
"Yes, but what is a European?"
The question from one of my students should have been easy enough for me to answer. After all, I was born in Wales and have lived in continental Europe -- Oslo, Prague, and Brussels -- for most of the last 25 years. I've traveled to every EU country except Malta. I speak a handful of European languages and studied European history and politics at university. I have worked in the European Commission and European Parliament. My best friends are Dutch, German, Slovak, and Swedish. My partner is French, and my children are bilingual. Unlike some recent U.S. presidents, I know the difference between Slovenia and Slovakia. If anyone should be European, or at least know what constitutes one, I should.
Yet I found myself stuttering and stammering as I searched for an answer. I waffled for a bit about European values -- freedom, democracy, human rights, the rule of law -- but didn't convince myself, let alone the class.
"European fundamental values are sacred," Jan Peter Balkenende, then Dutch prime minister, said in 2004. When it came to actually defining those values, however, he was fuzzier, admitting, "We have been discussing the idea of Europe for the last 1,200 years, but we cannot grasp what it means." That's the problem: Values matter because they are the glue that binds countries and peoples together. They help define what a society stands for and against.
American values are clearly and succinctly defined in the Bill of Rights and U.S. Constitution, which most American schoolchildren have to study and some senators carry in their back pockets. The European Union, on the other hand, has no constitution, and its Charter of Fundamental Rights only became legally binding in 2009. The nearest thing the EU has to a founding document is an almost impenetrable legalistic treaty that has been amended six times since the 1957 signing of the Treaty of Rome. The latest incarnation of the EU's rule book, the 2007 Treaty of Lisbon, commits the union to values such as free speech, democracy, and sustainable development. No wonder it is hard to disagree with American journalist Christopher Caldwell, who wrote in his provocative 2009 book, Reflections on the Revolution in Europe, "There is no consensus, not even the beginning of a consensus, about what European values are."
How did we get here? In the decades after World War II, it was clear what Europe stood for: prosperity for a war-torn continent, freedom from tyranny -- at least for those living in the Western half -- and peace among nations after centuries of bloodletting. (From time to time one catches a whiff of the lingering fear that these conditions are not permanent, such as in the distinctly Hobbesian observation that ran on the International Herald Tribune's op-ed page ahead of the euro-crisis summit in late October: "What's Saving Europe from Hell? The E.U.") It is difficult to argue with peace, prosperity, and freedom -- but what else is there? British essayist Timothy Garton Ash made a stab at defining European values in a 2007 essay in Prospect, adding law, diversity, and solidarity to the list. These are hardly unique to Europe, however. They also camouflage a host of differences among the EU states.
Rule of law, for instance, may be a precondition for joining the European Union, but some states, such as Belgium and France, are much better at calling for new legislation than adhering to laws that have already been passed. In other countries, such as Bulgaria and Romania, corruption is rampant, while in Italy the mafia makes a mockery of justice in the country's south.
It is on the matters of diversity and solidarity, however, that the pan-European narrative falters most. The EU prides itself on its differences, even as it tries to legislate them out of existence. Its motto is "united in diversity," and few places on Earth have such a glorious mishmash of cultures, languages, landscapes, and peoples coexisting in such a small area. Diversity doesn't equal tolerance, however, and the existence of differences doesn't mean acceptance of them -- a fact that has come glaringly to the fore as Europe has slipped deeper into crisis and relationships have strained among its members.
When Dutch populist politician Geert Wilders suggested a fusion of Flanders and the Netherlands in 2008, one reader of a Flemish newspaper posted this outraged comment online: "If Flanders joins up with that people of busybodies, violent hooligans, murdering youths, and nuts, then I'm joining an armed rebellion! It's bad enough being with the Dutch at the same campsite!" Another wrote: "A union with Morocco or Mongolia would be better. There they don't pee against church walls, and they don't eat fried croquettes from snack vending machines." Particularly agitated responses, perhaps, but symptomatic ones: Despite 60 years of ever closer integration and interaction among Europeans, stereotypes are clearly alive and well, prejudices are as deep-seated as ever, and political parties advocating less diversity and more intolerance are gaining ground. In recent elections in France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Italy, Hungary, and even progressive Sweden and Finland, voters have exhibited the sort of fears and phobias that can only be described as the flip side of Rifkin's European dream.
If there ever was a European dream, it was based on a sense of solidarity among fellow members of the 27-nation club. But try telling that to the French, who railed against mythical Polish plumbers stealing their jobs during the debate over the doomed EU constitution in 2005. Or the Dutch, who balk at transferring large sums of money to poorer members of the bloc. Or the Germans, Slovaks, and Finns, who had to be dragged kicking and screaming to offer a lifeline to bankrupt Greece.
At the Congress of Europe in 1948, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill famously said, "We hope to see a Europe where men of every country will think of being a European as of belonging to their native land, and … wherever they go in this wide domain ... will truly feel, 'Here I am at home.'"
Some hope. Today there is less mobility than when Churchill made his speech -- roughly 2 percent of Europeans live in a different EU state from the country of their citizenship. Instead of borders being erased -- the aim of the agreement Western European countries signed in Schengen, Luxembourg, in 1985 -- they seem to be coming back into fashion. France recently set up frontier controls on its border with Italy to prevent a wave of migrants from Libya, which it went to war to liberate, and Denmark angered its neighbors by revoking some of the Schengen Agreement's passport-free travel provisions. Not all of Europe, it seems, is ready to accept all Europeans just yet.


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