet disintegration 229 Lithuania.57 Furthermore, in a position paper of 12 April 1991 presented by Hannibalsson to the Soviet ambassador in Reykjavik, the Soviet Foreign Ministry’s continuously repeated contentions that Iceland’s Lithuanian policies were ‘incompatible with the obligations under the charter of United Nations and the Helsinki Final Act’ were bluntly refuted by a thoroughly laid out explanation based on international law and history. With reference to the Final Act’s principles guiding relations between partici- pating states as well as ‘residual legal effects that took place over 50 years ago’, it was emphasised that the situation of the Baltic states in the current international context had to be regarded ‘as unique’, and that Iceland had thus ‘agreed to act as a mediator in the relations between the Baltic States and the Soviet authorities’.58 Denmark, less bold, signed cooperation protocols with the three Baltic states in spring, which provoked immediate protests from Moscow. Crucially, both governments were undeterred by Soviet complaints. That Eastern European states too sharply criticised the Soviet crackdown, caused irritation in Moscow, where CPSU officials expressed their concern about their former allies’ unfriendly policies and proposed economic coercion to re-establish Soviet presence. Such thinking only showed Soviet naivety and unwillingness to understand that the Soviet bloc was irreversibly gone.59 Once the dust had settled, little seemed to change in the mindsets of the great Western powers: Realpolitik calculations turned politicians to other than Baltic issues. While Kohl focused on Soviet–German ratification of the 2+4 treaty, the US concentrated on the Gulf and superpower disarmament/arms control talks. The USSR’s disintegration – which seemed increasingly a possibility with an ever stronger Russia under Yeltsin and his push for a new Union treaty – certainly was in no one’s interest. Everybody (including Britain and France) feared that disunion would mean a dangerous shift in the balance of global security.60 Under- neath the layer of high politics however, there was growing Western–Baltic interaction: informal visits and consultations, parliamentary contacts, NGO activity, new links between industries and individuals, cultural links, economic and know-how aid.61 Still, there did not yet appear to be much of a political urgency regarding their actual achievement of independence. What finally sealed the fate of the Soviet Union, Gorbachev and the Baltic states was the August putsch, during which, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania reaffirmed their de facto independence. Unsurprisingly, Iceland and Denmark were the first to re-establish diplomatic relations on 22/24 August 1991, while the US were last in doing so on 2 September. Bush later wrote that he ‘had wanted to avoid the international and domestic political pressure on Gor- bachev that US recognition would bring, as well as the perception that the Soviet leadership had acted under duress’.62 Yet in reality this was a reflection of the US president’s difficulty in accepting that Gorbachev’s days in 230 K. Spohr Readman office were numbered, and confirmation that US Baltic policy had largely been reactive. For most in the West, Gorbachev had been the central figure; and even after the putsch, leaders in the West clung to the hope that Gorbachev could somehow hold the rest of the Union together, not least for the sake of nuclear stability. But these hopes faded rapidly.63 The truth of the matter was that Gorbachev returned from his house arrest in the Crimea very much a Soviet ex-president, while Yeltsin had become Russia’s saviour and hero. In this power constellation it was near-unthinkable during the autumn that the other union-republics (especially the Ukraine and Russia) would not take their chance to transform their declarations of sovereignty into real independence. While the West could only watch, the Soviet Union and Gorbachev were going to their political death.

Conclusions As this chapter has shown, the Baltic independence struggle certainly played an important part in the USSR’s demise. What is more difﬁcult to judge is the extent to which Western Baltic policies impacted on Soviet disintegration. To be sure, Western Baltic policies were not monolithic. In fact the great powers certainly were rather cautious hiding behind the mantle of their Cold War rhetoric of non-recognition, while their national Realpolitik interests lay elsewhere. Their main priority seemed to be keeping Gorbachev in position, to ensure Soviet and European stability and smooth East–West diplomacy. Nothing was feared more than a chaotic dismemberment of the USSR or the arrival of a hardline communist dictator. With Gorbachev the main focus, crucially the Baltic rhetoric can then not be presented as part of a long-term, proactive, pro-Baltic Western strategy, as has sometimes been claimed in the memoir literature, that brought about Baltic independence (although the Baltic peoples obviously could at least cling onto this ‘language’, which motivated them to push for their case). It was Iceland and Denmark who carved out themselves the role of staunch Baltic advocates in 1989/90, nagging both their allies and Moscow constantly over the Baltic issue. Not only did this policy truly boost the Baltics’ conﬁdence, but also slowly undermined the credibility of Soviet cohesion, and time and again embarrassed their bigger allies about their low-key Baltic diplomacy. Iceland and Denmark then probably had greater direct impact on the Soviet Union’s collapse than the great Western powers.

Notes 1 This is in part an abbreviated version of Spohr Readman (2006). Any reference to FCO materials however is totally new and based on unprecedented access to c. 200–250 pages of documents released to the author under FOIA in April 2006. International reactions to Soviet disintegration 231 2 The most notable expectation is Kramer (2003, pp. 205–6, 211–16) and Kramer (2004, pp. 3–64). 3 National Security Archive, Document Collection Folder, End of the Cold War (NSA ECW), Document no. 60, ‘Record..., 25.10.1989’. See also Cradock (1997, p. 104); Koivisto (1995, pp. 307–9). See also www.margaretthatcher.org (accessed 4.7. 2005), Thatcher, press conference in Moscow, 23.9.1990. 4 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 207). 5 Ibid., p. 172. 6 Ibid., p. 206; Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 129). See also Baker (1995a, p. 207). 7 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 192). 8 Thatcher (1993, p. 801). Emphasis added. 9 Attali (1995, pp. 394–446); Bozo (2005) also makes no mention of the Baltic question until events in 1990. 10 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 207). 11 Bozo (2005, p. 182). 12 Foreign and Commonwealth Ofﬁce (FCO) FOIA ‘Baltic States: Line for the Press’, 12.1.1990. 13 FCO FOIA ‘Baltic Republics – from Policy Planning Staff’, 1.2.1990. See also FCO FOIA ‘Visit to Finland and Sweden, 17–23 January 1990 – by Martin Nicholson’, 26.1.1990; ‘Policy towards the Baltic States – from Soviet Depart- ment’, 6.3.1990. 14 Attali (1995, p. 559). 15 Bozo (2005, p. 250 and esp. fn. 150). 16 Estonian Foreign Ministry (EST-VM) USA ﬁle I ‘George Bush’, 23.3.1990. 17 Urban (1996, pp. 128–9); Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 987–8); Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 218). 18 FCO FOIA ‘Telno 33 to Stockholm – Baltic Republics’; ‘The Baltic States: work in hand’, 15.3.1990. 19 Koivisto (1995, pp. 321–7). See also Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, p. 1119); Attali (1995, p. 568). 20 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 215). See Hutchings (1997, pp. 126–7). 21 www.margaretthatcher.org (accessed on 4.7.2005); ‘Margaret Thatcher: House of Commons PQs’, 20.3.1990 and 3.4.1990; ‘Joint Press Conference with US President (George Bush) after Bermuda Summit’, 13.4.1990. 22 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 688, 864, 1081). 23 Ibid., p. 1119. 24 Baker (1995a, pp. 214–30); Gates (1996, p. 527). 25 Urban (1996, p. 150). See also www.margaretthatcher.org (accessed on 4.7.2005), ‘Margaret Thatcher: House of Commons PQs’, 17.5.1990. For a French perspective, see Attali (1995, p. 592). 26 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 223–4); Attali (1995, p. 593); Küsters and Hoff- mann (1998, p. 1056). 27 EST-VM [T]aani 1990–1992, ‘The Danish Foreign Minister’s Reply of 18 April 1990 in the Folketing’. 28 EST-VM [I]slandi 1990–1992, ‘The Baltic states’ quest’ (undated); ‘Resolution of the Althing’, 12.3.1990; ‘Hannibalsson to Shevardnadze’, 23.3.1990. 29 Koivisto (1995, pp. 327–8). 30 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, p. 1081). 31 Correspondence with Uffe Ellemann-Jensen, 28.3.2006. See also FCO FOIA, ‘Policy towards the Baltic states – by Soviet department’, 6.3.1990. 32 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, p. 1119). Cf. Beschloss and Talbott (1993, pp. 198–203, 216–23, 318–25, 443–4); Matlock (1995, pp. 268–73). 33 Bozo (2005, pp. 250–1). 34 Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 257); Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 226). 232 K. Spohr Readman 35 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 225–7). 36 Ibid., pp. 222–3; Zelikow and Rice (1995, p. 257). 37 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 225–6). 38 Küsters and Hoffmann (1998, pp. 1086–7, 1114–18). 39 Ibid., pp. 1178–80. 40 Gates (1996, p. 518). 41 Landsbergis (2000, pp. 199–213); Zlotnik (2003, pp. 146–7); Gorbachev (1995, pp. 446–50). EST-VM Venemaa/Ukraina 1990–1991, ‘Statement by USSR President’, 12.8.1990. 42 See EST-VM [K]irjavahetus 1990–1992 [S]uurbritannia-[I]irimaa [L]aud, ‘Douglas Hurd’, 12.3.1991. 43 EST-VM [P]oliitika V [P]rantsusmaa Juuni 1990-Märts 1993, ‘Meeting’, 23.11.1990. FCO FOIA, ‘Contacts with Baltic Ministers’, 11.7.1990. FCO FOIA ‘The Baltic States: Possibility of a Soviet Crackdown’, 12.12.1990. 44 EST-VM I, ‘Meetings with Baltic representatives (7/1990–2/1991, undated document)’; ‘Hannibalsson at UN’, 24.9.1990; EST-VM Taani 1990–1992, ‘Baltic Bureau’, 28.9.1990; ‘Schlüter to Savisaar’, 15.10.1990; ‘Danish Initiatives’, 14.12.1990. The Danish role was noted by the FCO. FCO FOIA ‘The Baltic States: Possibility...’, 12.12.1990. 45 EST-VM T, ‘Politiken articles’, 21.12.1990. 46 EST-VM [S]oome 1990–1992, ‘Põhjamaade ja Baltiamaade VM-e kohtumise’, 20.12.1990; ‘Declaration 5 + 3 on the Baltic States’, 20.12.1990 draft. 47 Koivisto (1995, pp. 404–12). 48 FCO FOIA ‘The Baltic States: Possibility...’, 12.12.1990. 49 FCO FOIA ‘Eventual Baltic Membership of the UN and the CSCE’, 7.9.1990; ‘CSCE and the Baltic States’, 1.10.1990; ‘CSCE & the Baltic States’, 4.10.1990; ‘CSCE and the Baltic States’, 11.10.1990; ‘CSCE/Baltic States’, 14.12.1991. 50 EST-VM [P]rantsusmaa Juuni 1990-Märts 1993, ‘Republic of Estonia: Paris Dec- laration’, 19.11.1990. 51 FCO FOIA ‘CSCE/Baltic States’, 14.12.1990. 52 There was FCO speculation in December that harsh Soviet actions, sanctioned by Gorbachev, might be on the cards to hold the Union together. FCO FOIA ‘The Baltic States: Possibility...’, 12.12.1990. 53 Thomas (2005, pp. 137–8). 54 Kramer (2004, pp. 47–8). 55 FCO FOIA, ‘The Baltic States: Possibility...’, 12.12.1990. 56 [H]oover [A]rchives, [E]stonian [S]ubject [C]ollection, Box 1, ‘[B]altic [A]ppeal [T]o the [U]nited [N]ations: Special edition’, 13.1.1991 & 20.1.1991; ‘BATUN: World Reaction Builds to Soviet Use of Force against the Baltic States, 21 January 1991 + updates’. See also The Washington Times, 27.5.1991; EST VM I, ‘letter to Gorbachev’, 13.1.1991. 57 HA, ESC, Box 1, ‘BATUN: World Reaction...’, 21.1.1991. EST VM I, ‘Joint Statement’, 21.1.1991; ‘Parliamentary Resolution’, 11.2.1991. 58 EST-VM I, ‘Position Paper’, 12.4.1991. 59 Kramer (2003, pp. 213–15). 60 Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 20.2.1991. 61 EST-VM P, ‘Pelchat to Rüütel’, 10.4.1991; ‘fax by Mrs Talvet’, 17.4.1990; ‘EV saatkond Pariisi’, 6.7.1991; ‘Meri to Dumas’, 30.5.1991; EST-VM USA I, ‘Pallum to Mirka’, 20.5.1991. EST-VM KSIL, ‘Probert to Ramsey’, 5.3.1991; ‘Sara Webb FT to Eerik Kross’, 14.3.1991. 62 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 537–40). 63 FCO FOIA ‘Politics towards the Soviet Union and the Baltic States’, 11.10.1991. Part VII Competing visions in the Euro-Atlantic area

17 Eastern Europe and the early prospects for EC/EU and NATO membership

Vojtech Mastny

When the Berlin Wall came tumbling down on 9 November 1989 and Eastern Europe’s communist regimes quickly followed suit, Moscow’s acquiescence in the loss of its empire had been predetermined by Gor- bachev’s idea of Europe. The concept meant to Gorbachev not only ‘the building of bridges between the Warsaw Pact states and NATO [and] the gradual transformation of the relationship between them from a source of tension to one of fundamental stability in Europe’, but also the recognition of a ‘special position of Europe, where a unique structure is being erected, one of interaction between two social systems.’ This should not lead to one being ‘swallowed up by the other’, he hoped.1 Instead, the people liberated from communism preferred the reformed capitalism of the thriving European Community to any untried socialist alternative. Few East Europeans, however, suspected how much their preference would eventually cost them in terms of their precious regained sovereignty. The EC’s twin principles of conditionality and differentiation required commitment to human rights, democracy and market economy while allowing for a different pace of integration. The way into the EC was open in theory, as was the way into NATO, but in practice their enlargement was postponed, first because of the greater urgency of integrating the unifying Germany. In responding to the unexpected, the EC acted more quickly than either of the superpowers. Ten days after the fall of the Berlin Wall, its leaders met in Paris to decide on a strategy. They reaffirmed the choice of the EC as the main channel of assistance to the countries emerging from communism. They wisely ruled out the Marshall Plan model of massive aid, which would have been difficult to absorb by economies lacking the essentials of the free market. Instead, they opted for the expansion of the PHARE programme, adding first Czechoslovakia and then other recipients, thus helping to build the necessary market structures gradually. And they made clear the conditions, namely, that they were ‘ready to cooperate by all available means in creating healthier economies in exchange for a proven return to democracy, respect for human rights and the organization everywhere of free elections.’2 236 V. Mastny The Paris conference remained notably silent about Germany, thus leaving it to chancellor Helmut Kohl to unveil on 28 November his clair- voyant ten-point plan for his nation’s speedy unification. He initially envisaged its attainment within the framework of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) rather than the EC. No sooner did he say so than Gorbachev, speaking in Rome two days later, called for the convening of a CSCE summit without delay. Mitterrand, similarly eager to slow down German unification, seconded the call at their 6 December meeting in Kiev. ‘It is necessary to make sure that the all-European process develops more rapidly than the German question and that it overtakes the German movement’, the French president believed. ‘We have to create all-European structures.’3 Gorbachev concurred. ‘It is necessary to proceed from the postwar realities – the existence of the two sovereign German states’, he subsequently proclaimed. ‘Departure from this threatens with destabilization in Europe.’ By the end of the year, the United States as well had signalled its support for the CSCE’s stabilizing role in ‘creating the political, economic, and security conditions that may defuse conflict’, but saw the need to preserve Europe’s Atlantic connection through NATO. Margaret Thatcher was the last among the principals to find merit in the CSCE as a political supplement, though never a substitute, of NATO.4 When Mitterrand at the end of 1989 conceived his plan for a European confederation he wanted to build on the CSCE, rather than the EC. He designed it in a hurry and without seriously consulting anybody, unveiling it in a dramatic television address on New Year’s Eve. Looking beyond Germany’s certain unification to the uncertain future of Eastern Europe as well as the Soviet Union, he saw an urgent need for a ‘half-way house’ to accommodate countries he did not believe could be ready to join the EC in any other capacity than ‘beggars’ for decades, if ever.5 The president’s pessimism was well founded; what was not so well founded was his recipe of creating superfluous new institutions. The plan called for structures parallel to the EC, complete with a council of heads of state, permanent secretary, and representative assembly. They would offer Eastern Europe the assistance it needed, but otherwise little hope to its inhabitants for becoming partners in an integrated continent in the foreseeable future. ‘The French Europe was necessarily Western Europe’, and the future of East Europeans was to be ‘the mission ... the task for Western Europe.’ It was a measure of their desperation that the scheme was initially well received in Prague, Budapest and Warsaw.6 The confederation plan did not make a difference to the EC, which maintained its course toward ‘1992’ and the completion of the Single Market programme, but tended to complicate the future of NATO, put in doubt by the conversion of its main enemy into a potential partner. For the moment, consensus prevailed that both Cold War alliances, supple- mented by the CSCE, should be preserved. They were providing the Eastern Europe, the EC/EU and NATO 237 framework for the ongoing negotiations crucial for European security – those about the reduction of the oversized conventional forces con- fronting each other on the continent and about the confidence-building measures that would make war on it all but impossible to wage. Taking place under the auspices of the CSCE, the talks added to its prestige and promise as security provider. The prospect of German unification raised the tricky question of the absorption of East Germany, a key member of the Warsaw Pact, into Western structures, and consequently also that of the integrity of the Soviet-led military grouping. The territory’s status within the EC had been prefigured by East Germany’s privileged access to its trading zone already in the communist times courtesy of Bonn. Full integration then took place by default as a result the unification, thereby shifting a part of its heavy burden onto Germany’s more or less unwilling EC partners. NATO’s extension into the Warsaw Pact’s former territory, to be sure, was another matter. West German foreign minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher believed strongly that the alliance should not expand into former East Germany, much less farther east. This is what US secretary of state James Baker told his Soviet counterpart, Eduard Shevardnadze, in February 1990 was Wash- ington’s position as well, as indeed it was at the time. Moscow was satisfied, and neither of them expected a problem. However, when NATO would start expanding five years later Russia would be understandably, if unjustly, able to charge bad faith.7 The unification achieved in September 1990 as a result of a deal between the great powers and the Bonn government was not a good omen for the CSCE. Rather than acting as the new Germany’s godfather, the CSCE was merely notified of its birth. As long as the Warsaw Pact existed, the Helsinki model nevertheless continued to be attractive provided the two alliances would gradually assume mainly political rather than military functions, as both of them appeared ready to do. But the more important reason for the CSCE’s abiding popularity was the persistence of the Soviet Union and the Western need to keep it on the reform track. The supporters of the Helsinki option sometimes made strange bedfel- lows. They included former dissident Václav Havel, now president of Czechoslovakia, who on his first call to Washington startled his American hosts by favouring the dissolution of NATO along with the Warsaw Pact. He wanted both alliances to be replaced by ‘a broader European organization’ along the lines of the CSCE, with a security council added. Such a solution also appealed to some Soviet generals as they saw the Warsaw Pact slipping out of their control and falling apart, particularly to its chief of staff, General Vladimir Lobov.8 A bewildering variety of other schemes envisaged the centrality of the CSCE at a time when outright membership in either NATO or the EC appeared to be out of question for Europe’s post-communist countries. 238 V. Mastny Genscher wanted NATO and the Warsaw Pact to merge into a larger security order based on the EC and a strengthened CSCE. A group of members of the European Parliament proposed designing the order as a joint undertaking of the CSCE and the EC’s European Political Coopera- tion project. Poland’s prime minister Tadeusz Mazowiecki floated the idea of a similar European council that would supplement the CSCE as Havel had in mind, though never to the exclusion of NATO. The Czechoslovak president himself, gently guided by his American friends, soon became the alliance’s enthusiastic supporter as well.9 Hungary paved the road to its integration by trying to cultivate ties with as many European institutions as possible. These included, besides NATO and the EC, the Council of Europe (COE). Its less stringent admission requirements enabled nearly all ex-communist countries to join it eventually. Although it was no match to its near-namesake – the EC’s powerful European Council – the enlarged COE would play no negligible role in preparing its new members for eventual Community membership. Their acceptance of the jurisdiction of the COE’s European Court of Human Rights and the supremacy of its decisions to those of national courts mattered in fostering the rule of law in countries notorious for the abuse of state power and corruption of the judiciary.10 By the time East Germany had formally left the Warsaw Pact a few days before its merger with West Germany, the alliance was in an advanced state of decay. At its Moscow meeting in June, Havel resisted Soviet attempts to invigorate it as a mainly political structure. Hungary’s foreign minister Géza Jeszenszky let it be known that his country would remain in it ‘as long as necessary but not a day longer’. And after Lech Walesa’s accession to presidency later that year, Poland made integration with NATO the centrepiece of its security policy. Meanwhile the Warsaw Pact’s usefulness as NATO’s structural counterpart in negotiating the disarmament and confidence-building treaties was coming to an end as these were nearing their successful completion.11 These were the halcyon days of President George H.W. Bush heralding in Prague the advent of a ‘Europe, east and west, [that] stands at a threshold of a new era – an era of peace, prosperity, and security unparalleled in the long history of this continent.’12 The two treaties provided the military foundation of the continent’s enviable international order on which its security has been resting ever since. They epitomized the new European thinking on security surpassing the traditional notions of balance of power. The CSCE’s signal contribution to this outcome justified celebra- tion at its summit in the French capital where the ‘Charter of Paris for a New Europe’ was unanimously adopted on 21 November. The grandiloquent document, abstract enough to be unexceptionable, was no substitute, however, for either the NATO treaty or the one on the European Union that had been emerging from the EC’s scarcely noticed summits in Dublin earlier that year. In the Charter’s reaffirmation of its Eastern Europe, the EC/EU and NATO 239 signatories’ devotion to peace, friendship, democracy, and human rights, the verbalization of the Helsinki process seemed to exceed its useful limits. The CSCE attempted to institutionalize itself by creating a council of foreign ministers that would meet annually, a committee of senior officials to assist it, a small permanent secretariat in Prague, a conflict prevention centre in Vienna, and an office for free elections in Warsaw. In view of the CSCE’s consensual decision-making, the modesty of these institutions hardly justified the belief that the organization, ‘far from fading away with the East–West division, will instead move into the center of European politics.’13 The sceptical commentary in Germany’s leading daily was more to the point in suggesting that the ‘CSCE has outlived itself. It could not provide security in the past and will not provide it in the future either. For that, there is NATO. Even the most important part of the [Paris] Final Act – the basic freedoms – can now be more directly ensured by the Council of Europe and its Court of Human Rights.’14 The ascendancy of NATO and the EC was an indication that the Helsinki moment had passed. The challenge of 1991 was how to integrate into Europe a Soviet Union that was disintegrating. The violent suppression in January of the nationalist unrest in the Baltic republics – Moscow’s ‘domestic microcosm of Eastern Europe’15 – weakened Gorbachev in the eyes of both his supporters and his critics. As an immediate effect, it precipitated the demise of the Warsaw Pact, whose presence had been the main obstacle to its members’ integration into another structure. The Visegrád grouping of Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary played a prominent role in forcing the collapse of the Warsaw Pact. After the three countries’ presidents had met on 15 February in the Hungarian town where their medieval predecessors had attempted to forge a union, Gorbachev tried to pre-empt the formation of a hostile bloc within the alliance by proposing to terminate its military functions. A subsequent gathering of foreign ministers in Budapest agreed that those functions should end on 31 March 1991, thereby marking the Warsaw Pact’s clinical death. Its physical death was then certified four months later by the formal termination on 1 July of its no-longer-existing political functions at a meeting in Prague. This was three days after the CMEA, by then no more than an empty shell, had also decided to disband.16 The Warsaw Pact’s final communiqué called obliquely for the ‘formation of all-European security structures’, as envisaged in the Charter of Paris. Soviet foreign minister Aleksandr Bessmertnykh had already before warned that his country would not tolerate its former allies joining either NATO or the EC. His deputy devised the ‘Kvitsinskii doctrine’ to prevent their ‘participation in any alliance directed against another, as well as the provision of territories, communications, and infrastructures to third parties for the purpose of aggression.’ Under pressure from the Soviet military, Moscow attempted to rebuild its network of bilateral security 240 V. Mastny treaties in Eastern Europe. But only the Romanian government obliged, controlled as it was by former communists favouring a separate security system for the region. Other countries responded by signing such treaties with one another.17 As long as the Soviet Union survived while its commitment to reform grew doubtful, Western statesmen were loath to rock the boat by giving comfort to Eastern European hopes for NATO membership. The alliance’s secretary general Manfred Wörner repeatedly emphasized that its enlargement was not on the agenda, encouraging interested countries to cultivate bilateral relations with it instead. But when Czechoslovak foreign minister Jirí Dienstbier, wary about the direction Moscow was taking, sounded him out about NATO’s security guarantee to Prague, Wörner demurred.18 Most Eastern European politicians understood that the time was not right for pushing, and acted accordingly. The Bulgarian government was an exception in expressing as early as August 1990 interest in joining NATO and offering to mediate between Greece and Turkey, a task for which it oddly believed itself to be particularly qualified. Polish foreign minister Krzysztof Skubiszewski’s main goal was to ensure that the West would treat the region as part of a European ‘uniform security area’ rather than any sort of a buffer or ‘neutral zone’ as Kissinger had suggested in another of his untimely proposals in June 1990.19 The French solution to Europe’s integration, a product of similar balance-of-power mentality, was facing its moment of truth just as the Warsaw Pact entered its terminal agony. Mitterrand had prevailed upon Havel to host an inaugural ‘assize’ of the proposed confederation in Prague. The word, with its connotation of an inquest, did not augur well on how the project – which was to include the Soviet Union but exclude the United States – would be examined and judged. The French leader found it hard enough to sell it to the Germans. Nor was the signing in October 1990 of the Franco-Soviet treaty of friendship and cooperation apt to endear it to East Europeans. On a visit to the Elysée next spring, Havel made no bones expressing his misgivings about a plan that by then only the Soviet Union and France supported without reservations.20 The assize, which opened on 6 June, was a disaster, made worse by Mit- terrand’s radio interview in which he tried to dash Eastern European hopes for EC membership. The assembled representatives of countries that cherished the hopes responded by dashing the proposed substitute. Poland future foreign minister Bronislaw Geremek termed the president’s pet project a ‘crime against hope’. Havel more gently dismissed it as no alternative to NATO, the CSCE, the Council of Europe, and especially the EC. He singled out EC membership as his country’s top priority, along with close partnership with the United States.21 By exposing the divergence of interests that the confederation proved unsuitable to bridge, the reactionary coup in Moscow two months later put the last nail in its coffin. When the plotters seemed to be winning, Eastern Europe, the EC/EU and NATO 241 Mitterrand was positioning himself to recognize their government; Poland, by contrast, was preparing to mobilize its army. Pondering in hindsight what had gone wrong with the French solution, Jacques Delors, the president of the European Commission, suggested to Mitterrand that the task of integrating Eastern Europe with the West should have been left to the EC institutions, as it eventually was. But for that to happen, the French president would have had to trust those institutions instead of wanting to super- sede them with new ones, more readily susceptible to French influence.22 These included the European Bank for Reconstruction and Develop- ment (EBRD), proposed by Mitterrand as early as the autumn of 1989 and inaugurated in April 1991 in London. Created with a characteristic lack of transparency, especially irksome to the EC’s smaller members, the bank was a strange hybrid. Its stakeholders included not only the EC as such but also its subsidiary European Investment Bank, the United States as well as the Soviet Union, besides Japan, New Zealand, Mexico and Morocco, too. The bank’s mission of promoting private enterprise in the recipient countries suffered from chaotic management by the president’s gadfly Jacques Attali, said to share his ‘passion for monumental architecture’. The EBRD only became effective after its first director’s resignation.23 The EC had a better instrument in its ‘Europe’ association agreements that built upon the experience gained in running the PHARE programme. Negotiations with Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary started in December 1990 and, after much discussion of variable speed and ‘concentric circles’, were concluded a year later. As usual, the agreements, subsequently extended to other candidates, would be later judged more by what they did not accomplish than by what they did. They were not generous enough and did not put the different countries on fast enough a track to membership. But they provided enough incentives for the recipients to fend for themselves as well as enough time to produce results. And by spelling out in all the necessary detail the conditions for membership to become mutually beneficial, they set a healthy pattern for enlargement.24 In 1991, the EC’s impending transformation into the European Union still put ‘deepening’ ahead of ‘widening’. Moreover, the Soviet Union’s incipient break-up made NATO’s expansion more topical than the EU’s. The military alliance offered better protection against any fallout. Even before the break-up became final, the United States and Germany proposed in October the creation of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) as a forum for discussion with whatever successor states would eventually emerge from the wreckage.25 The Council was welcomed in Eastern Europe as an opportunity for establishing ‘close and institutional- ized’ cooperation with NATO. In the joint declaration issued in Kraków, the presidents of the three Visegrád countries did not specifically mention membership. But this was from now on something always to think about even if not talk about. Poland was the first to start purposefully to prepare 242 V. Mastny itself for entry into the alliance while the commitment of the other two countries to their regional association gradually declined. The ‘Visegrád triangle’ eventually faded away.26 Poland established a ‘community of interests’ with Germany and France. In 1992, it settled the problem of its western border and concluded, with French help, a ‘good neighbourhood’ treaty with Germany that provided for minority protection and regular consultation between governments. Close military collaboration with NATO’s leading continental power followed. The rapprochement with Europe’s two key nations gave Poland a headstart for admission into the EU as well.27 France had, ever since the 1970s, been the foremost advocate of a ‘European security identity’ without defined geographical boundaries though also without institutional substance. It had been instrumental in upgrading the Western European Union (WEU) as the EU’s military arm in August 1990, in time to contribute forces in the Gulf War. In October 1991, with the war brewing in Yugoslavia, France and Germany tried to add more substance to the identity by pledging to create a joint brigade as the nucleus of the EU’s rapid deployment force.28 This otherwise worthy undertaking inevitably raised the question of the WEU’s relationship to NATO, especially once the alliance at its meeting in Rome a month later asserted its own main responsibility for Europe’s security. The assertion further undermined the CSCE while not necessarily helping the fledgling NACC, which excluded Europe’s neutrals. As 1991 turned into 1992, the enlarged responsibilities of both NATO and the EU were still lacking a satisfactory institutional framework. Indeed, the Soviet Union’s replacement by a host of successor states, most of them in Asia, raised the problem of enlarging Europe out of recognition beyond the confines of the continent itself. The CSCE was the first to respond to the challenge. In January 1992, it boldly decided to admit all the former Soviet republics, including those in the Caucasus and Central Asia. The enlargement conveyed the inspiring but uncertain proposition that the organization could replicate its success in Europe by applying its principles and methods to an unstable and geographically, as well as culturally, distant region without modern experience of independent statehood. The difficulty of adapting the arms reduction and troop deployment treaties to post-Soviet realities spelled trouble for the CSCE, whose principle of consensus would allow Russia to hamper their implementation. As early as March 1992, the conclusion outside of the CSCE framework of the path-breaking Open Skies Treaty, which ensured the transparency of military activities ‘from Vancouver to Vladivostok’ through aerial surveillance, indicated that the Helsinki principle of voluntary compliance may have become obsolete. The legally binding treaty has since been generally observed by its more than thirty signatories including Russia and the United States.29 Likewise, the ‘Helsinki II’ summit of March–July 1992 demonstrated Eastern Europe, the EC/EU and NATO 243 the CSCE’s weakness rather than strength. Its right to impose sanctions and provide for peacekeeping sounded hollow amid the raging war in Yugoslavia. Two years later, the renamed Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) could be appropriately described as ‘a mess’. Specializing in conflict prevention, crisis management, and post- conflict rehabilitation, it could still perform useful secondary role on such important occasions as the later reversal of the fraudulent elections in Ukraine but not serve as a credible guarantor of European security.30 The 1992 summit nevertheless left behind a substantial conceptual legacy for NATO and EU. It refined the idea of ‘comprehensive security’ that relates peace and security directly to the observance of human rights and fundamental freedoms as well as the existence of a market economy. The CSCE’s decline, however, highlighted not only the indispensability of the two other organizations but also the pitfalls of enlargement. The Feb- ruary 1992 Maastricht Treaty that proclaimed the European Union prepared for the pending admission of Austria, Sweden and Finland, but not other candidates. ‘Widening must not be at the expense of deepening’, the European Commission warned. ‘Enlargement must not be a dilution of the Community’s achievements.’ But there was little elation about the achievements among its current members, who barely ratified the treaty. Nor were the prospective Eastern European ones as enthusiastic as before about an organization that was obviously in no hurry to admit them, although they never left a doubt that admission remained their goal.31 Maastricht fell short of its description by Luxembourg’s premier Jacques Poos as ‘the hour of Europe’. Nor was 1992 exactly the hour of NATO. Not any more prepared to take in East Europeans than the EU was, the alliance preferred to believe that expanding its North Atlantic Coopera- tion Council to include Russia and all the other fragments of the former Soviet Union was enough. It was enough to make it into a ‘gigantic talk shop’ and set it on the road to irrelevance signposted by the OSCE. Five years later, the NACC closed down.32 In 1992, the prospect of NATO’s enlargement still appeared distant. It was championed in Eastern Europe by the elites while most of its peoples, other than the Poles, preferred neutrality. At the end of the year, the first country to request membership, however, was not Poland but Albania – more needy of protection than any other because of the war in its neighbourhood – only to be politely ignored. The same happened to Walesa’s proposal for a ‘NATO II’ and an ‘EU-2’ that would coach all countries in the region – led by Poland and including those that used to be part of the Soviet Union but not Russia – for early admission to both European groupings.33 In April 1993, while in Washington for the opening of the Holocaust museum, Walesa joined his Czechoslovak and Hungarian counterparts to plead for their nations’ membership in NATO. Few US officials were 244 V. Mastny sympathetic. Nor was there enough support for the idea in Western Europe, with the notable exception of Germany, which felt historic responsibility for its eastern neighbours’ predicament. German defence minister Volker Rühe argued most forcefully that, in view of the necessary postponement of their entry into the EU for economic reasons, they should at least benefit from joining the military alliance first.34 The story of how the eastward enlargement of both NATO and the EU was subsequently accomplished is beyond the scope of this chapter. Even if originally started for no compelling reasons, NATO’s enlargement eventually proved a success in the sense foreseen by Rühe. It helped integrate the new members into the democratic community of nations, particularly by ensuring civilian control over the military and promoting the habits of multinational cooperation – NATO’s traditional forte. And although East Europeans may not have needed the membership for their security as much as they claimed, soon their proximity to Middle Eastern danger spots would make them participate in NATO’s new out-of-area missions, thus contributing to common security more than anyone could have foreseen before. The EU’s progress toward enlargement was unspectacular by comparison but steady. In 1992, the European Commission’s call for a ‘European political space’ gave the membership candidates the opportunity to regularly participate in a growing number of the EU’s deliberations. The 1993 ‘Copenhagen Criteria’ specified in detail the requirements they had to meet in order to qualify for admission. Compliance with them increased after the 1996 Amsterdam Treaty that slowed down the ‘deepening’ of the EU, and especially after the adoption of Agenda 2000 encouraged hopes for early membership. The European Commission nevertheless resisted setting firm dates. It was not until 2004, seven years after the first eastward enlargement of NATO, that the EU started taking in its first Eastern European members.35 The successful enlargement of the Western institutions of European integration may well prove in the long run the most beneficial legacy of the Cold War. Bringing into the Western community the severely handi- capped part of the continent holds the promise of ending the millennial divergence between its East and West. And the simultaneous rise of Europe’s innovative security system offers an inspiring model for less fortunate parts of the world as well. These have been notable accomplish- ments of both NATO and the EU. But while NATO remains indispensable for emergencies that may or may not happen, it is the EU that provides the foundation of the everyday security safeguarding Europe’s unprecedented economic prosperity and political stability.

Notes 1 Gorbachev speech at the Warsaw meeting of the Warsaw Pact’s Political Consultative Committee, 15.7.1988, cited in Mastny and Byrne (2005, pp. 608). For background see also Rey (2004, pp. 33–65). Eastern Europe, the EC/EU and NATO 245 2 Van Ham (1993, p. 175). 3 Quoted in Adomeit (1998, p. 460). 4 Gorbachev speech to the party central committee, 9.12.1989, in Freedman (1990, p. 385). Baker speech in Berlin, 12.12.1989, quoted in Hutchings (1997, p. 163). 5 Bozo (2005, pp. 344–348); Bush and Scowcroft (1998, p. 267). 6 Ole Waever, cited in Hutchings (1997, p. 152). 7 Asmus (2002, pp. 5–6). 8 Obrman (1990, pp. 9–11); Kusin (1991, pp. 25–40). 9 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 236–237). Duke (2000, pp. 79–80). Adam Daniel Rotfeld, ‘Dilemmas of Poland’s Security Policy (1944–1989)’. In Giess- mann et al. (2004, p. 527). 10 Croft et al. (1999, pp. 142–163). 11 Records of the Political Consultative Committee Meeting in Moscow, 7.6.1990, Mastny and Byrne (2005, pp. 674–77); Jeszenszky quoted in Hutchings (1997, p. 240). 12 Bush speech, 17.11.1990, quoted ibid., pp. 348–349. 13 Lehne (1991, p. 190). 14 Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 20.11.1990. 15 Jacques Lévesque’s phrase in Lévesque (1997, p. 214). 16 ‘Agreement on the Cessation of the Military Provisions of the Warsaw Pact’, 25.2.1991. In Mastny and Byrne (2005, pp. 682–683). 17 ‘Agreement on termination of the Warsaw Pact’, 1.7.1991. In Gribkov (1998, pp. 201–202). Bessmertnykh quoted in Asmus (2002, p. 10). On the Kvitsinskii doctrine, Jirí Sˇedivy, ‘Czech-NATO Relations: A Dynamic Process’. In Hayashi (1997, pp. 136–137). Clarke (1991, pp. 39–42). 18 Asmus (2002, p. 14). 19 Perry (1990, pp. 4–9); Weydenthal (1991, pp. 12–16). 20 Bozo (2005, pp. 348–356). 21 Jacques Rupnik, ‘La France de Mitterrand et les pays de l’Europe du Centre- Est’. In Cohen (1998, pp. 201–203). 22 Daniel Vernet, ‘Mitterrand, l’URSS et la Russie’. In Cohen (1998, pp. 41–43). Delors (2004, pp. 377–378). 23 On Attali, Financial Times, 13.4.1993. Cf. Dejak (2006). 24 Françoise de La Serre, ‘A la recherche d’une Ostpolitik’. In de La Serre, Lequesne, and Rupnik (1994, pp. 11–41); Christian Lequesne, ‘Commerce et aide économique: les instruments d’une politique’, ibid., pp. 43–79. 25 Schake (1998, pp. 379–407); Hutchings (1997, pp. 290–292). 26 Weydenthal (1993, pp. 31–33). 27 Cottey (1995, pp. 40–41, 91). 28 Charles Krupnik, ‘Not What They Wanted: American Policy and the European Security and Defense Identity’. In Moens and Anstis (1994, pp. 115–134). 29 Lachowski (2004, pp. 177–186). 30 Walker (1994, p. 78). 31 Cited in Gilbert (2003, p. 238). 32 Quoted in Grant (1997, p. 7). On NACC, Eyal (1997, p. 701). 33 Moisiu (2004); RFE/RL Research Report, 6 November 1992, p. 61. 34 Asmus (2002, p. 18). 35 Rupnik and Zielonka (2003) is the ﬁrst of a series of studies that examine the impact of the enlargement from the entrants’ perspectives. 18 Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process

Hans Stark

Introduction On 7 February 1992, the foreign ministers and the finance ministers of the twelve EC member states signed the Treaty on European Union in Maastricht. The notion of transforming the EC into a European Union by means of two intergovernmental conferences (IGCs) – one of them discussing Economic and Monetary Union (EMU) and the other dealing with political union – was initiated by the Franco-German decision of 19 April 1990, to relaunch the process of European integration in the aftermath of the fall of the Berlin Wall and the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe. The impact of this initiative was considerable and it was followed from December 1990 to October 1991 by a plethora of supplementary Franco-German proposals in which the two countries set forth their vision of Europe, bolstered their influence in the debate amongst the twelve member states on deepening the Community, and thus steered developments – despite the often divergent positions and interests of the Twelve. But it also underlines the constant will of the German government, clearly expressed since the early 1980s, to transform the EC into a political union with a strong defence and security dimension and an institutional framework dominated by the Commission and the European Par- liament. From a German perspective, the Treaty of Maastricht was both a product of the ‘new’ post-Cold War world and the result of plans and strategies which had been conceived in Bonn (and elsewhere) during the last years of the Cold War. The various Franco-German proposals (of 6 December, 1990, 4 Febru- ary 1991, 11 October 1991 and 14 October 1991) certainly did not cover the entire range of subjects that were discussed in the two IGCs.1 Many issues – including multiple questions concerning EMU – were raised during the IGC. Furthermore, the Franco-German initiatives did not only reveal common positions, but also divergences between France and Germany regarding the building of Europe, notably concerning EMU and a common foreign and security policy (CFSP). From a German perspective, the CFSP was just one amongst other issues that needed to be con- Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 247 sidered in the creation of a future political union and that necessitated the reinforcement of European institutions in particular. In this regard, German policy had two objectives. Concerning the European Parliament, the German aim was to gradually give it powers commensurate with those of national parliaments. The second goal was to reinforce European cooperation in the field of justice and home affairs. But German leaders also insisted on the importance of federalism, subsidiarity and the recognition of regional interests as key building blocks in the establishment of a Euro- pean Union. At any rate, the federal government would not have acqui- esced in the creation of the CFSP without reform of the institutions (and notably of the Parliament) which was considered fundamental in Bonn. Germany had thus declared that it would not accept an EMU if the powers of the European Parliament were not significantly reinforced. Maastricht was therefore seen by the Germans as a package deal including elements of common security policy (both internal and external), institutional deepening and economic and monetary cooperation.2

From EPC to CFSP: the German vision of European security during the IGC During the IGC on political union, the member states seemed to agree upon how to face the challenges that resulted from the end of bipolar world politics. The development of CFSP was considered of utmost importance by all of the Twelve – and by Germany in particular – even if debates showed that positions and interests were very divergent until the very last day of the Maastricht summit. Within the EC three countries de facto dominated the debate on the modalities and content of the CFSP: Germany, France and Great Britain.3 Germany and France supported by Belgium, Spain, Luxemburg, Italy and Greece adopted a ‘pro-European’ and maximalist stance, whereas Great Britain, backed up by Ireland, which feared the loss of its neutral status, and long-standing Atlanticists, Portugal, Denmark and the Netherlands, all argued very much in favour of an ongoing predominance of NATO in defence matters. Nevertheless, none of the twelve governments had an irrevocable position concerning political union and the two camps concurred on numerous issues. Germany, just like Great Britain sought to avoid any risk of weakening transatlantic relations. According to Germany the fusion of the Western European Union (WEU) with EU needed to happen in accordance with NATO and not against it.4 Bonn was thus as close to London’s position on transatlanticism as to Paris’ pro-European attitude. This reflects how much Germany desired a firm anchorage in NATO as well as in the EC. Confronted with the choice between France and Great Britain, Germany always defended France. However, partnership with the United States had been just as important for Germany as for Britain, from both a 248 H. Stark military and an economic point of view, which explains its implied close- ness to Great Britain. Persistent disagreement between the Twelve on how the Union, the WEU and NATO should be linked in the future did not prevent a rapprochement between Germany, Great Britain and France. The three countries agreed that the institutional development of the CFSP needed to be conducted on an intergovernmental basis. This convergence between Bonn, Paris and London resulted in a synthesis, refined throughout the Luxembourg presidency, that was presented as a ‘non-paper’ and constituted a summary of the ‘dominant tendencies’ in the debate. This document went beyond European political cooperation (EPC) by establishing a common foreign and security policy. Nonetheless it also highlighted the fact, that even though the twelve governments more or less accepted the creation of the CFSP, none of them wanted it to be subject to the Community’s power and procedures. The Luxembourg presidency thus ruled out any possibility of the Commission playing the central role in the CFSP that it had in the Community. The Luxembourg ‘non-paper’ – which foreshadowed much of the Maastricht treaty – proposed a clearcut distinction between CFSP and the European Community, by introducing a model based on three pillars of differing amplitude but linked with one another by a common pediment. According to this document, the CFSP was to have a purely intergovernmental character. This reassured those amongst the Twelve who feared that foreign and security policies would slip from the power of national governments and that NATO’s role would be diluted. The establishment of separate pillars was thus the most realistic solution given the divergences that existed on the CFSP, even if a minimal consensus had been established concerning the necessity of a common defence policy and a reinforced European diplomatic presence at an international level. Nonetheless, by putting the CFSP into a strictly intergovernmental framework, by isolating it from the Commission’s influence and by insisting that all voting be by unanimity, Luxembourg’s approach also meant a refusal to take a qualitative leap in European integration. This development surely had its repercussions on Chancellor Kohl’s Euro- pean policies. He had established a ‘junktim’, an organic link, between political union and EMU. And yet in contrast to CFSP, EMU was to be realized in the framework of the EU’s first pillar: the Communities. The Luxembourg’s presidency had thus disregarded the link that Germany had wanted to establish between EMU and political union. However, the German government could not have opposed this project without clashing with its partners, the UK and France, who would never have agreed to an integrated CFSP, subject to the principle of qualified majority voting. German support for the intergovernmental project advanced by Luxembourg thus reflected a shift towards an approach to security and defence policies that was very close to the institutional con- Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 249 ceptions of France and Great Britain and away from the German positions on European security cooperation adopted during the final years of the cold war. This reorientation should be seen both as a pragmatic acceptance of European realities (namely the French and British rejection of a ‘supranational’ CFSP) as well as the definition of ‘new German interests’, less favourable to an integrationist approach than had been the case before 1989.5 The political union that was established by the Maastricht Treaty can be regarded as an intermediary step, as article N 2 of the treaty called for a conference of representatives of the governments of the Member States [...] in 1996 to examine those provisions of this Treaty for which revision is provided. This was how the Maastricht Treaty contributed not only to the progress of a future European defence strategy, but also reconciled the interests and positions of the different organizations and main actors. It acknowledged the existence and the utility of a European security and defence identity by respecting the military engagement and security policies specific to the individual member states. The links between the WEU and the EU were strengthened – as were relations between the WEU and NATO – a fact that reflects both the sensitiveness of transatlantic relations and the German government’s ambition to demonstrate its power in the Union and to safeguard its position as a central pivot in NATO and in the Community.

The ‘democratic deficit’ and the German perception of the European Parliament Germany had for a long time favoured extending the cooperation procedure, introducing co-decision (for legislative action) and involving the European Parliament much more in the designation of the members of the Commission and of its president. The strengthening of the Strasbourg Parliament was indeed one of the main issues in speeches about the political dimension of the European integration process delivered by the German Chancellor. His goal was neither to dispossess the Bundestag of its competence nor to weaken the member states’ national Parliaments to the benefit of the European Parliament, but rather to equip the latter with adequate legislative controls over the Commission’s activity.6 In fact, opinion polls in Germany had shown that the ‘democratic deficit’ was one decisive reason for the lack of popular interest in European integration.7 It was also the reason why an increasing number of Germans decided not to vote in European elections. Indeed the European Parliament’s failure to extend its powers had prevented it from obtaining increased legitimacy and stopped it from exercising a decisive influence over the integration process. Germany’s proposals were, however, not restricted to co-decision: on 10 April 1991, the German and Italian foreign ministers published a 250 H. Stark common declaration on the extension of the European Parliament’s competence. In particular, they recommended that the Parliament be equipped with the autonomous right of initiative, that it be linked more closely to the process of nominating the Commission and its president and to the conclusion of international agreements by the Community. Finally they suggested making the Parliament more powerful in matters of Community finance and on issues such as the revision of treaties. The German–Italian proposal thus aimed at extending the legislative powers of the European Parliament, even though they remain significantly less extensive than those of traditional national parliaments. The ‘democratic deficit’ was not entirely eliminated by the Maastricht Treaty, but the powers given to the European Parliament were significantly increased.

The third pillar: German initiatives concerning justice and home affairs European cooperation in justice and home affairs existed long before the Maastricht Treaty. Ever since 1976, the ministers of internal affairs in the EEC have coordinated their actions in the framework of the TREVI group (dealing with terrorism, radicalism and extremism). In 1985, France, West Germany and the three Benelux states signed the ‘Schengen Agreement’ which was initially considered as a ‘laboratory’ for the completely free movement of persons and the gradual elimination of the border control between the signatories. With the end of the Cold War and the outbreak of ethnic conflicts in Eastern Europe, the Germans were keen to reinforce Community cooperation in this field. Immigration to Germany reached record highs every year after 1989. Between the disappearance of the Iron Curtain and 1992, 438,000 new asylum seekers had sought refuge in the Federal Republic. The German government wanted the Community to harmonize its policies on asylum rights, on immigration, as well as on the fight against drugs and organized crime. Consequently, Germany proposed the establishment of a centralized European police force (Europol) that was to share intelligence on drug trafficking and organized crime. The German initiatives in this area nevertheless favoured the application of normal Community rules to certain aspects of asylum and immigration policies – a step which was highly controversial among most of the other EC member states. As in the field of CFSP, a compromise thus had to be found between the German position and that of the British especially, establishing a clearcut distinction between Community and intergovernmental areas of competence in the future Maastricht Treaty. As far as judicial and domestic policies were concerned, the Twelve opted for intergovernmental cooperation, as they did in CFSP. Not only did this compromise cir- cumvent British opposition, but it also meant that most of the issues which the Germans had raised in their multiple proposals concerning justice Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 251 and home affairs were concentrated in the ‘third pillar’ of the Maastricht treaty.

The development of EMU – German positions and proposals In 1990, when the Twelve initiated the double IGC, dedicated to political, economic and monetary aspects of the future European Union, the transition from the European Monetary System (EMS) to EMU had already been irreversibly launched after the European Council had approved the recommendations of the June 1989 Delors report. Nevertheless, working out the details of the EMU project was a long and cumbersome process, often marked by conflict. Indeed the final conclusions of the 1989 Madrid European Council on the Delors plan already represented a compromise between French and German leaders; the former wanting to speed up the introduction of EMU; the latter trying to support European integration whilst being concerned about the consequences for monetary stability of a rapid move towards EMU. The Madrid summit did not establish a precise timetable for the EMU, however, since policy-makers refused to take a decision on the central question of when an IGC should be launched, despite the fact that only an IGC would be able to establish the three-stage process and to amend existing treaties in order to take decisive steps towards monetary union. Disagreement over the timetable of the monetary union thus undermined Franco-German relations from the Madrid summit onwards, and explains French reactions to the fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989, especially since France had taken over the presidency of the European Communities in the second half of 1989. Germany’s hesitations regarding the launch of the EMU were interpreted by France as a lack of interest in European integration. As a result, French leaders blamed their counterparts for hampering the introduction of EMU, especially since drawing up a calendar for the IGC on economic and monetary issues became one of the key objectives of the French presidency. However, from François Mitterrand’s point of view, the disagreement was seen as a great opportunity to test the European commitment of Helmut Kohl, who had repeatedly insisted that enhanced relations between the two German states would not jeopardize Germany’s Euro- pean commitments. In order to neutralize British opposition to an eventual German reunification, Kohl wanted to be assured of French support regarding the German right to self-determination, however. At the Strasbourg summit on 8–9 December 1989, Kohl therefore finally announced his acceptance of the French proposal that an IGC be convened by the end of 1990. This was a major concession by the chancellor since neither the independence of the future European Central Bank nor the prior goal of monetary stability had yet been agreed. Kohl however did obtain satisfaction on the German right to self-determination 252 H. Stark the following day, when the Twelve declared unanimously that such rights were consistent with a European equilibrium and the respect of national boundaries. Although the question of German reunification and the launch of an IGC were treated separately from one another, both were closely linked. Together, the two decisions enabled the Delors project to be launched. The negotiations were conducted throughout 1990 and 1991 and, during the Maastricht Council, resulted in a project that aimed at the creation of economic and monetary union. The vital moves towards EMU were thus taken in two successive stages: both before and during the IGC in 1991.

Preparatory measures for the ‘Delors project’ The progress that had been made towards the creation of EMU in 1989 could not conceal the important differences of opinion which remained amongst the Twelve. Thus in early 1990, the Twelve (and Germany and France in particular) had yet to agree on the degree of independence that the European Central Bank was to obtain, on the currency policies which it would follow, and on the degree of economic coordination and budgetary control which EMU would require. Similarly, member states dis- agreed on the timing and manner of the transition between the second and third phase of the Delors Plan. The German priority was to attain its objectives in due time, while France wanted to progress as fast as possible. Without losing sight of the goal of EMU, Kohl wanted the first phase to be long enough to allow member states to converge economically. Moreover, Germany wanted EMU to be limited to a nucleus of countries that had attained a very high level of convergence – namely Germany, France and the Benelux states. German leaders also opposed the provisions of the Delors plan for the establishment of a European system of central banks (ESCB), which they wanted to happen only at the beginning of the third phase. Above all, Bonn wanted the structure and policy of the ESCB to be identical with that of the Bundesbank. This would imply the independence of European monetary policy from political authority – echoing article 12 of the 1957 federal law on the central bank (Bundesbankgesetz) – and the protection of price stability as main objective of the common monetary policy. In addition to this, Germany opposed the French proposal to establish an economic government in order to counterbalance to the ESCB. Bonn insisted instead upon the total independence of the national central banks before the setting up of the ESCB. Countries where the independence of the central bank was not legally enshrined would therefore have to converge with the German and Dutch model. Germany also demanded very severe laws on budgetary and currency policies. These divergences lasted into the preparatory phase of the IGC and persisted also during the actual intergovernmental conference.8 Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 253 Another contentious issue was the timing of the various stages of EMU. Germany wanted to delay the start of phase II by one year, rejecting the Commission’s call for both the second stage of EMU and the single market to begin on 1 January 1993. Bonn’s call was supported by the southern European countries, which needed more time in order to meet the membership criteria. And Germany’s stance reflected the importance which the Bundesbank attached to the issue. Germany’s central bankers underlined the fact that the FRG had underestimated the costs of reunification and feared a recession due to the economic situation in East Germany and the explosion of petrol prices due to the Gulf War. The Bundesbank, backed by the German minister of finance, Theo Waigel, had called for a greater level of economic convergence (in currency stability and the level of inflation and public deficit) to be required not only before the start of the third phase, but even before beginning of the second one. The second phase, however, was to be very short. The Com- mission and France deemed it impossible for some countries to attain convergence until the transition from the first to the second phase. Paris and Brussels wanted economic convergence to be realized during the second phase, during which the Twelve would establish the ESCB – an idea rejected by the German government which wanted the transfer of monetary competence to be effectuated with the creation of the ESCB, and thus with the beginning of the third phase. The leaders of the Bundesbank strongly opposed a date being fixed for the beginning of the second phase without economic convergence having been attained. Kohl found himself obliged to react to this disagreement between the FRG and its European partners. In an interview broadcast on French television he solemnly spoke in favour of beginning the second phase of EMU on 1 January 1994. By so doing, the Chancellor was attempting to smooth ruffled feathers and reassure his French partners. The date he mentioned, while later than the one proposed by Jacques Delors, François Mitterrand and Hans-Dietrich Genscher, was significantly earlier than that recommended by the Waigel or Karl Otto Pöhl, the president of the Bundes- bank. And by fixing a date for the beginning of the second phase, the Chancellor was agreeing not to make the progression between the first two phases conditional upon stability criteria. The second phase would thus begin irrespective of the level of economic convergence achieved amongst the Twelve – just as the Delors Plan had suggested. In return, the Chancellor insisted that certain conditions needed, nonetheless, to be met, before the start of the second phase. These preconditions were above all the completion of the single market, the ratification of the Treaty on European Union and agreement amongst the Twelve on the fact that the budgetary deficits of the member states would not be financed collectively by the EU. There was also no clear agreement on the length of the second phase. During this period a ‘new monetary institution’ was to be created, and the 254 H. Stark necessary instruments and procedures for the future development of a united monetary policy were to be implemented. Due to this lack of preci- sion and wanting to achieve at least a minimum of security, Mitterrand successfully suggested, that the Twelve set a ‘reasonable time limit’ for this second phase. In addition, the member states decided that three years after the beginning of the second phase, at the very latest, they would prepare a decision to enter the third phase within a reasonable time limit. On 27 November 1990, another agreement was reached on the statutes and institutional powers of the ESCB, based on an interim report by the committee of central bank directors of the member states, presided by Pöhl.9 In 1991 this was definitively adopted by Luxemburg’s presidency without any amendment and added to the Maastricht Treaty as the ‘proto- col on the Statute of the European System of Central Banks and of the European Central Bank’. Essentially a summary of German economic philosophy, it was a reminder that the ESCB’s main priority would be stable prices. From this point of view, the task of the ECB was to realize the objectives of the economic policy of the future European Union – a mission identical to the one that West Germany had conferred upon the Bundesbank. In order to ensure the maintenance of the system and the protection of stable prices, the report highlighted the importance of budgetary discipline and banned monetary financing of public deficits. It also stipulated that, in order for a monetary stability to exist, the ESCB needed to be independent from public power and not to be subject to the authority of either the Community institutions or the member state governments. The relations that the committee wanted to establish between the ESCB, the ECB and the central banks were inspired by the relationship between the Bundesbank and the central banks of the individual Länder in Germany. The work of the Twelve on EMU had thus progressed a great deal even before the IGC began its deliberations in 1991. The Delors report and the documents of the Commission, the monetary committee and the directors of central banks committee showed unequivocally that EMU was based on the German model. As negotiations began, however, all states were far from accepting the absolute importance of monetary stability – despite the agreement on the structure and objectives of the ESCB. Added to this the member states were still not in agreement on how and when to end the second phase and start the third phase of EMU.

From Rome to Maastricht Work on the intergovernmental conference on EMU began after the end of the Rome European Council in December 1990 in a very tense mood. Proposals made by Germany on 26 February 1991, on the occasion of an official contribution to the work on IGC were harshly criticized as Bonn’s attitude towards EMU, which were already seen as restrictive, seemed to Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 255 have tightened up even more.10 Germany was accused of eviscerating the second phase of EMU and of deferring the beginning of the final phase – accusations that German authorities have always rejected. Some of the German proposals were certainly very hard for its Euro- pean partners to accept. Thus Pöhl made no secret of his refusal to approve the creation of a European central bank without knowing which countries would participate. Apparently macroeconomic discrepancies between the EC’s member countries had led Germany to aim at a ‘small’ monetary union only including European countries with strong currencies such as Germany, France and the Benelux states. Those states unable to meet the convergence criteria would not be excluded but would see their participation delayed. Germany also insisted that the member states were to decide unanimously that the third stage would only begin after a satisfactory level of macroeconomic convergence amongst the states aspiring to enter EMU. Bonn also demanded multilateral surveillance of economic policies and stringent budgetary discipline. The future Treaty on European Union was not only supposed to outlaw excessive budget deficits, but also to make the transition to the third step dependent on budgetary discipline (deficits were not to exceed productive public investment; they were limited to a specific percentage of the Gross National Product; and tight limits were to be placed on the permissible rate of inflation). The German government even wanted sanctions such as public recommendations addressed to the states that were not able to meet these demands and, if necessary, the suspension of allowances from the Community’s budget (both of the notions would be incorporated in the 1997 stability pact).11 These proposals brought a momentary chill to negotiations that had up to then been very constructive. The unresolved issues were, however, settled during the second semester of 1991 under the Dutch presidency. From this moment onwards, a consensus was found on several elements. This included agreement on the planned beginning of the second phase on 1 January 1994. A compromise was also reached on the transition to the third phase, between the so-called ‘extremist’ stand point of Kohl and the position of those countries deemed ‘minimalist’ by the Germans: the fixing of the date would now fall to the European Council, whereas the designation of which countries were qualified to enter the final phase of EMU would be the responsibility of Ecofin (the collective gathering of EU finance ministers). Another success for Germany was that transition to the third phase of EMU was going to take a long time. A single currency and a European Central Bank were to be established by 31 December 1996, at the earliest – provided that the experts could agree and the majority of the countries met the criteria. Above all, Germany succeeded in imposing ‘convergence criteria’ mainly concerning inflation and deficits in public finances. The twelve member states agreed upon these very stringent conditions concerning economic convergence but also allowed a degree of 256 H. Stark political judgement to be included in the assessment of convergence by permitting Ecofin to take account of the general tendency of a would-be member’s economy and public finance. This was a particularly important issue for the French (and one that caused controversy between Bonn and Paris in the two years prior to the beginning of the third stage). Once this agreement had been reached, all major issues had been settled on the eve of the European Council in Maastricht. In Maastricht, on 9 December 1991, a last obstacle was overcome concerning the entry into force of EMU. The European Council was to decide on the transition to the third phase with a qualified majority. However, this transition could be implemented – on 31 December 1996, at the earliest – only if the majority of member states met the convergence criteria. This ‘guide rail’, insisted upon by Germany, would not apply to a second attempt from 31 December 1998 onwards – which meant that the third phase of EMU could begin with fewer than six countries from 1 January 1999, if necessary. At France’s request and with Germany’s approbation, the twelve member states have had thus fixed an automatic and irrevocable mechanism, and a deadline making sure that the third phase would begin on 1 January 1999, at the latest, thus underlining the EU member states’ will to create a single currency and reinforcing the credibility of EMU in public opinion and on the markets.

Conclusion Even though German economic philosophy had its impact on the function and general philosophy of EMU, and even if its creation can be understood as the heart of the Maastricht Treaty, it would be wrong to see the treaty itself as the result of German predominance at a Community level. Designed to reinforce Germany’s European character, the Maas- tricht Treaty certainly adopted notions related to German tradition – such as subsidiarity, regionalism and the culture of stability – but this nevertheless did not turn the Community into a ‘German Europe’. Other countries – France and the UK in particular – had their say and contributed crucial features that reflected their approach to European integration. For instance, Germany had to acquiesce to a non-unitary structure that incorporated both integration and intergovernmental cooperation. The treaty on European Union is thus based upon the co-existence of a highly integrated system and a regime of intergovernmental cooperation. The federal government was not therefore able to achieve Kohl’s famous junktim between EMU and political union. Monetary policy became subject to the Community’s power – and with it the Deutschmark – whereas CFSP remained in the domain of the member states. France thus retained its military autonomy. In a speech in the Bundestag one day after the Maastricht summit, on 13 December 1991, the German Chancel- lor expressed his regret at the fact that the twelve member states had not Helmut Kohl and the Maastricht process 257 engaged themselves more profoundly in the political union. He would have wanted the European Parliament to have been endowed with greater powers and would have gone much further in the field of foreign and security policy.12 Arguably, however, the German government did not favour a totally communautaire approach to either CFSP or judicial cooperation any more than did Paris or London. Although such an approach would have rendered both CFSP and judicial cooperation more effective, the member states would have lost their veto right in matters of security and defence. Germany would never have been able to accept that the EU be empowered to allow the WEU’s intervention in areas outside the Euro- Atlantic zone on the basis of a qualified majority vote. It was thus in Germany’s interest to avoid CFSP being treated as a entirely Community policy and to safeguard the national sovereignty of the union’s member states on defence issues – even though this compromise solution (favoured by all twelve partners) considerably reduced the reach of the CFSP and thus the power of the political union. This pragmatism of the federal government can also be explained by the Treaty on European Union itself. Far from being an attempt to ‘complete’ the process of European integration, the Maastricht Treaty needs to be understood as a stage in its development. Thus the preamble to the Maastricht Treaty underlines that ‘[it] marks a new stage in the process of creating an ever closer union among the peoples of Europe wanting to take further steps [...] in order to advance European integration’. The European Union’s changing nature is highlighted in particular in article N of the Maastricht Treaty, that stipulates that ‘a conference of representatives of the governments of the Member States shall be convened in 1996 to examine those provisions of this Treaty for which revision is provided’. Taking into account the open and transitional character of the treaty, it was therefore to be welcomed that the IGC’s timetable was respected and a new treaty was adopted during the Dutch presidency, despite the misgivings of certain member states. Another five years of reflection were to follow on the modalities of an intensified European Union and the possibility of bringing both CFSP and judicial cooperation into line with traditional Community policy-making. However, could integration really have been accelerated at a time when public opinion opposed a supranational Europe? Indeed, the heated national debates which followed the signature of the Maastricht Treaty, revealed that ‘European citizens’ were hesitant about following their governments as far as European integration was concerned. On a more positive note, however, the elaboration of the Maastricht Treaty demonstrated that reunification had not changed Germany’s stance on European integration and that Germany’s European policy remained loyal to the approach set out by Adenauer. In this respect at least, the Maastricht Treaty can be judged a complete success. 258 H. Stark Notes 1 Other proposals were put forward unilaterally by the German government, by the German Bundestat and by the prime ministers of the Länder, and by the German and Italian government jointly. 2 See Stark (2004). 3 Jopp (1994, p. 6). 4 Dumoulin and Rémacle (1998, p. 183). 5 Uwe Schmalz, ‘Die europäisierte Macht – Deutschland in der europäischen Außen- und Sicherheitspolitik’. In Schneider et al. (2001, pp. 515–580). 6 ‘Rede des Bundeskanzlers der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, Helmut Kohl, zur Rolle Deutschlands in Europa anläßlich der Tagung “Forum für Deutschland” vom 13. März 1991 in Berlin’, Europa-Archiv, n° 15–16, 1991, pp. 373–375. 7 Noelle-Neumann (1990, pp. 277–287). 8 Brodersen (1991, pp. 15–50). 9 ‘Draft Statute of the European System of Central Banks and of the European Central Bank’, Europe Documents, 8.12.1990, n° 1, pp. 669–70. 10 See Krägenau and Wetter (1993, pp. 333–334); Scharrer (1991, p. 108). 11 Schlüter (1991, pp. 106–114). 12 ‘Regierungserklärung des Bundeskanzlers Helmut Kohl vor dem Deutschen Bundestag am 13. Dezember 1991 über die Ergebnisse des Europäischen Rates in Maastricht’, Europa-Archiv, n° 3, 1992, p. 110–117. 19 The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP Old thinking, false starts and new imperatives

Jolyon Howorth

This chapter will analyse the early glimmerings of a new European security order in the period from the fall of the Berlin Wall to early 1992. This was a seminal but highly confused period in which the old bipolar order was rocked by competing ‘architectural’ blueprints for regional security, ranging from Russian designs for a restored Concert of Europe, to fleet- ing German plans for an upgraded Conference on Security and Coopera- tion in Europe (CSCE), and from inchoate French hopes to maximise the Western European Union (WEU), to US aspirations for a major transformation of NATO.1 The one blueprint which was absent at this time was for the project which eventually imposed itself in the early twenty-first century: the European Security and Defence Policy (ESDP). What might be called the ESDP narrative was to go through three distinct periods: from the 1980s until around 1992, it remained highly embryonic and involved vague schemes for capitalising on the WEU; from 1992 to 1997, it involved the engineering of a European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) from within NATO; from 1998 onwards, ESDP as an autonomous European political and military project finally came into its own.2 With hindsight, it is clear in 2007 which new imperatives presented themselves in 1989. This chapter will investigate why it took ten years for those imperatives to be implemented. The sections that follow address three main sets of issues. First, to what extent was CFSP/ESDP already in gestation prior to November 1989? The fall of the Berlin Wall did not take place in a security vacuum. Second, how was the challenge of European security perceived by the main transatlantic players in the two years after November 1989, with particular reference to the complex relationship between the emerging European entity and the US and NATO? Third, what were the imperatives (resource, institutional and political) which would eventually allow ESDP to emerge in the late 1990s and how many of those requirements could realistically hope to be met in the early 1990s? 260 J. Howorth First glimmerings of CFSP/ESDP pre-November 1989 ‘Nothing has changed, but everything is different’. This was the observa- tion of one French defence expert in the summer of 1987 as he reflected on the chaotic agitation of the French political class when faced with Mikhail Gorbachev’s concerted efforts to promote an INF Treaty with the US.3 Twenty years ago, for many policy-makers and analysts, Europe’s security foundations seemed shaken to the core by the INF Treaty, which was perceived as symbolising the collapse of all four pillars of the post-war settlement: a durable American commitment to the security of Western Europe; absolute confidence in the deterrent value of nuclear weapons; the immutability of the Soviet system; and the perpetuity of the division of Europe.4 This demanded nothing less than a revolution in European security thinking, and in particular new thinking about European security cooperation. Alas, as Sir Michael Howard noted in his March 1990 Alastair Buchan lecture, Cold War-era security analysts, ‘like recidivists or long- term hospital patients’, had become ‘almost incapable of visualising any other kind of existence. No other world, it seemed, could exist’.5 Old patterns of thinking were to persist for a further ten years before new ones became perceptible. At the same time, a number of false starts were engaged. Almost all political actors in France began to perceive the way forward in the intensification of Franco-German defence collaboration.6 Such perceptions were in part driven by a nascent fear that, if left to its own devices, Germany might prefer neutralism or, even worse, a form of Sonderweg involving a security arrangement with the Soviet Union.7 It was in 1987 that the Franco-German Defence Council was born and that politicians across the entire political spectrum began to toy with the idea of extending France’s nuclear deterrent to cover the Federal Republic.8 In fact, Franco-German security cooperation, although a seemingly logical development of the overall Franco-German ‘motor’ behind European integration, proved to be something of a dead end for ESDP.9 1987 also witnessed another false start with the culmination of the early 1980s ‘reactivation’ of the Western European Union in the form of the landmark ‘Platform on European Security Interests’ at The Hague.10 The latter development was significant in many ways, among others because it was solidly backed by the United Kingdom, a country not normally to the fore in promoting European defence cooperation. Despite the apparent seamlessness of the Anglo-American special relationship as epitomised by Thatcher and Reagan during the INF crisis of the early 1980s, the reality was that many senior UK officials were shocked by the unilateralism of various American initiatives during this period (SDI, the Libyan bombings and Reagan’s apparent embrace of nuclear disarmament during his Reyk- javik meeting with Gorbachev in November 1986).11 It is remarkable that a man as devoted to traditional Atlanticism as the then UK Foreign Sec- The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP 261 retary Sir Geoffrey Howe could, in 1985, publish an article exploring the prospects for a distinct ‘European Pillar’ within the Alliance. In that article, Howe defended the European position against the standard Amer- ican accusations. These included charges of inadequate burden-sharing (Howe pointed out that the Europeans contributed more, and in different ways, than was recognised in Washington); suggestions that the Europeans lacked global interests (Europe, Howe insisted, had both a global vision and global responsibilities, albeit different ones from those of the US); and – the cardinal Alliance sin – ‘caucusing’ (Howe defended the legitimacy and value to the Alliance of a coherent and unified European position).12 The key issue in these pre-1989 developments was that which had always lain at the heart of the post-1945 Euro-Atlantic Security Dilemma:13 how could the main European powers engineer the best possible balance between a continuing US commitment to European security, and maximum European influence over or even autonomy within that balance? The Hague platform spelled out the objective with relative clarity:

We are convinced that the construction of an integrated Europe will remain incomplete as long as it does not include security and defence.... It is our conviction that a more united Europe will make a stronger contribution to the Alliance, to the beneﬁt of Western security as a whole. This will enhance the European role in the Alliance and ensure the basis for a balanced partnership across the Atlantic. We are resolved to strengthen the European pillar of the Alliance.

Implicit in the concept of the European pillar is the notion that it could provide Europe with a security capacity placing it in a state of relative political and military non-dependence on Washington while enhancing the overall transatlantic partnership. It implies that greater balance and greater autonomy are compatible rather than contradictory. Yet in the context of an ever more explicit US revision of the nature and even the centrality of its security commitment to Europe, of a radical reshuffling of the security cards as a result of the Gorbachev phenomenon, and of a fresh kickstart to the EC integration process emanating from the Single Market project which dominated the second half of the 1980s, the challenge of combining balance and autonomy assumed the proportions of a major strategic conundrum. The WEU proved inadequate to solve that conundrum. The EU itself would eventually have to solve four main problems as it pursued the task of engineering that new balance. First, it would require a significant reform of the structures and remit of the Atlantic Alliance. Second, it would require a significant transformation of European military capacity. Third, it would require new European political and institutional 262 J. Howorth capacity. Fourth, as a necessary corollary to all these requirements, it would demand close Franco-British cooperation. Rising to these four challenges was to become the main security preoccupation of both EU and US leaders over the next ten years.

Perceptions of CFSP/ESDP and NATO from November 1989 to December 1991 Once the Cold War ended, a brief historical window opened (1989–93) during which the West as a whole engaged in an open-ended debate about new strategic directions. That debate threw up the entire range of options, from the total demise of NATO to its assumption of the role of universal policeman, from the creation of an alternative European armed force to the demilitarisation and wholesale civilianisation of Europe.14 Although the future of transatlantic relations became a major imponderable as the Wall collapsed, it took time before anybody could see clearly into the future. The immediate reaction, in many countries, was conservative. While Margaret Thatcher dreamed of preserving the reassuring structures of the Cold War itself (a divided Germany, along with both NATO and the Warsaw Pact)15, and while Gorbachev engaged in comforting dialogue with major world leaders in a successful effort to stabilise the situation16, François Mitterrand (who in the second semester of 1989 presided over the fortunes of the European Community) focused on deepening the structures of European integration, which he saw as threatened by the looming prospect of significant enlargement. Caution and consolidation were widespread. Moreover, on the specific issue of German unification, most leading European politicians and statesmen, if they were not actually opposed to the principle, remained fearful of the consequences. A review of the security policy literature published in the early months after November 1989 reveals how widespread was the fear that the ‘German question’ had suddenly once again reared its head in Europe.17 While Bush, Kohl and Thatcher adopted clearcut positions on German unification (the first two in favour, the latter opposed), there remains a degree of controversy over Mitterrand’s thinking. Frédéric Bozo accepts the former President’s version that he was positively supportive.18 Others have argued that Mitterrand did all he could to apply the brakes.19 It seems clear that Mitterrand, whatever his private concerns about the implications of unification, was sufficiently lucid to appreciate that it was unstoppable. Even had he been minded to accept Thatcher’s proposal for a Franco-British axis to slow down or even prevent unification, he knew that Franco-British security policy cooperation was hard to imagine.20 For France, the fundamental challenge was to ensure that whatever Germany emerged, it remained firmly wedded to the European project. The key issue in terms of security and defence was, in the event, not so much German unification per se as that of determining whether a unified The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP 263 Germany could emerge as a full member of NATO.21 In the early months after the fall of the Wall, there was widespread nervousness over the prospect of German unification within NATO. While Bush, Thatcher and the German defence minister Gerhard Stoltenberg insisted from the outset that there could be no question of revising Germany’s role in NATO, others – notably Mitterrand, Hans-Dietrich Genscher, the German SPD as a whole, Gorbachev and French defence minister Jean-Pierre Chevènement – doubted (at least at first) whether a unified Germany within NATO could be rendered acceptable to the Soviet political class.22 In the end, as John Gaddis has argued, Gorbachev, once again, when faced with the choice between fighting and yielding, chose to yield.23 The ‘triumph’ of the NATO narrative in this period merits further scrutiny. While academic analysts at the time tended to see NATO’s days as severely numbered, statesmen and political leaders were virtually unanimous in assuming its persistence – albeit in a transformed guise.24 The politicians proved more far-sighted than the academics. There were several key reasons for the Alliance’s survival throughout the 1990s. The first was the simple military fact that NATO was the only serious military force available, at a time when the need for combat forces (far from waning, as many had assumed) was in fact growing. Although NATO was not optimally configured for crisis management missions, and although many NATO member states, including the United Kingdom, were initially opposed to its adoption of such missions, the fact remained that only NATO could assume this responsibility: hence the de facto shift from collective defence to collective security and crisis management.25 The second reason was the political reality that all hypothetical alternative security narratives proved to be further false starts. At the beginning of 1990, several alternative narratives seemed set for a positive future, yet by the end of the same year, most of them had faded. The Russian penchant for a return to balance-of-power politics, which saw its high-point with the Bush–Gorbachev summit in Malta (2–3 December 1989) and in the 2+4 negotiations on Germany leading to the Treaty of Moscow in September 1990, fell victim thereafter to the rapid collapse of Soviet power and influence. A German–Czech hankering for prioritisation of the CSCE/OSCE in the early part of 1990 was replaced a few months later by a return to NATO as the primary narrative, partly through the launch of the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC) and partly also through the waning of Soviet influence.26 Mitterrand’s project for a European Confederation, while buoyant throughout 1990, collapsed in June 1991.27 Hypothetical French plans for a resurgent WEU, to which I shall return shortly, also proved to be non-starters.28 A third reason was the absolute determination of the Bush administration to do everything in its power to keep NATO alive.29 A fourth reason came slightly later through French rapprochement with NATO, which was to be a key feature of the 1993–7 period.30 A fifth reason for NATO’s triumph as the dominant security narrative came from 264 J. Howorth the countries of Central and Eastern Europe which saw Alliance membership as their major security objective.31 The bottom line was that, despite the considerable historical, structural, political, institutional and military problems which were to beset the Alliance over the following decade (and which, in many ways, remain unresolved today), NATO’s continued dominance was guaranteed by two main factors: the political will of the Bush administration; and the absence at this time of any viable alternative European security blueprint. This latter factor demands closer analysis. Some have argued that France, during this period, was developing a blueprint for an EU security and defence capacity which would enjoy autonomy from NATO and the US.32 France’s ‘sin- gularity’ with respect to the Alliance is well documented.33 There were even isolated individuals within the defence establishment who overtly argued in favour of complete European autonomy.34 But government policy, as reflected in the diplomacy of Mitterrand, involved both greater European cooperation and greater coordination with NATO.35 While, during the Cold War, France’s absence from NATO’s integrated command structure could be seen as a benefit, in the very different circumstances of the post-Cold War world, in which French troops were going to be deployed in multinational coalitions using NATO standards, such absence would increasingly prove a liability.36 The complexity of the thinking behind French policy was spelled out in a single day – 19 April 1990 – when two significant events occurred. First, Mitterrand and Kohl published their joint proposal that the European Union should develop a common foreign and security policy (CFSP). Second Mitterrand and Bush met at Key Largo in Florida to discuss the future of NATO. The Franco- German proposal on CFSP was the logical consequence of the tectonic shifts of 9 November, 1989. As Europe ceased to be the focal point of US defence policy, not only was relative American disengagement in the medium term inevitable, but Europe’s assumption of its own responsibilities for foreign and security policy was a necessary corollary. This logic was immediately tested in the Balkans in the early 1990s. The US had no desire to be involved. Yet Europe had a long way to go before it would be militarily capable of managing a crisis such as Bosnia. At Key Largo, the two presidents talked past each other fairly systematically. Bush, the leader of the Western world, reasoned in terms of a transformation of NATO to assume tasks of crisis management and collective security in Europe, including facilitation of the transition of the Central and Eastern European countries. Mitterrand, the European elder statesman, wished to retain NATO essentially for article 5 purposes (developments in Russia remained unpredictable), while procuring European forces for crisis management and collective security tasks, in cooperation with Russia through CSCE.37 Although on the surface the meeting was constructive and friendly, the US national security advisor, Brent Scow- croft, left Key Largo convinced that ‘the US and France had significantly The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP 265 differing views of the future of Europe and our role in it’. This was also clear to an informed French observer such as Gilles Andréani:

Why make NATO the framework for cooperation with an ‘East’ which had ceased to be a bloc, to the detriment of CSCE, for whom this was the natural function? Was this not just going to encourage the countries of Central Europe to demand NATO expansion – which at the time nobody wanted – and to encourage the Russians in the opposite illusion – that NATO was destined to lose its cohesion and its features as a military alliance, something else which nobody, including the French, wanted to happen.38

The Key Largo meeting laid down two contrasting views of Euro-NATO relations which have continued to clash ever since. While Mitterrand’s view of Europe’s structural capacity to deliver genuine and lasting stability and security in the European strategic space, and even, eventually, to assume crisis management tasks, was to prove quite far-sighted, the problem was that, in the short-term, ‘Europe’ had neither the military nor the political clout to implement this approach. While the US determination to keep NATO in business succeeded in providing it with a new lease on life in the short-term, the over-ambitious plans for a wholly restructured – and globalised – Alliance were to prove, in the long-term, politically unwieldy and militarily ineffective. As NATO grew in size, scope and ambition, it came to resemble Baudelaire’s albatross. Earlier, in addition to new thinking on the Alliance, which we have just analysed, we identiﬁed three other imperatives for a successful CFSP/ESDP (military resources, institutional capacity, and Franco-British cooperation). All three proved premature or simply unattainable in the ﬁrst period under consideration (1980s to 1992). They were also to prove unsatisfactory in the period 1993–7, marked by the rise and fall of ESDI. It was only after 1998 that these three ingredients were gradually to come properly into their own – in the ESDP project.

Resource, institutional and political requirements for a viable CFSP/ESDP Discussions on the development of military resources were to await the EU’s baptism of fire in the Gulf and in the Balkans. In practice, little would happen before the middle of the 1990s or indeed the end of the decade. The Hague platform in 1987 had referred to the need to ‘see to it that the level of each country’s contribution to the common defence ade- quately reflects its capabilities’, to ‘aim at a more effective use of military resources, inter alia by expanding bilateral and regional military cooperation’ and to ‘maintain in Europe a technologically advanced industrial base and intensify armaments cooperation’. All of these requirements 266 J. Howorth were to reappear in the Saint-Malo Declaration of December 1998 and were to become articles not only of political faith but of energetic forward planning in the early twenty-first century. At the end of the 1980s, however, they amounted to little more than wishful thinking. In the early 1990s, procurement plans were still dominated by Cold War thinking and nobody in Europe had even begun to consider the types of transformation projects which would develop in the late 1990s.39 As far as institutional capacity was concerned, beyond the streamlining of political cooperation which accompanied the Single European Act, there was little hint, before November 1989, of what was later to come. It was the Mitterrand–Kohl proposals on a CFSP which galvanised institutional thinking during the intergovernmental conference leading up to the Maastricht Treaty of 1992. The Treaty spoke inchoately and confus- edly of new institutional arrangements involving the WEU. Since the WEU had the merit of actually existing and since it was precisely an institution designed to foster European security cooperation, it became widely assumed that the WEU was the miracle solution to Europe’s security inad- equacies at institutional level. A huge academic and policy-analytical literature developed in the early to mid-1990s (the ESDI period) aiming to explore the prospects for such a miracle institutional solution via the WEU – particularly in its role as an interlocutor with NATO. But clear visions as to what all this might imply were very few and far between.40 Jacques Delors’ keynote speech to the International Institute for Strategic Studies in April 1991 was symptomatic.41 It played on the apparent dichotomy of an EU/WEU capacity as being either a ‘bridge between Europe and the USA’ or (alternatively) the ‘defence arm of the EU’ (Delors’ clear preference). The implication of the speech was that Europe must choose one or other of these options. Yet to choose the former was to perpetuate the subordination of Europe; to choose the latter was to precipitate decoupling. Neither, on its own, was a viable option. Com- bined, they might have made some sense. Widely discussed at the time, Delors’ speech gave rise to more confusion than lucidity. Metaphors of ‘pillars’, ‘bridges’ and ‘arms’ which coloured security discourse at the time were no more helpful.42 Considerable efforts were nevertheless made in the mid-1990s to square the Euro-NATO circle via the elaboration of a European Security and Defence Identity (ESDI) conceived from inside the Alliance, with a key role for WEU. This process reached a high point in 1996 at NATO’s Berlin ministerial meeting. Agreement was reached in Berlin on procedures whereby European forces could gain access to NATO assets and planning facilities as well as for the pre-designation of an EU-only command chain for missions where European forces might have to be deployed to a crisis situation in which the US did not wish to be involved. These procedures remained subject to complex negotiations over the following years (the ‘Berlin-Plus’ process). They proved unsatisfactory. The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP 267 First, the US military were less enthusiastic than the politicians about ‘lending’ their hard-won high-tech assets to ill-prepared and ill-trained Europeans with little experience in the field. Second, the proposals that EU forces be ‘double-hatted’ – available either to a NATO/US commander or to a hypothetical EU commander – caused disquiet within the officer corps. Third, the Berlin-Plus proposals were, to some extent, predicated on a parallel reform of NATO’s overall command structure, with a view to giving more command posts to European officers. The US government’s reluctance to confer on a European officer the command of NATO’s southern headquarters (AFSouth) in Naples effectively scuttled that agreement.43 By the mid-1990s, while academics continued to pursue the WEU option, it was becoming clear to a number of policy planners in both London and Paris that the WEU, far from being part of the solution, was in fact a large part of the problem.44 It had neither the political clout, nor the military teeth nor the institutional coherence to assume the huge burden of supplying political management to the embryonic CFSP/ESDP. The challenge of improving military and institutional capacity in Europe therefore remained essentially unsolved throughout the 1990s. The project of generating a European security and defence identity from inside NATO had proved to be yet another false start. The solution was to phase out WEU and give political–institutional responsibility to the EU directly. That was to be the Saint-Malo revolution inaugurating ESDP. A third reason why Europe had to wait ten years between the end of the Cold War and the birth of ESDP was the absence of any prospect of Franco-British cooperation during this period. France’s preoccupation with the Franco-German motor in security and defence was largely a waste of energy since the two countries had, by the 1990s, developed security cultures which were at opposite ends of a triple continuum: hard/soft, force-projection/homeland-security, professional army/conscription.45 Moreover, Franco-German cooperation could do nothing radical to unblock the relationship between Europe and the US. But Franco-British cooperation, which was later to offer serious military leadership in Europe and to help transform Euro-US relations, was, at this point, out of the question. Despite the growing concerns in London in the 1980s about US security policy and despite the existence, within the governing Conservat- ive Party, of a number of Europhile heavyweights, Thatcher had, by 1989, become so overtly hostile to any further European integration that a Thatcher–Mitterrand entente was simply out of the question. The situation became even more critical for her successor, John Major. He was held hostage from 1992 to 1997 by a handful of fanatical ‘Eurosceptic’ MPs who effectively prevented any constructive moves towards CFSP or ESDP.46 The crucial political ingredient of a Franco-British alliance would have to await the election of Tony Blair in 1997. Meanwhile, on the ground in Bosnia, it took on practical military shape through a process of mutual dis- covery on the part of military officers from the two countries – an accident 268 J. Howorth of history which falls outside the schemes we have been discussing in this chapter.47

Conclusions The period under consideration, 1989–2, was one of both immense turmoil and also genuine creative imagination in security thinking. At least five separate European security narratives vied for pole position in early 1990. Three of them, which might have given significant influence to Russia, faded as a result of the collapse of the USSR. Of the remaining two, the European option – which we have called the ESDP narrative – seemed to have history on its side. However, for the reasons analysed above, it could not mature until the very end of the decade. Old thinking continued to prevail as nation states and national actors confronted the brave new world emerging from the collapse of the Cold War order. False starts in Europe (emphasis on Franco-German relations, which had little traction in the military field, and assumptions about the key role of the WEU) resulted in continued stagnation. This left the field open to a resurgent NATO which, in a constant effort to reinvent itself for a new era, took on ever broader and more diverse functions and an ever wider membership. But implicit in the new post-Cold War order was the gradual replacement of the American security guarantee by an increasingly autonomous European security capacity. Such a development served the interests both of the US, which had more pressing security responsibilities elsewhere in the world, and of the European Union, which could not avoid indefinitely the assumption of responsibility for the security of its ‘near abroad’. As the European security challenges identified in this paper – the negotiation of a new transatlantic partnership, the development of usable European military capacity, the engineering of new institutional mechanisms, and the forging of a Franco-British partnership – finally found elements of resolution at the turn of the century, the apparent ‘winner’ of the early 1990s found itself increasingly outdistanced by the ‘loser’ of that same period. As François Mitterrand liked to say: ‘il faut laisser le temps au temps’.

Notes 1 Croft (2000, pp. 1–20). 2 Howorth (2007). 3 Author’s conversation with Jean-Marie Daillet, 4.6.1987. 4 These assumptions underlay a colloquium in the French Senate organised by Simone Veil on 15 October 1987. See Le Monde, 17.10.1987. 5 Howard (1990). 6 André Brigot, ‘Une cooperation franco-allemande en matière de sécurité est- elle possible?’ In GECSE (1987). 7 This ‘Rapallo syndrome’ was a major concern during the early 1980s INF crisis, The EU, NATO and the origins of CFSP and ESDP 269 and had informed Mitterrand’s Bundestag speech in January 1983, which effectively supported Kohl’s CDU against the SPD. 8 From the Gaullist Michel Aurillac to Jean-Pierre Chevènement, from Giscard d’Estaing to Laurent Fabius. The idea had also been floated almost as a provocation several years earlier by former Chancellor Helmut Schmidt. See Schmidt (1984, pp. 411–17) and Schmidt (1985). 9 Fricaud-Chagnaud and Patry (1994); Montbrial et al. (1995); Soutou (1996). 10 Western European Union (1988, pp. 37–45). 11 Croft et al. (2001, p. 57). 12 Howe (1984–85, pp. 330–43). On the significance of the Howe article, see Bailes (1999, pp. 305–22). 13 See Howorth (2005, pp. 39–54). 14 Wyatt-Walter (1997). 15 Thatcher (1993, pp. 792–99). 16 Gaddis (2005, pp. 248–57). 17 Howard (1990, pp. 99–106); Davidson (1990, pp. 275–83); Mortimer (1992). 18 Bozo (2005, pp. 103–73); Mitterrand (1996). 19 Cohen (1998). 20 Thatcher (1993, p. 796). Mitterrand (1996, p. 43) claims that he responded to Thatcher by saying that France would never side with Britain against Germany. 21 Zelikow and Rice (1995, pp. 165–72, 201–4). 22 In Mitterand (1996), the French leader attempts to correct this record by suggesting that France had no objections, while nevertheless stressing his concern not to destabilise Gorbachev. For the view that Mitterrand was concerned about NATO membership for a united Germany, Pierre Haski, ‘Mitterrand et la réunification de l’Allemagne’. In Cohen (1998, pp. 9–22). See also Bozo (2005, pp. 208–10). 23 Gaddis (2005, p. 252). 24 For an overview see Hellmann and Wolf (1993, pp. 3–43); see also Glaser (1993, pp. 5–50); Stephen M. Walt, ‘NATO’s Future (in Theory)’. In Martin and Brawley (2000, pp. 11–25); and Mearsheimer (1990). 25 Yost (1998); Rynning (2005). 26 It is ironic that the grandiose meeting of CSCE in Paris in November 1990 effectively constituted the swansong of that organisation’s pretensions to be anything other than a back-up organisation. Another factor which transformed the global chessboard in 1990 was the shift in strategic focus from Europe to the Gulf as a result of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and the emergence of the US as sole superpower. 27 Mitterrand and Havel (1991); Dumas (2001, pp. 687–703). 28 Croft (2000); McCalla (1996, pp. 445–75). 29 Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 233–58). 30 See Menon (2000, esp. Chapter 2); Grant (1996, pp. 58–80); Andréani (1998, pp. 77–92). 31 Goldgeier (1999); Asmus (2002). 32 Cohen (1998, pp. 1–5);.Gordon (1993, pp. 172–8); Menon (2000, Chapter 5). 33 Bozo (2000); Bozo (1991). 34 A statement by Jean-Pierre Chevènement in October 1987, shortly before he became defence minister, sums up this approach: ‘It is time that Europe thought about ensuring by itself its own defence ... Today, the aim must be to replace the American defence of Europe with an autonomous European defence.’ Quoted in Menon (2000, p. 122). However, this was a highly exceptional sentiment. 35 Bozo (1991, pp. 171–5). 36 Brenner and Parmentier (2000, pp. 45–6). 270 J. Howorth 37 On Key Largo, La Politique Etrangère de la France, April 1990, pp. 76–81; Attali (1995, vol. 3, pp. 467–72); Bush and Scowcroft (1998, pp. 265–8); Bozo (2005, pp. 260–2). For an overview of US policy towards Europe in these years, Hutch- ings (1997). 38 Andréani (1998, pp. 79–81). 39 Jolyon Howorth ‘The Transformation of Europe’s Military Capability 1989–2005’. In Gilroy and Williams (2006, pp. 37–63). 40 See Dumoulin and Rémacle (1998); Deighton (1997); Rees (1998). 41 Delors (1991). 42 Luoma-aho (2004, pp. 106–27). 43 Brenner and Parmentier (2000, pp. 52–6). 44 See Howorth (2004). 45 Fricaud-Chagnaud and Patry (1994, pp. 147–75). 46 See Young (1999) and Major (1999). 47 Dupont (2002, pp. 76–98). Bibliography

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Abe, Shintao 54 Blair, Tony 267 Aboimov 80, 88 Blot, Jacques 83–4 Adenauer, Konrad 135, 149, 257 Bosnia-Herzegovina 200, 264, 267 Adomeit, Hannes 138 Bozo, Frédéric 101, 165, 262 Afghanistan 45, 210 Braithwaite, Rodric 183 Albania 65, 200, 243 Brandt, Willy 72 Alexander, Michael 183 Brazil 54 alliance 90, 110 Bretton Woods system 11 Alpe Adria initiative 192, 199–200 Brezhnev, Leonid 23, 25–6, 64, 208–9, Andréani, Gilles 265 211 Andreotti, Giulio 7–8, 54, 100, 126, 154, Brezhnev Doctrine 5, 37, 42–3, 75, 165, 191, 193–9, 202 78–9, 81, 88–9, 213 Antall, József 88 Brown, Archie 16, 38–9 Armenia 221 Bujak, Zbigniew 57–8 arms control see disarmament Bulgaria 40, 66, 76, 200, 240 Attali, Jacques 83, 130, 156, 222, 241 Bundesbank 252–4 Attlee, Clement 161 Bush, George H.W. 6, 11–12, 59–60, Austria 81, 84, 87, 135, 199–200, 243 79, 81, 84–8, 97, 99–101, 103–4, Azerbaijan 221 109–10, 112–13, 120–3, 125–30, 138, 142, 145, 155, 183, 188, 195, 198, Baker, James 97, 110–12, 115, 125–8, 202, 216, 221–5, 227, 229–30, 238, 183, 188, 224–5, 237 262–4 Baklanov 110 Bush, George W. 120 Baltic States 7, 44, 72, 98, 101, 195, 215, 220–30, 239 Carr, E.H. 9–10 Bangemann, Martin 54, 168 Carter, Jimmy 66 Baumgartner, Ernst 81 Casaroli, Agostino 65–7 Belarus 226 Castro, Fidel 39 Belgium 181, 198, 250, 252, 255 Catholic Church see Roman Catholic Belousov 110 Church Berlin Wall 8, 17, 36, 44, 71, 74, 98, Charter for the New Europe 33 100–3, 107–8, 121–2, 135, 150–3, 162, Chernenko, Konstantin 42, 54 164, 172, 180, 182–3, 195, 200, 210, Chernyaev, Anatoly 16, 24–6, 32, 37–9, 216, 235, 246, 251, 259, 262–3 41, 111, 113, 115, 209 Berlinguer, Enrico 96 Chevènement, Jean-Pierre 263 Bessmertnykh, Alexander 113, 239 China 68 Bianco, Jean Louis 83 Christlich Demokratische Union (CDU) Bitterlich, Joachim 155–7 110, 122 Blackwill, Robert 225 Clinton, Bill 130 Index 283 Cold War: historiography of 1–4, 9–18, dissidents 15, 45, 56–7, 61, 69–70, 182, 119–20; origins of 1, 10, 124 188, 192 Committee for the Protection of Dobrynin, Anatoly 39, 80 Workers (KOR) 67 Ducci, Roberto 192, 194, 202 Common European Home 4–5, 7, 14, Dulles, John Foster 127 25, 27–31, 33, 38, 45–8, 80, 82, 86, 96, Dumas, Roland 60, 108, 212–13, 215 102, 136, 208–12, 214, 217 Common Foreign and Security Policy Eagleburger, Lawrence 52, 87 (CFSP) see European Union, foreign Economic and Monetary Union (EMU) policy cooperation within 7, 119, 121, 123, 129, 136, 139–40, Communism, possibilities of reform 16 143–4, 150–6, 167, 171–2, 197–8, Communist Party of the Soviet Union 246–8, 251–6 (CPSU) 96, 102 economic assistance to Eastern Conference on Security and Europe/Soviet Union 12, 14, 17, 54, Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) 4, 7, 56–7, 59–60, 83, 85–8, 114, 128, 137, 15, 28–9, 31–2, 38, 45, 47, 52, 96–8, 142–3, 162, 164, 170, 213–14, 225, 112, 115, 127–8, 136–7, 140–1, 143, 228–9, 235, 241 163, 184, 196, 200, 210–11, 214–17, economic crisis in Eastern Europe 222, 227–9, 236–40, 242–3, 259, 14–15, 39–40, 51–3, 56–7, 59–61, 69, 263–5 79–80, 86, 88 Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) economic sanctions see sanctions, negotiations, 23, 80, 111–12, 115, economic 212, 237 Eden, Anthony 161 Council for Mutual Economic Eisenhower, Dwight 127 Assistance (CMEA) 29, 40, 43, 47, Elleman-Jensen, Uffe 224 210, 218, 239 Elysée Treaty 149 Council of Europe 215, 238–40 Estonia 222, 228–9 Council on Foreign Relations 54 Euro-communism 96 Cradock, Percy 85, 184, 186–7 European Bank for Reconstruction and Craxi, Bettino 54, 191–2 Development (EBRD) 241 Croatia 200 European Central Bank 251–2, 254–5 Czechoslovakia 16, 32, 41, 43, 45–6, 66, European Commission 6, 86, 123, 128, 72, 76, 102, 116–17, 168, 200, 218, 142, 162–6, 168–72, 241, 243–4, 246, 235–43, 263 248–50, 253–4 Czyrek, Józef 60 European Common Home see Common European Home Dashichev, Vyacheslav 102 European Community 6–7, 13–14, 25, De Michelis, Gianni 7, 82, 191, 193–4, 27–30, 32–3, 47, 55, 60, 82–5, 86–7, 196–9, 202 99, 121–2, 126–9, 136, 139, 150, debt 14–15, 52–5, 59 152–3, 161–73, 180–2, 184–5, 196, Delors, Jacques 8, 86, 123, 128, 136, 201, 210, 214, 216–17, 224, 227, 142, 144, 155, 162–5, 170–2, 193, 197, 235–41, 246–8, 261 241, 251–4, 266 European Confederation 7, 33, 84, 96, democratization 38–9, 44, 46–7, 58–60, 141, 208, 217–18, 236, 240, 263 78–9, 81–3, 88–9, 96, 102, 123, 137, European Council 6, 123–6, 129, 137, 141–2, 168, 179, 193, 212–13, 239, 244 139–40, 142–4, 151, 153–8, 162–3, Democrazia Cristiana (DC) 191, 193–4 165–70, 183, 192, 195, 197–8, 235–6, Denmark 7, 224, 227–30, 247 238, 251–2, 254–6 Détente 15, 55, 136, 149–50, 210–12 European Defence Community (EDC) Dienstbier, Jiri 116, 240 148, 167 disarmament 3, 11, 24, 27, 29–30, 38, European integration 6, 8, 12, 29, 31, 41, 48, 79–80, 102, 111–12, 115, 137, 38, 40–1, 46–7, 79, 125, 127–9, 135, 151, 208–12, 214, 224–5, 229, 237–8, 137–8, 140, 148, 151–3, 161–173, 242, 260 180–1, 189, 192, 196, 202, 207, 210, 284 Index European integration continued Franco-German Defence Council 260 213, 216–17, 219, 224, 246–57, 260–1; Frischenschlaeger, Friedhelm 81 acceleration of 6–8, 128–9, 137, 139–45, 149–50, 154–7, 163, 166–7, G24 86, 128, 164, 171 171–2, 197–9, 241; significance of 4, G7 60, 86, 114, 171, 213 13–14, 96, 99, 119, 124, 215 Gaddis, John 263 European Investment Bank 241 gas pipeline dispute 55 European Monetary System (EMS) 136, Gates, Robert 11, 225 171–2, 251 Gaulle, Charles de 148–9, 207, 209–10, European Parliament 139, 144, 163, 218 165, 171, 197–8, 238, 246–7, 249–50, Gdan´sk Agreements 52–3 257 Genscher, Hans-Dietrich 30, 54, 60, 96, European Political Cooperation 238, 100, 107, 119, 126, 135, 138–9, 141, 248 145, 150, 153, 180, 183, 188, 196, European Security and Defence 237–8, 253, 263 Identity (ESDI) 259, 265–6 Geremek, Bronislaw 60, 240 European Security and Defence Policy German unification 3, 5–8, 12, 26, (ESDP) 8, 259–60, 265, 267–8 30–2, 41, 44, 74, 80, 82, 89, 95–105, European Union 7–8, 101, 128–9, 138, 107–17, 119–31, 135–45, 148–58, 144, 150, 155–7, 167, 171–2, 197, 202, 161–73, 177–89, 191, 194–7, 210, 215, 219, 238, 241, 243, 246–57, 261; 215–17, 221, 223–5, 229, 235–8, enlargement of 8, 30, 33, 83–4, 119, 251–3, 262–3 121–2, 129, 168, 201, 213, 235–6, Germany, Democratic Republic of 5, 6, 240–4; foreign policy cooperation 14, 17, 40, 46, 65–6, 69–76, 82, 84, 96, within 8, 57, 86–7, 128, 143–4, 156–7, 99–103, 109–10, 112–16, 121, 123, 171, 198, 242, 246–50, 256–7, 259–68 125–6, 135–6, 138, 140, 142, 152, 155–7, 162–4, 167–9, 181–3, 185–6, Falin, Valentin 102–3, 105, 209 195, 215–17, 237–8 Finland 222–4, 227, 243 Germany, Federal Republic of 1, 3, 5–6, Fischer, Oskar 116 17, 25–6, 72–5, 79, 82, 88, 99–104, France 3, 5, 25–7, 86, 108, 119, 136, 107–17, 119–31, 135–45, 149–50, 162, 178, 180, 194, 255, 262–3; attitude 168, 171, 177–81, 184–9, 194, 207, towards German unity 5, 6, 16–17, 214–18, 239, 242, 247, 260, 263, 268; 31, 44, 84, 95–6, 98–9, 104, 120, attitude towards European 124–5, 136–40, 142, 148–58, 167, 172, integration 7, 99, 121, 129, 135–6, 177, 181–2, 186, 195, 210, 215–17, 139–44, 151–2, 154–8, 164–5, 170, 221, 236, 251–2, 262–3; attitude 172, 194, 197–8, 217, 219, 244, towards European integration 6, 246–57, 259, 262, 264, 267; policy 16–17, 31, 83–4, 96, 99, 124–5, towards Eastern Europe 52, 54, 55–6, 129–30, 137, 139–40, 143–4, 148–58, 82–4, 122, 149, 178, 237–8, 242, 244; 164–5, 167, 172, 197–8, 207, 213, policy towards Soviet Union 26–7, 30, 215–19, 224, 236, 240–1, 246–51, 82, 103, 105, 121, 136, 185, 214, 221, 253–4, 256–7, 259–60, 262, 264, 267; 223–9, 260; threat posed by 82, 84, policy towards Eastern Europe 54–6, 86, 89, 95–100, 107, 112, 115–16, 136, 82–4, 129, 137, 151, 213–14, 217–18, 138, 150–1, 161, 164, 178, 180–1, 188, 236, 240, 242, 265; policy towards 194–5, 201–2, 210, 260 Soviet Union 26–7, 30, 33, 99–101, Gierek, Edward 52, 64 125, 137–9, 141–2, 151–2, 207–17, Giscard d’Estaing, Valéry 84 221–9, 236, 240–1, 264; relations with Glasnost 28, 32 Germany 6, 16–17, 83–4, 99, 121, Glemp, Józef 67, 69 125, 129, 135–6, 138–45, 148–58, 167, globalization 11 172, 181, 189, 207, 210, 215–17, 219, Goebbels, Joseph 27 221, 225, 240, 242, 246–9, 251–2, Gonzalez, Felipe 54, 166 255–6, 260, 264, 267–8 Gorbachev, Mikhail 4–8, 11–16, 23–33, Index 285 36–48, 54–5, 65, 68, 71, 75–6, 79–80, 181, 191–202, 247, 249–50; attitude 82, 84–5, 87–8, 95–105, 107–17, 120, towards German unity 7, 100, 126, 123–7, 135–8, 141, 145, 149, 152, 155, 138–9, 154, 165, 193–6 180, 183, 188, 192, 195, 207–19, 220–8, 235–6, 239, 260–3; Januzzi, Giovanni 86 maintenance in power of 11–12, 79, Japan 83, 241 81, 85, 87–9, 101, 137, 143, 177, Jaruzelski, Wojciech 5, 51, 53–4, 57, 179–80, 185, 213, 216, 221–5, 227, 59–60, 68–70, 100 229–30 Jeszenszky, Géza 238 Grant, Ulysses 120 John XXIII 65 Greece 240, 247 John Paul II 5, 53, 64–76 Gromyko, Andrei 208–9, 211 Jordan 54 Grósz 83 Guigou, Elisabeth 154–6 Kaczurby, J. 60 Gulf War, the 144, 199, 202, 226, 228–9, Kádár, János 81, 84, 87 242, 253, 265 Kashlev, Yuri 45 Kemenes, Ernö 83 Hallstein, Walter 171 Kennan, George 10 Hannibalsson, Jon 224–5, 229 KGB 28, 43, 85, 110, 227–8 Haughey, Charles 142, 157 Khrushchev, Nikita 24 Havel, Vaclev 33, 129, 218, 237–8, 240 Kissinger, Henry 108, 240 Helsinki Process see Conference on Kiszczak, Czeslaw 59, 70–1 Security and Cooperation in Europe Klestil 81 Hennekine, Loic 83 Kohl, Helmut 5, 6, 8, 17, 25–7, 30, 32, Hitler, Adolf 99, 138 38, 44, 54, 60, 82–3, 95–6, 99–101, Honecker, Erich 73, 100–3, 135, 217 103–5, 108–10, 113–14, 120–1, 124–6, Hong Kong 179 128–9, 135–45, 149–57, 163, 165–6, Horn, Gyula 81–2, 85–6 170, 172, 178, 181, 183, 188–9, 194–6, Howard, Michael 260 215–17, 223–5, 227, 229, 235, 246, Howe, Geoffrey 54, 84, 180, 261 248, 251–3, 255–7, 262, 264, 266 Hughes, Geraint 84 Koivisto, Mauno 222–3, 225 human rights 15, 29–30, 33, 45, 66, 228, König, Franz 65 235, 238–9, 243 Kovács, László 85 Hungarian Socialist Workers Party Kovalev, Anatoli 28, 209 (HWSP) 79, 81, 83, 88 Krenz, Egon 100, 135 Hungary 3, 5, 14–15, 32, 40–1, 43, 45–6, Kryuchkov 110–11 51, 65–6, 72, 76, 78–89, 103, 117, 123, Kuron, Jacek 60 129, 135, 162, 164, 168, 199–200, Kuwait 226 215, 236, 238–9, 241–3 Kvitsinskii doctrine 239 Hurd, Douglas 86, 183–5, 188, 198 Hussein, King of Jordan 54 Lambsdorff, Otto 184 Hutchings, Robert 82, 84, 88, 121, 198 Landsbergis, Vytautas 225–6 Latvia 222, 228–9 Iazov, Dmitrii 80 Lebanon 192 Iceland 7, 224–5, 227–30 Lee, Robert 120 Institute for Europe, 28, 45 Lévesque, Jacques 36 Intermediate Nuclear Forces Libya 260 negotiations (INF) 208, 211–12, 214, Ligachev 111 260 Lis, Bogdan 57 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 16, Lithuania 65, 68, 114, 122, 222–6, 228–9 54 Lobov, Vladimir 237 Iraq 18, 131, 144, 199, 226, 228 Loranc, Wladyslaw 70 Ireland 142, 157, 247 Lubbers, Ruud 153–4, 165 Italy 3, 54–5, 65–6, 73, 81–2, 144, 164, Lundestad, Geir 128 286 Index Luxembourg 144, 181, 243, 247–8, 250, North Atlantic Treaty Organisation 252, 254–5 (NATO) 6–8, 11–12, 17, 38, 45–7, 52, 55, 59, 61, 78, 84–6, 96–101, 107–9, Maastricht Treaty 6–7, 101, 130, 140, 121–2, 124–31, 182–6, 192, 195–6, 144, 149, 157–8, 171–2, 199, 243, 198, 202, 224, 227, 235–9, 247–9, 259, 246–7, 249–50, 253–7, 266 261–8; enlargement of 12, 32–3, 41, Macharski, Franciszek 67 98, 129, 201, 209–10, 212, 217, 235, Macmillan, Harold 161 237–8, 240–1, 243–4, 264–5; German Major, John 189, 267 membership of 103, 105, 107–17, Mallaby, Christopher 177–8, 181, 184 121–2, 126–7, 136, 141–3, 145, 216, Malta 80, 84, 88, 104, 108, 125, 195, 237, 263 216, 218, 221 Norway 224, 227 Marchais, George 25 nuclear weapons 3, 11, 24, 38, 41, 107, Marshall Plan 12, 13, 56, 127, 235 112, 114–15, 121, 149, 192, 194, martial law 51–3, 55–6, 58, 65, 67–8 208–12, 260 Mauroy, Pierre 32 Nyers 87–8 Mazière, Lothar de 110 Mazowiecki, Tadeusz 60, 71, 238 Oder-Neisse line 112, 114, 122, 126, Medvedev, Vadim 38–9, 43 139, 141–2, 154, 156–7, 178, 182, 216, Meisner, Joachim 73–4 242 Mexico 241 oil 14, 39 Michnik, Adam 57 Olechowski, Tadeusz 60 Migranyan, Andranik 40–1 Organisation for Security and Milward, Alan 13 Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) 7, Mitterrand, François 6, 8, 16, 25–7, 218, 243, 263 30–1, 33, 43–5, 55, 60, 82–4, 95–6, Orwell, George 9 98–101, 104–5, 120, 124, 129–30, Ostpolitik 15, 82, 225 136–45, 149–57, 163, 172, 177, 183–4, Ottawa agreement 143, 155, 179, 195, 197, 207–19, 221–5, 227, 236, 185–6 240–1, 251, 253–4, 262–4, 266, 268 Mlynar, Zdenek 16 Paczkowski, Andrzej 57 Mock, Alois 81 Padoa Schioppa, Tommaso 197–8 Modrow, Hans 101–4, 110 Palazhenko, Pavel 47 Moldova 226 Palmer, Mark 79 Morocco 241 Partei des Demokratischen Sozialismus Moscow State Institute of International (PDS) 110 Relations (MGIMO) 24 Partito Communista Italiano (PCI) 16, 29, Munro, Colin 183 96, 191, 193 Partito Socialista Italiana (PSI) 191, 193 nationalism 44, 122, 213, 220–1 Paul VI 64 Natta, Alessandro 29 Pentagonale 82, 199–202 Németh, Miklós 81–2, 85 Perestroika 28, 30, 37, 39, 42, 45, 48, 68, Netherlands, the 138–9, 153–4, 181, 73, 75, 79, 84, 88, 95, 97, 101, 137, 196, 247, 250, 252, 255, 257 177, 210, 212, 214, 216, 220, 222 Neue Forum 110 Perez de Cuellar, Javier 54 neutrality 78, 81, 96–7, 107–8, 110, Pertini, Alessandro 54 115–16, 121, 141, 180, 199, 216, 240, PHARE programme 14, 86–7, 235, 241 242–3, 247, 260 Poggi, Luigi 67 New Zealand 241 Pöhl, Karl Otto 253–5 Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) 115 Poland 3, 5, 14–15, 32, 40, 41, 51–61, Nordic Ministerial Council 224, 227 64–72, 75, 82–3, 85–6, 98, 112, 114, North Atlantic Cooperation Council 116–17, 121–3, 129, 135–6, 139, (NACC) 241–3, 263 141–2, 154, 156–7, 162, 164, 168, 178, North Atlantic Council 52, 196 200, 215, 236, 238–43 Index 287 Polish United Workers Party (PZPR) solidarnosć´ (solidarity) 5, 51–2, 56–61, 51–3, 55, 57–61 65, 67, 85 Ponomarev, Boris 39 Soviet Union 3, 10, 13, 65–8, 72, 79, 81, Poos, Jacques 243 84, 89, 109, 136, 141, 177, 179–80, Popieluszko, Jerzy 68–9 184–5, 192, 240, 263–4; attitude Portugal 16, 157, 247 towards German unity 5–6, 26, 31–2, Portugalov 103 41, 44, 80, 95–105, 108–16, 124–7, Powell, Charles 179, 185 136, 138, 140, 145, 155, 182–3, 186, Pozsgay 84–5 194–5, 215–17, 221, 224–5; Cold War Prunskiene 224 strategy 24, 31, 41, 102, 211–12; Pugo, Boris 227 disintegration of 1, 44, 101, 104, 122, Putin, Vladimir 33, 98, 105 208, 213, 215, 218–19, 220–30, 239, 242, 263, 268; policy towards Eastern Quadragonale 81–2 Europe 4–5, 12, 14–15, 31–3, 36–48, 52, 64, 69, 71–2, 75, 78, 80–2, 87–8, Rakhmanin, Oleg 42 96–8, 116–17, 123, 210, 213–15, 218, Rakowski, Mieczyslaw 60, 71 229, 235, 238–41; policy towards US Ratford, David 85 3–4, 23–5, 43, 105, 107–8, 112–13, Reagan, Ronald 11, 51–2, 55–6, 58, 61, 115–16, 208–12, 214, 216, 218, 260; 207–12, 214, 260 policy towards Western Europe 4, Rice, Condoleeza 101, 157, 225 13–17, 23–33, 40–1, 43–4, 82, 96–8, Ridley, Nicholas 179, 185 104, 107–8, 112, 183, 207–12, 214–15, Rockefeller, John 54 217–19, 235, 237 Rogers, William 87 Sozialdemokratische Partei Deutschlands Roman Catholic Church 5, 53, 59, (SPD) 96, 105, 110, 138, 263 64–76 Spadolini, Giovanni 191 Romania 66, 72, 76, 81, 88, 200, 240 Spain 54, 247 Rühe, Volker 244 Stalin, Josef 24, 180 Rusakov, Konstantin 39, 42 Star Wars see Strategic Defence Russia 33, 44, 104–5, 119, 128, 219, 226, Initiative (SDI) 230, 237, 242–3, 259 Stasi 70–2 Ryzhkov, Ivan 44 Stoleru, Lionel 83 Stoltenberg, Gerhard 263 Saint-Malo Declaration 266 Strategic Arms Reduction Talks Salmon, Patrick 125 (START) 27, 111 sanctions, economic 5, 52–3, 57–9, 61, Strategic Defence Initiative (SDI) 13, 68, 224–5 24–5, 27, 208, 260 Schmidt, Helmut 52 Sujka, Bogumil 57 Schreiber, Thomas 82 Summitry, Superpower 11, 13, 23, 55, Schuman Plan 148 80, 84, 88, 104, 108, 111–13, 125, Scowcroft, Brent 11, 88, 130, 264–5 127, 195, 208, 211–12, 216, 218, 221, September 11, 2001 2 225, 260, 263 Shakhnazarov, Georgy 39–40, 46, 117 Swartz, David 57–8 Shevardnadze, Eduard 24–5, 30, 39, Sweden 200, 224, 227, 243 45–6, 54, 79, 87, 97, 107, 109–12, 116, Szokai, Imre 79 210–12, 215, 228, 237 Szürös 88 Sieber, Günter 67 Silva, Anibal Cavalco 157 Tarasenko 111 Single European Act 123, 136, 140, 143, Teltschik, Horst 103, 114, 138, 141, 192, 266 156, 178 Skubiszewski, Krystof 116, 240 terrorism 250 Slovenia 200 Thatcher, Margaret 6, 8, 16, 25–6, Soares, Mario 16 28–30, 43–5, 84–6, 95–100, 104–5, social democracy 16, 32, 210, 213 120, 123–6, 129, 137–9, 143, 154, 161, 288 Index Thatcher, Margaret continued Soviet Union 10–12, 87–8, 101, 163–7, 172, 177–85, 187–9, 195, 208, 112–13, 126–7, 216, 221–30, 260; 216, 221–4, 227, 236, 260, 262–3, 267 strategic superiority 3 Thurber, James 120 Uruguay Round 128 Tietmeyer, Hans 168 Uzbekistan 226 trade 14–15, 29–30, 32, 38–40, 54–6, 58, 80, 82–3, 86–7, 112, 128, 168–9, 192, Várkonyi, Péter 84 199, 224–5, 227 Vass, László 83 Trojan, Carlo 168–9 Vatican see Roman Catholic Church Turkey 240 Vattani, Umberto 198 Two Plus Four negotiations 7, 109, Védrine, Hubert 153, 207 111–15, 126, 140, 143, 155, 157, 161, Vietnam 18 168–9, 177–9, 181–2, 185, 187, 196–7, Visegrád group 239, 241–2 202, 263 Vranitzky, Franz 81

Ukraine 44, 230, 243 Waigel, Theo 253 United Kingdom 3, 13, 25, 136, 141, Waldegrave, William 85 194, 260–3; attitude towards German Walensa, Lech 59–60, 71, 238, 243 unity 5–7, 44, 95, 98–100, 104, 120–1, Warsaw Pact 6–7, 32–3, 37–8, 40, 43, 124–5, 137, 139, 143, 165, 172, 45–7, 64, 78–80, 83, 85–6, 88–9, 96–7, 177–89, 195, 216, 221, 236, 251, 99, 107–9, 112–13, 116–17, 201, 262–3; attitude towards European 212–15, 217–18, 235–40, 262 integration 16, 85, 99, 123, 137, 139, Watts, Arthur 186 143–4, 164–5, 172, 178, 189, 247–50, Wegener, Henning 78 256–7, 267; policy towards Eastern Weizsäcker, Richard von 30 Europe 57, 84–6, 137, 139, 179–80; Western European Union (WEU) 8, 33, policy towards Soviet Union 16, 26, 121, 129–30, 141, 198, 242, 247–9, 29–30, 84–5, 137, 177, 179–80, 184, 257, 259–61, 263, 266–8 211, 221–4, 226–9; relations with Weston, John 186 Germany 178–82, 185–9, 248–9; Whitehead, John 54, 87 relations with United States 26, 99, Williamson, David 168–9 125, 178, 183, 185–6, 211, 247–8, Wilson, Lord 179 260–1 Wojtyla, Karol see John Paul II United Nations Organisation (UN) 14, Wood, Michael 186 31, 37–8, 42–3, 54, 123, 194, 227, World Bank 54 229 Wörner, Manfred 240 United States 3, 16, 24–6, 28, 33, 44, 68, Wróbelski, Andrzej 60 83, 86, 99, 107–8, 136, 141, 178, 202, Wyszynski, Stefan 67, 75 208, 214, 218, 229, 236, 240, 242, 247, 259, 263–4, 266–8; attitude Yakovlev, Aleksandr 24, 26, 28, 39, towards European integration 6, 12, 110–11 13, 119, 123, 126–30, 138, 198, 202, Yazov 110–11 262, 267; Cold War strategy 3, 8, Yeltsin, Boris 33, 98, 105, 226, 228–30 9–13, 15, 17, 55, 79, 87, 109, 122–3, Young, Jimmy 179 260; policy towards Eastern Europe Young, Michael 186 5–6, 13, 51–61, 79, 82–3, 85–8, 123, Yugoslavia 65–6, 81, 86, 199–200, 202, 237–8, 241, 243–4; policy towards 242–3 Germany 3, 5, 12, 52, 100–1, 103–4, 109, 111–13, 116, 119–31, 135, 138, Zagladin, Vadim 209 140, 145, 158, 177, 180, 183–6, 195, Zelikow, Philip 101, 157 215–16, 224, 262–3; policy towards Zhurkin, Vitali 28, 45 eBooks – at www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk

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