How European security is changing Expert comment LJefferson 10 January 2022

Although migration, economic, health, tech and climate policy are increasingly thought of in terms of security, different issues are taking place in each of these policy areas.

Since the end of the Cold War, debates about security among both academics and policymakers have shifted away from traditional military or state security towards a broader conception of what security is – including, for example, ideas such as ‘human security’.

More recently, there has been a widespread perception of a ‘return of great power competition’ and even renewed fears about great power war – in other words, a resurgence of traditional security debates that many hoped and believed were a thing of the past. At the same time, and especially since the COVID-19 pandemic began in 2020, the concept of ‘security’ has also been increasingly applied to other areas like economic and health policies.

These complex and parallel developments raise a number of difficult questions. First, does the changing way in which the concept of ‘security’ is used – and in particular the way people now increasingly speak of ‘economic security’ and ‘health security’ – reflect a changing reality or rather simply a changing perception of reality? Second, are these changes in the way we think about security helpful or not? In other words, is the redefinition of security that seems to be taking place leading to good policy responses and making citizens more secure, or is it rather unhelpfully ‘securitizing’ policy areas and possibly undermining democracy in the process?

Part of the reason that these questions are difficult to answer is that there are different developments taking place in different policy areas. This article briefly analyses developments in five policy areas: migration policy, economic and trade policy, health policy, technology policy, and climate policy.

The authors argue there are at least three separate developments taking place, though it is often quite difficult to disentangle them – and more than one development may be taking place in each policy area. The analysis focuses on developments in Europe – defined broadly as including countries such as the UK which are outside the European Union (EU) – which may be different from those taking place elsewhere.

Five policy areas, three trends

In migration policy, the clearest development that is taking place, in particular since the so-called ‘refugee crisis’ of 2015, is the militarization of borders in Europe – in particular, the militarization of the EU’s external border.

The removal of borders within Europe was once seen by some as a step towards a borderless world, but since 2015 the EU seems to have concluded that the internal removal of borders requires a much harder external border than was previously the case.

In particular, since the ‘refugee crisis’, the EU has massively invested in Frontex, its border agency, which describes itself as ‘Europe’s first uniformed service’ that ‘helps guarantee free movement without internal borders checks that many of us take for granted’. In short, we are seeing an application to migration policy of military tools, including armed border guards.

Something different seems to be taking place in economic policy. For the last three or four decades since the end of the Cold War, economic policy has been dominated by (neo-)liberal assumptions. But these are now increasingly being challenged and a shift may be taking place away from this macroeconomic paradigm.

The reasons for this are complex – in part, a domestic backlash against this paradigm, particularly from the ‘losers’ or ‘left behind’ (in other words those who have suffered from the distributional consequences of the economic and especially trade policies of the last 30-40 years going back to the ‘neoliberal turn’), and in part a sense among analysts and policymakers that a different set of more protectionist policies are required in order to compete with China as a ‘systemic rival’.

These two different drivers of an economic paradigm shift have become even more tightly connected since the COVID-19 pandemic began in 2020. The pandemic led to both an increased demand for a new economic paradigm and a sense of intensified competition with China and, in the EU, to a lesser extent with the United States.

However, because the set of rules governing economic and in particular trade policy was set during the earlier period of (neo-)liberal hegemony, they restricted the ability of states to pursue what were seen as protectionist policies in order to redistribute and created exceptions only for security reasons. This has created a structural pressure on nation states to present economic policies in terms of security.

Here, however, the EU may be an outlier. During the last few decades, the EU has gone even further than the rest of the world has in creating rules around economic policy – at least internally. In particular, the EU’s fiscal rules may prevent its member states from borrowing to invest and its state aid rules may prevent them from experimenting with new kinds of industrial policy.

Therefore, the EU may be structurally constrained from making the kind of paradigm shift in economic policy that many now think is necessary. In particular, despite the rhetoric about a more ‘geopolitical’ EU, it may be limited in the extent to which it can think of economic policy in terms of security – sometimes to the regret of security establishments, as is the case for debates around 5G, for example.

In health policy, something similar may be happening as in economic policy. During the last three or four decades, health policy has been approached in a rather liberal way. Across Europe, though to different degrees and in different ways, market principles have been introduced into health systems.

In many cases such as the UK, this has involved privatizing what were previously state functions in healthcare. But since the pandemic, there has been a renewed focus on renationalizing or, in the case of the EU, ‘re-regionalizing’ supply chains, in particular for personal protective equipment (PPE) and vaccines, which is presented in terms of ‘health security’. COVID-19 has also reinforced the need to better include pandemic preparedness in national security planning.

A similar trend seems to be taking place in technology policy, which as with health policy is now increasingly viewed in a defensive, protectionist way rather than the liberal way it was previously seen. For example, the production of semiconductors was previously viewed in economic liberal terms – in other words, they should be produced wherever they can be produced most efficiently.

But analysts and policymakers increasingly see technology as central to the competition between China and the United States – or even more broadly between authoritarian states and democracies. As in health policy, there is an increasing focus on a shared approach among allies and on the ‘resilience’ of supply chains for technology. A similar shift is taking place on the management of data flows and the need to think harder – and maybe, be less naive – about the security impact of our online life.

Finally, in climate policy, something different seems to be taking place. Here, there is neither an attempt to apply military tools (notwithstanding the fact some national European militaries as well as NATO are increasingly interested in climate security, for instance regarding the ability to train and fight in altered weather conditions, notably extreme heat) nor a paradigm shift away from liberalism – although some, especially on the left, do question whether it is possible to prevent catastrophic climate change unless we abandon economic liberalism and much of the debate about green investment is closely connected to debates about an economic paradigm shift.

Rather, what is striking is the increasing talk of a ‘climate emergency’ – with its implication of the need to suspend normal democratic decision-making – and of the need to take extraordinary measures to prevent catastrophic climate change. However, for the time being, such rhetoric on climate change is not matched by relevant extraordinary emergency measures.

Across these five policy areas, in other words, there seem to be at least three developments taking place that are reshaping how we think about security in Europe. The difficult question is whether each of these developments is a ‘good’ thing or not, i.e. whether they actually make European citizens more secure in an appropriate way.

In other words, is it a good idea to militarize the EU’s borders, to shift away from the earlier liberal paradigm in economic, health and technology policy and frame the shift in terms of ‘security’, or to invoke an emergency in order to be able to take more drastic measures to prevent climate change?

The limits of securitization theory

One way of thinking about these issues is what academics call ‘securitization’ – the situation when something is identified in rhetoric as an existential threat to some object, specifying a point of no return, that legitimizes the use of extraordinary measures and pushes the issue higher on the political and policy agenda.

The response to COVID-19 can be seen as an example of securitization – the existential threat to human beings but also healthcare systems was used to legitimize lockdowns and social distancing requirements.

Review: Islam's role in shaping Europe The World Today rsoppelsa.drupal 1 February 2022

Maryyum Mehmood on a work that recasts the role of Muslim minorities

Muslims and the Making of Modern Europe
Emily Greble, Oxford University Press, £26.99

When discussing the historical role of Muslims in Europe, most authors focus on Muslims in the western part of the continent, many of whom arrived as immigrant settlers from Muslim-majority nations. As a result, Muslims are easily identifiable as a foreign ‘other’. 

Emily Greble takes a different trajectory. In Muslims and the Making of Modern Europe, Greble centres her analysis on south-eastern European Muslims who are native to the region and, despite this fact, have still been subject to continuous stigmatization. 

In light of the present-day political tensions and targeted attacks on Muslims in Bosnia, which has seen inter-ethnic and religious hostility at its worst in 30 years, Greble’s nuanced retelling of the region’s social and political landscape has renewed urgency. Her work serves as a refreshing intervention to the literature on various fronts. It subverts stereotypical assumptions promulgated by the ‘Eastern Question’, whereby Muslims are portrayed as a simple ethnic minority living under colonial rule. Instead, Greble shows how they are a marginalized indigenous group that is by no means a monolithic, homogeneous entity. 

By uncovering the history of the region through the lens of Muslims, Greble highlights their capabilities as agents of change. Muslims were not just passive subjects but active citizens whose engagement was vital in the framing of social norms, political, ethical and legislative structures. 

Greble’s neatly crafted thesis serves as a counterpunch to a decades-long clash-of-civilizations discourse, which pits Muslims of the region as Ottoman outsiders to be scapegoated as and when deemed necessary. 

The author offers a proposition that while secularism was the overarching aim of the new European state-project, the role of religion, especially marginalized or ‘othered’ religious communities cannot be overlooked or relegated to a simple ‘minority’ issue. 

This argument is laid out in three historical parts, beginning with the post-Ottoman transition of power (1878-1921), to the Yugoslav nation-building project (1918-1941) and finally to the political overhaul in a post-Second World War Europe (1941-1949).

Most historical analyses of the region focus on state actions towards Muslim minorities. Greble points out that such an approach is lacking because it is riddled with institutional biases from the very sources and methods used to understand them. 

Instead, the author takes Muslims, their lived realities and agency as her starting point and effectively manages to avoid such pitfalls.

What is most remarkable about this book is Greble’s self-reflective approach to confronting such a sensitive topic with great care.

Almost every chapter begins with an insightful and deeply personal historical account from a Muslim from the region which sets the scene for Greble’s assessment of key social, political and legal struggles.

With an enriching methodology, Greble explores the topic through first and second-hand accounts of how Muslims manoeuvred in both the secular realm and within religious spaces, such as madrasas (Islamic seminaries), waqfs (local community funds), muftis and ulemas (religious scholar), and the shariah courts. As a result, the reader is shown how Muslims affected change and steered the trajectory of constitutional democracies in Europe at key historical junctures. 

By taking this lens, Greble does not just offer another retelling of the significance of the 1878 Congress of Berlin, which enabled the demarcation of new territorial boundaries in a post-Ottoman world, but also conveys the story of how Muslims contributed to the emerging narratives around citizenship. 

Crucially, we are exposed to Muslim leadership as more than just a docile, homogenous grouping, but a defining entity that shaped the European citizenship project by refashioning both imperial secular norms, as well as Islamic jurisprudential rulings to suit their unique context, as opposed to a remnant of bygone Ottoman rule. 

A fundamental difference that sets this book apart from other contemporary work on the topic is that the author brings forth multiple intra-faith complexities found within Muslim groups of the region, from revivalist to reformists, and all else in between. The fluctuating relationship between the traditionalist ulema, muftis and qadis (religious scholars, clergy and judges) and the secular state powers is intricately captured across most chapters in this book. 

At times, the ulema would be seen to bandy with the state to acculturate Muslims to the emerging polities of the region. As Greble shows, muftis in 1914 travelled across southern Serbia giving dawah (missionary work) to locals to encourage them to support the Serbian state. Similarly, qadis in Montenegro in 1902 reassured local Muslims that by following the law of the land, they would be guaranteed their ‘shariah rights’, which were loosely defined by the Muslim clergy. 

This created a paradox for the states: the role of nation-building and liberalizing orthodox religious communities was given to conservative clerics who, in turn, were gatekeepers setting the boundaries and thus interpreted and applied Islam to preserve their position of power. The consequences were twofold. As Greble suggests, ‘instead of becoming more tied to secular structures of state and society – through centralized law, conscription, political representation – Muslims in formerly Ottoman lands were becoming more deeply bound to Islam’. 

Simultaneously, the rhetoric used further embedded Muslims firmly as a minority. 

Ironically in contrast, it was the liberal reformist thinkers who, sometimes, stood in opposition to the state regimes. Such internal divisions within Muslim spaces became more overtly discernible under communist rule, wherein members of the same Muslim community fought in different camps. 

For instance, the author notes how some were aligned with the communist regime, while others were fighting with the allied forces and many were still backing revivalist Islamic groups. In light of this, what is perhaps most intriguing is how the communist takeover in 1945 managed to tear down any seemingly progressive movement that benefited the region’s Muslims. And it brought them back to square one, with the scrapping of shariah law and the removal of a mufti-led judiciary. Such crackdowns caused greater frenzy among the region’s Muslims and led to resistance movements in the form of activism and insurgencies. 

Ultimately, the author offers a complex perspective not only of Balkan Muslims and their lived experiences, but also, the implications of this upon wider society and the states themselves.

Greble’s remapping of the historical underpinnings of the tale of Muslims and the Making of Modern Europe is not just a clear example of how Muslims are not a foreign entity to the region, but a call to overturn the entrenched Great Replacement theory which uses this foreign ‘othering’ to further prejudice and calls for the ousting of Muslims and other minorities from Europe, a land which has forever been their home.
 

Ukraine response reveals Europe’s security is changing Expert comment NCapeling 8 February 2022

Recent events regarding Ukraine show an active UK responding quickly while EU powers deliberate. But pulling ahead of the pack is not the same as leadership.

Britain’s relationship with Ukraine appears to be thriving, with Ukrainian defence journalist Illia Ponomarenko recently tweeting the ‘British are just unstoppable these days’ and that the UK finds itself ‘on the right side of history’ while one Ukrainian wine bar has started offering free drinks to British nationals.

Ponomarenko’s remarks and the wine bar offer – certainly one post-Brexit benefit of having a British passport – are down to the UK decision to send anti-tank weapons to support Ukraine’s forces against a potential Russian attack.

The UK’s quick response was praised by Ponomarenko as being ‘wise enough not to be lured into going the easiest way, which is always the fastest lane straight to hell’ and strikes a clear contrast with that of Germany, whose typically moderated approach to geopolitical tensions went down badly in Kyiv.

The chief of Germany’s navy was forced to resign after saying Russian president Vladimir Putin ‘deserved respect’ and that Ukraine will never win back annexed Crimea. The German government also sought an energy exception to proposed US sanctions, so that gas can continue to flow into Europe.

France’s response was somewhat stronger but rather confusing as Emmanuel Macron initially called for European Union (EU) member states to ‘conduct their own dialogue’ with Russia, seemingly as an alternative to supporting the US-led NATO response.

Risks of a ‘bullying’ Russia

Although positioning himself as the convener of a transatlantic response to the Ukraine crisis brings welcome respite for UK prime minister Boris Johnson from his domestic ‘partygate’ fiasco, he is also reported as saying some world leaders ‘may not appreciate the deteriorating picture on the Ukrainian border, or fully comprehend the risks posed by a bullying Russia’.

One particular image sums up the difference in approach between the UK and the EU, as a flight path shows a British RAF plane flying around Germany before taking a detour over Denmark on route to Ukraine.

Given that Germany later blocked the export of NATO ally Estonia’s weapons to Ukraine, this image gives ‘Global Britain’ advocates a strong symbol of apparent British reliability and resourcefulness in the face of supposed European deliberation and disunity.

But although the UK’s response to the Ukraine crisis has rightly been credited as swift and substantial, it also reveals deeper developments in the current European security landscape as EU countries had worried Britain might choose to become absent post-Brexit.

Losing one of its two main military powers would certainly have been a blow to Europe, particularly as Russia’s threat has grown in recent years, so there will be relief that the Ukraine crisis shows Britain is undoubtedly committed to the region. Now the question for leaders in Paris, Berlin, and Brussels is how to deal with an active Britain committed to Europe but under no obligation to work within EU processes.

The UK already has an interesting network of bilateral and mini-lateral relationships with European allies. Its Joint Expeditionary Force brings together ten European countries – including Scandinavian and Baltic states – and is well-placed to support NATO activities while also remaining flexible and independent. In the past year, the UK worked with Norway in the Arctic region, provided military engineers support to Poland, and worked directly with France and Germany through the E3 grouping – once again bypassing EU institutions.

The UK also brings a unique diplomatic, technology, and intelligence-sharing relationship with the US which is unavoidably important in dealing with the threat from Russia. As the US sees European security through a NATO lens – rather than an EU one – this makes Britain a leading player as one of the few countries meeting its NATO spending commitments.

UK must do more to win trust

But despite such creative partnerships transcending the constraints of Brexit, the UK must do more to win the trust of the EU’s biggest players France and Germany to be a permanent power in the region. And relations with France have deteriorated following disputes over fishing, a lack of cooperation on migrants, and the AUKUS defence technology agreement between the UK, US, and Australia.

When it comes to Germany, the UK must not use the Ukraine crisis as an opportunity for geopolitical point-scoring. There are good historical reasons for Germany’s cautious approach to military engagement, even if these do constrain the country’s response to this challenge.

In dealing with Russia, some members of Germany’s ruling SPD sincerely believe their party’s less confrontational posture was central to de-escalating conflict during the Cold War. And although some historians may dispute that belief, it is still a distinct and more noble motivation for ‘dovishness’ than pure economic self-interest.

Cooperation always requires some compromise on all sides. Germany must accept some level of economic risk if sanctions against Russia are to be meaningful and France has to accept the necessity of the UK and US’s involvement and that the most effective dialogue is unlikely to be achieved through EU institutions.

Meanwhile, the UK must accept some role for the two biggest EU players, particularly as the Normandy Format which includes Russia, Ukraine, France, and Germany has proved productive in the past. And the UK needs to clamp down on its own economic ties with Russia.

Ukraine exposes Europe’s double standards for refugees Expert comment NCapeling 30 March 2022

As European governments provide swift protection assurances to those fleeing Ukraine, non-European asylum-seekers continue to face violence at the EU’s borders.

One month after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the European Union (EU) already faces its largest refugee crisis since World War Two, with more than ten million people having fled their homes – 6.5 million displaced within Ukraine and 3.9 million escaping to neighbouring countries.

Acting quickly and decisively, European governments have opened borders and European citizens have opened their homes in an unprecedented showing of solidarity towards refugees. But, with all eyes on Ukraine, the Greek coastguard continues to illegally push back asylum-seekers crossing from Turkey while Spanish police forcefully repel those who dare to jump the fence in Melilla.

The painful contrast exposes the double standards in the EU’s approach to refugees. With Europe’s grim history of restrictive asylum policies, it is wishful thinking that the warm welcome to Ukrainians will extend to all asylum-seekers. The EU solidarity to displaced Ukrainians illustrates the deeply politicized – and often discriminatory – nature of providing refugee protection.

However, the hope is this turning point in European history can at least set an important precedent for treating refugees more humanely. Undoubtedly, EU solidarity towards people fleeing the horrors of Putin’s war is critically important and the initial response is positive in its efforts to meet immense humanitarian needs.

Solidarity with Ukrainians

The EU activation of the Temporary Protection Directive (TPD) is a significant step towards a more humane protection regime and fairer responsibility-sharing among member states. Without the need for the examination of individual applications, those fleeing Ukraine can access harmonized rights across the EU for three years – including residence, housing, medical assistance, and access to the labour market and education.

The TPD is also a move away from the strict ‘Dublin’ rules which put the pressure of hosting refugees onto the countries of ‘first arrival’. Ironically, the fiercest opponents of intra-EU solidarity, such as Poland and Hungary, are the ones benefiting from this change now but, in the case of Ukraine, geographical proximity and shared histories must be considered when analysing Europe’s response.

Eastern European and Baltic countries share a post-Soviet history and fear of Russian aggression, and Ukrainians already enjoyed 90 days of visa-free travel in the EU – with a large diaspora, many have established networks across Europe. But even considering these distinctive connections with Ukrainian displacement, the initial response still shows that European countries have both the political will and the capacity to host refugees.

Unlike the usual – often media-fuelled – narratives of refugee ‘invasions’ into Europe, the waves of women and children leaving Ukraine prompted a surge of humanitarian action but they are also a chilling reality check of Europe’s double standards.

The EU has used agreements with countries such as Turkey and Libya to prevent arrivals and outsource asylum responsibilities, while border violence, detention, and lengthy asylum procedures await the few asylum seekers who manage to enter Europe from the Middle East, Asia, and Africa.

These ‘fortress Europe’ legacies have even undercut the humanitarian response in Ukraine, with reports of incidents of discrimination towards people of colour at the EU borders being condemned by the United Nations (UN) and the African Union (AU), the media facing allegations of racist reporting, and comments from Bulgarian PM Kiril Petkov providing a stark reminder of the islamophobia, racism, and history of colonization which still pervades European asylum policies.

Foreign policy also influences how EU leaders treat the right to asylum, as the geopolitics of Europe’s efforts to create a united front against Russian aggression is an undercurrent to the prompt European response to Ukrainians. But only a few months ago, non-European asylum-seekers trapped in freezing forests at the Poland-Belarus border were used as political pawns by Belarusian leader Aliaksandr Lukashenka and then dehumanised as a ‘hybrid attack’ by EU leaders.

A turning point for asylum in Europe?

Despite entrenched discriminatory precedents, it is worth looking ahead at this moment of reckoning. Although policy changes remain far off, the unity shown over Ukraine can help reshape and refocus political efforts towards increased responsibility-sharing among EU member states – the perennial ‘hot potato’ of the EU asylum system.

Putin’s Eurasian dream may soon become a nightmare Expert comment NCapeling 3 May 2022

The Ukraine invasion has detrimental consequences for the Russia-led Eurasian Economic Union, a project which has been stumbling since its inception.

The Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) – consisting of Russia with Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan – represents the culmination of Russia’s pursuit of regional integration with its post-Soviet neighbours.

Officially, the Union has an ambitious economic goal – the creation of a market based on common rules for its five member states and their 180 million citizens – and Russia likes to portray the EAEU as an Eurasian replica of the European Union (EU).

But although a common market was placed at the heart of the EAEU as a way to appeal to member states, it is of marginal importance for the Russian economy. For Moscow, the EAEU is primarily a geopolitical tool to help re-assert its regional and global role.

In a world of evermore powerful trading blocs, Moscow wants to use the EAEU to establish its own economic power base in the new polycentric world order. But Russia’s limited interest in the technocratic intricacies needed for the economic union to live up to its lofty proclamations exposes the real geopolitical ambitions.

The Kremlin has no qualms about disregarding the common rules when they clash with Russia’s own foreign policy, and it soon became evident the EAEU was a means to an end rather than an equitable institution within which Russia would accept constraints on its unilateral behaviour.

A crisis in the making

Although the EAEU has enabled some internal trade liberalization as well as the movement of people and labour to the benefit of its members reliant on labour migrant remittances, it has failed to tackle institutional barriers or promote growth and development policies.

It has been hampered by weak common institutions and a lack of institutional capacity of its member states, while Russia’s dubious commitment is also problematic. The EAEU lacks the institutional features of a genuine common market and any attempts to address these shortcomings have been essentially empty promises.

EAEU membership does benefit the political elites of its member states, because its hub-and-spoke model relies on bilateral high-level political deals between Russia and each member state individually. And by using the enticement of security guarantees and both political and financial support, Moscow has succeeded in attracting new members to join.

But a member’s political survival – or defence against political and economic reform – is dependent on military, economic, financial, and political support from Russia. This has been evidenced by the Armenian-Azerbaijan conflict, and by Russia’s backing of the Lukashenka regime in Belarus and the Tokayev government in Kazakhstan.

The design of the EAEU ties it to Russia’s own fate, and so the impact of harsh sanctions imposed on Russia for invading Ukraine are in stark evidence across its member states. Both Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan are reeling from the adverse effects on their domestic currencies and remittances, and the trade bans of key commodities.

And although the ban Russia imposed on grain export to EAEU members has softened, it shows the extent to which Russia was prepared to disregard the rules and sacrifice the EAEU to rescue its own economy. Members are incurring direct economic losses from Putin’s war against Ukraine and the fluctuation of the rouble has created a major impediment to trade with Russia.

Russia seems to increasingly view the Union as a convenient tool to bypass sanctions, with massive implications for its partner countries. And the supposed advantages of EAEU membership – enhanced trade, growth, and modernization – have simply not materialized.

Due to the rapid economic decline of Russia – a fall of 10-15 per cent is anticipated for 2022 – the EAEU is even less likely to deliver the promised economic benefits, while also putting members at risk of secondary sanctions.

The Ukraine invasion has also reignited domestic sensitivities and regional tensions. In Kazakhstan, Tokayev has failed to endorse Russia’s justification for the invasion and refuses to recognize the ‘independence’ of the separatist LNR and DNR.

Meanwhile Azerbaijan has pursued territorial gains in Nagorno-Karabakh while Russia is distracted by its invasion of Ukraine, and has requested the withdrawal of Russian peacekeeping from the disputed territory.

Russia is keen for partner countries to help mitigate the economic impact of sanctions by providing alternative transit routes for imports to Russia. But the EAEU faces challenges even at its most basic level because the sharing of custom duties among member states was denominated in dollars, which Russia now wants to move away from.

No easy escape

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine clearly reduces the benefits of Eurasian integration even further than before and imposes higher cost on the partner countries than were envisaged when they joined. They have been dragged into a geopolitical calamity over which they have no control – the inability of EAEU institutions to mediate or constrain Russia’s behaviour is stark.

War in Ukraine: Can the EU survive without Russian oil and gas? Audio NCapeling 5 May 2022

The fourth episode of our podcast mini-series examines how reliant the European Union (EU) is on Russian energy.

What would an all-out ban on Russian oil look like? Which countries would be most affected? Does this offer an opportunity for renewable energy?

Clips used: Bloomberg News

This episode was produced by Anouk Millet of Earshot Strategies on behalf of Chatham House.

Africa and Europe: Cooperation on digital transitions and new technologies 26 May 2022 — 8:00AM TO 12:30PM Anonymous (not verified) 12 May 2022 Online

The 11th Africa Day International Conference takes place under the auspices of the president of the Republic of Slovenia, HE Mr Borut Pahor, and within the framework of the Bled Strategic Forum.

Slovenia’s annual high-level Africa event seeks to improve policy outcomes for citizens in Europe and Africa as a result of a mutual understanding and strengthened cooperation between the two regions.

The event is co-hosted by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Slovenia, the Chatham House Africa Programme and the European Commission.

Expert discussions at this year’s edition will examine collaborative links between Africa and Europe in promoting responsible innovation and governance of emerging technologies, as well as the role of technology in shaping creative and cultural economies.

The conference will be broadcast live on this website, on the Slovenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs website and on the Africa Programme Facebook page.

Central and Eastern Europe become hawkish on China Expert comment LJefferson 16 September 2022

The recent withdrawal of the Baltic countries from the ‘17+1’ format displays changing perceptions of China due to its ambiguity towards the war in Ukraine.

While the Russian invasion of Ukraine only confirmed Central and Eastern Europe’s views of Russia, it is also affecting their relations with China. Although the relationship was already complicated due to unfulfilled Chinese economic promises to CEE countries and growing indications of efforts to influence their domestic politics, China’s support for Russia is pushing Central and Eastern Europeans even further away.

This shift was highlighted, and formalized, recently by several countries in the region leaving the ‘17+1’ format, through which China cooperates with a group of countries from the region. The shifting attitudes towards China will also influence the relationship between the European Union as a whole and China.

A Trojan Horse that never was

When the format was launched in 2012 between 16 CEE countries at the time and China, the countries jumping on board expected a wave of Chinese investment and an opportunity to diversify mostly west-bound trade.

These hopes never fully materialized as Chinese foreign direct investment (FDI) in CEE has been generally lower compared to the rest of Europe and China never became an important export destination for any of the countries. The growing disillusionment and concern about Chinese security threats has led to some of the countries speaking up about the perceived perils of closer cooperation.

The first to withdraw from what had become ‘17+1’ by 2021 was Lithuania, which also took an interest in strengthening ties with Taiwan and allowed it to open a Taiwanese representative office in Vilnius. This triggered a breakdown in the bilateral relations with China. As a retaliatory response, China blocked Lithuanian imports and imports from other EU states containing inputs from Lithuania, leading the EU to launch an official dispute at the WTO.

War in Ukraine

Since the invasion started, CEE countries have been dealing with large numbers of Ukrainian refugees, organizing shipments of military equipment to Ukraine, and at the same time worrying whether they could be next on Russia’s list.

However, the concerns and security environment that these countries face seems to be almost entirely disregarded by China. On the sidelines of the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing, Xi and Putin signed the joint communiqué in which China backed Moscow’s demands to reverse NATO borders to the pre-1997 situation, completely disregarding CEE’s security interests.

China’s implicit support for Russia after the invasion has sowed deep mistrust of its respect for the sovereignty of other nations. The Chinese diplomatic apparatus clearly noticed this changing mood among CEE governments and sent a special envoy to eight capitals in April-May tasked with ‘eliminating misunderstandings regarding Russia-Ukraine conflict’.

However, the trip was not particularly successful. The delegation failed to secure high-level meetings, with the most prominent case being the Polish minister of foreign affairs declining to meet Huo Yuzhen, the Chinese Special Councilor for CEEC cooperation. Given that Andrzej Duda, President of Poland, was the only head of an EU state who attended the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony just before the Russian invasion in February, the change in attitudes is clear.

Following the envoy’s visit to the Czech Republic, the Czech parliament’s foreign affairs committee unanimously approved a resolution calling for the country to quit the ‘16+1’ format and the government is expected to act upon it in the near future. Meanwhile, Latvia and Estonia recently jointly announced that they would no longer be participating in the cooperation framework, turning it into ‘14+1’.

Culture notes: Will the EU find its voice at last? The World Today mhiggins.drupal 30 January 2023

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has galvanized the bloc, but doubt remains about how it can capitalize on this moment, writes Catherine Fieschi.

Despite its reticence to believe that Russia would attack Ukraine, once Vladimir Putin’s tanks rolled across the Donbas, the European Union finally grasped the momentous nature of the events unfolding on its eastern flank. The immediate reaction of Europe’s member states was one of unity, resolve and uncharacteristically rapid decision-making, at least on sanctions and energy policy.

That they would need to act in concert across a concatenation of crises that would be either triggered (energy), worsened (inflation) or heightened (geopolitical instability) by Putin’s move was obvious. And so, Europe’s collective narrative of this past year slid into place, and it goes something like this: We gave Russia the benefit of every doubt, including after their invasion of Crimea when we still tried to bring them back to the negotiating table, but Putin has made the fundamental choice of turning away from democracy and the rule of law.

Now, the narrative goes on, we have to treat them as enemies and give ourselves the means to become resilient in the face of aggression as Ukraine is all that stands – both symbolically and geographically – between us and the chaos of a Europe-wide war.

Like any good narrative, it is anchored in previous trials and exploits. Having learnt from its failure to coordinate action during the eurozone crisis and then the migration crisis, Europe was keen to make the most of its resilience in the face of the Covid pandemic in the form of the joint vaccine purchases and a massive recovery plan.

The Russian invasion of Ukraine is an added – albeit dramatic and costly – opportunity to pursue further collective action and discover the next chapter of its shared purpose, as a political and perhaps even a defence alliance.

Europe had long been in need of an arc to follow. In the aftermath of the Second World War, peace and prosperity seemed enough. But the new multipolar world that emerged from the ashes of the Cold War and then 9/11 were more difficult to navigate for a largely commercial and regulatory alliance.

Could the EU, then, ever find its political voice?

David vs Goliath

While Brexit and Covid created rallying points, the shock and tragedy of the invasion delivered everything the EU needed in narrative terms: a David and Goliath story, with the opportunity to feature on Team David in European terms while allying with the United States, and a ‘band of brothers’ element to shore up a union bruised by the defection of a key but troubled member. Above all, the appearance of an arch-villain in the form of Vladimir Putin put Europe back into the familiar and mythical territory of the 1940s and then the Cold War.

When on May 28, 2016, Putin seated himself on the throne of the Byzantine emperors in Mount Athos’ Protaton Church in Greece in a scene truly worthy of Game of Thrones, the writing should have been on the wall. That day he explicitly laid out his aim to appoint himself as the new Eastern emperor who would fight the decadence of the West.

‘Today,’ Putin told the world, ‘we restore the values of patriotism, historical memory and traditional culture.’ Later, he cited Ukraine as the biggest unfinished mission of his years in power. That Europe – and Germany in particular – had taken so long to decipher Putin’s dark designs only adds to the narrative’s epic quality, positioning Europe as a victim of its own good faith and open heart.

Cracks in the narrative

But the narrative is not free from cracks. The Baltic states would argue that they had long warned of Putin’s nefarious intentions; and Poland has always been convinced of the threat posed by its neighbour.

How Russia’s war affects politics in southeast Europe 4 April 2023 — 11:00AM TO 12:00PM Anonymous (not verified) 24 March 2023 Online

This event will discuss how the war on Ukraine has affected southeastern Europe.

This event will discuss how the war on Ukraine has affected southeastern Europe. How have the governments and publics responded to the war?

The panel will discuss Russia’s goals and leverage in the region, including the impact of its disinformation campaigns. Are the governments reassessing their foreign policy options?

The granting of EU candidate status to Ukraine and Moldova has brought attention to the stalled accession process in the Western Balkans. What lessons from the Western Balkans can be applied in Ukraine and Moldova? Have new linkages emerged between the two regions?

Review: Rediscovering Milan Kundera’s European tragedy The World Today mhiggins.drupal 28 March 2023

The Czech writer’s 40-year-old essay on the roots of Russia’s empire-building, ‘A Kidnapped West’, reads all too presciently, writes Stefan Auer.

A Kidnapped West: The Tragedy of Central Europe
Milan Kundera, Faber, £10

‘In November 1956, the director of the Hungarian News Agency, shortly before his office was flattened by artillery fire, sent a telex to the entire world with a desperate message announcing that the Russian attack against Budapest had begun. The dispatch ended with these words: “We are going to die for Hungary and for Europe.”’ Thus, Milan Kundera began his 1983 essay for the French journal Le Débat, reflecting on the 1956 Hungarian Uprising.

A seminal essay

The Czech author might well have written a near-identical passage about the fraught hours immediately after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. In the event, Russian tanks failed to occupy Kyiv, unlike Budapest in 1956. Nevertheless, Faber has chosen this moment, 40 years later, to republish Kundera’s seminal essay on Europe and Russian aggression in its original translation for the New York Review of Books by Edmund White. How salient are its observations today?

The essay’s original French title, ‘Un Occident kidnappé ou la tragédie de l’Europe centrale’ (The Kidnapped West, or the Tragedy of Central Europe), described the fate of Hungary, Czechoslovakia in 1968 and, to an extent, Poland in 1980-81 at the hands of the Soviet Union. Owing to the Cold War division of Europe, the countries of Central Europe were denied their true destiny, Kundera thought, to be an integral part of the liberal, democratic West. Kundera himself fled Czechoslovakia for France in 1975.

The author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being might no longer be as well-known as he was at the height of his fame in the 1980s, but his novels and essays still deserve attention. So, it is pleasing to see Kundera’s masterpiece republished, even as it is awful to witness the enduring relevance of the questions it raises.

What did the Hungarian journalist mean when he declared his willingness to die for Europe, Kundera asked? That ‘Russians, in attacking Hungary, were attacking Europe itself. He was ready to die so that Hungary might remain Hungary and European’. The journalist did indeed die in the uprising.

It is a line that President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and his supporters abroad have echoed time and again: that Ukrainian soldiers are not just dying for their country, they are dying for Europe at large.

The ‘tragedy’ in Kundera’s essay was that the West didn’t care. ‘Europe hasn’t noticed the disappearance of its cultural home,’ Kundera wrote, ‘because Europe no longer perceives its unity as a cultural unity.’

In other words, as the cultural sphere in Central Europe continued to defy the political restrictions imposed by the Soviet empire, it embodied the western values of freedom and democracy more than the West itself did. The extent to which this analysis remains relevant today will prove decisive for Europe’s future.

As timely as ever

Kundera’s essay is as timely as ever but in ways that both vindicate and challenge his key arguments. His suspicion of Russia has been validated. His frustration about the indifference of the West less so. But the true tragedy of Ukraine would be if the West has not changed sufficiently. So far, the West appears to be doing enough to enable Ukraine to defend itself, but not enough to defeat the aggressor.

Faber has made an excellent decision in combining The Tragedy of Central Europe with a lesser-known text by Kundera: his 1967 speech to the Czech Writers’ Congress given the year before the ill-fated Prague Spring. In it, Kundera addressed what was to become a lifelong preoccupation: the fate of small nations. ‘For Czechs’, Kundera wrote, ‘nothing has ever constituted an indisputable possession – neither their language nor their belonging to Europe.’

Rather than reflecting the size of its territory or population, a small nation ‘is one whose very existence can be put in question at any moment; a small nation can disappear, and it knows it.’ In this way Ukraine, Europe’s largest country, apart from Russia, is fighting to avoid the fate of Kundera’s ‘small nation’.

Historically, the ‘small’ nations of Central Europe were threatened by both Germany and Russia. But after the Second World War, the threat was from the Soviet Union, which for Kundera was indistinguishable from Russia (tacitly including Ukraine). In its expansiveness, Russia was the opposite of Central Europe. While the latter was based on the principle of ‘the greatest variety within the smallest space’, the former represented ‘the smallest variety within the greatest space’.

In this sense, authoritarian communism was the fulfilment of Russian history, Kundera argued, writing that ‘Russian communism vigorously reawakened Russia’s old anti-western obsessions and turned it brutally against Europe’. Vladimir Putin’s Russia appears to build on these same pernicious impulses.

Kundera was widely criticized for observations in his essay that smack of civilizational racism (including by me) describing Russians as fundamentally different from us: ‘Russia knows another (greater) dimension of disaster, another image of space (a space so immense that entire nations are swallowed up in it), another sense of time (slow and patient), another way of laughing, living, and dying’.

Eurovision, war and the geopolitics of pop The World Today mhiggins.drupal 28 March 2023

Europe’s great song competition may strive for continental harmony, but bitter conflicts and voting blocs often drag it off key, writes Saskia Postema.

In May, the city that spawned the Beatles will add another notch to its cultural belt as Liverpool hosts the Eurovision Song Contest.

The pop competition has been celebrating extravagance, dramatic acts and lots of glitter since 1956. It is expressly designed to be non-political, with performers barred from promoting political interests, yet it exists for a specific political purpose – to promote European unity.

The organizer, the European Broadcasting Union (EBU), has certainly succeeded in part with its mission. While Europe Day on May 9 comes and goes without much fanfare, Eurovision is an eagerly anticipated fixture on the cultural calendar.

Cultural diplomacy

While some may dismiss it as simply an extravagant party, there is more to it than that: it is a form of cultural diplomacy. Beyond artistry, acts are expected to bring their cultural identity to the stage as they bid for douze points, Eurovision’s highest score, from national juries.

Like any popular forum, it reflects popular opinion. So, when war threatens the European harmony Eurovision is meant to exude, politics inevitably manifests itself.

This was evident last year. Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February, Eurovision’s organizers reiterated their apolitical stance stating both countries would be allowed to participate. But when various countries threatened to withdraw if Russia was allowed to compete, the EBU changed its tune and broke off ties with Russian broadcasting agencies indefinitely. As reluctant as it was to act in this capacity, the organization still inadvertently highlighted its role as a political gatekeeper and confirmed Eurovision does function as a political arena.

Unsurprisingly, all eyes were on the Ukrainian entry that year. Kalush Orchestra’s Stefania, presenting a blend of traditional Ukrainian folk music with hip hop beats, went on to win the contest resoundingly.

And while the winning nation normally hosts next year’s competition, due to the war this honour passed to the runner-up, the United Kingdom. Britain, coincidentally, has been one of the most visible supporters of Kyiv’s war efforts. Boris Johnson, the former prime minister, was among the first leaders to visit Kyiv after the Russian invasion.

Last year’s second place ended a long spate of poor results for the UK in the competition. The first year it scored nul points was 2003 when the UK entry was Cry Baby by the duo Jemini. The result was seen widely as a backlash against Britain’s entry into the Iraq war earlier that year.

In the intervening years it has been placed last twice and received nul points again in 2021 when the entry was Embers sung by James Newman. With last year’s second place for Sam Ryder’s Space Man, the UK redeemed itself and will get to host Eurovision in Liverpool, a city twinned with Odesa since 1957.

It is not the first time that Russia’s geopolitical relations have led to Eurovision controversy. In 2008, following the Russo-Georgian war, Russia recognized the self-proclaimed independence of South Ossetia and Abkhazia which had broken away from Georgia.

As a result, Georgia initially refused to take part in the 2009 Eurovision as it was to be held in Moscow. It changed its mind, however, submitting a song by Stefane and 3G called We Don’t Wanna Put In. The submission was rejected by the EBU, which said it contained obvious references to the Russian leader, something Georgia denied.

In 2015, Ukraine withdrew from Eurovision following the Russian annexation of Crimea. The following year the EBU was faced with a similar problem when Ukraine submitted a song, 1944,sung by Jamala, which told the story of her great-grandmother who lived through the mass deportation of Crimean Tatars in the Soviet Union under Josef Stalin. This time the EBU allowed the entry, despite the Russian Duma calling for its rejection. The song went on to win.