Europe as a Living Organism: Organicist Symbolism and Political Subjectivity in the New Europe

Mika Luoma-aho

A thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of Politics at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne

September, 2002 Abstract

This dissertation is a reading of organicist symbolism in the identification of Europe as a political entity after the Cold War. It begins by criticising theories of European integration for their marginalisation of the political dimension of the integration process. Then, it explicates Carl Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity as a combination of willingness and ability to distinguish friends from enemies in territorial terms, and elaborates this conception into a perspective on the social construction of the EU as a political subject in and of Europe. It then outlines a history of an organicist political theory that has contributed in the social construction of territorial political entities from the ancients to late modernity. The dissertation consists of two empirical chapters, which explicate organicist metaphors in the identification of both willingness and ability of the EU to act as the political subject in and of Europe. The first one explicates the use of the metaphor of disease in the context of the conflict in the former Yugoslavia. The second one explicates the image of Europe as a “political giant” with a “defence arm” in the context of the 1990-1991 intergovernmental conference on political union. The dissertation concludes by noting the apparent failure of the organicist symbolism in the European construction, and argues that if Europe is wanted or needed as a political unit or reference, it needs to be re-symbolised and the old symbols need to be replaced.

ii Table of Contents

ABSTRACT II

TABLE OF CONTENTS III

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS V

1 INTRODUCTION 1

1.1 The Newest Europe 6

1.2 Critique of Rational Integration 12

1.3 Study of Two Political Contexts 22

1.4 Outline of Study 25

2 CARL SCHMITT AND POLITICAL SUBJECTIVITY 29

2.1 Brief Intellectual History 29

2.2 Dimensions of the Political 31

2.3 Defence of the Weimar State 35

2.4 Construction of a European Großraum 39

2.5 The Politics of Political Subjectivity 50

3 POLITICAL THEORY OF THE BODY AND EUROPE 57

3.1 Singularity and Symbolism 57

3.2 History of an Idea 63

3.3 European Body Politic 72

3.4 The Geopolitics of Depoliticisation 90

iii 4 THE ENEMY WITHIN: BALKAN WAR AND THE PATHOLOGY OF NATIONALISM 94

4.1 Europe as a Whole 94

4.2 Securitising the New Europe 98

4.3 Malignant Nationalism 110

4.4 Metastatic Nationalism 123

4.5 Logos of Integration 134

4.6 Conclusion 141

5 THE SUBJECT WITHOUT: POLITICAL UNION AND THE SYMBOLISM OF THE WEU 146

5.1 Death of NATO? 148

5.2 Europe as a Political Giant 157

5.3 Birth, Bedtime and Awakening of the WEU 168

5.4 European Pillar of the Atlantic Alliance 173

5.5 Defence Arm of a Political Union 181

5.6 Ethos of Responsibility 194

5.7 Conclusion 199

6 CODA 204

6.1 Meaning and Failure of a Political Symbol 204

6.2 Towards a Newer Europe 211

7 BIBLIOGRAPHY 219

iv Acknowledgements

In preparing this dissertation, I have benefited enormously from the criticism and advice of my academic supervisors, professors David Campbell and Vilho Harle. In personal conversations and correspondence, Pami Aalto, Martin Coward, Simon Dalby, Marieke de Goede, Jussi Hanen, Aini Linjakumpu, Sami Moisio, Mika Ojakangas, Erna Rijsdijk, Gerard Toal, and a number of anonymous referees have shared with me information, valuable views and critical comments. I have also benefited from the criticism and support given to me by the examiners of my licentiate’s dissertation, Tuomas Forsberg and Juha Tolonen. At different scholarly meetings I have benefited from the comments and criticism of a number of fellow scholars. Naturally, none of these friendly critics should be held in any way accountable for the text’s deficiencies, which are wholly my responsibility. For providing me the financial resources for this dissertation, I wish to thank the Finnish Graduate School of Political Science and International Relations (VAKAVA), Ella & Georg Ehrnrooth’s Fund, The Academy of Finland, the Department of Politics at the University of Newcastle upon Tyne, the Faculty of Social Sciences at the University of Lapland, Aimo O. Aaltonen’s Fund, and Vammaiskoulutuksen Tuki ry. Finally, I wish to thank my wife Johanna for all the personal and professional support she has given me over the years. Without you none of this would have ever happened.

v 1 Introduction

This dissertation is about the use and the significance of organicist metaphors in European security discourse after the Cold War. It makes explicit how Europe has been identified as a political entity in European security discourse after the Cold War. As its point of departure this dissertation takes Carl Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity, and from there it proceeds as a reading of the metaphors used in the identification of Europe as a political entity with the European Community or Union as its political subject. This dissertation concludes with a note on the limits of the political theory founded on the use of organicist metaphors.

The use of organicist metaphors in political discourse has been studied, but not, to my knowledge, in a specifically European context. The foundations for the study of the political metaphor of the body were laid by David George Hale (1971). Hale’s The Body Politic traced the history of the analogy from classical antiquity, and explicated its use in Renaissance English literature, where it flourished with the rise of national states in Europe. Antoine de Baecque (1997) told the history of the French Revolution through the metaphor of the body as it appeared in the popular literature of the time, and showed how these metaphors were at the very centre of the language used to describe the revolution in progress. Jonathan Gil Harris (1998) studied the organic political analogy in Tudor and Stuart England and suggested that early modern figurations of social pathology echo in many twentieth century discourses of nation and social formation. In his study of identity politics, David Campbell (1998) identified an organicist discourse in the history of the practice of United States foreign policy and demonstrated how it has contributed to the reproduction of the political identity of that state.

In other words, the metaphor of the body has been studied in the discursive production of statehood and states. But, is Europe a state? It does not qualify as a political entity in the sense that states do – or does it? This has been a subject of some theoretical debate, which has forced the discipline of International Relations to reconsider its dominant conceptions

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of political “actor-ness”. For example, Simon Hix (1999) has argued that European integration has certainly produced a new and a complex political system, but, lacking a Weberian monopoly on the legitimate use of coercion, it is not a state. In the same note, Michael Smith (2001) has written that the European Union is a major presence in the contemporary global arena, but it is not a state in the accepted international meaning of the term, although it demonstrates some “state-like” features.

The purpose of this study is not to assess whether or not Europe is “really” a state or a political entity of any other name or definition. Rather, the focus of this study is on the social practices of representation of political entities in general, and Europe in particular. By not looking to identify objects whose existence is independent of ideas or beliefs about them, this study embraces a logic of interpretation that, in Campbell’s (1998, 4) words, “acknowledges the improbability of cataloging, calculating, and specifying the ‘real causes’, and concerns itself instead with considering the manifest political consequences of adopting one mode of representation over another”.

The title of this dissertation has been inspired by Rudolf Kjellén’s 1916 book Staten som Lifsform (State as Living Organism). In his book, Kjellén outlined the essential nature of states as political entities by asking: what should be the terms used to describe political entities? Before giving an elaborate theoretical answer to his question, Kjéllen opened the morning paper, and in what could be described as an early exercise of discourse analysis, had a look what were the terms used to describe them. Political entities, or states for Kjellén, were territorially defined subjects the identities of which revealed themselves in their external relations vis-à-vis other states, and the nature of which reflected by their representation in everyday use of language (Kjellén 1916, 17-18). To make his point, Kjellén cited an issue of Standard writing on trouble in the Balkans:

‘Austria’, it writes, ‘stands now as the champion of armed despotism, as an enemy of the law of nations – it is scandalous that one of the most civilised nations of Europe has ambushed Turkey and robbed it on a public highway’. Elsewhere, Austria is accused of ‘cheating Bulgaria to go forward with its silly attempts’; and of ‘pushing Bulgaria 2

forward in a resort to subterfuge’, in a bid not to ‘unscrupulously break agreements and breach the peace’, on the pretext of which it itself is ‘taking security measures’ and is ‘ready to compensate’. Then it writes that ‘Germany has its hands on every development’; Germany ‘stands behind’; it has ‘taken revenge and isolated England, and won Russia on its side by making references to the Dardanelles and Italy’s promises’, etc. And elsewhere, it is saying that ‘Germany is looking angrily at Bulgaria while pretending not to see, and thereby excusing, the infringement of Austria -Hungary’. For Serbia, it is a ‘matter of life or death’; it is ‘looking worriedly at Austria’s advance towards the sea’; and now, ‘bitter and je alous’, feeling ‘powerless rage’; it ‘will not be acquiescent’. Even Italy is expected to ‘make demands’. England is ‘angry’; but seems ‘willing to spare France’s emotions’ and ‘compensate for its role as an arbitrator’; and France, along with England and Russia, wants ‘to put its influence at stake for the attainment of peace’. England and France are ‘demanding a congress’, But Russia ‘does not feel that a congress is necessary’, although ‘the word has left Russia’ and Germany ‘is dictating terms’. The question is: ‘will Turkey acquiesce to Bulgaria’s actions’. This seems unlikely: ‘it protests’, it ‘continues its armament’, it ‘works with all its strength’, it has ‘made mistakes it must now mend’. According to another version, Turkey is ‘unhappy, but not belligerent’, and in a bad way: ‘everything the Porte does is marked by tiredness, melancholy, and indisposition; it is still a sick man’. In all this fuss, ‘Greece is sitting calm and quiet, glancing hopefully at Crete’ (Kjellén 1916, 18-19).

Kjellén’s point was, of course, that in the realm of international relations, as it was represented in everyday speech and writing, there lived a group of human-like beings in amicable and disagreeable relations with each other.

Kjellén’s issue of Standard was from 1908, but he did believe that this mode of representation had not changed much in eight years. It is argued here that this mode of representation of political entities has not fundamentally changed in the last couple of centuries. The only discernible change that may have taken place over this time is that the organicist political analogy has become even more covert and cunning. It is no longer necessary to reify, for example, a state as a living organism with a territorial body and organs, as political discourse has already been pegged with organicist analogies of the state. It is now possible to take the organicist nature of political entities and problems as a 3

given, and to use the analogy in more elaborate ways and apply it in a range of political contexts.

From a wealth of possible examples that could be given here, two will suffice, both arising from the autumn of 2001 spent writing up this dissertation in Britain. The first comes from the BBC series Invasion: Defending Britain from Attack presented by the expert in architectural history, Dan Cruickshank, who has also written an accompanying book bearing the same title. Invasion narrated centuries of British military history from its fortifications – its fortresses, castles, towers, tunnels and pillboxes – and argued that Britain is a nation whose history and heritage is defined by the fear of invasion. From the very beginning, both the series and the book depict the British Isles romantically as a naturally formed organic entity delineated by its shoreline and defended by a single nation of resourceful and hard-working Brits, quoting Shakespeare, “against infection and the hand of war” (Cruickshank 2001, 6). Invasion attempted to dispel the myth that the sea has protected Britain from attack, and argued that it has more often enabled attack against it than hindered it: “far from being a protective moat, the waters around Britain, and its rivers, were invasion highways tempting intruders to penetrate to the very vitals of the nation” (Ibid.). Indeed, the most vital of the vitals, London – the “heart” or the “nerve- centre” of Britain – was attacked first by the Dutch in 1667 and then by the Germans during both World Wars (see Ibid., 63-72, 137-168). Invasion also describes the “rape” of the town of Winchelsea by the French in 1360 and the “molestation” of the village of Mousehole by the Spaniards in 1595 (see Ibid., 28-31, 58-62). Analogies such as heart and infection aptly reflect the uses of anatomic terminology in security discourse: they create a powerful narrative of the nature of the danger and the endangered and the imperative of protecting oneself; whereas analogies such as rape and molestation tell more about the nature of the enemy that can easily be repeated.

The second contemporary example comes from the aftermath of the September 11th terrorist attacks, when there were small outbreaks of the disease of anthrax in Florida and New York. An October 14 issue of The Observer reported that investigators of these outbreaks believed that they had all the “hallmarks” of a terrorist attack, and named Iraq

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and Saddam Hussein as the prime suspect. There was criticism that the linking of Iraq to the terrorist attacks was a part of an agenda being driven by the “hawks” of the Bush administration eager to broaden the “war against terrorism” to include Iraq. Some unnamed administration officials close to the “hawks” had told The Observer the rationale behind their argument to broaden the war outside Afghanistan:

We see this war as one against the virus of terrorism. If you have bone marrow cancer, it’s not enough to just cut off the patient’s foot. You have to do the complete course of chemotherapy. And if that means embarking on the next Hundred Years’ War, that’s what we’re doing (Rose & Vulliamy 2001, 2).

Medically speaking, it makes little sense to fight a viral infection with cytostatic agents; but politically speaking, it makes much sense. With the help of some metaphors, terrorism becomes a bone marrow cancer, Afghanistan a foot, and war chemotherapy. The medical terms are not used in this argument to make it any clearer, but to frame an unfamiliar political narrative in more familiar, but no less threatening, terms.

These two examples were chosen merely to identify the intricacy of the ways in which organic and socio-medical analogies structure contemporary political discourse (for a discussion of the logic socio-medical discourse in politics, see Campbell 1998, 80-90). The focus of this study is of course much more specific than this. It is to explicate – both conceptually and empirically – the organicist mode of representation of Europe as a entity, and the way in which it has been associated with a particular political subject; namely, the European Community/Union (henceforth the EC/EU). The concept of political subjectivity will be defined in terms of willingness and ability of an actor to distinguish friends from enemies in territorial terms. If Europe is identified as a singular political entity with a political subject, such an identification, by definition, undermines the existing claims to political subjectivity in Europe held within the political “bodies” of European national states as well as that of the political subject of the Western Hemisphere, the United States. It needs to be said, though, that Europe – as it has been and is performed by institutions of European integration – is not a political entity in the 5

sense that national states are, and nor is it likely to become that in the foreseeable future. Likewise, it is not a superpower in the sense that perhaps only the United States is today. The conflicts in former Yugoslavia have shown that the willingness and ability of initially the EC and later the EU to maintain peace and security in Europe is questionable to say the least, and to a large extent dependent on the logistical eminence of the United States. Certainly, a political Europe is far from being realised, if it is to be realised at all. When and if this state of affairs is to present itself, is not a concern of this study, and neither is the question whether this should happen in the first place.

Even if a political Europe does not exist or even cannot exist as such in any external social reality, it can and does exist in discourse concerning the possibility, the hope, or the fear that it could exist. The concern of this study is to locate a discourse on a political Europe, and to make explicit the politics constituting such a discourse. In other words: not if, should, or why; but how the political Europe is constructed. To ask how-questions is to expose the use of social power that works to give meaning and identity to European political unity. If the EU is in the process of becoming the institution that makes political decisions in the name of Europe and is in that sense increasingly taking the role of a political entity, to ask how-questions is to make explicit the discursive foundations on which its identity is constructed (see Doty 1993, 297-299).

1.1 The Newest Europe

In the words of Barry Smart (1992, 26), “Europe [is] a somewhat ambiguous geopolitical formation, one with a complex history, a problematic present, and an indeterminate future”. The term Europe has had and will have a variety of uses, and it is impossible to pin down any single meaning on it. The reason for this is that Europe is a political concept, and as a such, it is an essentially contested concept (see Connolly 1993). To make Europe’s future less indeterminate, statecraft has conceived an idea of a “New Europe”, which is essentially something better or more than its implicit and sometimes explicit conceptual counterpart, the “Old Europe”. To write or speak of a New Europe is 6

to transform the meaning of Europe, whatever that may be, from one political context to another. According to Stephen R. Graubard (1964, 545), the mere notion of a “New Europe” needs to be interpreted with something other than literal exactness, for ignoring Europe’s past and dwelling in its present encourages the view that political change is easy to come by, and that Europe’s capacity to adopt any new form or identity is considerable. Be as it may, a number of commentators in European history have written books and pamphlets about the “New Europe” and some of them have been quite explicit in their purposes of political transformation. The Europe that emerged after the Cold War has been identified as a “New Europe”, but was not the first one of its kind to emerge in that century.

The New Europe that emerged after World War I was constructed in opposition to Soviet communism. Apocalyptic visions of the coming world revolution helped to shape the identity of Europe as a counter-revolutionary bastion against international communism (Delanty 1995, 107). Soon after the Great War, German revisionists began to conceptualise Europe around a revitalised Germany. The German historical geographer Walther Vogel argued in his Das neue Europa (The New Europe) that the national state which had arisen as a response to certain historical and geographical conditions in Europe was becoming redundant in changing geopolitical circumstances (Vogel 1923, 305-313). Vogel’s New Europe was an economically federalised Europe, which would provide a safeguard for German political and cultural power in Europe, and would allow the Europe to resist the pressures created by the forces of “anarchic capitalism” in the west and “despotic socialism” in the east. For Vogel, Europe under capitalism would break into inner barbarism under western dictatorship; and under socialism, into an industrial and financial replicate of the political monism of the Holy Roman Empire. Federalism, for Vogel, was a solution to problems of geopolitical rule: it provided the necessary regional solidarity in negotiating common interests among national states.

Perhaps the most significant, and certainly the most dramatic, plan for a New Europe was made, and to some extent executed, by the Nazis. As noted by Gerard Delanty (1995, 111-114), fascist and anti-semitic ideas are historically very difficult to dissociate from

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the idea of Europe – although this has not stopped people from trying (see e.g. Salewski 1985, 53-54). One of the important war aims of the Third Reich was to impose a German sphere of influence on the Eurasian landmass and create a Großdeutsche Reich over central Europe (Neumann 1944, 136-147). For the Nazi’s, the political world was becoming continental in its scale, and if Europe wanted to maintain its place in the continental competition it had to be united around its most powerful nation. In his “New Europe” article published in a 1942 issue of Das Reich, Joseph Goebbels, the Reich Minister for Public Enlightenment and Propaganda, described the necessity and the benefits of such a reorganisation of Europe:

The nations outside our continent have begun to think in terms of space-politics. More and more they are joining to form broad associations on a basis of economic, linguistic or cultural policy. In this way they are achieving a concentration of forces which far exceeds anything we Europeans can put up against it. Our continent is old and rich in history and tradition; its restless creativity and the highly fruitful tensions which sometimes result are an inseparable part of human life, but as far political aims are concerned it is helplessly inferior to rival continents. If Europe cannot find a way out of this dilemma its traditional superiority will prove its downfall. … Experience since the end of the First World War, and the experience of history in general, show that an association of groups of nations, so that their common interests can be represented by a single voice, can only come about under the leadership of one power which is stronger than the others, which has proved the fact in battle and whose claim is recognized by all the others. … The new Europe of the future will certainly bring more advantages than disadvantages to those who belong to it and benefit from it. In return for relatively small concessions to the new order, the peoples and states concerned will enjoy an economic and social security that they could otherwise not hope for in the time of storms and upheaval that still lies ahead (quoted in Lipgens 1985, 107-108).

The geopolitical conception of Lebensraum legitimated Germanic expansionism eastwards towards Russia, with the ultimate aim of mastering and colonising the “heartland” of the Eurasian Landmass. For Hitler, Europe was not as much a geographic entity as it was a racial entity; one colonised by a Germanic race and ruled by a German empire. This “new European order” incorporated the ethics of social-Darwinism with an 8

explicit promotion of the interest of the European civilisation. The Holocaust was perpetrated in the name of the cultural homogeneity of Europe and the onslaught against Russia was portrayed as a struggle for the very existence not only of Germany, but of Europe as a whole.

Bernard Newman wrote his The New Europe in 1939 to offer a pragmatic territorial solution to Europe’s wartime chaos and to better Hitler’s plans for a “new European order” (Newman 1943, 34). According to Newman, President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points and the Atlantic Charter provided a fair and workable basis for the settlement of European problems, and it was desirable that the United States should play a prominent political role in the New Europe from the beginning any post-war settlement (Ibid., 48-49). Newman’s New Europe was a continent territorially divided between national states on the basis of ethnic self-determination, and where national states would form series of regional federations to avoid the threat of any new wars (Ibid., 538-539). Newman suggested that these federations could be formed, for instance, between Poland and Czechoslovakia, the Balkan countries, and the Nordic countries. These regional federations probably would have not been enough to abolish European wars altogether, but would have made them much more unlikely. For Newman, a European federation comprising all European peoples was “decidedly ambitious in view of the present immaturity of public opinion” in 1939, but probably easier to attain than the ultimate objective of a world federation, which would have guaranteed a peaceful world (Ibid., 538).

However, federation was not what history had in store for Europe. In May 1945, the superpowers of the post-war world, the Soviet Union and the United States, divided Europe between the East and the West. The sovereignty of the national state in Europe was formally restored at the end of the World War II, but there was little doubt on that the political authority now laid in the hands of the superpowers, which alone decided upon territorial borders, political institutions, economic systems, friends and enemies in and of Europe. The political state of post-war Europe was well described by Walter Lipgens:

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What remained of Europe, however, now occupied by the two new world powers, was a divided power vacuum compared with the potential and resources of these continental- sized powers. For the first time in its modern history Europe suffered an overwhelming loss of territory. Furthermore, inasmuch the two world powers (in the Russian case most deliberately) restored Europe’s traditional political system of small national states, Europe seemed in the long run doomed to remain a divided no man’s land of the Balkan type, the object of a sphere-of-influence policy exercised by the two extra-European powers. … It had taken only one generation between 1914 and 1945 for what had been the most prosperous and powerful continent to arrive at a state of complete impotence, brought about by itself (Lipgens 1982,17).

In other words, Europe had become a political object of the political subjects of the post- war world; the “potent” superpowers. This was the New Europe of the Cold War era: “an impotent land mass, severely truncated in the East, internally divided, and partitioned into spheres of influence between the two new superpowers” (Lipgens 1982, 18).

The project of the post-Cold War New Europe was marked by the disintegration of the former Soviet Empire, the transitions underway in eastern Europe, prospects of German unity, and the moves to further European integration (see e.g. Story 1993, xiii). A plan for a New Europe beyond the Cold War, as it was sketched by Stanley Hoffmann in a January 1990 issue of the New York Review of Books, involved a gradual unification of Germany, decisive changes in the presence and structure of the two military alliances in Europe and the establishment of a “pan-European security system” (Hoffmann 1995c, 255). Hoffmann’s New Europe was a Europe free from the “grip of the superpowers, while preserving a role for them”, thus giving the superpowers “a better chance to tackle their respective internal problems of decline” (Ibid.). The planned result of Hoffmann’s project for a New Europe was likely to be “an entirely new entity in world affairs: not a traditional confederation, not a federal union, but a remarkable partnership both among states and between them and common institutions” (Hoffmann 1995a, 289); and “an oasis of relative security, stability, and peaceful change” in a “troubled world” (Hoffmann 1995b, 279).

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This willingness within statecraft to keep coming up with one New Europe after another rather than replacing it with something completely different is interesting and reflects the historical and political significance of a single political concept. The New Europe in the title of this study refers to the one Stanley Hoffmann, among many others, was identifying: the New Europe that replaced the Old Europe of the Cold War, and which was given dramatic impetus by the opening of frontiers between the East and the West and the unification of Germany in the turn of the 1990s. What makes this “newest” Europe any different or novel to any New Europe of the past? It seems that in most of its articulations, there were number of qualitative differences: the New Europe was “whole” instead of divided and “free” instead of being something opposite to that. To quote from the London declaration of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (henceforth NATO) of July 1990 officially marking the end of the Cold War and, at the same time, the beginning of the epoch of the “newest” Europe:

Europe has entered a new, promising era. Central and Eastern Europe is liberating itself. The Soviet Union has embarked on the long Journey towards a free society. The walls that once confined people and ideas are collapsing. Europeans are determining their own destiny. They are choosing freedom. They are choosing economic liberty. They are choosing peace. They are choosing Europe whole and free (London Declaration 1990).

In December 1990, the 35 nations of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (henceforth CSCE) adopted a Charter of Paris for a New Europe, and proclaimed:

With the ending of the division or [sic] Europe, we will strive for a new quality in our security relations while fully respecting each’ others’s freedom of choice in that respect. Security is indivisible and the security of every participating state is inseparably linked to that of all the others (Europe Documents 1990, 3).

Thus, the “newest” Europe was identified with notions such as indivisibility, security and peace; but was not just a nice place to live in, but increasingly began to be identified as something living. As will be shown in later chapters, a discourse (re-)emerged after the 11

Cold War that substantially employed organicist metaphors in the identification of Europe as a political entity. As a result, a tradition of political symbolism the roots of which can be traced back to the ancients, and that had been instrumental in the rise of the political forms of both the respublica Christiana as well as jus publicum Europaeum, was replicated at the end of the twentieth century to buttress the project of supranational integration in Europe.

1.2 Critique of Rational Integration

One of the most important reasons for emphasising the political in this study of Europe is the prevalent marginalisation or ignorance of that aspect in European Integration Studies. Amidst all the talk of a political union or political integration, there is virtually no talk of what and where is the political in such a union or form of integration. As put by R. B. J. Walker:

While the prevailing forms of debate about intergovernmentalism and integration proceed on the basis of assumptions about what politics is, the character and location of politics are increasingly the greatest mystery of European life. Symptomatically, even the most cursory examination of recent literatures bears witness to the degree to which the very term politics has been more or less superseded by the twin obsessions with “policy” and “governance”, terms that explicitly affirm either the obviousness or the irrelevance of questions about the conditions under which one might claim to be able to govern or make policy (Walker 2000, 20).

The marginalization of the political in European Integration Studies is not, however, of recent occurrence. For decades political scientists have tried to explain and understand the process of post-war European integration, and what has become a body of knowledge known as integration theory has been and is debated between the camps of intergovernmentalism and neofunctionalism (see e.g. Caporaso 1998; Caporaso & Keeler 1995). While there are some significant differences between these two traditions, both try 12

to explain the dynamics of European integration process with the help of similar ontological and epistemological presuppositions: they perceive the process in terms of rational actors negotiating over material interests. This leads to a very narrow and simplified understanding of integration that emphasises questions of economic rationality and marginalizes the political dimensions of the process.

Neofunctionalists, on the one hand, accentuate an incremental and gradual process of integration that ultimately leads to a formation of a political community. The agents participating in the integration process range from national governments to national and transnational interests groups with no categorical preference given to any specific actor. The process of international integration is driven by the pressures produced by these competing elements in transnational society, inducing the logic of self-sustaining spillover in the functional and political sectors of integration. Thus, for neofunctionalists, increasing international integration is the result of political and social elites maximising their material interests through a supranational organisation (see e.g. Tranholm- Mikkelsen 1991).

For intergovernmentalists, on the other hand, the principal agents driving or preventing the process of integration are national governments, through which domestic or transnational interest groups may or may not influence the process (see e.g. Keohane & Hoffmann 1991). European integration is conceptualised as a “two-level” game, where governments serve as a crucial link between levels of national and international politics (see Putnam 1988). Thus, European integration does not signal the weakening of the nation-state, but can be interpreted as a reinforcement of its agency in international politics (see Milward 1992). According to the liberal intergovernmentalist view, as conceptualised by Andrew Moravcsik (1993), states integrate to manage economic interdependence through negotiated policy co-ordination. Moravcsik acknowledges that geopolitical interests – a concept he uses synonymously with “security externalities” – intervene in this process, yet economic interests remain primary (Moravcsik 1998, 6-7). At the core of liberal intergovernmentalism are three essential presuppositions: the assumption of rational state behaviour, a liberal theory of national preference formation

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and an intergovernmentalist analysis of interstate negotiation (Moravcsik 1993, 480). (Caporaso 1998, 7-14; Risse-Kappen 1996, 1-13; Taylor 1983, 55-57).

In other words, the current academic debate on European integration is between two rationalist approaches. Both neofunctionalists and intergovernmentalists see in the integration process rational actors (either governmental, transnational or both) bargaining over material interests (either individual, common, or both). By taking on an interest- based conception of politics, one that is concerned with the dynamics of incremental problem-solving, rationalists seek to normalise the politics of the EU (Moravcsik 1998, 4- 5). The political identity of the EU is thus constructed as uncontroversial and theoretically unimportant or uninteresting, and interest is focused on the politics of the mundane: institutions, legislation and bargaining. A positivist epistemology contributes to the theoretical strength of rationalist approaches as well as their weakness; considering causal explanation as the only form of explanation leaves conceptions of social ontologies largely aside (Christiansen, Jorgensen, & Wiener 1999a, 533). Furthermore, rationalists apply a rather traditional distinction between “low” and “high” politics, according to which it is easier to integrate economic policies than foreign policies (Risse-Kappen 1996, 55-57). Distinction made in favour of economic over political integration has been central to the discourse of European integration theory and structured the conceptualisation of political integration (Ohrgaard 1997). The concept of political integration is seldom defined or problematised in the literature, and generally remains either marginal to economic integration or dissociated from it altogether.

To begin with neofunctionalism, Ernst B. Haas (1968, 16) conceptualised political integration as “the process whereby political actors in several distinct national settings are persuaded to shift their loyalties, expectations and political activities toward a new centre, whose institutions possess or demand jurisdiction over the pre-existing national states” (emphasis in original). The decision to proceed with integration or to oppose it rests on the perception of interests and on the articulation of specific values on the part of existing political actors, i.e. national states (Haas 1968, 13). The end result of the integration process is a new political community, superimposed over the pre-existing ones. Political

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community, according to Haas (1968, 5), “is a condition in which specific groups and individuals show more loyalty to their central political institutions than to any other political authority, in a specific period of time and in a definable geographic space” (emphasis in original). The progress towards political community is understood in terms of a relationship of spill-over in the integration process. Spill-over is a process whereby successful integration in an area of lesser salience leads to a series of further integrative measures in linked areas so that the process becomes increasingly involved with issues of greater political importance, and leads closer to sovereignty and to involvement with “high” politics. (Taylor 1983, 9.) However, the neo-functionalist process of sector integration and its ensuing establishment of supranational political institutions is limited to functional-specific, economic-social sectors. Haas (1972, 100) explicitly excluded the security and defence sectors from his spill-over logic, that is, outside of their socio- economic repercussions. In other words, the neofunctionalist conception of political integration is concerned with internal integration, i.e. the dynamics of integration within the political community in the process of becoming. Thus, neofunctionalism does not address the external dimension of integration: the relations of a political community with other political communities. (Pijpers 1991, 8-9, 13).

Conversely, for intergovernmentalists the concept of political integration is a misnomer, for the states remain the principal agents in international politics despite some loss of sovereignty to supranational organisations, and no political integration takes place in this sense. Intergovernmentalists have generally embraced the “hard-core” premises of the realist narrative of international relations; i.e. power politics among assumedly rational nation state units in an anarchical environment. The influential realist Hans J. Morgenthau (1978, 29-30) defined international politics in terms of struggle for power among nations. Morgenthau emphasised the central role of states in this struggle, but did not rule out the willingness of states to transfer national sovereignty to international organisations if the expectations of benefits outweighed the loss of sovereignty involved. But, as long as the world is politically organised into nations, their national interest is the “last word” in world politics. When the state has been replaced by another mode of political organisation, similarly the interest in survival of that organisation must be protected. In the case of the European Communities, Morgenthau (Ibid., 521) argued, member-states 15

tried to compensate, through united effort, the loss of power of the individual European nations on one hand, and to control the natural superiority of Germany in Europe on the other. However, in constructing supranational organisations by constitutional fiat, the national interest of an individual state can only be overcome through the promotion in concert of national interests of a number of nations. (Morgenthau 1952, 972-973). According to Moravcsik's reading of the history of European integration, such promotion has not happened in Europe. Far from transcending the national interests of individual European states, Moravcsik (1998, 5) claimed that “European integration exemplifies a distinctly modern form of power politics, peacefully pursued by democratic states for largely economic reasons”.

The study of the history of European foreign policy co-operation has been the prerogative of intergovernmentalists. According to their narrative, the interests of individual European states will block integration in the “high” policies of foreign, security and defence, and the institutional setting of European political co-operation (henceforth EPC) is built on the norm of interstate negotiation (see e.g. Hill 1983; Ifestos 1987; Pedersen 1998; Pijpers 1991; Wallace 1983). According to Soetendorp (1999, 147), despite the creation of an institutionalised framework for the making of a common foreign policy at the EU level, foreign policy making in western Europe is still the foreign policy of 15 nation-states rather than the foreign policy of one supranational state. The willingness of the three larger states in particular to converge their different national interests has dictated, Soetendorp (Ibid., 153) argued, the extent to which the member-states have been able to project a common European foreign policy. The institutional developments in EPC that have taken place since the Single European Act (henceforth SEA) and the introduction of the Common Foreign and Security Policy (henceforth CFSP) in the Maastricht Treaty on European Union (henceforth TEU) have done little to change this underlying rationale. As argued by Gourlay and Remacle (1998, 89-90), the EU continues to oscillate between the French-German conception of a powerful Europe and the acceptance of the predominance of the United States in the post-Cold War order. For these reasons the Union will remain largely “a civilian power under the security umbrella of the US” (Ibid., 90).

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What is suggested here, is that the negation of the political aspect of European integration by the rationalist approaches renders the narratives of the mainstream integration theory severely limited. These limits in mainstream European Integration Studies have also been noted by Steve Smith, for whom the assumptions and accounts produced by the rationalists involve only a superficial problem-solving notion of politics:

They work within the existing distribution of power and never question how the political problems they focus on became political. Moreover, they focus on such a formal and governmental definition of the political, on such a restricted view of who are the relevant actors, on such a separation between the state and civil society, and on such a liberal notion of the separation politics and economics, that their assumptions about what the political comprises ends up being considerably restricted (Smith 2000, 51).

To appreciate this criticism fully, and to be able to embark on a study that attempts a modest reassertion or relocation of the political in European Integration Studies, one must first embrace a different, and somehow substantially “more” political, conception of the political to that embraced by the rationalist consensus. Within the territory claimed by this criticism, a choice has to be made, and here it has been made in favour of Carl Schmitt. In his conception of the political, Schmitt transforms a diffuse net of conflictual relations into a friend/enemy dichotomy, where enemy is understood as an adversary who at least potentially intends to negate its opponents’ way of life and therefore must be repulsed or fought in order to preserve one's own form of existence. Political subjectivity, or the “actor-ness” of the political, is embodied in a social entity with the will and the ability to distinguish its friends from its enemies over a certain spatial delineation – a conception that can be used as a heuristic reference for all territorial forms of political rule in time and space (see Luoma-aho 2000).

For Schmitt, the political is not a rational concept in the universal sense of rationality, i.e. the meaning of which can be determined by a general norm or evaluation of material interests. By contrast, the political is an existential concept: only the actual participants can recognise, understand and judge whether a situation is political or not. On account of

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this, normative valuations – such as rational/irrational, or profitable/unprofitable – become in themselves meaningless when they fall into the sphere of the political, i.e. appear intense and extreme enough to render the grouping of human collectives into friends and enemies. These normative valuations might, of course, be articulated in the context of political antagonism, but their meaning and significance is determined by the political condition alone (Schmitt 1996a, 25-27). The implication of this is that what is rational and what is irrational within the political is difficult, if not impossible, to evaluate when looked at “outside” of the political (see Strong 1996, xx-xxi). In his narrative of post-war European integration, Moravcsik (1998, 6-7) claimed that economic interests have determined the circumstances under which geopolitical ideology has influenced the integration process. Only where economic interests have been weak, diffuse or indeterminate have geopolitical goals been primary. Locating the political aspect of integration on the margins of economic rationality is either a misplacement or a misunderstanding of the political aspect of integration, and explains little in its post facto rationalisation of interstate bargaining.

It needs to be said that Schmitt’s reading of the political is certainly not the only one and can not be placed above any other by any objective criteria, and it also needs to be acknowledged that the very act of defining what is political or substantially “more” political than someone else’s definition of the political is itself far from apolitical (see Walker 2000, 26-29). It has been taken on in this dissertation because it provides both an interesting alternative for as well as a powerful critique of the mainstream European Integration Studies. Schmitt's conception of the political renders the assumptions of rationalist theories of integration premature at best and useless at worst. How can European integration be understood or explained as a process in which rational actors bargain over material interests, when the whole idea of European unity – from its beginnings in the res publica Christiana to its heyday after World War II – has been explicitly articulated on a foundation of political antagonism in Schmitt's sense of the word (see Heffernan 1998)? To take on a Schmittean approach to European integration is to render such assumptions and their implications theoretically problematic. By contrast to mainstream integration theories, what is involved here is the external dimension of integration; i.e. the political relations between the EC/EU as a political entity and other 18

political entities and recognition that the EC/EU – having neither a federal nor an intergovernmental identity per se – is a conceptual site contested by a diversity of political subjectivities. In other words, the construction of the EC/EU as a political subject in the Schmittean sense is to happen in the discursive context of an existential threat to European security that must be repulsed in the form of a unitary political entity.

As Judith Butler (1992, 12-14) makes clear, to take subjectivity or agency as a pre-given point of departure for politics is to defer the question of the political construction of the subject itself; for subjects are constituted through exclusionary operations and erasure of de-authorised subjects. This can also be said of Schmittean political subjectivity: it is a social construct which has no transcendental identity beyond that constructed in discourse.

In the last few years an interest has evolved to study European integration process and its institutions as social constructs (see e.g. Christiansen, Jorgensen, & Wiener 1999b). One of the perspectives within this genre that studies the Europe as a political identity is especially relevant. According to the identity politics narrative, the construction of Europe or “European-ness” depends on the parallel construction of “other-ness” – i.e. something that is not European and that might even attempt to negate “European-ness” – against which a separate European identity is constructed. Some of the work done here is explicitly Schmittean in their reading of the political. Vilho Harle (1990, 2-10) has asserted that the political idea of Europeanism is inherently dualistic: its fundamental basis is found in its differentation between friend and enemy. According to Harle, this dualistic mode of thinking has had a central role in European cultural heritage and especially in religion and politics and it is this tradition of thought that is reproduced by contemporary religious and political institutions. A number of historical studies have traced the history of the European idea from a political perspective with reasonably consistent historical narratives (see e.g. Barraclough 1963; Hay 1968; Heater 1992; Lombardi 1993; Mikkeli 1998).

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Two works within this genre deserve a separate mention. Gerard Delanty’s (1995) inspiring Inventing Europe is a narrative of Europe from an explicitly conflictual perspective. Delanty (1995, 8) defined Europe as a “discursive strategy which is articulated by shifting signifiers in relational contexts”, and with the help of numerous historical examples, identified only one coherent expression of the European idea that runs throughout its history: that it has been more the product of conflict than consensus. According to Delanty, the ethos of Europe has only rarely been that of unity, and more typically that of adversity and difference based on exclusion. The polemic of Delanty’s book is against the “Eurocentric fallacy”, i.e. the implicit association of the idea of Europe with universally valid norms and the myth of unity; and its suggestion that the politics of Europeanism should rather be re-defined to include than to exclude the Other. The politicisation of the idea of Europe amounts “to the definition of Europe not as what its peoples have in common but in what separates them from the non-Europeans, and, indeed, very often amongst themselves”, and it precisely this definition that should be avoided (Ibid., 12).

In his extraordinary historical geography of Europe, The Meaning of Europe, Michael Heffernan (1998) examined how Europeans have imagined themselves geographically. Heffernan considered geography not as a material force as but as an intellectual arena of ideas and beliefs. Likewise, Europe was not interpreted as a singular historical evolution but as a contested geographical discourse, i.e. a series of invented geographies which have changed over time and across space. According to Heffernan (Ibid., 239-240), one of the most significant limitations in the development of the European idea through the ages has been the geopolitical instinct of territoriality: the conviction that human existence can only be fulfilling if it is rooted in a particular place, a specific and bounded geographical area. The periodic attempts to create a politically united Europe, whether by force or consensus, have always been confronted by this tradition. This is not to say that in a politically united Europe, if or when one would be realised, this tradition would not prevail. According to Heffernan, it cannot be assumed that “an integrated or even a united Europe will automatically produce a more tolerant, inclusive and cosmopolitan society”, for the “old nation-states and the emerging EU rest on common territorial assumptions”

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(Ibid., 240). This powerful point made by Heffernan will find support from the interpretations made in this study.

A body of literature on the more recent politics of European political identity is now beginning to take shape (see e.g. Laffan 1996; Neumann 1998; Smith 1996). Ole Waever (1990, 478-483) has argued that the beginning of the 1980s saw a transformation in the security debates concerning Europe, when the reference-point of security changed from the East-West framework to regional security in Europe. However, different commentators conceptualised Europe in different terms, and Waever unfolds three of these “Europeanizations”. Whereas Germany was realising its “East-Central” version of Europe in the end of the 1980s, the collective diplomacy in 1990 attempted to build a French Europe and a Russian Europe; these being respectively a tightly integrated European Community capable of acting internationally, and a kind of collective security system. Later in 1996, Waever (1996) conceptualised Europe as an area marked by a complex presence of different overlapping political subjectivities. After the Cold War divide, the references of security discourse emerged as a complex pattern of state, nation, Europe, environment and so on. According to Waever, the expression of European security referred expressly to the argument that Europe needed integration in order to avoid fragmentation (Ibid., 120-125). Integration as such was made an aim in itself, and gained urgency because its alternative was a self-propelling process that threatened to destroy the European project.

The identity politics narrative has also been used to interpret the process of economic integration. Thomas Risse et al (1999) have argued that the superficially economic integration into the European Monetary Union is about European identity politics and political visions of Europe. Ben Rosamond (1999) has suggested that the notion of globalisation can also be used as an Other in the construction of an external context that helps to legitimise certain sorts of policies at the EU level.

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1.3 Study of Two Political Contexts

In Schmitt's conception, political subjectivity emerges in a political situation, where the potentiality of conflict renders the grouping of people into friends and enemies and, in the extreme case, may lead to physical violence. After the Cold War, European subjectivity has been constructed in at least two political contexts. Firstly, the “Balkan war” of the 1990’s, where European political identity was evoked by identifying the war in what became the former Yugoslavia as a threat to European security. Secondly, the 1990-1991 debate on political union, where a European political community was dissociated from the Atlantic political community by identifying it with an ability to take care of its “own” security.

Both of these historical contexts can be described as political, not because both of them involved physical violence, but because they gave rise to identification of Europe as a political entity. A discourse does not have to be by definition antagonistic to qualify as political, though a possibility of that being the case always exists. As explained by Chantal Mouffe:

In the domain of collective identifications, where what is in question is the creation of a “we” by the delimitation of “them”, the possibility always exists that this we/them relation will turn into a relation of the friend/enemy type; in other words, it can always become political in Schmitt’s understanding of the term. This can happen when the other, who was until then considered only under the mode of difference, begins to perceive as negating our identity, as putting into question our very existence. From that moment onwards, any type of we/them relation, be it religious, ethnic, national, economic or other, becomes the site of political antagonism (Mouffe 1993, 2-3).

Thus, for Schmitt, the threshold of the political is security. When does an issue cross this threshold and become politicised in this sense? In his reconstruction of the concept of security, Ole Wæver (1995, 50-51) identified that the specificity about the term security is

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not in a clearly definable objective or a specific state of affairs, but in the field of practice and in certain typical operations within that field. Historically, security has been the field where states threaten each other, challenge each other’s sovereignty, try to impose their will on each other, defend their independence and so on. Operationally, the most significant act within this field is the identification of a certain development as a security problem: as a site of potential political antagonism.

Then who are the “operators” of security that identify some things as political and not others? As Murray Edelman (1964, 5) has noted, for most people most of the time politics is a series of pictures in the mind, placed there by television, newspapers, magazines, and discussions. People are told of potential threats to their security or that of others, of decisions made to tackle these problems, of wars starting and ending, or of their representatives almost choking to death on pretzels. These tales create a moving panorama taking place in a world the public never quite touches, yet one its members come to fear and cheer. Thus, the public is “told” about political issues. But, who are the mysterious figures who “tell” the public about these issues and, this way, politicise them? In this study, they are categorised as intellectuals of statecraft. The notion refers to a community of privileged “story-tellers” of the political; consisting of academic experts, representatives of the media and state officials (see Dodds 1993). There exists a close relationship between these groups. In many ways, the work of academic experts affiliating with universities and research institutions often feeds into the other two. Academic experts are often interviewed in the media, and are sometimes directly involved in affairs of state. Furthermore, academic knowledge often contributes to discourses of decision making as well as discourses about decision making in the media. Although many of these story-tellers do tend to describe their narratives as scientific and objective accounts of independently existing reality, they are in fact highly politicised and subjective reductions of society far too complex for anyone to exhaust.

The methodology employed in this study is a form of discourse analysis. Within the discipline of International Relations, discourse analysis has now asserted itself as part of the accepted canon of methodological approaches (see Milliken 1999). Only recently has

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discourse analysis been introduced to European Integration Studies (see Diez 1999, 2001; Wæver 1998). Discourses, as they are defined for the purposes of this study, are linguistic structures of signification which construct social realities by being productive and reproductive of things defined by the discourse. Beyond giving a language for reflecting phenomena, discourses make intelligible some ways of being in and acting towards the world by operationalising particular modes of identity and action and excluding others. Among many other things, discourses organise and control social spaces, i.e. places and groups are produced as those objects by the discourse (Milliken 1999, 229).

This study involves an analysis of articulations made by representatives of the European Community or Union (hereafter EC/EU), those of the governments of the member states of EC/EU, and a variety of commentators of European affairs affiliating with the academia and the media, who contributed in grasping European one-ness by invoking an idea of Europe as a living organism security discourse. Why it involves only European security discourse, is because by taking on a Schmittean conception of the political it makes a commitment to study articulations that more often than not discussed under the heading of security. What it means by European security discourse, is not exclusively a security discourse from “Europe” geographically or articulated by “Europeans”, whoever they may be. The reason for not using it in these senses is that European security is articulated across the Atlantic, and has a considerable American input. In this article, European security discourse is used rather in the sense of a security discourse about Europe. An analysis of such a broad empirical category in its entirety is impossible for any study never mind this. Therefore it is necessary to narrow the notion of European security discourse down to a perspective; and consider the political implications of representation within that perspective. In this study, a systematic reading (i.e. all the articles or titles published on the case issue) of the European Foreign Policy Bulletin Online, Europe, Europe/Documents, European Report, The Financial Times, The Economist, NATO Review, RUSI Journal, Foreign Affairs, Foreign Policy, Survival, the Adelphi Papers, and the Chaillot Papers published since 1988 forms the core of the empirical material, which has been expanded by more selective readings of sources cited in the core material, as well as readings of a variety of other sources deemed relevant for this study. 24

The reason for such an eclectic corpus of empirical material is made necessary by the existence of interesting and relevant articulations across a variety of sources. The reasons for choosing sources only in English are twofold. Firstly, the most influential European dailies – namely, The Financial Times and Europe – are published in English, as are most of the academic writing on European affairs. The Financial Times was chosen here because of its extensive and informed daily coverage of European affairs and its wider European readership. The daily bulletin Europe is published by a Bruxelles based international news agency Agence Europe, and is considered as one of the most detailed sources of information on European integration. The European Foreign Policy Bulletin Online is a database of foreign policy documents issued by the European institutions since 1985, and is provided by the Academy of European Law at the European University Institute in Florence. The serials Adelphi Papers and Chaillot Papers are both published by influential think tanks, The London based International Institute for Strategic Studies and the Paris based Western European Union’s Institute of Security Studies respectively, which both have taken a particular interest in European affairs. Secondly, the availability of relevant databased non-English material was limited, as were the resources for seeking one’s way to where they were accessible. Again, it is not suggested here that this particular reading is or even can be representative of the multitude of structures that constitute European security discourse, but it does take a perspective on an existing structure replicated in a variety of influential and substantial sources within this discourse.

1.4 Outline of Study

The second chapter of this dissertation outlines the conceptual framework of the dissertation by elaborating the conceptions of the political, political entity, political subjectivity, and Großraum. In this elaboration the work of Carl Schmitt – a prominent legal and political theorist in Weimar Germany and the Third Reich – looms large. Although his Weimar writings on political theory have been a subject of growing interest

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in recent years, Schmitt’s later works on geopolitics have received little attention. With the recent critical revival of geopolitics, Schmitt’s conception of the political opens up new and interesting ways to look at the spatial representation of international relations. Firstly, the chapter distillates Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity from his writings on political theory and international law in 1920s and 1930s, and attempts to break it from its historical and political contexts with a capacity to assume new contexts. Secondly, the chapter constructs a framework for an inquiry into the constitution of European political subjectivity by critically rendering Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity for interpretative purposes. This is done by distinguishing between political subjectivity, a discourse of the spatial exclusion of enemies, and politics, a mode of action constituting this discourse. This rendering provides the conceptual framework for the discourse analysis undertaken in chapters four and five, which explicate the metaphors used in the politics of European political subjectivity.

The third chapter outlines a brief intellectual history of the organicist metaphor in political discourse and its significance to modern political theory, putting the contemporary organicist discourse about Europe in historical context. It is argued in this chapter that the organicist metaphor has historically been one of the principal vehicles of political representation, and continues to structure political discourse to this day. The roots of the political theory of the body, as the political world-view structured by the organicist metaphor is called here, can be found in the works of thinkers such as Plato and Aristotle. The political theory of the body was substantially elaborated by the church in the Middle Ages, and then by the emerging national state over the Renaissance period. The heyday of organicist statecraft was certainly in the early twentieth century, when it was elaborated into a scientific discipline of geopolitics. This history of the political theory of the body is then linked to rhetoric of the European idea. It will be argued here that the idea of European unity and the project of post-war integration has drawn substantially from this mode of representation.

The fourth and the first empirical chapter of this dissertation points out and develops the identification of Europe as a body politic in the context of the “Balkan war” of the early

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1990s. The break-up of Yugoslavia in 1991 was identified by intellectuals of statecraft not merely as a problem confined to the Balkan region, but one which had implications for the fate of Europe as a whole. There existed an argument in European security discourse claiming that the nationalist conflict in the Balkans posed an existential threat to European security. This argument was structured with help from a set of socio-medical analogies, one of which identified Europe as a territorial political organism which can be healthy, ill, or even terminal; and the other of which belligerent form of nationalism as a political disease that threatened the health and even the life of this political organism. These metaphors buttressed an integrationist understanding, which essentially claimed that in order to avoid political disintegration of the continent, the EU should assert a sphere of political influence over its European “backyard”.

The second empirical chapter of this dissertation makes discernible the image of the EC/EU as an emerging “political giant” with a “defence arm” in the context of the 1990- 1991 debates on the role and place of the Western European Union (henceforth WEU) vis-à-vis NATO. This chapter begins by contextualising this debate on the widespread academic sceptisism regarding the future of NATO after the Cold War. It then narrates the history of two salient fables associated with two European institutions – the fable of the EC/EU as an “economic giant, political pygmy”, and the fable of the WEU as a “sleeping beauty”. It then explicates the 1990-1991 debate on the role and place of the WEU, where it became identified as the “defence arm” of the planned EU in the 1990- 1991 intergovernmental conference. These metaphors worked to undermine the prevalent architectural metaphors of the hegemonic Atlanticist discourse on European security.

The final chapter of this dissertation provides a brief summing-up of the main points made in the empirical chapters and makes a Schmittean conclusion of the construction of the EU as the political subject in and of Europe. This discussion is then connected to the implications of more recent security developments in the Balkans – namely in Kosovo – and their portrayal in statecraft. The chapter and the dissertation concludes by noting the apparent failure of the organicist symbolism in the European construction, and argues that

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if Europe is wanted or needed as a political unit or reference, it needs to be re-symbolised and the old symbols need to be replaced.

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2 Carl Schmitt and Political Subjectivity

2.1 Brief Intellectual History

The purpose of this chapter, which draws substantially from an article published by The European Legacy (see Luoma-aho 2000), is twofold. Firstly, it distillates the evolution of Schmitt’s idea of political subjectivity from his writings on the state and Großraum. In his Weimar writings, and especially in his 1932 essay Der Begriff des Politischen (The Concept of the Political) Schmitt developed a historical understanding of the state as the geopolitical subject of the international order of the era of the jus publicum Europaeum. In the late 1930s and early 1940s, Schmitt articulated the foundations of an emerging order in which the Großraum – a large bloc of semi-independent states under the political sovereignty of a hegemonous power – would replace the political form of the state. According to Schmitt, the legal precedent of the emerging order was the Monroe Doctrine of 1823, when the United States (henceforth the US) unilaterally declared the Western Hemisphere as its Großraum – a sphere of non-intervention for extraneous powers. Secondly, this chapter breaks from Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity by rejecting his philosophical commitment in epistemic realism. Instead it re-conceptualises political subjectivity as a social construct, the identity of which is performatively constituted and reconstituted in discourse. As social constructs, geopolitical subjects are “imaginary” entities; i.e. they are not wholly in existence, but are not wholly fictitious either, because with these entities people sustain social life and political order.

Carl Schmitt’s name is most often mentioned in the context of his critique of liberalism, as articulated in his 1932 Der Begriff des Politischen and other Weimar writings (of the recent monographs discussing Schmitt in this context, see McCormick 1997; Mouffe 1993). While Schmitt’s scholarship from this phase of his intellectual career is unquestionable, there is a clear scholarly overemphasis on his Weimar writings. However, there are more than intellectual reasons for this overemphasis. Most persistent of reason is, of course, Nazism. Schmitt’s affiliation with the Nazi regime in the years 1933-1936 29

earned him a reputation of the Kronjurist of the Third Reich, and stigmatised his work for the rest of his intellectual career. While contemporary Schmitt studies have focused more on Schmitt’s ideas and left questions concerning his personality behind, there are still serious attempts to confront Schmitt with the controversiality of his past (see e.g. Huysmans 1999; Wolin 1992). One of the most critical shortcomings of Schmitt studies is the lack of research on Schmitt’s writing after 1936; the wealth of writing on Schmitt’s Weimar works on legal and political theory compares to very little on his later works on international law and geopolitics (for notable exceptions, see Bendersky 1983, 243-273; Feuerbach 1988; Gottfried 1990, 83-100; Kervégan 1999; Luoma-aho 1999; McCormick 2000).

To avoid any complications with the Nazis after his dismissal from the party, Schmitt did not deal with domestic or party politics after 1936, but turned his attention to the study of international relations instead. In 1938, with Germany’s foreign policy becoming a major issue in European affairs, Schmitt’s Großraum lecture at the University of Kiel and the following publication, Völkerrechtliche Grossraumordnung, attracted lots of attention. Several German newspapers published long articles describing Schmitt’s Großraum theory, and the foreign press also took notice of Schmitt’s lecture. Two British newspapers mistakenly presented Schmitt as the theorist behind Hitler’s expansionist policy in Europe. (Bendersky 1983, 237-242, 250-252.) Essentially, Schmitt’s writings on international law and geopolitics can be interpreted as elaborations of his conception of the political, which he first articulated in 1927, but they also established a larger conceptual apparatus that broadened Schmitt’s theorem of the political into something of a geopolitical philosophy of history. By introducing a spatial dimension in his theory of international law, Schmitt began his contributions to Raumtheorie; a concept widely discussed by German geopolitical thinkers for two decades and one especially popular during the Third Reich (see e.g. Murphy 1997). Schmitt continued in line with his new scholarly orientation after the war, and in his 1950 monograph Der Nomos Der Erde, he concluded his analysis on the transformation of the state system of the jus publicum Europaeum into a global political and legal order based on the reapportionment of global space by hegemonous superpowers.

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What is attempted here is an explication of the conceptual transformation in Schmitt’s understanding of political subjectivity from his writings on the state and Großraum (the latter term does not translate well, although “greater region”, “large space”, “supra state”, “sphere” and “bloc” have been used in the literature). In his Weimar writings, Schmitt developed a historical understanding of the state as the political subject of the international order of the jus publicum Europaeum. After 1936, Schmitt articulated the foundations of an emerging order in which the Großraum – a large bloc of semi- independent states under the political sovereignty of a hegemonous power – would replace the political form of the state. There is a discernible transformation in Schmitt’s understanding of political subjectivity from his Weimar work to his post-1936 writings. Whereas in the 1920s Schmitt still defended the political form of the state in the international system, in the late 1930s and early 1940s, he articulated the foundations of the political form of the Großraum on the precedent of the Monroe Doctrine.

2.2 Dimensions of the Political

As Schmitt found it impossible to provide an exhaustive or even a general definition of politics, he advanced a simple criterion of the political instead. For Schmitt, all spheres of human thought and action are based on dichotomies between fundamental distinctions. The sphere of the political rests on its own ultimate distinctions, to which all action with a specifically political meaning can be traced. For Schmitt, the ultimate distinction to which political actions and motives can be reduced is that between friend and enemy. This does not define the essence of politics, but functions as a conceptual marker identifying the phenomenon of politics (Freund 1995, 15; Schmitt 1996a, 25-26).

The political antithesis is independent and cannot be based on any moral, economic or aesthetic antitheses (Schmitt 1996a, 26; see also Harle 2000, 133-158; Strauss 1996). For Schmitt, the inherently objective nature and autonomy of the sphere of the political becomes apparent by virtue of its ability to treat, distinguish, and comprehend the friend/enemy antithesis independently of other antitheses, such as good and bad, 31

profitable and unprofitable or beautiful and ugly (Willms 1991, 378-379). Emotionally, the enemy is often treated as evil or ugly, but to Schmitt this is because the political, as the strongest and most intense distinction, draws upon other distinctions for support (Schmitt 1996a, 26-27). Other antitheses may transform into a political one if they are sufficiently strong to group human beings effectively according to the political antithesis (Ibid., 37). In other words, any opposition polarising human beings, for instance according to ideologies, judgements or interests, can assume the dimension of the political; that is, every time the opposite ideology, judgement or interest no longer seems compatible with one’s own existence as such. This comes down to the intensity of association or dissociation between groups: “The political is the most intense and extreme antagonism, and every concrete antagonism becomes that much more political the closer it approaches the most extreme point, that of the friend-enemy grouping” (Ibid., 30).

Understood in Schmitt’s sense, the political is structured by a decision that transforms a diffuse net of conflictual relations into a friend/enemy dualism (see Palonen 1985, 138). The concept of the political is not a theory of ideal politics, but rather a historical narrative of the human condition (Schmitt 1996a, 53-54). Ever since men have practised politics they have organised themselves as friends within a particular community – be it a tribe, religion, or state – and tried to preserve their identity against the threats of those who might want to destroy it. Every community able to distinguish its friends from its enemies and to mobilise against these enemies is, by definition, a political entity. In Schmitt’s argumentation, a political entity always presupposes the existence of an enemy and therefore coexistence with another political entity. As long as, say, a state exists, there are always other states. A world state embracing global space and all humanity cannot exist; the political world is a pluriverse, not a universe.

Schmitt defines the enemy as the other or the stranger, with whom there is an ever present possibility of conflict (Schmitt 1996a, 27). This is not to say that the relation to otherness is by definition antagonistic, but may become so if the other becomes perceived as a threat to the existence of the friend-group. The political enemy is solely a public enemy because relations between collectives are necessarily public. According to Schmitt’s

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conception of the term, which will be somewhat adjusted later in this chapter, the enemy should be understood in its existential sense; not as a metaphor or a symbol nor mixed or weakened by moral or economic conceptions (cf. Kennedy 1988, 249-250). In Schmitt’s domain of economics there are only competitors, and in his moral or ethical world only debating adversaries, but in his political world, however, there are existing groups of people that are potential enemies to other existing groups of people. For Schmitt, this is the inescapable political condition (Schmitt 1996a, 28). The existence of an enemy can neither be decided by a previously determined general norm nor by a judgement of a third party. Political enemy exists only when, at least potentially, one fighting collective of people confronts a similar collective (Ibid., 28). In this concrete political situation “each participant is in a position to judge whether the adversary intends to negate his opponent’s way of life and therefore must be repulsed or fought in order to preserve one’s own form of existence” (Ibid., 27).

If understood in Schmitt’s sense, the political condition is not possible within a political entity; it applies only to “inter-entity” politics. Political distinction emerging within a political entity is a civil war, i.e. dissolution of an organised and internally peaceful political entity. This gives Schmitt’s understanding of international politics a very specific meaning: it is by its nature the domain of enmity par excellence (Schmitt 1996a, 46-47). Inside a political entity, internal order is imposed to pursue external conflict. To view a state as settled and orderly administration of a territory, concerned with organisation of its affairs according to law, is to see only the stabilised results of conflict. It is also to ignore the fact that a state stands in a relation of enmity to other states; that it holds its territory by means of armed force (Hirst 1987, 17).

For Schmitt, the manifestation of the political is temporally and spatially contingent. The political is not pegged into any historical or territorial category such as the modern territorial state, but is a dynamic concept the identity of which is subject to transformations and reinterpretations. The temporal manifestation of the political is a decision made in a concrete situation: the moment “in which the enemy is, in concrete clarity, recognized as the enemy” (Schmitt 1996a, 67). The existence of an enemy can

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neither be decided by a previously determined general norm nor by a judgement of a third party; only the participating collectives can judge the concrete situation and settle the extreme case of conflict. The concepts of friend and enemy receive their real meaning because they refer to the existent possibility of physical killing. War is the most concrete consequence of enmity and constitutes an existential negation of the enemy. According to Schmitt, war is neither the aim nor the purpose nor even the very content of politics, but as an ever present possibility it is the leading presupposition which determines human action and thinking and thereby creates a specifically political behaviour. (Ibid., 32-33.)

The spatiality of the political manifests in the form of a territorial political subject. Schmitt’s theorem of the political is concerned with conflictual relations between social groups; any organised group that can distinguish between friends and enemies in an existential sense thereby becomes political. As such, the political is not a spatial concept. However, in using this conceptual marker in his work, Schmitt associated it with relations between territorial states (see e.g. Schmitt 1988a, 309-311). Schmitt did not think in religious or ethnic categories, but rather in spatial and geopolitical concepts (Ulmen 1996, 12-13).

In the context of his critique of the Versailles Treaty, Schmitt argued that Rhineland had been made an “object” of international politics. The occupation and demilitarisation of Rhineland in the pretext of international law diminished the territorial sovereignty of the Weimar state. Rhineland was no more under the sovereignty of Germany, but its political existence lied in the hand of the victors of World War I. In Schmitt’s view, this new form of “political subjectivity” was rendered possible by giving primacy to international law over international politics. Since objects are created in terms of international law by the subjects powerful enough to create and enforce it, entities thus created are devoid of the ability to make their own political decisions. If the interests of the controlling political subject are at stake, it uses its right of intervention to overstep the sovereignty of the controlled political object – in this case Rhineland (Schmitt 1988b, 28-29). In other words, for Schmitt the political subject is an entity with will and ability to distinguish its friends from its enemies and to act accordingly in territorial terms. In this conception,

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international law or ethics are but reflections of existential political distinctions made by political subjects in and over space.

It can be said that Schmitt’s conception of the political as the friend/enemy distinction and political subjectivity as the willingness and ability to make this distinction always has a spatial reference in mind. Hence, political entities, as understood here in their Schmittean sense, are very much geopolitical entities in that distinguish their friends from their enemies in territorial demarcations. However, it needs to be said that the definition of the political in terms of the friend/enemy distinction does not in itself have to cause territoriality – i.e. the presumption that every people in the political sphere should belong to a specific and bounded geographical area, an instinct that has been and is perfected in the representation of the national state – and that there is no definition of the political or form of political action dislocated of territoriality. A territorial definition of the political is taken on here simply because in the contemporary era of international relations the patterns of political representation still seems predominantly territorial, and the representation of a political Europe, as will be shown in later chapters, has not as much avoided as it has replicated this pattern. It also needs to be said that focusing on the geopolitical representation of Europe may disregard any other forms of political representation of Europe that there may be. Some of the inherent problems of the territorial representation of a political Europe as well as its alternatives will be explored in the concluding chapter of this dissertation.

2.3 Defence of the Weimar State

In the epoch of the jus publicum Europaeum, the political manifested itself in the form of the state. For Schmitt, the state is the greatest achievement of Western civilisation because, as the main agency of secularisation, it ended the religious civil wars of the respublica Christiana by limiting war to a conflict between territorial sovereigns (see Freund 1995, 15; cf. Palaver 1996, 110). Schmitt’s use of the concept of the state refers to the modern national sovereign state and not political entities of the medieval or ancient 35

periods. In Schmitt’s argumentation, the most important function of the state as a political entity is to uphold spatial pluralism by territorial monism. The pluriverse presupposes the existence of the other; global space must be divided among different political territories. In this system, the state alone decides on internal and external enemies. To uphold this spatial order, individual territories must have a political monopoly over the citizens in their territories, wherein protection is given for obedience. Were this relation to break down, a spatial disorder would follow and some other political subject would emerge.

Schmitt’s conception of sovereignty derives its meaning from its polemics against Hans Kelsen’s pure normativism. This legal positivist position maintains that law is essentially a norm and that theory of jurisprudence pertains to norms only. Kelsen’s state is not sovereign but only a part of a hierarchical structure of norms, of which the highest is international law. In other words, international law – not the state – is sovereign (for Kelsen’s conception of the state, see e.g. Kelsen 1973). Opposed to Kelsenian normativism is Schmitt’s decisionist approach. According to Schmitt, each norm presupposes its normal situation, and becomes meaningless when this situation ceases to exist. Kelsen’s attempt to exclude politics from jurisprudence found its antithesis in Schmitt’s concept of the political. Contrary to liberal constitutionalists, Schmitt argued that political life can not be regulated by norms and compromise, because societies encounter crises that must be resolved by overriding decisions and by expressions of communal solidarity (see Gottfried 1990, 57-62; Schwab 1989, 44-51).

Schmitt’s decisionism should be interpreted in the context of his critique of liberalism and what he called “anthropological optimism”: the belief that man was by nature an amicable and peaceful species. In a concrete situation of conflict, the sovereign decides what constitutes the public interest, safety and order. A state of exception which is not codified in the existing legal order can be characterised as a case of extreme peril, a danger to the existence of the state, or the like (Schmitt 1985, 6). Sovereignty is outside the law, since the actions of the sovereign in the state of exception cannot be bound by laws. Sovereigns deciding on the exception and restoring social order are necessary because of the nature of human relations. Schmitt’s decisionism is a modernised elaboration of the absolutist

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doctrines of Jean Bodin and Thomas Hobbes (Gottfried 1990, 61-62). Schmitt’s polemics against Kelsenian normativism paved way for his polemics against political pluralism as articulated by Harold J. Laski and G. D. H. Cole. Pluralist theory of state challenges the role of the state as the supreme political organisation (for pluralist theory of state, see e.g. Hirst 1989). Pluralists equate the state with all other associations in society; labour unions, religious institutions, sport clubs and the like. Laski presented the monistic state as an hierarchical structure in which power is, for ultimate purposes, collected at a single centre. For pluralists, this is both administratively incomplete and ethically inadequate. It is administratively incomplete because a centralised authority can not administer its territory and its functions as well as a federal organisation; and ethically inadequate because strong government oppresses the natural rights and freedom of its citizens. Laski reminded that the monistic theory of the state was born in age of crisis and that each period of its revivification has synchronised with some momentous event which has signalised a change in the distribution of political power. Thus, Laski proclaimed an end to the era of the state, and welcomes a form of moral global society (see e.g. Laski 1989).

Schmitt’s monistic position should be put in its political context. He was trying to rescue the remnants of Weimar state from the onslaught of the various political parties threatening to bring it down. In his terms, the order of the Weimar state was challenged by anarchical movements such as liberalism, socialism and communism. Schmitt explicitly attacked Laski’s attempt to debase the state as the highest political entity by permitting individuals to have a plurality of loyalties. For liberals, the state is subordinate to society; meaning that the society determines its own order which is then served by the governmental association. Schmitt’s attack was based on the fact that pluralists denied the sovereign nature of the state, and that Laski used the term politics without ever describing its meaning. All in all, the controversy was between different views of the human condition. Laski premised his theory on anthropological optimism, whereas Schmitt maintained his neo-Hobbesian pessimism. (See Schwab 1989, 56-58.)

The nature of the state that emerged as a result of Schmitt’s polemics against normativism and pluralism and his criterion of the political, was monistic: the state as a decisive entity

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must stand above all other entities. In spatial terms, the state has a political monopoly over its territory, and it exists only as long as it is able to make a decision on the political distinction:

For as long as a people exists in the political sphere, this people must, even if only in the most extreme case – and whether this point has been reached has to be decided by it – determine by itself the distinction of friend and enemy. Therein resides the essence of its political existence. When it no longer possesses the capacity or the will to make this distinction, it ceases to exist politically. If it permits this decision to be made by another, then it is no longer a politically free people and is absorbed into another political system. (Schmitt 1996a, 49.)

In Schmitt’s analysis, the essence of the political existence of the state began to erode in the end of the nineteenth century, which marked an end to the epoch of the international order of the jus publicum Europaeum. According to Schmitt, the primal presupposition of every territorial order is the presence of a neutralising counterbalance. This presence, and territorial demarcations thereafter, are institutionalised in international law. Balance of power is essential for upholding the territorial status quo in a pluriverse. In the epoch of the jus publicum Europaeum, European system of states was balanced by a weak central Europe: more powerful European states were held in check by the presence of a number of smaller powers, who allied against any attempts of continental domination. However, after World War I this balance was eradicated, and according to Schmitt, so was the pluriverse. (Schmitt 1991, 56-57; 1997, 156-162.)

This development had begun in the nineteenth century. The sovereign state that had been the foundation of the eurocentric order of international law for almost 400 years began to decline as a result of the disappearance of the qualitative distinction between state and society with the advent of the ideology of liberal individualism and its negation of the political. The subjugation of state and politics into an individualistic domain of economics and morality deprived the former of their specific meaning (Piccone & Ulmen 1990, 3-4). This signalled the approaching end of the international order of the jus

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publicum Europaeum and its containment of war to a limited and controlled duel between European states. The challenging of the jus publicum Europaeum began early in the nineteenth century with the Monroe Doctrine, which not only sought to isolate the Western Hemisphere from Europe and the rest of the world, but opposed to it a new political form - what Schmitt called a Großraum, i.e. a supra-state sphere or bloc. The end of the political form of the state did not signal the end of politics - only the end of the epoch of the state (Freund 1995, 34-35).

Schmitt’s conceptualised the state to persuade the citizens of the Weimar Republic to reaffirm the pact which delivered order into the status naturalis threatening the post-war Germany and the European system of states. This implied transferring “illegitimately” exercised political subjectivity from the civil society back to the state. The political aspect of this argument is again revealed when scrutinised against its historical context. Schmitt’s conception of the state was a plea for political action; i.e. action against the enemy. Regarding internal enemies, Schmitt’s polemics are pointed against pluralist ideologies threatening state sovereignty, and that of the Weimar state in particular. As external enemies, Schmitt attacks the extranational ideologies of communism and liberalism for questioning the primacy of the political and the prominence of the state. As suggested by McCormick, Schmitt attempted “to make the threat of conflict, of war, felt and feared so as to make war’s outbreak all the more unlikely domestically and its prosecution more easily facilitated abroad” (McCormick 1997, 257).

2.4 Construction of a European Großraum

According to Schmitt, the slow disintegration of jus publicum Europaeum significantly changed the nature of international relations. Another international order was developing, but, in Schmitt’s view, it was an order without a spatial orientation. While the shell of the old order based on the political form of the state continued to provide a kind of a model, international law had become more like a loose collection of generally accepted rules existing in a spatial chaos. Once it became impossible to distinguish a European state 39

from a colonial or other quasi-states outside Europe, the territorial order of the old nomos collapsed. Once the distinction between the civilised and non-civilised world lost its meaning, the European states system lost its homogeneity. Confusion resulted from the fact that no new geopolitical concepts had been developed to grasp the new concrete situation. Schmitt’s conception for the political form of the post-European order was that of Großraum, which Schmitt saw capable to clarify the new situation (Ulmen 1987, 34).

The disintegration of jus publicum Europaeum had not come abruptly. Schmitt saw the first signs of this process in the French Revolution, which treated its adversaries as criminals, as enemies of humanity who should be exterminated. Between 1918 and 1928, this development became explicit in assemblies and juridico-political texts with the advent of humanitarian pretext for intervening in international relations. Here Schmitt emphasises three decisive moments. First, the Treaty of Versailles, which broke with the tradition of direct negotiations between the victors and the defeated and which, unable to terminate hostilities, only settled for suspension of military operations. Second, the League of Nations, which was founded on the idea that certain states have the right to decide which wars will be just, and which thus resulted in the eradication of the important distinction between war and peace that was the foundation of the jus publicum Europaeum. Finally, the Kellogg-Briand Pact, which criminalised war by excluding its political function and transforming it to a mere police action. With the rise of humanitarianism in international relations, Europe was assimilated into a universalist concept of space that eliminated all legitimate differences in space. Schmitt did not criticise the philosophically grounded idea of universality, but the doctrine of political universalism. In Schmitt’s reasoning, it is possible to think under the category of the universal, but it is impossible to act under that of universalism because action is inevitably inscribed in a determinate time and space. The concept of Großraum reintroduced boundaries necessary for political action (Freund 1995, 35-36; see Schmitt 1997, 200-232).

The term Großraum is not Schmitt’s own invention. However, Schmitt did invent a new conception for the term with the means and methods of his own discipline – international

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law (see Bendersky 1987, 107-108). The concept was first used not as a juridical concept, but in industrial and economical contexts. Friedrich Naumann’s 1916 book Mitteleuropa includes a number of Groß-words, such as Großreich and Großmacht (see Naumann 1916, 180). The term Großraum was introduced after World War I, when the concept of Großraumwirtschaft (bloc economy) acquired general currency in Germany. The definition of the term remained quite ambiguous in German Raumtheorie, where a variety of geopolitical theories and concepts flourished at that time. Naumann’s Mitteleuropa - concept provided an influential source for expansionist arguments in Weimar Germany, according to which modern political, economic and technological considerations necessitated the creation of a federated German Oberstaat in the centre of Europe that would allow Germany to survive in a world dominated by political entities larger than the traditional European nation-states – namely Russia, the British Empire and the US. The racial theorists and geopolitical revanchists, however, denounced Naumann’s visions of Mitteleuropa as being merely economic, and thus lacking those elements that gave ethical justification to claims for German expansion. Mitteleuropa was soon reconceptualised by the völkisch theorists as the spatial realisation of an ethnic community, the Großdeutschland, in the middle of the European continent (Bendersky 1983, 251; Murphy 1997, 61-63; Neumann 1944, 141-142).

Schmitt dissociated his conception of the Großraum from that of the Mitteleuropa theorists, although he did trace the idea of the concept to Naumann’s writings (see Schmitt 1995b, 235-236). In his conception, Schmitt also drew a sharp distinction between his concept and, on the one hand, the normative theory of space; and on the other, the geopolitics of the Haushofer school (see Schmitt 1991, 15-19). The normative theory of space understands the state as a linear demarcation in “empty” space; an area in and over which legitimacy has been claimed and is legally enforced. In this sense, the state is a normative territorial order instead of a concrete territorial order (see Schmitt 1995a, 382-383). In the Haushofer school, the discipline of geopolitics was understood as an aid to the conduct of statecraft (see Ó Tuathail 1996, 46). One of the key concepts of geopolitics that later linked political geography with the Third Reich was Lebensraum; a term that was first used by Friedrich Ratzel in his 1897 Politische Geographie, but became well-known with his 1901 Der Lebensraum. Ratzel equated the Darwinian idea 41

of the struggle for existence with the struggle for space; all life forms on the planet were involved in a ceaseless quest for living space (see Ratzel 1901, 51-63). Although his work was mainly in plant and zoogeography, Ratzel’s social-Darwinistic connotations emphasised the existential meaning of Lebensraum, and comparison with the critical battles which nations fight were adopted especially by the geopoliticians of the Haushofer school (Heske 1986, 269-271).

As a political form, Großraum stands between the concepts of the state and the universe (Schmitt 1995b, 237). A Großraum, Schmitt asserted, was an area dominated by a power representing a distinct political idea, which is always formulated with a specific opponent in mind, i.e. the distinctions between friend and enemy are determined by this particular political idea. Schmitt saw the precedent of Großraum being set in the Monroe Doctrine of 1823. Spatially, the Monroe Doctrine designated an area far exceeding the territorial boundaries of the US, thus creating a new political form beyond the territorial nation- state. At the time of its declaration, the American government avowed it would not intervene in European political affairs and reciprocally forbid extraneous intervention in the Western Hemisphere: The Monroe Doctrine can be seen as the American response to the Napoleonic wars and to the revolutions in Latin America. With the Monroe Doctrine, the US accepted the responsibility of being the protector of independent “Western” nations and affirmed that it would steer clear of European affairs (Bendersky 1983, 253; Schmitt 1991, 22-33). Also, as Schmitt (1997, 256) noted, Monroe utilised the word “hemisphere” specifically to distinguish the American political system from the absolute monarchies of Europe.

For Schmitt, the core of the original Monroe Doctrine, a political entity with its political idea excluding extraneous intervention in its sphere of interests, is a genuine Großraum principle (Schmitt 1997, 256). The source of power of this principle, or “the secret of its historical actuality”, lies in international law (Ulmen 1987, 51). The Western Hemisphere was basically a defensive concept in its nature, but from its very beginning, it was conceptualised against the Old World, and thus had an anti-European element. However, the Western Hemisphere can also be seen in a moral and cultural sense as constituting a

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new Europe with genuine European values, but on American soil. In Schmitt’s view, this understanding is woven into the very fabric of the political idea of the Western Hemisphere (Schmitt 1997, 261-267).

According to Schmitt, the original Monroe Doctrine had three important consequences in international law: the independence of American states, the exclusion of colonisation in their territory, and the non-intervention in their territory by non-American powers and reciprocal non-intervention by American powers outside American territory (Schmitt 1991, 22). For Schmitt, the question whether the Monroe Doctrine is actually a recognised legal principle or merely a political maxim is irrelevant. It reflects the political subjectivity of the US in the Western Hemisphere, and was recognised in, for example, the Covenant of the League of Nations (see Ibid., 23-27). The Monroe Doctrine is not a treaty between legal subjects; its meaning in concreto is defined, interpreted and implemented by the political subject, i.e. the US, alone (see Schmitt 1988f, 167, 178).

The eminent American author on geopolitics Nicholas J. Spykman also wrote of the significance of the Monroe Doctrine. According to Spykman, The Monroe doctrine expressed the views of the US regarding the proper relations of the European powers to the Western Hemisphere and outlined a policy based on these views:

It stated that the American continents were henceforth not to be considered as subjects for future colonization; that we should consider any attempt to extend the political systems of Continental Europe to any portion of this hemisphere as dangerous to our peace and safety, and any attempt to control the destiny of American states as a manifestation of an unfriendly disposition toward the United States. In modern language, it meant that that the United States announced to the world that she was interested in the territorial integrity and political independence of the states of the New World and that European intervention would be unwelcome (Spykman 1942, 69).

As noted by Spykman (1942, 73), the Monroe Doctrine was at the time of its assertion no more than an expression on the willingness of the US to act as the political subject in and 43

of the Western Hemisphere: “The Monroe Doctrine was not a measure of our actual strength … it was to take almost a century and the development of steam navigation before we could maker an approximation to the role of protector of the Western Hemisphere”.

The complete opposite of the principle of the original Monroe Doctrine was the universal Weltprinzip (Schmitt 1988c, 295). In Schmitt’s view, this spatial principle inevitably led to the entanglement and intervention of all against all, and consequently to the breakdown of the pluriverse. Unfortunately, this was the direction to which president Theodor Roosevelt steered the concept of the Monroe Doctrine in the end of the nineteenth century. This development culminated in 1917, when in his speech to the congress president Woodrow Wilson declared that the principle of the Monroe Doctrine must be universalised (Schmitt 1991, 32-33). As a result, the spatial scope of the Monroe Doctrine broadened from the Western Hemisphere to include the whole world and all of humanity. Thus, in the history of American foreign policy, the concept of the Monroe Doctrine had transformed from a defensive doctrine of isolation to an offensive instrument of global intervention (Schmitt 1988c, 295-297; 1991, 27-28; Ulmen 1987, 58). On the one hand, Schmitt saw the liberal-economic distortion of the political resulting in spatial chaos of international law; and on the other, a democratic-political distortion of universalism resulting in pseudo-universalism (Ulmen 1987, 54). This had led to a situation where the US and its pseudo-universalist Weltdoktrin compromised the spatial pluralism of world politics. In other words, the US, as the leader of the Western democracies, threatened the legitimate existence of other political entities and forms with its own universal idea of the world and humanity. In the late 1930s, Schmitt saw two likely outcomes for the future of international order: either a pluriverse of several coexisting Großräume and a balance of power, or a transition from former system of international law to a pseudo-universal order and global civil war (see Piccone & Ulmen 1990, 29-34; Schmitt 1997, 271). With little doubt, the latter was the one Schmitt opposed in his own work.

Setting aside the transformation in the meaning and use of the Monroe Doctrine, Schmitt stressed the importance of the original meaning of the Doctrine and the principle it

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constituted. Schmitt argued that the political form of a Großraum can be applied to different historical and geographical contexts. Schmitt envisioned a rise of a new Großraum in central and eastern Europe to counterbalance the universalism and interventionism of the Western Hemisphere. In his view, a central component of this Großraum was the concept of the Reich that functioned as a legal standard for the international order of the Großräume. Reich referred to the major power representing a distinct political idea that draws the boundaries for and excludes intervention in the regional sphere of a Großraum (Schmitt 1991, 23, 49). In Schmitt’s view, the German state, with its 60 million inhabitants and its territory in the middle of Europe, is not large enough to be one of the world powers in itself, but neither small or peripheral enough to be marginalised in international politics (Schmitt 1988g, 107).

In his 1939 essay, Schmitt represented the German state as standing at a crossroads, from where it can either go and become a weak and depoliticised object of foreign intervention, or the hegemonic political subject in and of Europe (Schmitt 1988d, 291). Schmitt’s question was, of course, rhetorical. There is little doubt on the direction Schmitt himself would have liked to see Germany go. As the US, the British Empire, the Soviet Union and the emerging Japanese Empire each had heir Raum, Schmitt hoped that Germany’s Raum would be Europe (see Bendersky 1983, 257).

For Schmitt, the concept of the Reich did not exclusively refer to the German Reich in Europe, but concerned all similar political subjects in time and space (see Gruchmann 1962, 23). Still, Schmitt’s reasoning had a distinct meaning in concrete political existence. From Schmitt’s point of view, the Western liberal democracies and the Soviet Union both claimed the right of intervention around the world on the basis of universal principles. Schmitt suggested that perhaps Germany could resist such intervention in its Großraum in the same manner as the US: by prohibiting intervention in its sphere of interests (Bendersky 1983, 255; Schmitt 1988d, 302). Germany’s Großraum in the middle of Europe would have stood between the universalist projects of liberalism and bolshevism. A pluriverse was only to be sustained with the emergence of a European

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Großraum of the Deutsche Reich, but, Schmitt asserted, this required the emergence of a new type of international law that goes beyond the norm of state sovereignty.

According to Schmitt, the political idea of the Deutsche Reich was articulated by Adolf Hitler in 1938 when he assumed responsibility for protecting German minorities in central and eastern Europe. At that point, Schmitt claimed, the protection of minorities under the universalism and interventionism of Versailles and the League of Nations ended in these parts of Europe. The political idea represented by the Reich included uniting German minorities with Germany to assure their protection and to guarantee the development of German national unity. Every national group in this Großraum, German and non-German alike, would be allowed to live as individual national entities, though under German hegemony. In effect, the German Reich would be the decisive political entity, i.e. the political subject, in and of Europe. At the heart of Hitler’s project was the biological concept of race and the goal of establishing a racial empire in Europe. Schmitt’s Europe was not as clear-cut a concept as Hitler’s (Bendersky 1983, 254, 259; 1987, 110-116; Schmitt 1991, 46-47). Although Schmitt mentioned national groups, his Großraum had nothing to do with either biological racism or Lebensraum. In fact, Schmitt explicitly dissociated his Großraumprinzip from many other geopolitical conceptions of his time, such as the natural boundaries of states, regional pacts like the League of Nations and the “demographic rights” of the stronger nations put forward by the Haushofer School (Schmitt 1991, 15-22). For Schmitt, Europe was as polemical a concept as any, and had potential meaning solely in concrete political existence (see e.g. Schmitt 1988e, 88-89). Historically, the first definition of Europe had a religious connotation (respublica Christiana), while the second was legal in its character (jus publicum Europaeum). According to Schmitt’s “testament” for Europe from 1943, the becoming European identity will have to retain both the noetic universality of the respublica Christiana as well as the pluralist jurisprudence of the jus publicum Europaeum within an international context, where the resulting federalism is likely to provide a guide for the constitution of other new geopolitical entities. Here Schmitt constructed the political idea of European Großraum from the remnants of the tradition of European jurisprudence. When a European identity and a unified Europe is achieved, it will constitute a major new world

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power whose very existence will necessitate appropriate geopolitical adjustments (Piccone & Ulmen 1990, 13-14, 29-30; see Schmitt 1990, 35-70).

Schmitt’s conception of the Großraum was found quite intriguing by many German writers in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Then again, Schmitt’s ideas were criticised for their lack of clarity and being too abstract. Critics quickly pointed out that Schmitt had said nothing about the actual internal nature or the precise political order of the German Großraum, nor had he made any concrete suggestions regarding the new type of international law he said was necessary (see Gruchmann 1962, 121; Maschke 1995, XXII). According to Bendersky, much of this vagueness was often intentional in order to avoid contradictions with the official party theorists. There is little controversy over that Schmitt’s 1939 lecture and later publications on the subject were in line with Hitler’s foreign policy in central and eastern Europe. However, Schmitt did not advocate war or the Nazi conquest of Europe, and neither did his works on Großraum contain such objectives. Once the war began, Schmitt accepted it as a matter of fact and sought to justify Germany’s position. (Bendersky 1983, 255-256; Scheuerman 1999, 169-173.) After the operation Barbarossa of 1941, though, Germany’s expansionist policy no longer fitted in his conceptual framework (Maschke 1995, XXV).

The conceptual transformation in Schmitt’s political reasoning from his Weimar writings to his writings during and after his Nazi “adventure” reflects changes in his intellectual as well as political context. In the Weimar Republic, Schmitt was an intellectual of prominence and prestige who, unlike many of his colleagues, did not hesitate to partake in political struggles in his work. After his dissociation from the Nazi regime in 1936, Schmitt’s position in the German intelligentsia suddenly changed. Schmitt was gradually marginalised from both of his former forums – science and politics – first by the Nazis in the late 1930s and early 1940s, and for a period of some decades after the Nuremberg interrogations by practically everyone. In addition to the impact this had on Schmitt’s work at the time, it has also affected later developments in the field of Schmitt studies. The conception of the Großraum in the late 1930s communicates many changes in the political context of Germany and Europe. As Hitler was beginning Germany’s expansion

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in Europe, Schmitt risked an attempt to influence the process with the means and methods available to him at the time.

There is a distinct difference between Schmitt’s two forms of political subjectivity. Schmitt’s conception of the state was basically a conservative cry of alarm to defend the last fortress of occidental rationalism. With the state, Schmitt actually tried to protect the continuously shrinking space Germany had in the international order. In other words, Schmitt’s politicisation of the German state was defensive in its nature. In the late 1930s, with his increasing pessimism on the fate of the sovereign state, Schmitt conceptualised a political space much larger than just Germany: Europe. When Schmitt politicised the European Großraum against the pseudo-universalism of the Western democracies and the Soviet Union, he actually constructed a unified Europe under the German hegemony as a political entity. At the time of German expansionism in Europe this seemed a likely scenario. In comparison to the state, Schmitt’s conceptualisation of the Großraum was offensive. His intentions were not in protecting the space of Germany, but in expansion of the political subjectivity of Germany in European space. Schmitt basically approved of, if not supported, Hitler’s expansionist policy in Europe. This is not to say the premises and objectives of Hitler’s policy were identical with Schmitt’s, because they were not. Schmitt’s Europe had nothing to do with social-Darwinism, but everything to do with his understanding of concrete political existence.

Politically, Schmitt’s rhetoric for German expansion has become a matter of history. Intellectually, Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity retains its adaptability long after the fall of the jus publicum Europaeum as well as the Third Reich. In conceptualising political subjectivity as the power to define, interpret and implement the political categories in territorial terms, Schmitt captured many of the tendencies of international relations that are still of interest and relevance.

Ola Tunander recently revived Schmitt’s concept of the Großraum in geopolitical analysis. Tunander interpreted Schmitt’s conception of the term as “a cluster of states with industrial and economic interdependence and with a central power or Reich that 48

creates order, radiates its political idea and excludes alien military intervention into a ‘greater space’, or Großraum” (Tunander 1997, 23, emphasis in original). Tunander (Ibid., 24) then identified at least three Großräume in the post-Cold War world. The Russian conceptions of “Russia and the Near Abroad” and “Russia and the CIS states” were almost identical with Schmitt’s conceptions of Reich and Großraum. So were China’s aspirations to the role as a future central power dominating “Greater China” and perhaps influencing the whole of eastern Asia. The western world had formed a common defence organisation under the leadership of its strongest power, the US, which radiated its liberal and democratic idea while excluding intervention in the NATO Großraum (on the case of Sweden as part of this formation, see Tunander 1999). The structures of these Großräume were very different, but had something in common: “as long as the historical- cultural divides are congruent with the military divides – forming major geopolitical divides – we can talk about a number of Reich radiating their different political ideas about law, democracy and state power, over their respective Grossräume” (Tunander 1997, 24, emphasis in original). In Cold War Europe, the Großraum of the West was delineated from that of the East by the Berlin Wall. In the New Europe, this dominant perception of other-ness changed: the enemy was no longer communism, but “Chaos”. As explained by Tunander:

To Western officials, the Cold War divide between the ‘Free World’ and the ‘Evil Empire’ now seems to have been replaced by a power political hierarchy with its centre in Brussels – or perhaps in several major West European capitals – with concentric circles extending outwards from the central West European cosmos to the increasingly chaotic regions of in the periphery. This interpretation sees the ‘Friend-Foe’ divide replaced by a ‘Cosmos-Chaos’ divide separating the cosmos of the EU or NATO from the chaotic Eastern Europe and Russia. (Tunander 1997, 18).

The reason for this change is that in the New Europe territorial expansion no longer appeared as a feasible political idea for a Reich. Rather, the central power of the New Europe would seek to include order and to exclude chaos in the sphere of its political interests. This cosmos/chaos structure would also stretch across territory, but being more an economic than a military structure, it would seek “an escape from territory” (Ibid., 32). 49

The replacement of the political structures of the Cold War could also lead to the division of the West as a Großraum and to the formation of a new Großraum around the political subjectivity of the EU.

Indeed, the eradication of the geopolitical structures of the Cold War has brought with it an increasingly institutional articulation of a political Europe. This time, not a Europe under explicit German hegemony, but a “common” Europe with the EU as its Reich (cf. McCormick 2000, 13). In 1939, Schmitt saw Germany as standing at a crossroads of either becoming a political object of foreign intervention or the hegemonic political subject in and of Europe. Almost sixty years later, Curt Gasteyger, a prominent scholar of international relations, saw the EU standing at exactly the same place:

Europe with, at its core the European Union, is today at a cross-roads: it will have to decide whether, at the end of this century, it will transform itself from a powerful economic community into an equally powerful political actor. In so doing it would assume the kind of responsibilities that corresponds to its own potential and influence and that a difficult and disorderly world expects and no doubt needs. (Gasteyger 1996, 11).

There seems to be very little in common with the Third Reich and the EU apart from this geopolitical ambition – to become the political subject in and of Europe. Without doubt the means to that end were different with the Third Reich and the EU, as were the political conceptions of Europe motivating them; but the vision of Europe acting as a political entity in a world of dominated by other powerful political subjects in their respective Großräume is basically the same.

2.5 The Politics of Political Subjectivity

To take Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity as a framework for a study of the social construction of EC/EU’s political subjectivity is also to subject it to two important 50

provisions. The first concerns the ontological status that can be given to the idea of political subjectivity, and the second the epistemological choices made in this study.

To begin with ontology, for Schmitt, concrete political antagonism meant just that: an empirically identifiable relation between empirically identifiable entities. The political manifests itself in a situation, in which an independently existing political entity with a capability to recognise an independently existing threat to its existence can thereby recognise its political enemies. In this relation, friend and enemy are not understood as “metaphors or symbols”, but as social categories of existential necessity inducible from a given empirical fact: an existential threat to a form of existence (Schmitt 1996a, 27). This was Schmitt’s understanding of a “pure” political situation; a moment with a positive cause and an unambiguous consequence. Schmitt did not consider the fact that constitution of “pure” political situations was far from an apolitical process in itself. Schmitt did acknowledge that there were other, perhaps impure, political situations. Schmitt wrote of “parasite- and caricature-like configurations” of the political, where concrete antagonism is replaced by “all sorts of tactics and practices, competitions and intrigues; and the most peculiar dealings and manipulations [that] are called politics” (Ibid., 30). In other words, politics was a discursive “abstraction” of concrete political antagonism, which nevertheless retained its conflictual origin:

The substance of the political is contained in the context of a concrete antagonism still expressed in everyday language, even where the awareness of the extreme case has been entirely lost ... [A]ll political concepts, images, and terms have a polemical meaning. They are focused on a specific conflict and are bound to a concrete situation; the result ... is a friend-enemy grouping, and they turn into empty and ghostlike abstractions when this situation ceases to exist. (Ibid., 30.)

Politics, in other words, was a mode of political action that has lost its reference in external reality, and what remained of concrete political antagonism in the everyday language of politics was only the aspect of conflict. Schmitt acknowledged the crucial role of language in the constitution of political relations, but with an apparent theoretical

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disposition towards an “external” political reality with “material” causes to which events and actions can be reduced (for a critique of Schmitt’s rhetorical strategies in this context, see Derrida 1997, 112-137). In this sense, Schmitt subscribed to a philosophical position of epistemic realism, whereby reality is understood as comprising of objects whose existence is independent of ideas or beliefs about them (Campbell 1998, 4; Der Derian 1995, 30). For Schmitt, there was a political existence independent of and prior to any linguistic conception of it. This study does not subscribe to Schmitt’s ontology of the political by questioning its pre-discursive foundations and exposing the politics of the production of concrete political antagonism.

Indeed, the political does not need any empirical or logical reference outside language, but can be interesting as an ”abstraction”. In this note, Kari Palonen (1983, 13-17) defined politics in an actor-oriented way via the reflection of the human experience of the political. What then became political was constituted by the actor’s experience of being in the situation of “acting-against”. This aspectual definition of politics brackets questions of the intensity of conflict between actors, which can range from a minor disagreement to physical violence. Thus, Schmitt’s conception of the political can be relocated in the conflict-aspect of human action and its situational manifestation in language; the use of concepts, images and terms in an argument. What makes self, other, and a social object political is that controversy over its identity is not resolved; and consequently, there is no politics respecting matters that evoke a consensus (Edelman 1988, 3).

Schmitt’s conception of political subjectivity is used here for heuristic purposes only; it is not used to assess whether or not Europe or any other entity can “actually” be called an independently existing political subject. This is to break from Schmitt’s usage of the term; for Schmitt, political subjects either had or did not have the willingness and ability to make the political distinction. Political subjectivity, as understood in this study, is a social construct the identity of which is performatively produced in discourse. As such, political subjects – such as states – are “imaginary” entities; i.e. they are not wholly in existence, but are not wholly fictitious either, because with these entities people sustain social order. States of course do exist in the “material” world as devices and structures, such as

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parliaments and armies, but these do not provide states the resources for the exercise of their political subjectivity, but merely symbolise it. The resources for the exercise of political subjectivity are, first and foremost, discursive. As put by John Shotter (1993, 13), “political entities begin their existence by at first ‘subsisting’ only in people’s talk of them, but ... they begin to take on more of a ‘real’ ... existence as talk ‘of’ them increases, and they give rise to new social institutions and structures”.

To understand political subjects as social constructs is to deny the possibility of a domain of stable pre-discursive political subjectivity. In other words, political subjectivity is not pre-determined “given”, but a politically contested and controversial category in itself. There are contesting views within society on what is concrete political antagonism; who are the friends and who are the enemies and who should make the distinction between them. Lacking an ontological status apart from the practices that produce it, political subjects are in permanent need of reproduction.

To continue with epistemology, how can one interpret the (re)production of political subjectivity in language? The method applied in this study is a form of discourse analysis that identifies rhetoric as the site of this production. Although definitions of rhetoric vary widely, the consistent theme, according to Ann M. Gill and Karen Whedbee (Gill & Whedbee 1997, 157), is that rhetoric is a type of instrumental discourse: it is a vehicle for responding to, reinforcing, or altering the understandings of an audience or the social fabric of the community. In his work, Kenneth Burke defined rhetoric as the relationships and the transcendence involved in the political aspects of language: “Rhetoric ... deals with the possibilities of classification in its partisan aspects; it considers the ways in which individuals are at odds with one another, or become identified with groups more or less at odds with one another” (Burke 1969, 22, emphasis in original). Principal in Burke’s definition is an understanding of human actions as rhetorical: as strategies developed to cope with situations involving a performer and an audience. However, the study of rhetoric should not be confined to obviously argumentative or explicitly persuasive communication – rather, rhetoric should be seen as a pervasive feature of the way people interact and arrive at understanding. Michael Billig (1996, 205-211)

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suggested that the social psychological notion of attitude should be seen in rhetorical terms as public positions that are inseparable from current controversy. This is to say that there is no role for attitudes except in issues where there is conflict and dispute. The implication of this is that “every attitude in favour of a position is also, implicitly but more often explicitly, also a stance against the counter position” (Billig 1991, 143).

In the construction of political subjectivity in discourse, two important rhetorical stages or strategies can be identified. Firstly, the selective naming of something according to specific properties; and secondly, the practice of associating with and dissociating from others. By the use of these rhetorical strategies, social groups and events are imposed identities. To understand the use of rhetorical meaning in an argument, one should not examine merely the words within a discourse, but one should also consider the argumentative context of the discourse: the positions which are opposed, and the ones that are supported.

The selective naming of things is a form of identification, whereby self, other or the social object receive a potentially political meaning. Naming affirms a quality, attribute, or property of a thing, and thereby constructs a particular kind of landscape for political action. For example, to state that Bosnia is in the “heart of Europe” is to locate Bosnia in the political “body” of Europe and also to give it a very special location in it. Likewise, to state that the EU member states are the “skinny kids” behind the “big bully” from America identifies, among other things, the roles these entities have in the making of transatlantic foreign policy.

Objects of discourse receive their political significance in rhetorical practices of association and dissociation. According to Schmitt, political thought and political instinct prove themselves theoretically as well as practically in the ability to distinguish friend and enemy, and “[t]he high points of politics are simultaneously the moments in which the enemy is, in concrete clarity, recognized as the enemy” (Schmitt 1996a, 67). Schmitt points at the moment in which a politically neutral other is identified as a political enemy. In this moment of ultimate dissociation the social self is positioned in a potentially 54

conflictual relation to the other and thereby constructed as a political entity of the Schmittean sense. In other words, a political entity is a discursive product of the identification of political enemies. Political entities from tribes to states have been produced and reproduced vis-à-vis political enemies that may be foreign, domestic, different in any respect, or figments of the imagination. Anyone or anything can be constructed as a political enemy irrespective of the actuality of the threat that it poses to the form of existence of the friend-group (Edelman 1988, 75-76). In this sense, enemies are rhetorical resources that need no logical or empirical links between the experience of threat and the attribution of a cause for it.

Dissociation of the enemy is simultaneously an association of the friend within a particular political entity and a particular identification of political subjectivity. This move not only manifests in time and space, as shown by Schmitt, but also constructs time and space. Identifying an enemy takes the explicit or implicit form of a narrative about the past and the future – a story plot that rationalises certain measures against enemies on the ground that the social self must be saved and secured a better future. Thus, while producing political subjectivity, the enemy objectifies and symbolises a particular narrative of history and future state of affairs (Edelman 1988, 81). Identifying an enemy also takes the explicit or implicit form of geographic location or orientation. Enemy is always somewhere: it can be inside or outside the territory of a political entity, and if it is difficult to locate – as, for instance, in the case of Osama bin Laden’s al-Qaeda terrorist network – it can be anywhere, or even worse, everywhere. Identification of enemies thus always produces a geopolitical narrative, where locations are symbols for the threatening and the threatened.

Discourses of willingness and ability of an entity to distinguish its friends from its enemies over a certain spatial delineation employ these two rhetorical strategies: the naming of the social self with its specific properties and the properties of other-ness; and the association of the self by dissociation from the other. Thus, a reading of politics that constitutes Europe as a political entity and the EC/EU as its political subject involves explication and interpretation of the use of these rhetorical strategies. Such a reading has

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to provide answers to at least the following questions: What qualities, attributes and properties are associated with objects such as Europe and the EC/EU in discourse? How are these objects dissociated from other objects of discourse? What temporal and spatial narratives are associated with Europe and the EC/EU in discourse? What is the argumentative context of these identifications? As will be shown in the following chapter, these rhetorical strategies have traditionally been buttressed by a peculiar organicist symbolism: by identifying political entities as living territorial organisms with a body and a will of their own.

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3 Political Theory of the Body and Europe

3.1 Singularity and Symbolism

This chapter argues that the organicist metaphor has been one of the most salient vehicles of understanding political phenomena and continues to structure many of the key concepts of political discourse today, including Europe. This argument is based, on the one hand, on a definition of metaphor that goes beyond a mere decorative function; and on the other, on a long history of the use of organicist metaphors by intellectuals of statecraft from Plato to Delors.

Identification of Europe as a political entity imposes it a certain degree of homogeneity – an aspect of European “one-ness”. To represent Europe in such a fashion is to convince the Other – as well as Europeans themselves – that there indeed exists a collective of “Europeans” on “European territory” that stands united on some political issue. Political issues, as defined by Carl Schmitt (1996a, 26), reduce the motives and actions of collectives to a distinction of friend and enemy. In Schmitt’s political pluriverse, where exists an ever present possibility of political enmity between collectives, political subjects enforce the friend/enemy distinction over people and space and by acting in this manner, they define themselves and empower their subjectivity. Indeed, the political enemy of Europe, even if it has to be spatially located, is not always external and does not lurk outside Europe. Every political subject, for the requirements of survival, compels itself in critical situations to decide upon the internal enemy; one that can be located inside the body politic or its spatial sphere of subjectivity, or as an aspect or dimension of its own identity. This may take the form of identifying some groups as enemies of, say, the society or the revolution, and may result, in Schmitt’s (1996a, 46) words, in “ostracism, expulsion, proscription, or outlawry ... in special laws or in explicit or general descriptions”, but always having the aim of declaring an enemy.

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In a seminal essay on totalitarianism, Claude Lefort argued that implied in the construction of political one-ness is the denial that division is constitutive of society. At the same that internal division is denied, it is being affirmed externally between the self and other of the outside. Thus, it becomes comprehensible how the constitution of “one- ness” within the friend-camp requires the incessant production of enemies, and “it is not only necessary to convert, at the level of phantasy, real adversaries of the regime or real opponents into the figures of the evil Other: it is also necessary to invent them” (Lefort 1986, 298). What is at stake in this production of enemies is the integrity of the social body – “it is as if the body had to assure itself of its own identity by expelling its waste matter, or as if it had to close in upon itself by withdrawing from the outside, by averting the threat of an intrusion by alien elements” (Ibid.). Lefort’s interpretation of the image of the political body confines itself to societies with “the aim of totalitarianism”, but it is only from democracy that he sees totalitarianism arising (Ibid., 300-304). Whereas the societies of the ancien régime represented their unity and identity to itself as an immortal body of the king initially underpinned by the body of the Christ (see also Kantorowicz 1957, 207-232), after the modern democratic revolution, there is no power, mystical or sacral, linked to a body:

Power appears as an empty place and those who exercise it as mere mortals who occupy it only temporarily or who could install themselves in it only by force or cunning. There is no law that can be fixed, whose articles cannot be contested, whose foundations are not susceptible of being called into question. Lastly, there is no representation of a centre and of the contours of society: unity cannot now efface social division. Democracy inaugurates the experience of an ungraspable, uncontrollable society in which the people will be said to be sovereign, of course, but whose identity will constantly be open to question, whose identity will remain latent (Lefort 1986, 304).

This “ungraspable society” gives rise to “a multi-layered discourse which tries to grasp it”, and in this sense becomes a site of a political contest due to the very fact that it is no longer imprinted in any natural or supernatural order of things (Ibid.). Values such as the state, nation, civilisation and freedom are presented as bastions against the forces that could destroy a particular way of social life based on these values and the political 58

institutions representing them. The attempt to sacralise political institutions in discourse is, according to Lefort, directly related to the loss of the substance of society and the disintegration of the body politic.

To represent a state or any other social entity as politically united constructs a singular political identity on that entity; an element of “one-ness within”. In an inspiring essay titled On the Role of Symbolism in Political Thought, Michael Walzer (1967, 194) wrote: “Politics is an art of unification; from many, it makes one. And symbolic activity is perhaps our most important means of bringing things together, both intellectually and emotionally, thus overcoming isolation and even individuality”. Walzer’s following discussion on the significance of symbolism, and especially that of the body, in political thought is worth quoting at length:

In a sense, the union of men can only be symbolized; it has no palpable shape or substance. The state is invisible; it must be personified before it can be seen, symbolized before it can be loved, imagined before it can be conceived. An image like the body politic, then, is not simply a decorative metaphor, applied by a writer who has already grasped the nature of political association and now wishes felicitously to convey his understanding. Rather, the image is prior to understanding or, at any rate, to theoretic understanding, as it is to articulation, and necessary to both. When the state is imagined as a body politic, then a particular set of insights as to its nature are made available. The image does not so much reinforce existing political ideas (though it may later be used for that purpose) as underlie them. It provides an elementary sense of what the political community is like, of how physically distinct and solitary individuals are joined together. Or rather, in this case, it suggests that individuals are neither solitary nor distinct, but exist only as members of a body. Thus the image provides a starting point for political thinking, and so long as it is effective, no other staring point is possible (Walzer 1967, 194).

Walzer showed how the symbolism of the body politic has been foundational to the understanding of political association in the history of political thought and how it continued to be that in the modern age of national states. The image of the body still 59

effectively predetermines the ways in which most people think, communicate and act politically, and with whom. As also noted by Walzer (Ibid., 194-195), even if symbolisation does not create unity, which is the function of both symbolic activity and political practice, it does create “units of discourse which are fundamental to all thinking and doing, units of feeling around which emotions of loyalty and assurance can cluster”.

To appreciate the significance of the metaphor of the body in the construction of political singularity, one first has to have a more fundamental conception of metaphor than the one given by Walzer; i.e. “simply decorative”. Metaphors play a much larger role in discourse than merely adding aesthetic appeal to text. Metaphors should not, however, be understood as descriptions in the sense that they suggested that, say, a state is actually a body or that a state had the specific attributes of a body – that is to say, it had organs and limbs and was bounded by skin. Metaphors should be understood, according to Hayden White, rather as symbols themselves:

The metaphor does not image the thing it seeks to characterise, it gives directions for finding the set of images that are intended to be associated with that thing. It functions as a symbol, rather than as a sign: which is to say that it does not either a description or an icon of the thing it represents, but tells us what images to look for in our culturally encoded experience in order to determine how we should feel about the thing represented (White 1978, 91, emphasis in original).

According to Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 3, 159), metaphors are among the principal vehicles for human understanding and they play a central role in the construction of social and political reality. For Lakoff and Johnson, the use of metaphorical concepts is not just a matter of language, that is, of mere words, but that they structure and define the ordinary conceptual system in terms of which people think and act. The essence of metaphor is “understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another” (Ibid., 5, emphasis in original). In other words, metaphoric use of language presents a particular view of reality by structuring the understanding of an idea in terms of something previously understood (Gill & Whedbee 1997, 172-173).

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For example, the concept of argument is often understood and experienced in terms of the concept of war: arguments are won or lost; the persons involved in arguments are opponents; in an argument, positions are attacked and defended, ground gained or lost et cetera. This is not to say that arguments are subspecies of war: arguments and wars are different kinds of things and actions performed are different kinds of actions, but the concept of argument is partially structured, understood, performed and talked about in terms of war. According to Lakoff and Johnson (1980, 25, 29, 156), metaphors have the capacity to create realities, especially social realities. When things are not clearly discrete or bounded, human purposes require to impose artificial boundaries that make physical phenomena discrete just as humans themselves are: entities bounded by a surface. By the use of ontological metaphors, objects of discourse are imposed boundaries by marking off territory so that they have an inside and a bounding surface.

Perhaps the most obvious ontological metaphors are precisely those where the physical object is specified as being a person. What all personifying ontological metaphors have in common is that they make sense of objects of discourse in human terms – human motivations, goals, actions, and characteristics. The use of personifying metaphors in political discourse is a form of anthropomorphism – i.e. the attribution of human characteristics to non-human objects (for a comprehensive discussion on this topic, see Guthrie 1993). Humans tend to athropomorphise abstract phenomena that are difficult to grasp, such as religion or politics. According to Leonard Barkan (1975, 62), “the human body is both phylogenetically and ontogenetically one of the first and most basic entities the mind can grasp”. According to Mary Douglas (1984, 115), “the body is a model which can stand for any bounded system ... its boundaries can represent any boundaries which are threatened or precarious”.

According to David Campbell (1998, 75), the discursive economy of the “body politic” is a central element in the construction of political identities and stems from two factors. First, there is a well-established history of representing the social as a body that precedes the rise of the state in Europe; and second, it is a figuration that authorises and empowers 61

the representation of danger to the social body in terms associated with the representation of danger to the physiological body. The body politic thus provides the resources for representing difference as danger to the social, where the social is understood as a naturally healthy body. Furthermore, and as noted by Antoine de Baecque (1997, 6), the body politic makes the management of a human community comparable to the scientific management of the physiological body – an illusion that gives politicians and men of letters alike a scientific claim to observe and organise it as one. Intellectuals of statecraft associating with the academia have generally been quite willing to make such a claim. In his presidential address at the Annual Meeting of the International Studies Association in San Diego in April 1996, Davis Bobrow identified concepts provided by medical research and practise appropriate to the study of insecurity in international relations. Bobrow proposed that insecurity, “the fear in prospect and pain in experience of severe loss”, should be viewed by “insecurity professionals” through the metaphors of disease, illness and decline (Bobrow 1996, 442). The professional goal of such a metaphorical perspective would resemble that of the health professions: “a more effective and comprehensive portfolio of strategies for recognizing, preventing, and treating threats” (Ibid.). In short, Bobrow perceived the analysts of insecurity as “physicians” of bodies politic, whose work involved diagnosing and ultimately treating political pathologies.

In the turn of the 1990s, intellectuals of statecraft scrambled to design a new security “architecture” for the New Europe, identifying ideas and institutions as objects of engineering – e.g. common European “house”, European “pillar” of NATO, and “bridges” between EU and NATO. However, these architectural metaphors, most of which were imposed on Europe from the “outside” and identified Europe as a political object, were soon countered by perhaps a more Europeanist application of organicist metaphors, which identified Europe more as a political subject. Adrian G. V. Hyde-Price (1991, 239) noted that proclivity towards the use of architectural metaphors in European security debate after the Cold War was in some ways misleading and inappropriate, as it implied “the existence of an architect with a conscious plan”, and suggested “fixed, permanent structures, designed to serve clearly defined sets of purposes”. For Hyde-Price, “the use of more organic images – perhaps drawn from the disciplines of biology, evolutionary science or geology – might be more appropriate” (Ibid.). Such an image was 62

already (re-)emerging. In her study of the metaphors structuring defence discourse in the French and English languages in 1990, Joanna Thornborrow (1993, 117) identified alongside architectural metaphors the personification metaphor – i.e. representation of something as a person with specific mental and physical characteristics – as a frequently used alternative conceptual base for representing Europe especially in French, but also in English. Thornborrow’s study, although limited to reports on two summit meetings in major broadsheet newspapers published in France and Britain, located a significant discursive structure in the social construction of the New Europe. A broader and more eclectic look at post-Cold War security discourse reveals the prevalence of the use of the personification metaphor and the politics of such a mode of representation.

3.2 History of an Idea

The origins of the body politic discourse are in ancient Greece, and state-body analogies can be located in the works of influential thinkers such as Plato and Aristotle (see Hale 1971, 18-32; Barkan 1975, 61-115). For instance, in the book three of The Republic, Plato argued that a city state, like man, can be divided in intellectual, spiritual and physical parts; and in book nine, depicted society as “a very complicated, many-headed sort of beast, with heads of wild and tame animals all around it, which it can produce and change at will” (Plato 1987, 416). Seeking a definition of the state in his The Politics, Aristotle made an analogy between city-states and “animate objects” consisting of ”body and mind” as well as “reasoning and desiring” (Aristotle 1962, 108).

In the Middle Ages the discourse on bodies politic developed substantially. Whereas most previous applications of the metaphor had been rather cursory, the medieval authors extended its uses in elaborate detail. John of Salisbury was probably the first medieval writer to employ a detailed organicist analogy in an explanation of the nature of political community (Coker 1938, 180). His Policraticus (1159) adopted for its structure a substantial comparison of the human body and state:

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The state is a body … Within that state, the prince occupies the place of the head; he is subject to the unique God and to those who are his lieutenants on earth, for in the human body the head is also governed by the soul. The senate occupies the place of the heart, which gives good and bad deeds their impulses. The function of the eyes, the ears and the tongue is asssured [sic] by the judges and the provincial governors. The ‘officers’ and ‘soldiers’ can be compared to the hands (Quoted in Le Goff 1989, 17).

The church developed Paul’s idea of the body of Christ to explain the structure and importance of ecclesiastical institutions. The church became a corpus mysticum et politicum of which the Pope was the head, and kings and emperors only members. Organic analogies buttressed both sides of the political controversies between the church and the emerging national states from the late Middle Ages to the seventeenth century. The three main uses of the analogy in these controversies were in the description of the nature of the state, the nature of the church and the relationship between the two. Kings and Popes both competed for the title of the “head” and denied that each other’s institutions could be described by organic analogies. (Hale 1973, 68-69). As noted by Michael Walzer (1967, 193), the Kings found it difficult to reproduce the mysterious identity of the corpus mysticum et politicum with the emerging national states, and so the unity and integration of the church, like that of the physical body itself, began only to symbolise a perfection which the national state might approach or in terms of which it might be described. There were reasons quite apart from religion for continuing to use the analogy; indeed, it would never have been used at all were there not such reasons.

In his study of the use of the metaphor of the body in Renaissance English literature, David George Hale (1971, 15) identified two kinds of organic analogies the political use of which have coincided with the rise of the national state in Europe. The first considered the bodies natural and politic to be composed of parts which are in certain structural and functional relationship to each other. This involveed the hierarchical description of the parts of the body politic – head, arms, heart, and so forth. The second kind of organic analogy considered the balance of humors or elements in a body and derived analyses of diseases of the state from this concept. Even while the body-metaphor lost most of its validity by the middle of the seventeenth century with the metaphor of the social contract 64

gaining general currency, the analogy between organism and society did not disappear from political commentary. (Ibid., 131).

However, the metaphor of the body was also present in the political theory of social contract. Thomas Hobbes, probably the most influential theorist in this context, argued that because men lived in a state of nature, a condition of war where every man is enemy to every man, it was reasonable for them to pursue peace with others to secure their own lives (Hobbes 1996, 82-86). The solution to this problem was a social contract, where men transferred their individual rights to a third party, the state, in order to create conditions of general stability. The result of this contract was the Great Leviathan,

which is but an artificial man; though of greater stature and strength than the natural, for whose protection and defence it was intended; and in which, the sovereignty is an artificial soul, as giving life and motion to the whole body (Hobbes 1996, 7, emphasis in original).

Hobbes’ Leviathan, a combination of god and man, animal and machine, was the mortal god who brought to man peace and security. “Because of this”, wrote Carl Schmitt (1996b, 53) in his interpretation of Hobbes’ theory of state, “Leviathan demands unconditional obedience. There exists no right of resistance to him, neither by invoking a higher nor a different right, nor by invoking religious reasons and arguments. He alone punishes and rewards”.

The other influential theorist of the social contract, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, also capitulated to the organicist metaphor in description of the state in his A Discourse on Political Economy – an account which is not unlike John of Salisbury’s six hundred years earlier:

The body politic, taken individually, may be considered as an organized, living body, resembling that of man. The sovereign power represents the head; the laws and customs 65

are the brain, the source of the nerves and seat of understanding, will, and senses, of which the Judges and Magistrates are the organs: commerce, industry and agriculture are the mouth and stomach which prepare the common subsistence; the public income is the blood, which a prudent economy, in performing the functions of the heart, causes to distribute through the whole body nutriment and life: the citizens are the body and the members, which make the machine live, move and work; and no part of this machine can be damaged without the painful impression being at once conveyed to the brain, if the animal is in a state of health (Rousseau 1973, 131-132, emphasis in original).

Thus, the metaphor of the contract did not entirely break from the tradition of the political theory of the body; but rather elaborated it by using the metaphor of the contract, which represented a voluntary act of foundation on behalf of a people, alongside the metaphor of the body, which represented the existential outcome of this act of foundation and the ultimate territorial form for use of power over a people.

In the history of political philosophy and polemic, the analogy of the body has been applied to many different forms of government and in support of a variety of political opinions (Hale 1973, 67). From the time of the Greeks to the seventeenth century, the political theory of the body had not been a theory in the scientific sense of the term, but rather as a genre of writing about social issues; depicting social entities as living bodies, identifying social problems as pathologies on these bodies, discussing their cure, and thereby supporting one social remedy over others. Developments in evolutionary biology in the nineteenth century provided both the language and inspiration for the political theory of the body to emerge as just that: a scientifically formulated theory that constructed political subjects in explicitly organicist terms. The pioneers here were German political philosophers and social scientists, who took the metaphor of the body very seriously in their work and elaborated the discourse near theoretical perfection, thereby contributing considerably to the legitimate ways it was possible for people to think about social issues and political institutions, especially in Germanic Europe (for a general discussion on this topic, see Coker 1910). Over the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, the metaphor of the body captured not

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only the theoretical imaginations of men of science, but those of a generation of statesmen.

One of the first intellectual attempts to elaborate the body politic discourse into a scientific theory was Johann Kaspar Bluntschli’s, who was a professor of political sciences at the University of Heidelberg, and whose interesting and influential works have received little contemporary attention. The sixth German edition of his Lehre vom Modernen Staat was translated into English in 1885 and may be described, as it was by its translators, as no less than “an attempt to do for the European state what Aristotle accomplished for the Hellenic” (Bluntschli 1885, b). Bluntschli championed the cause of the historical study of “the nature and essential characteristics of actual States”, as opposed to “imaginary perfection” of ideas of the state in “philosophical speculation” (Ibid., 15). The most central conceptual commitment in Bluntschli’s book was to the organic state. According to Bluntschli, “the State is in no way a lifeless instrument, a dead machine: it is a living and therefore organised being” (Ibid., 18). This organic nature of the state had not always been understood, although “political peoples had indeed an image … of it, and recognized it consciously in language”, and had remained concealed from political science (Ibid.). Bluntschli’s organic state was indirectly a natural organism, for it was the realisation of the political tendencies of human nature: “the State is a product of human activity, and its organism is a copy of natural organism” (Ibid., 19). In calling the state an organism Bluntschli did not make direct analogies to the activities and motivations of plants or animals, but identified three characteristics shared by natural organisms and states:

a) Every organism is a union of soul and body, i.e. of material elements and vital forces.

b) Although an organism is and remains a whole, yet in its parts it has members, which are animated by special motives and capacities, in order to satisfy in various ways the varying needs of the whole itself.

c) The organism develops itself from within outwards, and has an external growth (Bluntschli 1885, 19).

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Along with similarities to natural organisms, Bluntschli identified important differences. As the life of plants, animals and men grow and decay in regular periods and stages, the development of political organisms is not always as regular, but can be influenced by actions of human will and external fate (Ibid., 21). Furthermore, the organism of the state does not stand on the same level with the “lower” organisms of flora and fauna, but is of a “higher” kind: a moral and spiritual organism capable of taking up into itself the feelings and thoughts of the nation, uttering them in laws and realising them in acts – “History ascribes to the state a personality which, having spirit and body, possesses and manifests a will of its own” (Ibid.). In all, Bluntschli defined the organic state as “a combination or association … of men, in the form of government and governed, on a definite territory, united together into a moral organised masculine personality; or, more shortly – the State is the politically organised national person of a definite country” (Ibid., 23). The masculinity of the state contrasted to the feminine character of the church, which had all other characteristics of the state, but wished not to become one, but only to serve god and perform “her” religious duties. Thus, Bluntschli’s states were living male bodies made of territory and people, and superior to all other forms of life.

Bluntschli’s English contemporary Herbert Spencer – often identified as one of the “fathers” of sociology – founded his definition of society on an elaborate organicist paradigm. According to Spencer (1906, 436), “a whole of which the parts are alive, cannot, in its general characters, be like lifeless wholes”. The similarity of society or the body politic – terms which Spencer used interchangeably – to a living body became clear as a parallelism of principle in the arrangement of their components. To begin with, social organisms, like individual organisms, underwent continuous growth; “compared with things we call inanimate, living bodies and societies so conspicuously exhibit augmentation of mass, that we may fairly regard this as characterizing them both” (Ibid., 437). Social growth usually continued either up to times when societies divided, or up to times when they were overwhelmed. Secondly, while social organisms, like individual organisms, increased in size they also increased in structure; “like a low animal, the embryo of a high one has few distinguishable parts; but while it is acquiring greater mass, its parts multiply and differentiate” (Ibid.). Progressive differentiation of structures is accompanied by a progressive differentiation of functions, which is not unlike the 68

development of organs in a living body. Each special function grows to form a part of the general function of the body politic, a trait which specifically distinguishes society from inorganic aggregates:

Though the two are respectively discrete and concrete, and though there results a difference in the ends subserved by the organization, there does not result a difference in the laws of the organization: the required mutual influences of the parts, not transmissible in a direct way, being, in a society, transmitted in a direct way (Spencer 1906, 450).

Spencer also qualified his analogy between living bodies and bodies politic. Social organisms were not comparable to any particular type of individual organism, animal or vegetal; but was “discrete instead of concrete, asymmetrical instead of symmetrical, sensitive in all its units instead of having a single sensitive centre” (Spencer 1906, 580). Spencer treated society as a conglomeration of individual wills and choices which somehow coalesced in an organic whole, and his organicism was thus compatible with a form of economic individualism (see Jones 1980, 54-63). Even if the political contexts and motives of Bluntschli’s collectivist organicism and Spencer’s individualist organicism were fundamentally different, if not contradicting, they were both applications of the political theory of the body.

It was within the confines of the discipline of geography where the political theory of the body was elaborated into a self-standing scientific tradition. The first geographer to comprehensively conceptualise the territorial state in organic terms was German zoologist, geographer and journalist Friedrich Ratzel. In his 1896 essay Der Staat und sein Boden Ratzel (1896) defined the state as a centralised spatial organism, which is rooted in and moulded by its soil. For Ratzel, state was an organic entity: a physical embodiment of the popular will and a product of centuries of interaction between people and their environment. The nature of the organic state did not avail itself for the biologist or the zoologist because it was unlike any animal or plant; but, from a sociological 69

perspective, appeared as the most important determinant factor of social life, and hence can be said to have a “nature” of its own (Ibid., 8-10). Ratzel equated the Darwinian idea of the struggle for existence in the natural world with the struggle for space in the political world: all life forms on the planet – states among them – were involved in a ceaseless quest for living space or Lebensraum (Ratzel 1901, 51-63). Ratzel’s use of organicist metaphors in the description of state went further than mere comparison, but constructed a genuine morphology of states which had an enormous impact on geography and politics over the first half of the early twentieth century.

Ratzel’s ideas and concepts were further elaborated by Rudolf Kjellén, a Swedish political scientist and journalist who first coined the term geopolitics. In his most profilic work, Staten som lifsform, Kjellén (1916, 39) defined geopolitics as “a doctrine of the state as a geographical organism or a manifestation in space”. Kjellén distinguished two different roles or “faces” of the state: the first represented the state as a legal subject and use of power on its people within its boundaries; and the second and more crucial one represented the state as a subject of external relations with other states. Where the former role provided only a legal skeleton for the state, the latter provided its flesh, blood and nature; and where internal politics was a realm of rationality and legality, in the external realm of interstate relations natural instincts of states reigned. The nature of states manifested in everyday discourse of international politics; they can be strong or weak, bullying or acquiescent, bellicose or amicable, and some are depicted as individuals in speech, with names such as “Uncle Sam” or “Suomi-Neito”. (Ibid., 1-32). Thus, for Kjellén, there was no escaping from the empirical fact that “states, as we follow them in history and as we experience them in the present, are perceiving and thinking beings – much like human beings” (Kjellén 1916, 27). Echoing Ratzel, Kjellén asserted that states compete with each other for space and could live or die as a result of this competition. Every state must have a definite territory to call its own – a “geographical individuality” – and a state deprived of its territory will die: “The organism of the state is like that of a tree, which stands or falls with its roots in the ground” (Ibid., 44). If a state is to lose a part of its territorial body to another state in a war for instance, this equals amputation, which can lead to loss of strength and even death (Ibid., 67-68).

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The work of Ratzel and Kjellén influenced most students of geopolitics in Weimar Germany, some of whom elaborated the organicist definition of the state in great length and detail. For the German political geographer Otto Maull (1925, 79-87) states were born in an act of foundation influenced by both the power and will of the land as well as that of human instinct, and the primary motive for the birth of states was the “will of the state” (der Staatswille). Space (or area; der Raum) was what states lived on and strived for: “for states, space means not only what light, air, nourishment and living space means for plants, animals and men; but is a part of its physical being” (Ibid., 99). Furthermore, Maull identified state with a complicated set of organs, all of which developed in a symbiotic relationship between the land and its inhabitants, and some of which were more vital than others (Ibid., 99-101, 112-114).

The identification of states and other regional political entities as organisms caught in a struggle for survival was heavily influenced by Darwin's theory of evolution. Over the first half of the twentieth century, a genre of writing developed, especially in continental political science and geography, that took the organic definition of the state more or less as given. The organic state, as it was taken on by most writers within this genre, was greater than the sum of its individuals, communities and social classes – it was identified as a form of life, and often morally superior to all other forms of life. A state was the ideal of human political existence, if not its precondition. The actions of the organic state were determined by two important factors: first, it was locked in a competition for space with other political organisms; and second, the imperative behind its actions was survival, and, ideally, territorial expansion. For many geopoliticans or political geographers the organicist theory of the state was a repudiation of political and historical theories that argued that peoples and states create their own destiny independently of geography (Murphy 1997, 119); as well as the Jellinekian Rechtssubjekt –conception of state, which understood state in terms of legal order only (see e.g. Maull 1925, 65-70; Vogel 1923, 4- 5). This genre of writing and the political theory thereafter was instrumental in the construction and reconstruction of political subjectivity for a number of states in Europe, and that especially for Germany. Writers like Ratzel, Kjellén and later Karl Haushofer provided rhetorical resources for states by making their existence and actions natural and

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therefore justifiable in an era of exceptionally intense nationalism and international tension in European politics (see e.g. Smith 1986, 218-223).

3.3 European Body Politic

Writing in a 1989 issue of The World Today, the British historian Sir Harry Hinsley (1989, 1) identified three questions in need of urgent answering about the nature of “what we have come to call the European Community”:

- does it constitute a body-politic ruled by a state of some sort?

- if it is not yet a body-politic, will it eventually become one?

- if it were to fail to develop into a body-politic, what would become of it (Hinsley 1989, 1)?

Hinsley’s answer to the first question is negative, for “history has known, and logic permits, a wide spectrum of types of ‘body-politic’ – the unitary, the federal, the confederal”, and even “the briefest glance” at the institutions and procedures of the EC showed “that they are not those of even the loosest of loose confederations” (Hinsley 1989, 1). History had also shown Hinsley that the formation of body-politics is a momentous step that requires an exercise of political will, which can be “generated only when exceptional pressures of force or fear, internal or external, prevail over obstacles that are normally insuperable” (Ibid.). Falling short of being a body-politic in itself, Hinsley admitted that the EC is the closest association of bodies politic – those of its member states – known to history. Hinsley left open the possibility that the community could still evolve into a body-politic, although he did not see that happening without some “drastic internal or external crisis” (Ibid., 2).

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For Curt Gasteyger, the EU had characteristics of or at least potential to become a body politic, but perhaps not one of the conventional sort of the national state. When characterising the CFSP of the EU, Gasteyger noted:

We have to do here with an animal whose nature and identity are as yet difficult to define. The principal reason for this is simply the fact that there is no general and clear agreement on what the body that is in charge of it – namely the European Union is (Gasteyger 1996, 124).

Harry Hinsley’s outspoken urgency in categorising the EC as either a body-politic or a non-body-politic reflected a major ontological concern about the nature of political “actor-ness” in post-Cold War Europe and the world. Was it legitimate to represent Europe in the terms of the political theory of the body; i.e. as “living” and “real” state of some description? For Hinsley, in the time of his writing, it was not. Hinsley did not acknowledge, however, that for centuries, Europe had been written and talked about as a body politic; and that this tradition was proliferating with the dismantling of the geopolitical order of the Cold War. It seems that in the “New Europe”, a new species of body politic alien to the political taxonomy of the time had “evolved” to such a stage where it had to be identified and accommodated by statecraft. Such an imperative is reflected in the recent literature on European Integration Studies, where attempts to analyse the EU resemble attempts to name and categorise an unknown animal (see e.g. Risse-Kappen 1996).

The historical origins of the idea of a European body politic are also in the Ancients (Hay 1968, 1). For the Greeks, as later for the Romans, the word Europe was a mythical rather than a geographical or a political expression. In Greek mythology, Europa was the name of a beautiful Phoenician princess, who was seduced by Zeus disguised as a white bull. Europa then abandoned her homeland in what is now Lebanon, and moved to the island of Crete, where she later married the king of Crete.

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The political identity of the respublica Christiana was constructed with the help of organicist metaphors, which originated in theological writings (Kantorowicz 1957, 194- 206). In the twelfth century, the expression of the mystical body of Christ, which initially had a liturgical or sacramental meaning, gradually transferred to signify the church as the organised body of the Christian society. This corpus mysticum came less mystical as time passed on, and came to mean simply the church as a super-individual body politic of European Christianity; and later, by transference, any body politic of the secular world. In the late sixteenth century, a tradition of geographical description developed where Europe, along with the other three continents of the world, was represented in the form of a human body (Ibid., 104, 119). In an illustration in Ph. Galle's Prosopographia (1579) Europe is depicted as a virgin queen wearing a crown and holding a sceptre . Perhaps the most striking example of European body politic is a map reproduced in Münster's Cosmographia (1588), originally designed as Hapsburg propaganda, where Europe is depicted as a queen standing horizontally on Asia, with Spain as its head and Bohemia as its heart (these images have been widely reproduced, see e.g. Hay 1968, frontispiece, plate v).

The eminent historian Hajo Holborn wrote in 1951 that “for more than a millennium, Europe had a political order of her own and the strength to defend herself against invaders”, and that “she was many times hard pressed by foreign conquerors such as the Saracens, Tartars, or Turks, and over long periods various countries remained under the heel of non-European rulers” (Holborn 1951, ix-x). But in World War II, which was decided by the Soviet Union and the United States, the collapse of the European political order became an irrevocable fact, and Europe turned up “dead and beyond resurrection” (Ibid.). One could say, however, that the “ailing” of Europe became discernible centuries before World War II. From Renaissance Christendom to the early twentieth century, the idea of a European body politic was marginal in political discourse. This development began after the secularisation of the European self-image with the breakdown of the respublica Christiana, and the consequent fragmentation of European space into territorial states during the seventeenth century. The emergence of a modern system of national states in Europe substantially altered the meaning of political space, both in Europe and across the globe as European power expanded. Europe was no longer a single 74

and unitary political body, but fragmented into a number of political entities that were taking the form of a state (see Heffernan 1998, 13-23). Yet throughout the period reaching from the seventeenth century to he early twentieth century, Europe held a certain role in political discourse. Many hopes and ambitions were invested in creating European unity – either to guarantee peace between the states in it, or to wage war against someone else with it – but the subjects of these debates were national states, not Europe as an entity in itself (for reviews of these plans see e.g. Heater 1992; Mikkeli 1998; Morgan 1996). The meaning given to European unity was something of a lukewarm peace agreement between European states, and after the peace of Westphalia, the precarious balance of power between European states. Metaphorically speaking, the European body politic was “buried” with the respublica Christiana in the wake of the jus publicum Europeaum, and was not even missed until the twentieth century.

When the jus publicum Europeaum collapsed in World War I, intellectuals of European statecraft acknowledged that the war had brought a loss of welfare and security for winners as well as for losers, and that it had meant the same thing for the Europeans. This brought about a dramatic re-conceptualisation of the meaning of Europe and European- ness. The need for unity instead of diversity had become painfully clear in the carnage of human and material destruction of the Great War. It was a desperate call for unity which gave new vitality to the idea of a European body politic. As put by Paul Valéry in his 1919 La Crise de l’esprit:

An unprecedented shudder has seized Europe to its very marrow. Europe has felt in its nerve-centres that it has become unrecognisable, that it had ceased to resemble itself, that it was about to lose consciousness … then, as if in desperate defence of its very nature, its physiological substance, the fullness of its memories came flooding back in confusion (Quoted in Lipgens 1982, 19).

According to Walter Lipgens (1982, 19), in the inter-war period there began a “passionate search” for a “self-awareness” of Europe; “a thorough investigation into what European civilization really consisted of, a conscious rediscovery of the unity of European values as

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an indispensable preliminary to the political unification which was beginning to seem imperative”. Historians began to point out that Europe, with all its intellectual currents, styles and achievements, social structures and developments, had formed a community for centuries before the emergence of the national states (Ibid., 20). The European body politic was “resurrected”, along with the centuries-old idea of a European unity based on a civilisation and its values, at a time of acute crisis in European politics.

There were a few academic attempts theoretically to “conceive” the political body of Europe during the inter-war period, most of which fell within the discipline of geography. The German historical geographer Walther Vogel applied the organicist terminology of geopolitics in an explicitly European context. In his most influential piece of work, Das neue Europa, Vogel subscribed to a Kjellénian organicist definition of the state, but argued that the national state which had arisen as a response to certain historical and geographical conditions in Europe was becoming redundant in changing geopolitical circumstances (Vogel 1923, 305-313). The new historical and geographic conditions favoured superstates and regional economic blocs, and the political organisms of European national states had little choice but to adjust correspondingly by amalgamating into a bigger organism.

The “father” of French human geography, Paul Vidal de la Blache, also wrote of Europe in organicist terms. Influenced by Friedrich Ratzel’s work, Vidal de la Blache apparently believed that to attain a true scientific status the emerging discipline of geography needed to model itself after the more established natural sciences. Vidal de la Blache himself championed a “biological method” in the study of “terrestrial organisms” (Archer 1993, 501). Because humans entered in relationships with each other and became more unified, one could speak of the development of “social organisms”, which manifested themselves as cities, regions and states. In his posthumous Principles of Human Geography of 1926, Vidal de la Blache (1926, 111) argued the ultimate form of these sociospatial organisms were the civilisations, and of all the civilisations – India, China, Europe and the United States – Europe was the “most important”; it was the centre whose influence was felt throughout the world, and its economic importance outweighed any of the others. The

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underlying reason for the vitality and success of the European civilisation was in the “natural connexion” of all the various parts of Europe:

Because of its gradually tapering, peninsular form and of its relatively small size, because of passes which minimize the barriers of mountain-chains or massifs, and because of its natural river-highways, because of all these things, very diverse and heterogeneous peoples, placed there by circumstance, are never long in entering into mutual relations (Vidal de la Blache 1926, 24).

The superiority of the European civilisation was, for Vidal de la Blache, a recent phenomenon. Its population and economic influence had grown dramatically in the late nineteenth century, and, Vidal de la Blache (1926, 112) argued, “the European organism is in such a condition that its motor nerves today are very active, even to the farthest extremities of its various members”.

During World War II, Europe became an intensely contested concept because it was endorsed by the Nazis as well as by the resistance movement. However different in their political ambitions, the conceptions of Europe of both the Nazis and the resistance movement were buttressed by organicist rhetoric. To give an example of Nazi rhetoric, Vidkun Quisling, the Head of the Nazi controlled puppet government of Norway, wrote in 1942 that the political world was becoming a world of continental powers, and that it was very much in the interest of Europe to be become one:

We live in a historic age in which world powers have come into being and conflict with one another. Europe must summon up its forces and guard what it treasures, if it does not want to be torn into pieces in this conflict. We must create a Europe that does not squander its blood and strength in internecine conflict, but forms a compact unity. In this way it will become richer, stronger and more civilized and will recover its old place in the world (quoted in Lipgens 1985, 105).

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For another, Werner Frauendienst, a leading German historian who took an active part in the elaboration of the Nazi conception of Europe, identified the imperilled Europe and the most crucial part of its political anatomy:

The Reich is today fighting with Italy and its European allies not only for itself but also for Europe … Our Reich is the heart of Europe. It depends on our strength whether that heart will drive new blood through Europe’s veins, renewing and rejuvenating it. If the structure of the Reich is healthy, strong and full of life, it can become the agent of Europe’s destiny (quoted in Lipgens 1985, 114-115).

The political body of Europe depicted by the Nazis was one that was threatened by the world powers of liberalism and bolshevism, and the survival of which could only be guaranteed by a creation of a German sphere of influence over Europe.

To give an example of the rhetoric of the resistance movement, Vincent Auriol, one of the convinced federalists of the French resistance, argued in 1943 that the only alternative to a division of the world into their respective spheres of influence was a “European federation completed by an intercontinental federation” (Lipgens 1985, 318). A hierarchical organisation of this kind was called for by “the natural order of things”:

Europe is a single whole. Its strength lies in its diversity: but if this diversity is left uncontrolled, it is also a source of weakness and discord. The diversity of Europe must be transformed into an organic unity. By affording advantages to all while respecting the autonomy of every nation, this unity will efface divisions and ancient rivalries, as it were, merge them into a permanent, beneficial cooperation (Lipgens 1985, 317-318).

The creation of a federation to underpin the “organic unity” of Europe was also supported by the German resistance leader Carl Goerleder in 1944, who also saw it as the only solution to Europe’s wartime “wounds”:

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We must embark with determination on the creation of a deep-seated, living unity of Europe. For thousands of years Europe, torn and bleeding, has been a scene of hatred and war. … Today it must firmly renounce war and equip itself for an era of lasting peace and unity. … Such an objective cannot be attained suddenly, but only by degrees. It must be our object to create an inner organic, unity of federated states, so as fundamentally to exclude any warlike conflict between them (Lipgens 1985, 440-441).

Thus, the federalists of the resistance movement employed organicist metaphors in their conception of Europe. Unlike the Nazis, however, they did not construct the European body politic around Germany or any other European national state, but called for an “organic” unification of national states in the form of a federation. With the fall of Nazis and their plans for a “new Europe”, it was to be the federalist image of a European body politic that would inspire post-war developments in European integration.

It was after World War II when the organicist terminology and the figure of the body developed by earlier federalists became a primary rhetorical resource in the European construction. To qualify as a political entity in terms of the political theory of the body as outlined in this chapter, post-war European integration would have to continue the tradition of identifying the European entity in organicist terms. Does there exist a discourse in the history of post-war European integration to warrant such an interpretation? To give a brief example, fragments of text from the preambles of three distinct key documents in this history – The Schuman Declaration of May 1950, The Treaty Establishing the European Coal and Steel Community (henceforth ECSC) of April 1951 and The European Political Community Treaty (henceforth EPC Treaty) of March 1953 – are quite explicit in their terms:

The contribution which an organized and living Europe can bring to civilization is indispensable to the maintenance of peaceful relations (Schuman Declaration 2000, 13).

The contribution which an organised and vital Europe can make to civilisation is indispensable to the maintenance of peaceful relations (ECSC Treaty 2000, 15). 79

The contribution which a living, united free Europe can bring to civilization and to the preservation of our common spiritual heritage is indispensable to the maintenance of peaceful relations (EPC Treaty 2000, 33).

These fragments make quite clear that post-war Europe was certainly not dead, but something alive, or at least should become that; and, as a living political organism, its vitality was requisite for purposes of peace. Use of these terms in descriptions of Europe in this context was neither trivial nor coincidental; more than mere words, they echoed a centuries long tradition of understanding and representing political organisation of territories and people. Given the pre-eminence of the bodies politic of national states in modern Europe, representations of the European body politic had been marginal in political discourse since the respublica Christiana, but re-emerged after World War II in the context of European integration.

For example, Walter Hallstein, a president of the EEC Commission from 1958 to 1967, wrote in his 1972 Europe in the Making about how post-war European integration was not a plot motivated by political or economic opportunism, but constituted something of a natural phenomena taking shape in the European institutions:

The aim of unifying Europe is not – as its enemies assert – to form a new arbitrary power bloc. It is not to establish an ad hoc – and perhaps short lived – combination of forces for use in some sinister balance-of-power game; and the so-called ‘Europeans’ are not motivated by opportunism or hopes of winning a quick advantage or profit. Nor is their work part of some aggressive venture. The unification of Europe is truly an organic process, with long-lived cultural, economic, and political roots. That process now has a concrete shape and structure, which in essence are political (Hallstein 1972, 18, emphasis in original).

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For another example, Jacques Delors, a president of the European Commission from 1985 to 1995, also identified the historical vitality of the idea of European unity in a 1990 issue of the Foreign Policy:

The European Community is not simply a fruit of the Cold War, and so must not die with the Cold War’s end. It is the fruit of an ideal that was alive even in the last century, that was carried forward by a growing minority of politicians, that found institutional expression after the war, and that remains very much alive today. Were it not alive we would never have made such progress in the face of so many pessimistic predictions (Delors 1990, 24).

Thus, for Delors, Europe was political entity very much alive – if it had not been “living” it would have already perished. Replicated in many influential speeches and texts like these, the image of the European body politic has been structured into the identity of the post-war European construction; and therefore has not broken but rather continued the tradition of the political theory of the body. From the 1950s to the 1980s, the EC had little discursive space to thrive in among the representations of the bodies politic of European national states and the superpowers, but one could say that such a representation existed and provided a foundation for later revival.

It was not until the end of the Cold War when the political theory of the body became a key resource in the production of European political singularity. A distinctive characteristic of the post-Cold War European body politic has been that it has often been identified as a recently rediscovered “natural” Europe, as dissociated from an unnaturally divided Europe of the Cold War years. This unnatural division of the European body politic was a cause of some trauma. Zbigniew Brzezinski (1989a, 105) argued in his book The Grand Failure that the most important reason for the ailing of communism in eastern Europe in the end of the 1980s was the fact that communism was an alien doctrine imposed on a region by an imperial power, and resulted in a process of organic rejection of communism; “a phenomenon similar to the human body's rejection of a transplanted organ”. Brzezinski (Ibid., 247-248) predicted that in the future states in eastern Europe

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would find unity with western Europe, which was already progressing towards “more genuine and organic unity”. In a prophetic volume titled After the Cold War, Alpo M. Rusi identified the post-war territorial division of Europe as a denial of “organic realities”:

After the War, Europe's organic structures lay largely in ruins: national borders were erased, nationalities were divided and dispersed, and ancient political and cultural traditions were destroyed. Over the 45 years since then, the process of restoring Europe has been complex and characterized by a great degree of immobility. Many efforts to restore Europe have not respected … organic realities … In the long run, the restoration of Europe as an organic whole should have been the guiding principle for all peace arrangements (Rusi 1991, 5).

In the same note, Gregory Flynn and David J. Scheffer blamed the victors of the war for not healing Europe’s post-war “wounds”:

Indeed, the Cold War persisted for 45 years because of the victors’ inability to agree upon a security structure for Europe. Political and military stalemate substituted for agreement. While this allowed some old wounds to heal, others still fester. The new order in Europe must mend these wounds while making sure old ones are not reopened (Flynn & Scheffer 1990, 77).

In January of 1991, soon after the dismantling of the Soviet empire in Eastern Europe, and before the Balkans became a crisis in and of Europe, Jacques Poos gave a statement speech to the European Parliament concerning the programme of the Luxembourg presidency of the Council of Ministers of the EC. In this speech, Poos rediscovered the united body of Europe from its post-war division and ran a check on its state of health. In his speech, Poos noted the upheaval that had taken place on the European continent, where “in less than a year the division inherited from the last war have been broken down”, and “Europe has at last been restored to its natural unity”. Poos promised that the Luxembourg presidency was going to do all it could to care for the European body, 82

convinced that “the Community, like a living organism, will continue to develop over the years, meeting the new challenges awaiting it” (EFPB Online 1991a).

After the Cold War division, the “anatomy” of the New Europe has been a subject of much controversy. As epitomised in the slow progress of EU enlargement to eastern Europe, the task of outlining the body of Europe has been a difficult and a delicate one. In the words of Dominique Moïsi: “Like a rapidly growing child, Europe does not know where its body ends. That explains much of its clumsiness” (Moïsi 1998). Even with ambiguous boundaries, the anatomy of the post-Cold War European body was reasonably clear. Adrian G. V. Hyde-Price wrote in 1991 that

after decades of incremental deve lopment and despite intermittent periods of institutional stagnation, the EC has emerged as the central body in the new Europe. Today, it stands at the heart of the restructuring of economic and political relations in Europe. The Community represents the institutional embodiment of the effective demilitarisation of security relations amongst former enemies in Western Europe (Hyde-Price 1991, 113, emphasis in original).

If the EC/EU was the “heart” of Europe or standing at it, the Franco-German relationship was its “spinal cord” and the Commission and the Council of Ministers its “twin-headed executive” (see e.g. European Report 1995; Hyde-Price 1991, 116; Rusi 1991). Metaphors such as these constructed a Europe around the international institutions of European integration and their more prominent members.

Just as the overall anatomy of the European body was explicated in political speech, spots of bother got mentioned just as often. Entities are politicised with the help of an internal or external threat to the existence of that entity; and in the case of Europe, a threat to Europe as a whole. In the grammar of body politic, internal threats are represented as unhealthy conditions in what would normally be a healthy social body. When one identifies Europe as a body, and threats to this body as diseases or other abnormalities,

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and when one calls Europe to act against these conditions to save itself or perish, one identifies Europe as a political entity. What has been striking in the history of the construction of Europe as a political entity in this sense is the location of diseases and abnormalities in or coming from the eastern part of Europe. Such location replicates a broader political discourse on the identity of eastern Europe vis-à-vis western Europe.

To give an example in political geography, in his 1939 The Earth and the State Derwent Whittlesey divided the European continent – although he admitted it was not a “real” continent, but one of four huge peninsulas depending from the southerly and westerly margins of Asia – into three parts: “western or peripheral, central or inner, and eastern or Asiatic” (Whittlesey 1944, 86-87, 91). In the western or peripheral part the territoriality of national states – “the primary political pattern superposed on the earth” – was born, and from there it spread, first to central Europe and later to all parts of the globe (see Ibid., 1- 7). Between western or peripheral Europe and continental Russia lied “a broad belt of states” identified by Whittlesey as East Central Europe. The eastern boundary of this belt was roughly a line projected from the Bosporus to the head of the Gulf of Finland and its “more irregular” western margin approximated the Adriatic and Baltic seas and a line connecting them (Ibid., 193). On this belt Whittlesey located evidence of “geopolitical immaturity”; a complication or failure in following the primary political pattern:

This belt, scarcely three-fifths as large as Western Europe and with considerably less than half the population, is apportioned among an even larger number of nationalities (14 as against 12). More than half of them were newly created sovereignties at the close of the world War; none expect Turkey is much more than a century old. Every one has had its boundaries radically revised within the past quarter century; further revisions are in progress (Whittlesey 1944, 193).

According to Whittlesey, this evidence was consistent with the history of ethnic instability in East Central Europe. Walter Fitzgerald wrote in his 1945 The New Europe that the “middle zone” of Europe is clearly to be distinguished from the maritime countries on Europe’s western fringe (Fitzgerald 1945, 11). From the middle zone,

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“where German and Slav meet, there emerge a high proportion of the urgent international questions of our time” (Ibid.). In the Atlantic-facing countries, in striking contrast to the “fluidity of the politico-geographical position characteristic of the continental lands farther east” in the middle zone, there was and had been for two or three centuries a “relatively stable order” (Ibid.).

In more recent scholarship the historically and geographically structured dissociation between the eastern and western Europe seems to follow a similar pattern: new nations and instability are located in eastern Europe and old states and stability in western Europe. For one, Barry Buzan et al wrote in their 1990 The European Security Order Recast that most national states of East-Central and Southeast Europe reached their relationship to nationality and statehood along a different track to the rest of Europe:

Their experience was defined by conception inside eighteenth – and early nineteenth – century empires. Their dramatic birth, partly causing and partly caused by the death of these empires, was always being manipulated as a part of great power politics in Europe. As the Austrian or Ottoman empires dissolved, and the Russians sometimes retreated, strong national movements developed. But since these neither grew out of continuous, old nations as in western Europe, nor took the form of joining together parts of a nation, as in Germany and Italy, they often led to competing organizations. These liberation struggles were based in quasi-mythic concepts of the nation as in the case of Germany, and these concepts provided the ultimate argument for defining the pattern of the successor states (Buzan, Kelstrup, Lemaitre, Tromer, & Wæver 1990, 55-56).

For another, István Deák wrote about “Uncovering Eastern Europe’s Dark History” in a 1990 issue of Orbis. In his article, Deák (1990, 51) argued that eastern Europe had never formed a homogenous political entity, and its peoples were scarcely linked socially or economically, or by religion or culture. “At most”, Deák wrote, “the peoples of Eastern Europe are bound together by their backwardness relative to Western and, increasingly, even Southern Europe” (Ibid., 51). This gap between eastern Europe and the rest of the continent could not be explained by communism alone; the migration of peoples had

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never really ceased there, political boundaries had shifted often and dramatically in great wars and invasions, and the nationalist ideology introduced in the nineteenth century had led to terrible conflicts in a region divided by culture and history (Ibid., 51-52).

Theoretically and historically structured accounts of geopolitical immaturity, dead empires and backwardness in eastern Europe or east of Europe were implicitly or explicitly conceptualised in relation to completely opposite theoretical and historical ideas representing the western part of Europe. Such descriptions provided inspiration for the political division of Europe long before the Cold War, and continued to do so in the New Europe. The qualitative distinction made between eastern and western parts of Europe has been replicated by a number of eminent geographers, historians and other men of letters throughout modern European history. Larry Wolff (1994, 5-7, 360) suggested that as the new centres of the Enlightenment superseded the old centres of the Renaissance in Europe, the old lands barbarism and backwardness in the north were correspondingly displaced to the east. This way, the Enlightenment, represented by western intellectuals of the late eighteenth century, “invented” Eastern Europe by combining its geographic and cultural variety into a coherent whole in their work. The invention of Eastern Europe was inseparably dependent upon the reciprocal process of inventing Western Europe, whereby the latter identified itself and affirmed its own precedence. The evolving idea of civilisation was essential to this process, and provided the most important philosophical term of reference for putting eastern Europe in a position of subordination to western Europe. According to Wolff (Ibid., 360), the binary opposition between civilisation and barbarism assigned eastern Europe to “an ambiguous space, in a condition of backwardness, on a relative scale of development”.

To give an example of post-Cold War security discourse, Steven Philip Kramer considered the security risks posed by the eastern Europe to western Europe in a December 1991 issue of The World Today. For Kramer,

Eastern Europe constitutes a potential security problem. In the past, it has been the locus of Great Power conflicts, conflicts between states and minority problems. In the 86

nineteenth century, the Eastern Question was the powder-keg of Europe. Both world wars and the Cold War began in Eastern Europe. It can be argued that in some ways the Second World War began as yet another Balkan War. (Kramer 1991, 212).

To give another example, Adrian G. V. Hyde-Price (1991, 233) wrote in 1991 that Europe is “strewn with ancient antagonisms, past feuds and unresolved irridenta”, and that there was a number of barely suppressed national and ethnic conflicts in the European continent – between Germany and Poland, Greece and Turkey, Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, Hungary and Romania, and Romania and the then Soviet Union for instance – which could yet lead to inter-state dispute or conflict. Furthermore, Hyde-Price warned that “it should not be forgotten … that many of these countries are in the Balkans or south- eastern Europe, an area which has proven to be the tinder-box of more explosive conflicts in the past” (Ibid.).

As exemplified by both Kramer and Hyde-Price, there is one specific region in eastern Europe that has been identified as a source of chronic health problems for Europe: the Balkans. Nowhere has the vitality of the European body been tested more often than it has in the Balkans. Historically, from Antiquity to the Great War, the Balkans have been located in what has been called a “zone of transition” or a “civilisation fault-line” between Europe and Asia, which indisputably belongs to neither (see Delanty 1995, 49- 53). The Balkans have also been located in different historical time to the rest of the civilised world: historical revolutions such as the Renaissance, the Reformation or the Industrial Revolution have never really taken root there (see de Jonge Oudraat 1991, 4). The most common narrative of Balkan history is one of violent ethnic instability, which has been replicated in countless studies, articles and reports. According to Dusko Doder (1993, 5), “ever since Emperor Constantine decided to split the Roman Empire in the fourth century A.D., the tectonic plates of imperial, religious, and racial interests have ground together in the Balkans”. After the collapse of both Ottoman and Habsburg empires, the political ideology of nationalism appropriated the Balkan region to states based on ethnic groups.

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In the 1993 reprint of the 1913 Carnegie Endowment inquiry on the causes and conduct of the Balkan wars, George F. Kennan identified a sort of nationalism predominant among the “Balkan peoples” as an anthropological explanation to the troubled history and present of the peninsula:

That nationalism, as it manifested itself on the field of battle, drew on deeper traits of character inherited, presumably, from a distant tribal past: a tendency to view the outsiders, generally, with dark suspicion, and to see the political-military opponent, in particular, as a fearful and implacable enemy to be rendered harmless only by total and unpitying destruction. … It is the undue predominance among the Balkan peoples of these particular qualities … that seems to be decisive as a determinant of the troublesome, baffling and dangerous situation that marks that part of the world today. (Kennan 1993, 11, 13).

For Kennan, the history of these “states of mind” had the effect “of thrusting into the southeastern reaches of the European continent a salient of non-European civilization that has continued to the present day to preserve many of its non-European characteristics” (Ibid., 13).

Maria Todorova located the body of identifications echoed by Kennan in the discursive context of “balkanism” – a concept closely related to Edward Said’s “orientalism”, which denoted a cultural and political form of representation that, rather than objectively reflecting what was the Orient, functioned as an important locus for Western self- designation and as “the corporate institution” of “a Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having authority over the Orient” (Said 1995, 3). Todorova’s (1997, 11, 19) balkanist discourse was similar to the orientalist discourse, although one with more historical and geographical concreteness. Balkanism formed gradually in the course of two centuries and crystallised in a specific discourse around the Balkan wars and World War I. Balkanism did not have the intellectual traditions or institutions of orientalism, but was presented primarily in journalistic and quasi-journalistic literary forms which made it all the more popular. In the balkanist discourse, the Balkans was constructed as the

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European “other within”, and in time became “a convenient substitute for the emotional discharge that orientalism provided, exempting the West from charges of racism, colonialism, eurocentrism, and Christian intolerance against Islam”, and ultimately “a repository of negative characteristics against which a positive and self-congratulatory image of the ‘European’ and the ‘West’ has been constructed” (Ibid., 188).

For Kennan, writing from across the Atlantic, the Balkan war of the 1990’s was a problem for the Europeans to solve, since it was “their continent, not ours, that is affected”; and suggested that perhaps this was “one of those instances, not uncommon in the lives of nations as of individuals, when one has to rise to the occasion” (Kennan 1993, 14). Indeed, it was in the context of the break-up of Yugoslavia and the notorious Balkan wars of the 1990s when the Balkans were again located in the anatomy of the European body politic, and for a distinct political purpose: the construction of Europe as a political entity with EC/EU as its political subject “rising to the occasion”, and spreading nationalist conflict from the Balkans as a rationale for such a construction. After its rediscovered natural unity Europe, as it was performed by some its representatives, identified Balkans’ problems as European problems requiring European solutions. For one, the President-in-Office of the EC Council of Ministers, Hans van den Broek, argued in his statement concerning Yugoslavia to the European Parliament in July 1991 that it was primarily the EC and the European Twelve who were expected to resolve the crisis in Yugoslavia, and that

the Democratic heart of Europe is today focusing its attention on Yugoslavia's problems and ... following developments there very closely, with great interest and – even more important – with great commitment, because we are all aware that we are looking at the developments here whose course and outcome will influence the region as a whole and Europe as a whole (EFPB Online 1991c).

For another, Curt Gasteyger identified the Balkans as a “problem area” for Europe. Its problems were discernible in the territory formerly known as Yugoslavia, but neither began or ended there, but exemplified a broader regional problematique (Gasteyger 1996,

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48). Balkans, for Gasteyger, stretched “from Croatia to Turkey, from the Adriatic to the Black Sea”, and was a “an area with long historical memory and a long and painful record of conflict and wars, occupation and oppression” (Ibid.). The conflict in Yugoslavia “opened many of the barely healed wounds of previous times”, and “laid open the vulnerability of the region to mutual recrimination, religious mistrust and ethnic clivages. (Ibid.). Furthermore, “nobody can, nor should, exclude a spillover of the conflict into neighbouring areas nor indeed the possibility of new conflicts” (Ibid.). Often in implied and intricate ways the fate of Yugoslavia was tied with the well-being of the whole of Europe: it was identified as a failing part of political organism which had to be treated if the organism was to survive.

3.4 The Geopolitics of Depoliticisation

For centuries, the political theory of the body has been one of the most prominent and influential rhetorical strategies in the construction of territorial forms of political rule in statecraft. Functioning as an ontological metaphor, the body politic has essentialised political forms from the Greek polis to the respublica Christiana, European national states, as well as to that of the New(est) Europe. For centuries, it has been not only possible but feasible to talk and write of these essentially ungraspable social entities as if they were living beings with bodies, organs and a will of their own. The political theory of the body was first developed within cosmology and theology and was politically perfected in the form of the respublica Christiana. The political theory of the body was secularised with the construction of the political form of the European national state, and was substantially elaborated in the nineteenth century by social sciences trying to mimic the theoretical rigour of the natural sciences. The historical narrative of this rhetorical tradition given here can only be a selective scratch on the surface. But, with little doubt, such a rhetorical tradition has its roots deep in European history and political philosophy. Over the last few centuries, it has become foundational of what is now known as modern political theory and its institutions.

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The emphasis of the narrative in this chapter has been on the organicist metaphors in the geopolitical tradition (on the geopolitical tradition, see Ó Tuathail 1996, 22-24). There are sound reasons for such an emphasis. It was within the geopolitical tradition that the political theory of the body was elaborated into a theory in the academic sense of the term. It had been a powerful discourse even before this elaboration, but such a transformation nevertheless marked the heyday of thinking about political entities in organicist terms. When geographers and biologists use similar terminology in describing their objects of study in their work, the analogy between political and organic entities cannot be taken much further – not at least by the academia. The most elaborate and modern form of the political theory of the body can thus be found in geopolitics. It needs to be said, though, that even in its heyday, the discipline of geopolitics did not emerge as a fully-formed, coherent body of fact and theory, but was “little more than a loosely defined perspective, an attempt to reveal textually and cartographically the complex relationships between geography and politics at a variety of spatial scales from the local to the global” (Heffernan 2000, 27). Since the geopolitical tradition, however, the body has become less an object of theoretical elaboration for geographers and political scientists alike, than a foundational ontological metaphor for political existence in the contemporary grammar and vocabulary of political representation. The use of organicist metaphors in political discourse has almost become a facile gesture; one that is often made as easy as it is accepted as legitimate terms of political representation in discourse.

There are three aspects or rhetorical moves in the political theory of the body concerning the “nature” of political organisms that need to be explicated here. Firstly, political organisms are not just a piece of living land, but a sum of territory and people. No piece of land or a group of people can form a political organism without the other, for a political organism is a “symbiotic” relationship between the two, like the observe sides of a single coin. Thereby, the political theory of the body makes an ontological association between land and people, which rhetorically functions to legitimise claims to a specific piece of land made by those representing a specific group of people. Secondly, as political organisms are often identified as materially and spiritually superior to other forms of life including human, the political theory of the body subscribes to a form of ontological collectivism. Rhetorically, this move makes it possible and even moral to put collective 91

interests – i.e. the interests of the political organism – ahead of individual interests in political discourse.

The primary rhetorical function of the political theory of the body is to sacralise or naturalise territorial forms of political order in discourse. From the ancients to the nineteenth century, the body politic was an immortal body of the king or God; and after the Darwinist turn, the immortal body was substituted by a “natural” entity as a guarantor of social equilibrium. In other words, the political theory of the body has functioned and still functions to make the existence of territorially defined political entities, like states, a matter of pre-existing fact; something that appears as “natural” as the light of day and not a matter of political contingency, which would make more historical sense. As acknowledged by Michael Walzer, this has significant political implications beyond “mere words”:

The state, when seen as a body politic, is brought into close relation with the whole organic world. A single vocabulary describes animal bodies and political communities and makes the second appear almost as familiar, as natural, as well organized as the first. … If this is art, it is not merely artful; that is, it is not the creation of some crafty politician or hireling intellectual. It is rather a pervasive world-view, which cannot in its time be denied, though its parts can certainly be manipulated. Thus symbolic systems set (rough) limits to thought, supporting certain ideas, making others almost inconceivable (Walzer 1967, 195-196).

One of the implications of the world-view of the political theory of the body is to make a certain territorial exclusion into a determining element of the political existence for a certain group of people; and not a renegotiable spatial arrangement. In short, the political theory of the body depoliticises two of the most political practices thinkable: territorializing space and excluding people. These are also the political implications of using organicist metaphors in European security discourse: to depoliticise an idea of a spatial delineation by the name of Europe and a corresponding group of Europeans in discourse. Remaining in the margins of European national states for centuries, the

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European body politic has gradually re-emerged as a subject in political discourse, symbolising either Europe as a whole, or the sphere or institutions of its integration; and since the end of the Cold War and the beginning of the Balkan war, has seemed more vital than ever before. This is an empirical point that will be made in the next chapter.

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4 The Enemy Within: Balkan War and the Pathology of Nationalism

4.1 Europe as a Whole

Very soon after the fighting in Yugoslavia broke out over the first half of 1991, the significance of the conflict to the rest of Europe was made very clear by the representatives of the EC. In a statement by the EPC ministerial meeting of the 6th of August 1991 concerning Yugoslavia, the Twelve expressed their “strong interest in a peaceful solution to Yugoslavia's problems, not only for the sake of Yugoslavia itself and its constituent peoples, but for Europe as a whole” (EFPB Online 1991d). In an opening session of the conference on Yugoslavia in September of 1991, Ruud Lubbers, representing the Dutch presidency of the Council of Ministers of the EC appealed to his European comrades not to “stand by when the neighbouring house is on fire”, but to help put out the fire, “or risk our own homes” (EFPB Online 1991e). The same point was made by Helveg Pedersen representing the Danish presidency of the Council in 1993: “The conflict in the former Yugoslavia ... is a conflict taking place in Europe, and we measure it by the same yardstick as we would a similar development at home in our own countries” (EFPB Online 1993b).

In other words, ever since its beginning, the conflict in what was fast becoming the former Yugoslavia was constructed and tautologically reconstructed as a threat not only to the peoples of Yugoslavia, but to the peoples of the Balkans and in fact to Europe as a whole. Furthermore, it was constructed as a challenge primarily for the EC and its member states which could only be dealt with by adopting a united policy, and that the success or failure in this would determine EC’s future in world politics. How was such a line quasi-logical understandings constructed? How was Yugoslavia made a problem for Europe as a whole requiring a common European solution?

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It is argued here that it was made a problem for Europe as a whole on the backdrop of a socio-medical discourse of European territoriality, where Europe was identified as a territorial political organism, and the conflict in former Yugoslavia as a life-threatening condition in this organism. These identifications draw from a tradition of political discourse that has its roots in European history and political philosophy, and which has played a role in the previous construction of the political form of the European state. In the process of constructing European political subjectivity in the form of a European Großraum with the EC/EU as its political subject, this tradition was again evoked to help distinguish the enemy within during the first years of the crisis in Yugoslavia. Without the implicit and often explicit reliance on the metaphors of organism and disease the link between Europe and the Balkans would have not been made the way it was, and the geopolitical “anatomy” of Europe would have not been what it became after the Cold War.

How could a number of decision makers and commentators in European politics argue throughout the Balkan crises that an armed conflict inside the state of Yugoslavia in the southeast of Europe – and it is Europe where it is located more often than not – threatens Europe as a whole? What is the logic behind the idea that a crisis in a part of Europe threatens the whole of Europe? A leading article in The Financial Times attempted to articulate it as follows:

It is quintessentially European problem, affecting not only the stability of the Balkans, but Europe as a whole. Quite apart from the threat to the security of southern and central Europe of a conflagaration in Yugoslavia, the resulting influx of refugees into countries such as Italy, Greece, Austria and Germany would be a further destabilising factor. The interests of many EC member countries are thus involved (Financial Times 1991a).

Indeed, the crisis in Yugoslavia was constructed here as it was in a number of other texts in terms of an existential threat to the stability and security of a number of EC member states; such as Italy, Greece, Austria and Germany. This specific example does not, however, explicate the threat posed by the crisis in Yugoslavia to Europe as a whole. One

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can of course say that spreading armed conflict, influx of refugees or economic instability in one member state inevitably concerns the interests of all the member states because of their interdependent economies and common policies, and make a sound argument. It is argued here, however, that these articulations reflected not merely economic rationality on behalf of the European political elite, but rather a deeper concern on the very political shape and nature of the European construction. When the idea that a conflict anywhere in Europe threatens the whole of Europe and thus becomes a concern to Europe gains general currency in political discourse, it constructs a Europe altogether different from the Europe’s of the past. Such Europe is neither a mere geographical area divided between a number of territorial sovereigns, nor a mere variety of cultures and traditions, but existentially something different: something “living” and therefore very real. The Europe that emerged in the context of the conflict in former Yugoslavia was given more subjectivity or actor-ness than ever before in the history of the European idea. The fact that Yugoslavia was conceptualised as a European problem – something that threatened the well-being of Europe – from the very beginning was a remarkable moment for the European construction.

This chapter explicates the rhetoric constructing the willingness – the first “criteria” of Schmittean geopolitical subjectivity – of the EU to become the political subject of Europe; i.e. the identification of existential threats to Europe in the practise of statecraft. Methodologically, the focus of this chapter is on practices of securitisation where Europe is identified as a referent object of security, and the EC/EU as an actor of this security. What is at stake in the securitisation of Europe is the foundation of the political idea of “Europe”. According to Peter van Ham (2001, 66), to tell stories about European security is to imply the very existence of “Europe” as a referent object. Since assuming that “something” is threatened is to insist upon “its” very existence, security functions, in a sense, as an “alibi” for Europe. Under this alibi, European security discourse discursively frames the diverse meanings of “Europe”, fixing its geopolitical boundaries by locating its practices and by speaking as if a stable European citizenry already existed which it could authoritatively represent. This locates security discourse at the focus of academic analysis of the political theory of Europe. As put by van Ham:

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Security, perhaps by default, is the main tool for writing Europe, a tool for claiming its essential foundations through fixing the boundaries between inside/outside and the claim to organise, occupy and administer Europe’s space. Since the European Union (EU) is the only truly European security institution functioning on the supranational level, the process of European integration has become the main platform on which European security can be constructed (van Ham 2001, 67).

Rhetorical strategies of securitisation represent Europe by identifying it not merely as a (geo)political singular, but also associate it with institutions of European integration, namely the EC/EU. After the end of the Cold War, the political subjectivity of the EC/EU in Europe has gained discursive ground at the expense of the national state. In this sense, the intense debate of finding a new security architecture for Europe over the last ten years or so has provided a platform for the construction of political subjectivity in and for Europe, which has emerged to challenge the predominant political subjectivities of the national state as well as the superpowers of the East and the West.

Empirically, this chapter focuses on a discourse of European body politic, where Europe is presented as an organism that can be healthy, ill, or even terminal and needs care. The representation of the social as a body has a well established history that precedes the rise of the European national state, but organicist metaphors were abundant in the politics of existential threat in the context of what became identified, somewhat unfortunately for a number of non-Yugoslav states, as the Balkan war(s) in the 1990s. Intellectuals of statecraft diagnosed nationalism in the Balkans as an illness in the European body politic that threatened the Europe as a whole unless treated. The aetiology of the illness was traced to a cancerous form of belligerent nationalism, which, unless stopped, could spread to other states in the European sphere of interests, and even in the member states of the EU. The enemy within was nationalism, but not the “benign” form of nationalism that defends state sovereignty against supranational integration as found prevalent in the euro- talk in Britain or Denmark for instance, but the “malignant” one that threatened to take European politics back in time to 1914 or 1939. This way, the conflicts in what became the former Yugoslavia were tied with the well-being of Europe as a whole, and for the measures to care for the political body of Europe were beyond the ability of any single 97

member state, the response had to be common. In this sense, the European construction relied on similar rhetorical strategy as did the European state in the late-Middle Ages.

4.2 Securitising the New Europe

The construction of the post-Cold War European body politic began in a historical context that was marked by revolutionary change. The unexpected withdrawal of Soviet support for the communist regimes of eastern Europe during the last weeks of 1989 gave birth to a political symbolism that was to change post-war European history once and for all. The politics of time overtook the politics of space in Europe as the ultimate distinction of the Cold War between the East and the West suddenly made no more political sense. This major historical transformation from division to potential unity gave birth to an influential discourse of the future of what became soon – and once again – identified as the “New Europe”. Two major repercussions of the European Revolution, German reunification and the collapse of communism, were greeted by commentators and decision makers initially with enthusiasm, but eventually with anxiety. According to one commentator, after forty years of stability and incremental change Europe had entered “a period of fluidity, characterised by uncertainty and transitional instability” (Hyde-Price 1991, 13). According to another commentator, the clear cut strategic situation of Cold War Europe had given away to “great strategic confusion and complexity”, and “a generalized state of flux” which had “at least temporarily replaced rigidity” (Heisbourg 1992b, 38-39, emphasis in original). Curt Gasteyger aptly described the effects of this confusion on the political geography of Europe and the bodies politic of European states:

The continent is no longer divided. The fall of the Berlin Wall is more than a symbolic testimony to this. Europe’s geography changed. Above all, it expanded. An important part of what in the Cold War jargon was labelled ‘Eastern Europe’ moved back to its former central place. It is Central Europe again with the united Germany as its major and most important part. As a consequence, France, for forty years the prime centre and mover of (West)European integration, found herself suddenly on the continent’s Western periphery.

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And so did, in a similar but even more pronounced way, the countries of Southern Europe, Spain and Portugal in particular. Great Britain had, wisely but perhaps not always helpfully, stayed somewhat aloof by keeping one foot in the Commonwealth and one arm across the Atlantic (Gasteyger 1996, 43).

The political geography of Europe had no doubt changed, but how much optimism was to be invested in this change? During a short period of bliss after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the perennial problems of European and international politics were becoming history, and an era of perpetual peace was drawing nearer. Unfortunately, it did not take longer than February 1991 and the beginning of the Gulf War to convince most that this was probably not the case.

An important question that was raised early on concerned the implications of the ending of the Cold War to security in Europe. What, if anything, was to replace communism as the enemy of Europe or European states? One of the first points agreed upon by analysts and practitioners of foreign policy faced by the new situation was that there were going to be threats to security in Europe even beyond the Soviet threat. While the threat of a nuclear showdown between the superpowers in Europe had been lifted, the imperative for security and defence had remained, although its purpose needed to be thoroughly rethought. This situation was well articulated by Robert Mauthner in an article on The Financial Times:

Defence has become almost a dirty word, associated with a bygone age when aggressive Russian bears roamed across Europe and threatened every living creature with their powerful jaws and sharp claws. That particular threat, according to the conventional wisdom, has disappeared with the collapse of the Soviet and Eastern European communist systems and the virtual disintegration of the Warsaw Pact. No doubt it has – in the short term. But we can take it for granted that it has done so for ever or that other threats, perhaps from a different quarter, but almost equally dangerous, will not replace it (Mauthner 1990)?

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Mauthner listed several risks likely to climb the agenda of European security: the possible break-up of the Soviet Union; the unrest which could be provoked by mass migration from east to west; and the revival of national and ethnic conflicts in eastern Europe that could again ignite regional wars and set Europe ablaze. The shape of risks likely to arise was more ambiguous and complex to those of the Cold War years, when the enemies of western Europe had the shape of Russian bears. As argued by Johan Jørgen Holst (1992, 218): “Now that the immediate threat has vanished, a clear and present danger has been replaced by unspecified risks and dangers”. This point was also made by John Lewis Gaddis, when he argued that the end of the Cold War brings not an end to threats, but a diffusion of them: “One can no longer plausibly point to a single source of danger, as one could throughout most of that conflict, but dangers there still be” (Gaddis 1991, 113). When the certainties of the Cold War became uncertainties, and it became more difficult for political actors to identify their enemies and, at the same time, their friends, it was in the self interest for many of these actors to dig in their positions and look at different sources for threats. Indeed, formulating new security threats became a thriving industry in the community of intellectuals of statecraft. As if the security infrastructure built by the West had been, to a degree, demolished with the Berlin Wall, and security in the New Europe had to be rebuilt from scratch. This project was taken up by many intellectuals of statecraft, whose plans for a new security architecture in Europe identified new threats and means to tackle them.

The practice of formulating new threats to European security in European security discourse may be defined as a form of securitisation, and the securitising moves that identified something as an existential threat to European security are in the focus of this chapter. According to Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde (1998, 23-26), a distinguishing feature of securitisation is its rhetorical structure: an issue is presented as an existential threat which, in some way, threatens a designated referent object and the priority of action to guarantee the survival of this referent object. If one can argue that some issue overflows the normal political logic of weighing issues against each other, and may upset the entire premises of the process of weighing as such, one thereby claims a right to handle the issue through extraordinary means; to break the rules of the political game and play a security game. Security, for Buzan, Wæver and de Wilde, is a self-referential practice, 100

because it is in this practice that issues become security issues – not necessarily because a real existential threat exists, but because an issue is presented as such a threat. Thus, the process of securitisation is a speech-act: it is not interesting as a sign referring to something “real”, but it is the utterance itself that is the act.

John J. Mearsheimer, a prominent figure in the study of International Relations, argued in his prophetic 1990 article “Back to the Future” that the risk of a major crisis in Europe would actually be increased after the Cold War. Mearsheimer's (1990) argument rested on his belief on the explanatory power of structural realism in international politics. For Mearsheimer, the distribution and character of military power in the international system are the root causes of peace and war, and that change in these structures nearly always causes more harm than good. The absence of war in Europe since 1945 had been a direct consequence of three factors: the bipolar distribution of military power on the European continent; the rough military equality between the superpowers; and the fact that each superpower was armed with a large arsenal of nuclear weapons. The departure of the superpowers from Central Europe as a result of the collapse of the Warsaw Pact would transform Europe from a bipolar to a multipolar system, which, according to Mearsheimer, is a threatening scenario. This is because unlike in bipolar systems, where only two powers contend with one another, multipolar systems have many potential adversaries and conflict situations: “Major power dyads are more numerous, each posing the potential for conflict. Conflict could also erupt across dyads involving major and minor powers. Dyads between minor powers could also lead to war.” (Ibid., 14). This is how Mearsheimer reached his conclusion that war is more likely in a multipolar system than a bipolar system. This implies that the ending of the Cold War in Europe constitutes an existential threat in itself; one that will eventually manifest itself in conflicts among the major and minor powers of Europe.

This point was echoed by Pierre Lellouche who also warned that Europe’s security after the Cold War was more precarious than during it. According to Lellouche, the ranks and roles of European security had to be redefined in the face of resuscitated “structural imbalances”:

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Once again, Europe is characterized by a pivotal and strong Germany, a backward and unstable Russia, and a large number of small, weak states. And again, France and Great Britain are incapable by themselves of balancing German power or checking Russian instability (Lellouche 1993, 130).

One of these new powers or poles flagged to emerge after the Cold War was indeed the reunited Germany, and it did not take long for the “German Question” to be asked in this discourse. If the post-war order in Europe was, after all, built on the defeat and division of Germany, was it now possible to think that the end of the Cold War had produced conditions favourable to Germany's hegemony in European politics? Behind the superpowers, reunited Germany had become the leading conventional military power as well as the economic power in all of Europe. Mearsheimer (1990, 32) identified Germany and the Soviet Union as the two most powerful states in post-Cold War Europe, and therefore western Europeans “would have to be concerned about a possible German threat on their eastern flank”.

Hugh Miall questioned the feasibility of the perspective of structural realism in post-Cold War European context in his book Shaping the New Europe. Miall (1993, 74-76) argued that changes in the structure of the state system have affected the applicability of the concept of polarity. With the EC emerging as an actor in the international stage, should it be taken as a pole in the international system, or are its member states poles? If the former is the case, can polarity apply in a global context? To the extent that the international society is becoming a multi-level system in Europe, Miall argued, the polarity paradigm breaks down. Instead, Miall identified a core-periphery system emerging in Europe and globally with the end of the Cold War. In Europe, the division of the Cold War gave way to a division into several regions at different stages of development, where “parts of western Europe had reached a phase of social and economic development in which the requirements of governance had outgrown the nation-state”, and in contrast, “parts of eastern Europe ... were in a phase of new state-building”. The Balkans, however, had returned to “an anarchic state system reminiscent of the early twentieth century”. Miall

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depicted a Europe where the different regions are either living European modernity, or trapped at some point in its sad history. In security terms, Miall (1993, 78-79) sketched a Europe of three overlapping systems: firstly, a security community in western Europe in which war did not seem credible despite the absence of external threat; secondly, the security regime of the Cold War still operating between NATO and the Commonwealth of Independent States, based on deterrence, arms control and confidence-building measures; and thirdly, a security vacuum in eastern Europe, where previously frozen internal conflicts were again flaring up. Where the second system was more or less out- of-bounds for Europe, the third system was identified as a specifically European concern.

Away from structures to details, the threats identified by the architects of the security of the New Europe fell to two broad categories: traditional direct threat of state-to-state violence, and the more unfamiliar and indirect threat of breakdown of order. These threats were located as coming from three different regions: Russia and the former Soviet Union; North Africa or the Near and Middle East; and the former socialist states in eastern and south-eastern Europe (see e.g. Lisbon Report 2000). These geographical regions, “the East”, “the South”, and eastern Europe, and the security implications constructed around them gave birth to a cartography of fear that tried to depict different places in terms of the threat they posed to security in Europe – and particularly to that of western Europe. This project was enthusiastically undertaken by many intellectuals and institutions, but especially by the International Institute for Strategic Studies (henceforth IISS) which published the influential Adelphi Papers series. Most profilic of these ideas were conceptualised by George Joffe and Curt Gasteyger, who echoed the “arc of crisis” geopolitics made famous by Zbigniew Brzezinski; and by Edward Mortimer with his “vectors of insecurity” concept (see Mortimer 1992b). These ideas, concepts, and arguments were widely echoed by the strategic community over the first half of the 1990s.

George Joffe (1991/2, 54-56) wrote that during the Cold War western Europe's major security concerns were concentrated on the northern and central parts of the continent, for this was where, if anywhere, major military threats were perceived to arise. After the

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Cold War, however, this “arc of crisis” was inverted. Instead, it ran through the Mediterranean and into the Balkans and Russia via the Persian Gulf. Gasteyger (1991/2, 69-70) was tempted to draw even a wider arc over the Transcaucasian and Central Asian republics of the former Soviet Union. This new arc of crisis was no longer a one- dimensional and massive military threat as the Soviet Union was, but posed a multi- dimensional security dilemma for Europe, in which each dimension of the problem had a different geographic location and different security implications. Some of the identified threats were very specific, and others of a more general nature; some of them “manageable”, and others almost “beyond remedy”.

To begin with, the Russian threat had an obvious rhetorical appeal, because even after the collapse of the Soviet empire it was still the military force to be reckoned with in Europe. However, the threat posed by Russia to security in Europe was generally perceived as far diminished from that posed by it during the Cold War. As put by Edward Mortimer: “We cannot say yet that the Soviet Union has been replaced by a group of liberal democracies, but clearly the monolithic politico-military machine which formerly inspired so much fear no longer exists” (Mortimer 1992b, 8). Conversely, inside Russia and its breakaway states, peace was considered extremely fragile. Although communist restoration seemed unlikely, “the possibility that Russian nationalism might assume a despotic form internally and a xenophobic one externally cannot be ruled out” (Ibid., 9). The emerging political crisis in the state of Yugoslavia, which according to Financial Times was a “microcosm of the Soviet Union”, was identified as a dangerous precedent of belligerent nationalism filling the vacuum left by communism (Financial Times 1990). According to Gasteyger (1991/2, 70) the end of the communist rule in the Soviet Union had also removed a semblance of stability; there no longer existed a disciplining instrument which could check the manifold and often conflicting forces set free after years of oppression. Many former Soviet countries and nations had unresolved conflicts and old scores to settle, which might end up having serious, yet indefinable, security implications for Europe:

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'De-Sovietization', if that is the word to describe it, could become Balkanization on a grand scale. It strategic, political, economic and social consequences defy the imagination. The Soviet Union or its separate republics will be a completely different actor on the turbulent and rapidly changing stage of Eastern Europe writ large – no longer a ‘stabilizing’ influence, but at least potentially a destabilizing one of staggering proportions. How this will affect the rest of Europe in general, its central and eastern parts in particular, remains to be seen. It represents in any case by far the greatest uncertainty in the already volatile arc of crisis (Gasteyger 1991/2, 74).

The concept of balkanisation, as discussed by James Der Derian (1991), evokes an image of an order of larger political units breaking up into smaller and mutually hostile states, which are exploited by their more powerful neighbours. For Todorova, balkanisation denoted not only the nationalist fragmentation of former geographic and political units, but had also become a synonym for “a reversion to the tribal, the backward, the primitive, the barbarian” (Todorova 1997, 3).

The “othering” of the East in general and Russia in particular is a European political practice with a long and an influential tradition. Iver B. Neumann and Jennifer M. Welsh (see also Neumann 1998; Neumann 1999; Neumann & Welsh 1991, 329-331) wrote that a variety of Others have been instrumental in the process of forging European identity: from the confrontations with Islam and the conquest of the New World to the scramble for colonies at the end of the nineteenth century, European “civilised” peoples have been juxtaposed with a variety of “pagans” and “barbarians”. Of this variety, Neumann (1999, 39-40, 65) identified two categories of particular importance. Historically, the most dominant other of the European state system has been “the Turk”; and in a more contemporary context, Russia. The physical proximity, military might and religion of the Turk played an important role in the process of building states and national identities in the early days of the jus publicum Europaeum. Russia, on the other hand, is a central component, if not the focus, of more contemporary European security discourse, and its orientation on the political geography of Europe the most salient question in this discourse. According to Neumann (1999, 107-112), the post-Cold War Russia has been a subject of two contesting representations in the contemporary discourse. The dominant 105

representation of Russia stresses that it is “learning” to become more like Europe or the West, and becoming less of a threat to Europe in that respect. To a lesser extent, Russia is represented as a “bad learner”: the learning process may quickly be discontinued in the turbulence of Russian domestic policy, potentially aggressive nationalism may take over, and a military threat to Europe may arise.

Historically, there was a tendency to expect the worse to come from the East. However, the former Soviet Union of the 1990s was perceived as probably less threatening to Europe than the one preceding it, but at the same time, more unpredictable. In any case, the chance of a conventional invasion of any part of Europe “proper” from the former Soviet Union was ruled out even before the actual dissolution of the Union in December 1991. What did cause some uncertainty, was the possibility that any instability in the former Soviet Union would spill over into eastern Europe, and thereby threaten Europe as a whole (Hyde-Price 1991, 56-57). Another concern was the abundance of strategic and theatre nuclear weapons in the former Soviet Union and the uncertainty about their command-and-control systems (see Mortimer 1992b, 12). The “nightmare scenario” for Adrian G. V Hyde-Price was the use of these nuclear weapons in the possibility of civil war breaking out in the former Soviet Union (Hyde-Price 1991, 57). The “Eastern Question” therefore remained on the European political agenda well beyond the end of the Cold War, but as an essentially extra-European concern – or at least one out-of- bounds for European intervention – posing no imminent or clearly definable military threat to security in Europe.

Another set of extra-European concerns were found on the southern tip of the arc, and had potential to manifest as direct military threats as well as indirect societal threats to security in Europe. The threats of the first instance that were specifically located in North Africa and Near or Middle East came in two basic types: extended military attack from the south, or terrorist activity in Europe (see e.g. Mahncke 1993). Both of these could derive from variety of reasons: general dissatisfaction with the policies of Western industrialised countries, either alone or in combination with Islamic fundamentalism; desire to put pressure on Western industrialised countries for a specific reason; or as an

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attempt to divert attention from domestic difficulties. As means to tackle any such conflict, Dieter Mahncke (Ibid.) emphasises unity in the ranks of the Europeans: “A crucial element in such a situation would be Western (and specifically European) political cohesion. Since the potential attacker would know this, he would probably strive to conduct his measures in a way that would enhance political dissension”. Stronger measures would have been called for if any actor on the southern tip of the arc were to threaten European security with nuclear, biological or chemical weapons: “Indeed, the very development of such weapons poses the primary risk for European security as far as this region is concerned. It is in this area that possible responses must be considered and possibly made known” (Ibid.). In the second instance of threats of the societal sort, the image of massive population movements looms eminent, and is a concern that can be located not just on the southern tip of the arc, but on its whole width. As identified by Edward Mortimer:

Mass immigration from both the East and South is now one of the most widely perceived threats to Western Europe ... [and] has proved increasingly difficult to control, and will probably prove even more so in the future, given the economic and political conditions to be expected both in Eastern Europe and North Africa (Mortimer 1992b, 14).

This perception was questioned by a number of economists, who claimed that ageing European economies should rather welcome than fear the flow of cheap labour offered by immigrants from less prosperous neighbours (Ibid., 14). Nonetheless, even without posing a direct military threat, risk of massive population movement from both East and South, caused by economic collapse or political instability or both, evoked considerable worry in many commentators (see also Hyde-Price 1991, 58-59).

The East and the South were both made risks for security in Europe by identifying both of them with an aspect of uncertainty. On the one hand, East was going through a change from communism to what could be anything from liberal democracy to “Balkanization on a grand scale”, and the implications of this change for security in Europe were still unknown, but not unimaginable. The uncertainty with the East arose from the perception 107

that it was still too early to say if it was a friend or an enemy on the other side. On the other hand, the South, reaching from North Africa to Middle East, was depicted as a place of fundamentalism and desperation just waiting to explode all over Europe. Economic collapse, political strife and religious fanaticism possibly armed with weapons of mass destruction depicted very risky scenarios. Emergence of threats south of the border was made more a question of time than anything else, and little hope was invested in things changing for anything better in that respect.

The primary concern for European security after the Cold War, and one that was increasingly often identified as an essentially intra-European in cause and consequence, was the breakdown of the order of states in eastern Europe, and especially in a region dubbed as the Balkans. As noted by James Gow (1998, 155-159), the geopolitical label of Balkans is very ambiguous, and has about as many uses as it has users. Whereas some use Balkans as a signifier for the former Yugoslavia, others also include it the territories of Albania, Bulgaria, Greece, Romania and Turkey, and some even that of Hungary. In European and trans-Atlantic security discourse conflicts in the former Yugoslavia were often located in the Balkans, thereby implicitly and unfortunately involving many non- Yugoslav states with the hostilities (see also Todorova 1997, 185-186). According to Gow, this was in part because many intellectuals of statecraft were keen to conceptualise different regions and sub-regions in the security architecture of the New Europe. For Gow, there is very little apart from relative proximity which can be said to define the Balkans as a region, apart from the reputation of eternal trial and conflict, which, for most countries, is not deserved. This reputation reflects in analogies such as the “powder keg”, “tinderbox”, “Middle-East”, or the “soft underbelly”, which have been used in making Balkans significant for European security. The Balkans have not only been identified in terms of a dynamic part of Europe with threatening implications for Europe as a whole, but also as a microcosm of the problems of Europe as a whole. Writing in 1991, Traian Chebeleu, a Rumanian ambassador, argued that “the Balkans’ topicality … stems from the fact that, on a small scale, that area represents the political picture of the whole of Europe. There is no other region in Europe where the present non-homogeneity of the Continent is more concentrated than it is in the Balkans” (Chebeleu 1991, 37).

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According to Hugh Miall (1993, 93), when most of Europe after the Cold War became regionalised through European institutions, “the Balkans once more became balkanized, the states of that region once again forming a miniature international system, in which power politics held sway and the threat of war were immediate realities”. For George Joffe (1991/2, 65-66), the primary concerns for security in western Europe would continue to be on its eastern part long after the Cold War, although they were to be of a very different nature than during it. Firstly, many of the states of eastern Europe were likely to be linked with the EC, making their security institutionally intra-European; and secondly, the major threat to security was to arise not from state-to-state conflict in the traditional sense, but from government and social instability as a result either of economic upheaval or because nationalist tensions in the new states of Europe, which deviously interconnected:

The problem is that these economic difficulties will feed into the general nationalist tensions that have begun to emerge throughout Eastern Europe. These range from generalized xenophobic intolerance of non-nationals in countries such as former East Germany, Poland, Hungary and Romania, to the very real danger of the break-up of the state in Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia (Joffe 1991/2, 66).

In the same note, Edward Mortimer (1992b, 12-13), writing during the first year of the conflict in Yugoslavia, predicted that threats of this type were likely to preoccupy Europe in the coming decades, and there was every reason to expect for the worst:

Economic difficulties and ethnic clashes, and especially the combination of the two, are common causes not only of a breakdown in civil order but also of transnational violence. This combination has already destroyed Yugoslavia. It clearly threatens many if not all of the former Soviet republics, as well as Romania, Bulgaria and Slovakia. ... the breakdown of order in any state creates insecurity for its peoples, and the image of conflict or instability spilling over into neighbouring states is a potent one (Mortimer 1992b, 12-13).

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Mortimer (1992b, 17) also argued that as western Europe could not escape the effects of economic collapse and political upheaval among its immediate neighbours, and especially those in its eastern part, it should therefore try to tackle these problems at source rather than to resort to a policy of pure containment. In other words, it should have acted in the name of western security in eastern Europe. More pessimistically, Joffe (1991/2, 66) thought there was little that the EC or any other European entity could have done to minimize the instability generated by xenophobia or neo-nationalism.

Thus, the image of threat posed to security in western Europe by eastern Europe boiled down to what was called intolerance, ethnic conflict and xenophobia, but most often, nationalism; and precisely not the nationalism-as-euroscepticism of politics in western Europe, but a morbid sort of “eastern” neo-nationalism – where the “neo” evoked the tradition of malevolence associated with nationalism in modern European history, and “nationalism” functioned as the primary signifier of disorder in Europe. What made the threat posed by nationalism disruptive for Europe was its implied purpose for statehood, which often implied a violent change in the territorial status quo. Furthermore, the emergence of eastern nationalism in post-Cold War Europe was given an additional meaning; it was identified as a historical enemy of Europe and European-ness, which again threatened to destroy the continent and its civilisation.

4.3 Malignant Nationalism

As noted earlier, the war in the former Yugoslavia did not pose an equal challenge to all the states in western Europe. Some states, like Austria and Germany, were worried that they would be on the receiving end of a flow of refugees; and others, like Italy and Greece, expressed concern of a possible spill-over of hostilities from Yugoslavia to their territory. How did it happen, then, that the crisis in Yugoslavia was from the beginning identified as a security concern for Europe as a whole and the EC in specific? Quite simply, it happened with the help of two sets of rhetorical identifications in European security discourse. Firstly, Europe was identified as a political organism, and the EC as a 110

vital organ – a heart or a head, for instance – in this organism in the manner outlined above. Secondly, the crisis in Yugoslavia was, more often than not, explained with help from the term nationalism, which was identified, often explicitly, in terms of a disease that can threaten the life of a political organism. Constructed from these elements, an argument linking the fate of Yugoslavia with the well-being of the EC began to make urgent sense, and furthermore, put the EC for the first time in the position of a political subject of Europe in international politics.

One of the first “physicians” of security to identify Europe’s vulnerability to nationalism was the prominent commentator Zbigniew Brzezinski. In his article published in Foreign Affairs in 1989, Brzezinski (1989b, 1) delivered a wake-up call for the West to confront a problem previously ignored by western scholars and policymakers: the rising tide of nationalism in the Soviet Union and the whole of eastern Europe, which “is now becoming, in a dynamic and conflictual fashion, the central reality of the once seemingly homogenous Soviet world”. According to Brzezinski, the ongoing crisis of communism is likely to define itself through “increased national assertiveness and even rising national turmoil”, and that there is a high possibility that it will transform the Soviet bloc into an “arena for the globe's most acute national conflicts”. According to Brzezinski (Ibid., 3), there are only two ethnically homogenous states – Poland and Hungary – in all of eastern Europe, and he identifies Yugoslavia, an amalgam of six nationalities and three religions, as one of its most diverse societies. Czechoslovakia, Romania and Bulgaria also have substantial national minorities. In addition to having ethnically diverse societies, “all of these states have borders that are potentially subject to revisionist aspirations on the part of their neighbours”. For instance, Poland had territorial grievances against Czechoslovakia and the Soviet Union, and Poland itself could have been an object for German territorial revanchism; Czechoslovakia and Hungary harboured some resentment over the treatment of their respective national minorities living within the other's frontiers, which could escalate into border disputes; Hungary and Romania had an openly antagonistic dispute over Transylvania; Bulgaria had ambitions regarding Yugoslavia's Macedonia; and Yugoslavia had an increasingly restless Albanian majority in Kosovo (Ibid., 4). Brzezinski argued that this “mosaic of unsatisfied territorial desires and of national antagonisms” was aggravated by the “historical immaturity” of nationalism in 111

eastern Europe. While most of the region's nations are historical entities with national histories comparable to those of any of the West European nations, “Eastern Europe's nationalisms still tend to be more volatile, more emotional and more intense than those in the West”, and “lack the tempering experience of genuine regional cooperation that in recent decades has emerged in Western Europe” (Ibid., 4).

István Deák (1990, 52-53) made a historical argument on the difference of nationalisms in eastern and western Europe. The nationalist ideology, born of the Romantic era´s repudiation of the Enlightenment, was responsible for many bloody conflicts in western Europe, but there it had allowed for the creation of powerful and prosperous national states sufficiently self-confident for mutual cooperation and even regional integration. In eastern Europe, nationalism was a “conscious imitation” of the western model of nationalism, and like its archetype led to bloody conflicts; but, unlike in western Europe, the eastern model gave a rise to a plethora of states, “none truly national and none secure enough to cooperate voluntarily in a regional grouping” (Ibid.). Thus, for Deák, “while Western and even the long-backward countries of Mediterranean Europe now seem to be entering a post-nationalist stage, Eastern Europe still suffers the hatreds and conflicts – and stagnation – of fervent nationalism” (Ibid.). In the same note, F. Stephen Larrabee argued that the collapse of communism threatened “to create a political vacuum and lead to a resurgence of nationalism in some parts of eastern Europe” (Larrabee 1992, 133). Historically, for Larrabee, “nationalism has been a strong – and often ‘dark’ – force in eastern Europe”, and that communist rule did not eliminate this nationalism but simply suppressed it, and in contrast to post-war western Europe, no “genuine multilateral institutions” had been developed which could “dilute and moderate this nationalism” (Ibid.).

Thanos Veremis (1991, xvii) wrote that “the history of nationalisms – especially in South- Eastern Europe – is often chequered with totalitarian overtones which bear little regard for principles of tolerance and democracy”. It was easy, both historically and politically, to associate the Balkans with such political antics. Fifty years before Veremis, John Gunther considered in his influential Inside Europe book why people in the Balkans did

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not rise from their inter-war poverty and squalor in an act of social revolution. One of the primary reasons for this was in the nationalism typical of the “Balkan folk”:

The basic passion of most Balkan folk is nationalism. Their primitive and turbulent energies are directed to the preservation of their own political minority or country, rather than social revolution; nationalism is the pipe through which their energies are discharged. (Gunther 1938, 403-404).

In all, nationalism, as it was manifesting itself in eastern Europe, was identified as qualitatively different from nationalism in western Europe: it was dynamic, radical and dangerously irrational; it had the capability to transform ethnicity to belligerency; it correlated with totalitarianism and xenophobia. In short, eastern nationalism was a political ideology combining unethical means with uncivilised ends, and was typical especially of the Balkans both geographically and anthropologically. As this nationalism already threatened the region with “acute ethnic violence, local national clashes and even territorial collisions”, it was imperative for the West to realise that its interests were at stake: “The West cannot much longer remain passive on this issue. A great historic drama is in the process of unfolding – and it can have either benign or malevolent international consequences” (Brzezinski 1989b, 16).

John J. Mearsheimer also distinguished between two types of nationalism in his “Back to the Future” article. Mearsheimer (1990, 20-21) defined nationalism as a “set of political beliefs which holds that a nation ... should have its own state”, and a nation as “a body of individuals with characteristics that purportedly distinguish them from other individuals”. Nationalists often believe that their nation is unique or special, but do not necessarily think that they are superior to other peoples. This benevolent form of nationalism, however, frequently turns into “ugly hypernationalism”, which holds “the belief that other nations and nation-states are both inferior and threatening and must therefore be dealt with harshly” (Ibid., 21). Mearsheimer suggested that this malevolent form of nationalism was most likely to develop under military systems that require reliance on mass armies, and was the single most important domestic cause of international conflict. 113

After initial warnings from the other side of the Atlantic, alarm bells soon started ringing in Europe. In a December 1990 issue of The Financial Times, Denis Healey, former British foreign secretary, identified nationalism as a historical force that, after forty years of latency under communism, was back in Europe with a vengeance:

For 200 years nationalism has been the strongest force in world affairs – stronger than ideology or religion, by which it is often fuelled. Nationalism in eastern Europe is overthrowing the settlements made at Versailles as well as Yalta. It is breaking up the Soviet empire as it broke up the British and French empires, and the Tsarist Ottoman, and Austro-Hungarian empires before them. It is fed, as so often in the past, by economic despair and revolutionary fervour. Yet nationalism is more dangerous today (Healey 1990).

Healey described nationalism as potentially the most destructive force in world politics, even stronger than ideology and religion, and one that incubates deep in the structures of European history. This point was also made by John J. Mearsheimer (1990, 55-56), who identified nationalism emerging in eastern Europe as a “powerful force [that] has deep roots in Europe and has contributed to the outbreak of past European conflicts”. Nationalism can remain latent for long periods of time, but can suddenly “explode with alarming violence” and bring down peace agreements and empires, and in post-Cold War Europe it was even more dangerous than before (Healey 1990). This, according to Healey, is because it contemporary Europe it had become impossible to draw a frontier round the people of one nationality without including a minority of another which demands a similar right of self-determination – a problem that was at the time becoming increasingly obvious in the Balkans. In short, as post-Cold War Europe was more vulnerable than ever to once again “develop” nationalism in its eastern flank, and as this epidemic of malevolent (or ethno-, neo-, hyper-, right-wing, xenophobic, belligerent or extreme, to name some of its pseudonyms) nationalism spreading from the east was potentially more dangerous than ever before, Europe was in for a bit of bother.

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It was not a coincidence that this malevolent form of nationalism was also given organic subjectivity in security discourse, as was Europe. This enforced the term a historical identity and a clear political significance. Unlike Europe, however, nationalism was identified as a subversive micro-organism pathological and potentially destructive or otherwise healthy political organisms – a form of political disease. The secretary General of the United Nations Boutros Boutros Ghali used this analogy in a 1993 speech he delivered at the National Defence University in Washington, DC:

ethnic conflict poses as great a danger to common world security as did the Cold War. ... Just as a biological disease spreads through a body, and as an epidemic spreads geographically, so also a political disease can spread through the world. When one state is endangered, others will be endangered as well.(quoted in Roberts 1996, 182).

In the same note, Theodore Christodoulidesin identified nationalism as a viral disease in an article in the NATO Review:

The virus of nationalism, lying dormant for several decades under the anaesthetic effect of totalitarian ideology, has been reinvigorated and generates strong centrifugal tendencies in the multi-ethnic states. As a result, ethnic conflicts that were kept in the deep-freeze of history resurfaced in the European field in an outburst of unbridled nationalism. (Christodoulides 1992, 20).

The metaphor of a virus was also used by Romanian minister of foreign affairs Teodor Melescanu (1993, 15-16), who suggested that if Romania had not resisted the dangerous “virus of instability and disintegration” in the Balkans, European security concerns arising from the conflict in Yugoslavia would have been even greater. Thus, nationalism, as a political disease, threatens to disintegrate political entities by creating disorder and violence in bodies politic. As put by Bryan S. Turner (1984, 114), “because the body is the most potent metaphor of society, it is not surprising that disease is the most salient metaphor of structural crisis”. Symbolising “a disturbance in an organism or, more

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technically, some atypical functional deficiency”, disease can easily be called to play the role of an internal enemy of living political organisms (Ibid., 206).

Virus was the metaphor used most often when identifying nationalism as a disease of the New Europe in political rhetoric. However, the characteristics of nationalism in this discourse – most importantly the general assumptions of its aetiology, manifestation, progression, prognosis, and treatment – render that metaphor somewhat misinformed. Viral diseases have an external cause; virus infiltrates a body from outside which thereby may or may not become ill. By contrast, malignant nationalism was understood as something inherently European and not as something caused by any non-European agent infiltrating the body politic. For Europe, nationalism was the barbarian within; it had been there in European history since early modernity, and when malevolent, it has spread rapidly and caused considerable concern for the whole of Europe. As put by F. Stephen Larrabee, the Balkan conflicts do reflect not the “end of history” predicted by Francis Fukuyama, but rather the “return of history” in post-Cold War Europe (see Larrabee 1994, xi-xii). However, all nationalism was not pathological for Europe – it was only the malevolent sort of nationalism, one that caused geopolitical “necrosis” in its wake. In all, it is the lack of a single external cause for nationalism, its ability to exist latently for long periods of time, and its ability to spread from one part of the body to another that point away from a viral disease and to a different diagnosis. It is interpreted here that nationalism, as represented in European security discourse after the Cold War, carried the hallmarks of a potential malignancy. In its benign form, it can be anything from a source of inspiration and pride to a nuisance for attempts to further European integration; but in its malign form, it appeared as a political cancer consuming the territorial “flesh” of Europe to a premature death.

Cancer is a mysterious disease difficult to treat, and one that is more often than not equated with death. Of all diseases, cancer has provided probably the most potent metaphor of illness since tuberculosis became treatable in the mid-twentieth century (Sontag 1979, 5, 11-12). While tuberculosis is understood as a disease of one organ, cancer is understood as a disease that can turn up in any organ and one whose outreach is

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the whole body. It is a disease of growth – sometimes visible, more characteristically insidious – which may be arrested for periods of time, but is prone to recur. As defined by Mel Greaves (2000, 3) cancer is a collection of very many disorders of cell and tissue function that have one special biological property in common: the territorial expansion of a mutant clone. Spatiality of cancer was also identified by Susan Sontag, (Ibid., 14) who argued that when used as a metaphor, cancer appears as a pathology of space; its principal metaphors refer to topography – it may “spread”, “proliferate” or be “diffused”. This is also the most striking single image that can be found in almost all representations of malevolent nationalism in European security discourse; the threat of geographical escalation or spill-over from one part of Europe to another – most typically from east to west. Furthermore, the language used to describe cancer evokes a systemic catastrophe: “Cells without inhibitions, cancer cells will continue to grow and extend over each other in a ‘chaotic’ fashion, destroying the body's normal cells, architecture, and functions” (Ibid., 63-67). Reliance on similar dichotomies, such as order/chaos and normal/abnormal, in the discursive economy of nationalism is striking and more than coincidental. It is also an interesting that in the discourse of cancer the language of military strategy is often applied: cancer cells do not simply multiply, but are “invasive”; they “colonise” from the original tumour to far sites in the body by metastising; and only rarely are the body's own “defenses” strong enough to fight a tumour made of millions of destructive cells. Likewise, the treatment of cancer aims to “kill” cancer cells, and in this process it is impossible not to “destroy” healthy cells.

Conceptualisation of nationalism in pathological terms was attempted by Dieter Senghaas in a Chaillot Paper published by the Institute for Security Studies of the WEU. Senghaas's piece was concerned with the diagnosis, prognosis and treatment of ethno- nationalist conflict in eastern Europe, and is structured on an explicitly socio-medical argument. To begin with aetiology, Senghaas (1993) identified nationalism as not an archaic, but a modern phenomenon made possible by increased literacy and urbanisation in society, which has rendered possible mass communication and political mobilisation of large numbers of people. Societies in economic difficulties have the highest risk of developing malignant nationalism. In these societies “political leaders who use skilful rhetoric ... tend to come to the fore and take over the leadership”, and the condition 117

deteriorate. In the worst case, moderate leaders are replaced by radicals; “unscrupulous seekers of power” who “are not afraid to include political disputes which verge on or develop into civil war in their calculations” (Senghaas 1993).

Malignant nationalism lived and spread by producing a political identity fixed on some specific social category; by inventing “fantasies about the past” and conjuring up “images of lost empires, often as a means of defining concrete policy objectives, whence their talk of Greater Serbia, Greater Azerbaijan, Greater Macedonia, Greater Romania and so on” (Senghaas 1993). It was this creation of identity that was the distinguishing hallmark of Senghaas's conception of ethno-nationalism, and it was the logic of this identity that led to spiralling violence:

In the course of an escalating conflict, these imaginery distinctions become accentuated, as does accompanying militancy. Concentration on one's own group eventually turns into a deluded over-evaluation of it, at which point the main protagonists become totally insensitive to the costs of the conflict. When the distinctions vis-à-vis other ethnic groups are exaggarated, the conflict becomes self- related and the escalation of the conflict cquires a momentum of its own (Senghaas 1993).

This logic of escalating conflict, which was marked by the parties’ “pathological inability to learn” and “obsession with power”, led to “irrational exacerbation of ethno-nationalist conflicts which is frequently observed in Europe and elsewhere in the world” (Ibid.). “To a detached observer”, Senghaas (Ibid.) continued, “ethno-nationalism appears to act as a fundamental and uncontrollable element in the escalation of conflicts”. When it reached the stage of “political bestialization” of inter-ethnic violence, “everything conspires to make the conflict more acute, to follow its course to victory or defeat, and every last reserve of strength is mobilized to that end, as though it were a question of all or nothing”, and relentless pursuit of the conflict became the general rule.

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What was the prognosis of malignant nationalism? According to Senghaas (1993), past experiences from the Balkans and similar conflicts in Northern Ireland and Lebanon did not offer much hope. When none of the parties are in a position where they can neither win nor lose, a conflict becomes protracted, and at best, eventually exhausted and will “bleed to death” (Ibid.). While outside intervention in such conflicts seemed advisable, it was difficult to persuade the international community to partake in such a costly and risky “treatment”. Prognosis was better if the condition was diagnosed at a relatively early stage of development, and preventive measures were taken to settle all arising disputes between the conflicting parties in a peaceful and rational manner. In other words, early diagnosis was crucial with malignant nationalism, as it is with cancer. Unfortunately, early diagnosis did not take place with Yugoslavia: “Europe and the world have for months been witnessing the horrific consequences of ignoring this maxim in the former Yugoslavia, and at present there is no end in sight to the horror” (Ibid.).

In the wake of EC’s failure in Yugoslavia, such preventive measures were undertaken by the EC elsewhere in eastern Europe in the form of the Balladur Pact for Stability and Security. The main objective of the Stability Pact was to provide a framework of preventive diplomacy for those countries in eastern Europe aspiring to become members of the EU and to “create with each other a process of entente and cooperation likely to encourage European stability” (European Report 1994). The preventive diplomacy of the stability pact meant that it was not concerned with open conflicts – i.e. the one in the former Yugoslavia – but helped to bring peace to the European continent by providing a framework that would make it possible, in the words of Belgium’s Foreign Minister Willy Claes, to “avoid situations which take us by surprise, escalate and leave us with no answers” (European Report 1993, e, emphasis in original). The Balladur Pact was a modest attempt by the EU to salvage its incumbent common foreign and security policy after a run of disappointing results in the Balkans.

Treatment of malignant nationalism was also a subject of scientific discussion. In an article titled “Controlling Nationalism in the New Europe”, Jack Snyder looked at different theories of nationalism in social sciences and concluded that there was no need

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to pick any single theory and follow its prescriptions exclusively. Instead, Snyder compiled from six different theories an eclectic socio-clinical checklist of expedients for the “western states” to keep in mind in case they did undertake therapeutic intervention in eastern Europe:

(1) eliminate military threats to states’ security; (2) provide economic resources so that states can legitimate their rule through economic growth; (3) encourage the spread of liberal, transnational, economic and cultural ties; (4) cushion the impact of market reforms on disadvantaged groups; (5) co-opt intellectuals [from nationalist myth-making]; and (6) promote constructive dialogue between nationalities at the local level (Snyder 1990, 59).

On the co-opting of intellectuals, Snyder suggested that “the main antidote to nationalist myth-making by self-promoting intellectuals must be to avert the social conditions in which they prosper. However, more narrowly targeted strategies may also be of some use. One approach is to co-opt would-be nationalist intellectuals into more benign pursuits” (Ibid., 57). If these prescriptions were followed, Snyder asserted, “there is a good chance that Europe's hypernationalism of the first half of this century will never be repeated” (Ibid., 59). In contrast to Snyder's softer regimes there was also talk of the feasibility of more radical treatments equalling territorial “amputation” of eastern Europe:

If Western Europe and the rest of the Continent really live in two different worlds, the one peaceful and the other warlike, it could be concluded that the first had little to fear from the second and little to contribute to it. The important thing would be carefully to maintain the separation of the two worlds so as to avoid healthy, prosperous Europe becoming contaminated by the virus of war and famine while trying to combat it (Hassner 1993).

Thus, the sacrifice of the territorial integrity of the European body politic was considered, if not recommended, by Pierre Hassner (Ibid.) himself as a possible remedy to malignant nationalism. 120

In all, on the level of political microbiology, malignant nationalism appeared as a condition that somehow transforms good, rational and civilised people into evil, irrational and uncivilised beasts capable of extreme cruelty without any consideration of costs and consequences, and from the contagion of which no society is completely safe. The mentality and behaviour of such nationalism was “wholly alien to the world of reason and reasonableness inhabited by the Community Twelve” (Brenner 1993, 29). As defined by Jonathan Eyal in a 1993 issue of The RUSI Journal:

Nationalism is not a rational feeling. At its very basic, nationalism depends on nothing more than the projection of a glorious (and often fabricated) past on to the promise of a brilliant and equally unsustainable future. The strength and durability of nationalism is precisely in its irrational nature, in its ability to adapt to any ideology, from the extreme left to the extreme right. It does not preclude religion, nor does it obviate any economic system. And it cannot be reasoned away by purely financial pleading (Eyal 1993, 49).

Malignant nationalism was associated with weak states in economic and political transition. According to David Buchan and David Garner (1991) writing in a September 1991 issue of The Financial Times, the 1930s had showed what an awful mixture nationalism and economic depression can be, and could be that again, as eastern Europe was in an economic strife after the dismantling of the Soviet bloc. Nationalism was “not only rife in the Soviet Union and Yugoslavia, but also stirring in the Slovak republic of Czechoslovakia and never far from the surface in Hungary” (Ibid.). Gareth Evans (1994, 5) argued that in almost every case of major intrastate violence, from the former Soviet republics to Rwanda, ethnic conflict has been associated with significant periods of declining per capita gross national product alongside a rise in demagogic politics and nationalist myth-making.

The baby was not thrown out with the bathwater in this discourse. After all, nationalism was also perceived as having played a positive role in European history, and was a legitimate political ideology in its “mature” and “healthy” form. But, there was an 121

element in society that had the power to transform this benign instinct into a malignancy; there were power-hungry radicals waiting to spread their malign version nationalism in weak societies in transition, and cause death and disorder in the name of political delusions. As explained by Janet Gunn (1993, 42-43), the collapse and dissolution of the Warsaw Pact over the first years of the 1990s left a sense of a security vacuum in the region, which was “exploited by political activists to fan ethnic hatred among peoples who have been able to live peacefully together in the past”. Cvijeto Job argued that ethnic hatred in Yugoslavia was indeed fanned by radical nationalists, but had a history far longer than implied by Gunn:

The seeds of ethnic cleansing did not just mutate into reality in our own time. Yugoslavia’s tragedy is not a sudden, passing wave of post-Cold War turbulence, or even the result of an assumed “loss of identity” after the collapse of the communist order and the breakup of Yugoslavia. Its roots lie in the work of generations of nationalist ideologues, intellectuals, politicians, and clergy (Job 1993, 53).

If this “mutation” of nationalism was to grow powerful enough within a state, a civil war and social collapse were likely to follow. The breakdown of the state in nationalist conflict was understood by many analysts as a sort of a breach of social contract and constituted an evolutionary step backwards to a state of nature. To give an example of the use of these Hobbesian terms, Edward Mortimer wrote in a November 1991 issue of The Financial Times that

Yugoslavia is a Hobbesian theory made grisly flesh. It worked, after a fashion, so long as there was an unquestioned sovereign authority, in the shape of the late Marshal Tito and his Communist League. But once that Leviathan relaxed its grip, the country reverted all too precisely to Hobbes’s state of nature (Mortimer 1991).

After bringing down the state it developed in, the state of nature began to spread to other Leviathans. When the Bosnian Serb assembly rejected the Vance-Owen peace plan on May 1993, Robert Mauthner (1993) wrote in The Financial Times that, once again, many 122

of the world's leaders “underestimated the stubbornness and mystical nationalism of the Bosnian Serbs and the cunning of their leader”; and that the US president Bill Clinton was also losing his patience, and was quoted saying that the rejection of the peace plan “threatens to widen the conflict and foster instability in other parts of Europe” (quoted in Ibid.).

4.4 Metastatic Nationalism

There is a pervasive tendency in European security discourse to attribute malignant nationalism with the capability of spreading from one society to another. Such an attribution gained general currency along with the attempts of the EC to mediate the conflict in the former Yugoslavia from the Brioni Agreement of July 1991 to the London conference of August 1992. In the context of the failing efforts of the EC to negotiate the conflict Judy Dempsey wrote in an August 1992 issue of The Financial Times:

Despite the sense of uncertainty and anxiety about how to respond to the war in Bosnia, a consensus is emerging: the longer the west prevaricates, the greater the chance the war could spread to other parts of the Balkan peninsula (Dempsey 1992).

Two days later, a leading article in The Financial Times again emphasised the urgency of western action to confront the hostilities in Bosnia-Hercegovina, for

there is a constant danger that unless the west is seen to act, the conflict will spread, dragging in neighbouring and Middle Eastern countries and setting a precedent that will be noted by would-be dictators all over the former Soviet empire (Financial Times 1992).

Alongside ethical considerations, the idea of a spreading conflict structured most arguments supporting western intervention in the conflict in the former Yugoslavia. Such

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an understanding linked up with the European body politic discourse, and in a cunning way provided one of its most powerful rhetorical resources.

For one, F. Stephen Larrabee (1992, 146) wrote in a Council on Foreign Relations publication that even if the break-up of Yugoslavia did not represent the threat of Soviet intervention or potential superpower confrontation as it did at the height of the Cold War, its effects could nevertheless be highly destabilising, as Larrabee exemplified:

Given Yugoslavia’s strategic position in the heart of the Balkans, civil unrest might not remain localized. It could easily spill over into neighbouring countries, intensifying other disputes. If Slovenia and Croatia become independent, Macedonia is likely to follow suit rather than remain part of a rump Yugoslavia dominated by Serbia. This could revive the Macedonian question. The Kosovo problem could also be inflamed, prompting calls by the Albanians, who make up 90 percent of the province’s population, for independence and eventually even unification with Albania. Other separatist and ethnic movements throughout Europe – the Baltics, the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, and even Ireland – could also be exacerbated (Larrabee 1992, 146-147).

For another, defining the parameters of European security in a Chaillot Paper, Dieter Mahncke considered the threats that conflicts in eastern Europe posed to security in western Europe. According to Mahncke, in and of themselves such conflicts do not entail a direct threat as long as they can be isolated, but

there is no assurance that a conflict can indeed be kept isolated. A conflict may spread, either by an extension of the accompanying problems (nationalism, ethnic conflict, refugees) to neighbouring countries, thus involving them or by involving other European countries with conflicting interests, be they historic or current. Such an extension would not necessarily pose an immediate threat to European security overall, but clearly the difficulties of isolating the conflict would increase significantly and there would indeed be potential for an extension of the conflict (Mahncke 1993, emphasis in original).

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The risk of spreading conflict was identified also in official documents. For example, a WEU document defining European security interests produced at the Madrid Council of Minister’s meeting in November 1995 identified the conflict in former Yugoslavia as “a source of major concern and a threat to European security”, and that “the risk of its potential expansion” underlined its seriousness (European Security 1995).

Indeed, looking at the “patient” as a whole, the emergence of malignant nationalism in the Balkans appeared as a serious risk for the European body politic. This was because malignant nationalism was a progressive political disease – but how was it to progress? What was the logic behind an argument saying that malignant nationalism in the Balkans could spread to the rest of Europe? What was to spread and how was it to spread? There were four different scenarios on how nationalist conflict in eastern Europe in general and in the former Yugoslavia in specific could spread to western Europe: first, hostilities could spill over from within one state to territories of other states, some of which could be members of the EC; second, malignant nationalism could “migrate” into west with refugees from these conflicts or develop in existing diasporas in the west; third, the dissolution of the state of Yugoslavia could set an alarming example for other nationalist movements in Europe; and fourth, the most troubling scenario, where states in western Europe could be drawn into the conflict which could result in re-nationalisation of European security policy. Although each of these scenarios appeared distinct in their consequences, all of them were constructed as threats caused by nationalist conflict in eastern Europe on the one hand, and ones that called for a united European response.

In socio-medical terms, the scenario of territorial spill-over represented nationalism not unlike a tumour growing on the side of European body politic and proliferating spatially from one territory to another. The possibility of hostilities in Yugoslavian republics spilling over from one republic to another and even outside Yugoslavia to the territories of other states in the region was considered to become more likely with the prolonging of hostilities. This could have happened, say, if one of the parties involved in the conflict invaded territory outside the former Yugoslavia, or troops in other countries outside Yugoslavia became involved in the hostilities. The hostilities did “spread” from Croatia

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and Slovenia to Bosnia, and Dusko Doder (1993, 5), echoing Halford Mackinder’s argumentative logic, warned that “whoever controls Bosnia controls the western part of the Balkan peninsula”. It was predicted that from Bosnia the conflict was likely to spread to Kosovo or Macedonia, and if this was to be the case, it was believed that Albania, Greece, Bulgaria and Turkey would all have also been prone to become dragged in (see e.g. Larrabee 1994, xvi-xvii; Ramet 1992, 86-89). There was, however, very little concern raised over the possibility that, say, the Serbian army invaded the territory of a member state of the EC. As long as unrest in the former Yugoslavia remained localised, securitisations of spill-over were speculative and of secondary relevance to the overall health of the European body politic.

Migration of nationalist conflict to western Europe with refugees was also identified as a security threat. Exacerbation of social tension and rise of xenophobic extremism was identified as symptomal for societies on the receiving end of this “flow”, “influx” or “invasion” of refugees (see e.g. Larrabee 1994, 222-223). It was assumed that refugees of antagonist ethnicities might bring violence with them to western Europe, or that nationalisms in western Europe might turn against those of the refugees – which was fast becoming an issue for the extreme right especially in Germany and Austria. However, this was perhaps a secondary concern for the security of Europe as a whole, and linked to a more general discourse of Europe and immigration (on the securitisation of migration, see Huysmans 2000).

Some commentators drew attention to the implications the Balkan war might have on the policies of other nationalisms within other states in the Balkans, as well as in western Europe. As the Yugoslavian war of dissolution met little resistance on behalf of the EC or the rest of the international community, was it not possible to think that the Serbs in Bosnia were setting an encouraging example for other secessionist movements? As put by a professor at a Belgrade-based institute for European studies:

If the territorial integrity of Yugoslavia is compromised in the name of self- determination, then the ensuing secessions … will have an external domino effect. The 126

Yugoslav precedent will reach other dissatisfied national minorities (Basqia, Corsica, Sardinia, Northern Ireland, Southern Tyrol, etc.) whose aspirations for independence will be encouraged. Further, the national governments of Spain, France, Italy, the United Kingdom, and Austria are sure to feel the reverberations (Nakarada 1991, 373, emphasis in original).

By not taking action to confront Serb aggression, was not the EC, Jane Sharp asked, “telling potential dictators, in eastern Europe, or the republics of the former Soviet Union to go ahead with ethnic cleansing and grabbing land” (quoted in Dempsey 1992)? According to Joe Rogaly, writing in an April 1993 issue of The Financial Times, preventing such a precedent should have been the foundation of principle of western involvement in Bosnia:

It is surely in the self-interest of both Europe and the US that the Serbs be prevented from establishing a precedent. If they can redraw boundaries and remove whole peoples, why should the Hungarians not pursue their dreams of a greater Hungary? Why should Russia accept the rule of ethnic Russians by the non-Russians who govern its many neighbouring states? Letting the Serbs rampage over Bosnia is the least good of all the options (Rogaly 1993).

With all the existing diasporas and problematic boundaries in the western part of the continent, there was every reason to believe that Yugoslavia might not be the last state in or near Europe to disintegrate in violence. According to Andrei Georgiev and Emil Tzenkov (1994, 53-54), the fear of the “ethnic domino” motivated the governments of the states of Bulgaria, Greece, and Romania, which all had potentially secessionist ethnic movements, to support efforts to preserve Yugoslavia’s territorial integrity.

Re-nationalisation of European security policy, which appeared as the most potent of these threats, was represented as a particularly nasty sort of political malignancy which evoked a powerful image of yet another conflict in the Balkans spreading and causing a systemic failure in the European body politic. Modern European history gave this 127

argument all the weight it needed. As noted by Helen Wallace (1992, 26), allusions to the Congress of Vienna, the Treaty of Versailles, Balkanization, Rapallo et cetera evoked a depressing history for many commentators to revert to. The dogma of structural realism in the study of international relations also added weight to scenarios of historical replay. According to John J. Mearsheimer (1990, 14-15), wars in a multipolar system involving minor powers or only one major power are not likely to be as devastating as a conflict between two major powers, but “local wars tend to widen and escalate ... [h]ence there is always a chance that a small war will trigger a general conflict”. The interconnectedness of issues and the multiplicity of conflicts between powers in a multipolar system, Mearsheimer (Ibid., 22) argued, raises the risk that “any single conflict that turned violent would trigger a general war, as happened in both 1914 and 1939”. In other words, the fear was that the integrated and therefore peaceful Europe of the present would regress to a fragmented and therefore belligerent Europe of the World Wars, and that all this would be somehow caused by nationalist conflict in Yugoslavia.

Thus, malignant nationalism did not only appear as a pathology of space, but also, in a sense, as a pathology of time. The European project was more or less founded on a historical narrative of “getting better” from the World Wars with the help of integration therapy. In this narrative, Europe was given the identity of a continent progressing from the unhealthy fragmentation of the World Wars represented by nationalism to healthy integration represented by European unity and embodied in the EC. The malignancy of nationalism in the Balkans was in that it threatened this progression with regression; integration with disintegration, health with illness, life with death. Thus, the “return to Europe” was becoming a process with two faces: on the one hand, the people of central and eastern Europe were confronted with the grim reality of a malignant political condition; and on the other, people in western Europe were confronted with a part of their past which they believed they had overcome (Klaiber 1994, 36).

John Lewis Gaddis set the stage in terms of a struggle between the forces of integration and fragmentation. For Gaddis (1991, 103-104), integration represented the “act of bringing things together to constitute something that is whole”, and involved “breaking

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down barriers that have historically separated nations and peoples in such diverse areas as politics, economics, religion, technology and culture”. An important by-product of this integration since 1945 had been peace among the great powers. Unfortunately, Gaddis warned, the forces of integration were not the only active forces in the world of the 1990s:

There are also forces of fragmentation at work that are resurrecting old barriers between nations and peoples – and creating new ones – even as others are tumbling. Some of these forces have begun to manifest themselves with unexpected strength, just when it looked as though integration was about to prevail. The most important of them is nationalism (Gaddis 1991, 105).

According to Gaddis (Ibid., 121-122), fragmentationist forces had been around for much longer than integrationist forces, and after the Cold War, they may grow even stronger than ever before; “the forces of fragmentation lurk just beneath the surface, and it would take little encouragement for them to reassert themselves, with all the dangers historical experience suggests would accompany such a development”.

A similar point was made by Renato Ruggiero, an influential veteran of European and Italian politics, in a 1992 speech on the responsibilities of the EC towards eastern Europe. According to Ruggiero, the contemporary situation in Europe was characterised by the presence of two forces: in western Europe a force for unity has the upper hand; whereas in eastern Europe forces of dissolution have the lead (Responsibilities of the EC 1992). Ruggiero asserted that the nascent EU had a historic responsibility to further its integration by extending the process eastward. Were this mission to fail,

there would be the risk of gradual extension of dissolution forces from East to West. In other terms, we would run the risk of seeing the gloomy shadows of the past on the European scene once more, territorial disputes and nationalist clashes, accompanied by the gradual closure of economic frontiers (Responsibilities of the EC 1992).

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In the same note, Jonathan Eyal (1993, 51) argued that the conflicts on Europe’s periphery could not be simply washed away by the West, because if they were, “disintegration of current security and co-operation institutions and the renationalisation of defence policies” would most certainly follow, and “history may yet repeat itself with catastrophic results for the whole continent”.

These texts and number of others like them evoked the years 1914 and 1939 from European history; two earlier occasions when fragmentation or disintegration had struck the European body politic. On both occasions, nationalist conflict in a part of Europe had spread to other parts by nationalising the security policies of European states; by pitting western European states against one another in balance-of-power antagonism, and causing innumerable loss of life and major territorial trauma. Thus, in a temporal sense, crisis in Yugoslavia threatened Europe with its own history.

What was the logic of the threat of re-nationalisation of security policy? An underlying assumption was that security co-operation or integration of security policies must have some basis in common security interests. In post-war western Europe, the threat posed by communism in general and the Soviet Union in specific provided this basis for nearly half a century. Although the threat posed by the enemy in the East was not equal to every nation in western Europe and some nations reserved a right to deal with it on a more independent basis, more or less shared image of an existential threat produced a sufficient degree of political unity in the West. With the collapse of the Soviet Union western Europe had lost its enemy and with it the underlying sense of common security, which had made them more nationalist in their defence philosophy (see Financial Times 1994). After the Cold War, common security interests were much harder to define for threats of limited geographical and political concern. According to Ian Gambles, writing in 1989, a conflict in the Balkans, for instance, would not have concerned all of western Europe equally, and might well prompt divergent responses: “It is by no means clear that European sentiment has grown nearly to the necessary extent to define an open-ended common security interest against any external threat, or to subordinate national security 130

interests to common European ones” (Gambles 1989, 18-19, emphasis in original). Gambles pointed out that the possibility of disharmony in the security policies among western European states was greater after the Cold War than it was during it, and there existed a “risk that western powers may get sucked into other people's quarrels, as former national frontiers dissolve and coalitions spring up based on ethnic solidarity or on the old adage that ‘my enemy’s enemy is my friend’” (Mortimer 1992a).

This warning was also delivered by the British Foreign Secretary Douglas Hurd, who in his speech to the European Parliament in July of 1992 reminded Europe of the dangers of fragmentation and the virtues of integration:

Now shootings in Sarajevo in 1992 will not launch Europe into a great war as they did in 1914. Too much has changed since then and for the better. Outside powers, the countries of Western Europe – we now cooperate with each other. We do not pursue rivalries by violent proxy and those who pour scorn on the concept of a common foreign policy should pause at this point. Do they really want to return to the era when the powers of Europe backed separate clients in the Balkans up to and over the edge of war (EFPB Online 1992)?

Already in 1991, there were some signs of such fragmentation (Garner 1991). Germany, on the one hand, had historical links with Croatia from World War II and advocated the right of self-determination it itself exercised in re-unification. France, on the other hand, was traditionally identified as pro-Serb and had claims for self-determination from Corsica, as did Great Britain from Scotland and Northern Ireland, and Spain from the Basques and the Catalans (see also Heisbourg 1992a, 668).

Thus, malignant nationalism in western Europe threatened to recur if states there broke their integrated ranks and made selective interventions in the conflict in Yugoslavia, which would pit one western European state against the other in the Balkan front. This is what Edward Mortimer (1992b, 17-18) called “the 1914 syndrome”, the classic example of which is the period of five weeks in the summer of 1914 that led to a war involving all 131

the major powers of Europe. For Mortimer, historical evidence showed that intervention in local conflicts has been the mechanism by which such conflicts have spread often with devastating results, and there was a risk that this might happen again. As made discernible by Radmila Nakarada in a 1991 issue of Millennium:

The breakdown of Yugoslavia will plant the seed of conflict among the West European countries as the separate ‘national states’ of Yugoslavia become the object of their conflicting interests. For instance, Slovenia and Croatia are in potential sphere of conflicting interests of Germany, Austria, Hungary and Italy; while in the case of Macedonia, there is potential for conflict between Greece and Bulgaria. The supreme danger is that once a precedent is set, no European borders can escape re-examination (Nakarada 1991, 373-374).

Stephen Iwan Griffiths also pointed out this risk, and used the terms “malignancy” and “systemic” to impose organic qualities on both nationalism and Europe:

Although Serbian and Croatian nationalisms in the Balkans show real symptoms of long- term malignancy, their impact has been restricted to the territory of former Yugoslavia. As such, they have not become of systemic importance. However, there remains a possibility that these nationalisms might play a part in provoking further conflicts, even a Balkan conflagration, and this might draw in the international community, either through peace-making or interventionary mechanisms (Griffiths 1993, 124).

For Griffiths, the primary threat posed by ethno-nationalist conflict in eastern Europe was “that it can destroy a constituent element of the New Europe and potentially trigger further unrest on a regional basis”, and thus the fear of “some kind of post-Cold War ‘domino-effect’ of conflict and societal collapse from region to region and level to level” seemed well founded (Griffiths 1993, 124-125). Or as put by Edward Mortimer, what western Europe feared the most about the Balkans was that it might itself be “contaminated and Balkanised” (Mortimer 1993).

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As the discourse of re-nationalisation evoked wartime history, it became once again topical to ask the “German Question”. As put by Adrian G. V. Hyde-Price, the question was “how to integrate – or at least contain – the prodigious economic strength and military potential of a unified German state, situated at the very heart of the European continent”. According to Hyde-Price, it was the failure to resolve this problem that had led to both of the world wars (Hyde-Price 1991, 142). Edward Mortimer warned that the 1914 syndrome might recur if European security is not integrated around a federal EC. The collapse of the Soviet empire removed the main factor preventing local conflicts in central and eastern Europe, and according to Mortimer, many of the countries dissociating themselves from the Russian empire will eventually be drawn into a closer association with Germany, and it will be better for them, for Western Europe and for Germany “if this association comes about in the context of an integrated European union, rather than through a process if economic and political satellization around a dominant nation-state” (Mortimer 1992b, 67). If the EC fails in its task to transform into this security union,

there is a real danger that Europe will revert to its pre-war status of mutually hostile nation-states. Among those nation-states Germany would almost inevitably be the strongest, and those who refused to accept German hegemony would once again be obliged to come together in an anti-German alliance. Once that happens, it is hard to imagine that Germany would long allow its adversaries to enjoy a monopoly of nuclear weapons. Thus, Europe would experience at best a new balance of terror, at worst a downward slide towards a new world war (Mortimer 1992b, 68).

Other commentators resisted the temptation. Hyde-Price reckoned that given the economic strength and cultural legacy of reunited Germany, the New Europe will have a strong German influence, but “this German influence will not necessarily be malign” (Hyde-Price 1991, 155). Writing in 1990, Lawrence Freedman saw that the conflict in the Balkans is unlikely to lead to competitive alliance formation in the West, because the national interests of Britain and France were at this point already so closely integrated with those of reunited Germany (Freedman 1990, 69-70). The German Chancellor Helmut Kohl intervened in this discussion in an article on The Financial Times on January 1993: 133

No one should be under the illusion that the sceptre of European nationalism has been finally laid to rest, or that this ugly apparition is confined only to the Balkans. In many parts of the east of our continent, we are starting to see a return of nationalist thinking, of intolerance and even chauvinism. Even western Europe is not immune to such temptations. I feel myself carried back to an ill-fated past when I hear some people stirring up public sentiment with the argument that Germany has become too large and too powerful, and therefore needs to be ‘contained’ by means of coalitions (Kohl 1993).

For Kohl, the mere talk of the re-emergence of the German Question “plays into the hands of precisely those forces … which propagate old-style nationalism” (Kohl 1993).

The threat of malignant re-nationalisation of European security policy implied a return to a competition for national power and influence between European states disintegrated to essentially national security and defence policies; or, as put by François Heisbourg (1992a, 668), a return to “la géopolitique de grand’papa” – old-style geopolitics. Ultimately, re-nationalisation of European security policy threatened to take Europe back in time either to a new Cold War only with, most likely, Germany replacing the Soviet Union as the enemy; or to that of third World War with, most likely, Germany again as the primary instigator.

4.5 Logos of Integration

In a 1963 essay titled European Unity in Thought and Action, Geoffrey Barraclough described the prevalent political mentality in Europe after World War II:

Over wide areas, people had lost faith in nationalism, and in national policies, they could not fail to see, had led them to the brink of destruction. The revulsion against nationalism

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after 1945 greatly favoured the birth of a European spirit; European integration was seen not as an ultimate ideal, but as an immediate present necessity (Barraclough 1963, 46).

Walter Hallstein argued in a book regarded by some as his political testament to Europe that

it took the boundless excesses of nationalistic policy in the Second World War, and the equally total disaster they caused, to make obvious that in politics, and in economics also, the countries of Europe must sink or swim together. The holocaust left no doubt about the need for unity (Hallstein 1972, 18).

This is the narrative replicated in a number of histories of post-war Europe: European integration, which began to gain political substance in institutions and treaties after 1945, was from the very beginning taken up as a project against the pathology of nationalism. Integration of European national states was an antidote to the nationalist fragmentation, which was diagnosed as the underlying cause behind both of the World Wars. The future of Europe was articulated more or less as a (no-)choice between the regional principle of integration representing peace and prosperity, and the national principle of fragmentation representing war and poverty. The support this argument gave for the political telos of the EC could hardly be any clearer: unite or be damned (see Spiering 1996, 99-100).

How, exactly, did integration work as a remedy for malignant nationalism? The active ingredient in its functioning was economic prosperity, which made war irrelevant as a way of solving disputes. Post-war European history is abundant in rhetorical resource for such an argument. In the beginning of the 1990s, the Twelve of the EC were among the wealthiest states in the world, and had not had war with each other for more than fifty years. As put by Tristan Garel-Jones, acting as Britain’s Minister of State for Foreign and Commonwealth affairs, in a 1992 issue of the NATO Review: “Countries which, for centuries, have been antagonistic … have abandoned their mutual suspicions, and settled

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their problems at the negotiating table”. According to Garel-Jones, this treatment should also be made available to the parts of Europe lying outside the Twelve:

We hope that this pattern will spread more widely throughout Europe. Its attractions are obvious. History shows that democracies do not go to war with other democracies. This is a great prize. We hope that all European countries will reach for it. (Garel-Jones 1992, 27).

In this process, Garel-Jones argued, the EU should “provide a nucleus of political stability for the continent”, and show “what can be achieved by democracy, free markets, and the peaceful resolution of differences at the negotiating table” (Ibid., 29). The German Chancellor Helmut Kohl also appreciated that within western Europe, the EC has played a decisive role in helping overcome traditional rivalries and policies of national egoism. Kohl also shared with all Europeans the fundamental concern that national interest should never again spark off armed conflict, and that the upheaval taking place in the Balkans had brought with it great risks and uncertainties for Europe. Because of this, “Europe as a whole, more than ever before, needs a firm and secure anchor. Only a strong European Community can fulfil this role”. (Kohl 1993).

Behind these arguments echoes the idealism of federalist political theory. The idea that the sum of liberalism and federalism equals peace is Immanuel Kant’s. According to Kant, peace can not be found in the state of nature, but necessitates an act of foundation. The state of peace is guaranteed by general acceptance of three definitive articles, and of these the first two are relevant here (Kant 1919, 24-33). To begin with, Kant argued that the only just and peaceful form of state is republican, where political authority derives from representation and separation of the legislative and executive powers. This is because republics have to consult their citizens in case they want to wage war, and Kant assumed that it was more likely than not that the citizens will decline to give their consent. Secondly, Kant asserts that the only way to guarantee peaceful international relations is a Hobbesian social contract among these republican states. Such a “pacific federation” would not be a peace agreement with a purpose of ending a war, but a more 136

permanent contract ending all wars; and it would not serve the interests of any one state, but provide and protect the freedom of all states. Writing in the modestly optimistic political atmosphere of 1795, Kant hoped that a genuinely republican state – Kant himself was probably thinking of revolutionary France here – would emerge and form the core of a progressively growing pacific federation and start a peaceful revolution in international politics. In 1986, Michael Doyle argued that such a pacific federation had indeed been established among the “liberal societies” of the world, most of which are in Europe and North America, but can be found on every continent (Doyle 1986, 1156). According to Doyle, an apparent absence of war between liberal states for almost 200 years, and a fact that liberal societies tend to identify with other liberal states in situations of conflict, provide the statistical grounds to argue that “liberals have indeed established a separate peace – but only among themselves” (Ibid.). What Doyle was saying was that republican constitutional restraint, international respect for individual rights, and shared commercial interests deliver a society of perpetual peace among likeminded states – a form of federation of liberal states.

Historically perhaps the most important intellectual intervention in the context of European federalism was Richard Coudenhove-Kalergi’s 1923 book Pan-Europa. According to Coudenhove-Kalergi (1926, 11-25), the states of Europe should unite in a Pan-Europe underwritten by a federal constitution. The motivation to do this was twofold. Firstly, Europe was in many ways a natural political entity with potential to become a significant global force. For Coudenhove-Kalergi, the rise of regional political entities larger than the national state was a global political trend, and if Europe was unwilling to become a subject of global politics, it would disintegrate and become an object of the politics of the United States or the Soviet Union. Secondly, Europe was a continent of anarchy, where twenty seven states armed to the teeth with modern weapons of mass destruction were waiting for the next war. Unless substantial changes in the political organisation of Europe were made, the continent would bleed to death in nationalist conflict caused by balance-of-power politics. Writing in the 1920s, Coudenhove-Kalergi identified twelve open “wounds” on the European body politic, any of which might cause an infection, and lead the whole continent to a war that could destroy Europe as an entity (Ibid., 94). Thus, Pan-European ethos was the ethos of peace, inasmuch as federal 137

constitutions pacified relations between national states in Europe. Coudenhove-Kalergi’s conception of Europe relied on organicist metaphors, and the same politics of integration/fragmentation which was to be re-applied in European security discourse in the 1990s.

According to Edward Mortimer (1990), EC originated and was developed as an institution for integration in western Europe. With the end of the Cold War, the political map of Europe suddenly opened for expanding the scope of integration to eastern Europe. For Mortimer, it was historically “normal” that the countries of central and eastern Europe should look to western Europe for inspiration, leadership, and eventual integration, and equally “abnormal” that in the last 40 years they were cut off from it. Whereas the Old Europe was defined “on three sides by the sea and on the fourth, de facto, by the Iron Curtain”, in the New Europe “the curtain has suddenly lifted, revealing to the East a dizzying vision of open space: the eye does not know where to stop” (Ibid.). The perspective here is of course that of the western European, and there is little doubt that the land of the New Europe is here left for the western Europeans to appropriate. “If the process of European integration continues”, Mortimer (1992a) argued, “the EU, based on the present EC, should emerge as the main political entity standing between the US and Russia”. Delors, for another, asserted that

In this new strategic environment the European Community has a special role to play: as a model of integration; as a pole of attraction for other European states; as the chief provider of aid to the East and the South; in short as an anchor of stability for the entire continent (Delors 1994,13).

This clearly reflected the outspoken ambitions of the whole of European Commission, which in a set of financial proposals known as the Delors II package identified the EC as “the main focus for peace, democracy and growth by all of Europe and the neighbouring countries to the South and East”, and that it was vital to consolidate this position if the EC was to “increase its weight and influence for a more stable order in an ever more interdependent, and therefore more vulnerable, world”. (Delors II Package 1992, 7) 138

From its very beginning, the conflict in Yugoslavia was identified as “the first real test of the post-cold war security order in Europe” and a possibility for the EC to become the “main political entity” in Europe (see Financial Times 1991c). In his welcoming address at the Hague conference on Yugoslavia in September 1991, Ruud Lubbers told the participants:

We on the part of the European Community are compelled by our many ties with you to do what we can and help defuse tensions and contribute to a dialogue for a peaceful solution for the benefit of all concerned. It is certainly gratifying to experience that European integration can involve more than serving the economic interests of the inhabitants of the EC member countries. A success of this Conference can have a positive influence on peace and stability in Europe as a whole. I sincerely hope that the citizens and peoples of Yugoslavia will be among the first to benefit (EFPB Online 1991e).

In his February 1993 statement to the European parliament Helveg Pedersen, representing the Danish Presidency of the EPC, reiterated both the role of the EC in the conflict in the former Yugoslavia and in the New Europe as a whole:

Being the most important European cooperative organization, it is both natural and necessary that the EC take an active role in solving this conflict, whose mode of development and very nature ought to be a thing of the past. From the outset, the EC has endeavoured to make the warring factions understand and accept the principles of the states’ coexistence, which we regard as essential within the new Europe (EFPB Online 1993a).

Loukas Tsoukalis (1994, 230-231) wrote that since the EC constituted the “only important and solid part of the European architecture”, it was not only because of European solidarity and security, but because of the EC’s responsibility as a “regional power and a stabilizer” to play a role in the Balkans – a part of the continent “where

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economic weakness, political instability and ethnic heterogeneity can produce an explosive mixture”.

If there had to be a political subject of Europe, why did it have to be the EC/EU? Why not, say, Germany or France? Precisely because the EC represented the future of Europe by negating its past. In the Europe of the 1990s – as in Coudenhove-Kalergi’s Europe of the 1930s – revision in the political organisation of the continent seemed unavoidable given the transformations that had taken place on continental and global politics. Since the 1950s, the EC had become to represent the positive values associated with modern European civilisation, and a champion in the cause against the negative ones. The discourse of the political organisation of Europe was structured on a future/past - dichotomy, where all other political arrangements to the EC evoked the past and all the negative images associated with it. The EC appeared as a force of the future also to the part of Europe emancipating from a past of communism, and represented a form of political organisation brought about by increasing political interdependence and economic globalisation. In this discourse, any argument that did not pass as integrationist was easy to label as nationalist and therefore reactionary and potentially dangerous. Furthermore, a great deal of hope and effort was invested to give the EC the ability it needed to become a genuine guardian of the values it had become to represent. Revision of treaties were undertaken to make the EC more democratic and effective internally, and more unified and capable externally – both qualities implying a form of statehood. Many premises of this why-the-EC argument were articulated by Johan Jørgen Holst in a 1992 issue of the The World Today:

Future challenges to security in Europe are likely to stem … from a complex interplay of economic, social and ethnic forces and interest in weak and volatile societies striving to overcome the vestiges of Communist oppression, mismanagement and exploitation. In a very real sense, the European Community provides the best means for coping with that challenge. It contributes immeasurably to security by providing a zone of economic and social stability and prosperity which holds out promise also to the states and societies emerging from the ashes of the communist order. More important, it projects an institutional response to the internationalisation of the economic and technological 140

processes which shape the lives of Europeans. It embodies the concept of community transcending, comprising and linking the various societies and nations of Europe and offers an alternative to the nationalist prescription that ethnic and state borders should coincide. It stands for a broadening of identity by inclusion rather than a delimitation by exclusion. (Holst 1992, 219).

In short, the argument for the EC to assert itself as the political subject of Europe made economic and political sense in promising a sphere of stability and prosperity to European societies in economic, social and ethnic strife; and an alternative conception of community to the ethnic or national singularity of the state.

In other words, the New Europe was politicised as a Europe of integration with the EC/EU as its political subject. In the discursive economy of the New Europe, Europe of anything else than integration was nationalist, exclusionary and belligerent – or, quite simply, against the organic realities of the European body politic. The political subjectivity of a single state or entente in Europe represented a form of hegemony that belonged to the Old Europe. New Europe was an entity representing integration with an logos that promised to overcome the past and deliver prosperity and, ultimately, peace.

4.6 Conclusion

The discourse that attempted to grasp Europe in the context of the Balkan war was marked by the political use of dichotomies such as unity/disunity, integration/fragmentation, europeanisation/balkanisation and peace/war, where the latter represented illness and the former its cure. These socio-medical dichotomies privileged unity over disunity and integration over fragmentation. In this discourse, Europe was more than just geography: it stood for the liberal values of democracy and free trade, particularism of European culture and civilisation and territorial status quo. In this discourse, Europe existed as a territorial organism with a destiny in unity, for this was its “natural” condition. For centuries this destiny had been denied from it and a variety of 141

“unnatural” arrangements introduced in its place. But, in the end of the twentieth century, Europe once again emerged as a political horizon of peace and prosperity to be grasped by the Europeans. In fact, the Europeans were presented with very little choice here, unless they wanted to go back to European history, which, as described by Willem H. Roobol (1988, 196), has been “violent, full of lies and treason, … [and] never marked by great mutual tolerance or by joyful felicity”.

The Newest Europe was associated with a spatiotemporal narrative. Spatially, Europe was something living and real, and taking its “natural” shape as a political entity. Because of the “organic realities” of Europe, the EC/EU, acting in the name of Europe, had a political responsibility of the eastern and southern parts of the continent. This was not a novel argument, but echoed centuries of history of the European idea, where exists an understanding of a specifically European security interest. This interest can be evoked if a development in a part of Europe or in its sphere of interests is perceived to have security implications for Europe “as a whole”. The spatial sphere of European security interests has been delineated, for instance, in an ambitious report made by Leo Tindemans in 1975 and shelved by the European Council in The Hague in 1976, which has since become one of the classic pieces printed in readers and documentary histories of European integration. The Tindemans report asserted that

The political problems which arise within our immediate geographical surroundings, that is to say in Europe and in the Mediterranean area, have a particular significance for the European Union. The credibility of our undertaking requires that in this field, where our interests are greatest, we should from now on be united, that is to say, that we should accept the constraints imposed by a common policy (Tindemans Report 2000, 108).

Twenty years later, Lord Howe, the former British foreign secretary, asserted that a mixture of American detachment and European vacillation in the former Yugoslavia had made “imperative” what should have been realised immediately after the fall of the Berlin Wall:

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Europe will be called on to define its own interests and act upon them much more than ever before, especially if there is to be peace in our backyard. That backyard, our own European sphere of influence, now stretches at least from the Atlantic to the Urals, from the Arctic to the Sahara, and probably some way beyond (Quoted in Davidson 1995).

Utterances like these reflect an understanding that to be a “superpower” is to have a political backyard where to exercise supra-state political subjectivity. While still falling short of having a Hemisphere of her own, EU as an actor of international politics is increasingly often being identified with a spatial sphere of political interests outside the territories of EU member states.

Temporally, Europe was represented as a maturing political organism, but there were forces that aimed to negate this process. These forces stemmed from Europe’s own past, and existed as a destructive potential just below the political surface of Europe’s present. The threat of re-nationalisation evoked the years of 1914 and 1939 from European history, and threatened the process of post-war integration with fragmentation. This narrative pitting Europe as a political actor against re-nationalisation of European security policy supports Ole Wæver’s interpretation of the European project as a revolt against its own past. As noted by Wæver (1996, 123), there exists a discourse which securitises Europe as a project or a history with its aim in integration, and is periled by and gains urgency because of its alternative, fragmentation; “a self-propelling process that by definition will destroy ‘Europe’ as a project”.

The Newest Europe was, above all, a project against malignant nationalism. It was not constructed as much vis-à-vis the Other of the “East”, as it probably had been centuries before, as it was against this aspect of the Self (see Neumann 1999). It needs to be said, though, that given the different geographical definitions of the European body, a distinction between the Self and the East is far from clear. As an aspect of the Self, malignant nationalism was as desirable to Europe as illness is desirable to a healthy person. Indeed, illness may be a part of being human as much as dying is a part of life, but serious illnesses such as cancer can be overcome by taking action against them. This 143

makes cancer a very powerful political metaphor. Malignant nationalism, like cancer, is to be given no quarter and fought to the death. To do anything but that is to surrender and, eventually, die.

Europe did not really put up a fight against malignant nationalism, but has apparently survived. The EC/EU failed to deliver what many expected from it in the first years of the crisis, and it was to be the US to assert leadership thereafter. Dusko Doder (1993, 4) even claimed that not only did the Europeans fail to stop a civil war “on their doorstep”, but some of their contradictory responses succeeded in aggravating it. Others have reasoned that Yugoslavia did not represent a common threat for the Twelve in the way that the Soviet Union did, and therefore the relationship between national sovereignty and European unity is a result modified, and that a certain amount of nationalism has thus again become the norm in European security (see e.g. Dunay 1995; Gnesotto 1994; Rupp 1998; Ullman 1991).

It can be said that the discourse grasping social integrity within the European body politic against the existential threat of nationalism did not overcome the divisions within European society, and failed to transform Europe into political “flesh”. However, this rhetorical failure did not undermine the organicist metaphor for Europe, but lead to an even more elaborate application of it. This was done by neatly editing the failure in Yugoslavia into a developmental narrative of the European political organism. To give an example, the European Commission president Jacques Delors identified the failure in Yugoslavia as a sign of political immaturity of the EC: “The Community is like a an adolescent facing the crisis of adulthood. If the Community were 10 years older there would have been an intervention force” (quoted in Zametica 1992, 66). The failure in Yugoslavia was transformed into an epitome of an urgent necessity of Europe to be made capable of taking collective military action in its “backyard” by giving it “a strong foreign policy arm” (Larrabee 1994, xxvi). This discourse interlinked with the question on the role and place of the Western European Union vis-à-vis the EU that was debated in the 1990-1 and 1996 intergovernmental conferences – was the WEU an “arm” of the EC or a “pillar” of the Atlantic Alliance?

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In this developmental narrative, replicated in popular as well as academic discourse, Europe often gets portrayed as somehow getting bigger, stronger and more complete in terms of political anatomy, until it is fully developed and ready to accept its responsibilities and to take its place as one of the “giants” of the world political. The logical outcome of this narrative is economically and politically integrated European superpower with a sphere of interests in Europe and beyond. This is the subject of the next chapter.

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5 The Subject Without: Political Union and the Symbolism of the WEU

After the collapse of the East and diminishing of the existential threat of Soviet offensive, European security once again became a subject of intense debate. When Europe was no longer divided between the East and the West, a question emerged: who would provide security, and for whom would it be provided, in the “New Europe”? The first two answers seemed obvious; either NATO with the US as its political subject would continue its military presence in Europe as it had done for almost half a century; or in case of NATO withdrawal, European national states would once again take the centre stage in providing security for the “Europeans”. But soon after the Cold War, a third alternative (re- )emerged: a European Großraum, with the EC/EU acting as its political subject, providing security for its member states and Europe “as a whole”. Such a discourse had existed before, and resurfaced with the conflicts that took place soon after the ending of the Cold War. While it may not always be discernible, it should not be forgotten that, for many, the idea of European unity has been underpinned by a determination to resist both the Soviet occupier as well as the American protector.

This chapter explicates the politics of constituting the ability – the second criteria of the Schmittean conception of political subjectivity outlined in chapter two – of the EU to become a political subject of Europe. This involves an explication of political rhetoric of actors performing “American” and “European” interests, which were predominantly performed in the name of two military alliances: the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) and the Western European Union (WEU).

In constructing the ability of the EU to distinguish its friends from its enemies in its Großraum, the WEU became the institutional locus for two contesting metaphorical identifications, both of which were imbued with political meaning. Some wanted to see in the WEU a defence arm of the EU, which could wield its fist in Europe or elsewhere if the EC/EU so wished, independently of the US or any other actor. Others were not ready to give the WEU and indeed the EC/EU quite that much of implied subjectivity, and 146

rather saw the WEU as a European pillar of the Atlantic Alliance. This way, Europe was seen as a part of a bigger whole, a construction called NATO, where it could contribute to its security in co-operation with the political subject of the Western Hemisphere. In other words, the political space of post-Cold War Europe became a contest between the American “occupier” and the European “secessionist”. At stake in this debate was the degree of subjectivity identified with the political category of the European; was Europe seen as something that could act by itself or something to be acted upon by others. The transatlantic debate of the 1990s was more relevant than the ones before it due to the intensity of the European effort to attain some independence in its security and defence policies, and the (initial) willingness on behalf of the US to give it up.

A debate on the role and place of the WEU began properly in mid-1980s, when the institution was “woken up” from its Cold War “slumber”, and intensified in the intergovernmental conference on political union that preceded the signing of the Maastricht Treaty on European Union in 1992. During this time, calls for distinct European foreign, security and defence policies grew louder and more assertive with the conflicts in the Gulf and in the Former Yugoslavia, both of which exposed the gap between the willingness and ability of the EC to perform as a political subject. In the European security discourse in the early 1990s, an organicist conception of the WEU emerged to challenge the architectural transatlantic conception of European security. This became discernible in the debate on the possible incorporation of the institutions of the WEU and the planned EU in the 1990-1991 intergovernmental conference on political union (henceforth IGC-PU). After a compromise was reached on the WEU in the Maastricht Treaty and the institutions were kept separate, European idealism transformed into Atlantic fatalism and talk of dissociating a political “European community” from the sphere of the “Atlantic community” abated. And when the institutions did incorporate ten years later, it happened in an entirely different context and had much less political or symbolic significance. However, the story here begins with a brief review of a transatlantic academic debate of the turn of the 1990s on the role and place of NATO after the Cold War. This debate provided the discursive background for the EC/EU to dissociate a political Europe from the Western Hemisphere.

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5.1 Death of NATO?

The gradual but intensifying disintegration of the Cold War division of Europe over the 1980s initiated a discourse on how and – more importantly – by whom was Europe to be kept secure and defended in the future. To many strategists, post-Cold War Europe appeared at least as insecure than Cold War Europe; the old enemy had been banished, but the new enemy had not yet been imagined, located and deterred by anyone of the parties concerned with the European security. The European continent appeared as something in need of a security arrangement more in line with the changed circumstances. Fortunately, this time military strategy did not play as big a role as did rhetorical strategy.

The primary institution embodying the political subjectivity of the US in Europe was NATO. Since the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty in 1949, there had been periods of tension which had tested its “vitality”, such as 1956 Suez crisis and France’s withdrawal from the integrated command in 1967, but NATO had nevertheless weathered the storms and “survived”. In spite of this, the director designate of the IISS François Heisbourg doubted in 1987 if the Atlantic alliance could last out the century of its establishment. However difficult the past trials had been for the alliance, they had been all responses to “an identifiable threat or initiative which could usually be traced to a single major cause”, or in other words: “the allies have had to deal with sickness and trauma” (Heisbourg 1987, 413). But now, “as a result of a number of recent developments”, a new, more diffuse peril was facing the alliance: “senility, possibly leading to death from natural causes” (Ibid.). Heisbourg argued that NATO faced a possibility of a gradual disintegration after a period of growing transatlantic incoherence which could lead to a irreversible weakening of the Euro-American strategic coupling. Heisbourg’s NATO was an old man, struggling to hold its younger rivals at bay. Adrian G. V. Hyde-Price wrote in the same note in 1991:

Whilst the prospects for the European Community in the new Europe appear to be bright, those of the cold war’s other Western offspring – NATO – appear much less rosy. Indeed, with the collapse of communism in the East and the effective disintegration of the 148

Warsaw Pact, NATO is now facing the dreaded question: is there life after 40 (Hyde- Price 1991, 120)?

With the emergence of an organicist analogy of the New Europe, the most important institutional representation of the political subjectivity of the US in Europe – NATO – was also given an organicist existence in European security discourse. This took the form of a narrative, where NATO was identified as an old and possibly redundant embodiment of the Atlantic community, who was challenged by younger institutions or arrangements more appropriate to take its place in a changing world.

In a February 1988 issue of The Financial Times, Ian Davidson opened up a horizon for a European challenge after decades of dependence on “foreign hegemonies”. According to Davidson, the strategic obstacle to more rapid progress in the direction of a united Europe has been three-fold: “the Soviet Union represented a permanent threat to the security of the countries of Western Europe, the Soviet Union’s policies were uniformly rigid and predictable, and the United States was both an essential and a reliable protector” (Davidson 1988c). The threat of the Soviet Empire was only for the US to guarantee, which gave Western Europe every reason for postponing a pursuit of a more independent political role. “But it may well be”, according to Davidson, “that the status quo … is in the process of fading away, leaving Europe with little option but to face the hard choices of European independence” (Davidson 1988c).

Indeed, when the most defining political distinction of the Cold War era – that between the East and West – began losing its significance, the existence of institutions and arrangements built on this distinction began losing theirs. The US had been the political subject of the “North Atlantic area north of the Tropic of Cancer” since 1949. Although an organisation with a majority of its members in western Europe, NATO was perceived as an extension of the security interests of the US, not of Europe itself. As soon as the first questions were asked over the role of NATO in the New Europe, an idea of a specifically European security interest was articulated. According to Ian Davidson writing in a September 1988 issue of The Financial Times: “Europe will need to recognise that its 149

interests and assessment of the Soviet threat may differ from those of the US, and that it may therefore need an autonomous capacity … to defend itself” (Davidson 1988b).

In a 1989 report titled A Step Beyond Fear, Christopher Layton, on behalf of a London based think-tank The Federal Trust, put forward a case for a European security community with greater independence from the US. According to Layton, Europe was paying too high a political price for its place in the front line of East-West confrontation. The presence of the US in Western Europe was a welcome guarantee against the threat of Stalin, but: “Things seem much less clear today. Is there still, if there ever was, a risk of a deliberate Russian invasion of western Europe? If not, is it necessary or useful to maintain an American presence in Europe and a strong western military Alliance?” (Layton 1989, 3). Layton asked, could ongoing changes in the East-West relationship allow western Europe to become less dependent on American protection:

The Euro-American relationship is a partnership in which influence works in both directions, but one partner is more equal than the other, thanks in part to European dependence on American protection. Is there a possibility that the partnership can become more equal, as that dependence wanes, and that the political and economic dimensions of the partnership, so valid in themselves, can gain in relative weight, as the cement of fear weakens (Layton 1989, 3)?

With both superpowers under economic and political pressure to reduce their defence expenditure and introduce radical changes in their defence doctrines, an opportunity for more European co-operation in defence and security emerged. To make the best of this opportunity, it was up to the Europeans to seize the moment before anyone else did:

Europe faces new opportunities and new dangers, which may turn out to be more powerful incentives for security co-operation than those which have hitherto failed to drive Europe more than a short way in this direction. The dangers are the reverse of the opportunities, for if Europe fails to grasp the opportunities offered by the new perspective

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in East-West relations it may find the major decisions being taken by others and possibly against its interests (Layton 1989, 5).

In short, the political message was that the presence of US in Europe was imbalanced at best and needless at worst; and there were sound reasons for Europe to seek more independent arrangements for its security. But in order to do so, it was imperative for the Europeans to co-operate and act promptly.

That “Europe itself” and “European interests” rose to challenge the US in Europe, and not, say, Russia or Germany, was not surprising. As a territorial and political ideal, a European political entity overcame the “unnatural” divisions Europe had suffered from in its past. Over the first half of the twentieth century, Europe had been fragmented into mutually belligerent national(ist) states, of which Germany was the most powerful and dynamic; and over the Cold War years, Europe was divided in Eastern and Western parts by foreign hegemonies. The New Europe, as it emerged in security discourse of the end of the 1980s, depicted a continent on its way to a more “natural” state of unity. To give an example, Jim Hoagland celebrated in a 1990 issue of Foreign Affairs the survival of a European entity from years of division:

A year of revolutionary change has given Europeans, East and West, a new vision of a common destiny distinct from the ambitions of the Soviet Union and the United States. … The rush of change and the echoes it produced across the continent affirmed that Europe still exists as a political and strategic entity, even after four decades of cold war division and, in the East, subjugation and tyranny (Hoagland 1990, 33).

According to Hoagland (1990, 35-36), this Europe faced the challenge of ensuring that 1989 was to be one of the last years in which the future of the continent was determined elsewhere, and taking control of its destiny in self-determination.

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Richard Ullman wrote in his 1991 Securing Europe that the geopolitical prominence of the Soviet Union and the United States in post-war Europe was caused by a case of “abnormal roles” in security policy. The Soviet Union’s abnormal role was that it had isolated itself economically and ideologically from Europe and made European states fear it. By contrast, the role of the US had become abnormally large precisely because European states feared the Soviet Union, and the United States had to act as a military counterweight to this fear (Ullman 1991, 81). In a new situation, where many European states perceived the Soviet threat to their security to be significantly lower, it seemed “less and less necessary that an extra-continental power should be deeply involved in providing that security”, and more “natural” that a European security organisation would in time “evolve” to take its place (Ibid., 79).

From the very first European challenges to its own security, so to speak, the foreign hegemonies – and especially the US – were quite reluctant to back off. Mikhail Gorbachev began loosening up the rigid conceptual formations of the Cold War in Paris in October of 1985 by using the metaphor of the “common European house” (Chilton & Ilyin 1993). Gorbachev’s metaphor challenged the structures of Cold War geopolitical discourse that still shaped the European continent. By conceptualising the idea of a common European house, Gorbachev accepted the need for Europe and the Soviet Union’s role in it to be re-created. Gorbachev’s Europe subscribed to Charles de Gaulle’s geographical definition of Europe from-Atlantic-to-the-Urals, and, while signalling change, conservatively prescribed a political role for the Soviet Union in European politics beyond the Cold War. At Malta in 1989, George Bush came up with the ideas of “Europe Whole and Free” and “new Europe based on new Atlanticism” to contest Gorbachev for the political meaning of post-Cold War Europe (Hoagland 1990, 34-39, 42-47). Bush’s “Europe Whole and Free” opposed Gorbachev’s visions by constructing a Europe united under Western values and American political influence. Behind the theme of “new Europe based on new Atlanticism” lied an assertion of American strategic interests in Europe beyond the Cold War – that the US has a continuing role in helping to ensure Europe’s stability and a fear that US interests will be brushed aside by a resurgent Europe (Riddell 1989). As the European grounds of the Soviet Union began to crumble

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with the fall of the wall and domestic strife in the Soviet Union, the United States gradually emerged as the only foreign hegemon left to stake claims on Europe.

Robert D. Hormats (1989, 71-72), an influential veteran of US government, wrote in a 1989 issue of Foreign Affairs that it was inevitable that US-European relations would be altered as the West Europeans seek to reduce their political dependence on Washington with the easing of tensions in East-West relations. Hormats predicted that Western Europe would explore its political possibilities in Eastern Europe that were unavailable in the past with its own lack of coherence and Soviet presence; and that it would also be more assertive in its commercial interests and demonstrate its independence from the US on a number of foreign policy issues. Washington would probably become increasingly uncomfortable with the challenges of Western Europe’s more independent posture, but according to Hormats, should also understand that increasing European unity and assertiveness could turn out to be “an enormous asset for the United States if a new basis for cooperation between America and Europe on economic and defense matters can be found” (Ibid., 72). The future shape of Atlantic relations would depend on whether the Americans could accommodate Western Europe’s desire for greater independence on political and economic matters on the one hand, and whether Western Europe could accommodate the American desire for Western Europe to assume a greater portion of responsibility of its own defence and more actively promote the well-being of the global economy. That way, “the United States would still be the indispensable leader of the West, but would have to find ways to build consensus rather than to force it” (Ibid.). Hormats pointed out that in a period of dramatic change

West Europeans and Americans will constantly have to remind themselves that, although their policies are likely to diverge on a greater number of issues, a fundamental and durable source of their international economic and political influence – and certainly of their security in what still is a highly uncertain, if improving, global environment – is their close relationship with one another. Societies on both sides of the Atlantic will need to keep that point in sharp focus lest the forces of change obscure it (Hormats 1989, 73).

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Hormats also reminded that Western Europe’s strategic options were still determined by global power relationships, and “as long as Europe is not a military superpower (even if it is an economic one), it must depend on the world’s other superpower, its ally the United States, to counter Soviet influence and Soviet bloc armies” (Hormats 1989, 85). Behind such an argument echoed an unstated threat, and it had not always been unstated, of that if the Europeans were uncooperative, the US might in fact pack its things and go home and leave the Europeans alone with their insecurities (Davidson 1990c).

Richard Betts (1989, 37), a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, wrote in another 1989 issue of Foreign Affairs that the Atlantic Alliance was nearing a turning point. It was confronting forces that could alter its basic terms of reference, most significant of which was the possibility of radical change in the East-West confrontation. Because it was not entirely clear at this point that there was going to be a long-term change in East- West confrontation, or that some other and possibly even more dangerous form of confrontation would not take its place, Betts was convinced that there was no reason to expect any essential change in the constitution or operation of the Alliance. Far from lying on its deathbed, Betts narrated that NATO was approaching middle age and suffering from a mid-life crisis. Betts’s article was a reaction to suggestions that American withdrawal from Europe was becoming more likely in a changing political circumstances. Betts argued that apart from cutting the defence budget of the US in half a major withdrawal from Europe would make no military sense:

While there is now wide disagreement on the status of the East-West military balance, few responsible analysts maintain that NATO has excess capability, or that major U.S. withdrawals would not cripple the possibility of mounting a successful conventional defense. The possibility of a successful defense may be dubious now, but why guarantee defeat? (Betts 1989, 44).

The worst of both Betts’s worlds would be to bring half of the US troops home, as the conventional pillar of flexible response would be virtually wrecked, but the US would still be wasting money in Europe (Betts 1989, 44). Thus, for Betts, continuity remained

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the best bet for NATO, and an imaginative reformation in policy was needed for to overcome its mid-life crisis (Betts 1989, 52).

Robert McGeehan (1990, 7) of the United States International University, wrote in a 1990 issue of the NATO Review that thinking about NATO’s military future in 1990 was not unlike considering what to do with armed forces after winning a war, while also noting that the war may not have been won yet, as the Soviet Union was still spending in its military and Eastern Europe showing signs of increasing balkanisation. McGeehan (Ibid.) argued that overriding such a radical historical turning point there lied a remarkably consistent coincidence of both interests and values across the Atlantic since the later 1940s. The Alliance had met internal as well as external challenges, and had overcome them without real loss of cohesion. For McGeehan, this reflected a sense of community among Westerners, and the fundamental conviction that “US security is inseparable from that of Western Europe, whether or not the Cold War has ended” (Ibid.).

Andrew J. Pierre (1990, 459) wrote in a 1990 book titled Beyond East-West Confrontation of a widespread acceptance of the fact that NATO needed to be significantly transformed in order to make it relevant to the changed circumstances of the 1990s, and that those who argued NATO was no longer needed were a distinct minority. In addition to some military changes within the organisation, Pierre (1990, 468) called for a political transformation of the Alliance to accurately reflect altered political situation, involving a reconfiguration of roles and responsibilities so as to increase European weight within the organisation. Even with substantial reforms, Pierre thought it unlikely that NATO should retain its dominant role within the West it had during the Cold War. Richard Perle (see Riddell 1989), an influential official of the Reagan administration, argued that as the political differences across the Atlantic, which were suppressed in the interests of security, were likely to increase in importance as the sense of danger had diminished. As a result, the relevance of NATO was likely to decline, and any political role was likely to be inherited by the EC.

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Going through a period of dramatic political change as everything that had underpinned Atlantic unity was losing political significance, the US reiterated two “facts” that made its continuing presence in Europe necessary. Firstly, even if the Soviet threat to European security seemed to be disappearing, it was far from certain that it actually was, or that there was not something else – Germany for instance (see Hammond 1990, 497) – taking its place. Secondly, there existed a sense of Atlantic community which held Europe and North America together in a way that would outlive the Soviet threat, and which made it good and natural for the US to stay instead of going home. The US did, however, acquiesce to quantitative and qualitative changes within the Alliance to balance increasing European self-assertiveness. This way the US implicitly came out to say that perhaps there are no reasons for it to stay in Europe, and that there may exist a European entity that may in time take over. Surely, it would have been needless for the US to identify threats and appeal to Atlantic unity or to make concessions to Europe if the feasibility of its continuing presence in Europe had been uncontroversial and had not been contested by anyone, or at least perceived by the US as something open to contest.

Post-war European integration represented to many, in Europe as well as in the US, a project of forging a new regional superpower on the world stage. As the era of East-West division in Europe seemed as drawing to a close, such ideals appeared again as within the reach of reality. Was it not time for the Europeans to take control of their “own” security? To many it was, but there were two obstacles on the way to realising such a Europe: the US was unwilling to see Europe standing on its own; and even if it had been willing, Europe itself was not yet ready to stand on its own, for there was very little to speak of in terms of European unity outside institutions and agreements on regional economic integration in western Europe. Such were also the challenges for those constructing a Europe capable of looking after itself: to “complete” the project of European integration, and to dissociate it from the Western Hemisphere. It needs to be said that such a discourse can not be comfortably labelled as “European”, for there was and still is great controversy in Europe over what the process of European integration stands for, or what – if anything – should its outcome be. It also needs to be said that such a discourse is rather difficult to locate in any clear and explicit form because it was so controversial and contested inside Europe as well as it is across the Atlantic. But, such a discourse exists; and even if its 156

official articulations were few and far between, it is woven in the very fabric of the European construction and implicitly present where-ever and whenever its (re)construction takes place.

5.2 Europe as a Political Giant

One of the most important obstacles that has stood on the way of Europe providing its own security has been the fact that there has never really been a political subject of Europe capable of doing this. As the era of East-West confrontation was drawing to a close and European security was opening to re-definition in the late 1980s, lack of such subjectivity emerged once again as a gap for the Europeans to fill. The EC soon emerged as the only viable solution to the problem, and became the locus for discourses constructing a European political entity. The problem with the EC was that it was only an economic power. In a January 1991 statement speech to the European Parliament on the programme of the Luxembourg presidency of the Council of Europe, the President-in- Office Jacques Poos identified the transformation of the EC from an economic union into a political union as one of its major challenges:

a Single Market without a single currency and an economic and monetary union without a political union would be uncompleted structures, at best. And a union without a proper common policy on external affairs and security would be an economic giant, but lacking in resilience and with little credibility in the world (EFPB Online 1991a).

In other words, economic “giant-hood” was no longer enough for Europe, but needed to be completed by giant-hood in foreign and security policies. Poos continued: “In a world where the geo-political balances inherited from the Second World War have … collapsed, the European Community must establish a stronger presence … To do that, it must pay increasing attention to security and, eventually, defence” (Ibid.). Essentially the same point was made by Giovanni Jannuzzi, representing the Secretariat of the EPC:

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While the world has become increasingly multipolar, with the emergence of a number of new and independent centers of power, the growing size and complexity of the problems to be faced allow only a limited number of ‘giants’ to act effectively in foreign politics, at least on a world scale. Under such conditions, the European Community must emerge – in the transition from a bipolar to a multipolar world – as an actual superpower, alongside the US, the Soviet Union and Japan (Jannuzzi 1992, 289).

According to Jannuzzi, the EC was limited in its superpower status by the absence of a “nerve-center” for political decision-making, “comparable to that of nation-states” (Jannuzzi 1992, 289). If the EC succeeded in acquiring a “nerve-center” and in expanding its competence to security, it would become “a full superpower, albeit of a specific and somewhat anomalous nature” (Ibid.). Thus, for Poos as well as Jannuzzi, Europe was a giant body made of at least two “humors” or elements: one economic, the other political. To survive as a giant in the new “geo-political balances” of the multipolar post-Cold War world, these humors also had to be in balance: Europe had to be a political giant as well as an economic one – a superpower.

Economic integration had formed the basis of European unity after World War II, while political integration – understood in terms of security and defence – had been pursued on a broader Atlantic framework. The result of this arrangement had been “a constant tug of war between the two” (1991b). In this discourse, being a superpower or one of the “poles” in world politics was a sum of economic and political capabilities; both of which the US had, and the latter of which the EC/EU was lacking. A year before identifying the EC as a political giant alongside the US, Giovanni Januzzi wrote in NATO Review:

Europe has taken giant strides since 1949 – thanks in part to the Alliance. Its weight in the world is becoming increasingly evident, but this weight is chiefly economic and insufficiently political. … It is natural, therefore, that the United States, which bears the brunt of the defence of Western security and interests, should wish to wield the corresponding political power (Jannuzzi 1991, 6).

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Jannuzzi added that it was equally “natural” that the EC wished to play a greater political role commensurate with its economic size, but only as part of, i.e. not in place of, NATO (Ibid.). Jannuzzi’s arguments in NATO Review constructed a New Europe quite similar to the Western Europe of the Cold War years, but the security and defence of which were based on Atlantic – not European – unity.

In a November 1988 issue of The Financial Times, Guy de Jonquieres wrote on how political, economic, social and industrial structures, policies and rules which had long underpinned Europe’s internal and external relationships with the rest of the world were coming under mounting strain as many of the comfortable certainties of the post-war era were being swept away. According to Jonquieres, the pressures had become so intense that they seemed unlikely to be accommodated merely by selective tinkering of the post- war status quo; but, increasingly, “Europe is being obliged to grope its way forward in search of a new model on which to base its future development” (de Jonquieres 1988). For Jonquieres, the EC and its plans to create a single market by the end of the symbolic year of 1992 represented such a search, although an economically motivated one. In the same issue of The Financial Times, Ian Davidson (1988d) wrote that as “1992” was represented as a purely civilian project which was in no connection to the defence policies of the member states, these functional separations were becoming increasingly difficult to sustain with the growing momentum of European integration, as developments in one of the spheres had implicit ramifications on the other. According to Davidson,

the fact is that the impetus of Community integration is beginning to make this group of European states look more and more like a body with all-embracing interests, even if the official role of the Community as such, in the fields of foreign policy and defence, remains minimal or non-existent (Davidson 1988d).

Davidson reiterated this point in a June 1989 issue of The Financial Times by identifying the political significance of economic and monetary integration of the SEA of 1987:

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It would be shortsighted to imagine that economic and monetary union is just about economics and money. It is not; it is about the overall integration of the Community, and the strengthening of an EC dimension as important as economic and monetary co- operation cannot fail to strengthen the Community’s political backbone (Davidson 1989, 2).

At one time, the status of the EC as a strictly civilian power set it apart from other political groupings; but, in a rapidly changing world, such a distinction was increasingly often called into question. As noted by de Jonquieres (1988), the Community’s founding fathers were primarily motivated by the very political purpose of eliminating forever the threat of another war in Europe, and the single market was seen merely as a necessary step on the way to a goal of creating a European federation – an entity with a “body” and a “political backbone”.

The logic of economic-to-political integration structured the project of post-war European integration from the very beginning. In his May 1950 declaration, Robert Schuman proposed the placing of Franco-German production of coal and steel under a common higher authority within the framework of an organisation open to other European countries. The purpose of this was to deliver “simply and speedily that fusion of interests which is indispensable to the establishment of a common economic system”, from which may then grow “a wider and deeper community between countries long opposed to one another”, and ultimately, “the first concrete foundation of a European federation indispensable to the preservation of peace” (Schuman Declaration 2000, 13-14). When taking on his functions as the President of the High Authority of the ECSC, Jean Monnet said that “Europe cannot be limited to Coal and Steel … the community institution, which is the skeleton of a federal state, only makes sense if it leads to true political authority” (quoted in Gazzo 1991a). Monnet’s identification of the ECSC as a skeleton bears a striking resemblance to Rudolf Kjéllen’s writings on the state as a living organism. Kjellén (1916, 1-32) distinguished two different roles or “faces” of the state: the first represented state as a legal subject and use of power on its people within its boundaries;

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and the second and the more crucial one represented state as a subject of external relations with other states. Where the former provided only a legal skeleton for the state, the latter provided its political muscle. Thus, the institutions of European integration were lifeless and faceless, as long as they were not animated by political “flesh”.

Practically speaking, once the first step of integration had been taken, other steps would necessarily follow one another and inevitably lead to European federation. This logic was given a scientific reference in the “spillover” concept, first conceptualised by Ernst B. Haas and elaborated by Leon N. Lindberg among others, which referred to the way in which the creation and deepening of economic integration would require supranational regulatory capacity and politics following economics (on the concept of spillover see Rosamond 2000, 59-65). Thus, even if the immediate means of integration appeared to be economic, the Europe project had an explicitly political telos. As put by Enoch Powell in a 1968 issue of The RUSI Journal:

The will to permanent economic co-operation between the Western European nations and their impulse to combine in the fields of space, atomic energy, and heavy industry, not to mention arms production, have inevitable overtones of defence. Political unity is inseparable from defensive unity, and to move towards one is to move towards the other (Reproduced in Powell 1990, 64).

Walter Hallstein rejected the distinction made between economic and political integration and asserted that as the roles of the state in establishing the framework within which economic activity takes place are integrated, it is essentially a political phenomenon: “integration made in the economic field is not merely a step on the way to political integration: it is already political itself” (Hallstein 1972, 28-29). At the same time, integration was not a product or an end in itself, but a dynamic process: “the European ‘challenge’ never stops. Of all the many practical and technical, as well as idealistic and moral, elements that are the fabric of the Europe we are building, this ‘challenge’ is the most constant, the most permanent” (Ibid., 46). In sum, the integration of Europe had,

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from the beginning, a political destiny, which derived from the very “nature” of the integration process.

The problem with the EC asserting its political subjectivity in Europe was that it, as a political entity, did not belong to the same category with the US. Ever since, if not before, the articulation of the Monroe doctrine the relative political weight of the Old World had been perceived as diminishing to that of the New World as well as to that of Russia. Such an observation was made by Alexis de Tocqueville in his 1835 treatise Democracy in America, where he wrote that “while the attention of mankind was directed elsewhere”, the United States and Russia “have grown up unnoticed; and, they have suddenly placed themselves in the front rank among nations, and the world learned their existence and their greatness at almost the same time” (de Tocqueville 1951, 434). Behind most visions of European political unity lies a less than flattering comparison to the status of the US in international relations. According to Walter Hallstein, in putting the US and Russia in the “front rank among nations” de Tocqueville implied that the shrinking globe was becoming a “world of giants”. For Hallstein, transforming the relations of the EC vis-à- vis these giants has been one of the major aims of post-war European integration; to create a new “giant” big enough to hold its own in a world of giant powers (Hallstein 1962, 2).

On a November 1990 issue of The Financial Times, David Buchan (1990) visualised the imbalance between EC’s capabilities by depicting it as an “economic giant” but a “political pygmy”. According to Buchan, the EC was a political heavyweight de facto with its common trade policy and currency and corresponding leverage in international politics; but, in form, its foreign policy was essentially a paper mill producing consensual joint statements, often too late for anyone to notice or care about. The same message was echoed by Jacques Poos in a speech to the European Parliament on the Programme of the Luxembourg Presidency: “a union without a common policy on external affairs and security would be an economic giant, but lacking in resilience and with little credibility in the world” (EFPB Online 1991a).

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For some commentators, the growing of Europe from a political pygmy to a giant was a geographically differentiated process. In The World Today article titled “Europe: still economic giant, political pygmy”, Edzard Reuter proposed a strategy for post-Cold War European integration where, in the first stage, the whole of Europe should integrate economically around a core of politically integrated nations. According to Reuter:

The economic integration of Europe – and I mean of all the European nations – must be accelerated wherever possible. Without this integration there will be no equality of standards of living, no solidarity within the European civilisation. Without this integration, we can forget all about the dream of a Europe united in peace. At the same time, the fact remains that the West European countries must pursue political unity with greater resolve if they want to create a secure, stable core around which to integrate the Central and East European states (Reuter 1991, 169).

But, political unity cannot be permanently limited to West European countries: “Step by step, depending on their economic and democratic maturity, all the European countries so desiring must be included” (Ibid.).

For most commentators, the growing Europe into a political giant had been made imperative by the structural changes that had taken place in the world political. The ability to act and not be acted upon required a giant body politic of balanced “humors”. Writing in 1996, Curt Gasteyger argued that

the European Union is realizing that even in a world in which economics have become so preponderant, politics remain the backbone of international order and national self- esteem. From this follows the logical conclusion that the Union, too, will not be able to make use of the full economic potential and play the role it is expected to play in the new international environment if it does not enlarge the gamut of its instruments of power (Gasteyger 1996, 74).

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According to Gasteyger, the EU was still to adjust to a radically different international environment; one that required the EU to reconsider the way it anticipated events, defined its priorities, formulated its foreign policy, and honoured its external commitments. For Gasteyger, this was a two-way street: the EU is as much an object of international politics as an important actor in it – “it has to react as much as it has to act to shape and influence the international environment by recognizing its new shifts and challenges as well as to manifest actively its own interests and preferences” (Gasteyger 1996, 122).

In European security discourse, the imbalance between the economic and political capabilities of the EC in the international scene left it in a limbo between the categories of an economic power and a “real” superpower; and if the EC wished – or was destined – to become the latter, it needed to complete the process of European integration with a political dimension. In a 1987 document titled Platform on European Security Interests, the WEU ministers articulated their willingness to develop a more cohesive European identity, and stated that “we are convinced that the construction of an integrated Europe will remain incomplete as long as it does not include security and defence” (Hague Platform 1987). In a 1988 declaration, the Action Committee for Europe, a successor to Jean Monnet’s EC ginger group, argued that as long as European countries do not form a true union, their influence on the course of events will remain weak and their destiny will depend on the action of others (see Davidson 1988a). The Committee recommended that the EC made a qualitative leap forward towards a closer union; first with progress towards a true monetary union, and second, with a strengthening of Europe's defence arrangements in an enlarged WEU. According to the Committee, progress along both these avenues was essential, for Europe could not really achieve “economic and social solidarity, if it does not also extend to security through the implementation of a common defence policy” (quoted in Davidson 1988a).

An article in a December 1989 issue of The Economist called for the EC to make itself a superpower; one “that sees itself, and can where necessary act, as equal partner to America” (1989, 18). The EC had the economic strength of a superpower, but not the foreign policy of one; the European Commissions brief was broadly restricted to trade,

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and the rest of EC’s foreign policy depended upon co-operation and consensus among its members. For several decades such an arrangement coped with the tasks of Cold War- Europe, but was becoming increasingly out-of-date in the New Europe. The main reason for this was Germany: “visions of ‘one country, two alliances’ are an invitation to Germany to go the other way – to neutrality, Germany on the loose again” (Ibid.). Thus, “the aim of the next set of European architectural drawings should be, above all, to bind a united Germany into the West – which means the Community” (Ibid.). It was time for the EC to present more than a “trader’s face” to the world:

Relaunched by its own Single European Act, encouraged by the United States, impelled by revolutions to the east, the European Community has emerged in 1989 as an odd sort of world power – one without armed forces of its own and without much capacity to forge foreign policy. Yet foreign policy is what will be demanded of this headless, weaponless superpower in the post-Gorbachev world (The Economist 1989, 17).

Traditionally, the head, alongside the heart, has symbolised sovereignty in use of power by the body politic (see Le Goff 1989). In the political theory of the body, the head has come to represent the essential unifying principle and source of order within bodies politic; and all deviations of this principle, which can take either the form of headless or multi-headed bodies politic, symbolise absence of political singularity – i.e. political weakness or non-existence.

One of the most important reasons for a having a political head is its ability to express the needs of the political organism – i.e. to speak out to the political world. In European security discourse, this need was outspoken in calls for the EC to have a single strong voice instead of a cacophony of weak voices of its member states. In a July 1991 statement to the European Parliament concerning the programme of the Dutch Presidency of the Council of Europe, Hans Van den Broek said that

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The world around us … needs further European integration. Economically, this was the conclusion we drew when passing the Single European Act. What we now have to consider are political developments in Eastern Europe and elsewhere. Joint action, speaking with one voice, helping to achieve economic and political stability in Europe and the rest of the world – these are the challenges the European Community faces today (EFPB Online 1991b).

To have a single voice does not always equal to being heard, and especially if this voice is not convincing or assertive enough. Van den Broek thought it was time for Europe to come of age and “grow together”:

We must learn to continue speaking with one voice or to speak with one voice on the world stage more frequently. This is not, of course, just a question of new institutional arrangements. National traditions and perceptions must grow together and be converted into common thinking and actions where matters of equal importance to all Member States are concerned (EFPB Online 1991b).

The explicit aim of the CFSP adopted in the Maastricht Treaty was to enable the EU “to speak with a single voice and to act effectively in the service of its interests and those of the international community in general” (EFPB Online 1993c).

Thirty years before the CFSP Walter Hallstein wrote that the EC needed a “political personality” distinct of the Atlantic Community. To Hallstein, the emergence of such a personality seemed as feasible as it was realistic:

The so-called “Atlantic Community” cannot be confined to the Atlantic area, for its effects must embrace our other friends and partners in the Pacific and elsewhere. Nor is it a community in the same sense that this word applies to the European Community – that is, a full economic union, one new Atlantic personality, with integrated institutions and strong political implications. Whatever the degree of our interdependence, it would be unrealistic to expect our American and other friends outside Europe to assume all the 166

obligations of the European treaties, with all their political overtones. What seems much more likely to emerge, in fact, is a close partnership between two personalities, the European Community and the United States, benefiting not only its “partners”, but other countries as well (Hallstein 1962, 87-88).

Since there was something regionally and historically peculiar in the project of European integration, Hallstein thought it natural to dissociate it from the political sphere of the “Atlantic Community”. The significance of this dissociation is in the terms used by Hallstein: “one new Atlantic personality” in a political framework of a “partnership between two personalities”. In European security discourse, this personality took a shape of a “giant” with a political “backbone”, a “head” able to make decisions on behalf of and represent its member states, and a “voice” to speak out its needs. In this discourse, the challenge of the EC/EU in becoming the political subject in and of Europe was to break down the distinction made between the European sphere of economic integration on the one hand, and the Atlantic sphere of political integration on the other, and take its place in the “front rank among nations” with the other “giants” of the political world.

There had been rhetoric dissociating the political “personalities” of the “European Community” from the “Atlantic Community” ever since they became associated in the Cold War, but it intensified towards the end of the 1980s with the changes in East-West relations and further steps in economic integration in Europe. The WEU, a defence pact signed in 1954 and revived in late 1980s, became the institutional locus of this rhetoric, and in many ways symbolic for the political contest for the New Europe. By imposing political meaning on this institution, which had had virtually no political meaning during most of the Cold War, intellectuals of statecraft across the Atlantic were staking claims on European soil.

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5.3 Birth, Bedtime and Awakening of the WEU

The Brussels Treaty of March 1948, in which both alliances WEU and NATO have their origins, “was conceived at the confluence of the major political currents that emerged at the end of World War II” (Cahen 1989, 1). The first post-war years saw increasing military tensions in relations between the countries of western Europe and the Soviet Union. In a speech before the House of Commons on January of 1948 Ernest Bevin, the British Foreign Secretary, denounced the menace of Soviet policy and called the free nations of western Europe to draw closer together to repulse it. Consequently, the Brussels Treaty, signed by Britain, France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg, created a regional defence organisation known as Western Union Defence Organization (WUDO). In a strongly worded treaty, the signatories committed to assist each other with all the military and other aid in their power in the event of one becoming the victim of armed attack in Europe. The intentions of this treaty are somewhat controversial, but it emerged as a multilateral treaty that intended to persuade the US to commit itself to the defence and support of Western Europe, whilst allowing its member states (under British leadership) to develop broader notions of a Western Union (Deighton 1997, 1-2; Gerbet 1987b, 36-38; Rees 1998, 3).

The historical period dubbed as the Cold War, spanning from the construction of the Berlin blockade to the collapse of the Berlin Wall, was structured on a foundation of explicit political antagonism between the East and the West. This was a period in history where western Europe was politicised against the East, but not as much a political subject as a political object of the Atlantic alliance. In the signing of the Washington Treaty and the creation of NATO in April 1949, the US associated most of the countries in western Europe under its political supremacy in an act that was implicitly or explicitly accepted by all of them. As put by Edward Fursdon (1980, 40) the North Atlantic Treaty was the realisation of Ernest Bevin’s “dream” of a wide alliance encompassing the whole of the North Atlantic Area and under the protection of the US atomic weaponry. WUDO was integrated into NATO on the grounds of avoiding duplication between the two organisations, and the defence commitments of the Brussels Pact were henceforward

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operationalised through the larger and more geographically extensive NATO framework – making WUDO a precursor to what later become the “European Pillar” of defence within NATO (Duke 2000, 14; Rees 1998, 5-6).

The outbreak of the Korean war in June 1950 forced the question of German rearmament in the European political agenda, and it was widely interpreted that without a German contribution, the combined forces of the Western Union were inadequate in the event of Soviet aggression in western Europe. The dilemma of German rearmament saw an attempt by the “Six” of the ECSC to create a joint European army under a supranational authority; an idea that was institutionalised in the European Defence Community (EDC) and later in the European Political Community. However, a change of administration in the US and the death of Stalin produced a period of easing tensions in the East-West relations, and contributed to the foundering of the ratification of the EDC treaty in the French National Assembly in August of 1954. After the EDC was aborted, British took the diplomatic initiative to revive the Western Union, and the Paris Agreements established the WEU, with Germany and Italy as members, in October 1954. The WEU was stripped of the supranational features that had caused Britain to stand apart from the EDC in the first place. While it was a fear of a superpower conflict which originally triggered off the proposals to create a joint European army in the beginning of the 1950s, it was equally a change in these circumstances which greatly reduced political pressures in favour of the project and added decisively to the strength of its opponents. The WEU was not a joint European army. It was not even a defensive alliance in the traditional sense since it lacked any integrated military structures, it had no common defence budget, no integrated licensing and letting of arms contracts and no European defence minister or ministry. As put by Simon Duke, the WEU was destined to be NATO’s “junior sibling from conception” (Duke 2000, 39). Or as put by Anne Deighton (1997, 1), the WEU “was born of opportunism, and survived not least because its low profile presented no real challenge to other institutions” (see also Cardozo 1987, 50-51, 71-72; Rees 1998, 9.)

Articulations constructing independent political subjectivity for Europe were more or less muted during the Cold War, and the EC developed as a civilian power and all matters

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pertaining to European security and defence were left to NATO. The threat of the Soviet Union provided an external source of motivation for states in western Europe to accommodate the political subjectivity of the US in European security, and a conscious decision to prevent notions of European political identity from encroaching into those areas that might bring it into conflict with the US (Deighton 1997, 13-15). One notable exception to this was the Gaullist project for the “European Europe” at the turn of the 1960s, which embodied an idea of Europe with its own foreign policy and defence on the Franco-German axis (Gerbet 1987a, 107-109, 116-123, 125-126). The enlargement of the community and the accession of Great Britain in 1972 represented more obstacles on the path to political integration, and a rhetorical shift of emphasis to economic integration. In sum, during the Cold War official articulations for European political subjectivity were replaced by somewhat paradoxical rhetoric for interstate foreign policy co-operation among European states on one hand, and an acceptance of the political eminence of the US in Europe on the other. “Recognising the undesirability of duplicating the military staffs of NATO”, the WEU was established and functioned as a facilitating mechanism to enable NATO play the leading role in European security and defence (Modified Brussels Treaty 1954). Because of this, the role directly played by the WEU in the management of European security was marginal from the beginning.

Even if NATO was fulfilling the functions for which the WEU had originally been conceived, the WEU had another function. Since the Treaty of Rome of 1957 it had been the only institutional framework for Britain officially to meet the Six of the EEC. After the accession of Britain to the EEC in 1973 and until 1984 the organisation was moribund: there were no WEU meetings at ministerial level and a fallow period when not even a Secretary-General had not been appointed, and the only “vital” element was the Parliamentary Assembly in Paris, which persistently continued to call for a European security dimension and a reactivation of the organisation (Cahen 1989, 5). According to one former Secretary-General of the WEU, Alfred Cahen (1990, 56), after failing in its attempts to forge a European dimension of security in the shadow of NATO, WEU “fell into a deep sleep which was to last ten years”. In a December 1990 issue of The Financial Times, Robert Mauthner (1990) depicted the WEU as the “sleeping beauty of western defence”, who, once awake, “would become the main vehicle for the development of a 170

common security and defence policy, together with the proposed political union”. In Charles Perrault’s fairy tale The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, a beautiful young Princess had her hand pierced with a spindle, and fell into a profound sleep lasting a hundred years – a misfortune predicted by some Fairies – from which she was woken up after being kissed by a king’s son.

By the time the WEU began its “hibernation”, the hierarchy of instititutions involved in European defence was very established: primacy was given to NATO which enshrined the conventional and nuclear guarantees given by the US for the defence of western Europe (see Cahen 1996, 167). However, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, number of developments in national perspectives and superpower relations combined to weaken this establishment, and stimulated an essentially Franco-British debate on reorganisation or re-institutionalisation of European defence. At this point in time, the conventional wisdom in London remained that any re-opening of the dossier of European defence autonomy would put the US’s commitment to western security at risk and undermine NATO. In Paris, conventional wisdom pointed to the opposite: any opening of the dossier would have to involve a downgrading of NATO vis-à-vis its European partners. The early 1980s witnessed growing tensions in transatlantic relations, particularly over the question of appropriate policies to pursue towards the Soviet Union. In France, Britain, and other European countries, there were concerns about the direction in which these policies were moving; first and foremost, the European dilemma about the trustworthiness of the US security guarantee during a period of renewed East-West hostility. At the same time, NATO’s European allies were fearful about being dragged into a conflict by an explicitly bellicose administration in the US. Reacting to this transatlantic divergence, London began to take greater interest in the WEU. Another significant factor contributing to this interest was that by the early 1980s Paris moderated its Gaullist ambitions and was willing to compromise on a European defence identity independent of NATO. Seemingly, there was pressure among the European powers to find “a body that could represent a reinvigoration of European defence activities without alarming the US or transforming the EC”, and such an opportunity existed within the WEU (Rees 1998, 26). Both British and French preferences converged in the WEU, although for different reasons; and since

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the organisation already existed and had been given powers and structures to deal with security matters, it only had to be woken up. (Forster 1997, 30-32; Rees 1998, 22-26).

The WEU was woken up from its slumber not by a king’s son, but by a French diplomatic initiative which led to three ministerial meetings held in Paris, Rome, and Bonn in the mid-1980s (Cahen 1990, 56). Of these three meetings, the one held in Rome in October 1984 produced a Declaration which Alfred Cahen identified as the “act of rebirth” for the the WEU. In the Rome Declaration, the High Contracting Parties were “conscious of the continuing necessity to strengthen western security and of the specifically Western European geographical, political, psychological and military dimensions”, and “underlined their determination to make better use of the WEU framework in order to increase cooperation between the member states in the field of security policy and to encourage consensus” (Rome Declaration 2000, 187). But, having said that, the declaration “emphasised the indivisibility of security within the North Atlantic Treaty area” (Ibid.). In its wording, The Rome Declaration swore allegiance to the Atlantic alliance, but at the same time, identified a necessity for a stronger Western Europe. According to Helmut Sonnenfeldt (1989, 98), this ambiguity in WEU’s ambitions served a purpose of not offending the US and other NATO allies, but at the same time made it a “stage for political gesturing” more than a genuine defence alliance. The reactivation of the WEU received public approval from the Reagan administration, but more privately, there was a concern that the French-led initiative could impact negatively on the supremacy of NATO (Lundestad 1998, 111).

As noted by Anthony Forster (1997, 32), the WEU clearly had its “Atlanticist” and “Europeanist” versions. To London and other Atlanticists, the WEU was subordinate to NATO and provided an intergovernmental forum for discussion, and was not an alternative military organisation for Europe. To Paris and other Europeanists, the reawakened WEU was perceived as a temporary expedient to incorporate a security dimension into the EC. While the link between the WEU and EC was only implicit at this stage, the reactivation of the WEU took place at the same time the EC was planning a number of reforms which were to culminate in the SEA of 1987.

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5.4 European Pillar of the Atlantic Alliance

In July 1987, the President of the Commission of the European Communities M. Jacques Delors called for Europeans to “equip themselves with a defence institution in the wider conventional field including theatre weapons which belong to them”, and “a political institution which would group together all those members of the Community who wished to be associated with it” (quoted in Cahen 1989, 15). In a speech in September of 1987, Delors further specified his views: “as regards institutions, my hope lies in the reactivation of WEU and its ability to play in the future the necessary role as an interface between the European Community, Political Co-operation and the Atlantic Alliance” (quoted in Ibid.). Amidst such increasingly assertive rhetoric some Atlanticist member states of the EC – especially Britain and the Netherlands – were getting concerned that the reactivation of the WEU was posing an alternative to NATO. These concerns were partially allayed on October 1987, when the WEU Council issued its Platform on European Security Interests in The Hague. In the Platform, the High Contracting Parties were “convinced that the construction of an integrated Europe will remain incomplete as long as it does not include security and defence”, and saw “the revitalisation of WEU as an important contribution to the broader process of European unification”; but conceded to the security conditions of a divided continent:

We have not yet witnessed any lessening of the military build-up which the Soviet Union has sustained over so many years. The geostrategic situation of Western Europe makes it particularly vulnerable to the superior conventional, chemical and nuclear forces of the Warsaw Pact. This is the fundamental problem for European Security. … Under these conditions the security of the Western European countries can only be ensured in close association with our North American allies. The security of the Alliance is indivisible (Hague Platform 1987).

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The Hague Platform defined the basic premises of western European security very much in Cold War terms, thus reaffirming the need for a continued US presence and defence commitment in Europe, and did not represent an attempt to build up an alternative to NATO. It did mark something of a compromise between the Atlanticist and Europeanist visions of the role of the WEU; but, in essence, adopted the Atlanticist view (see Forster 1997, 33; Rees 1998, 30). Apart from its military operations in the Gulf, the WEU’s role in the management of European security and defence remained modest in the 1980s (see van Eekelen 1998, 47-58). The 1990s raised a new and unexpected challenge for Europe. The security conditions of a divided continent disappeared, and the fundamental problems of European security and institutions designed to solve them were thrown into doubt.

In the Hague Platform, the High Contracting Parties were convinced

that a more united Europe will make 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 (Hague Platform 1987).

As a way of declaring their desire of balancing the role of the US in European security and defence, the High Contracting Parties identified the WEU as a single “European pillar” in a more comprehensive transatlantic construction. In this conception, European moves to strengthen their pillar did not put any strain on the Atlantic construction as a whole, but contributed to balance and strengthen it. This was affirmed by the North Atlantic Council in its June 1990 London Declaration:

The move within the European Community towards political union, including the development of a European identity in the domain of security, will also contribute to Atlantic solidarity and to the establishment of a just and lasting order of peace throughout the whole of Europe (London Declaration 1990).

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In other words, the European pillar was, on the one hand, a recognition of an emerging European political identity; but on the other, an association of that identity with the political sphere of Atlantic unity. Historically, the pillar symbolised a constructive European position in the so-called transatlantic “burden-sharing” debate. The term burden-shearing evokes an implicit American complaint about the relative defence efforts made by the US as compared to those of its European allies, which grow out of the understanding that the American commitment in Europe was not originally intended to be as open-ended as it became during the Cold War. The equitable sharing of defence burdens and benefits had been an issue between the US and its European allies since the early days of the Alliance, and had been made explicit by senators and representatives in the US who, for a variety of reasons and at a variety of points in NATO’s history, had argued for actions to balance the burden of defence efforts in the Alliance. (Sloan 1989, 35).

The metaphor of the pillar has been used in transatlantic diplomacy ever since the 1948- 1949 intergovernmental discussions on the formation of NATO (Reid 1977, 126). In the image of a two-pillar, two-pole, or dumb-bell concept of NATO, one pole or pillar would consist of the US and Canada, and the other of the European members of NATO, including Britain. All the advocates of this idea agreed that the US national interest required a much greater degree of union among the European members, not only because it would be good in itself, but because it was believed that this would make easier the ratification of the North Atlantic Treaty in the Senate. In May 1960, Franz-Josef Strauss, the German Defence Minister, declared to the WEU assembly that the Atlantic alliance

must be based on two pillars. It must have two functioning reliable components, the North American component and the West European component … It is not only a question of the division of military tasks; it is primarily a question of political insight, that of reciprocal independence (quoted in Walla ce 1984, 253).

The two-pillar concept of NATO was made famous by President John F. Kennedy. It is widely believed that Kennedy used the metaphor of the pillar in his speech at 175

Independence Hall in Philadelphia on the 4th of July 1962, but there is no explicit reference to it in the text of the speech. However, the purpose of Kennedy’s speech was to advocate a creation of a western European entity that would be able to act as an equal partner to the US in world economic development as well as military defence. The speech should be put in the context of Kennedy’s policy towards Europe, often dubbed as the “grand design”, which constituted a conceptual and programmatic model of transatlantic partnership with the emerging European entity. Kennedy’s design envisaged the two sides of the Atlantic working as separate and increasingly equal entities, yet unified and mutually reinforced by common or similar interests and purposes. It took graphic form in the “twin pillar” or “dumbbell” concepts, which depicted western European entity on the one side and the US on the other in a balanced transatlantic partnership. On political and economic matters, the partnership encouraged the expectation that an increasingly stable, prosperous and unified Europe should shoulder a greater share of responsibility in defence support, development assistance and global diplomacy. Explicit in all of this was of course that the partnership would work to strengthen the western bloc in the context of the Cold War. On matters of defence, the partnership had a profoundly different conceptual and practical meaning, which was not characterised by a balance between separate bodies on the two sides of the Atlantic, but by a unified strategy and organisation embodied in and represented by NATO. Somehow, Europe was supposed to be “independent of” and “dependent on” the US at the same time (Lundestad 1998, 18). Thus, the perpetuation of the hegemony of the US in western Europe through NATO seemed to be contrasted with its readiness to adjust to the economic an increasingly political capabilities of integrating western Europe (Cromwell 1992, 16-17).

It remains debatable whether Kennedy’s attempts to construct a partnership worthy of his design were genuine. The concept worked reasonably well on the economic level, where western Europe was nearly the size of the US. But, as the US had little intention of sharing its leadership role with the fledgling European entity, it is more likely that Kennedy expected the transatlantic partnership, especially when it came to “high politics”, to remain an unequal one far into the future. Of all the challengers to the American design for Europe, President de Gaulle was the most outspoken. His conception of Europe rested on two foundational premises, first of which was the continued pre- 176

eminence of the national state as the ultimate political entity; and second, the political salience of France in Europe. For de Gaulle, Europe had abdicated responsibility for its own defence to an American dominated NATO, which was incompatible with the need to construct a distinctively European grouping capable of joint action as one of the major world powers. De Gaulle’s grand design was to break free from the Atlantic pact and to assert French and European independence. De Gaulle wrote in 1961 that

European unity can exist only if Europe constitutes a political entity which is separate from other entities. A personality. But there can be no European political personality, if Europe does not have its own personality as far as defense is concerned. Politics always rests on defense. … What is NATO? It is the sum of Americans, Europe and a few minor participants. … But it is not the defense of Europe by Europeans, it is the defense of Europe by Americans (quoted in Winand 1993, 259).

De Gaulle attempted to make his designs for a European political union reality in the two draft treaties proposed by a study committee chaired by a French diplomat Christian Fouchet. The political union envisaged in the so-called Fouchet plans of 1961 and 1962 was a union of European states – Britain not included – operating on an intergovernmental basis, and its main aim was to achieve a common foreign and defence policy in order to increase its capacity to defend itself against external threats. The Fouchet plans failed chiefly because of opposition from other member states, particularly from Belgium and the Netherlands. In effect, de Gaulle’s and Kennedy’s designs checkmated each other and further pillar-talk in transatlantic rhetoric was in stasis until the reawakening of the WEU in 1983-1984 (Cromwell 1992, 26-41; Grosser 1980, 199- 208; Winand 1993, 245-264).

Over the hibernation years of the WEU, there had been a modest attempt to increase the political influence of Europe in NATO by the formation of Eurogroup; and several attempts to extend EC’s competence to defence matters, most notably in the context of the EPC. But as noted by William C. Cromwell (1992, 180-198), during the 1970s and 1980s the US did little to encourage any strengthening of the European pillar in the

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transatlantic partnership, and often projected attitudes and conducted policies that indirectly discouraged it. Thus, earlier American complaints that it did not have a European partner were gradually replaced by irritation when Europe was able to speak with one voice. Moreover, the US had become wary of the growing political weight of the EC on which it had but limited influence. With the reawakening of the WEU, the US became concerned that Europe might become a rival to NATO. However, by 1987 and the Hague Platform it became clear that there was no European defence revolution underway vis-à-vis the US and NATO, at least not in the short-term. While proclaiming the need for closer European defence cooperation, WEU governments seemed intent on avoiding appearances that would articulate distinctively European defence interests within NATO. This was partly because any serious efforts to develop a European defence entity apart from the Atlantic alliance would have resulted in magnifying differences among Europeans themselves, as well as risked movement towards Atlantic security “decoupling”.

By the early 1990s, the identification of the WEU as a European pillar of NATO was supported by most Defence Ministers of the more Atlanticist member states of the WEU, by non-European member states of NATO and by Britain especially (Myers 1993, 23). Amidst the initial American concerns with the “political gesturing” around the WEU, Sir Geoffrey Howe, acting as the Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs in the British government, wrote a graphic appraisal of the European pillar in a 1985 issue of Foreign Affairs. For Howe,

No better image has ever been found for the Atlantic Alliance than the arch supported by two pillars, one planted in North America, the other in Western Europe. The Arch is a noble, gravity defying structure, whose discovery was one of the great landmarks of civilization. It works only because of its design and absolute solidity: every stone in its place, each one supporting the other, with the stress properly distributed overall. As a model for NATO, it symbolizes the West’s political strength (Howe 1985, 330).

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Howe was trying to make clear that the WEU was not a rival to or a substitute of NATO, nor a centre of dissent within it; but rather “a means of securing a more distinctive and more effective European input” (Howe 1985, 341). The point of using WEU as a means was to “demonstrate more clearly … that the Atlantic arch truly does have two pillars and that one of these is truly European” (Ibid.). Likewise, an academic commentator David Greenwood made his metaphorical preferences clear in a 1988 issue of NATO Review:

It depends on whether you like your metaphors psychological or architectural. Should the West European members of NATO be cultivating a distinctive identity within the Alliance; or should they be building (or strengthening) a European pillar? The concrete expression is better of the two. Sometimes identity is all in the mind. Moreover, while you can certainly acquire a new sense of identity, you can also lose it again. But a solid pillar is real; and it is not likely to be here today, gone tomorrow (Quoted in Cahen 1989, 59).

For many Atlanticists, pillars were durable structures that represented the status quo in Atlantic – i.e. not exclusively European – security, and all notions of personality or identity within NATO implied a degree of unwelcome dissociation from the Atlantic community.

Enthusiasm about the transatlantic pillars among more atlanticist Europeans was every now and then curtailed by criticism questioning the realism and even the feasibility of having such a structure. For Christoph Bertram, writing in a Spring 1989 Adelphi Paper, the WEU was “little more than a blueprint” (Bertram 1989, 106). According to Bertram, majority of governments in western Europe were sufficiently comfortable with NATO defence arrangements, and did not want to change them in any fundamental way. And, even if they did, any attempt to work out a concerted western European position on the management and strategy of the alliance would probably fail. For Bertram, there was one general and one specific reason for this. The general reason was that multilateral alliances, “like all multilateral bodies”, always needed a primus inter pares; “a power which, through its weight and vision”, provided the backbone for the enterprise” (Ibid.).

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The specific reason was that nuclear alliances in particular always require a guarantor of nuclear deterrence. Despite the growth in the nuclear arsenals of both France and Britain, for Bertram they still remained essentially “minimum deterrence” forces compared to those of the US and the Soviet Union; and European calls for and attempts to build a more balanced alliance did not amount to a European pillar; “a European body within NATO that ‘speaks with one voice’” (Ibid., 111). Thus,

As long as West European governments remain convinced that nuclear deterrence is essential to the security of their countries, and as long as the United States is willing to provide it, the structure of the Alliance is that of a pyramid, not of a dumb-bell (Bertram 1989, 111).

Bertram acknowledged, though, that security conditions in Europe may change, and “while the Western Alliance has lasted more than forty years, it is not immortal” (Ibid., 111). If this was to happen, it seemed possible that western Europe might want to build a different structure of alliance; not one with a mere European pillar, but “a proper West European Defence Organization allied to, but not integrated with, the United States” (Ibid.). But, it seemed more likely for Bertram that western Europe’s security needs were unlikely to change so profoundly, and as long as the US remained willing to provide nuclear deterrence for Europe, the Atlantic contract would not be cancelled (ibid, 112).

To prove Bertram right, rapidly changing security conditions since the late 1980’s had given reason for increasing speculation over something of a European defence organisation dissociate of NATO. As reported by a March 1987 issue of The Economist (1987), politicians in western Europe were beginning to understand that future European self-defence could mean more self-help. It was understood that strengthening NATO's European pillar would also strengthen the alliance, but it was conceivable that the European pillar may have to stand alone one day and Europeans would have to plan their own defence. This was the prevalent understanding especially in France, where the Gulf crisis had an extraordinary impact on the defence debate long imprisoned by Gaullist dogma, and a number of influential figures, Francois Mitterand among them, showed 180

their support for a defence policy on a European footing (see Davidson 1990a, 1990b). It seemed that many, probably even a large majority, of European governments were acutely uncomfortable with the security architecture in which there was no middle ground between national independence and dependence on the US. The time was ripe for European governments to think of alternative – or at least complementary – defence arrangements for Europe.

5.5 Defence Arm of a Political Union

After its reawakening in the mid-1980’s, it was the WEU that was to emerge as the discursive locus for alternative or complementary defence arrangements for Europe. Despite its modest base, the potential of the WEU was noted by writers such as Richard H. Ullman, who in his 1991 book Securing Europe called for the WEU to assume responsibility of European defence and to become an institutional nucleus of a future “European Security Organization”. There would only be a diminished role for NATO in such an organisation, because many Europeans perceived threats to their security to be much lower than perhaps ever before, and it seemed “less and less necessary that an extra-continental power should be deeply involved in providing that security” (Ullman 1991, 79).

It was in the context of the 1990-1991 IGC-PU where the metaphor of the “arm”, along with its official pseudonym of the “component”, emerged as a political alternative to the European pillar and other architectural metaphors symbolising WEU’s role and place in European integration. In the early stages of the IGC-PU the more Europeanist member states of the EC identified the WEU as the defence or the security arm of the planned political union, thus implying a very close association between, or a complete incorporation of, the institutions of the WEU and the EC. It needs to be said that the metaphor of the arm can not be found on many official documents reproduced by or in the name of the WEU or the EC, and that the metaphor was sparsely outspoken by any of

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their representatives; but, in spite of this, it was by far the most common metaphorical contrariety to the pillar used by the media as well as the academia.

According to David Buchan, the IGC-PU came about as a reaction to a number of external events which had “forced the Community into reconsidering its political shape and destiny” (Buchan 1990). A membership application from the neutral state of Austria, revolutions in eastern Europe, unification of Germany and the crisis in the Gulf had all rekindled debate on EC’s role as an actor of the political sphere. In March 1990, the Belgian government published a memorandum calling for a “special” intergovernmental conference. Several considerations suggested that the EC should be given “a new stimulus towards political union”. The memorandum made its argument on four premises:

- The transformation of the political scene in Europe is creating a climate of uncertainty and giving rise to speculation. It is time to point out that:

- the European Community has shown an example of reconciliation and prosperity to the whole continent;

- this anchor point, far from disintegrating must, in a changing continent, be strengthened and developed in the interests of all Europeans;

- the Community’s political purpose, which has always been present in the European Treaties, now becomes essential for guaranteeing its credibility as a major actor on the European stage (Belgian Memorandum 1990, 1).

In April 1990, a joint letter from President Mitterand and Chancellor Kohl to the Irish Presidency of the Council of Europe complimented the Belgian memorandum, and called on the Dublin Council to initiate preparations for the definition of a common foreign and security policy. At this point, many hopes were invested on the outcome of the IGC-PU. For instance, Emanuele Gazzo speculated in a Europe editorial that the conference “could constitute … the first concrete move towards that which we have called the official mutation of the Community of Twelve from an economic entity which ‘occasionally’ dabbles into politics into a political entity” (Gazzo 1990, emphasis in original). Taking up

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the issue of common foreign and security policy would also determine the future role and place of the WEU. This question had already received some attention. To give an example, Christopher Layton’s 1989 report proposed that European governments should draw NATO’s European activities under the WEU “with the fusion of WEU and the European Community as the ultimate goal” (Layton 1989, 34).

The IGC-PU commenced under the Italian presidency of the European Council. In preparation to the conference, the Council of Europe discussed the role of the WEU in September 1990, and the foreign minister of Italy Gianni De Michelis proposed the full incorporation of the WEU to the future European Union. Unsurprisingly, the British delegation immediately raised an issue of the implications of such a move to transatlantic relations. In further meetings in October, the politics of the merger of the WEU and EU became discernible: of the member state governments, Belgium and Italy were keenest on the incorporation at this stage; France and possibly Germany accepted it as a long-term prospect; The Netherlands, Portugal and Britain had reservations; and Denmark and Ireland seemed to oppose it. (van Eekelen 1998, 59-61). In spite of the initial negative response to the merger, the question resisted compromise throughout the year of negotiations.

In another Council meeting in October 1990, De Michelis reduced his original ambitions of imminent incorporation and saw the merger only as a long-term prospect (van Eekelen 1998, 60). The Prime Minister of Italy and the President-in-Office of the Council of Europe, Giulio Andreotti, reported to the European Parliament in November that the Rome European Council confirmed a general resolve to gradually transform the Community into a European Union by expanding its political dimension and pursuing the objective of a common external relations and security policy. The purpose of such a resolve was to “define ever more precisely the special identity of the Community and its unitary profile on the international scene”, and that the actions of the member states “will be the more effective the more they prove able to adopt common positions and act upon them” (EFPB Online 1990). Andreotti made clear that the definition of a common external and security policy did not mean any immediate undermining of NATO’s role,

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but prepared for “the day when we have to formulate an exclusive system of security, quite separate from wider link-up now offered by NATO” (EFPB Online 1990). The merger of the WEU with the EU implied, not an immediate, but an eventual displacement of NATO and a succession of the EU in European security.

The deputy director of the WEU Institute for Security Studies, Nicole Gnesotto, wrote in a November 1990 paper, which was adopted by the then Secretary General of the WEU Willem van Eekelen as a basis for the debate on the role of the WEU in IGC-PU (see van Eekelen 1998, 63), that there was no doubt “that WEU and the Twelve will one day be one and the same, in some structure yet to be worked out” (Gnesotto 1991). For Gnesotto, the question with the WEU was more on its future role or vocation vis-à-vis NATO: would the WEU lean more towards the EC or NATO? Here, the Europeans were faced with two fundamental choices of utmost political significance:

The first of these concerns the European project itself: how does Europe see itself in the future – as a civilian entity with a strictly European vocation, with space and history ending artificially at the frontiers of the Old Continent; or, on the contrary, as a world power with global responsibilities and influence? … The second choice concerns the relationship between Europe and North America: how, in this post-Cold War world, is the affirmation of Europe’s particular identity to be reconciled with the necessary recognition of the indispensable complementarity between Europe and the United States (Gnesotto 1991)?

Gnesotto suggested that it was essential to avoid two “extreme positions” that characterised the debate on the possible roles of the WEU. In the first of these Europe would be no more than a “stop-gap” for the Atlantic alliance, allowed only a subordinate role to NATO; and in the other, Europe, in all respects including the military, would systematically challenge NATO and the US. However, before deciding on the WEU’s preferred vocation, it was appropriate to give it some military substance, for it seemed just as difficult to defend the idea of a “mailed fist at the service of Political Union” as the “European pillar of NATO” since the WEU was deprived of any military content

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(Gnesotto 1991). The first of these images – the defence arm of the European body politic with a mailed fist clinched against its enemies –captured the imaginations of Europeanists and disturbed the architectural figurations of the Atlanticists.

In February 1991, France and Germany advanced a series of proposals contributing to the debate on political union. One of them was a joint statement put forward by Chancellor Helmut Kohl and President Francois Mitterand in a Council meeting now chaired by the Luxembourg Presidency (European Report 1991c, 2). The statement proposed that an “organic” relationship should be gradually established between political Union and the WEU with a view to integrating the WEU into the EC in due course. According to Ian Davidson (1991c), writing in a February issue of The Financial Times, the statement echoed a French view that the WEU should become the “defence arm” of the EC – a figuration that was reproduced by the European affairs reporters and columnists throughout the IGC-PU negotiations. Similarly, the European Report (1991a, 6) wrote that if the WEU should be integrated into the EC, “the WEU would have to act as the strong arm of Europe”. The Franco-German proposal was quickly followed by Italy’s contribution, which matched the rhetoric and ambition of Kohl and Mitterand (European Report 1991b, 3). The Italians emphasised that a common European system of security and defence should imply extending and strengthening the WEU with a view of integrating it into EU structures before the year 1999 – thus estimating the “long-term” in European security as roughly eight years. Echoing the suggestion made in the Franco- German statement, Italy also wanted to see the WEU placed under the aegis and the authority of the European Council – which for many represented the “head” of the European “giant”. For the British, as well as for the Dutch, WEU should rather have the function of “a bridge to NATO” – a very ambiguous architectural metaphor, which suggested a modest go-between role for the organisation – and that it should not be seen as automatically submissive to the European Council. With the February proposals, the member state governments split into two camps with respect to the question regarding the future of the WEU. On the one side was the “majority” led by France, Germany, Spain and Italy, which seemed increasingly keen on seeing it as a defence arm of the EU in due course; and on the other, the “NATO-oriented” Britain, the “neutral” Ireland, and the “pacifist” Denmark, which opposed any moves to merge the organisations and preferred 185

to identify it as a European pillar of, or a bridge to, NATO (Buchan 1991b; Davidson 1991a, 1991b).

The Franco-German and Italian proposals were swiftly rebutted in February 1991 with an intervention on behalf of the political subject in Washington. When the Bush administration suspected that the supreme role of NATO, i.e. the US, in European security was being undermined in the IGC-PU negotiations, it spoke forcefully. In what became dubbed as the Bartholomew telegram or the Dobbins demarche – both names belong to senior assistants in the Bush administration – the US made in plain that while it would welcome a stronger European pillar in NATO it was most uneasy about the possibility of incorporating the WEU, which had no close connections with NATO, to the EC (Lundestad 1998, 115). Particularly, the US was concerned about some of the political implications of the Franco-German and Italian proposals:

We are concerned over the proposals that the WEU should be subordinated to the European Council, thereby developing a European security component – solely within the EC – that could lead to NATO’s marginalization. In that the EC is clearly not “within the Alliance”, subordinating the WEU to it would accentuate the separation and independence of the European pillar from the Alliance. … We feel it is not productive to stress the separateness of US and European security. This divisive tendency could undermine forty years of effort in building and maintaining Alliance solidarity (Annex II in van Eekelen 1998, 342-343).

In the Bartholomew telegram the idea of a European “component”, which Washington found so troubling, shared its political meaning with the European arm in this discourse. It was revisionist in not being one of NATO’s pillars, and denoted something new and different; something “solely within the EC”. The component was first used by the WEU in a ministerial communiqué in 1987, where “further strengthening the European component of the North Atlantic Alliance” was emphasised, but was later compromised in favour of the European pillar in the Hague Platform (Luxembourg Communiqué 1987). In the context of the IGC-PU debates, however, the “component” emerged as the official

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conceptual form of resistance to the European “pillar”. In the media’s coverage of the conference, however, the “component” was pseudonymous to the “arm”.

At stake in the IGC-PU for the US was the existence of an Atlantic community, from which Europe was not allowed to secede. For the US, the security of Europe belonged and should belong to the political sphere of the Western Hemisphere which had its defence arm in NATO, and “the objective of a European pillar should not be to relieve NATO of its responsibilities in this area, nor carve out new defense missions in Europe” (van Eekelen 1998, 343). However, outside Europe – “out-of-area” – a distinct role for the WEU was conceivable (Ibid., 344). The US bluntly insisted that the WEU became in effect a subcommittee of NATO rather than the arm of the EC; an attitude which suggested, at least for Jenonne Walker (1991, 141), ambivalence about whether the US was more interested in a Europe able to do more for western security, or simply wishing to maintain its leading role in Europe.

In response to the fears held by the US and by the Atlanticists member states of the EC of a European dismemberment of NATO, Commission President Jacques Delors gave a speech in London in March 1991 to reaffirm Europe’s commitment to NATO as well as a specifically European defence identity. Delors stated that any EC action taken outside NATO and within the WEU would not call into question the maintenance of the Alliance, for it was “in the interest of the Alliance that the Europeans should speak with one voice” (quoted in Davidson 1991a). An existence of a European bloc within NATO should not be a cause for concern, and if it would be, there were only two possible interpretations of this: either the US was rejecting the political integration of Europe; or doubting Europe’s commitment to NATO. According to Delors, as Europe had a legitimate right to assume its share of responsibility for security and defence, and as the WEU appeared as the best body to initiate a common defence policy, it seemed a feasible long-term aim to integrate the structures and achievements of the WEU into the planned EU. (Europe 1991b; European Report 1991d). The more determined Frenchman Roland Dumas, acting as the President-in-Office of the WEU Council, had not been deterred from organicist rhetoric as he told the WEU assembly in June 1991 that France’s and Germany’s position

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concerning “the precise place of the WEU in the future Political Union and the Atlantic Alliance” was well known and aimed to “make of the WEU an organ of the political Union”:

For us, there are no other formulas, if we want to include in the European perspective politico-military cooperation between member states. If this was not the case, then this cooperation would have no sense. … If we want to create Europe, it would be good to build a Europe of defence too … there was nothing in this approach of a nature to harm the Atlantic Alliance or its military provisions … [but] this concern must not lead to the Alliance telling the Europeans what they must or must not do. (quoted in Europe 1991c, emphasis in original).

Dumas’s rhetoric was rebuffed by Douglas Hurd two days later, when he addressed the WEU assembly and reiterated that the aim of the future identity of European defence “is to strengthen overall security and the Alliance”, and “the question of the relationship between the European defence identity and the alliance” must be settled from the start (Europe 1991a).

With a few notable exceptions, the Europeanists took the American disapproval of the arm-figuration of the WEU conveyed in the Bartholomew telegram with a combination of resignation and perseverance peculiar to the Europeanists in this discourse. There were, however, bolder Europeanist interventions. For instance, Emanuele Gazzo, writing in a Europe editorial in June 1991, rejected the Atlanticist metaphor of the bridge, and speculated on long-term disappearance of NATO:

The need for the transformation of NATO is inevitable, very simply because of the fact that NATO is both an alliance … created to deal with a specific situation which no longer exists. Theoretically, once this disappearance has been confirmed and verified, nothing would prevent NATO from disappearing in turn. (Gazzo 1991c).

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Gazzo (1991c) argued that once the EC had taken on security and defence dimensions the existence of a “parallel” organisation in the WEU “would no longer make sense”. Once this had happened, a transition would have to take place, where the structures of the WEU would be acquired by the “Community political entity”, and “any hypothesis of ‘bridges’ will be excluded” (Ibid.).

At the Vianden session of the WEU Council in Luxembourg in June 1991, the metaphor of the component made its first official reappearance since 1987. In the Vianden Communiqué, the ministers repeated the wording of the Hague Platform about the incompleteness of the European construction as long as it did not include security and defence, and “therefore agreed that the WEU should be developed in this phase of the European integration process as its defence component” (Vianden Communiqué 1991). However, “they also agreed that the development of a genuine European security and defence identity will be reflected in the strengthening of the European pillar within the Atlantic Alliance (Ibid.). In the spirit of ambiguous compromise, which had been peculiar to the debate on the place and role of the WEU ever since its reawakening, both figurations – the component and the pillar – with their political implications were evoked in the pages of the very same document. Such a compromise was embraced by both Britain and Italy near the conclusion of the IGC-PU in the Anglo-Italian declaration on European security of October 1991. Even though these governments had hitherto adopted opposing stances on the WEU, they now agreed that

WEU should be entrusted with the task of developing the European 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. (Anglo-Italian Declaration 1991, 2).

The declaration signalled that the British were prepared to envisage, not a merger, but a link between the WEU and the EU; and that European defence policy could also be considered, but only as a long-term prospect and not detracted from NATO (Rees 1998, 49). According to the European Report (1991f), the wording of the Anglo-Italian 189

declaration implied that the WEU “should become Europe’s defence arm under the leadership of NATO”; which was in contrast to France, Germany and Spain, who “certainly consider the WEU as Europe’s defence arm but want it totally integrated into the framework of Political Union”. Thus, it was not always the existence of an arm that was opposed by the Atlanticists, but the fact that it was attached to Europe.

As was to be expected, there was a negative Europeanist reaction to the Anglo-Italian declaration. Jacques Delors, the European Commission president, suggested that where the Anglo-Italian plan could be viewed as a short-term solution, the merger of the WEU and EU might provide in the longer term (Buchan 1991a). There seemed to be a general agreement on the short-term strengthening of the WEU in the IGC-PU negotiations, but a disagreement on the “long-term” perspective, and the language in which of the treaty on EPU described it, that still divided the EC member states. Emanuele Gazzo noted in Europe that there was a total absence of any reference to the existence of the EC in the Anglo-Italian declaration. According to Gazzo, “to forget such a macroscopic thing leads one to assume that these governments refuse to the Community of which they are members the slightest role as regards European defence” (Gazzo 1991b, emphasis in original). Furthermore, it being plain that neither the EC or the planned EU were competent as regards defence, the declaration stated that the fundamental objective was “complementarity” between the European defence identity and NATO; which led to the conclusion that “European defence is and will be … a complement to Atlantic defence” (Ibid., emphasis in original).

A fortnight after and as a riposte to the Anglo-Italian declaration, a Franco-German initiative on foreign, security and defence policy did not bring agreement any closer. With the initative, Kohl and Mitterand wanted to give “new impetus” to the IGC-PU debates, and emphasised how important it was “that the Europeans show clearly, by means of specific decisions and institutional measures, that they want to take on greater responsibility in the areas of security and defence” (Franco-German Initiative 1991, 1). The main innovation of the initiative was a proposal to set up a Franco-German army corps as a starting point for a future European army; but otherwise, the initiative

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reiterated the earlier Europeanist views of Kohl and Mitterand. It described the WEU as “an integral part of the European Union, in the context of the areas of competence of this organisation and in conformity with the orientations established by the Union” (Ibid., 2). The identification of the WEU as a “component of the Union’s defence” (Ibid., 3) was interpreted by the European Report (1991e) as a call for it to become “Europe’s defence arm”; and by Emanuele Gazzo (1991d) in his Europe editorial as the “strong arm” of a community in “potential expansion”. Unlike the Anglo-Italian declaration, the Franco- German initiative subordinated the WEU to the European Council. Not directly calling for the incorporation of the WEU to the EU, it again called for the “creation of an organic link between the WEU and the Union” (1991, 3). Later in the negotiations, Douglas Hurd proposed that the WEU should have similar organic links with NATO, and that this should be noted in the text of the treaty, but these proposals were dismissed. The Foreign Minister of France, Roland Dumas, argued that as the WEU was the structure of common defence of Europe, it should have a close and an organic link with the EU; and its relationship with NATO, although not unimportant, was nevertheless “different in nature” (van Eekelen 1998, 109-110, 113).

The overall effect of the Franco-German initiative would have been to accord the WEU only a tangential relationship with NATO, and in the longer term, probably would have placed the EU in a competitive course with NATO. This was a vision of the long-term far beyond the Atlanticisist European governments and the US were likely to accept. Washington’s and London’s main objections to the Franco-German initiative were twofold (Mauthner & Barber 1991a). Firstly, the expression of the WEU as “an integral part of the European Union” seemed to suggest that Europe’s defence and security would eventually be elaborated inside the EU and outside NATO. Secondly, the proposed Franco-German army corps seemed to be given a mandate to operations within as well as outside the NATO area, thus duplicating its tasks and undermining the military eminence of NATO. Robert Mauthner and Lionel Barber (Ibid.) speculated in a November 1991 issue of The Financial Times, that “if the European allies falter in their resolve and strike out on too independent a path, there can be little doubt that Nato’s very survival will be threatened”.

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Troubled by the developments around the IGC-PU, President George Bush made another intervention in the debate in November 1991. Bush urged the European members of NATO dispel ambiguity about their role in the alliance and the role and place of the WEU. Bush did not see “how there can be a substitute for the alliance as the provider of our defence and Europe’s security”, and asked the Europeans: “if your ultimate aim is to provide independently for your own defence, the time to tell us is today” (quoted in Mauthner & Barber 1991b). According to Bush, the United States could not abandon its place in Europe, and was going to retain a sufficient force in Europe to own national security interests. As before, the US was supportive of European integration, extended even to the prospect of a political union and the goal of a European defence identity, but could not contemplate the WEU as an alternative to NATO: “Our premise is that the American role in the defence and affairs of Europe will not be made superfluous by European union” (Ibid.).

This disagreement on the long-term role and place of the WEU and the idea of European defence reflected, at the same time, deep concerns and high hopes on the “nature” of the process of European integration. What the Atlanticists member states of the EC and the US wanted to see in Europe was a pillar in the Atlantic construction; whereas Europeanists wanted to see in Europe a political giant. This symbolism, which may seem mere words on paper and images in the mind, would become of utmost significance in the definition of the political limits of the process of European integration far into the future. The disagreement concerning the role and place of the WEU – was it to be a pillar of an Atlantic construction or an arm of a European giant? – persisted throughout the IGC-PU negotiations. The agreement reached in Maastricht owed much to the convergence facilitated by the Anglo-Italian and Franco-German documents of October and resulted in another compromise.

In Article J.4, the Maastricht Treaty of European Union identified the WEU as “an integral part of the development of the Union” – in spite of the fact that the British opposed this particular wording – and requested it “to elaborate and implement decisions and actions of the Union which have defence implications” (Maastricht Treaty 2000,

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155). According to Julia Myers (1993, 35), this provision allowed one to understand that it was the intention of the signatories that the “WEU become integrated into the European Community, acting as its defence arm”. However, the same Article said that

the Policy of the Union in accordance with this Article shall not prejudice the specific character of the security and defence policy of certain Member States and shall respect the obligations of certain Member States under the North Atlantic Treaty and be compatible with the common security and defence policy established within that framework (Maastricht Treaty 2000, 155).

This provision was included to make the title more agreeable to the Atlanticists and to avoid any further disputes with the US. In a separate document annexed to the Maastricht Treaty, the WEU Council echoed the wording of the Vianden Communiqué and identified the WEU as “the defence component of the European Union and as the means to strengthen the European pillar of the Atlantic Alliance” (Maastricht Declarations 1991). By being both of these at the same time, the WEU ended up representing a “bridge” between the EU and NATO, implying equidistance from the two bodies and subordination to neither. Such a conception was favoured especially by the British, who did not want the organisation to fall under the “umbrella” of the EU; but also by some other NATO members such as Italy and the Netherlands, who did not want to see the organisation falling under on side or the other (Menon, Forster, & Wallace 1992, 106; Myers 1993, 39; Peel & Mauthner 1991).

In the end of the day, the disagreement between Europeanists and Atlanticists on the role and place of the WEU, which on a deeper level symbolised the very “nature” of the European political entity under construction, remained unresolved, and as such ended up as part of EU legislation. Despite the enhancement of the role played by the EU and the WEU in European security, the NATO’s political and military eminence in Europe was not undermined.

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5.6 Ethos of Responsibility

It was not only Europe’s destiny to become a giant in the world political, but also its responsibility. The understanding that it is the responsibility of the EC to further political integration and become an entity with a European and possibly even a global sphere of political subjectivity dates back to least to the early days of the EPC, and has since become a part of the official ethos of European integration. After the Gaullist interlude in post-war integration, the heads of EC governments attempted to re-launch the European project in the late 1960s. The ethos of responsibility was outspoken in a sequence of ministerial Communiqués, Reports and Declarations throughout the 1970s. In the Luxembourg Report of October 1970, the ministers held the view that:

for the sake of continuity and in order to meet the ultimate goal of the political union in Europe … Europe must prepare itself to exercise the responsibilities which to assume in the world is both its duty and a necessity on account of its greater cohesion and its increasingly important rôle (Luxembourg Report 2000, 76).

In The Declaration on European Identity, which came out of the ministerial meeting in Copenhagen on December 1973, the ministers asserted that:

International developments and the growing concentration of power and responsibility in the hands of a very small number of great powers mean that Europe must unite and speak increasingly with one voice if it wants to make itself heard and play its proper rôle in the world (Declaration on European Identity 2000, 93).

In the history of European post-war integration, it has always been difficult to dissociate, or even to distance, a European political community from the Atlantic community, especially during the Cold War. Therefore, it was compelling to evoke responsibility as an ethos for furthering European integration. It proved to be more difficult, however, to

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define these responsibilities even in general terms, and to explain how the EC came to bear them in the first place.

The idea of it being the responsibility of the EC to unite “Europe” in some form or another – preferably that of a political giant – is supported by the logos of integration; i.e. the federalist understanding that a supranational political entity based on liberalist values provides a sphere of stability and prosperity to societies in economic, social and ethnic strife; and an alternative conception of community to the ethnic or national singularity of the state. This understanding was reinforced by the discourse of globalisation, which made it even more necessary and urgent to form “giant” political entities. In other words, the EC’s need to measure up to its responsibilities was ever more urgent in the New Europe.

The 1989 Federal Trust -report began by noting how the brief span of recorded history seemed to tell a story of a progressive coalescence of human communities from “scattered tribes and villages, to cities and city states, nations and empires and now a world economic system, continent-wide states and communities, and the global rivalry of empires or alliances” (Layton 1989, 1). This increase in politics of scale brought about by global interdependence posed ecological, economical and security challenges, which could be tackled only by developing forms of organisation and relationship above the national state:

The challenge concerns ecology, as man sweeps back and exploits the resources of nature; the economy, as the gulf between the rich and the poor parts of the world yawn wider; and security, as humanity, like the sorcerer’s apprentice, struggles to find ways of living safely with weapons systems which could destroy life on earth and to curb the ugly blend of worldwide rivalries with regional conflicts in the unstable third world. In the last years of this century the challenge lies in developing global and regional forms of organisation and rela tionship which make it possible to master these mounting needs (Layton 1989, 1).

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The question was, whether the public and political opinion in western Europe was ready to break away from its national past and face the political challenge of global interdependence. The Federal Trust hoped that it was, because:

For all these reasons Europe faces new opportunities and new dangers, which may turn out to be more powerful incentives for security co-operation than those which have hitherto failed to drive Europe more than a short way in this direction. The dangers are the reverse of the opportunities, for if Europe fails to grasp he opportunities offered by the new perspective in East-West relations it may find the major decisions being taken by others and possibly against its interests (Layton 1989, 5).

In other words, the changing world beckoned Europe to fulfil its potential; but, failing to do so, it risked becoming marginalised in the new world politics of scale.

In the run-up to the IGC-PU, Europe published an editorial mysteriously signed by “xxx” – presumably an influential figure in European statecraft wishing to write anonymously – which called for the transformation of the EC into a European federation. The imperative for a federation derived from the recent international changes in Europe, which had rendered possible the establishment of a more peaceful “balance” in Europe:

Capital transformations of an international kind have taken place recently. The peoples have played the most important role. There is now the possibility that the unhealthy and precarious balance ensured hitherto by Terror will be replaced by that engendered through mutual trust and dialogue. Secular conflicts that have opposed European nations can give way to extensive, pacific cooperation based on the respect of personal rights, democratic pluralism, solidarity and social justice, and the preservation of essential and national differences (xxx 1990).

These changes did not only entail possibilities, but also “risks and difficulties” (xxx 1990). Since the 1950s, European integration had proved successful in the creation of an

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economic sphere of integration in Europe; but in the New Europe, it had to be ensured a “positive evolution”:

Any slowing down or lost ground in action undertaken by the Community would be against the course of history: it would result in destruction of the capital of confidence and reconstitute a situation in which selfishness and national rivalries would divide men whose vocation it is to unite. This is why we have, today, the duty, on one hand, to continue and accelerate the accomplishment of this undertaking and, on the other, to contribute to building up a new Europe. We cannot accept to be purely spectators. The undertaking launched in 1950 was, explicitly, the first phase of the European Federation. This first stage would be meaningless if it did not result in real political authority. It is no longer possible to wait: the time has come to act in order to create this common political authority which will enable us to take part in establishing new world balances (xxx 1990, emphasis in original).

This was also the point made by Jacques Delors, who during a September 1990 debate in Strasbourg on the Gulf crisis said that Europe must become “an actor on the world stage, which is prepared to assume its full responsibilities”, and a failure to do so would mean jeopardising all the work done towards building a New Europe (quoted in Kellaway 1990). Four years later, in an Adelphi Paper on European security after the Cold War, Jacques Delors (1994, 10) wrote that the WEU “must develop into a genuine European defence structure, allowing the European Community to act as a single political entity within the Atlantic Alliance” by “taking more responsibility for European security, thereby easing the burden on the US”.

In the Extraordinary WEU Council meeting in Noordwijk on November 1994, the Foreign Ministers of the WEU member states adopted a set of “preliminary conclusions” on “the objectives, scope and means of a common European defence policy”, which defined “responsibilities” in some detail (Preliminary Conclusions 1994). The document stated that a common European defence policy needed to be based on a “thorough analysis of European security interests” and a “collective cooperative approach to defence, as established in collective defence alliances under the Brussels and Washington 197

treaties” (Ibid.). The document defined four territorial “levels of European responsibilities and interests in the field of defence”:

- WEU governments have a direct responsibility for the security and defence of their own peoples and territories.

- WEU governments have a responsibility to project the security and stability presently enjoyed in the West throughout the whole of Europe.

- WEU governments have an interest, in order to reinforce European security, in fostering stability in the southern Mediterranean countries.

- WEU governments are ready to take on their share of the responsibility for the promotion of security, stability and the values of democracy in the wider world, including through the execution of peacekeeping and other crisis management measures under the authority of the UN Security Council or the CSCE, acting either independently or through WEU or NATO (Preliminary Conclusions 1994).

In other words, the responsibilities of a common European defence, as articulated in this document, range from a “direct responsibility” in the core to an indirect “responsibility” in the periphery of Europe; with an “interest” in North Africa and a readiness to take on a “share of the responsibility” in the wider world. The means of standing up to these responsibilities had already been articulated by the WEU Council in the Petersberg Declaration of June 1992, in which the ministers declared that military units of WEU member States acting under the authority of WEU could be deployed for “humanitarian and rescue tasks, peacekeeping tasks, and tasks of combat forces in crisis management, including peacemaking” (Petersberg Declaration 1992). Even if not quite measuring up to the political significance of the Monroe Doctrine of 1823, articulations made in, for instance, the Tindemans Report of 1975 and the Noordwijk Preliminary Conclusions, identify Europe as a Großraum, with the EU as a political subject in and of a spatial sphere reaching beyond the territories of its member states.

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5.7 Conclusion

Amidst the talk of NATO “dying” and the WEU “waking up” at the turn of the 1990s, it seemed as if the stage was set for the “Europeans” to take over their “own” security. Though the political horizon for such an act opened quite suddenly, the logic of European integration had anticipated it for decades. It had been written in the great books and uttered by the great men of post-war European integration that a day would come when all the documents, directives and directorates took the form of political “flesh”, and a new giant was born to the world of political giants. This was the destiny of Europe and the very logic of its progressing existence; and for some more than others, the space and time of the New(est) Europe its fulfilment.

The security of the New Europe was not identified with interests of any single European state, like Germany for instance, for this would have smacked of the Old Europe. The only single state that identified Europe within its sphere of interests was of course the US, which lied outside Europe “proper”. The Atlantic Alliance was an institutional representation of the willingness and the ability of the US to distinguish friends from enemies in Europe and on behalf of Europe. Compared to NATO, the embodiment of the security interests of Europe as a whole, the WEU, represented initially very little; but by the time its role and place in the security of the New Europe became one of the most controversial questions in the IGC-PU negotiations, it had emerged as the most salient representation of an exclusively European political subjectivity. It was an organic figuration of the WEU to radically challenge the established architectural symbolism of the Pax Americana. In the IGC-PU debates, the identification of the WEU as a defence arm of Europe imposed it a degree of subjectivity of which it was void as a European pillar of the Atlantic alliance. Instead of being a solid object in a larger structure, it represented an animate extension of political actor-ness. But, to realise this actor-ness fully, the arm had to be “organically” attached to a body. It made a very “natural” argument to say that this body was Europe, and the head that controlled it was the EU. In all, the arm was instrumental in the politics of incorporating the WEU with the EC; and symbolic of the “completion” of the body of the European “giant”, and positioning of the

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EU as the political subject in and of European space. For the US at the time, an incorporation of the WEU and the EC constituted a dissociation from the political sphere of the Atlantic community.

It needs to be made clear that an idea of malignant nationalism or “the East” have not been the only Others against which the New Europe has been constructed; but it has also been constructed to resist what used to be the “protector” of Europe – the US. Gaullist foreign policies probably constitute the most outspoken historical expression of this, but French nationalism has not been the only form of European resistance to the Pax Americana. After the Cold War, a distinct Europeanist willingness to dissociate or at least distance a European political community from the Atlantic community – which has been struggling to come up with a convincing post-Cold War political telos – has become more and more explicit; and if it had not been for the “special relationship” of the British with the Americans, a more “independent” EU would certainly have been conceived in the Maastricht Treaty. In the end of the day, American opposition to European independence determined the IGC-PU negotiations more than fears of losing national sovereignty. Apart from those most influenced by American opposition, most of the member states were ready to go much further towards political giant-hood than they ended up doing. This does not mean that political Europeanism stood in a relation of enmity with the US. However, it did mean that some Europeanists would have rather seen the US as a neutral Other than the political subject of Europe.

In the Maastricht compromise, however, the architectural symbolism of the Atlanticists persevered, and, in Schmittean terms, Europe continued as an object of the international politics of the US beyond the Cold War. For many Europeanists, the IGC-PU turned out a failure because the incorporation of the WEU with the EU, buttressed by an organicist political symbolism, did not take place, and the EU had been unable to assert its political subjectivity in Europe and its sphere of “responsibilities”. Through NATO and with help of the more Atlanticist member states of the EU, the US reasserted its European political subjectivity; i.e. the willingness and ability to distinguish its friends from its enemies and act accordingly in its European sphere of influence.

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Despite – or rather because – of the Maastricht compromise the debate on organising European security was far from over. After the IGC-PU, there were episodes in transatlantic relations that contributed to further distance the European community from the Atlantic community. For instance, when the US decided to break ranks over the United Nations arms embargo on Bosnia in November 1994, Ian Davidson wrote on The Financial Times that the decision reflected the fact that the transatlantic relationship had become radically different from what it was during the Cold War, and that Atlanticist member states of the EU – Britain especially – should take heed of this. According to Davidson (1994), the British conception of the role of the EU in European security and defence as “a loose, floppy, amoeba-like organism” rested on the assumption that NATO, the American leadership of NATO and the special relationship would all go on as before. As it seemed it would not, it was about time for the Europeans to realise that their strategic objectives and those of the US were no longer the same. In a rejoinder to Davidson’s article, Jonathan Eyal (1994) argued that Davidson was wrong to suggest that Britain advocated an “amoeba-like” security arrangement for Europe. According to Eyal, British policy on European security and defence was based on the pragmatic view that as long as European defence was more a vision than reality, nothing should be done to supplant NATO. To give an example, Eyal wrote that “the Western European Union, presented as the EU’s budding military arm, consisted until recently of little more than a few bureaucrats and some filing cabinets”; and that “the British behaviour is governed by a perfectly logical assumption that the security structures currently touted for the continent must be real in order to be credible” (Ibid.). In other words: as long as there was no ability, there was no reason to be willing.

In the 1996 IGC, no formal incorporation of the WEU and EU took place, even if majority of the member state governments supported the subordination of the WEU to the political authority of the EU (see 1996, 1). This was chiefly due to the continuing opposition of Britain, as well as that of the “neutral” member states of the EU; Austria, Finland, Ireland, and Sweden. In spite of symbolising both the defence arm and the European pillar, there was little doubt on which one of these symbols continued to be of primary political significance. As put by Philip H. Gordon: 201

The most likely scenario for the future is that WEU will remain on the course it has been for some time – pronouncing itself relevant, making symbolic deployments to prove it, doing a few missions here and there, and very slowly building up its actual capabilities; all the while leaving – both by choice and necessity – the most important tasks of European security in the hands of NATO and the US (Gordon 1997, 104).

Furthermore, after the reliance of the WEU upon NATO’s military assets and political control was acknowledged and accepted in the Maastricht compromise, it was clear to everyone that a formal incorporation of the institutions would make very little practical, or even symbolic, difference.

When the formal incorporation did take place in 2000, it happened in an entirely different political context to that of the IGC-PU. In the run-up to the Cologne European Council, where the decision on the incorporation was finally made, the US was again distinguishing its friends from its enemies in Kosovo. The declaration on strengthening the common European policy on security and defence annexed to the Conclusions of the European Council meeting of June 1999 began a process of integrating functions of the WEU, which were “necessary for the EU to fulfil its new responsibilities in the area of the Petersberg tasks”, to the EU by the end of the year 2000, when the WEU “would have completed its purpose” (Cologne Declaration 1999). To allay any misunderstanding about the political symbolism of the de facto incorporation, the document stated in no uncertain terms:

The Atlantic Alliance remains the foundation of the collective defence of its Members. The commitments under Article 5 of the Washington Treaty and Article V of the Brussels Treaty will in any event be preserved for the Member States party to these Treaties. The polic y of the Union shall not prejudice the specific character of the security and defence policy of certain Member States (Cologne Declaration 1999).

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In other words, the incorporation of the WEU into the EU in the end of the 1990s no longer undermined the construction symbolising the political subjectivity of the US in Europe, as it did in the beginning of the 1990s. The conflicts in the former Yugoslavia had shown quite clearly that the ability of the EU to act as the political subject in and of Europe was far behind the military eminence the US. Thus, at the century’s end “rank of nations”, the European “giant” stood behind not only the American giant, but also behind some European pygmies.

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6 Coda

6.1 Meaning and Failure of a Political Symbol

The discourse of New Europe that began to displace the discursive structures of Cold War Europe in the late 1980s was not – as was already shown in the first chapter of this dissertation – the first of its kind in European history. Instead, it was the Newest Europe in a long line of New Europe’s; conceived to overcome something about European history and to give the continent a(nother) “fresh start”. The Newest Europe warned of the dangers of nationalist fragmentation and promised a peaceful and prosperous future in integration. What was new about the Newest Europe was that it was no longer partitioned between the Großräume of East and West, but was a potential Großraum in itself. Never before had Europe looked so much like a political entity. The Newest Europe had more political potential than any of the New Europe’s before it.

This study has hopefully made discernible what was old about the Newest Europe. The manner in which Europe has been constructed as a political entity in European security discourse after the Cold War has been traditional rather than novel, and does not constitute a break from the modern political theory of the national state. This is hardly surprising, as the political vocabulary and grammar used to identify Europe as a political entity was inherited from the national state, which itself inherited it from theology and cosmology (see e.g. Schmitt 1985). The political theory of the body has provided and still provides the discursive basis for the representation of political entities. It is not only possible but feasible to talk and write of Europe as if it was a living being with a body, organs, personality and a will of its own. What is accomplished with such a mode of representation is a European political ontology: a pre-given and undeniable foundation that determines the political existence of “Europeans” on “European” territory.

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The empirical analysis undertaken in this study highlights the use and the significance of organicist political metaphors in the identification of Europe as a political entity and the EC/EU as its political subject in security discourse. It is difficult, if not impossible, to quantify the use of the organicist metaphor in European security discourse and consider the significance of its use in comparison to other forms of rhetoric used in the identification of Europe. The organicist metaphor was not the only means of representation of Europe in security discourse, and perhaps not quite as elaborate a metaphor as it is in, say, Renaissance English literature. But, it most certainly exists and was used in contexts of considerable political significance. In the discursive context of the Balkan war, the conflict in Yugoslavia was tied with the well-being of the whole of Europe by identifying it as a failing part within a political organism which had to be treated if the organism was to survive. The pathology that had caused the war in the Balkans was a malignant form of nationalism; a progressive disease capable of spreading which thereby constituted a threat to Europe as a whole. The political purpose of such an argument might have been to support some form of European intervention in the conflict, but its advertent or inadvertent implication was that it identified Europe as a political organism. This was also the case with the debate on the role and place of the WEU. There were a variety of purposes for supporting the incorporation of the WEU with the EU and giving Europe an “arm”, but the implication of both the Europeanist and Atlanticist discourses were in that they both identified Europe as a superpower or a political “giant” – even if the latter opposed it becoming one or denied that it even could become one. Whether it is supported or opposed, welcomed or feared, there exists a living organism called Europe in discourse, and it is thriving.

These organicist metaphors helped to create two narratives supporting European political integration. Firstly, the if it is not the future, it is the past argument, which claimed that if Europe did not continue towards more integration, it would fall a victim of fragmentation. Fragmentation implied a return to the violent and unhappy continent of the World Wars. Secondly, the if it is not a giant, it is a pygmy argument, which claimed that if Europe did not complete its integration with a political dimension and become a superpower, it risked becoming the political object of the continental space-politics of other superpowers. This

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exogenous political imperative of making Europe “bigger” politically has not essentially changed from Joseph Goebbels’ day.

A Schmittean interpretation of political integration in post-Cold War Europe renders discernible a discourse of an emerging political entity in and of Europe, with a Großraum over Europe and beyond. This emergence began slowly over the first half of the twentieth century, and gathered pace after World War II. Federalism, fascism and functionalism, different ideologies of the same geopolitical form, have legitimised the construction of Europe as a political entity in the pluriverse of the Großräume. There is little doubt on the willingness of the EU to make friend/enemy distinctions in European space. In the first years of the 21st century, the EU has come to be the performer of Europe to the extent that the terms are practically synonymous. In Schmittean terms, the EU is becoming or has the potential to become the Reich of Europe. Since the end of World War II, it has represented a distinct political idea of peaceful regional integration in a world of ever increasing political scale. Since the end of the Cold War, it has been quite explicit in drawing a regional sphere of European security interest over the former eastern Europe and southern Mediterranean.

However, the ability of the EU to mobilise its political distinctions in its regional sphere of security interest is questionable, or to put it bluntly, non-existent. The representatives of the EC did try to forbid extraneous intervention in the Balkans with some mild gestures in the early days of the conflict in Yugoslavia. The then EC president Jacques Poos declared “the hour of Europe, not the hour of the of the Americans” (quoted in Wood 1993, 234). Poos was echoed by Jacques Delors, at that time the president of the Commission, who remarked: “We do not interfere with American affairs. We hope they will have enough respect not to interfere in ours” (quoted in Roberts 1996, 183). After four years and a number of failed attempts by the EC, the US overcame its reservations and took over leadership in the management of the conflict. The EC/EU failed to make its first political distinction between the friend and the enemy in its Großraum. It had to hand back to the US a political subjectivity it had never really had. And, it had to pay full compensation demanded by its patron. As put by Vilho Harle:

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It must humiliate itself by asking for help as it did in Bosnia, and it must carry out the decisions made by the United States, as the European states did in the Gulf War. Instead of strengthening the military potential of the EU, its members must accept the increasing role and expansion of NATO. As usual, there exists many common interests between the European states and the United States, but Europe’s nonsovereignty has been, and will be, revealed for a rather long time in many cruel ways (Harle 2000, 157).

Political Europe’s early demise has given rise to numerous explanations. According to Ben Soetendorp (1999, 140), the initial aspiration of the EC/EU to solve on its own the crisis in Yugoslavia was too high, and the expectation of its leaders that they would be able to deal with the escalating conflict by diplomacy backed by economic measures was mistaken. For Soetendorp, “the failure of the EU to fulfil a decisive role in resolving the conflict on its own doorstep had very much to do with the lack of both a political will and a military capability to reinforce its political authority” (Ibid.). Fundamentally, “the EC’s/EU’s inability to stop the fighting … was widely perceived as evidence of a divided and impotent Union incapable of making a success of an undertaking such as the pacification in former Yugoslavia” (Kintis 1997, 148).

The failure of the post-war European organism to act politically has also been the subject of a socio-medical debate. Erectile dysfunction in former Yugoslavia is but one of several conditions or symptoms diagnosed on the European body politic since the end of World War II. In his 1979 A Continent Astray, Walter Laqueur (1979, 8-9) described the political history of Europe in the 1970s in terms of clinical psychiatry, and diagnosed conditions on European states and on Europe as a whole. For instance, West Germany was a medium-to-severe case of free-floating hypochondria, of great anxiety caused by relatively minor economic and political setbacks emanating from domestic as well as external sources. France was a medium-to-severe case of paranoia, manifesting as occasional complaints about oppression by the United States and West Germany; with occasional fits of megalomania, manifesting as over-assertive and defiant behaviour trying to assert her individuality. The case of Britain was a textbook illustration of mal-

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adaptation to surroundings combined with the rare symptom of claustrophilia, the wish to insulate oneself. Scandinavian states were displaying symptoms of withdrawal, escapism and the inclination to suppress uncomfortable realities. For Laqueur (Ibid., 3, 9), Europe as a whole was suffering from a mysterious condition known as abulia; a neurological disease which frequently showed a paralysis of will and inability to engage in any kind of activity, even though the patient was physically capable of doing so following an outside stimulus or command. Symptomatically, Europe was

incapable of mustering sufficient strength to overcome national particularism and establish some form of political unity … and suffered from a large and perceptible discrepancy between economic strength on the one hand, and political and military impotence on the other (Laqueur 1979, 10).

While the origins of abulia were shrouded in mystery, it was known not as a permanent affliction, but, fortunately for Europe, a condition that often has remissions and may disappear altogether. The terms of clinical psychiatry were also used twenty years later, when the EU was diagnosed with schizophrenia. European Commission’s head of mission in Washington Hugo Paemen told the European Report in July of 1998 that “We are schizophrenic because we would like to have a common foreign and security policy, but we cannot. That is why the relationship [with the US] is much more fluent in economic affairs than it is in political affairs” (European Report 1998).

According to Jan Zielonka (1998, 5) writing in his Explaining Euro-Paralysis, the inability of the EU to act in international politics was indicative of a state of paralysis. For Zielonka, since its establishment in the Maastricht Treaty and involvement in post-Cold War international politics the weaknesses of the CFSP had become plain to see:

The Union is either unable to formulate its policies or unable to implement policies already adopted. Sometimes procedural and institutional difficulties are at the core of CFSP failures. At other times the Union is simply faced with member states’ reluctance to have any common policy whatsoever (Zielonka 1998, 4). 208

The EU was paralysed because it had failed to live up to the CFSP pretensions initially embedded in the Maastricht Treaty and restated in the Amsterdam Treaty. The EU’s paralysis “is neither absolute nor comprehensive, it is neither fatal or incurable, but it is certainly not healthy” (Ibid., 13).

According to Zielonka (1998, 15), “Euro-paralysis” was caused by problems of democracy and identity. Common security and defence policies did not work because they do not really enjoy genuine public legitimacy – Europeans did not treat these policies as truly “theirs”. One of the most important reasons for this lack of legitimacy was a lack of democracy in the definition and formulation of foreign policy. As underlined by Jean- Marie Guéhenno:

Without a Europe-wide public debate on how Europeans want to define their relations with the rest of the world, the support of the Europeans for “European interests” will remain as weak as the European polity itself, and it will be practically impossible to develop a sustainable European foreign policy, that is to say a European foreign policy that enjoys the support of the European people (Guéhenno 1998, 32).

According to Zielonka, the cure for Euro-paralysis was in the creation of a European “national” identity. For this to happen, the EU should have a more identifiable political profile: “Citizens of the Union can hardly identify themselves with a Union whose aims and territory are not clearly defined” (Ibid., 85). A more identifiable political identity implied that the EU’s leaders should be able to specify the basic aims and functions of the Union and to clearly delineate the external borders of the Union. The latter did not need to imply a policy of hostility and exclusion: “Defining the Union’s borders is not the same as closing them. The Union should try to maintain and deepen its various links with the outside world and reject and introverted or Euro-centric approach” (Ibid., 84). For Guéhenno, a more identifiable political identity should foster European interdependence rather than European independence, for if European power in international relations is perceived as a goal in itself, “it will be rejected by the majority of Europeans, who do not 209

want to replace their old nationalism with new ‘euro-nationalism’ that they consider to be as dangerous as older nation-based nationalism” (Guéhenno 1998, 34).

Whatever Europe’s mysterious condition was, it made a painful recurrence in Kosovo. By spring of 1998, the Yugoslavian province of Kosovo was on the brink of open conflict. Local skirmishes between the Kosovo Liberation Army and the Serbian police had escalated Yugoslavia into another civil war and Europe into another Balkan war. Despite a year of diplomatic efforts, NATO aircraft started their bombing campaign against Yugoslavia in March of 1999. From the very beginning of the conflict, it was the US, not the EU as a whole nor any of its member states, that assumed leadership in the management of the conflict, and the EU itself did not play any significant role in the military campaign. On March 29 issue of The Financial Times, Dominique Moïsi wrote that the war in Kosovo was a European war in geographic, cultural, and emotional terms; but in terms of those giving orders, it appeared as purely an American one. According to Moïsi, “the longer the war lasts, the greater the risk that Europeans will resent military intervention as a US imposition on ‘their’ territory” (Moïsi 1999). The US continued its bombing campaign until June, when the president of Yugoslavia Slobodan Milosevic accepted the terms of the so called Ahtisaari-Chernomyrdin agreement (see Independent International Commission on Kosovo 2000). US unilateralism in Kosovo rekindled the debate on the role and place of the WEU, and contributed to the decision on their amalgamation made by the Cologne European Council on June 1999. On June 7 issue of The Financial Times, Peter Norman wrote that “The EU’s previous relations with the region were characterised by neglect. The war has taught western Europe that a crisis in the Balkans could pose a threat to stability and peace in the whole of Europe” (Norman 1999). How well has western Europe learned its lesson will hopefully not be tested any time soon.

In 1964, the eminent intellectual of statecraft Raymond Aron wrote:

I do not perceive any European nationalism beyond an aspiration to a degree of autonomy in relation to the United States and, especially, to the rejection of bloody quarrels of the 210

past … to exist as a political unit, Europe would have to acquire the capacity to defend itself, or at least to acquire a relative autonomy in the Atlantic Alliance (Aron 1964, 65).

The discourse of a political Europe has not changed much in nearly 40 years of statecraft. In content, Europe is still dissociated from its own history and the United States, and still associated with a society or a “nation” of Europeans. It seems that this discourse is now in a crisis of identification. The failure to generate political will and military capability in the Balkans has been, fundamentally, a failure of political symbolism. Had there been willingness to conceive a political Europe, there would have also been symbols generating it. This crisis of identification could have been merely rhetorical; i.e. the European body politic remained elusive and ungraspable, and failed to convince the “Europeans” of its existence. More significantly, it could have also been a political crisis; i.e. Europe was not wanted or needed as a territorial political unit or reference, and therefore failed to materialise. In the latter case, the European example serves as a powerful criticism of territoriality as basis of political representation in the late or post- modern era.

6.2 Towards a Newer Europe

One of the most significant implications of the organicist mode of political representation is its inherent territoriality. Bodies are entities bounded by a surface, and are therefore limited spatially. So is the body of Europe. European body politic is a spatial delineation with an inside, outside and a bounding surface in between. To have Europe as a body is to have other bodies as well that are not Europe, lie outside Europe, and do not overlap or diffuse with Europe. Representation of Europe as an organism constructs a territorially defined entity, and continues the tradition of territoriality as the basis of political representation beyond the state.

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Contrary to this representation, John Gerard Ruggie argued in 1993 that the EC may actually constitute the first break from this tradition. According to Ruggie (1993, 151, 171-172), to think beyond the state requires a modification to the foundations of the social episteme of modernity. The distinctive feature of the modern system of political rule is that it has differentiated its collective subjectivity into territorially defined and mutually exclusive enclaves of legitimate dominion. To think beyond the state, Ruggie argued, is to think beyond territoriality as the founding principle of political rule. In the EC the unbundling of territoriality has gone further than anywhere else. When a political entity is not based on singularity but a community of member states and the central institutional apparatus of the EC, the constitutive processes whereby each defines its own identity increasingly “endogenizes” the existence of the others. For Ruggie, there is no indication that this unbundling or reimagining of territoriality in the European context will result in a federal state of Europe which would merely replicate the modern political form of the state on a larger scale. Rather, it may constitute the first “multiperspectival polity” of “postmodernity” (See also Ward 1996).

Although Ruggie delivers a powerful criticism of territoriality as a principle of political rule, his optimism regarding the EC seems premature in the light of the explications made in this study. As made discernible in the empirical chapters of this study, a salient representation of Europe by intellectuals of statecraft is that of a territorially defined political organism. How can any re-imagining of territoriality take place, when statecraft remains fixed in the figurations of the modern political form? Between the states and nations of Europe territoriality may be waning, but is at the same time being ever more strongly affirmed on a supranational basis. Issues emanating outside as well as inside the territories of national states in Europe are securitised as existential threats to Europe as a whole concerning Europe as one. Rhetorically, this seems a mere reconstruction of the modern political form of the state on a larger, European, scale. As well noted by the eminent international theorist Martin Wight:

Practical problems of international politics are often described in terms of building a bigger and better state – a European Union or an Atlantic Community or an Arab Union,

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without seeing that such an achievement would le ave the problems of inter-state politics precisely where they were (Wight 1995, 20).

Indeed, the ethos of integration, prescribing integration as a remedy to interstate rivalries, misunderstands the nature of the problems it seeks to solve or, at least, devises a wholly inappropriate solution. Is it merely academic to expect interregional rivalries as the regional superpowers reproduce the flaws of the political form of the state, but on a bigger scale?

While the abandonment of the territorial state has been one of the original objectives of integrationist efforts, the debate has since centred, as Thomas Diez (1997) has pointed out, around the dichotomous territorial alternatives of a federal European states versus intergovernmental co-operation between national states. Diez attempted to displace this dichotomy and proposed a reading of European integration that stresses the potentiality of a “Network-Europe”: a system of multilevel governance with a multiplicity of political identities. Diez attempted to un-problematise political identity by replacing the either/or of territorial exclusion with the and of a form of decentred political subjectivity, where the “division between friend and foe become blurred”, and ”borders, once thought to be stable and given, can no longer be invoked (and thereby redrawn) to stabilize unitary identities and uncontested wes” (Ibid., 303-304, emphasis in original). These visions of Europe as a political form beyond territoriality raise an important issue of the international ethics of European integration.

If Carl Schmitt was able to take part in this debate, he would probably raise an eyebrow right about now and argue that even in contemporary international politics the principle of territorial exclusion is far from being displaced. Schmitt would probably replicate his argument from 1932:

It is irrelevant here whether one rejects, accepts or perhaps finds it an atavistic remnant of barbaric times that nations continue to group themselves according to friend and enemy,

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or hopes that the antithesis will one day vanish from the world, or whether it is perhaps sound pedagogic reasoning to imagine that enemies no longer exist at all. The concern here is neither with abstractions nor normative ideals, but with inherent reality and the real possibility of such a distinction. One may or may not share these hopes and pedagogic ideals. But, rationally speaking, it cannot be denied, that the distinction still remains actual today, and that this is an ever present possibility for every people existing in the political sphere (Schmitt 1996a, 28).

This is not to say – indeed, must not be to say – that there are no alternatives to territorial exclusion in political organisation, or that constructing alternatives in academic debate is a pointless undertaking. In Michael Walzer’s (1967, 194-199) terms, just as the traditional and conventionalised ones, new and alternative forms of political rule must be imagined before they are conceived and symbolised before they can be loved. Good political images and analogues make our world known to us, guarantee us a sure place in it, and tell us more than we can easily repeat. There seems to be some strain and uneasiness in the way that the symbols of the modern political form of the state have been reapplied in the contemporary European context; not least because of the ambiguous boundaries of Europe and the internal overlapping of the body of Europe with the bodies of European states. It also seems that the Europeans within the sphere of European integration have not yet been convinced to feel the “pains” of the rest of Europe. Furthermore, some Europeans more than others seem quite unwilling dissect the “organic” links connecting Europe to the Atlantic community.

Thus, it seems that if Europe is wanted or needed as a political unit or reference, it needs to be re-symbolised and the old symbols need to be replaced. Political symbols are collective products that arise and decline in a gradual process over a long period of time. According to Walzer (1967, 200), political images and analogues have a double source and a double susceptibility: “their rise and fall are related first to cultural change in the broadest sense, to new philosophies, theologies and technologies; and secondly to political change, to new social problems and new methods of organising and controlling human activity”. The nature of new political symbols is not predetermined in any way, but depends on the availability of new reference-worlds and on the artistic and intellectual 214

success with which they are appropriated and the new references worked out. It is still early days, but it could be interesting to conclude with some examples of new and alternative political symbols for a newer Europe.

The first example comes from Jacques Derrida’s esoteric 1992 essay on the semiotics of European studies titled The Other Heading. Central to Derrida’s interpretation of Europe is its temporality: the most important characteristic of the discourse about Europe has been its historicity. What characterised contemporary European discourse for Derrida, was a failure to take note of this historicity and an exertion of a sense of threatening imminence:

Something unique is afoot in Europe, in what we still called Europe even if we no longer know very well what or who goes by this name. Indeed, to what concept, to what real individual, to what singular entity should this name be assigned today? Who will draw up its borders? Refusing itself to anticipation as much as to analogy, what announces itself in this way seems to be without precedent (Derrida 1992, 5, emphasis in original).

The New Europe, Derrida suggested, was in crisis of self-identification. In the past, Europe had been a plural idea: it had identified itself by its difference to itself, by the divergence of its cultural identity. According to Derrida, the idea of the New Europe was designed in such a way as to deny this “difference to oneself” and to totalise itself (Derrida 1992, xxxviii-xlviii; Ward 1996, 17-18).

Derrida evoked the metaphor of navigation and compared Europe to a ship worked by a crew and piloted by a captain. For Derrida, discourse of the New Europe was a “heading”: “the pole, the end, the telos of an oriented, calculated, deliberate, voluntary, ordered movement” (Derrida 1992, 14, emphasis in original). New Europe was a heading of a universalist discourse of capital and technology, which denied the particular and the possibility of anything lying beyond its destination (Ibid., 47-55). Derrida’s notion of

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“The Other Heading” suggested that another direction was in the offing, or that it was necessary to change destinations:

It can mean to recall that there is another heading, the heading being not only ours but the other, not only that which we identify, calculate, and decide upon, but the heading of the other, before which we must respond, and which we must remember, of which we must remind ourselves, the heading of the other being perhaps the first condition of an identity or identification that is not an egocentrism destructive of oneself and the other (Derrida 1992, 15, emphasis in original).

For Derrida, it was necessary to recall not only to the other heading, but especially to “the other of the heading”: “a relation of identity with the other that no longer obeys the form, the sign, or the logic of the heading, nor even of the anti-heading” (Ibid., emphasis in original). Thus, Derrida’s alternative Europe was a truly pluralist discourse that replaced the universalising and centralising ambitions of political singularity; an “opening onto a history for which the changing of the heading, the relation to the other heading or to the other of the heading, is experienced as always possible” (Ibid., 17).

The second example is closely related to and folds neatly in with the first. In his 1997 article titled “International Ethics and European Integration”, Thomas Diez also contested the idea that European integration should have a firm destination:

In every step of life, there are multiple possibilities. Instead of a sign pointing us toward a definite destination, we might rather be in need of a way to conduct or day-to-day practices in such a way that we engage with as many of these possibilities as we can and not suppress alternative ways of life (Diez 1997, 287).

Instead, Diez suggested a kind of political organisation that “enables us to respect and might foster our responsibility for the Other, at the same time reassuring those who call for our guidance without imposing some superstructure on them, and providing room for

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their own ways of life” (Ibid., 290). Diez conceptualised such a political organisation with help from the metaphor of “horizon”, which is “generally characterised by its non- monolithic quality”, and does not offer a firm destination. Instead, it is constantly changing and does have a clear-cut identity: its identities differ depending on one’s perspective on it and on one’s way of approaching it. Thus, a horizon allows its constant reconstruction, incorporating new and other perspectives. For Diez, the central feature of a horizon is its “respect for difference in a concentration not on firm destinations but on practices working toward an always preliminary stage” (Ibid., 290).

If Europe is wanted or needed as a political unit or reference – which today seems far from certain – why not cultivate it as something without a finitude or a destination in political singularity, but as an ongoing and infinite passage bearing towards political plurality? In fact, this might even solve its present crisis of self-identification. A mere replication of the (geo)political form of the Western Hemisphere on European scale has not conceived a political Europe. States and Großräume are political forms of demarcation modelled on a firmly established political myth, according to which every human being belongs to a “people”, and where every people belongs to a “land”. It is a myth, because if everyone belonged to a people and had that land, then there would be no need to hold these territories by means of armed force. Such a degree of political singularity does not exist in the world today, and local attempts to conceive it have been short-lived and caused human suffering and loss.

It seems highly questionable why this myth should be evoked again in the construction of a political Europe. As an alternative to this, European political identity could be dislocated from predetermined social and territorial frames of reference, and re-identified more as an ethos – that is, a manner of being (see Foucault 1984, 377) – of political plurality? Not unlike Derrida’s (1992, 76, 78) “duty to respond to the call of European memory”, this ethos of Europeanism would “recall what has been promised under the name Europe” – it would respect differences, idioms and minorities; champion the values of democracy and universality of formal law; and oppose racism, nationalism and xenophobia. To act under the name of Europe would not require one to be in Europe or

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from Europe; anyone willing and able to engage politically to defend plurality against those who threaten it, wherever or whenever such engagement was wanted or needed, would be a European.

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