Germany and the Baltic Problem After the Cold War: The Development of a New Ostpolitik, 1989-2000

GERMANY AND THE BALTIC PROBLEM AFTER THE COLD WAR The dramatic result of the Cold War’s dénouement in 1989–91 was a unified Germany at the heart of Europe. With this came new expectations about a sovereign Germany, and also a revival of old fears about German power. The root question this book addresses is how the new Germany will use its re-found status as a great power. Does Germany—as in the past—aim to dominate Europe? Or has it renounced its imperial ambitions following the trauma of division during the Cold War? In seeking answers to these questions, Kristina Spohr Readman scrutinises the development of Germany’s new Ostpolitik (eastern policy) in the period 1989–2000. Against the background of recent European history, she analyses the re-establishment of a special relationship between Bonn/Berlin and Moscow. In particular, she assesses the peculiar geopolitical situation of the Baltic states; caught between a turbulent Russia in the east and a unified Germany in the west. The Baltic case reveals the complexities of a post-Cold War European security architecture in the making. For a work of contemporary history, this book makes use of an unusually rich range of sources, being based on numerous confidential interviews with key political actors and on unprecedented access to still classified material, as well as drawing on a vast memoir literature. The book will be essential reading for all serious students of contemporary German history and politics. Kristina Spohr Readman is a Junior Research Fellow at Christ’s College, Cambridge. Born in 1973 in Düsseldorf (Germany), she first read European Studies, Economics and French at the University of East Anglia in Norwich and at Sciences Po, Paris; and then History at Peterhouse, Cambridge. After completion of her Ph.D. in 2000, she worked in 2001 as a research fellow at NATO headquarters in Brussels. From September 2004 she will be Lecturer in International History at the London School of Economics and Political Science.

GERMANY and THE BALTIC PROBLEM AFTER THE COLD WAR The Development of a New Ostpolitik 1989–2000 KRISTINA SPOHR READMAN University of Cambridge PREFACE BY

HANS-DIETRICH GENSCHER

LONDON AND NEW YORK

First published 2004 by Routledge, an imprint of Taylor & Francis 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to http://www.ebookstore.tandf.co.uk/.” © 2004 Kristina Spohr Readman All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. The publisher makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and cannot accept any legal responsibility or liability for any errors or omissions that may be made. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN 0-203-48945-4 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-58234-9 (Adobe e-Reader Format) ISBN 0-714-65515-5 (Print Edition)

To Paul

Contents List of Tables and Figures

vii

Preface by Hans-Dietrich Genscher

ix

Acknowledgements

xi

Maps

Introduction 1 Germany and the Baltics in the Cold War’s Endgame, 1989–91

xiv

1 4

2 German Questions Past and Present

47

3 Unified Germany’s West(europa)politik at a ‘Time Which as yet Has no Name’ 4 Germany and Russia Reborn: Back to the Future?

76

5 The Baltic States: A Gauge of Unified Germany’s Ostpolitik and European Security

106 139

Conclusion, or One Answer to the German Question

186

Postscript: The Methodology of a Contemporary History

192

Select Bibliography

210

Index

227

Tables and Figures TABLES

3.1 Relative donor contributions and total assistance to central and east European countries, 1990–94 5.1 Countries dominating the societal spaces of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania 5.2 German bilateral assistance to Estonia, 1991–92 5.3 Estonian imports from selected European countries, 1993–98 5.4 Estonian exports to selected European countries, 1993–98 5.5 Selected European trading partners of Latvia in 1991 and 1998 5.6 Selected European trading partners of Lithuania in 1991 and 1998

94 141 146 148 150 152 154

FIGURES

1.1 ‘A Spectre Is Haunting Europe’ 13 1.2 [No caption] Note: ‘At the summit meeting with President Bush, Mr Gorbachev 23 keeps an anxious eye on how things are going at home’ 1.3 ‘The only card’ 24 3.1 ‘Paßt!’ (‘Fits!’) 86 3.2 ‘Noch’n Kosovo Flüchtling’ (‘Yet another Kosovan refugee’) 86 3.3 ‘…nur noch wenige tausend Tagel’ (‘Only a few thousand days’) 91 5.1 ‘Sõber Helmut’ (‘Friend Helmut’) 139 5.2 Trends in Estonian imports from selected European countries, 1991–98 149 5.3 Trends in Estonian exports to selected European countries, 1991–98 152

Preface

Hans-Dietrich Genscher

On 23 August 1989 the will for freedom and independence of the people living in the Baltic states was symbolically given expression by a human chain from Tallin to Vilnius. Only a few weeks later the bipolar order dominating Europe and the world for more than forty years was brought to an end peacefully by the reform movements in Middle and Eastern Europe. It was the starting point of overcoming the Cold War, the German and the European division in two parts, and initiated the dissolution process of the Soviet Union. What happened was part of a real European liberty revolution. The forthcoming enlargement of the European Union marks an unprecedented and historic milestone in European history. It is a great success that all the three Baltic states are designated to be member states of the European Union as from May 2004. Right after the Baltic states’ attainment of independence in August 1991 it was Germany that only a few days later re-established diplomatic links. This position stemmed from the conviction that the Baltic states must not be abandoned again. Nevertheless in Germany, and even in the German government, relevant voices argued against the reestablishment of diplomatic relations with the Baltic states. At least, they were asking if it was the right moment to do so. The Federal Republic of Germany had never recognized the Baltic states’ incorporation into the Soviet Union. It was not, therefore, a matter of recognition but of re-establishing diplomatic relations. The German initiative was combined with the suggestion that the then European Community should prepare for negotiations on association treaties with the Baltic states. This was in full line with the logic of advocating the Baltic states’ transformation process to democracy. From that, it was a long and sometimes stony path leading to the forthcoming accession of the Baltic states to the European Union and it demanded great efforts from both sides—from the new member states as well as the European Union. The process of integrating the Baltic states within the network of Western European institutions of security and stability was not naturally given. One has to bear in mind that the Baltic states’ struggle for independence took place against the background of Germany’s unification process, its international implications by negotiating the Twoplus-Four-Treaty, and the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Germany’s unification process so far has been the subject of numerous profound scientific analyses. Against the background of the tremendous changes Europe and the world have witnessed during the last thirteen years, all of them raise the question of Germany’s foreign policy alignment.

Nevertheless, it is for the first time that the connection and interaction between Germany’s unification process, the process leading to sovereignty and independence of the Baltic states, and—against an international background—the implications for a European security and stability have been examined in as great detail as in the present book. It is to the author’s credit that she fills this gap by using an original historical approach to analyze the question of ‘Germany’s Ostpolitik’—as the author calls it—in the aftermath of the Cold War. By scrutinizing the ‘German question’ in a historical perspective, the author gives a valuable insight to international diplomacy and offers a close look at a region that—although situated in our neighbourhood—often is not considered but marginally. The question the author raises as to whether Germany’s unification would mean returning to power politics reflects the reservation and concern some partners and neighbours have expressed during, and in the aftermath of, the unification process. The answers German foreign policy has given to the new challenges that have arisen since the end of the Cold War are discussed in detail in this book. They have shown Germany’s commitment to politics of peace and responsibility. For the first time in history Germany today is surrounded by partners and friends. With the largest number of neighbours and being located at the center of Europe, Germany’s political position finally corresponds to its geographical location and its European vocation. Today we have the great opportunity to achieve the peaceful unity of our continent. While the task of European statecraft in the second half of the twentieth century was to unite the free states of Europe and to peacefully overcome the division of Germany and the whole of Europe—the task we face today is to complete European unification successfully and to contribute to the establishment of a lasting and just world order. As Europeans we must do our utmost in order to safeguard the success of this great task.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to a number of organisations and individuals, without whose support this book could not have been written. The following institutions have assisted by providing research facilities, financial assistance and/or opportunities to debate my ideas: the University of Cambridge; Peterhouse, Cambridge; the Finnish Institute for International Affairs, Helsinki (FIIA); the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Washington DC; NATO Headquarters, Brussels; University College London and Christ’s College, Cambridge. Over the years it has been a great privilege to live and work in Peterhouse (as a postgraduate student) and Christ’s (as a Research Fellow), and to enjoy the intellectually stimulating and socially enriching atmosphere of those colleges. I was able to undertake this project thanks to awards and scholarships granted by the following: the British Academy; the University of Cambridge (Allen, Meek and Read Fund, KurtHahn-Trust, Ellen MacArthur Fund, Prince Consort and Thirlwall Fund); Peterhouse (Stemson Fund) and Christ’s College. In Cambridge I greatly profited from the opportunity of giving papers and talking with other historians at the Research Seminar in International History, the Modern European History Seminar, and the Cold War International History Project Conference. Talking often continued over various College meals, especially with Paul Kennedy—while he was visiting fellow at Christ’s in 2002— Zara Steiner, John Hiden, Chris Clark, Chris Andrew, Tim Blanning, and Brendan Simms. I was very lucky that the annual research trip of the Cambridge Centre of International Studies in spring 1999 happened to be to the Baltic states. In addition to participating in the arranged programme I was able to undertake my own interviews. The trip also provided a valuable opportunity to discuss personal impressions and Baltic politics with fellow students as well as Paul Cornish and Philip Towle from the Centre. During my research expeditions to Finland (and Estonia) and the United States, I benefited from the hospitality of two institutions—the above mentioned Finnish Institute for International Affairs in Helsinki (where I was a Visiting Fellow) and the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington, DC—which offered me excellent libraries, email and photocopying facilities, as well as an office to myself: many thanks to Tuomas Forsberg and Christian Ostermann. I truly enjoyed the warmth and hospitality of my Finnish grand-parents, Kyllikki and Toivo Anttila (in Hollola), and of Dagmar, Gene and my godchild Anna-Lisa Schäfer-Gehrau (in San Francisco) on the weekends after the long and lonely weeks in the archives in Tallinn, Helsinki and at Stanford.

In the various research locations I encountered very helpful librarians and archivists. I especially want to thank Jouko Rajakiili and Eeva Kairisalo at FIIA, Frau Schute at the BPA, Kadri Linnas at the Eesti Väliministeerium, Laura Soroka at the Hoover Archives, and Catherine Nielsen at the National Security Archive. I also want to thank Ingrid Block for helping me to transcribe my hours and hours of taped research material. Sincere gratitude goes to all my interviewees from the political world for their generous time and interest in providing me with information. The long list of their names has been included in the bibliography. However, a few individuals need special mentioning for their willingness to discuss my questions in great depth, in some cases even outside the context of the formal interview situation and/or by correspondence at different stages of writing this book: Michael Mertes, Sven Sakkov, Tiit Matsulevits, Jukka Knuuti, and Richard von Weizsäcker. I feel a profound sense of gratitude to Sven who was an indispensable contact in Estonia; in Tallinn, he, Toomas Hiio, Indrek Tarand and the indefatigable Meelis Maripuu made it possible for me to work more efficiently than I could possibly have imagined. Away from the ‘Ivory Tower’, I spent the first half of 2001 at NATO HQ in Brussels. There, Christopher Donnelly widened my horizon on ‘real politics’. Our exchanges about current political and military affairs were always illuminating and very fruitful. A life apart from work provides the ground from which productive research can emerge. My violin travelled with me wherever I went, and the summer-holidays at violin masterclasses were a refreshing change from the archive environment. My thanks go to violinist Rosa Fain (and her husband Sol Wainstein—for his efforts to improve my Russian pronunciation and for provocative political debates). I was fortunate to have some very good friends who, especially in the earlier stages of this work, helped to put ‘it’ all into perspective: Gavin Hyman, Tobias Jersak, Holly Palubiak, Rosie Roche, Peter Speicher, Sanna Vesikansa, Lizzie Watson, Andy Webster, and Jakob von Weizsäcker. My thanks to the following individuals for critically reading larger chunks of this manuscript and for thought-provoking discussions: Tobias, Peter, Susan Bayly, Richard Evans, Kathryn Rix, and especially my Finnish uncle Markku Anttila (Eno). In the final stages, my editors Andrew Humphrys (Frank Cass) and Heidi Bagtazo (Routledge), gave very effective help. Furthermore, I want to thank Philippa Youngman for excellent copy-editing, my anonymous reviewers for their thoughts, and Odd Arne Westad for his guidance. I very much appreciate the work of the production staff at Frank Cass and Routledge, and of the maker of my maps, Owen Tucker, in Cambridge. Thanks also to the two cartoonists (Nick Garland, Horst Haitzinger), the Centre for the Study of Cartoons and Caricature in Kent, and Urmas Klaas (editor-in-chief) of the Estonian newspaper Postimees, for granting me permission to reprint their caricatures. Here I want to take the opportunity to thank Hans-Dietrich Genscher for his great interest in my work and for taking the time to write the Preface for this book. I received my training as a historian while a postgraduate at Cambridge University, where I submitted an earlier version of this manuscript as my doctoral dissertation. Had it not been for a discussion with David Reynolds in late 1997, I probably would have never become an historian. My greatest intellectual debt is to David. As my supervisor, he always had time for vivid discussions—time that went far beyond the call of duty. I am sincerely grateful to him for having encouraged me in my adventure of giving the ‘time

that as yet has no name’ a history, for inspiration, and for offering me constructive criticism. Finally, I want to acknowledge my parents, Marjatta and Edmund Spohr. Thank you for all the pampering ‘at home’ in the weeks when I commuted from Düsseldorf to Bonn, or Brussels, or Berlin to interview the ‘important people’. Thank you for all your loving care, your encouragement, your interest in my work, and your willingness to listen to my thoughts and ideas. Thank you for having instilled in me a passion for searching for the truth, and a yearning for knowledge that has led me where I am and that will never fade. I dedicate this book to Paul, my husband. Not many authors are fortunate enough to have a partner who provides both personal support and the experience of a young historian himself. To Paul, who read and commented (from a British perspective) on the entire manuscript, I owe my greatest debt. His love and understanding, his own enthusiasm for history and his general jolliness greatly eased the task of turning my ideas into this book.

Map 1: Europe in 1925

Map 2: Germany in 1945

Map 3: Divided Europe in 1955

Map 4: Post-Cold War Europe

Map 5: Post-Cold War EU enlargement in eastern Europe

Map 6: Post-Cold War NATO enlargement into eastern Europe

Introduction

A unified German nation-state re-emerged at the heart of Europe in the context of the Cold War’s dénouement in 1989–90. With it came new expectations about a sovereign Germany, and also a revival of old fears. How would Germany use its great-power status? It is this ‘German Question’ that lies at the heart of this book. In seeking answers, our first concern is the peaceful enlargement of West Germany (FRG) to the east through reunification at the end of the Cold War and the changes and consequences for Europe and the world deriving from this event. The main focus, however, is on Germany’s new role in Europe as a unified country and great power, as reflected in its foreign policy—especially its Ostpolitik—of the 1990s. Indeed, it is unified Germany’s Ostpolitik that shows the extent to which the new Germany in a new post-Cold War Europe differs from the past, and whether it has renounced its imperial ambitions following the trauma of division during the Cold War. Against the background of history I examine the re-established special relationship of Bonn/Berlin and Moscow, and assess in parallel the peculiar geopolitical situation of the Baltic states, caught between a turbulent Russia in the east and a unified Germany in the west. The Baltic case in particular reveals the complexities of a post-Cold War European security architecture in the making. The intention thus is not to simply describe and explain the bilateral relations between Germany and Russia, or Germany and the Baltics. Rather these two case studies are intended to reveal Germany’s post-Cold War dilemma: its ambivalence about coming to terms with its past while redefining its role in Europe as a sovereign nation-state. In broad terms, this book is a story about an evolving Germany in a changing Europe. But it is also about nations as well as institutions, about the relations between small powers and big powers, about pawns and actors. Moreover, its story is about East-West diplomacy and the enduring importance of one central question: if there is a frontier between East and West, then where in Europe does it run? My aim is to assess the politics of the newly unified Germany in Europe in a wider historical context. Indeed, Germany’s history of the present cannot be truly understood without looking to the past. In other words, trying to explain the German Question means studying continuities and discontinuities of that nation’s history. We tend to look back at 1945/49 and 1989–91 as major historical caesuras which marked the end or beginning of particular eras in German, European and even world history. The phase since 1991 is so far ‘open-ended’ and yet to be defined. It has simply been called the post-Cold War era, or in the German President Roman Herzog’s more elegant phrase a ‘time which as yet has no name’.1 However, do the events of 1945/9 and

Germany and the Baltic problem after the cold war

2

1989–91 represent such absolute dividing lines? Are we dealing with moments or epochs in German history? Maybe at a later stage, in a larger historical framework, dividing lines of phases and conclusions will be drawn totally differently from today. It is a question of perspective and, with time, perspectives tend to change. Yet, as the re-emergence of the German Question reveals, past and present are connected. History clearly influences Berlin’s current affairs. ‘What’s past is prologue.’2 I shall give, from today’s perspective, the time that as yet has no name a history, and provide against this background one possible answer to the German Question. Chapter 1 shows how the geopolitical situation in 1989/90 changed dramatically within months and led, with the collapse of Moscow’s outer and inner empire, to the end of the Cold War in 1991. At the core of this analysis is the illustration of two pre-eminent events, German unification and Baltic independence, and how each influenced the diplomacy of the other. Looking at the two processes together explains how complex the international situation proved to be during 1989–91, and how many matters were dealt with, together and separately, most of the time simply ad hoc due to the speed of events. While German unification represents the end of Soviet influence in eastern Europe and the re-emergence of a sovereign great power in Europe, Baltic independence represents the internal collapse of the multinational Soviet empire. Special emphasis is placed on discussing the increasingly dominating Moscowpolitik in Bonn’s foreign and alliance policies during 1989–91. Chapter 2 discusses the scale of transformations in 1989–91 by asking why and how the German Question reappeared at this particular time. The historical dilemma of the unified German nation-state after 1871 has been associated by many with the country’s inevitable bellicose eastern expansionism. In order to define what has also been called the ‘German Question’, I have developed a theoretico-historical framework. Against this background a concise overview of German history from 1871–1989 is given that explains how the German Question—and Ostpolitik as an element of this—has to be understood during different periods of time. Here I draw out the rise of the historical fears of a united, enlarged, sovereign Germany, by its neighbours east and west in 1989–91. This chapter explains why the end of the Cold War did not provide a conclusive answer to the German Question and what, hence, constitutes the new German Question today. It sheds light on the domestic debates of unified Germany’s new role as a nation-state in Europe and of the role of history in contemporary German politics and society. In chapter 3 we are concerned with unified Germany’s western European policies from 1991 to 2000. The post-1945 political dogma of West Germany and after 1990 also of unified Germany was to be anchored in the West—rather than oscillating between East and West as the Reich had done. This chapter is essential with regard to the questions how Germany has tried to find its new role in a changing Europe and whether the new Germany remains committed to Western civic culture. First, I explore Germany’s changing military role during the 1990s. Second, I analyse how Germany has defined and developed its political and economic interests in the context of the European Union (EU). The focus is on the debates concerning the implementation of the euro and EU enlargement. In addition to these thematic aspects, this chapter scrutinises the implications of the change of government from Helmut Kohl to Gerhard Schröder for German foreign policy.

Introduction

3

Against the background of Germany’s West(europa)politik, it is in chapters 4 and 5 that German Ostpolitik in 1991–2000 is examined. Chapter 4 concentrates solely on the overriding relationship for post-Communist Europe, that between Germany and Russia. The history of German-Russian relations is discussed, in order to explain why the Moscow-Berlin axis has been so disruptive for Europe’s peace in the past and thus today represents a historical legacy. I then turn to an analysis of the Soviet troop withdrawal from eastern Germany and its implications for German sovereignty and German-Russian diplomacy. The last two parts study Germany’s policies in the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) enlargement process, Russia’s increasingly nationalist and antiWestern policies, and the simultaneous creation of a special Kohl-Yeltsin friendship that ends with the change of governments in Germany (1998) and Russia (2000). Chapter 5 embodies the second case-study in the analysis of Germany’s Ostpolitik: the Baltic states. Often referred to as the litmus test of European security because of their location in a ‘grey zone’ between east and west, they reflect on a more theoretical level the problem of relations between small and great powers. The Baltics’ goal is to escape Russia’s self-declared sphere of influence on its western borders by joining the ‘institutional West’ with Germany’s support. This chapter examines whether, during the 1990s, Germany’s operative Baltic policies have matched its rhetoric of being the Baltics’ ‘advocate’. It further assesses with particular scrutiny the consequences for the Baltics of Germany’s Moscow-first Ostpolitik. The Conclusion, written just over a decade after the end of the Cold War, thus includes the impressions of a revived debate on the future of Germany and Europe. It proposes one possible answer to the German Question. The Postscript is a methodological essay discussing in detail the historiography of the field of this monograph—contemporary (German and Baltic) history—and the variety and implications of the primary sources that were used. NOTES 1‘Ansprache von Bundespräsident Roman Herzog bei der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik in Bonn am 13. März 1995’, www.bundespräsident.de/n/nphb/reden/de/dgap.htm?reden/deutsch1995. 2 William Shakespeare, The Tempest, II. i. 261.

1 Germany and the Baltics in the Cold War’s Endgame, 1989–91

Wir brauchen die Zustimmung der Sowjetunion, damit unser Land seinen friedlichen Weg zur Einheit rasch gehen kann. Und die Sowjetunion braucht unsere wirtschaftliche Kraft, wenn sie auf dem Weg zur Marktwirtschaft weiter vorankommen will.1

Dramatic changes took place during 1989–91. It was a time when ‘people power’ peacefully toppled the communist regimes in Poland, Hungary, East Germany (GDR), Czechoslovakia and Romania. Within two years the antagonistic and ideological bipolar structure of military power that had characterised world politics for 40 years disappeared. The Warsaw Pact broke up, Germany unified, the Baltic states regained independence and the Soviet Union disintegrated—symbolising the total collapse of communism in Europe and making way for a new European post-Cold War order. But as much as there emerged new questions, one fundamental old question reappeared: the German Question. What follows discusses two interconnected key processes in the Cold War’s dénouement: German unification and the Baltic states’ independence struggle. The aim is to explain the increasing political influence of West Germany (after 1990, unified Germany) in international politics in 1989–91, at a time when superpower relations were still predominant. Both the German and Baltic stories demonstrate the perseverance with which chancellor Kohl pursued his national goal and the decisiveness by which he turned unified Germany’s first steps of Ostpolitik into a Moscow-first policy to the detriment of the Baltics’ cause. This new German political assertiveness during but especially after, (re)unification2 was eyed with much scepticism—especially by Germany’s western European neighbours, France and the United Kingdom. It provoked historical fears of a large and untameable German beast in the middle of Europe. Yet Bonn’s unification policies, its Ostpolitik as well as superpower relations in 1989– 91, did not function as smoothly as politicians have led us to believe. Although seemingly a small or even side issue in Soviet internal affairs, the Baltic quest for independence had a surprisingly significant impact on the diplomacy in the Cold War’s endgame. In fact, the Baltic case illuminates how much in 1989–90 Soviet foreign policy was strained by domestic revolutionary developments, and how the Baltics’ independence struggle strongly affected the course of the international negotiations on German unification.

Germany and the Baltics in the cold war’s endgame, 1989–91

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Clearly both the German and the Baltic stories have a massive social dimension. However, in view of this book’s central focus on Germany’s foreign political role in postCold War Europe, the emphasis in what follows will be on ‘high politics’. GERMAN UNITY THROUGH ‘DEUTSCHE MARKS AND TALKS’ The 19 days following the fall of the Berlin wall on 9 November 19893 were decisive for the unfolding process of German unification. The number of East Germans crossing the border to West Berlin exploded4 and the East Germans at mass demonstrations began to demand the unity of the German people. The slogans rapidly shifted from ‘We are the people’ to ‘We are one people’.5 While the Socialist Unity Party (SED) regime had practically abandoned any operative unification policies at the latest in 1961 when the Berlin wall was built,6 the West German policymakers had adhered for four decades to keeping the unification issue on the agenda even if only on de jure grounds. Significantly, West German discussion about unification had always implied that it was expected to happen as a conducted process ‘from above’, that is initiated and managed by political elites.7 Against those expectations, now in 1989, in the context of revolutionary processes in eastern Europe, it was the East German people who had started a process of ‘unification from below’. In November 1989, the predominant question was whether the GDR and the USSR would use military force in order to re-establish communist order and close the borders as had been done in 1953 and 1961.8 The pictures of the merciless repression of the student dissidents in Tiananmen Square in Beijing in June 1989 were still vivid in people’s minds, and the recent statement made by the GDR leadership declaring openly its solidarity with China on having used military force against ‘imperialist circles pursuing so-called peaceful change’ had not been forgotten in divided Germany.9 Yet in the GDR no force was used. There were various internal and external factors which seem to have made the 1989 crisis of communism in the GDR insoluble and rendered the option of using military power obsolete. During the 1980s, within the entire communist bloc the long-term structural problems had developed to an extent which could not be resolved through tactical corrections of the party line. The USSR was in deep economic and technological crisis.10 Against this background the new Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev introduced in 1985 his ‘new thinking’—a political approach for reforming the economic basis of the USSR in particular and the communist economies in general. Further, it was intended as a policy seeking accommodation with the West. When the Kremlin gave up the Brezhnev Doctrine in 1987/8 and announced ‘freedom of choice’ for all Soviet satellites, the breakup of the Warsaw Pact was a only a question of time. By sending out these reform signals, Moscow implicitly admitted the loss of the consumption competition with the capitalist West and with it the moral legitimisation of the superiority of communist ideology. Only in 1989 did the Eastern European satellites begin seriously to detach themselves from Moscow and communism, and to take their own political path towards democracy.11 It is significant that the East German regime under Erich Honecker shut itself away from any reform processes introduced by Gorbachev. It presented itself to the outside

Germany and the Baltic problem after the cold war

6

world as the most wealthy, advanced and stable of the Soviet satellites, although economic decline and dependence on Western credits had become increasingly evident. In summer 1989 the crisis began to escalate and became an acute threat to East Germany’s existence.12 By their sudden appearance and coincidence, there were two internal chains of problems that were to become lethal for the survival of the GDR. The first was the mass flight of East Germans during summer and autumn 1989 after the opening of the Hungaro-Austrian border, as well as via the West German embassies in Prague and Warsaw in September 1989. The migration mirrored the loss of people’s loyalty and trust towards the East German state as well as the appeal of the wealthy West. Second, there was the increasing formation of political opposition against the SED regime, basing its demands for democratic reforms on the 1975 Helsinki Final Act which the regime itself had signed. Clearly, the SED found itself in crisis as within the party various political streams—those who wanted to adhere to the old system and those who wanted a modern socialism—appeared, none of which were capable of taking a leading role and to overthrow Honecker.13 In September and October 1989 the East Germans first vocalised their demands for reforms. During these two months the civil rights movement and the popular movement merged and organised huge demonstrations for reform and democracy.14 These were not suppressed by force. It seems that the SED regime in its paralysis was not only inefficient in decision-making, but also incapable of understanding the potential consequences of its people’s protests. For Gorbachev any deployment of Soviet forces in the GDR would have meant potentially risking a war. This was considered too costly in terms of the Soviet Union’s political credibility, economic calculations and prestige just as it was trying to improve its relations with the West.15 With the whole world watching the ever growing demonstrations for German unification in the weeks following the opening of the Berlin wall, the above reasons were even more relevant for abstaining from the use of force. By mid-November 1989 the massive migration movement from East to West was the best proof that ‘unification from below’ could not be stopped. Significantly, it was West Germany with its much higher level of welfare provision that exerted a constant magnetic pull vis-à-vis the East. Thus, unification was from the start much more about economics than a common German culture or identity. Ignoring the realities, Egon Krenz, who succeeded Erich Honecker as SED general secretary on 18 October, simply continued his policies of domestic socialist reforms.16 He claimed that unification was not on the agenda.17 Further, the newly elected East German prime minister Hans Modrow18 proposed on 17 November 1989 a wide-ranging cooperation treaty (a Vertragsgemeinschaft) between the two German states, trying to eliminate the issue of German unification from the international debate. With their views, the new East German leaders were undoubtedly out of tune with the East German people’s expectations.19 Ironically, their migration movement meant that the East German people passed the buck for political action to the West German government. Bonn seemed overwhelmed and unprepared to deal with the situation.20 It was in late November 1990 that the West German government suddenly seized the initiative. Having secured full US support,21 a working group around chancellor Helmut

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Kohl and his advisor Horst Teltschik very secretly22 began on 23 November to prepare a major Deutschlandpolitik move: a Ten Point Programme for German unification.23 When Kohl presented the programme to the Bundestag on 28 November 1989 he not only took the world by surprise, but opened the road to unification under his command.24 Indeed, the plan gave justification ‘from above’ to the unification process ‘from below’. With the Ten Point Programme Kohl started to bridge the deep rift between West Germany’s abstract desire for unification and the operative accomplishment of this goal. Borrowing traditional Westpolitik as well as Ostpolitik rhetoric, Kohl’s speech reflected his bipartisan policies. Also, by referring to the still relevant NATO Harmel report of 14 December 1967,25 Kohl pointed out that the Ten Points perfectly corresponded with the historical but still current objectives of the Western Alliance’s policies. And the latter clearly assented to the Germans’ right to unification.26 The plan also fitted with Gorbachev’s ideas of a ‘common European home’ as well as his concept of ‘freedom of choice’ in the sense of the ‘peoples’ right to selfdetermination’, as set out by the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE). In fact Gorbachev and Kohl had expressed their agreement over those issues in their ‘Joint Declaration’ of 13 June 1989 at the Soviet-West German summit in Bonn.27 Interestingly, the Ten Points omitted the questions of Germany’s membership of NATO, the Four Power rights, and the issue of the Oder-Neisse border.28 Their novelty as well as their impact lay in the fact that they were presented as a unification plan, although there was no time-frame.29 This plan allowed for a spectrum of possibilities eventually leading to unification. Its key issue, however, was the Germans’ right to self-determination.30 This meant that the Four Power rights and responsibilities were only to affect Germany on the plan’s last step, after intra-German unification had been put under way.31 With Kohl’s address the idea of unification had become a political possibility. It gave the emerging East German public mood a focal point and a Western leader, thus pushing the East German government to the side from the beginning. The lack of a time-frame32 meant that policies were to depend on the dynamism of processes and on Kohl’s improvisation. At this point in late November, he believed unification would only occur in five to ten years.33 Already during January 1990, however, Kohl was forced to modify his calculations. It was evident that his plan’s step-by-step approach was lagging behind the real speed of unification as the GDR rapidly dissolved. The East Germans’ total loss of confidence in their government and their state was fully visible with the migration figures rising to astronomical heights: 129,000 East Germans in December 1989 and nearly 60,000 in January 1990 left for West Germany.34 The disruptive effects on the economy due to emigration were considerably worsening the already dire economic conditions in the GDR, which in late 1989 had more than DM 49 billion in foreign debts.35 Meanwhile the West Germans’ early excitement about unification gave way to resentment36 due to rising administrative costs and the effort required to integrate the large influx of East Germans. Bonn became increasingly concerned that the national problem could turn into a social one.37 In particular Oskar Lafontaine, the candidate for the chancellorship of the Social Democratic Party (SPD), used this atmosphere to warn about the high costs of unification and to promote the idea of a confederation. Of course,

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he did so to enhance his profile, especially in view of the federal elections scheduled for late autumn 1990. In turn, Kohl’s thinking evolved quickly. With election tactics in mind he abolished the original idea of intermediate confederative steps, aiming now to establish his image as the ‘chancellor of unity’. To this end, he began to consider the possibility of the GDR’s direct accession to the FRG on the basis of Basic Law Article 23 as well as the creation of a German economic and currency union. Having eliminated the option of stabilising the SED regime with economic aid,38 Kohl decided to force the pace of intra-German unification. Consequently, on 6 February he launched the initiative for an economic and monetary union. The chancellor and Teltschik felt that the time had come to make a policy out of the thought ‘If we don’t want them [the East German immigrants] to come to the Deutsche Mark, the Deutsche Mark has to go to the people’.39 Kohl hoped that the East German elections scheduled for spring 1990 would bring a vote ‘for Germany’s unity’40 and indirectly for his policies. A German economic union that would offer the East Germans the Western Deutsche Mark probably at a 1:1 rate was considered a perfect election motto for the Christian Democratic Union (CDU)’s newly established East German partner party Allianz für Deutschland.41 Kohl knew that introducing the Deutsche Mark in the GDR was a very difficult and risky task for the West German economy and the Bundesbank. However, the Bundesbank president Karl Otto Pöhl agreed with Kohl that it was a necessary political decision because of its great importance in terms of the fate of Germany; what mattered was to keep the East Germans in the East by a rapid and beneficial currency union. Thus, economic calculations took second place.42 For intra-German as well as international negotiations on unification, Gorbachev’s statement of 10 February that the Germans could unify on the basis of the people’s right to self-determination was a breakthrough.43 This legitimisation by the Soviets made it even easier for Kohl to conduct intraGerman unification policies himself. Seizing the initiative he made all the running. The chancellor accelerated unification further in early February when he decided to implement it via Article 23 of the Basic Law.44 The creation of the Kabinettsausschuβ Deutsche Einheit and the beginning of preparations for probably all-German elections in late 1990 was a signal that operative unification policies were conducted at all levels of government.45 It was at this point that the unification process received a timeline.46 While Kohl had clearly emerged as the leader and shaper of the intra-German unification process, the Four Powers’ key role concerning the external aspects of German unification could not be neglected. On 13 February, at a NATO meeting in Ottawa, a framework was officially agreed for victor-power involvement in the unification process. The so-called 2+4 formula, meaning the talks between six equal partners, the two Germanies plus the four post-war occupying powers, was born.47 Such international progress on the unification issue was important also for the intraGerman unification policies. The unification process arrived definitely at its point of no return with the overwhelming victory of the Allianz für Deutschland in the East German elections on 18 March. The Allianz gaining 48.6 per cent, the East-SPD with 21.7 per cent and the PDS with 16.3 per cent were clearly defeated.48 Against the background of history this was surprising, because in the Weimar Republic the territory which formed the GDR had always been an SPD stronghold.49

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It was decisive that the East German election campaigns had become dominated by West Germany, both financially and politically.50 In a positive way the election result could be interpreted as an East German vote for national unity under Western terms; from a more critical perspective it could be seen as a vote for economic (prosperity and) unity. The elections marked the end of the East German revolution and sealed the end of the East German state. This evoked on a societal level the question of how East and West Germans would forge in a balanced way their new national identity with such West German dominance. At a political level it was evident that, due to the election result, unification would be carried out under West German (i.e. Kohl’s) terms, meaning the sidelining of the GDR as an independent actor on the national and international scene followed by its gradual absorption into Germany’s Western half. From April onwards Kohl forced the pace of intra-German unification, being able to campaign as the ‘chancellor of unity’ for the all-German elections. These had been scheduled meanwhile for 2 December 1990.51 The intra-German state treaty on economic union and the unification treaty on standardisation of the Germanies’ laws were agreed under an enormous time constraint. On 18 May both German states signed the treaty on monetary, economic and social union. It came into force on 1 July 1990, bringing the Deutsche Mark to East Germans.52 On 23 August 1990 the GDR government decided to join West Germany on 3 October, and on 31 August the accession prerequisite, the unification treaty was signed. East Germany’s prime minister, Lothar de Maizière, in particular had wanted all these legal aspects to be resolved before unification, in order to prevent West Germany from overruling the GDR.53 During the entire phase of unification, chancellor Kohl was determined to seize the historic opportunity for unification, both for his personal advantage in claiming a place in German history and for the national benefit of the German people. As to the latter issue Kohl was mostly worried about the Kremlin’s view of the external aspects of unification. Intra-German unification seemed a self-propelling process, but as long as the international issues were not settled, Germany would not be a fully sovereign state— meaning that NATO’s and the Warsaw Pact’s nuclear armed troops would both remain stationed in Germany. It is at this point that I shall turn briefly to the story of the settlement of the international aspects of German unification. As mentioned earlier the 2+4 framework was the key element in the process of managing unification on an international level, while intra-German unification evolved under Kohl’s leadership. Significantly, the parties’ consensus on terminology was particularly vital to West Germany. Bonn wanted the two Germanies to be treated as equals next to the Four Powers. The arithmetic of 2+4 pointed to the status of the two Germanies.54 Furthermore, reference was officially made to the ‘2+4 talks’, not to ‘postwar peace treaty negotiations’, as these talks were intended to become the framework for a juridical settlement of the external aspects of German unification.55 Trying to establish a peace treaty would have meant the inclusion of all the parties involved in the Second World War.56 Germany wanted to avoid this at all costs, so that the unresolved international issues of 1945 could be sorted quickly and smoothly.57 By the time the talks started (in early May 1990), it was clear that while the Western Allies fully backed German unification, all depended on Moscow. There were two major issues which had to be finally resolved in the 2+4 talks: the question of the legitimacy of Poland’s western border and of unified Germany’s NATO membership.

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Poland’s western border, the Oder-Neisse line, had been established by the Allies in 1945, cutting off the eastern territories of Germany (East and West Prussia, Silesia and Pomerania). Yet it was only in 1970, in the framework of the Ostverträge (Eastern treaties), that the Bonn government de facto recognised the territorial status quo, that is the borders. Until spring 1990 Kohl, for political as well as legal reasons, refused to prejudge the attitude of a future German government on de jure recognition and to close the border question himself.58 In view of the upcoming federal elections, he was sensitive to the feelings of many Heimatvertriebene (exiles from the former eastern territories) and their families who were supporters of the CDU. But he also feared losing votes to the extreme right, whose popularity seemed to be rising. Moreover, according to the Constitutional Court and the Basic Law, it was the parliament of a unified Germany that would have to make a treaty. With this position on the Polish border question Kohl stood in opposition to foreign minister Genscher, who—deeply attached to Ostpolitik and an all-European modus vivendi—had acknowledged and asserted several times that the Oder-Neisse border must be recognised. Clearly, the border issue brought to light the personal and institutional rivalry about foreign political dominance between Genscher and Kohl, the foreign ministry (Auswärtiges Amt) and the chancellery. Under the international pressure of Poland, France and the United States as well as the domestic pressure of Genscher, Kohl presented on 8 March 1990 a coalition agreement on the border issue. It implied that a joint declaration of the Bundestag and the Volkskammer would be issued on condition that Poland renounced its February 1990 claims for reparations amounting to DM 200 billion, which, according to the FRG, were invalid, since Poland had relinquished such claims in the London Agreement of 1953.59 Yet it was only after being totally assured of gaining unification under Western terms and thus being able to sell the Polish border issue as the price for unification to his electorate that Kohl was prepared to tell the Poles what they wanted to hear. In late June the West and East German parliaments both promised to affirm the border as definite through a new German-Polish treaty to be signed after unification. Poland was finally satisfied when this was stated in a legally binding manner at the 2+4 meeting in Paris on 17 July 1990.60 The second and probably most problematic issue was unified Germany’s membership of NATO. From the perspective of Soviet conservatives in the government and armed forces, this was of course unacceptable. Thus it came as no surprise when Gorbachev and Soviet foreign minister Eduard Shevardnadze, just like Stalin in the 1950s, proposed during early spring 1990 that Germany could unify if it were neutral.61 It was striking, however, that they phrased their statements vaguely, pointing to ‘variants for Germany’s security’. In view of conservative pressure within the Kremlin, this was an implicit indication of some negotiating flexibility.62 The alliance between Kohl and the US president, George Bush, was unshakeable with both leaders fully agreeing that Germany’s leaving NATO could by no means be the price for unity. Any situation reflecting historical parallels to the pre-1945 Germany had to be ruled out. The international breakthrough occurred when Bush met Gorbachev on 30–31 May in Washington. Gorbachev in an intuitive fashion unexpectedly changed his mind on all-German NATO membership and effectively acknowledged Germany’s right

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freely to choose its alliance membership, winning in return Bush’s signature to a new trade agreement.63 In this light, the finalising of the 2+4 process could be expected at the following Soviet-German summit in the Caucasus on 15–16 July. It was indeed a mere media theatre, where the practical terms and details of Germany’s military’s future were officially announced, including the cap of 370,000 on Germany’s armed forces, reaffirmation that Germany would not be a nuclear power, and arrangements for the phased withdrawal of Soviet troops.64 Though the Caucasus summit with its ‘cardigan diplomacy’ appeared a ‘miracle’, it was, as Stefan Bierling has noted, a ‘prepared miracle’.65 The decisive step had already been taken in Washington. The Moscow meeting on 12 September marked the ending of the 2+4 talks66 with the signing of the Treaty on the Final Settlement with Respect to Germany.67 The East German Länder joined the Federal Republic on 3 October. Germany was unified. How can we explain the swiftness and success of the 2+4 process leading to unification? Why was it such a watershed in German and European history? And what can be concluded from (West) Germany’s unification diplomacy? Unification was largely the result of the GDR’s self-destruction and Kohl’s political agility. However, unification on Western terms in general, and Bonn’s in particular, could not have been possible without the United States’ full backing of West German policies. Bush, unlike many of his predecessors, did not conduct policies with a negative historical myth about Germany in mind.68 In May 1989 he had declared the FRG to be the United States’ ‘partner in leadership’, replacing the United Kingdom as the historical European key partner for the United States.69 It was on these grounds that once the unification process started, Bush did not fear German revanchism, and took Washington’s historical promise about its support for Germany’s eventual unification seriously, although it was clear that over the last decades such statements had become pure rhetoric without any operative sense.70 Mutual trust71 was at the heart of the FRG-US relations. Indeed, Bush and the US secretary of state, James Baker, trusted Kohl and Genscher more than any Western or Eastern government did. At various key moments during 1989–90, this unshakeable USWest German axis played a decisive role in the positive development of the unification process.72 For instance, Bush, despite Kohl’s secrecy, immediately and unquestionably backed the chancellor’s surprising move towards an operative unification policy. Washington’s concept of Germany’s future, put forward in Bush’s speech of 29 November, intended as a supportive response to Kohl’s Ten Points, was the proof.73 Paradoxically, Kohl had arranged for a long letter including an explanation of the Ten Point Programme to be sent to Bush before giving his speech on 28 November. But his good intentions had been thwarted by technical problems and the letter did not arrive in time. Nevertheless, this episode clearly reflected the closeness of relations between chancellery and White House.74 Further signs of trust and partnership were that Washington informed Bonn on any of its discussions about Germany with Moscow, and that sometimes the United States even negotiated on Germany’s behalf.75 Indeed, the United States as a superpower could provide a negotiation environment in which the Soviet leadership felt accepted and treated as an equal.76

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Thus it is not surprising that the most important Soviet concessions on German unification were effectively achieved at US-Soviet summits: in Malta in December 1989, when Gorbachev agreed unofficially that all peoples, including Germany’s, had a right to self-determination; in Moscow in February 1990, when Baker persuaded Shevardnadze to accept the 2+4 mechanism with its preconditions; and in Washington in May, when Gorbachev consented indirectly to Germany’s NATO membership. From this perspective it could be argued that 2+4 was probably less important for Gorbachev than his bilateral contacts with Bush and Kohl. In fact, both the USSR and the United States dealt with central issues either alone or with Germany, thus avoiding negotiations in the larger 2+4 format.77 The implications of this for Kohl’s increasingly strong international position during 1990 will be discussed in the context of SovietGerman relations further below. During the entire unification process, but especially during the 2+4 talks when the details relating to security were negotiated, the governments of West Germany and the United States closely co-ordinated their strategies vis-à-vis the USSR. It has to be noted that at the time West Germany was still a de jure semi-sovereign state. De facto, however, Bonn was regarded by the United States as an equal partner. And although they temporarily disagreed over the means, the Kohl government and the Bush administration were always in harmony over the ends.78 However, the United States’ keen interest in supporting German unification was not solely based on trust, partnership and altruism. As much as overcoming German division after four decades was for the Germans a purely national interest, Washington treated the matter in the context of US interests and superpower relations. Indeed, in 1989–90 the question of German unification became again linked to the wider issue of European security—just as it had been in the immediate postwar period. Once unification seemed inevitable, the United States wanted control over the process, so that Washington’s and NATO’s interests were best protected and even enhanced. An Atlantic Europe was the United States’ top priority, and in this sense, the momentum of events and the atlanticist West German leader chancellor Kohl suited it perfectly.79 The German-US partnership stood in total contrast to the Franco-German and AngloGerman relationships. When German unification reappeared on the international political agenda, France and Britain, after decades of reconciliation with the FRG, became suddenly increasingly concerned about a unified Germany’s power. The ghosts of the historical ‘German Question’ had returned. In autumn 1989 both governments worried about a shift in the balance of power in Europe.80 British prime minister Margaret Thatcher in particular objected vehemently to German unification and for a long time refused to even consider the issue.81 In contrast, French attitudes were much less clear cut. In fact, there were many layers of French foreign political moves aiming to slow down unification, if not to prevent it altogether. The French president, François Mitterrand, was very suspicious of the political changes in eastern Europe and especially the GDR. Influenced by his experience of two world wars, he played with the idea of a ‘return to 1913’ and a triple alliance of France, Britain and Russia.82 Mitterrand secretly met Gorbachev on 6 December 1989 in Kiev.83 However, it never came to a renewal of a French-Soviet alliance or to the creation of an Anglo-FrancoSoviet triple coalition or an Anglo-French axis

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Figure 1.1 ‘A Spectre Is Haunting Europe’ Source: Horst Haitzinger, Tageszeitung (Munich), 29 Nov. 1989. which Thatcher had hoped for.84 Neither France nor Britain could suddenly deny being Germany’s partner in the western alliances (the European Communities—EC—and NATO) and repudiate the various implicit legal commitments to unification that they had pronounced for over three decades.85 Moreover, Mitterrand could not risk destroying his special friendship with Kohl. But, obsessed with geopolitical thinking, he saw France’s status endangered by the German unification process and intended to safeguard France’s national interest by underlining the territorial status quo. His visit to the GDR on 20–22 December 1989 was intended as a demonstration of the sovereignty of the East German state.86 All the same, comparing it to the French revolution, Mitterrand acknowledged that in East Germany a people’s struggle for democracy, freedom and German unity was going on.87 He also realised that absolute denial of German unification would deprive him of any influence in that process.88 Thus he resorted to the policy of successive French governments since the World War: keeping Germany under control through the FrancoGerman axis within the institutional European structures. In consequence, new initiatives in European integration were intimately bound to the German settlement of 1990, and a Franco-German deal was struck. France would support German unification, if Germany would commit itself, or should one say its currency, to the creation of European economic and monetary union (EMU) and thus remain embedded in an ever closer union.89 What seemed so important for France was in reality

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not particularly alien to Kohl’s deepest belief, namely that ‘German unification and European integration were two sides of the same coin’.90 In any case, in the context of the German unification debate German-French relations clearly emerged as a catalyst for the European integration process,91 demonstrating Germany’s impact on European affairs in 1989–90 as well as pointing to its decisive role in post-Cold War Europe. While the political weight of Mitterrand and Thatcher in the unification process itself was rather small, as they were very much sidelined by the Bush-Kohl express, one has to point out, however, that the revival of French and British fears brought the continued existence of the German Question to light. Let us now turn to the most problematic international actor whose consent for unification, however, was vital: the Soviet Union. Hannes Adomeit has concluded that, due to shift in the superpowers’ correlation of forces in favour of the West, in 1989–90 ‘Gorbachev had no option, but to ratify various faits accomplis and try and negotiate the best quid pro quos for the Soviet Union’.92 The question that emerges from this explanation poses itself as follows: was the USSR simply weaker, without any real chance to influence processes? Of course its choices were constrained, but further explanations are needed to answer the questions why Gorbachev took which choices and when. In fact, it was by no means inevitable that Moscow would agree to German unification within NATO. Why then did the Soviet Union change its preferences on the future of Germany within such a short period of time? And what was West Germany’s role in the process of Soviet acquiescence? In general the Bush-Kohl axis extracted Soviet concessions in negotiations thanks to trust built on close personal contacts, statecraft, reassurance policies and communicative processes of persuasion, as well as on the fact that Gorbachev was ‘trapped’ by the logic of his own normative claim to promote the ‘right to self-determination’. The latter made it nearly impossible to justify stopping the Germans’ move towards unification. That said, at a number of key points Moscow’s decisions on unification-related issues were actually shaped by West German economic aid. The policies of economic bargaining were in fact conducted solely between the chancellery and the Kremlin. This was yet another move of Kohl’s to monopolise German foreign-policymaking and to enhance his own political role in the unification process. Moreover, it revealed the centrality of close personal contacts in unification diplomacy. German-Soviet economic bargaining followed a strange dynamic, due to the peculiar combination of Soviet economic weakness and military power. On the one hand, Gorbachev needed economic aid for his country and it was from this position of weakness that he was bargaining with West Germany over unification. On the other hand, the Kremlin wanted to avoid for prestige reasons giving the West the impression of a total economic collapse in the USSR and dependence on Western aid. Analysing closely German-Soviet unification diplomacy, it becomes evident that the financial assistance Kohl provided in winter and spring 1990 (a large package of food aid in January and a loan of DM 5 billion with guaranteed payment of interest by West Germany in May 1990) helped to convince Moscow that Germany was its most reliable partner in the West.93 At the same time, Bonn did not hesitate to point out that it used financial assistance as a political lever. The loan was part of a political package, and it

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would only be made if it was clear in advance that ‘the 2+4 talks would be concluded successfully’.94 It was in mid-July that the complete German-Soviet ‘economic package deal’ on unification was finalised. Yet it was not until after further bargaining on the eve of the signing of the 2+4 treaty on 12 September that the terms of the ‘Treaty on some transitional measures’, to be signed on 9 October, were definitely fixed.95 The USSR agreed to allow a unified Germany in NATO and to withdraw all Soviet troops from the former GDR within four years—while Western troops could remain in Germany indefinitely. Moscow would also relinquish its residual Four Power rights and allow unification quickly, without lengthy negotiations involving states other than the 2+4 countries. In return Germany would pay for up to four years the maintenance costs of the Soviet army in the former GDR, its withdrawal and its resettlement in the USSR. In addition to this targeted aid to the Red Army amounting to some DM 15 billion, Bonn would support GDR-USSR trade via a Transferrubel (transferrable rouble)96 arrangement until the end of 1990. To this must be added the loan of DM 5 billion which had already been granted to the Soviets during spring 1990, the German food credits of January 1990 and the continuing German support of the Hermes export credits. If these were the direct costs of unification in 1990, the price of German unity was eventually to mount up altogether to some DM 100 billion by 1994.97 The importance of financial incentives in securing the Soviet Union’s consent to German unification on Western terms was well recognised by press commentators at the time.98 However, leaders on both the German and Soviet sides downplayed the obvious economic-political linkage in their public statements. Both sides seemed to fear that, if the extent of the bargaining was fully disclosed, Gorbachev’s tenuous position as Soviet leader—who sells off East Germany to the West—could be endangered. Also, because of the rise in suspicion towards a larger and stronger unified Germany at the heart of Europe, the Kohl government apparently wanted to play down its power potential. In fact, many in Europe, in both East and West, feared that a German ‘economic superpower’ would soon also come to dominate the continent politically.99 The discussion of the diplomacy of German unification in its national and international context has revealed how much both processes were shaped by a politically increasingly powerful and influential (West) Germany that was led by an extremely assertive chancellor: Helmut Kohl.100 It is significant that during 1989–90 the self-confidence of the Federal Republic grew continuously, first reacting to events and then gradually pushing the developments. For the first time since 1949 West Germany freely expressed its deepest national interest of ‘reunification’. On an intra-German level, the FRG’s leading role in the events became consolidated by the fact that in the end the GDR was simply absorbed into the West German state structures. In the international negotiations Bonn’s new consciousness of power (Machtbewuβtsein) also found expression in its realpolitik approach, especially on security issues. Yet, in contrast to the period of 1871–1945, when Germany had been an overbearing presence in Europe pursuing its self-defined national interests by coercion, Bonn’s policies in 1989–90 offered an optimistic model of Germany’s use of its regained political strength. In fact it reflected on Germany’s Cold War nature as a ‘civilian power’ in the sense that unification was gained on the grounds of the universal right to selfdetermination of peoples, and that economic rather than military power was the means to

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achieve this highest national interest. Thus, contrary to 1871, when unity was gained by ‘blood and iron’, in 1990 it was achieved peacefully by ‘marks and talk’. New questions arose: how would unified Germany position itself in a Europe still undergoing extensive changes? And how would it exert its power? The only certainty was that Germany remained institutionally anchored and morally fully committed to the West. This was mirrored in particular by Bonn’s special relationship to Washington, which had been the dynamo of peaceful unification. At the same time the chancellor’s friendship with Gorbachev could be expected to dominate unified Germany’s Ostpolitik. That is, if Gorbachev could stay in power in the face of the potential disintegration of the USSR. BALTIC INDEPENDENCE STRUGGLE AND SOVIET COLLAPSE The decisive role played by the Baltic peoples in the transformation, dissolution and destruction of the Soviet Union is widely recognised.101 But why did the Baltics play such an important role at the end of the Cold War? When in March 1985 the reform-minded Mikhail Gorbachev was elected general secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), in effect the new Soviet leader, he soon implemented from above the reform policies glasnost (openness) and perestroika (restructuring). The subsequent public emergence of grassroots-based social movements in the Baltic republics were to prove central for future political developments in that region.102 The period from 1986 until 1988 was a phase of Baltic national reawakening resulting from glasnost. For the first time during Soviet rule Baltic peoples were able publicly to rediscover their history and culture in a ‘national context’. This was supported by the growing role of the national media. It provided a distinctively republic-based focus on issues and events, and hence began to raise people’s consciousness around nationalrepublic concerns.103 At this stage, oppositional politics were usually of the single-issue type. Organised opposition was mobilised for instance against a particular Soviet developmental project with environmental risks. In fact it was what had been at first a wave of protest against Moscow’s plans to establish huge phosphorus mines in northern Estonia which grew into a massive nationalist movement. The so-called ‘phosphorite war’ not only campaigned for environmental protection, but protested against Moscow’s colonial rule over the Estonian economy and political decision-making.104 The success of the protest encouraged the people. On 23 August 1987, the first public postwar demonstration against Soviet occupation took place. Soon after similar developments also started to embrace Latvia and Lithuania. The years 1988 to 1990 marked a period of real political take-off as the various political movements turned into political parties105 espousing the goals of greater economic, political and cultural autonomy.106 The reason why the creation of parties was permitted first in the Baltic republics lay in Moscow’s perception that the Baltic region was particularly receptive to the Kremlin’s reform programme. However, Moscow did not realise that on the basis of its invitation to the Baltics to participate in this experiment of socioeconomic and political reform, the people would suddenly see their opportunity

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to regain national self-determination. This of course was something Moscow’s reformers had not envisaged and were not prepared to allow. It was here that the Baltic republics represented a paradox for Moscow’s calculations. Assuming that embarking upon economic and social restructuring would help regain legitimacy for Soviet rule was a clear miscalculation by Moscow in the light of the scale of national feeling in these least sovietised republics.107 The reasons why the Baltic paradox proved lethal for the existence of the Soviet Union in the late 1980s were rooted much further in the past. It had been the Kremlin’s own policies that had unintentionally kept the cultural resources of resistance alive in the Baltic republics ever since their annexation. First, the pressures of the totalitarian system had been weaker in the Baltic states than elsewhere in the Soviet empire: Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania had served as a kind of ‘Soviet West’, a showcase to the outside world. The ideological aim of this policy was to demonstrate the prosperity of Soviet culture ‘socialist in content, national in form’. Second, although the daily life in the Baltics was strongly influenced by the Soviet system, the native population did not accept the Soviet identity as their own. Language and traditions had been kept alive as well as memories of the pre-Soviet past. Third, the Baltic republics had been open to cultural influences coming from the north and west, the iron curtain being more permeable for news and media. In fact, the Estonians in the coastal regions of Tallinn had direct access to Finnish television. Being able to learn Finnish easily due to the Finno-Ugric linguistic ties, the Estonians used the opportunity to gain information about the West. It should be pointed out, however, that the visibility of Finnish TV was not connected to any cultural policy by Helsinki. It was purely a byproduct of geographical closeness. Fourth, under successive post-Stalin regimes, the Baltic republics had proved to be receptive laboratories for market-orientated experimentation which implied that their economic system was less sovietised than elsewhere in the empire.108 The Baltic intelligentsia—Gorbachev’s natural constituency of support in the region, but also the traditional bearers of Baltic nationalism—seized the opportunities opened up by glasnost to revitalise with political measures the agenda for reform in the republics. Popular front movements were established in April 1988 in Estonia (Rahvarinne), in May in Latvia (Tautas Fronte) and in October in Lithuania (Sajudis), through which the Baltic Republics assumed leadership in the subsequent all-Union process. In all three republics the popular fronts were born as movements in support of perestroika aiming to ensure the effective implementation of Moscow’s programme for economic and political restructuring. The idea was to achieve sovereignty in all areas of the republics’ life within the context of the Soviet federation.109 It should be noted that the establishments of the popular fronts in the Baltic republics occurred more or less simultaneously with the appointments of reform-oriented communist first party secretaries. Subsequently, in November 1988, Estonia proposed to revise the constitutional relationship between the centre (Moscow) and the republic. Estonia, like the other Baltic republics, had never been a party to the founding Treaty of the USSR of 20 December 1922. Annexation in 1940 did not take place in the form of ‘new membership’. Against this legal background, the Estonian Supreme Soviet—under the pressure of the Popular Front—declared Estonia’s sovereignty on 16 November 1988, stating the supremacy of the Estonian SSR laws over Soviet Union laws.110 The same model was soon used by the majority of national republics in the USSR, with, in particular, Lithuania following in

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May and Latvia in June 1989. In juridical terms, this meant that at this point the unitary Soviet state had ceased to exist and had been turned into a confederation of national republics. The presidium of the Supreme Council in Moscow disapproved of the Estonian declaration on 26 November. However, it soon backed down and let the Estonian Communist Party (EKP)—headed since June 1988 by reform communist Väinö Väljas— go on to pass laws which affirmed Estonian as the only official language (18 January 1989), and restricted the voting rights of recent Soviet immigrants (8 August 1989).111 Thus, in seizing the initiative, Estonia had won an important victory over Moscow.112 It quickly became apparent that what the Baltic republics had put on the political agenda was not simply democratisation, economic restructuring and autonomy of the republics, but the demand for independent statehood. Economic viability of selfdetermination and the myth of the forcible Soviet incorporation, were invaluable nationalist resources. On the grounds of perestroika, reform-minded Baltic economists had already, in 1987, seized the initiative from Moscow, formulating a far more coherent and radical economic model for autonomy than that originally proposed by the Kremlin. By summer 1989 the Supreme Soviets of the three Baltic republics had adopted laws on economic independence. This notion of economic sovereignty was exploited to the full by the nationalist leadership, which linked it to Baltic history. Parallels were drawn between the new forms of economy and those that had existed during the interwar years. Moscow’s lack of any operative political action clearly revealed that granting economic, not to mention political, autonomy to the Baltics lay far from the Kremlin’s heart. In this atmosphere pro-independence sentiment grew steadily.113 What finally made the Baltic independence struggle an acute political issue in the USSR and in the world was the Baltic appeal to the rule of law and the right to national self-determination. Indeed, unlike other Soviet republics, the cause of the Baltics’ national self-determination could be couched in the language of peoples seeking to regain an independence that had been illegally taken away from them through the Hitler-Stalin Pact of 23 August 1939 with its secret additional protocols.114 The Baltic peoples reminded the world most spectacularly of this fateful GermanSoviet pact in commemorating its fiftieth anniversary by the creation of a human chain from Tallinn to Vilnius. This had been initiated by the three popular fronts.115 When the Soviet Congress of Peoples’ Deputies declared officially the secret protocols of the Hitler-Stalin Pact to be legally null and void on 24 December 1989, the historical truth had been officially revealed in the USSR for the first time. But there was no direct link made between the pact and the forced annexation of the Baltic states. Thus, with a dialectic trick of disconnecting the issues, Moscow refused to recognise the right of the Baltic republics to reclaim their lost independence.116 Initially, Moscow seemed prepared to practise limited appeasement towards the secessionist republics. From autumn 1989 the Kremlin began to take a tougher stand, although Gorbachev apparently adhered in the Baltic case as much as in Eastern Europe to his principle of refraining from the use of force.117 Gorbachev’s Baltic policies have to be seen in the context of the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact and the emergence of German unification on the international agenda. The Moscow government was increasingly losing control of events abroad and at home. In

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addition to the escalating economic and political crisis, nationalism within the USSR exacerbated its security problems and threatened its political stability altogether.118 Seeing the unity of the Soviet Union at stake, Gorbachev was determined to keep the empire together.119 At the same time, for the Baltics it was clear that their political emphasis would lie on the demand for the restoration of independent statehood. To this end, they looked for support in the West. Most Western governments had never de jure recognised the annexation of the Baltic states by the USSR, which made the Baltic case a lawful struggle against ‘occupation by a foreign power’.120 The search for rectificatory justice legitimised by a large part of international community and international law transformed what was originally a seemingly domestic Soviet issue into an international one. It is here that we can draw a first parallel to German unification. Both the Germans and the Baltics had based their respective claims to unification and independence on the universal concept of the right of peoples to self-determination and the legal validity of both unresolved issues. Significantly, the juridical claim lay at the core of the Helsinki Final Act, to which, most importantly, Moscow was a signatory. The Act, which in principle allowed the peaceful changing of borders, stated: ‘The participating States will likewise refrain from making each other’s territory the object of military occupation or other direct or indirect measures of force in contravention of international law, or the object of measures or the threat of them. No such occupation or acquisition will be recognised as legal.’121 With Lithuania’s declaration of independence on 11 March 1990 and Estonia’s and Latvia’s more cautious declarations on 30 March and 4 May respectively stating their intentions to resume independence after a period of transition, the world had to stop looking only to Moscow. It was forced to react to the declarations of the recently newly elected parliaments122 which the West had recognised as legitimate legislatures.123 While the issue of German unification dominated international relations in the autumn of 1989, the Baltic problem had been pushed aside as an internal matter for the USSR. In 1990, in the context of the evolving German unification process which was based on the right to self-determination, the question emerged: should not the Western world support the Baltic republics’ struggle for independence based on the same right? Theoretically this could have been expected. Indeed, the Western governments pointed throughout autumn 1989 to their commitment to the right of peoples to self-determination and to their actual policies of non-recognition of Baltic annexation as a matter of principle. Yet, de facto the Baltic republics were part of the USSR, and the West’s policies were dominated by calculations of realpolitik. At a time when accommodation was sought in superpower relations and German unification was at the top of the international political agenda, the United States and West Germany in particular did not want to provoke the USSR and endanger Gorbachev’s position by pressing publicly for Baltic independence. After all, the USSR would clearly have perceived Baltic recognition as a move of interference in an internal Soviet matter, and such a provocation, it was obvious, would have ended Gorbachev’s relatively favourable attitude towards the German question. Hence, did Washington and Bonn subordinate the aspirations of the Baltic peoples to German unification? German unification was linked to European security and touched the immediate national interests of both Germany and the United States. The emergence of the Baltic

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question on the international agenda reminded Bush and Kohl of their historico-moral responsibility. But the Baltics were small entities, de facto belonging to the territory of the communist superpower, and in the overall context of Eastern European revolutions they were seen as playing a minor role. Hence, the West, took a distanced and reactive position, and argued in line with Moscow that the Baltic independence struggle was a Soviet domestic issue. Still, for historical, moral and juridical reasons the Baltic states weighed heavily on the West’s conscience124 and were to influence US-Soviet and German-Soviet relations. As our analysis of German unification has disclosed, the US and West German leaders based their foreign political calculations primarily on Gorbachev. Kohl and Bush both considered Gorbachev to be the key actor for a successful outcome of the unification process—meaning unified Germany’s membership of NATO—and for the continuity of non-confrontational East-West politics. Their realpolitik thinking revealed that their immediate interest was to avoid any political moves that could destabilise the Soviet Union, trigger chaos in Eastern Europe and endanger Gorbachev’s political position at home. The West feared the emergence of a military or at least hardline leadership in Moscow, and the potential use of military force in the USSR, because such scenario could put an end to the window of opportunity that had opened up for German unification. Pledging official support to Baltic independence by establishing formal relations was considered a political step that could trigger such consequences. Thus, a path of quiet diplomacy and public support was chosen.125 Until the first real escalation of a crisis between Moscow and the Baltics on 18 April 1990, when the Kremlin implemented an economic blockade against Lithuania, the West had mostly followed the US political line of firm rhetoric. Washington continually expounded the universal right of peoples to self-determination and the non-recognition of Baltic incorporation into the USSR, without taking any further political action.126 While this was a restrained official line which made the United States appear soft vis-à-vis a determined Moscow, the US government had pressed Gorbachev for private and informal assurances that force would not be used in the Baltics. Since the US-Soviet Malta summit in December 1989, the informal understanding had been that Gorbachev would not resort to coercion or military force. On the basis of trusting the Soviet leader’s promises to this effect, the Baltic issue was put to one side.127 Now, with the Soviet embargo against Lithuania, Gorbachev violated his own assurances and also briefly damaged US-Soviet relations.128 It is here that West German and US policies towards the Baltics and the USSR were to take different paths. Having just bolstered his role as the ‘chancellor of unity’ in the East German elections in March 1990, Kohl pursued the goal of German unification as his highest priority. He saw the cultivation of his friendship with Gorbachev in particular and German-Soviet relations in general at the core of this process. In consequence, the chancellor expressed his aim of decoupling the Baltic question from the unification issue.129 In contrast, the US leadership—fully backing Kohl on his course of German unification—considered the Baltic and German aspirations as part of the same complex problem: imperial dissolution.130 The US government, however, was in the dilemma of wanting to support the Baltics in their cause while simultaneously keeping in mind overall US interests with regard to the Soviet Union,131 as well as a successful settlement

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for Germany. It was clear that the Baltic independence moves, which had increasingly started to affect Soviet foreign-policy-making during winter 1990, had become a process interfering with international negotiations on German unification. The Western allies and West Germany had to take this linkage into their political calculations. But surprisingly it was Iceland—a small state with a cultural affinity to Scandinavia and the Baltic Sea area, free of Deutschlandpolitik considerations, and in geopolitical terms out of Moscow’s reach—that had emerged as a true advocate for the Baltics. On 13 March 1990 the Icelandic Parliament (Althing) adopted a resolution on Lithuania congratulating the Lithuanians on their declaration of independence.132 Ten days later, Iceland’s foreign minister Jon Baldvin Hannibalsson wrote to his Soviet counterpart, urging him to initiate talks without prior conditions with the democratically elected representatives of Lithuania.133 Interestingly, Washington seems to have turned in late March towards Reykjavik to raise the issue of the Lithuanian crisis with the USSR. Iceland of course was a NATO member and hence an ally, but its size and geographical location limited its capacity to provoke the USSR. This US move, then, was a sign of Washington’s will to engage indirectly in Baltic diplomacy, without wanting to risk open confrontation at superpower level.134 Thus, though Iceland was interested in supporting the Baltics for its own reasons, Reykjavik was probably at the same time also a covert actor for the United States. Kohl’s great dilemma over the Baltics was that Germany could not escape the historical legacy of the Hitler-Stalin Pact.135 Moreover, Bonn was an advocate of the principle of self-determination because West Germany had cited it uncountable times itself in the search for a solution to overcoming German division. Yet, facing the political realities in spring 1990, when gaining Gorbachev’s concession on unified Germany’s membership of NATO was clearly Bonn’s most important aim, the Baltic aspirations, even if legally based on grounds of international law, were considered an uncomfortable and disruptive factor.136 It can be argued that Bush seemed in general to lean more towards policies asking the Baltics to show patience in their independence struggle and encouraging them to enter into dialogue with Moscow. Kohl, on the other hand, was closer to accusing the three Soviet republics of selfishness and a disregard for the precarious position of Gorbachev in the Kremlin. All the same, while Washington, Bonn, Paris and London were looking for a successful result to the 2+4 talks on Germany, from their perspective the encouragement of Lithuanian-Soviet negotiations seemed the most practical solution. A dialogue could defuse the tense situation and thus remove the threat that the West might have to intervene more decisively.137 Kohl’s and Mitterrand’s joint letter asking Sajudis leader Vytautas Landsbergis to take back Lithuania’s independence declaration, can serve as a proof of Kohl’s grave fears that German unification could be slowed down by the April crisis between Vilnius and Moscow.138 The letter’s purpose was in the first instance, to promote the stabilisation of the USSR and thereby Gorbachev’s position, so that German unification talks could continue to proceed smoothly. Second, it could also be interpreted as a sign for Lithuania that, once the independence declaration was frozen, the West could exert pressure on Moscow to stop the blockade and support independence. Kohl hoped that the letter would help improve the currently strained German-Soviet relations while simultaneously not

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totally alienating Lithuania. However, the chancellor had no intention of taking a middleman’s role and neither had the United States.139 The fact that Moscow interpreted the letter as Germany’s meddling in its domestic affairs was viewed with disappointment by Germany as it placed a strain on GermanSoviet relations. When Kohl met Lithuania’s prime minister Kazimiera Prunskiene in Bonn on 11 May, he underlined his point of view as previously expressed in his joint letter with Mitterrand, that Soviet unity was most important for Europe’s stability and that a peaceful and non-confrontational solution for the Moscow-Vilnius crisis was in his interest.140 Simultaneously, US-Soviet relations were tense. In order to punish Moscow for its coercive measures in the Baltics, the US government had decided to delay progress over the achievement of a US-Soviet agreement on trade and granting the USSR mostfavoured-nation (MFN) status.141 Both matters were considered important signals for the end of the Cold War and the normalisation of East-West relations. They were supposed to be concluded at the US-Soviet summit scheduled for the end of May 1990. Although not directly supporting Lithuania and thus keeping in mind political sensitivities on Gorbachev’s behalf, Washington’s policy of halting the negotiations with Moscow was an indirect means of showing US sympathy for Lithuania’s cause.142 Gorbachev thus found himself under increasing political pressure over the Baltic problem not only at home but also abroad. Studying the Baltic independence struggle and German unification in parallel leads to the conclusion that Gorbachev’s hardened position towards Germany, especially in the negotiations in April and May 1990 over its NATO membership, derived precisely from the Soviet empire’s internal problems. The Baltic republics’ secessionist movements not only threatened the integrity of the USSR,143 but made Gorbachev personally a target in the Kremlin’s political infighting between reformers and conservatives. The Soviet military was demanding that Gorbachev and Shevardnadze make no more concessions at home or abroad that might endanger the Soviet strategic position and the federation’s unity.144 Under these circumstances, the situation in Lithuania clearly cast a shadow over any settlement over Germany. Time and the increasingly dire economic situation of the USSR were probably on Germany’s side. Just as the talks about NATO seemed to become stalled due to the Lithuanian crisis, Moscow approached Bonn for negotiations about a loan on 4 May. The German government understood immediately that this was their chance to use chequebook diplomacy.145 Economic incentives could improve Gorbachev’s situation, warm the German-Soviet relations and prepare the way for the most important of Moscow’s concessions: unified Germany’s membership of NATO. Driven by his strong desire rapidly to gain German unification and knowing that the key to this lay with Moscow, Kohl underlined Germany’s interest in Soviet concerns by offering a DM 5 billion loan and by seeking to internationalise financial aid measures. Therefore, during the German-US summit on 17 May in Washington, Kohl urged Bush also to financially support Gorbachev with his reform policies.146 Bush explained that his hands were tied due to US domestic opposition to the Soviet embargo policies towards Lithuania.147 Kohl countered that the Baltics could not determine Western policy, but Bush remained firm.148 The Kohl-Bush exchange of opinions clearly demonstrates how one-sidedly the chancellor pursued his national target,

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neglecting with regard to the Baltics West Germany’s traditional commitment to promoting actively the right of self-determination. The US government, by contrast, felt more strongly about the need to recognise and support the rightful Baltic independence struggle on one hand, as well as to gain German unification on Western terms on the other. A tacit breakthrough on all fronts was achieved at the US-Soviet summit on 30–31 May. While Gorbachev quietly consented to Germany’s right to choose its alliance, a secret solution was also found to the stalemate on the US-Soviet MFN and trade agreement link with the Lithuanian question. The idea was to sign the grain and trade agreement in public, but sending the package to Congress was made contingent on the fulfilment of various Soviet commitments. The USSR had to meet the conditions for being granted MFN status, and they had to lift their embargo against Vilnius. Furthermore, Moscow had to enter a dialogue with the Lithuanians, Latvians and Estonians on the issue of independence.149 Bush made it clear to Gorbachev that the Baltic issue was to remain a problem in US-Soviet relations until the Baltic people could finally exercise self-determination.150 It is important to mention here that all three Baltic republics had sent a joint statement declaring that Gorbachev had no authority to represent them

Figure 1.2 Note: ‘At the summit meeting with President Bush, Mr Gorbachev keeps an anxious eye on how things are going at home’ Source: Nicholas Garland, The Independent, 31 May 1990.

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Figure 1.3 ‘The only card’ Source: Nicholas Garland, The Independent, 1 June 1990. at the summit. The United States had accepted this statement, underwriting its historical commitment to the Baltic non-recognition policy.151 When Lithuania froze its independence declaration on 29 June and the USSR in turn stopped the economic blockade on 1 July, this first Lithuanian-Soviet crisis was over and at the same time the Baltic issue became effectively decoupled from the German unification process. On the surface the situation in the USSR seemed calmer over the summer,152 and Kohl was able to witness the final international aspects of unification being resolved smoothly without any further intrusion of the Baltic question, especially in German-Soviet affairs. In fact, the German-Soviet summit in the Caucasus in July 1990 can plausibly be seen as the point when friendliness and trust were restored in the relations between Bonn and Moscow. Germany was unified on 3 October 1990, but by then in Europe the political atmosphere in 1989–90 of peaceful and rapid transformation processes had changed. Gorbachev’s domestic troubles were making him beholden to his critics on the right, and the United States was caught up in preparations for the Gulf War. Thus the international focus was shifting quietly away from Europe. What did this mean for the independence struggle of Baltic republics which expected support from the West, especially from the newly sovereign Germany and the United States, as they had to come to terms with an increasingly inflexible Soviet leadership in Moscow? Contrary to what the Baltic republics had hoped, the United States’ operative policies were not directed to supporting the Baltic independence struggle, although Bush and Baker continued repeatedly to point out their firmness on their non-recognition policy.153 The United States focused predominantly on the Iraq-Kuwait crisis.154 Washington was interested in superpower consensus with regard to voting on UN sanctions and later over

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possible military measures against Iraq. And this was particularly delicate because Iraq was a former Soviet ally.155 Interestingly, just like Germany during the unification process, the United States seems to have moved towards a policy of using economic bargaining tactics to achieve political co-operation with Moscow. This did not mean the abolition of the overall US line of economic containment towards the USSR. After all, the question was not about larger assistance programmes but a few practical small measures. They included some one-off loans and the waiving of the Jackson/Vanik amendment (of 1974), the latter being a prerequisite for the granting of MFN status to the Soviet Union.156 Although Baker vehemently declared that ‘none of the measures today are in any sense payback’ for Soviet co-operation in the Gulf War, his statement only created increased speculation. In this context, press spokesman Marlin Fitzwater’s announcement that the president wanted to reward the USSR with some positive measures regarding economic issues in return for its co-operation in the Gulf in particular raised some eyebrows.157 A close analysis of events suggests that, while Washington’s Baltic policy remained the same until 13 January 1991, with the Gulf War looming the US-Soviet relationship underwent a qualitative change due to an increasing US willingness to offer economic assistance to Moscow. This could be interpreted as a shift towards a policy of supporting Gorbachev in his position as guarantor of reform policies in the USSR. On a wider scale, the Gulf war can in many ways be regarded as a bridge between Cold War and post-Cold war eras, at least in the context of superpower relations. For the first time there was superpower co-operation in an international conflict. Yet, while the ‘superpower honeymoon’ took place far away from domestic spheres, in Europe the nature of East-West relations was still uncertain. This was partly due to the increasingly evident internal rifts and cracks in the Soviet empire, as well as to the question of what kind of role a unified Germany would play in Europe. Indeed, during autumn 1990 nobody had fully digested the foreign political consequences of unification. Germany had overnight become a fully sovereign, major European power and respected negotiating partner of the USSR. But the Bonn government had spent most of its time reassuring its neighbours in East and West that unified Germany would not become a Fourth Reich. Germany had not yet begun to define its new foreign policy or to consider what other countries would expect. The USSR had with the disintegration of the Warsaw Pact definitively lost its wider empire and, with German unification, a major means of leverage for extracting financial assistance from the West, especially Germany. However, the Soviets were aware of the fact that they retained some leverage over Germany until the 2+4 treaty was ratified and their troops had finally left eastern German territory.158 The major challenge for Bonn and Moscow after unification was hence to insulate Soviet-German relations from the turmoil in the USSR and to ensure that the agreements concluded between the two sides in 1990 survived the Soviet upheavals. Kohl clearly did not want to see Gorbachev’s position endangered: in addition to having found a trustworthy political partner and friend in the Soviet president, the latter seemed like the guarantor for the 2+4 treaty’s rapid ratification by the USSR and for an ordered fulfilment of the Soviet troop-withdrawal agreement. Moreover, Kohl had a special interest in helping to prevent the collapse of the Soviet economy as the USSR had been the main importer of East German goods.

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The ending of the transfer-rouble agreement on 31 December 1990 meant that former East German export companies would no longer receive subsidies from Bonn to compensate for the lower values of transfer roubles that had followed from the introduction of the Deutsche Mark in the GDR in July 1990.159 Thus, the continuity of Hermes trade arrangement—offering Deutsche Mark credits to the USSR for the purchase of East German goods—was important for Kohl in his domestic political calculations, with some 600,000 East German workplaces depending on the continuing export.160 Supporting the Baltic case on an official level lay far from Kohl’s heart, on a personal and even more so on a political level.161 It seems that chancellor Kohl’s and president Gorbachev’s personal friendship and Kohl’s gratitude for smooth German unification— an event that had undoubtedly placed him in the history books as the ‘chancellor of unity’—formed the core of what was to emerge as a ‘Soviet-first policy’ within Germany’s post-Cold War Ostpolitik. In a more unconventional move, Bonn launched in autumn 1990 a campaign to encourage the German population to donate to charities in aid of the USSR because it was suffering food shortages. The rapid German assistance that followed has to be understood in relation to a feeling of deep indebtedness towards Gorbachev for allowing unification. As Kohl put it: ‘We know [that] they [the Soviets] have supported us on our difficult path to German unity.’162 The donation campaign was a symbolically highly powerful political action mirroring the new qualitative nature of the post-unification German-Soviet relations. Gorbachev was not in a totally helpless situation at home. But on a foreign political level he knew how to use his weakened position as a means of leverage by underlining the importance of his role as Soviet president: ‘If something goes wrong with us, it will affect the entire range of relations in all spheres of international politics.’163 Ironically, at the same time that Gorbachev had asked the West for economic assistance, he had switched on a domestic level to the side of Soviet hardliners. Gorbachev’s move to replace the liberal-minded minister of the interior, Vadim Bakatim, by the conservative Boris Pugo only underlined this fact. What had become evident already during the period of the unification process, namely Gorbachev’s loss of ability to direct processes he initiated at home as well as abroad and his consequent turn to improvisation, was confirmed in the latter half of 1990. With the problem of Soviet disintegration becoming increasingly acute, resistance to his reforms had hardened. Indeed, not only were the Baltics and, increasingly, other republics at the rim of the Soviet empire looking for secession or at least more autonomy, Russia—the Soviet heartland itself—under the leadership of Boris Yeltsin demanded ‘real sovereignty’ and a new union treaty. Since his election as speaker of the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (RSFSR) in May 1990, Yeltsin had gained increasing political weight. He had become well known for his harsh criticism of Mikhail Gorbachev and communist hardliners, as he pressed for wider economic and political reforms. In was in this atmosphere that political self-preservation and the preservation of the union emerged as Gorbachev’s priority and made him turn to the hardliners, rather than pursuing principled political strategies of reform.164 The West’s support for Gorbachev could now only be based on the argument of personal continuity and political stability, and this was precisely the gamble on which Gorbachev relied—his friendships with Kohl and Bush. As explained above, it worked.

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In this context, Shevardnadze’s resignation on 21 December 1990 was an unwelcome surprise, as it meant that a trustworthy Soviet politician left the political stage. It had to be feared that Gorbachev’s new domestic political line would then become reflected in tougher diplomacy, now that he had lost one of his few reformist allies.165 The stagnation in the advancement of the Baltics’ cause at international level during autumn 1990 must be seen in the overarching framework of Soviet relations with the United States and Germany and against the background of the Gulf crisis. Indeed, Washington—potentially the weightiest and most influential supporter of the Baltic case—was preoccupied with the Gulf. Germany in turn concentrated on its own new role in Europe and its relations with Moscow. Significantly, while Germany and the United States had pushed the Baltic case towards the bottom of their political agenda, two small NATO countries, Iceland and Denmark, had since summer 1990 publicly supported the Baltics’ demands for independence in various international fora as well as by frequently meeting with Baltic representatives.166 Iceland’s foreign minister John Baldvin Hannibalsson and his Danish colleague Uffe Ellemann-Jensen used the UN and the CSCE, but also NATO and the Nordic Council as platforms from which to point to the Baltics’ legitimate aspirations.167 Indeed, these Scandinavian countries supported in particular Baltic endeavours to gain admission as observers to the CSCE summit in Paris in November 1990, where the future of Europe was to be discussed. France invited the Baltics as guests, but following Gorbachev’s objection, by which he broke the prerequisite of unanimity for participation, they were excluded.168 Most Western participants remained silent. Iceland and Denmark, however, organised a press conference for the Baltic foreign ministers.169 At a bilateral level, the first big step in diplomatic support was probably the opening of a Baltic information bureau in Copenhagen on 20 December 1990.170 Although one can argue that of course Iceland and Denmark were too small to seriously trouble the USSR and too weak to exert any real influence on the policies of the West’s great powers, it had at least an indirect effect. The Baltic cause was kept on the international agenda, even if it could not reach the top. Furthermore, the Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians felt that they were morally supported through the declarations, resolutions and visits of the Icelandic and Danish government officials. The true turning point in the story of Baltic independence struggle occurred at the beginning of 1991. While the first Baltic or more precisely Soviet-Lithuanian crisis had appeared in the middle of the complex German unification talks, in early January 1991 severe tensions between Moscow and the Baltic republics came to the surface, now in the shadow of the Gulf crisis. On 7 January the commander of the Baltic military district General Fiodor Kuzmin, who claimed to act on the orders of the Soviet defence minister, Dimitri Yasov, informed the Baltic governments of Moscow’s intention immediately to move 10,000 Soviet paratroopers on to their soil.171 Significantly, Soviet OMON troops had already began to seize public buildings in Riga and Vilnius on 2 January, signalling the start of a crackdown.172 Washington’s hands were tied with regard to the Baltic issue, because the US government was focused primarily on keeping mutual understanding with the Kremlin over the Gulf. Hence, Washington refrained from making any official statements on Moscow’s use of force in Latvia and Lithuania.173 It seemed as if Gorbachev was repeating the patterns of previous Soviet leaders: surprising the world with a military act

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when it least expected it and when it was heavily preoccupied with other matters. One can only speculate about Gorbachev’s motives. However, as to the timing of the Soviet assault it can be argued that Gorbachev did not want to alienate his ‘new’ Western allies—especially the United States and Germany—with too much noise in the Baltics. With the world concentrating on the Gulf crisis, the latter seemed to provide a good cover. In terms of the domestic scene, the Soviet president made a determined effort to keep his empire under control and stop it from disintegrating; and—at least at this time— he was prepared to do so by means of military force. Such a policy would satisfy the hardliners and thus assure political support for himself to remain in power.174 Iceland again stood alone, urging the Soviets directly not to use force, as well as approaching the NATO secretary-general to take action.175 But on 13 January—just before the launching of the air campaign against Iraq—the situation escalated in Vilnius; Riga was to follow a week later. Soviet troops killed Lithuanians and Latvians when attempting to crush the demonstrations by military force.176 Estonia luckily escaped such forceful confrontation. It is significant that on that very day—13 January—Russian leader Boris Yeltsin visited the Estonian capital Tallinn to sign a mutual security pact with representatives from all three Baltic states. This was an act in support of Baltic aspirations, but also of defiance of Gorbachev and of his central authority.177 The pact called for each of the four republics to respect the others’ sovereignty, to refrain from recognising any non-elected government among them, and to come to one another’s aid should the central government use force against them. In addition, the presidents of the four republics issued a joint appeal to the UN for intervention.178 Yeltsin’s engagement in the Baltic republics must not be understood as a simple sign of Russian solidarity with the Baltics. Russia was trying to assert itself, and in his personal battle with Gorbachev the Baltics became one of Yeltsin’s weapons. Historically, the USSR and Russia had been virtually indistinguishable. Boris Yeltsin for the first time drew a distinction, and asserted Russian interests against those of the Soviet Union. Clearly the emergence of Yeltsin and of an autonomous Russia had been a reaction to the process of emerging elected governments in the Soviet republics—a process that had started first in the small Baltic states. Yet, they—in contrast to other republics—had from the beginning followed the most extreme aim: the regaining of full political independence as nation-states. The legal basis of their demands of course distinguished them from other Soviet republics. Independently of these differences, it is essential to understand that in the end the ever stronger Russian nationalism in 1991 was shaking the USSR’s political structure to the roots. Without its heartland the Soviet Union would collapse. Yeltsin, there was no doubt, was attacking the very basis of the Soviet state and at a personal level Gorbachev’s authority. While in Moscow the power struggle between Gorbachev, reformers and antireformers was continuing throughout spring and summer 1991, Boris Yeltsin was strengthening his position. On 12 June 1991, he was elected in the first democratic elections to the newly created presidency of Russia. Thus, he had finally gained a base from which effectively to pursue his power-struggle against Gorbachev.179 How did the military crackdown in the Baltic states and the appearance of the Russian factor affect Western attitudes vis-à-vis Baltic independence aspirations and Gorbachev? The bloody events in Vilnius and Riga resulted in a political and moral victory for the

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Baltics and made Western public opinion finally swing to the Baltic side. With regard to government action, Iceland stood out with its policies towards Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania: Iceland’s acting foreign minister summoned the Soviet ambassador on 13 January 1991 to call him to account for the Soviet military action in Lithuania, and the Althing passed a resolution on 14 January harshly critical of Soviet military action. Two days later, Iceland’s ambassador in Moscow met Yeltsin to discuss the situation, and on the same day Reykjavik once more put the Baltic cause on the CSCE agenda. On 18–21 January 1991 foreign minister Hannibalsson pointedly visited the Baltic states.180 The US and German governments finally also spoke up on 14 January, and vehemently condemned the violence.181 In this light, the suspicions raised by the press in early February that a US-Soviet deal had been struck in the sense that Moscow would support US policies in the Gulf, in return for a muting of US criticism of Soviet military actions as they occurred in the Baltic republics, seem unfounded.182 It should not go unnoticed though that the German foreign minister, Hans-Dietrich Genscher, stated on 14 January that Baltic events should not imperil Germany’s willingness to aid ‘Soviet people’.183 This could be considered a diplomatic step taken with the aim of avoiding injuring German-Soviet relations too much and a sign to Gorbachev of Germany’s continued support for him, despite the Bonn government’s strong disapproval of Soviet military action in the Baltics. Once the dust had settled, the United States and Germany had more or less returned to their Baltic policy of passive rhetorical support. In the case of chancellor Kohl, one might even suggest that although he claimed to have sympathies for the Baltic cause, his realpolitik calculations focused on avoiding the USSR’s disintegration. In fact, this was a German foreign policy priority. Kohl thus had no interest in recognising Baltic independence because that was considered to be a trigger for the USSR’s dissolution. Nor did it seem to be in the German interest to shift the focus of its USSR policy from Gorbachev to Yeltsin. This pro-Soviet Union logic was underlined by the fact that the chancellor had stopped a visit by some Christian Democratic Union (CDU)/Christian Social Union (CSU) MPs to the Baltic states. Moreover, Kohl told Kazimiera Prunskiene in January that it was better for the Baltics to conduct a policy of ‘100 small steps rather than wanting to have it all with ten big steps’.184 Generally, visits by Baltic representatives were kept very low-key during winter and spring 1991.The Soviet crushing of the Baltics had not affected Kohl’s ‘USSR first’ policy, nor his personal commitment to Gorbachev. Yet, on the whole German-Russian relations were less straightforward than the Kohl-Gorbachev relationship suggested. Erich Honecker’s ‘departure’ from Berlin to Moscow in order to avoid being sent for trial in Germany was to a certain extent a sign of Soviet power over Germany. Honecker’s escape should not simply be brushed aside as just another provocative but insignificant incident since, indeed, it took place on the very day of the depositing of the ratified 2+4 treaty by the USSR, on 13 March 1991. In this light, it can be speculated that Moscow’s Honecker move and its timing might have been a means of trying to prevent Germany from recognising Baltic independence too soon.185 It seems obvious that the German-Soviet relations during, but especially after, unification were dominated by a strange dynamic of mutual depend ency. On the one hand, the fact that ratification was undertaken by Moscow despite the clashes of the conservative military and the reformers in the Kremlin proved the success of Kohl’s

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policy of economic linkage.186 On the other, Germany for geopolitical reasons felt that it was more exposed to developments in the USSR than any of its allies and thus focused its Ostpolitik especially on a good relationship with Moscow. The United States had different motives for its restrained Baltic policy. At the top of its political agenda during spring 1991 were US-Soviet relations focusing on disarmament/arms control and the question of economic aid. At an official level it was obvious that Bush placed his hopes on a politically strong Gorbachev, on further reforms within the Soviet Union, and also on the establishment of an administrative structure through which these reforms could be made effective. Underlying this was an anxiety that if the Soviet Union disintegrated and Gorbachev disappeared, this could result in chaos and in a possibly dangerous shift in the balance of global security. Yet, at the same time, the number of informal visits and consultations among Baltic leaders and the US government was increasing. And this reflected Washington’s genuine concern for the Baltic cause, even if it was not a priority in its foreign policy.187 Germany and the United States finally took official favourable action recognising Baltic independence when Estonia and Latvia declared, and Lithuania reaffirmed, de facto independence on 20 August 1991, during the coup against Gorbachev.188 Ironically, this was the day which Gorbachev had originally scheduled for the signing of the new Union Treaty. Why was there a coup? Gorbachev, Yeltsin, and President Nursultan Nazarbayev of Kazakhstan had held a secret meeting on 29 July 1991, linked to the establishment of a new Union. They had agreed that after the treaty was signed, Soviet KGB Chief Vladimir Kryuchkov, defence minister Dimitri Yasov, and prime minister Valentin Pavlov would be replaced, and Nazarbayev would then be appointed prime minister of the USSR. The conversation was recorded by the KGB. Subsequently, on 18 August 1991, President Gorbachev was detained at his summer residence in Crimea on the orders of the communist coup plotters headed by Kryuchkov. The next day they announced the takeover of Gorbachev’s presidential powers by vice-president Gennady Yanayev. Furthermore, they ordered Soviet troops to surround the White House of Russia. However, some tank units switched sides and supported Russian president Yeltsin, who condemned the putsch and called for popular resistance. In the end, the people’s opposition, swift action by President Yeltsin and the indecisiveness of the junta caused the coup to fail.189 During spring 1991 only Iceland and Denmark had conducted policies that were truly in the Baltic interest. They had continued to voice their non-recognition policies on the international stage, and further supported the Baltic cause by political co-operation with the three republics. On 23 January 1991 Iceland’s government had announced among other issues that it intended to initiate talks concerning the possibility of establishing diplomatic relations with Lithuania.190 On 11 February the Althing had passed a resolution calling upon the government to establish diplomatic relations with Lithuania as soon as possible.191 Estonia and Denmark had signed a co-operation protocol on 11 March, which provoked immediate protests from Moscow.192 Both Denmark and Iceland justified their actions on the basis of international law, upon which they insisted vis-à-vis the USSR. Nothing could stop Iceland’s and Denmark’s determination in standing at the forefront of Baltic support. Thus it was only logical that they were the first to recognise

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without any hesitation the independence of the Baltic states and to re-establish diplomatic relations on 22/24 August 1991. Under Genscher’s pressure—he was a true advocate out of conviction of the Helsinki process, but his views were often bypassed as a result of the dominance of Kohl— Germany was among the first states to sign the re-establishment of diplomatic relations.193 The United States only did so on 2 September, the day that the Soviet Congress of Peoples’ Deputies approved Baltic departure from the union. According to Bush, he ‘had wanted to avoid the international and domestic political pressure on Gorbachev that US recognition [of the Baltics] would bring’ as well as the perception that the Soviet leadership had acted under duress. Bush later wrote, ‘I thought it should be said (and understood) in the Soviet Union, and in whatever it became, that we gave them time, a lot of time, to release the Baltics.’194 One could argue that the role which had been taken most of the time especially by Germany, namely looking to Gorbachev’s fate, had been taken at a key moment by the United States. The USSR’s own recognition of Baltic independence, combined with the preceding putsch, had forced the world—especially the two key Western powers as they had emerged during the processes of 1989–91, the United States and Germany—to accept that Gorbachev’s days in office were numbered. Still, until the final collapse of the Soviet empire Kohl and Bush hoped against hope that Gorbachev would be able somehow to keep what was left of the Soviet Union intact. In the eyes of the West, Gorbachev had come to represent to a certain extent predictability and trustworthiness. All the Western leaders admired Gorbachev for what he had let happen while he was in office: the collapse of communism in Eastern Europe, the improvement of East-West relations, German unification. The German government seemed to feel particularly indebted to Gorbachev for allowing unification to take place in the first place and for ratifying the 2+4 treaty relatively quickly. As Genscher explained, Germany did all it could to support Gorbachev in his attempt to devise a new Union treaty which the Soviet president had proposed. ‘This was not only an expression of our personal ties, but also because we were concerned about the political and military and economic consequences that the collapse of the Soviet Union could bring in its wake. We were particularly interested in the question of nuclear weapons: there could be no proliferation.’195 Indeed, with the break up of the USSR, it was feared that this would unleash military and political forces and an influx of refugees that might destabilise Europe. Mikhail Gorbachev resigned as Soviet president on 25 December 1991. This effectively marked the end of the Soviet Union, although de facto it had stopped existing with the independence declarations of various Soviet republics starting with the Baltic states in August 1991. With the disappearance of the Soviet Union from the geopolitical map, the end of the Cold War was sealed. German unity was not the result of either all-German nationalism or bellicose expansionism. Rather the desire for unification grew out of the East German people’s movement for political and economic reforms in the GDR in the context of the peaceful revolutionary processes in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. After the fall of the wall on 9 November 1989—when East German migration to West Germany grew to astronomic figures—unification became the explicit goal of the East German population, and clearly the idea of unification was linked to gaining Western economic prosperity.

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It was Federal chancellor Kohl who gave ‘justification from above’ to ‘unification from below’, with his surprising announcement of the Ten Point Programme on 28 November. With his new unification plan Kohl took the political lead in the process, although at the time the plan’s step-by-step approach lagged behind the dynamism of the actual events and forced the West German government to improvise. Over succeeding months, however, Kohl’s measures were increasingly shaping developments. Kohl began to push for rapid unification in view of the coming (potentially all-German) federal elections, which he wanted to win and thus gain a place in history as the ‘chancellor of unity’. The key to rapid intra-German unity and to strengthening Kohl’s political position was certainly the chancellor’s move to offer the East Germans economic and monetary union. At the same time, this policy demonstrated how much unification was about creating economic unity. The question of the future nature of an all-German identity, however, was left lingering in the air. Like the intra-German unification process, the 2+4 talks dealing with the international aspects of German unification were also dominated by an increasingly powerful and influential Bonn government. In contrast to the immediate postwar period West Germany was ‘negotiating’ on the basis of equality with the four Allied powers. In the end, France, Britain and the GDR effectively played side roles, as Kohl concentrated on relations with Washington and Moscow. Although major decisions seem to have been made between the superpowers themselves, Bonn—fully backed by the United States—could play the card of economic bargaining with Moscow. Thus, in international diplomacy, too, ‘Deutsche Marks’ were essential for a successful outcome of the unification talks. Yet, undoubtedly, unification was equally based on politicians’ adherence to similar values (including the right of peoples to self-determination), statecraft, mutual trust and friendship (especially between Kohl and Gorbachev, as well as Kohl and Bush), good communication and sheer luck. The growing (West) German political dominance raised the historical fears of ‘Germany’s’ neighbours—especially France and Britain—about the emergence at the geographic heart of Europe of a larger, unified and sovereign Germany which was more powerful in economic and political terms than the semi-sovereign FRG. While Thatcher wanted to prevent German unification, France sought to tie Germany even more securely to the European institutions. Since the latter idea was in line with Kohl’s European convictions, German unification actually became a catalyst for further European integration in the direction of economic union. Still, in autumn 1990, with East Germany being absorbed by West Germany, it was the future political role of a unified Germany in a changing Europe that created most speculation. The case-study of the Baltic independence struggle highlighted the determination with which chancellor Kohl pushed for his national goal—German unity—once the Baltic problem began to interfere with the unification process, most prominently West GermanSoviet negotiations in spring 1990 on unified Germany’s NATO membership. National interest clearly overlay West Germany’s old post-national policy approach based on norms, which in this context would have meant supporting the Baltics’ cause on the basis of the right of people to self-determination. Kohl’s policy revealed his conscious choice of realpolitik and great-power thinking. In order to achieve German unification, he believed that Gorbachev’s position should not be endangered by political upheaval in the USSR. Furthermore Kohl did not want to alienate the Soviet president, or endanger their

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mutual trust and friendship. Gorbachev was seen as the sole guarantor for reform policy and most importantly for stability in the East. Generally, the great powers in the West focused their Soviet policies on one single political leader: Mikhail Gorbachev, and supported him in his aim of keeping the Soviet empire together. In this light the Baltic states were little more than pawns in the calculations of the Western powers, which supported their independence struggle mainly through rhetoric in 1990/91. The United States focused on Moscow, especially because of the Gulf crisis, while Bonn’s reason for conducting a predominant Soviet-first Ostpolitik lay in the nature of unification diplomacy. Significantly, it was the small NATO allies Iceland and Denmark which emerged as true advocates of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania and who pushed the Western powers into taking action. With Baltic independence, the subsequent collapse of the Soviet empire and the reappearance of a powerful Russia under the leadership of Boris Yeltsin, the future nature of Europe’s post-Cold War order was totally open. It had only taken two years for the geopolitical map of Cold War Europe to be redrawn. How would a sovereign and unified Germany play its role in a new Europe with transformed institutions? What were the implications of Bonn’s new special relationship with Moscow for the future of its West- and Ostpolitik? Despite, or rather because of, German unity the historical German Question had reappeared. But what was it about Germany that had created such an enigma in the past and was doing so again in the present? NOTES 1 Theo Waigel, ‘We need the consent of the Soviet Union so that our country can quickly take its peaceful path to unity. And the Soviet Union needs our economic power, if she wants to make progress on her way to market economy.’ Bonner Bürgschaft für Kredit an die UdSSR?’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 22 June 1990. (All translations, unless otherwise indicated, are the author’s.) 2 A note on the peculiarity of using the term ‘reunification’. The terms reunification (Wiedervereinigung) and unification (Vereinigung) were used almost indistinguishably in 1989/90 to refer to the re-establishment of a unified German state. Reunification suggests that the German state that had existed before the Second World War and was divided after 1945 was being brought back together. During the 1950s it was still hoped to reunify Germany in the context of a true peace treaty, although de facto it was clear that reunification would mean simply bringing back together the Eastern zone, the Western zone and Berlin—a solution that would exclude the eastern territories (Pomerania, Silesia and East and West Prussia). In 1990 reconstituting the prewar Germany was not an issue, as it was clear that the eastern territories would remain part of Poland and the then USSR. Thus the German government used officially the phrase re-establishing Germany’s unity (Wiederherstellung der deutschen Einheit) or German unification in order to point out clearly the difference between prewar Germany and the smaller post-Cold War Germany. 3 The fall of the wall was not an intended political measure for 9 November. Politburo member Günther Schabowski announced by mistake the draft of a new travel law implying the opening of all borders. The border checkpoints at the Berlin wall were included, although de jure they were under Four Power, not GDR rule. Of course, there were no consultations with the Western Powers. Yet, more importantly, there had also been no coordination with the USSR. With thousands of East Berliners gathering around the wall in the night of 9 November demanding free travel, the unnotified border-guards gave the masses way. The

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intention behind the law was really to stop the mass exodus from the GDR to the FRG, after ca. 220,000 East Germans had left the GDR, especially via Hungary and Czechoslovakia, between June and November 1989. For the travel law, see Stiftung der Parteien und Massenorganisationen der DDR (Bundesarchiv, Berlin; henceforth SAPMO) DY 30/J IV 2/2/2359, Politbüro 1989, Protokoll no 5/8–10.11.1989, Anlage 4; Bundesministerium des Inneren unter Mitwirkung des Bundesarchivs (eds), Deutsche Einheit: Sonderedition aus den Akten des Bundeskanzleramtes 1989/90 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1998), document 79a, p. 504. Cf. Hans-Herrmann Hertle, ‘The Fall of the Wall: The Unintended Dissolution of East Germany’s Ruling Regime’, The End of the Cold War, CWIHP Bulletin, 12/13 (2001), pp. 131–64. See also Philip Zelikow and Condoleezza Rice, Germany Unified and Europe Transformed (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997), pp. 98–102; Wolfgang Jäger, Die Überwindung der Teilung, Band III (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1998), pp. 40–2. For an account of West Germany’s surprise, see Helmut Kohl, Ich wollte Deutschlands Einheit (Berlin: Propyläen, 1996), pp. 118–28; Horst Teltschik, 329 Tage (Berlin: Goldmann, 1993), p. 14; Werner Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik für die Deutsche Einheit, Band IV (Stuttgart: DVA, 1999), p. 9. For a clear statement that the FRG was neither prepared for the fall of the wall nor for unification in general, see Richard Kiessler and Frank Elbe, Ein runder Tisch mit scharfen Ecken (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1993), p. 45. 4 After 9 November, millions of East Germans flowed into West Berlin and over the interGerman border into the FRG. In less than two weeks, the number of East Germans registering to remain in West Berlin was 12,500 and in West Germany 42,200. See Hannes Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch—Germany in Soviet Policy from Stalin to Gorbachev (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1998), p. 438; cf. Konrad H.Jarausch, The Rush to German Unity (Oxford: Oxford University Press), 1994, p. 62. 5 See Elizabeth Pond, Beyond the Wall (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1993), p. 135. The change in mood from demanding reforms—‘Wir sind das Volk’—in the GDR to demanding unity—‘Wir sind ein Volk’—is duly noted by Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 42; Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 154; Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, p. 46. 6 See Kristina Spohr, A Historical Perspective of West Germany’s Foreign and Alliance Policies in 1989–1990, MPhil thesis. University of Cambridge (1998), p. 34. 7 See Spohr, Historical Perspective, pp. 42–73. 8 The fears were not pure invention. See Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 358–64; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 99–100. However, Teltschik notes that apparently there had been no need to fear the use of force: see Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 28. See also ‘Information über den Inhalt des Telefongesprächs zwischen Michail Gorbatschow und Helmut Kohl’ on 11 November 1989, SAPMO DY 30/2/2.039/319, cf. ‘Record of Telephone Conversation between Gorbachev and Chancellor Kohl, Bonn, 11 November 1989 (Archive of the Gorbachev Foundation)’, document 65 in NSA document collection folder, ‘The End of the Cold War in Europe, 1989—“New Thinking” and New Evidence, A Critical Oral History Conference’, Musgrove, GA, 1–3 May, 1998. 9 Ibid.; SAPMO DY 30/J IV 2/2/2352, Politbüro 1989, Protokoll no.43 der Sitzung des Politbüros des ZK der SED vom 17.10.1989, ‘Bericht zum Besuch der VR China 2.-9.10.89 der DDR’: ‘Die Gespräche zeigten insgesamt eine außergewöhnliche Dynamik, mit der sich die Beziehungen zwischen der VR China und der DDR entwickeln. Durch die klare Haltung der DDR zu den konterrevolutionären Ereignissen in Peking ist das Ansehen der DDR weiter gewachsen.’ See also Rafael Biermann, Zwischen Kreml und Kanzleramt (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1997), p. 212. 10 See ‘CIA report, “Soviet National Security Policy: Responses to the Changing Military and Economic Environment”, June 1988, CIA FOI release to NSA’, document 6 in NSA document collection folder, ‘Briefing Book of Declassified Russian and US documents— Prepared for the Mershon Center Conference on US-Soviet Military and Security Relationships at the End of the Cold War, 1988–1991, 15–17 Oct. 1999, compiled by

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William Burr, Thomas Blanton and Vladislav Zubok; ‘CIA Intelligence Assessment, “Gorbachev’s Domestic Gambles and Instability in the USSR”, September 1989 (National Security Archive FOAI)’, document 46, in NSA, End of Cold War. 11 See Biermann, Kreml, pp. 85–128. Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 131–298. 12 See Adomeit, ‘Gorbachev, German Unification and the Collapse of Empire’, in Post-Soviet Affairs, 3 (1994), pp. 197–230, pp. 209–13; Charles S.Maier, Dissolution (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), pp. 3–107. 13 Cf. Konrad H.Jarausch, ‘Implosion oder Selbstbefreiung?’, idem and Martin Sabrow (eds), Weg in den Untergang (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1999), pp. 21–5; Martin Sabrow, ‘Der Konkurs der Konsensdiktatur’, in ibid., pp. 83–106. 14 See Detlef Pollack, ‘Der Zusammenbruch der DDR als Verkettung getrennter Handlungslinien’, in ibid., pp. 43–74. 15 Ibid., pp. 57–64. 16 Biermann, Kreml, p. 283. Biermann explains that ‘Krenz—as a former pupil of Honecker— symbolised continuity instead of renewal. In fact, his political programme after the fall of the wall included: keeping power and denying reforms.’ 17 On 11 November Krenz called Kohl to tell him that unification was not on the agenda. See Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 109. 18 While the line taken by Krenz followed that of the Honecker regime, Modrow openly promoted structural reforms in the GDR and followed the idea of perestroika, clearly believing in the viability of his state. See Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 110; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 148–9; Biermann, Kreml, p. 282. 19 For the text of Modrow’s proposed treaty, see Neues Deutschland, 18 November 1989. Indeed, Modrow did not consider unification on the political agenda when he announced his proposal for the Vertragsgemeinschaft. He ruled unification out. See Hans Modrow, Ich wollte ein neues Deutschland (Berlin: Dietz, 1998), p. 339; Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 36. See also Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 438–9; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 111, 119. The Vertragsgemeinschaft was not comparable to the former GDR confederation plan of 1956/7, as its final aim did not seem to be a confederation or unification, but rather a dense net of treaties between the two German states. See Christoph-Matthias Brand, Souveränität für Deutschland (Cologne: Verlag Wissenschaft und Politik, 1993), p. 144. 20 Kohl did not immediately start to focus on unification, but decided rather to continue the Deutschlandpolitik he had conducted over the past years: a Politik der kleinen Schritte zur Linderung der Teilung Deutschlands (a policy of small steps to ease the division of Germany). See Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 23; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 104. 21 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 48; James A.Baker, Drei Jahre, die die Welt veränderten: Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1996), p. 158; Hans-Dietrich Genscher, Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1995) p. 667; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 114. See also Sonderedition, document 94b pp. 546–8. 22 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 49. See also Genscher, Erinnerungen, p. 670. 23 On the open question as to who was the originator of the Ten Point Programme, see Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 159; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 48–9; Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, p. 49; Jäger, Überwindung, pp. 59–70; Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 94–110. Cf. Michael Mertes’s paper ‘Die Entstehung des Zehn-Punkte-Programmes vom 28. November 1989’, given to the author in April 2000. 24 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 159–67; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 49–54; Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, pp. 49–51; Genscher, Erinnerungen, p. 671, Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 121; Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 117–134; Sonderedition, document 102, pp. 574–7. 25 In the Harmel report it was stated that ‘a final and stable order in Europe is impossible without resolving the German question which embodies the nucleus of present tensions in Europe. Any such settlement must remove the unnatural borders between East and Western Europe, which are mirrored most clearly and cruelly by the division of Germany.’ Dieter

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Blumenwitz, Die Überwindung der deutsche Teilung und die Vier Mächte (Berlin: Gebrüder Mann, 1990), p. 74. Teltschik refers to the Deutschlandpolitik importance of the Harmel report in his article: ‘Mit Mut und klarem Kurs zur Einheit’, Berliner Morgenpost, 28 August 1999. 26 Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 174; Mertes, ‘Entstehung’, pp. 13–14. Cf. Spohr, Historical Perspective, pp. 6–25. 27 See ‘Record of Conversation between Gorbachev and Chancellor Kohl, Bonn, 12 June 1989 (Archive of the Gorbachev Foundation)’, document 40, NSA: End of Cold War. Cf. Sonderedition, document 2, pp. 276–87. See also Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 387–8; Blumenwitz, Überwindung, p. 74; Biermann, Kreml, pp. 85–128. 28 Kohl claims that he did not mention membership of NATO, as it was clear to him that this would not be given up for the sake of unity. However, it seems more plausible to believe that in view of the situation in the USSR, it was probably too delicate an issue at the time. See Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 166; Mertes, Entstehung, p. 12. Cf. Biermann, Kreml, p. 297. 29 For a discussion on whether in historical perspective and in comparison with former unification plans the Ten Points were simply a unification programme or a plan, see Spohr, ‘German Unification: Between Official History, Academic Scholarship and Political Memoirs’, The Historical Journal, 3 (2000), pp. 874–5; Cf. Jäger, Überwindung, p. 65; Mertes, ‘Entstehung’, pp. 11–12. It is significant that Teltschik speaks in his memoirs of a Wiedervereinigunsplan and of a Stufenplan. See Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 50, 53. 30 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 53; Blumenwitz, Überwindung, p. 74. 31 See Blumenwitz, Überwindung, p. 74. 32 For a comment on the time constraint and the dynamics of the unification process, see Genscher, Erinnerungen, p. 673. 33 Cf. Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 167; Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 52. 34 Kohl, in his memoirs, speaks about 55,000 Übersiedler from the GDR to the FRG in January, Teltschik of ca. 58,000. See Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 251; Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 121. For earlier figures including the number of Übersiedler for 1989 amounting to 343, 854 East Germans, see Teltschik, 329 Tage, p.103; cf. Jarausch, The Rush, p. 62. 35 The figure of the foreign currency debt derives from the ‘Schürer report’ of 10 November 1989, as stated by Lothar de Maizière on 17 April 1998 during my interview. Very similar figures—a foreign debt of US$26.5 billion—was given in the ‘Empfehlungen für das Gespräch des Genossen Egon Krenz mit Genossen Michail Gorbatschow, Moskau 31.10– 11.1.1989’, SAPMO DY 30/IV 2/2.039/329 Büro Egon Krenz. 36 The pressure to stop giving the Begrüβungsgeld increased while demands for stopping by law the flow of refugees could be heard in West Germany. 37 See Wolfgang Schäuble, Der Vertrag (Stuttgart: DVA, 1991), p. 22. 38 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 126, 144–5; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 256–8, 294–6. 39 Quoted from Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 129. Cf. Schäuble, Der Vertrag, p. 21. 40 For Genscher’s quote, see ‘Kritische Gemütslage’, Der Spiegel, 26 March 1990, p. 25. 41 In the Allianz für Deutschland (combining CDU (Ost), Demokratischer Aufbruch (DA) and the Deutsche Sozialunion (DSU)) Kohl’s party—the CDU—had finally found its partner in the GDR for the March elections. For months the CDU had been unsure about the former CDU (Ost) bloc and its leader de Maizière. See Schäuble, Der Vertrag, pp. 37–50; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 283–90. See also Jäger, Überwindung, pp. 197–298, here esp. pp. 228–32. 42 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 130–3, Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 259–63. See also Sonderedition, documents 163, 165, 169, 169a, pp. 761, 768–70, 782–3. 43 See Sonderedition, document 174, pp. 795–813, esp. pp. 801, 812. 44 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 290–3; Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, p. 249. 45 The Kabinettsausschuβ Deutsche Einheit treated the following issues: economic and monetary union, economic reforms, adaptation of laws, social and employment structures,

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state structures and foreign and security political aspects. See Sonderedition, documents 161, 182, pp. 259, 830–1. 46 See Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 290–2; Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 132; Biermann, Kreml, p. 300. 47 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 222–4. 48 For the election results and their interpretations, see Archiv der Gegenwart 1990, pp. 34334– 41; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 333–4; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 176–7; Brand, Souveränität, pp. 200–1; Biermann, Kreml, pp. 435; A.James McAdams, Germany Divided (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993), p. 214. 49 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 313–23, 334; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 153–4; Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, p. 487; McAdams, Germany Divided, p. 214. 50 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 283–93. 51 Ibid., pp. 374–5; Schäuble, Der Vertrag, p. 141. 52 See Biermann, Kreml, p. 442; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 374–7, 382–8; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 235, 239–41. 53 Since the two ideologically opposed Germanies embodied two completely different state systems, there were many highly explosive legal issues to be treated. In particular, concerning property rights a major debate arose between the Soviet and German sides. See Detlef Nakath and Gerd-Rüdiger Stephan, Countdown zur deutschen Einheit (Berlin: Dietz, 1996), p. 329. See Löhr, ‘Ein Beitrag Ost-Berlins zur Wiedervereinigung’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 29 September 2000, p. 8; ‘Bodenreform—“Gorbatschow sagt die Unwahrheit”’, Der Spiegel, no. 11/1998, p. 72; ‘Bodenreform—“Eine sehr komplizierte Zeit”’, Der Spiegel, no. 15/1998, pp. 54–5; ‘Julij Kwizinski: Im Vertrag, in einem Brief/Die Besatzungsmaßnahmen 1945 bis 1949 sind unumkehrbar’, Frankfurther Allgemeine Zeitung, 12 September 1994. Shevardnadze’s ‘Aide-Mémoire’, unofficial translation, and De Maizière’s statements at the Bundesverfassungsgericht on 22 January 1991 (copies given to the author by Lothar de Maizière). 54 For the different formulas 4+2, 2+4, 4+0, and ‘talks of the six’, their meanings and initiators, see Jacques Attali, Verbatim: Chronique des années, 1988–91, vol. III (Paris: Fayard, 1995), pp. 413, 415, 418–9, 422, 429; Pierre Favier and Michel Martin-Roland, La décennie de Mitterrand, Vol. III (Paris: éditions du seuil, 1990–1999), pp. 232–4; Margaret Thatcher, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993), p. 799; Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 716–18, 729; Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 479, 484; Michail S.Gorbatschow, Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1995), p. 717; Anatolii Cherniaev, ‘Gorbachev and the Reunification of Germany: Personal Recollections’, in Gabriel Gorodetsky (ed.), Soviet Foreign Policy 1917–1991 (Portland: Frank Cass, 1994), p. 166; Zelikow and Rice, Germany, pp. 167–8, 176; Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 664–8, esp. p. 667; cf. Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 114; Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 48. See also the Genscher-Zelikow correspondence in the Hoover Archives, Zelikow & Rice Papers, Box 1. 55 See James A.Baker, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolution, War, and Peace, 1989–92 (New York: Putnam, 1995), pp. 195–200, 210–11, 215–16. Cf. Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, p. 106. 56 See Baker, Drei Jahre, p. 190; Brand, Souveränität, pp. 204–10; 243–250. 57 For a detailed account see Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, pp. 99–105; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 145–6; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 191–5; Baker, Drei Jahre, pp. 187–97; Stephen F.Szabo, The Diplomacy of German Unification (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 64–5. Cf. Genscher in Erinnerungen, pp. 730–1. 58 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, p. 266. See also Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 208–17; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 304–11; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 158–62; Baker, Drei Jahre, pp. 200–3; Brand, Souveränität, pp. 192–3; Szabo, Diplomacy, pp. 72–6. 59 On the reparations issue, see Brand, Souveränität, p. 196; Ludolf Herbst, Option für den Westen: Vom Marshallplan bis zum deutsch-französischen Vertrag, 2nd edn (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1996), pp. 139–41. Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 125,

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Sonderedition, documents 206, 222, pp. 915–6, 955–6. On Kohl’s declaration see Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 313; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 217–18. See also Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, p. 266. 60 The foreign ministers of the two Germanies and Poland agreed on five principles concerning the border. See Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, pp. 180–2; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 280–1, Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 402–5. Cf. ‘Stenographischer Bericht der 8. und 9. Sitzung’, Parl-Arch Ausschuß Deutsche Einheit, Deutscher Bundestag, 20 June 1990. On the Poland issue, see Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 479–509; Randall E. Newnham, ‘Poland and German Unification: A Study in Economic and Political Statecraft’ (under review by The Carl Beck Papers in Russian and East European Studies, paper given to me by the author). 61 See Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 498–506. 62 Interviews with former German government officials. See also Teltschik, 329 Tage, p. 221. 63 For an account of the US-Soviet summit as well as German reactions, see Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 275–83; George Bush and Brent Scowcroft, A World Transformed (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1998), pp. 279–85; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 253–4; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 388–91; Genscher, Erinnerungen, p. 799; Gorbatschow, Erinnerungen, pp. 721– 3; Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 466–71; Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 517–20; Michael R.Beschloss and Strobe Talbott, At the Highest Levels: The Inside Story of the End of the Cold War (New York: Little, Brown, 1993), pp. 251–30. Cf. Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 254–7; Sonderedition, document 299, pp. 1178–80; The Presidents’ Meetings with Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev May 30-June 3, 1990, Book I’, NSA’s READD, US State Department documents and CIA reports of 1989–1991 as part of the NSA’s End of the Cold War Project. 64 For an account of the Caucasus summit, see Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik. pp. 529–35; Biermann, Kreml, pp. 641–50; cf. Sonderedition, documents 350, 352, 353, pp. 1340–8, 1352–5, 1255–67. 65 Stefan G.Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe für Moskau (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1998), p. 92. See also Wilfried Loth, ‘Die Sowjetunion und das Ende der DDR’, in Jarausch and Sabrow, Weg, p. 142, where he writes ‘Nach auβen wurde der Eindruck des Einlenkens [Gorbatschows] bis zum Besuch Kohls sorgsam verwischt’. Cf. Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 529, 547. 66 For a detailed account on the British ‘midnight crisis’, see Zelikow and Rice, Germany, pp. 355–63; Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 865–76; Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 468–70; Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, pp. 205–13; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 363–5. There is, however, very little on the Moscow meeting in Baker, Drei Jahre. 67 Text in Karl Kaiser, Deutschlands Vereinigung—Die internationalen Aspekte, 2nd edn (Bergisch-Gladbach: Bastei-Lübbe, 1993), pp. 260–8. 68 See Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. 28. 69 Ibid., p. 31. 70 See ‘Memo, 9 February 1995’, Hoover Archives, Zelikow & Rice Papers, Box 1, p. 3. See also Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 187–8. 71 On the concept of ‘trust’, see Tuomas Forsberg, ‘Power, Interests and Trust: Explaining Gorbachev’s Choices at the End of the Cold War’, Review of International Studies, 4 (1999), pp. 603–22. 72 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 175–8. 73 Ibid., p. 177. 74 Ibid., pp. 126–9. See also Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 122–3, esp. n. 56. 75 See for instance Sonderedition, document 173, pp. 793–4. 76 See Thomas Risse-Kappen, ‘The Cold War’s Endgame and German Unification (a review Essay)’, International Security, 4 (1997), pp. 159–85, esp. pp. 179–83. 77 See ‘Memo, 9 February 1995’, p. 2. 78 For a more detailed analysis see Spohr, ‘German Unification’, pp. 883–4; see also ‘Memo, 9 February 1995’, pp. 3–4.

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79 ‘Memo, 9 February 1995’, p. 2, Zelikow & Rice Papers, Box 1, Hoover Archives. 80 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 196, 199; Thatcher, Downing Street, pp. 790–1; Biermann, Kreml, pp. 306–8, Lehmann, Vereinigung, pp. 269, 431. 81 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 131–3. 82 Ibid., pp. 153–8. See also Favier and Martin-Roland, La décennie, (3), pp. 206–7. 83 At the meeting, there was an interesting exchange of roles between the two statesmen. It was Mitterrand who, as if to test Soviet intentions, took the initiative and made specific suggestions, going as far as to offer to meet Gorbachev in East Berlin during the French president’s state visit to the GDR scheduled for 20 December. Both considered Kohl’s Ten Point Programme a diktat and a concrete plan and wanted the all-European process to overtake the German unification process. However, Gorbachev held on to his idea of the ‘right of self-determination’ and was generally evasive towards Mitterrand’s moves. In this context, another episode has to be mentioned: the meeting following the GorbachevMitterrand consultation between Mitterrand’s advisor Jacques Attali and Gorbachev’s advisor on European affairs, Vadim Sagladin. Attali pointed out that Russia was France’s traditional ally, as both countries had suffered under German aggression, and hence that together they should try to avoid any historical repetition. In the end no Franco-Soviet alliance was established, but the German government could not conceal its impression that France had tried ‘to play the Russian card’. See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 153–8; Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, pp. 459–60. Cf. ‘Record of Conversation between Gorbachev and Mitterrand, Kiev, 6 December 1989 (Archive of the Gorbachev foundation)’, document 71, NSA: End of Cold War. See also Valerie Guérin-Sendelbach, Frankreich und das vereinigte Deutschland (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1999), pp. 78–81. 84 See Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 137–8; Thatcher, Downing Street, pp. 796–7; Attali, Verbatim, (III), pp. 368–71. Cf. Biermann, Kreml, pp. 357–8. For the beginnings of Anglo-Soviet secret arrangements see ‘Wortlaut der Weisung an den Botschafter der UdSSR in London’ of 20 October 1989 SAPMO DY 30/3/ 2.039/319 p. 1. See also ‘Record of Conversation between Gorbachev and Margaret Thatcher, 23 September 1989 (Archive of the Gorbachev Foundation)’, document 53, in NSA: End of Cold War. 85 The historic commitment to unification was particularly visible in the Deutschlandverträge of 1954 and the Harmel report of 1967. 86 The fact that Mitterrand intended to sign six treaties and agreements, covering a phase up to 1994, underlines the French president’s intentions to prolong the GDR’s life. See Susanne Pfeiffer, ‘Verwirrspiel oder Absicht? Mitterrands komplexe Diplomatie im deutschen Einigungsprozess’, Dokumente, 1 (1998), pp. 40–5. See also Favier and Martin-Roland, La décennie (3), pp. 216–22; Guérin-Sendelbach, Frankreich, pp. 81–3. 87 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 159–63. 88 Ibid., p. 148. 89 Ibid., pp. 145–52; Joachim Bitterlich, ‘In memorian Werner Rouget: Frankreichs (und Europas) Weg nach Maastricht im Jahr der Deutschen Einheit’, in Werner Rouget, Schwierige Nachbarschaft am Rhein—Frankreich-Deutschland (Bonn: Bouvier, 1998). Bitterlich (also an advisor to the chancellor) claims that there was such a deal. For an opposing view that there were no secret deals see ‘Bonner Bundestag stimmt Euro-Beitritt zu’, Neue Züricher Zeitung, 24 April 1998. 90 For the quote see speech, 15 March 1984, reprinted in Europa-Archiv, 20 (1984), p. D 591. 91 Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, pp. 620–3, 640. 92 Adomeit, ‘Gorbachev’, p. 226. Cf. Wettig, Changes; Angela E.Stent, Russia and Germany Reborn (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), p. xi; Ralph Summy and Michael Salla, Why the Cold War Ended (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1995); Richard Ned Lebow and Thomas Risse-Kappen (eds), International Relations Theory and the End of the Cold War (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995); Douglas Lemke, ‘The

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Continuation of History: Power Transition Theory and the End of the Cold War’, Journal of Peace Research, 1(1996), pp. 23–36. 93 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 7; Randall E.Newnham, ‘The Price of German Unity: The Role of Economic Aid in the German Soviet Negotiations’, German Studies Review, 3 (1999), p. 432. 94 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 243–4. 95 For the treaty’s text, see Bulletin des BPA (henceforth Bulletin) no.123, 17.10.1990, pp. 1281–3. 96 For details of the transferrable rouble arrangement, see http://www.bundesregierung.de/emagazine_entw,_36988/Transferrubel.htm. 97 For various calculations of the ‘price tag’ for unification, see Adomeit, Imperial Overstretch, p. 554; Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 332–3; Newnham, ‘Price’, pp. 440–1. 98 See The Economist, 21 July 1990, p. 47. 99 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 92–5; Szabo, Unification, p. 93; See also Sonder-edition, document 353, pp. 1561–4. 100 Indeed, during the unification process the so-called ‘Kohl-system’ became truly visible. Already since Kohl had become West Germany’s chancellor it had been obvious that he liked to use all means of power the West German Basic Law would grant a chancellor in the frameworks of Kanzlerdemokratie (chancellor democracy) and the implicit Richtlinienkompetenz. The rapidly emerging unification process demanded quick and improvised decision-making. This very much favoured Kohl’s preferred behaviour of monopolising decision-making in foreign and Deutschland-policies. The chancellery bypassed various ministries, especially the foreign ministry, in many areas. In fact, Kohl took decisions with his advisors rather than referring issues to the ministerial level. Kohl liked to treat for instance the contacts to the USA and billion-credits to the USSR as a ‘Chefsache’ (issue of the chief) without the involvement of his foreign minister. This clearly undercut the political role of Genscher, who still managed to represent some kind of counterweight to the chancellery in foreign-policy making. For a detailed study of Kohl’s government system and style (1982–89), see Karl-Rudolf Korte, Deutschlandpolitik in Helmut Kohls Kanzlerschaft, Band I (Stuttgart: DVA, 1998). See also Jäger, Überwindung, pp. 19–21. 101 See Walter C.Clemens, Jr, Baltic Independence and Russian Empire (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991); Graham Smith (ed.), The Baltic States: The National Self-determination of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1994); Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997). 102 See ‘CIA Intelligence Assessment, “Rising Political Instability Under Gorbachev: Understanding the Problem and Prospects for Resolution”, April 1989 (NSA FOIA)’, document 30, p. iii, in NSA: End of Cold War. 103 See Graham Smith, ‘The Resurgence of Nationalism’, in idem (ed.), Baltic States, pp. 121– 41. 104 See Antti Kaski, ‘The Phosphorite War: The Role of Environmental Protests in the Estonian Independence Movement’, Idäntutkimus, 4 (1997), pp. 21–38; Matthew R. Auer, ‘Environmentalism and Estonia’s Independence Movement’, Nationalities Papers, 4 (1998), pp. 659–76. See also Anatol Lieven, The Baltic Revolution (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), p. 220. 105 For Estonia see Rahvusarhiiv 1–44–72, ‘Mitparteilise poliitilise süsteemi kujunemisest Eeestis 1987–1990.a.’; and Tiina Raitviir, ‘Rahvaliikumiste ja Parteide tekkimine 1987– 1990’, Postimees, 19 March 1991. 106 See ‘CIA Intelligence Assessment, “Rising Political Instability Under Gorbachev: Understanding the Problem and prospects for Resolution”, April 1989 (NSA FOIA)’,

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document 30, pp. 13–15, in NSA: ‘End of Cold War’. See also Smith, Baltic States, p. 139– 41. 107 See Smith, Baltic States, p. 139. 108 See Lauristin, Return, pp. 75–6. 109 See John Hiden and Patrick Salmon, The Baltic Nations and Europe (London: Longman, 1994), pp. 149–50; Matti Lukkari, Viron itsenäistyminen: kerran me voitamme kuitenkin, 2nd edn (Helsinki: Otava, 1996), pp. 170–7. 110 See ‘Eesti NSV Ülemnõukogu erakonnaline istungjärk: Eesti nõukogude sotsialistliku vabariigi ülemnõukogu deklaratsioon eesti NSV suveräänsusest. 16 november 1988’, in Mart Laar, Teine Eesti, vol. II (Tallinn: SE&JS, 1996), pp. 453–4. For Estonian-Soviet relations in 1940, see Boris Meissner, Die baltischen Nationen, (Cologne: Markus, 1991), pp. 122–4; idem, ‘Die Kommunistische Machtübernahme in den Baltischen Staaten’, in idem (ed.), Die baltischen Staaten im weltpolitischen und völkerrechtlichen Wandel (Hamburg: Bibliotheca Baltica, 1995), pp. 53–89. 111 See Boris Meissner, Baltische Nationen, p. 125. 112 This was clearly acknowledged by Gorbachev’s advisor Anatoly Chernyaev. See ‘Diary Excerpt Regarding Chernayev’s View of the Situation in the Baltics, 10 December 1988’ from Anatoly Chernayev, ‘1991—The Diary of an Assistant of the President of the USSR (Moscow: Terra, 1997)’, in NSA: End of the Cold War. Cf. ‘CIA Intelligence Assessment, “Rising Political Instability Under Gorbachev: Understanding the Problem and Prospects for Resolution”, April 1989 (NSA FOIA), document 30, esp. p. 15, in NSA: End of Cold War. 113 For Estonia: In September 1987 four Estonian intellectuals—Siim Kallas, Tiit Made, Edgar Savisaar and Mikk Titma—put forth a plan for economic autonomy and self-management known as Isemajandav Eesti (Estonian acronym ‘IME’, meaning ‘miracle’ in Estonian). The plan called for an autonomous, self-managing economic zone in Estonia and for the decentralisation of the Estonian economy. From the start the IME proposal received strong support from the Estonian population and increasingly also from the EKP, especially under Vaino Väljas’ leadership. Despite the Supreme Soviet’s backing of IME, Moscow failed to grant any significant self-managing powers to Estonia, and the Estonians recognised that the plan would be unfeasible in an unreformed Soviet economy. Moscow’s vacillations and inability to act decisively on this issue certainly contributed to the growth of rapid proindependence sentiment among the Estonian population. See Rahvusarhiiv 1–43–153, ‘IME Probleemnõukogu, märts 1989’. On the Estonian Communist Party assessment of these IME ideas, see Rahvusarhiiv 1–44–90, ‘Arvamusi poliitilise situatsiooni kujunemise kohta peala EKP KK xiv pleenumit (4.5.1989)’. See also Lukkari, Viron itsenäistyminen, pp. 170–2. Although the Soviet Congress of Deputies agreed on 27 November 1989 to ‘the economic independence of the Lithuanian, Latvian and Estonian SSR’, this law granted only very limited enlargement of the Baltics’ economic autonomy. Moscow’s underlying unwillingness really to undertake a systemic change only fuelled the independence struggle. See Meissner, Baltische Nationen, p. 293. 114 The secret Zusatzprotokolle of the Hitler-Stalin Pact were published for the first time in autumn 1988 in Estonia. See Meissner, Baltische Nationen, p. 126. 115 On 14 May 1989 the Popular Fronts of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania held the Baltic Assembly in Tallinn, which was proof of the active interaction and crossfertilisation among the Baltic independence movements. The ‘Baltic Chain’ was probably their most visible common protest action directed against Moscow, with over a million people participating. See Toivo U.Raun, ‘Estonia: Independence Redefined’, in Ian Bremmer and Ray Taras (eds), New States, New Politics: Building the Post-Soviet Nations (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 414; Andreas Oplatka, Lennart Meri—Ein Leben für Estland (Zürich: Verlag NZZ, 1999), pp. 283–5; Vytautas Landsbergis, prepared for an English-speaking audience by Anthony Packer and Eimutis Sova, Lithuania—Independent Again (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2000), pp. 139–41; Lukkari, Viron

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itsenäsityminen, p. 182. For the Baltic Assembly declaration, see ‘Eesti ja Läti rahvarinde ning Leedu Perestroikaliikumise sajudis esindajate Pöördumine Euroopa Julgeoleku-ja Koostöönõupidamisest osavõtvate Riikide Juhtide, ÜRO Peasekretär ja NSV Liidu Ülemnõukogu Presiidiumi Esimiehe Poole, 14. Mai 1989’, in Laar, Teine Eesti, II, p. 470. 116 See Oplatka, Lennart Meri, p. 289. 117 See ‘Meeting of the Politburo, Discussion of Memorandum of Six Politburo Members on the Situation in the Baltic Republics, 11 May 1989’ (from the ‘The Union Could Be Preserved’, Moscow: April Publishers, 1995), document 37, in NSA: ‘End of Cold War’. Here Gorbachev is quoted saying: ‘And force does not help us. We have accepted that even in foreign policy force does not help. But especially internally—we cannot resort and will not resort to force.’ 118 For Chernayev’s views, see ‘Diary Excerpt, Regarding Gorbachev’s State of Mind, From Anatoly Chernayev, “1991”, 2 May 1989’, document 35, in NSA: End of Cold War. 119 See ‘Meeting of Politburo, Discussion of the Economic Autonomy for the Republics of Belorussia, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, 9 November 1989’ (Archive of the Gorbachev Foundation), document 63, in NSA: End of Cold War. 120 On the Baltic status of being ‘occupied territory’ according to international law, see Meissner, Baltische Nationen, p. 276. Cf. EST-vm Tunnustamine 1991–1993 ‘Eesti Vabariigi otsene (taas)tunnustamine vastavate kirjade alusel’; see also Jan A.Trapans, The West and the Recognition of the Baltic States: 1919 and 1991. A Study of the Politics of the Major Powers’, Journal of Baltic Studies, 2 (1994), pp. 153–73. 121 See John J.Maresca, To Helsinki: The Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe 1973–1975 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1985), p. 113. 122 Baltic popular movements had won the elections to the Republics’ Supreme Soviets (renamed in Estonia as ‘Supreme Council’) in spring 1990—elections which followed the ending of the Communist Party monopoly by Gorbachev, and which all Western countries recognised as valid, democratic and expressing popular will. In this context it should be noted that the Lithuanian and Estonian Communist Parties had separated, by majority vote, from the CPSU in December 1989 and March 1990 respectively; the Latvian Party split down the middle in April 1990. Torn between loyalty to Moscow and support for national self-determination, most communists had evidently chosen the latter course. 123 For an analysis of the different party streams in the Estonian Communist Party, see Rahvusarhiiv 1–44–90, ‘Eesti NSV-s mitmepartei süsteemi tekkimine (1990. a. jaanuaris)’; Rahvusarhiiv 1–44–72, ‘Mitmeparteilise poliitilise süsteemi kujunemisest Eestis 1987– 1990.a’. See also Smith, Baltic States, pp. 136–9. 124 For Kohl’s pro-Gorbachev position, see Sonderedition, document 238, p. 1001; cf. Sonderedition, documents 235 and 238, pp. 988, 1001, document 257, p. 1056, and document 227, p. 968; cf. EST-vm USA I 1990–1991, ‘George Bush to the press on 23 March 1990’. 125 See Condoleezza Rice’s ‘Memorandum for Brent Scowcroft; Subject: Themes on the Administration’s policy toward Lithuania’, NSC, 22 March 1990, in Hoover Archives, Zelikow & Rice Papers, Box 1; Sonderedition, document 253, pp. 1029–30. 126 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 206–7. 127 See ibid, pp. 172–3 128 See Ibid., pp. 225–7. 129 Kohl had wanted to decouple the Baltic issue from unification since the beginning of 1990. He saw it as a disturbing factor: first, in the context of the Polish border debate, and, second, in the context of German-Soviet negotiations on unification. Kohl feared that the Baltics’ independence struggle might trigger a debate about Poland’s eastern border with Lithuania. This could complicate negotiations altogether, if the Soviets felt they were pushed into a corner. Furthermore, Kohl worried about a swing in Moscow to hardline policies on the

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German issue if there were too many internal problems in the Soviet Union. The chancellor after all longed for rapid unification. See Sonderedition, documents 135, 192, pp. 688, 864. 130 See Robert L.Hutchings, American Diplomacy and the End of the Cold War (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998), p. 127. 131 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 225–7. 132 EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘The Baltic states’ quest for independence. Iceland’s policy and actions’. 133 EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Message to E.Shevardnadze, Foreign Minister of USSR, from J.B.Hannibalsson, Minister of Foreign Affairs, 23 March 1990’. 134 See ‘US embassy to MFA of Iceland 24.3.1990’, from notes of his MA thesis provided in translation by Gudni Johannesson, ‘Studningur Islands vid sjalfstaedisbarattu Eystrasaltsrikjanna 1990’ MA thesis, University of Iceland (1997), a study based on Islandic archival material to which Johannesson got privileged access at the time, but which has recently been declassified. 135 See n. 114 above. 136 See Sonderedition, document 257, p. 1056. Cf. Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 355. 137 See Trapans, ‘The West’, p. 164. 138 Letter published in Bulletin no. 48, 28 April 1990, p. 384. 139 See Sonderedition, document 266, p. 1080. 140 See Sonderedition, document 274, pp. 1103–5. 141 See Dale C.Copeland, ‘Trade Expectations and the Outbreak of Peace: Détente 1970–74 and the End of the Cold War 1985–91’, Security Studies, special issue 1&2 (1999/2000), pp. 15–58, here pp. 50–1. 142 See Sonderedition, document 281, p. 1126; Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 224–7. 143 Gorbachev and Shevardnadze declared that the Baltic question was an internal constitutional issue for the USSR, to be resolved through a law of secession, which as such had first to be created. Therefore declarations of independence were not acceptable. See Sonderedition, document 267, pp. 1085–6. See also ‘The President’s Meetings with Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev, May 30-June 3, 1990, Book I—Theme Paper: The Baltics’, pp. 1–2. NSA’s READD, US State Department documents and CIA reports of 1989–1991 as part of the NSA’s End of the Cold War Project. 144 See ‘Moscow Embassy Cable, “Gorbachev Confronts the Crisis of Power”, 11 May 1990, Department of State Freedom of Information release to NSA’, document 26, in NSA-folder: Briefing Book. See also Pavel Palazchenko, My Years with Gorbachev and Shevardnadze (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997), pp. 166–70. 145 See Kohl, Ich wollte, p. 355. 146 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 74–7. 147 Both the Senate and the House of Representatives wanted the US government to take a more pro-active role. Moreover there was increasing pressure from the Baltic communities in the USA. 148 See Kohl, Ich wollte, pp. 379–81; Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 236–9. 149 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 283–6. 150 ‘The President’s Meetings with Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev, May 30-June 3, 1990, Book I, Theme Paper. The Baltics, p. 2. NSA’s READD, US State Department documents and CIA reports of 1989–1991 as part of the NSA’s End of the Cold War Project. 151 EST-vm USA I 1990–1991, ‘26 May 1990, Declaration [of the Baltics] regarding the mandate of USSR President Mikhail Gorbachev during the upcoming summit with US President George Bush, beginning May 30, 1990, in Washington DC’. 152 See EST-vm Venemaa, ‘Declaration regarding negotiations between the USSR and the Baltic States, 27 June 1990’; EST-vm Venemaa, ‘Statement by USSR President Mikhail Gorbachev regarding relationship between USSR and Estonia, 12 August 1990’.

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153 See Sonderedition, ‘A Proclamation, German-American Day 1990’, p. 1555. Significantly, a passage in the German-Soviet treaty on neighbourliness, partnership and co-operation as it was initiated after the 2+4 treaty and concluded on 9 October caused a stir in the Baltics. In fact, article 2 of the treaty stated that the parties to the treaty would acknowledge the borders of all the states as they existed on the day the treaty was signed. The US response to Article 2, just as that of Germany, firmly referred to the fact that due to the non-recognition, in accordance with the Helsinki Final Act of the Baltics’ incorporation into the USSR, the Baltics’ fate was not affected. See EST-vm Saksamaa 1990–1992, ‘Toomas Hendrik Ilves to Ilves to Lennart Meri, Mikhel Mutt, voi keegi teine, kellel see oluline asi oluline on, 14.9.1990, Genscher-Shevardnadze Mittelkallaletungi Pakti+artikel 2’; EST-vm Saksamaa 1990–1992, ‘Mikhel Mutt to Toomas Hendrik Ilves RFE, 15.9.1991’; EST-vm Saksamaa 1990–1992 ‘Lennart Meri to Hans-Dietrich Genscher, 20 September 1990’; EST-vm USA I 1990–1, ‘State Department report, 21 September 1991 “German treaty does not address Baltic status”’. See also EST-vm USA I 1990–1, ‘Letter from counsellor Zoellick to Lennart Meri, 16 October 1990’. 154 For a Baltic assessment of the Kuwait crisis and of their own position (with Soviet troops stationed on their soil), see ‘Statement by the Foreign Ministers of the Baltic States, 2 Oct 1990’, EST-vm USA I 1990–1. 155 See ‘Department of State Cable, “Moscow Meetings: Soviet Thinking on the Gulf”, 10 September 1990, Department of State Freedom of Information release to the NSA’, document 30, in NSA: Briefing Book. Cf. Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 490–3; Trapans, ‘The West’, p. 166. 156 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 102–7; See ‘Department of State Cable, “Helsinki Summit: Briefing Host Governments”, 15 September 1990, Department of State Freedom of Information Release to the NSA’, document 31, in NSA: Briefing Book. See also Copeland, ‘Trade Expectations, pp. 37–8, 51. 157 See George De Lama, ‘Baker promises food aid to Soviets’, Chicago Tribune, 11 December 1990. 158 See Newnham, ‘Price’, pp. 434–5. 159 For the transfer rouble agreement, see Jäger, Überwindung, pp. 412–14, 428, 453. 160 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 123; Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 435. 161 Interviews with former German government officials. 162 Quoted in Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 107. 163 Quoted in Marc Fisher, ‘Vast Aid Effort Needed to Revive a sickly Giant’, Washington Post, 21 December 1990, pp. A1/A35. 164 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 493–5; Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 435. 165 See Stent, Russia, pp. 153–4. 166 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Meetings with Baltic representatives’; EST-vm Taani ‘Eesti-Taani Läbirääkimised, 22–24. augusti 1990’; EST-vm Taani, ‘Permanent mission of Denmark to the UN: Press release. Baltic bureau to be established in Copenhaguen, 28 September 1990’; EST-vm Taani, ‘Letter from the Danish Prime Minister Poul Schlüter to the Prime Minister of the Republic of Estonia Edgar Savisaar’; See also five-plus-three meeting of Nordic and Baltic foreign ministers, EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Põhjamaade ja Baltimaade UM-e kohtumine aruanne, 20 detsember 1990 Kopenhaagenis’. 167 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Speech by Hannibalsson at the CSCE on human dimension, 5 June 1990’; EST-vm Islandi, 1990–1992 ‘Statement by Hannibalsson in the general debate, UN, 24 September 1990’; EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Statement by Hannibalsson at the meeting of foreign ministers of the CSCE participant states in New York 1–2 October 1990’. 168 For Moscow’s position, see Hoover Archives, Fond 89, ‘O Vozmozhnosti Obrasheniy Ot Respublik Pribaltiki K Uchastnikam Soveshaniya V Parizhe’, 20 November 1990, 11 (65), pp. 57–8.

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169 See Trapans, ‘The West’, pp. 165–6; cf. Landsbergis, Lithuania, pp. 233. 170 See EST-vm Taani, ‘Eesti-Taani suhted’; EST-vm Taani, ‘Baltlaste maja avatud, Politiken, 21.12.1991’. 171 See EST-vm Taani ‘Letter from Lennart Meri to Uffe Ellemann-Jensen, 8.1.1991’. 172 See ‘BATUN (Baltic Appeal to the UN)—Baltic Chronology, January 1991’, Hoover Archives, Estonian Subject Collection, Box 1. 173 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, p. 444. See also EST-vm USA I 1990–1991, ‘Text from the White House spokesman Marlin Fitzwater’s statement on the use of Soviet troops to enforce the draft, 8.1.1991’. 174 There has been a lot of speculation as to whether or not Gorbachev knew about the military crackdown in Vilnius and Riga. He himself has vehemently denied knowing anything, or even giving orders. However, for various reasons, one must doubt the truth of Gorbachev’s statements. First, had Gorbachev not known anything this would truly indicate that he had already lost control over the military by the beginning of 1991. In this light it is most surprising that he was at all capable of remaining in power until August. Second, the chronology of the developments of the crackdowns in Latvia and Lithuania, the timing and the claim of General Kuzim that he had orders from defence minister Dmitri Yazov seem to show that there was a plan underlying the involvement of Soviet military which had to come from the Kremlin. By early 1991 at least the KGB was fully aware how lethal Baltic independence would be for the future existence of a Soviet empire. For Lithuania, see Landsbergis, Lithuania, pp. 248–57. See also Cold War International History Project (CWIHP), Documents from Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia, no. 36, an informational source on some moments of the foreign policy course of the Lithuanian Republic. 175 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Meetings with Baltic representatives’. 176 For details, see Landsbergis, Lithuania, pp. 244–62; William E.Odom, The Collapse of the Soviet Military (New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press, 1998), pp. 268–71; Lieven, Baltic Revolution, pp. 244–55. 177 See Oplatka, Lennart Meri, pp. 324–7. 178 For the Estonian version of the treaty see EST-vm USA I 1990–1991, Treaty on the InterState Relations between the RSFSR and the Republic of Estonia, 13 January 1991’. 179 See David J.Reynolds, One World Divisible (New York: Norton & Company, 2000), p. 572. 180 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Meetings with Baltic Representatives’; EST-vm Islandi, 1990–1992 ‘Iceland’s Prime Minister’s Letter to Gorbachev, 13 January 1991’; EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Althingi’s Resolution Condemning the Soviet Forces’ Acts of Violence in Lithuania, 14 January 1991’; EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Joint Statement by the Foreign Minister of Iceland and Estonia on 21 January 1991’. 181 See ‘BATUN—special edition January 13, 1991; World Reaction to Soviet use of force against the Baltic states’; ‘BATUN—special edition January 21, 1991; World Reaction to Soviet Use of Force against the Baltic States’ and updates ii–v on 22, 25, 28 January and 1 February, Hoover Archives, Estonian Subject Collection, Box 1. For Kohl’s Regierungserklärung, see ‘Zur Lage in der Golfregion und in Litauen’, Bulletin no. 4, 15 January 1991, pp. 21–1. 182 See EST-vm USA I 1990–1991 ‘News Briefing by Margaret Tutweiler, 1.2.1991, No USSoviet “Deal” on Gulf Statements and Baltics’. 183 ‘BATUN (Baltic Appeal to the UN)—Baltic Chronology, January 1991’, Hoover Archives, Estonian Subject Collection, Box 1. 184 See quote in ICE-mfa Iceland 8.G.2–6, ‘Icelandic embassy, Bonn Bad-Godesberg to MFA Reykjavik, 17 January 1991’ from notes of his MA thesis provided in translation by Gudni Johannesson. The same quototation was received independently in an interview with a former German government official. 185 Discussion with former German government official.

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186 See Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 435. 187 Classified documents. 188 For the independence declaration by Estonia see Laar, Teine Eesti, II, p. 516. 189 See Reynolds, One World Divisible, pp. 572–3. 190 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Press Statements by Icelandic MFA on 23 and 24 January 1991’. 191 See EST-vm Islandi 1990–1992, ‘Parliamentary Resolution Adopted, 11 February 1991’. 192 For the text of the ‘Joint Protocol’, see EST-vm Taani. 193 Genscher had to persuade an unwilling Helmut Kohl to agree to the re-establishment of diplomatic relations with the Baltic states at the time of the putsch, when the three states needed immediate support from the international community for their cause. For the Baltic states the putsch in Moscow was a real window of opportunity, which could not be missed. Interviews with former government officials. 194 See Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 537–40, quote on p. 538. 195 See Genscher, Erinnerungen, p. 976.

2 German Questions Past and Present

Die erste Grundlage eines Staates ist sein Raum…die zweite Grundlage eines Staates …das Volk. Es ist weniger leicht zu bestimmen als der Raum, und vor allem kann es anders als dieser nicht mit einem Federstrich geändert werden.’1 The events of 1989–91 once again installed a sovereign Germany2 at the geographical centre of Europe. At the end of the twentieth century, Germany’s position seemed in many ways different from, but in other ways, startlingly similar to, its position at the beginning of the twentieth century. While old Cold War structures, assumptions and certainties were eroding and new ones had not yet fully crystallised, Europe and Germany moved into a challenging and uncertain new phase of history. Germany’s troubled twentieth-century past still looms large in German history and politics. Its images run deep in the mindsets of Germany’s neighbours and also those of the Germans themselves. Moreover, the controversy about Germany’s ‘national character’—with its reflection in the belligerent excesses of two world wars—is still a long way from being resolved. Far from laying the ghosts of the past, German unification only seems to have reawoken them. What is it about German (re)unification of 1990 that creates so much uncertainty? What, precisely, is this German dilemma, this German Question, and how does it relate to past and present? These are essential questions which need to be examined in order to explain the complexities of Germany’s post-Cold War role and policies in Europe and, in this context, the particular relevance of unified Germany’s Ostpolitik. The present chapter provides a thematic and analytical introduction to the German Question, also referred to as the German problem, as it has revealed itself in modern history and as it demonstrates itself again today. I shall draw out the continuities and discontinuities, the similarities and dissimilarities as they present themselves in German history, in order to be able to place my explanations of the most recent events in a historical framework.

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CONCEPTS AND FACETS OF THE GERMAN QUESTION What precisely is the German Question? Scholarly literature of the last two centuries fills entire libraries.3 Historians at different times have different perspectives, consider different phases of history, and thus also come to different answers. In what follows we are concerned with twentieth-century German dilemmas and peculiarities, referred to in the aftermath of the Second World War by the term ‘German Question’. Previous explanations of the course of German history since 1871 have proposed rather reductionist if not teleological ‘answers’ to the German Question, causing great controversy among historians. I shall return to these interpretations and discuss their usefulness later in this chapter. Wolf D.Gruner in his book Die deutsche Frage has made the distinction between two applications of the term ‘German Question’.4 From today’s perspective, the German Question in a historical dimension is primarily a concept associated with the problems posed by Germany as a unified nation-state between 1871 and 1945, the aggressive and imperialistic diplomatic and military behaviour in the early twentieth century leading to the First World War and the genesis and legacy of the Nazi Reich ending with the Second World War and the Holocaust—a series of events that some historians have seen rooted in the weakness of German liberalism and have labelled Germany’s Sonderweg. In other words, this historical German Question became a label used by historians post factum after 1945. A second dimension presents the German Question as a political concept, connecting the problems and questions of a divided Germany and the unification issue problematic during the Cold War. In these particular circumstances the German Question (deutsche Frage) has also been defined as the question of the (unification of) Germany (Deutschlandfrage). Contrary to the historical German Question, the political one was a conceptualisation heavily used by politicians, historians and political scientists at the time. My intention is to use the concepts of both the historical and the political German Question and to introduce a third approach, which has the advantage of being thematic and thus not bound to certain historical periods. Apart from offering new answers to an older problem, my method also proves very useful in my analysis of Germany’s Westpolitik and especially Ostpolitik in the first post-Cold War decade (chapters 3, 4 and 5), a time in which debates arose about a so-called ‘new’ German Question. According to my conceptualisation, the essence of the German problem lies in five interrelated dimensions. Here I refine Dirk Verheyen’s ideas. His four components (identity, unity, power and role) though suggestive, do not seem complete and their titles are not absolutely precise.5 I have thus defined the following five elements: • German unity (the territorial problem of what makes Deutschland) • German identity (the question of what and who is deutsch; whether identity is cultural, ethnic, linguistic, economic or political, or a combination of all or some of these) • German civic culture (political organisation and society) • Germany’s place (geography and influence) • German power (economic, political and military)

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In line with this concept, the German Question contains a combination of geocultural, geopolitical and geostrategic factors. How are they weighted? The discourse of the historical German Question shows, as Wilhelm Röpke suggested as early as 1945, that ‘much depends upon the distance from which the German problem is considered’.6 By this he did not mean the historical distance, but the emotional and geographic one: the differing perspectives of countryman and foreigner. The essence of the German Question indeed manifests itself in a different way for Germans and non-Germans. To the Germans today the dilemma revolves mostly around identity, while issues such as national unity and Germany’s place and power in world affairs are important as related concerns. NonGermans and especially Germany’s immediate eastern and western neighbours, however, focus on Germany’s power and the ‘need’ to keep it under control for their own security.7 Thus the German Question and its different conceptions are not just abstract issues filling history books, but have been essential for and continue to affect Germany’s selfperception and its relations with other nations, as will be revealed below. ONE GERMANY—ON A SONDERWEG? It was with suddenness that Germany appeared at the centre of the European map as a political unit, ‘as nation-state, great power and Reich’8 following its foundation on 18 January 1871. This first truly unified ‘Germany’ turned an area which had been considered a power vacuum into an unprecedented European power centre. The Reich was immediately perceived as a disturbing factor for the concert of the other European nation-states, that is, the balance of power on the European continent as had been established in 1815.9 While the old great powers were about to embark on conducting imperialist policies overseas, their fears about the new German power fed a desire to restrict the Reich’s ambitions in this direction. This in turn caused Germany to see itself as constrained from birth. Thus, the late nineteenth and early twentieth century tension between Germany and its neighbours was preprogrammed. But there were various other peculiarities surrounding the new German Reich, the combination of which was to prove fatal for ‘Germany’s’ future political path and, thus, were to form what was to be named the German Question. ‘Germany’ had cultural and increasingly also economic predominance in Mitteleuropa. Yet, situated between Russia in the east and France as well as Britain in the west, the German nation-state was from the beginning forced to accept the geopolitical ‘law of confinement’10 the fact of being surrounded by strong neighbours, which derived from its geographic place: Mittellage. Further, the Reich of 1871 suffered from the nichtidentische Identität von Nationalstaat und Reichsidee (non-identical identity of nation-state and idea of the Reich).11 Essentially, the term Reich implied some sort of universalism, while the idea of a nation-state pointed to national borders. This was not simply a terminological problem for the newly unified Germany, but one with major consequences for its identity and power projection. National unity had been achieved along ‘small-German’ (kleindeutsch) lines, which clearly pointed to a political and territorial defect and posed a problem for the Germans’ identity. Thus from the beginning there existed a dichotomy, a dualism between ‘Deutschland’ and ‘deutsch’, between the borders of the nation-state and the Kulturnation (culture-nation). For George Bailey it was precisely in this dichotomy that

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he saw the root to the German problem: ‘what, where, and when is, or will be Germany? “Germany” was never more or less what it should have been; it was always less or more than it should have been. The “Germans” have always been more than a nation and therefore less than one. They were, in fact, many nations and tribes, but the whole was always less than the sum of its parts.’12 Heinrich August Winkler has placed more emphasis on the problem of the idea of Reich and its power. The Reich, as he has argued most recently, had always been enveloped in a cloud of myths, and already the Holy Roman Empire of German Nations had ‘wanted to be more than a kingdom amongst others’.13 What has been referred to as an ‘unfinished nation-state’ (Klaus Hildebrand)14 of ‘awkward size’ (Sebastian Haffner)15 implied that the Reich was a nation-state with Germans outside its borders and non-German minorities within its territory. Indeed, while in the west Alsace-Lorrainers had just become incorporated into the Reich with the German victory against France,16 in the east, Baltic and Sudeten Germans and especially the German-speaking parts of the Austro-Hungarian empire were excluded from this Prussia-dominated Reich. This ethnic-national problem, the incongruence of population and territory at the eastern flank of the German Reich, strained Germany’s relations with the east from the start.17 This is not to say that the Reich’s simmering national problem in the east after 1871 created a oneway street to the ideas of Drang nach Osten (the drive to the east), which emerged as policies shortly after the turn of the century. Much depended on certain foreign political choices under Wilhelm II. However, one must realise that over the decades this tension between culture-nation and nation-state in the east was to express itself through the emerging two dominant ideologies of German foreign policy: Weltpolitik and Lebensraum (living space). In particular, the German military campaigns in the east during the First World War, the absence of an ‘eastern Locarno’ in 1925, and later to an even greater extent Hitler’s nationalistic, extremist and bellicose eastern Lebensraum policy, were to bring to light the political equation of Ostpolitik and expansionism. On these grounds it can be argued that German Ostpolitik was tainted from 1871 onwards and thus has to be considered a lethal key issue inherent in the German Question. Sensing a continued degree of artificiality in its territorial unity and national identity, the Reich, the last of the powerful nations to become a nation-state,18 suffered from an identity crisis and an inner restlessness. Indeed, the achievement of nationhood was separated from the cause of revolutionary democracy; political unity was achieved in the palace of Versailles in France, not in the heart of Germany. The German nation-state had been created ‘from above’ as a result of war rather than ‘from below’. The all-German liberal movement whose highest political aim had been unity was politically defeated by Prussia’s predominant authoritarianism when it came to the actual establishment of the Reich.19 The most commonly noted characteristic of Prussia was its obrigkeitsstaatliche Tradition (tradition of the authoritarian state). This tradition, as Verheyen has pointed out, was based on the political supremacy of the neutral, politically independent state (Staat) that functioned with its own class of neutral civil servants (Beamten). The state represented something superior to the realities of party politics, parliamentary government and pluralist democracy.20 Moreover, following the Prussian monarchy’s

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traditions, the military establishment held a dominant position in the Reich, influencing German political affairs. This stood in sharp contrast to the realm of German society, a society characterised by a class system with many social cleavages. As a whole the German population, however, adhered to a culture of subservience, whose emphasis was on duty, loyalty, obedience and worship of power tied to a mainly apolitical frame of mind and a tendency to shy away from any sort of conflict. In fact, among many Germans was a pervasive sense of failure and a deep feeling of inferiority. Political and cultural pessimism became intertwined, while this ran counter to the more common international perception of the Germans as strong, self-confident, even arrogant people.21 In sum, the power of the state and the incompleteness of any modern concept of citizenship, were at the heart of what became associated with the Reich’s illiberal civic culture.22 The bourgeoisie as a political actor was not totally absent, but increasingly politically divided and therefore weak. On the political scene, the left wing split from the national liberal party in 1880, forming the Liberale Vereinigung, before merging with the Deutsche Fortschrittspartei into the Deutsche Freisinnige Partei. Although they continued to consider themselves as ‘liberals’, they wanted to see more emphasis placed on ‘Freisinnigkeit’. Evidently they were not yet ready for democracy until after the First World War and the collapse of the empire. While not denying monarchy in principle, they looked, however, for parlamentarianism. In contrast the national liberals, as the party in power in co-operation with the conservatives, considered the Prussian-German government system as acceptable and capable of dealing with the increasingly expansive Machtstaat (power-state).23 Clearly ‘liberalism’ faced a dichotomy between its original ideological essence and what it became associated with as a political force. As a result of the socioeconomic changes brought about by rapid industrialisation and the emergence of imperialism, large parts of the bourgeoisie drifted increasingly into the embrace of conservative and illiberal forces, in order also to escape the perceived radical threat from the left. It was under conservative and authoritarian auspices that a reactionary nationalism emerged and was to be a driving force behind Germany’s increasingly aggressive political behaviour abroad. Indeed, it seems that as much as the conservative ruling elite manipulated electoral politics and prescribed a more aggressive foreign policy based on new economic possibilities, the political will of a growing radical right was pushing the governing establishment towards such an expansionist approach.24 In this context it must be noted that the apolitical conception of culture—an essentially aristocratic/bourgeois realm—became increasingly associated with an anti-Western romanticised connotation of a German identity expressed through the terms Deutschtum (Germanness) and Volk (meaning all the German peoples).25 Philosopher Paul de Lagarde in his Deutsche Schriften as early as 1878 advocated ideas of a missionary German ‘cultural instruction’ (Kulturauftrag) in the east that was directly connected to military expansionism into Russia. In the 1890s, the founding of pan-Germanist movements such as the most prominent Alldeutscher Verband,26 which intertwined continental Mitteleuropa ambitions27 with the emperor’s colonial overseas policies only underlined the shift in bourgeois mood towards more Germanness. In fact, even if it is difficult to evaluate the concrete influence of the Verband on German politics, it is significant that it included influential individuals such as Max Weber and Gustav Stresemann.28 Clearly the

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problem of the incongruence between culture-nation and political nation-state of 1871 became more and more politicised and eventually linked to German realpolitik. Bismarck had feared German internal uncertainties, reflected in expansive nationalism, as much as the jealousy of Germany’s neighbours towards the rising German power, at a time when all other nation-states were beginning to become sucked into the imperialistic thrill of gaining territory,29 starting during the 1880s and leading to competitive colonialism all over the world. The chancellor was worried about the dangers for the German nation-state when, following its quick rise, pressure grew for Germany’s political expansion, at first on the basis of its economic conquests. Consequently, he tried to control the problem of German power with his philosophy of Germany’s ‘territorial saturation’, and his related policy of forming alliances.30 However, his convictions went against the Zeitgeist;31 Germany could not stay out of the international atmosphere of restlessness and imperialism. After 1890, in the Wilhelmine era, Bismarck’s successors fell for the temptation of increasing power and territory in an aggressive manner. Indeed, colonialism/imperialism was seen as fulfilling both the need for international status and for the internal consolidation of a badly fragmented political land-scape and fissured society, the latter revealing societal tensions and the weakness of the political institutions. Identifying neither with the west nor with the east, the German Reich moved on its own path from being a nation-state to being an expansionist state, from great power to world power, which in its final consequence ended in the disaster of the First World War.32 Significantly, the First World War had revealed Ostpolitik in its most radical form, when an explicitly annexationist policy towards Russia was turned into concrete war aims.33 In 1918, as Nipperdey concluded: ‘the German Reich’s imperial attempt to gain partial European hegemony and secure for itself a share in world power, ended in massive defeat.’34 The German dilemma had fully crystallised: for Europe’s balance of power Germany as an independent nation-state was too strong, for the establishment of continental hegemony too weak.35 Whether it was more the internal conditions (the problems related to the Reich’s identity and its civic culture), or whether it was the external exigencies of unified Germany’s international setting linked to its place and power, that shaped its foreign policy, is open to debate, and different historians adhere to different interpretations. What is relevant for the understanding of what has been perceived the German Question against the analysis of 45 years of the German Reich’s history, is the fact that both internal and external forces influenced Germany’s political developments. Indeed, since its birth the Reich faced a mixture of dilemmas: the incongruence of identity and territory, of power and geography, of political institutions and society. It was this combination of irreconcilabilities entwined with the political choices of the ruling elite which seemed to feed into the development of an aggressive and imperialist political ideology and subsequently foreign policy that finally led to the First World War. The Great War and Germany’s defeat did not bring a solution to the German problem. The German nation-state had survived, namely in the form of a new, shaky liberalbourgeois creation: the Weimar Republic. The 1919 Treaty of Versailles that followed the war punished Germany severely by imposing loss of territory, reparation payments and extensive demilitarisation.36 Looking at the historical parallels, one has to point out that the Weimar Republic was burdened with very much the same conflicting problems

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and historical legacies as the former Bismarck Reich. The weakened Germany faced again the incongruence between population and territorial borders, and the geopolitical dilemma of its central role and place in Europe which had already once led to restlessness, uncontrolled expansionism and war. To its neighbours, however, a weaker Germany was quite simply a safer Germany; clearly, this reveals how much the German Question from its neighbours’ perspective was about the issues of potential power and geographical expansion. For the Germans, the problem revolved much more around a combination of nation (and national unity), identity and loss of power. The restoration of Germany’s great power status in Europe was central to the selfperception of many, especially on the right. And making themselves believe in the ‘stab in the back’ legend (Dolchstoβlegende) led to grave misinterpretations of the causes of the collapse of German power. On these grounds, there was bound to be an identity crisis and a rise of territorial revisionism to re-establish Germany’s power. Internally, on a politico-societal level, the Weimar Republic had since its beginnings faced a growing clash between the liberal Germans who stood for a democratic republic and moderate foreign policy and the Germans at the conservative end of the spectrum who were driven by nationalism advocating anti-Versailles revisionism. Yet the liberals themselves were split into two parties with different aims: the Deutsche Demokratische Partei (DDP) and Deutsche Volkspartie (DVP). The DDP was more liberal in the sense of its interest in parliamentary democracy, whereas the DVP was the more right-wing strand of the former national-liberals with no real interest in true parliamentarianism. Significantly, neither party gave Weimar the legitimacy it needed, as both had reservations against giving too much sovereignty to the people. Another problem was the continuity of political elites and civil servants from the Reich to Weimar, who did not grant the young democracy their loyalty. And with the people doubting the Republic, Weimar’s civic culture was unstable from the start. As Hildebrand summarised: ‘Until the deadly rupture there was a struggle over the sense of democracy and the method of revision in Weimar, which essentially contributed to [the Republic’s] decline.’37 In addition to the unresolved problems of reconciling nation-state and democracy, Republic and the idea of a Reich, multiple internal and external economic and political crises loomed over the Weimar Republic.38 Looking for an escape from its dilemma, Weimar’s politicians increasingly turned back to the older German ideas of an independent foreign political existence as a great power and nation. Two particular issues, the Reichswehr’s pressure for Germany’s military equality in Europe and, especially, the growing political interest (of both the elites and the population as a whole) in the revision of Germany’s eastern borders,39 can be seen as signals revealing Weimar’s shift from a policy of confrontation towards Groβraumpolitik; a shift which was to feed directly into Hitler’s political ideology once he acceded to power.40 With regard to Weimar’s and later Hitler’s revisionist Ostpolitik, it should be pointed out that following Versailles, Mitteleuropa had seen the creation of a series of newly independent states. Thus Germany’s Mittellage, being bordered in the east by many small states rather than two empires—Russia and the Habsburgs—as in 1871, had totally new implications for Ostpolitik. In Germany’s eyes, German-speaking minorities were now scattered among a number of strategically weak nations, and hence these nations were soon considered as Germany’s spheres of influence.

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Indeed, by 1933, the year Hitler became Germany’s chancellor, Mitteleuropa had become the synonym for an all-German policy on the economic level. The national socialist vision of German hegemony over Mitteleuropa and the creation of an economic Groβraum were portrayed in the early 1930s as a realistic means of ending the Great Depression and vast unemployment, with all its hardships, in Germany.41 Moreover, the revisionist ideas with regard to eastern territories were increasingly loudly expressed through the combined concepts of Drang nach Osten42 and Lebensraumpolitik. At this point the Weimar Republic’s indirect or covert political aggression toward central and eastern Europe became replaced by the open aggression of the Nazi regime— the Third Reich. After 1933, Hitler soon dropped any pretence of a peaceful revision of the Versailles settlement. His rearmament programme and the aggressive foreign policy he pursued went far beyond mere revision. They aimed to break the confines of Germany’s central position and establish a European or even global hegemony by military intimidation and conquest. Central to Hitler’s foreign policy were a bellicose anti-bolshevism and the attainment of Lebensraum in the east for the German people, making Ostpolitik identical with military expansionism.43 It was the overstretching of Germany’s military in the subsequent global war which turned the country’s central position into a strategic disadvantage. Hitler’s foreign policy did not establish a German hegemony in Europe, not to the mention the world, but instead led once again to encirclement—meaning world war on all fronts, the eventual total defeat of Germany and even the end of the German nation-state. The German Question of the twentieth century had been born. On the basis of my historico-theoretical analysis, the story of Germany from 1871 to 1945 shows evidence of a basically uncertain self-identity and a simultaneous assertion of an alleged German historical mission and uniqueness expressed in an excessively aggressive and militaristic foreign policy especially in the east, all of this connected with a constant attempt to define the essence of Germanness. The problem with Germanness and culture-nation lay of course in the birth defect of the unified German nation-state whose borders defined a smaller territory than that of the culture-nation, while simultaneously a Germany in the ascendant was caught in the middle of the other already established great European powers. As I have shown, after unification in 1871 the combination of four factors—identity, place, civic culture, and power—clearly created a number of problematic circumstances that allowed for the Nazis’ ascent to power and thus opened the way for a (total) world war and the atrocities of the Holocaust. Yet there are other widely debated explanations for this German enigma, of how Germany could create and get caught up in such a (self-)destructive chain of events. Early postwar interpretations of the rise of Nazism in German history have referred to it as an ‘accident’, an event which was largely unconnected to earlier epochs and traditions. However, after vocal controversy44 this was dismissed as apologetic and far from reality, and historians quickly looked for new explanations. Coinciding with the rise of social history in the late 1960s and early 1970s, their view turned to the search for long-term roots, in particular in the societal sphere. In the 1970s Hans-Ulrich Wehler most notably drew up the so-called Sonderweg thesis, according to which the Third Reich was the result of a ‘special’ and ‘separate’ German developmental path, implying that Nazism was the inevitable outcome of the past. More specifically, he suggested that pre-1933 sociopolitical heritage of the Third

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Reich and Germany were intimately connected by the fateful consequences of the country’s illiberal political tradition, thus assuming an illiberal continuity. This continuity then inevitably generated all the lethal consequences for Europe’s stability, which only came to end with the total defeat of Germany and its subsequent division, giving the year 1945 truly the role of a watershed.45 Revisionist and conservative historians have aimed more recently to counter the dominance of the this negative Sonderweg thesis based on bourgeois failure.46 Michael Stürmer and Hagen Schulze allege that ‘exposed geography’ is the source of German political difficulties, thus referring to a theory of a nation’s geopolitical trap.47 David Blackbourn and Geoff Eley have explained that ‘the popular social and political roots of National Socialism must be sought in the period before war and revolution’, while insisting that ‘German history from 1848 to 1945 was not a one-way street which came to an end with the Third Reich and allowed the new post-war departure.’48 Similarly, Nipperdey has argued that ‘the meaning of German Sonderweg must be weighed more precisely than has been done so far against European commonalities. The past is more than [mere] pre-history.’49 Richard Evans has paraphrased the same idea by writing that ‘there was [no] “special path” taken by Germany to “modernity” over a long period of time. To say that this was not the case is not to deny that National Socialism and its triumph in Germany had long-term roots. But it is to conclude that these cannot be understood by the Sonderweg theory.’ Some critiques of the Sonderweg argument have even concluded that ‘upon scrutiny every nation has its own exceptionalism’.50 Although Germany’s developments were particular and even peculiar, I would argue that they cannot be seen in isolation and as a particular oneway street without undergoing external influences, as the ‘orthodox’ German Sonderweg thesis postulates. Thus, any claims that the origins of the particular development of Germany lie solely within German society and Germany’s political culture—its illiberal civic culture—rather than also stemming from circumstances in the international system, have to be treated with some initial scepticism. In fact, the Sonderweg argument in many ways tends to be an overestimation of the total inevitability of historical developments while excluding the possibility of alternative developments. It is highly reductionist because it relies on a monocausal explantion and even worse, it is teleological. No doubt there were various continuities between 1871 and 1945, but there were also major ruptures when different choices could have meant a different German fate. Thus, I cannot but underwrite Nipperdey’s conclusion that ‘1933 is not the result of the continuity of German history, but rather 1933 is connected with the majority of dominant (although varied) continuities in German history’.51 TWO GERMANIES: THE END OF THE GERMAN ENIGMA? At the end of the Second World War, Germany was not only totally defeated and occupied by the Allies, it disappeared as a unified nation-state from the maps of Europe. Germany, and with it Europe, was divided into East and West as a consequence of the growing East-West conflict between the two superpowers (the USSR and the United States); in fact, the geographic and political centre of the Cold War was formed by the two German states. As East Germany (the GDR) and West Germany (the FRG) each

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became one of its bloc’s front-line states, Mitteleuropa as a geopolitical region faded from the mental maps in a world where the terms East and West expressed political and ideological reality. Germany’s division, first intended as a temporary measure52 but then, with the emerging bipolar structures, gaining a more and more definite character, seemed to provide the four Allied powers and the country’s neighbours with a solution to their troubles with Germany. All the key factors making up the historical German problem had disappeared at the end of the Second World War. Germany’s political, economic and military might was shattered, and after 1949 the Germans lived in two German states, which, were both regarded, although asymmetrically, as objects rather than subjects in the bipolar structure of states. The policies of each Germany were subordinated to the foreign policy guidelines of their respective alliance system. While in the case of the FRG political developments allowed an increasing ability to act more freely, the GDR in contrast was very much controlled by the authoritarian rule of Moscow. Paradoxically, the answer to the pre-1945 German Question appeared to lie in the anomaly, called the ‘two-state-solution’.53 In other words, this divided, non-sovereign ‘Germany’ finally seemed to allow a lasting—if cold—peace and stability in Europe. The phase from 1949–1989, characterised by the doubleness of German contemporary history,54 also represents a peculiarity in itself. It was a time during which the issue of (re)unification only existed as an unresolved legal problem, to be solved in the distant future and in which effectively only West Germany seemed to have an interest. But after 1960 Bonn did not conduct a reunification policy (Wiedervereinigungspolitik) on an operational level. Unification rhetoric, however, remained based on the injunction for a reunification policy as enunciated in the preamble of the Basic Law: ‘to achieve unity and freedom of Germany in free self-determination’.55 In fact, fully in line with international law, West Germany considered itself as the continuation of the legal subject of Germany, and consequently, the FRG openly acknowledged its links to the all-German past and cultural heritage while hoping to restore national unity some day.56 In contrast, East Germany adopted the two-state theory and claimed to be one of two succession states of the Reich. The GDR regime tried to create a totally new socialist East German nation and identity by dissociating itself from an all-German history including the Nazi past as well as the idea of the re-establishment of German unity. East Germany’s artificial identity with all its inherent legitimisation problems soon became evident, however.57 Being one of Moscow’s satellites, the GDR was a totally insignificant actor on the international stage. It is on these grounds, as well as on the basis that from today’s post-unification perspective the GDR only was an episode in German history, that I shall refrain in what follows from discussing East Germany’s internal developments between 1949 and 1989. While indeed the historical German Question had disappeared, the unresolved issue of German unification emerged as the new political German Question and was to lie at the heart of West Germany’s Deutschlandpolitik. 1945 was a historical caesura—for Germany probably far more than for any of its neighbours: sentimentally and morally, economically and politically, socially and culturally. Some historians have even gone so far as to suggest that the break of 1945 represented a ‘year zero’, a watershed and new beginning.58 But looking back at it, it was precisely the pre-1945 past that heavily influenced West German politics. There was a

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persistence of certain traditional elements in West German political culture. There was a continuity of some of the political elites, as well as evidence of the survival of some kind of traditional state-oriented culture. In other words, the dedication to legalistic, bureaucratic politics and to the efficiency of the state as well as the trend towards ideological absolutism with regard to West Germany’s purported fundamental values were signs of West German civic culture being rooted in pre-Second World War Germany.59 At the same time, it must be pointed out that the constitutional experience of the Weimar Republic served as a guiding line in the establishment of what was intended to be a more stable West German political order. Furthermore the fact that many civil servants and politicans, most prominently the first West German chancellor Konrad Adenauer, were of the pre-First World War generation meant that they represented lebensgeschichtliche (life-historical) continuities between past and present. In a positive way this meant that the devastating past stored in people’s memories was to be present in their thoughts and actions when aiming for a democratic and peaceful German future. In its most extreme form West Germans faced the moral dilemma of trying either to forget or continuously remember the past, an issue to which I shall return later in this chapter. While there were various continuities, there were also significant changes. The FRG’s civic culture underwent a major shift away from older traditions of authoritarianism and illiberalism towards Western democratic ideals, under the impact of Americanisation. The creation of a more liberal democratic-sociopolitical order brought about a new Western political culture and a denazified society.60 Although imposed, this seemed a strongly welcomed process. What did this mean for West Germany’s foreign policy? Bonn’s foreign policy was created on the grounds that its foreign policy makers were neither allowed—both morally and strategically—to engage in open debates over fundamental concepts such as national interest and power, nor did they themselves want to do so. These externally imposed and self-imposed taboos became synonymous with the ‘Europeanisation’ of West German foreign policy reflected in Konrad Adenauer’s policy of western integration—which was directed towards FRG membership of the European Community (EC) and NATO.61 Thus, through the course of the Cold War, the Bonn government adopted a devotion to multilateralism as a surrogate for the traditional unilateral pursuit of national interests, leading to what was called a ‘post-national’ West German identity.62 Further, numerous observers described West Germany as the epitome of what Richard Rosecrance termed a trading state, one whose international relationships are defined by its economic role rather than by military or political power.63 In a similar vein, Peter J.Katzenstein has pointed to the fact that the concept of ‘power’ was eliminated from the FRG’s political vocabulary, while it adopted the language of ‘political responsibility’.64 Indeed, the West Germans tended to shy away from military or political power, with which their ancestors had been obsessed (Machtversessenheit), and thus Hans-Peter Schwarz referred in the mid-1980s to the Germans’ Machtvergessenheit.65 Hanns W.Maull portrayed the FRG as a state that pursues its objectives co-operatively and primarily through supranational institutions concentrating solely on non-military means and described it as a ‘civilian power’ with ‘verflochtene Interessen’ (interwoven interests).66 Indeed, this semi-sovereign, integrated and ‘Europeanised’ West Germany conducted a foreign policy characterised by what is called the ‘culture of restraint’. In other words,

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Bonn rejected the philosophy of exerting power through force or the threat of force and consciously avoided assuming a high profile or openly seeking a strong leadership role in European affairs. Simultaneously it influenced politics by its growing economic power, and was increasingly considered a ‘normal’ member within the international community of states. Interestingly, West Germany, which had been created as a temporary state and considered a historical anomaly, became increasingly a definitivum (definitive) and normal establishment. The political German Question of (re)unification seemed more and more insoluble and remained mostly alive as a legally unresolved issue as well as in the politicians’ rhetoric. Over the decades the FRG gained credibility in its own right, international stature and independence—this last became particularly evident when West Germany by the late 1960s started to conduct its own, relatively independent Ostpolitik.67 However, there was a problem with this seeming ‘normality’, revolving around the question of how Germany confronted its disastrous past, and how that affected its politics. In fact, the Nazi Reich haunted West Germany like a nightmare, and clearly served as a source of contrast and a lesson in the development of a new, democratic German civic culture. While East Germany tried to present itself as a totally new epoch in German history, West German consciousness focused on the past and tended to concentrate on the Third Reich. West German politics were continuously judged against Germany’s history, thus creating, on a more philosophical level, a historico-moral link between West Germany and the Germany that existed between 1871 and 1945.68 Apparently insoluble moral burdens seemed to be present in Germany, creating a very particular West German self-consciousness. In the light of past misdeeds, there was a deep desire for German international rehabilitation which was especially reflected in government policies of Wiedergutmachung (reconciliation), often tied to financial compensation, and in the profound interest in enhancing international trust in (West) Germany.69 Moreover, with the West Germans trying consciously to come to terms with guilt and personal or collective memory and responsibility,70 politics and society confronted themselves likewise with the mastering of the past, the so-called Vergangenheitsbewältigung.71 This last became suddenly a highly contentious issue in West Germany, when in 1986–87 the famous Historikerstreit surfaced, with scholars and politicians engaging in a huge public debate: could the Third Reich be historicised? In other words, could National Socialism be normalised by treating it along with other nations’ episodes of terror, and thus make the Holocaust irrelevant to contemporary German politics? Or should continual acceptance of historical responsibility underlie Bonn’s commitment to democracy? The historians’ controversy revealed that the Nazi legacy in German history, even forty years after the end of the Third Reich, continued to be a predicament which dominated German politics and political thinking, thus demonstrating that the historical German Question was only dormant.72 The astounding events of summer and autumn 1989, pointing to the imminent reestablishment of German unity, completely shook just about all the (West) German ‘certainties’ and ‘normalities’ of the previous forty years. With unification in sight, division suddenly seemed to turn into an episode in German history, and the world was reminded that a divided Germany could not be considered a ‘normality’ or even an eternal solution. As the future of ‘Germany’ and with it the entire European continent

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seemed uncertain, it was not surprising that the persistent shadows of the past were revived, especially in the international perspectives of Germany. The highly self-assertive unification policies of the West German chancellor, Helmut Kohl, especially his bilateral dealings with Washington and more extraordinarily Moscow, only gave rise to new questions. Historical fears rematerialised about the possibility of an enlarged, dynamic Germany with a population of 80 million having distorting consequences for Europe.73 In fact, some even evoked concerns about a ‘Fourth Reich’.74 Whereas the political German Question found its answer in German unification, a ‘new German Question’75 emerged—yet with some similarities to the historical one. It was reflected in a domestic and international debate on the future direction of Germany’s foreign policy, Germany’s ‘normality’76 and the balance of power in Europe. GERMAN UNIFICATION AND THE FEATURES OF THE NEW GERMAN QUESTION With the re-establishment of one Germany, the issue of national unity was legally resolved. In fact, the quest for territorial revision that had characterised German foreign policy from the Treaty of Versailles to German unification in 1990 and that had such a destabilising impact on European security, was replaced by the renunciation of territorial expansion. Bonn accepted de jure the Oder-Neisse line as Germany’s eastern border and committed itself to maintaining the new status quo.77 Only the very delicate issue of Kaliningrad, as one of the Second World War remnants, has remained unresolved de jure, as it was not touched upon in the 2+4 treaty. Bonn’s abandonment of any territorial claims, however, and its acceptance of the geopolitical realities meant that de facto Kaliningrad would remain Russian territory. The unexpected and speedy restoration of the German nation-state posed the question of German nationalism and the renationalisation of German identity. In the context of the Kohl government’s push for unification the West German thesis of a post-national selfconsciousness was thrown in doubt. Yet as chapter 1 has revealed, unification was not about Germanness related to an aggressive nationalism (based on culture, language or ethnicity). The East Germans’ drive for unity was mainly based on economic grounds, while Kohl’s incentive to take political leadership in the events was prompted by political calculation and rational patriotism. The unification process thus reflected the Germans’ dissociation from any sort of traditional nationalism. In consequence, the territorial and legal German unification by itself did not result in immediate, genuine East-West German cultural and psychological unity, that is the re-establishment of a homogenous German identity.78 No doubt, forty years of politico-ideological and psychological separation cannot be overthrown overnight and, therefore, the doubleness of German contemporary history proves to be a significant historical burden for unified Germany. Michael Meyer has identified this new German dilemma as ‘one nation, but two peoples’. And it is this dilemma he consideres ‘the reincarnation of the German Question though in a new form’.79 Yet, as I will show, identity was just one of many facets of the ‘new German Question’. In 1990, doubts were also raised as to whether the symbiosis of West German and Western European thinking and civic culture80—as it had been adopted by Bonn after the

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Second World War—would survive in a unified Germany in the future. Or would the Germans at some point in the future go their own way again? Significantly, the issue of Germany’s identity is coupled with the dimension of civic culture. During the Cold War the FRG had adopted an identity of mixed elements: economic pride and wellbeing (rooted in the ‘economic miracle’ and the social market economy), commitment to the Constitution, post-national European integration, and an all-German past.81 Especially, the establishment of lasting peace between West Germany and the West reflected in its membership of both NATO and the EU rank among the great success stories of postwar Western and West German diplomacy. The steady democratisation of West Germany’s civic culture, coupled with the adoption of an identity anchored in the West, has been a source of reassurance to the country’s traumatised neighbours in the West, France in particular. When Germany unified, West Germany absorbed East Germany in the unification process constitutionally and politically. Bonn’s civic culture and all that was associated with it simply prevailed over that of East Germany. The rush to German unity instantly demolished the East German theory of an equally strong separate ‘socialist nation’ which had been juxtaposed to West Germany’s ideology of linking the FRG to the all-German past and cultural heritage as well as promoting national (re)unification on Western terms. It is significant that in the context of double contemporary history, unified Germany’s Western civic culture as well as its ‘new’ Western national identity seem somehow artificially constructed. It will take time for these to become fully internalised by all Germans. And it is this issue of time that has allowed for speculation among pessimists about the rise of some kind of German nationalism that could potentially find expression in an expansionist foreign policy.82 Yet German political culture and civic society of the 1990s has been strikingly different from those of the period 1871–1945. Germany today is not burdened by the social cleavages that were so problematic for the Reich and the Weimar Republic. Major changes in West Germany’s society have helped to stabilise the country and to root it firmly in Western civic culture. Among these changes figure prominently the disappearance of the landlords, the political integration of the middle class, the balancing of education in all spheres of society and of course the implementation of democracy and the importing of Western values in general under the Western allies during the Cold War.83 Thus, even if one saw Germany’s past problems as rooted in the ‘illiberal society’, ‘illiberal civic culture’ and ‘Prussian militarism’ just as the Sonderweg advocates have done, such interpretations were missing the point in terms of explaining the realities of the post-1990 Germany. Unified Germany reaffirmed its commitment to the political and military institutions of the West and in consequence the continuity of Bonn’s Western identity and civic culture, underlined by its emphasis on a policy of peace in foreign relations and action in a multilateral framework.84 In fact, Bonn took the unprecedented step of including de jure commitments to develop a further integrated European Union by amending Article 23 of the Basic Law in December 1992. The link between German national and European interests had hence become anchored in the constitution.85 Indeed, chancellor Kohl’s persistence in making German and European integration parallel processes derived not only from foreign reaction to German power, and a French wish to continue to harness Germany, but also from a German fear of German power. Germany’s integration into the

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West is hence not simply about identity and civic culture, but in the international context crucially about Germany’s power. Binding Germany to European integration seemed to have replaced the quest for an independent course between East and West (Schaukelpolitik) that accompanied the former German power-state’s foreign policy from its first steps in 1871 to capitulation in 1945. In this vein, in addition the renunciation of any territorial claims ended the fatal cleavage between culture-nation and nation-state that had existed throughout history. The feature of identity and the question of the integration of Germans living outside the heartland, especially in the east, had in the past been linked to an Ostpolitik guided by territorial ambitions. In 1990, this correlation had become irrelevant. The newly unified German government focused its policies on the minority rights of Germans in Poland and Russia, and the integration of ethnic Germans into the FRG, as well as reconciliation with the countries of east central Europe.86 Western and German insistence on placing the new, unified Germany firmly within Western institutional structures was clearly an outgrowth of perceived lessons of the German and European past. Significantly, Kohl and Genscher, as political personalities of a certain generation, represented the continuity of West Germany’s foreign policy traditions. Both the chancellor and foreign minister did not tire of pointing to the long shadows of Germany’s fatal pre-1945 unilateralism as a major point of reference in foreign policy-making. Integration with the West was necessary, inevitable and, under the new circumstances, desirable. In this sense, Germany in 1990 presented itself as a postclassical nation-state.87 Against the above analysis it can be argued that in the strictest sense of our framework, the German Question’s feature of unity was resolved in 1990, and also, with firmly democratic political structures in place in Germany, the old problem of an antiWestern civic culture can largely be sidelined. Still, with regard to civic culture one should not overlook the most recently strengthened position of the PDS (Partei des Demokratischen Sozialismus—the successor party of the GDR’s Socialist Unity Party) in the political land-scape of the former East German Länder including Berlin, that poses a significant challenge to the Red-Green versus CDU—Free Democratic Party (FDP) matrix that has dominated (West) German politics for the last two decades. Similarly, while the issue of identity in relation to territory and Western orientation seems stabilised, new intra-German debates on matters such as immigration, German citizenship and multiculturalism show some lack of orientation. More problematic, however, in the international context are the aspects of place and power—factors that lie at the heart of the present as much as the past German Questions.88 Let us first turn to place. The essence of unified Germany’s foreign policy environment is the country’s central continental location. During the period of the Cold War Germany was divided, and the ‘fateful’ German tradition of linking politics to geography by oscillating between east and west (‘seesaw politics’) had given way to the FRG’s tie to the West and the GDR’s tie to the East. In 1991, a unified Germany—anchored in the West culturally and politically— was once again located at the geographic heart of Europe, a Europe considerably transformed, despite some suggestive similarities to an older Europe of the interwar period especially in the post-Communist east.89 Jochen Thies captured the significance and implications of this mixture of changes and continuities by stating:

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History starts to matter again. Germany cannot escape from it, nor can the country run away from the new realities of geography. There is no relief from being positioned in the middle of Europe. Germany has to accept the fact and must act in order to overcome the traumatic memories of the past when the middle position after Bismarck led to great European wars, bringing to an end the history of the German Reich, founded in 1871, after just two generations in 1945.90 Yet again, for unified Germany’s neighbours its geopolitical location coupled with its growing power were the source of historical trauma and insecurity. This led to concern about where German national interests were to lie in the future: would they be more with its fellow NATO and EU partners, or lean rather to the historical notions of Mitteleuropa? In this context, the vote on 20 June 1991 to move the capital from Bonn to Berlin, implying a shift from the Bonn republic to the Berliner Republik (although in practice the move and the use of the term would only occur under the government of Gerhard Schröder) was highly symbolic. Speculation surfaced as to whether moving the capital eastwards might have a real political impact.91 It goes without saying that for former East German citizens (East) Berlin always used to be the capital, and that for them any discussion about the Berlin republic is therefore of much less importance. From a West German or international perspective however, moving the capital to Berlin seemed to mirror a shift of Germany’s foreign political focus from the Rhineland eastwards to the centre of Europe. While Bonn represented virtues that were linked to West Germany’s curbed sovereignty, the eschewing of power politics to focus instead on economic prosperity and on minimalist political profile, and the replacement of nationalism by ever closer European integration, Berlin was to be associated again with Germany’s sovereignty, power and a geographically central position.92 Yet we should not consider the central position in itself to be a causality leading to German aggressive expansionism, as for instance Schulze and Stürmer have done.93 Rather than being based solely on Germany’s geographical position at the heart of Europe as such, the old central position argument must be associated with the unholy alliance of various (geo)political factors. These include Germany’s geographic and political location, an authoritarian or totalitarian sub-systemic context, power politics and the historical implications of a unified Germany’s Ostpolitik. In this vein, former German president Richard von Weizsäcker argued in 1992 that the new unified Germany has been ‘redeemed from the central position’.94 Indeed today Germany’s central position must be analysed against the background of Germany’s ideological and political tie to the West. Still, place affects power(-projection). And most poignantly Hans-Peter Schwarz referred in 1994 to Germany as the re-emerging ‘Zentralmacht Europas’.95 The double connotation of Zentralmacht might be misleading. On the one hand, Zentralmacht simply addresses Germany’s central geographical position at the heart of Europe and can be equalled with the term zentrale Macht; on the other hand, it alludes to Germany as a leading power located at the centre of a power structure of nation-states such as the EU or the European continent in general. It is precisely in this double meaning of Zentralmacht that the German Question around the factors power and place becomes most visible and gives room to speculation about Germany. Or, as W.R.Smyser put it: ‘Now there is…[a]

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new German question: How should the world react to a Germany that is united, democratic, and responsible, that is not bent on aggression, but that remains powerfully influential and that has its own interests and pursues them?’96 THE ‘NORMALITY’ DEBATE, OR THE PAST IN THE PRESENT The fact that the shadows of the past continue to affect public life in Germany itself has been most visible in what has been called the post-Cold War ‘normality’ debate. Indeed, over the last decade, German politicians, scholars and the public alike have increasingly looked to assess the nature of unified Germany’s policies, domestic and foreign, by focusing on the geography-responsibility-power nexus. Is Germany a ‘normal’ nation-state, or is it at least undergoing the process of ‘normalisation’?97 These are the central questions in the normality debate. When trying to understand and examine the implications of Germany’s reappearance as Europe’s central power in the context of the German ‘normality’ debate, each of the various assessments and interpretations of Germany’s role and policies can be assigned to one of two schools of thoughts. I refer here to Josef Janning’s distinction between the ‘traditionalists’ or ‘realists’ versus ‘modernists educated in a structural analysis of international affairs’.98 A similar division is suggested by Jonathan Bach, who refers to ‘realists’ and ‘liberals’.99 The ‘realists’, including Hans-Peter Schwarz, Michael Stürmer, Gregor Schöllgen and Christian Hacke,100 advocate a greater sense of German ‘normality’—expressed in occasionally revisionist historiography of the Third Reich—the need for a more assertive foreign policy (rational and responsible power politics) linked to the more assertive role of Germany, and the pursuit of national interests in a world where the classical balance of power was still relevant. Among German political elites, proponents of some sort of normalisation were between 1990 and 1998 mostly found in the then governing CDU/CSU and FDP. While foreign minister Klaus Kinkel declared that ‘Germany must accept the normalisation of its situation as a reunified, sovereign nation and deduce from this its international role’,101 defence minister Volker Rühe called on Germany to take on the same responsibilities as its alliance partners102 with regard to the use of military power. These views were shared further by the CDU’s foreign policy spokesman Karl Lamers, who asserted that ‘Germany…must…acknowledge its power…without forgetting its history; Germany must become as normal as possible.’103 The counter-discourse to normalisation has been led by ‘liberals’—among whom Otto-Ernst Czempiel, Dieter Senghaas, Hans W.Maull and, most prominently, Jürgen Habermas104—who argue that ultimately post-Nazi Germany can never be ‘normal’ because the Sonderweg past cannot be pushed aside in favour of a partly revisionist and partly ahistorical sense of post-unification ‘normality’. Further, having ‘learned its lesson’, unified Germany has retained a responsibility to itself, to its history and the international community to use its de facto power as a force solely for peace and democracy. Accordingly Germany has to avoid succumbing to the traditional tools of power politics such as the military, and emphasise economics, politics and collective action.

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Politically, the group of opponents of normalisation could largely be found in the SPD, the Greens and partly in the FDP. They believed that other states should adopt the FRG’s traditional political philosophy of anti-militarism and humanitarianism, instead of Germany trying to become more like them. Bundestag member Herta Däubler-Gmelin (SPD) for instance stated in 1992 that ‘we couldn’t care less about a normality that needs symbolic destroyers and airplanes in the Adriatic’.105 Yet, over the decade—especially during the out-of-area debate—the SPD’s and the Greens’ position evolved, and after they took over their governmental duties from the CDU-FDP coalition in 1998, chancellor Schröder (SPD), foreign minister Joschka Fischer (Greens) and defence minister Rudolf Scharping (SPD) conducted foreign policy on the grounds of realpolitik. Already in his inaugural speech Schröder implicitly alluded to Germany’s ‘normalising’ status in international politics and its increasing dissociation from the past by referring to ‘the self-confidence of a grown-up nation that does not need to feel inferior to anybody’.106 Yet why was it that especially after unification ‘normalisation’ and ‘normality’ became such important issues in Germany, leading to controversial debates among scholars and politicians alike? What is ‘normal’ in international politics and what is ‘normal’ for Germany? As it applies today, ‘normal’ is applied simply to mean ‘like everybody else’.107 One could argue that once Germany is considered ‘normal’ this would mean that the German Question is finally and fully resolved. Yet, the definition of ‘normality’ is connected to views of the role of a state in international relations, and although the debate is German and internal, it depends on the perceptions and expectations of others of what is ‘normal’ for Germany, thus referring to the debate on Germany abroad.108 Has the (re)unified Germany a truly Western political identity, through which power and democracy can be co-ordinated? The underlying problem for ‘normality’ is of course that part of Germany’s past associated especially with German Sonderweg: the questions around the Germans’ identity coupled with an illiberal civic culture and the abuse of power between 1871 and 1945 in the frameworks of Welt- and Lebensraumpolitik. The Nazi legacy has been engraved in the collective memory of the Germans as well as that of their neighbours. For this reason, despite West Germany’s evolution into a democratic and Western political entity since 1945, the sovereign unified Germany is yet again under special scrutiny at home and abroad. In what follows the way in which the past continues to affect domestic German affairs today will be explored. Various domestic German controversies during the 1990s demonstrated how much history, morals and politics were entwined in unified Germany, that is, how pervasively the pre-world war era is present in German memory, and how deeply history affects contemporary politics. One has to understand that in effect unification doubled the burden of the German past. Just as personal memories of the Third Reich had begun to fade, fresh recollections of communist repression surfaced. Coming to terms with the ‘red’ past in 1990 looked in practice similar to the post-1945 phase; it included purging the civil and secret service as well as university staff, prosecuting criminal perpetrators and compensating their victims.109 Significantly, the SED, although with a new more Western orientation, survived in the form of its successor party, the PDS. Between 1949 and 1989 West and East Germany had gone down separate paths in confronting (and avoiding) the legacy of Nazism and the Second World War. Ironically

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there was some projection of the past by each on to the other as West Germans compared Nazi and communist totalitarianism and the East German regime had depicted Western capitalism as intimately linked with the Fascist disaster.110 Yet now, as a unified nation, the Germans were compelled to revisit their combined past—Nazi and communist—a process which is called doppelte Vergangenheitsbewältigung (the simultaneous mastering of two pasts).111 I shall refer essentially to the all-German legacy of the Nazi past, as it is this history of prewar Germany, linked to the idea of Sonderweg, that seems to affect contemporary German national and international politics (more than the communist era, which is essentially an East German legacy and without future international consequences). Two events stand out: first, the commemorations of the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War in 1995 which reminded the world of the ‘abnormality’ of Germany’s status in international affairs as German politicians had to accept occasional exclusion from international ceremonies. Furthermore, at home the country was torn by a debate over whether May 1945 had been the occasion of surrender or of liberation.112 Second, in 1996–97—ten years after the Historikerstreit—Daniel Goldhagen’s book Hitler’s Willing Executioners113 triggered a massive historical controversy especially in Germany. Whereas the historians’ controversy of the 1980s had remained very much a specialists’ debate, Goldhagen’s book received almost from the start overwhelming public attention. His guest lectures in Germany were all sold out. Without judging the book’s historical value, it was significant that more than half a century after the events in the unified Federal Republic, coming to terms with the Nazi legacy still created enormous emotional turmoil among scholars, the population and the political elites alike.114 It is striking that the post-unification period in general seems to have produced an ever intensifying Streitkultur on the country’s past in Germany. Historical controversies which have captured both the political and societal spheres include: the re-evaluation of the resistance against Hitler,115 the rededication in 1993 to all victims of war and tyranny rather than to victims of Fascism of Germany’s central memorial site Neue Wache in Berlin, the (Holocaust) memorial debate (1989–99),116 the Wehrmacht exhibition in 1997,117 the Walser-Bubis debate in 1998,118 the legal dispute about compensation for the Zwangsarbeiter who worked in the German industry during the Hitler regime (1998– 2000)119 and the recently emerged second Historikerstreit around Ernst Nolte in 2000.120 I shall discuss some of these further below. The change of government in 1998 did not affect the continuity of the various debates on the culture of remembrance; on the contrary, the rise to power of a new, younger generation of political leaders only added to the intensity of the debates. The move from the Kohl era to the Schröder government was significant in many ways. It was the first change of government in the Federal Republic’s history which occurred through a federal vote and it truly represented a generational shift. The Red-Green government led by chancellor Gerhard Schröder (SPD) and foreign minister Joschka Fischer (Greens) represented the ‘1968’ political generation; it was the first German government in which both coalition partners would describe themselves as left and in which no member had served in the armed forces of the Third Reich. Indeed, almost none of them had served in the Bundeswehr either. With regard to the political weight of Germany’s historical burden, it was clear that while chancellor Kohl had made ‘learning from history’ a centre of political vision, chancellor Schröder spoke of Germany’s ‘new uninhibitedness’121 and

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pointed to the ‘democratic normality…[of a nation] that confronts its history and its responsibility, but despite its willingness to do so, also looks to the future’.122 Kohl’s historical thinking had shown how each generation of political elites conducts policies based on their past experience. In this light, a shift in German policy under a new chancellor born in the postwar world was to be expected. There were, however, no doubts that the legacy of Nazi crimes would not stop affecting German politics.123 Ironically, during its first two years the new government was confronted with the Nazi legacy to a much greater extent than could have been expected. There was first the debate about the Holocaust memorial, to which the Schröder government initially objected; however, after heated debates, the Bundestag voted in favour on 25 June 1999, finally ending a ten-year controversy. In consequence, it was clear that Germany’s ongoing ‘normalisation’ process, which the new government promoted publicly, was closely linked with Germany’s continued self-confrontation with its past that shall not be forgotten. The Walser-Bubis debate of 1998 and the new Historikerstreit after the awarding of the Konrad Adenauer Prize for literature to Ernst Nolte in June 2000 have revealed that right-wingers use the idea of German ‘normality’ for their revisionist purposes. They promote precisely ‘the passing of the past’ and aim to push their ideas to the conventional centre. Martin Walser—on the occasion of the presentation of the Frankfurt Book Prize in 1998—stated that German historical guilt was a ‘moral stick’ used to beat the German people and that Auschwitz had been instrumentalised as ‘a permanent exhibition of [the Germans’] shame.’124 In similar vein, Nolte upon receiving his prize daringly claimed that Hitler’s anti-Semitism had a ‘rational core’, that Nazism was anti-Bolshevik and that the Jews ‘supported Bolshevism’. His generalisation about the political proclivities of Jews was a scandal in itself, but the deeper outrage was caused by his attempt publicly to rehabilitate Hitler and his praise of racist propaganda.125 Both debates were widely publicised in the German press, and they have spread to involve German societal and political elites in arguing about Germany’s ‘culture of shame and remembrance’. Since 1990 the self-perception of the unified, democratic German state has been strongly affected by the legacy and trauma of a disastrous past that continues to cast its shadows across the present. Domestic controversies have regularly featured references to Germany’s Nazi legacy, which has meant the Germans’ continuous self-assessment. In this sense the process of Germany’s ‘normalisation’ seems far from conclusion. Of course one can argue that every nation has its ‘ghosts of history’, and the debates over the meaning and the lessons of the past is not Germany-specific. However, the twentieth century has left the Germans with a national history that is so complex and traumatic as to guarantee the persistence of controversy and suspicion. As state secretary Wolfgang Ischinger stated in 1999: We cannot be a normal country and we will not be even in the foreseeable future. We have to remain conscious about the fact that our neighbours and partners will not look at us as a normal country due to our particular German history. It is simply so.126 Although Günther Verheugen postulated in the same year that ‘There is no more a German Question. That is the past’,127 we have to recognise that if Germany cannot be

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normal, at least not in the foreseeable future, this means that aspects of the German Question are unanswered. While the concepts of the historical, political and new German Question have helped to distinguish between different epochs in our discussion of Germany since 1871, as well as serving to indicate broadly the varying nature of the German problem in those periods, it is the new thematic approach that has allowed us to describe, examine and evaluate the evolution of each of the five features of the German Question—unity, identity, civic culture, place and power—over the last 130 years. Germany’s peaceful unification, its de jure renunciation of any territorial revisionism and its commitment to postwar Western civic culture and identity imply that three of the five main features of the German Question have been largely resolved or at least in the international context are less acutely a cause of worry than in the past. Evidently the German society continues to be uneasy about the handling of its Nazi past, but time after time the political elite recommits itself to the morality of the Bonn republic. The new German Question as it emerged in 1990 was essentially about the historical problem of Germany’s place and power. How then have the elements of place and power been reflected in unified Germany’s West(europa)politik and especially in its Ostpolitik during 1991–2000? NOTES 1‘The first foundation of a state is its space…the second foundation of a state is its people. [The people] is less easy to define than the space, and in contrast to the latter, the former cannot be changed with line of a pen’. Eberhard Jäckel, ‘Geschichtliche Grundlagen der Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, in Karl Dietrich Bracher, Theodor Eschenburg, Johannes C.Fest and Eberhard Jäckel (eds), Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, Band 1 (Stuttgart: DVA, 1983), pp. 9–11. 2 What is to be called ‘Germany’ in this and the following chapters will mean the political unit of Germany in the particular state form as it existed at each of the periods referred to. In a politico-legal sense, the term ‘Germany’—Deutschland—has only been officially used for ‘Germany’ as it has existed since (re)unification in 1990, although the exact official term is Bundesrepublik Deutschland. ‘Germany’ after 1871 was either the ‘German Reich’ (1871– 1918), the ‘Weimar Republic’ (1918–33), the ‘Third Reich’ (1933–45) or, in its divided (provisional) form, West Germany (FRG—Federal Republic of Germany) and East Germany (GDR—German Democratic Republic) from 1949 to 1989. 3 Reference is made here only to the latest or most interesting studies on the various aspects of the German Question, representing thus the current historiography. It is from this literature that other monographs can be tracked down. See Wolf D.Gruner, Die deutsche Frage (Munich: Beck, 1985); idem, Deutschland mitten in Europa (Hamburg: Krämer, 1992); Imanuel Geiss, Die deutsche Frage 1806–1990 (Mannheim: B.I.-Taschenbuchverlag, 1992); Harold James, A German Identity (London: Phoenix Press, 1994); Dirk Verheyen, The German Question, 2nd edn (Oxford: Westview, 1999); Richard J.Evans, Rereading German History (London: Routledge, 1997); Wilhelm Röpke, The German Question (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1946); A.J.P.Taylor, The Course of German History (London: Methuen, 1961); George Bailey, Germans (New York: Avon Books, 1972); Charles S.Maier, The Unmasterable Past, 2nd edn (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997); David Calleo, The German Problem Reconsidered (Cambridge: CUP, 1980); Josef Becker and Andreas Hillgruber (eds), Die deutsche Frage im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert (Munich: Vogel, 1983); Thomas Nipperdey, Nachdenken über die deutsche Geschichte (Munich: Beck, 1986); Wilfried Loth, Ost-West-Konflikt und deutsche Frage (Munich: DTV, 1989); idem

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(ed.), Die deutsche Frage in der Nachkriegszeit (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1994); Andreas Hillgruber, Deutsche Geschichte 1945–1975 (Frankfurt a. M.: Ullstein, 1980); Arnulf Baring (ed.), Germany’s New Position (Oxford: Berg, 1994); Hans-Peter Schwarz, Die Zentralmacht Europas (Berlin: Siedler, 1994); David Schoenbaum and Elizabeth Pond, The German Question and Other German Questions (Basingstoke: Macmillan in asssociation with St Anthony’s College, Oxford, 1996). 4 Gruner, Deutsche Frage, pp. 15–24. 5 Verheyen, German Question, pp. 1–5. 6 For the issue of perspective, see Röpke, German Question, pp. 15–16. 7 Gruner, Deutsche Frage, pp. 19, 21. 8 See Klaus Hildebrand, Das vergangene Reich, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1996), p. 868. 9 See Geiss, ‘Die deutsche Frage im internationalen System’, in Hans-Jürgen Schröder, Die deutsche Frage als internationales Problem (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1990), pp. 29–30. 10 Eberhard v. Vietsch spoke of the Gesetz der Enge (law of confinement) in his book ‘Die Tradition der groβen Mächte (Stuttgart: Union Dt. Verlagsges, 1950), pp. 259–60. 11 Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, p. 872. 12 Bailey, Germans, p. 340. 13 Heinrich A.Winkler, Der Lange Weg nach Westen, Band I (Munich: Beck, 2000), p. 5. 14 See Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, p. 872. 15 Sebastian Haffner, Von Bismarck zu Hitler (Munich: Kindler, 1987), p. 15. 16 See Jean-Marie Mayeur, ‘Elsaß, Lothringen und die Deutsche Frage 1870–1945’, in Becker and Hillgruber, Deutsche Frage, pp. 221–38. 17 See Hans Rothfels, Bismarck, der Osten und das Reich (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1960), pp. 1–68. 18 Helmuth Plessner, Die verspätete Nation (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1982). 19 See Nipperdey, Nachdenken, p. 213. 20 See Verheyen, German Question, pp. 22–3; Karl D.Bracher, The German Dilemma, trans. Richard Barry (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1974), p. 15. 21 See Fritz Stern, The Politics of Cultural Despair (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963), pp. xi–xxx, 267–98; Hildebrand, Vergangenens Reich, pp. 875–9; Nipperdey, Nachdenken, p. 213. Cf. Eberhard Kolb (ed.), Europa und die Reichsgründung (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1980). 22 See Ralf Dahrendorf, Society and Democracy in Germany (New York: Norton, 1979), pp. 285–327. 23 Otto Brunner, Werner Konze, and Reinhart Koselleck (eds), Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, Bd.3 (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1982), pp. 779–85. 24 See David Blackbourn and Geoff Eley, The Peculiarities of German History (Oxford: OUP, 1984), pp. 127–55; cf. Stig Förster, Der doppelte Militarismus (Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, 1985). 25 For a general discussion of some of these ideological developments in nineteenth-and early twentieth-century Germany, see George L.Mosse, The Crisis of German Ideology (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1966). 26 Cf. Michael Peters, Der Alldeutsche Verband am Vorabend des Ersten Weltkrieges (1908– 1914) (Frankfurt a. M.: P.Lang, 1992); Roger Chickering, We Men who Feel Most German (London: Allen & Unwin, 1984). 27 See H.C.Meyer, Mitteleuropa in German Thought and Action, 1815–1945 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1955). 28 See Jörg Brechtefeld, Mitteleuropa and German Politics (London: Macmillan, 1996), pp. 31–8. 29 Theodor Schieder, Staatensystem als Vormacht der Welt 1848–1918 (Frankfurt a. M.: Propyläen, 1977), p. 253.

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30 See Thomas Nipperdey, Deutsche Geschichte 1866–1918, Band 2, special edn (Munich: Beck, 1998), p. 428; Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, p. 20. 31 Johannes Ziekursch, Politische Geschichte des neuen deutschen Kaiserreiches, Band 1 (Frankfurt a. M., 1925), p. 3. 32 See Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich; Peter Graf von Kielmansegg, Deutschland und der Erste Weltkrieg (Frankfurt a. M: Athenaion, 1968). See also Vejas G.Liulevicius, War Land on the Eastern Front (Cambridge: CUP, 1999). 33 Ibid.; Winfried Baumgart, Deutsche Ostpolitik 1918 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1966). 34 See Nipperdey, Nachdenken, p. 213. 35 See Nipperdey, Nachdenken. p. 213. 36 See Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, pp. 383–406. 37 ‘Bis zur tödlichen Entzweiung, die zu seinem Untergang wesentlich beitrug, wurde in Weimar über den Sinn der Demokratie und die Methode der Revision gekämpft.’ Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, p. 888. 38 See Detlef J.K.Peukert, Die Weimarer Republik (Darmstadt: WBG, 1997), pp. 266–72. 39 For the Reichswehr’s war plans since 1923, see Carl Dirks and Karl-Heinz Janssen, Der Krieg der Generäle (Berlin: Propyläen, 1999). 40 See Peukert, Weimarer Republik, pp. 199–204. 41 See Brechtefeld, Mitteleuropa, pp. 52–7. 42 See Henry Cord Meyer, Drang nach Osten (Bern: Lang, 1996). 43 See Rolf-Dieter Müller and Gerd R.Ueberschär, Hitlers Krieg im Osten 1941–1945 (Darmstadt: WBG, 2000). See also for the various intepretations of Hitler’s war aims, Ian Kershaw, The Nazi Dictatorship (London: Arnold, 2000); idem, Hitler, 1936–1945, trans. Klaus Kochmann (Stuttgart: DVA, 2000); Tobias Jersak, ‘Die Interaktion von Kriegsverlauf und Judenvernichtung: Ein Blick auf Hitlers Strategie im Spätsommer 1941’, Historische Zeitschrift, 268 (1999), pp. 311–74. 44 For the Fischer thesis from the 1960s see Fritz Fischer, Griff nach der Weltmacht (Düsseldorf: Droste, 1961); James A.Moses, The Politics of Illusion—The Fischer Controversy in German Historiography (London: G.Prior, 1975). Cf. Maier, Unmasterable Past, pp. 99–106. 45 See Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Krisenherde des Kaiserreichs, 1871–1918 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1970); idem, Deutsche Gesellschaftsgeschichte, 3 vols (Munich: Beck, 1987–1995); Nipperdey, ‘“Wehler’s Kaiserreich”—Eine kritische Auseinandersetzung’, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 1 (1975), pp. 539–60; Heinrich A.Winkler, Mittelstand, Demokratie und Nationalsozialismus (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1972); cf. R.Dahrendorf, Gesellschaft und Freiheit (Munich: R.Piper, 1965); idem, Society and Democracy in Germany (New York: Norton, 1979). See also Maier, Unmasterable Past, pp. 102–5. 46 It is not my intention to discuss the entire Sonderweg historiography in the following, but to point the reader to a few outstanding works from where further literature can be deduced. See Maier, Unmasterable Past; Richard J.Evans, Rethinking German History (London: Unwin Hyman, 1990); Mary Fulbrook, German National Identity after the Holocaust (Oxford: Polity Press, 1999); Bernd Faulenbach, ‘“Deutscher Sonderweg”—Zur Geschichte und Problematik einer zentralen Kategorie des deutschen geschichtlichen Bewußtseins’, Aus Politik und Zeitgeschichte (henceforth APuZ) B 33/81, pp. 3–21; idem, ‘Überwindung des “deutschen Sonderweges”? Zur politischen Kultur der Deutschen seit dem Zweiten Weltkrieg’, APuZ B 51/98, pp. 11–23; Dirk Blasius, ‘Von Bismarck zu Hitler: Kontinuität und Kontinuitätsbegehren in der deutschen Geschichte’, APuZ B 51/98, pp. 3–10; Jürgen Kocka, ‘Nach dem Ende des Sonderweges: Zur Tragfähigkeit einer Konzeptes’, in Amd Bauerkämper, Martin Sabrow and Bernd Stöver (eds), Doppelte Zeitgeschichte— Deutschdeutsche Beziehungen 1945–1990 (Bonn: Dietz, 1998), pp. 364–75; Helga Grebing,

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Der deutsche Sonderweg in Europa 1806–1945 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1986); Deutscher Sonderweg—Mythos oder Realität? (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1982). 47 See Michael Stürmer, Dissonanzen des Fortschritts (Munich: Piper, 1986), pp. 314–30; Hagen Schulze, ‘Die “Deutsche Katastrophe” erklären: Von Nutzen und Nachteil historischer Erklärungsmodelle’, in Dan Diner (ed.), Ist der Nationalsozialismus Geschichte? (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag), 1988, pp. 95–8. 48 Blackbourn and Eley, Peculiarities, pp. 20–4, 147. 49 Nipperdey, Nachdenken, pp. 200–4. 50 See Maier, Unmasterable Past, pp. 105, 108–9; Richard Evans, Rereading German History, 1800–1996: From Unification to Reunification (London: Routledge, 1997), p. 19. 51 Nipperdey, Nachdenken, p. 197. 52 Indeed, the FRG declared itself to be a deutsche Staatlichkeit für eine Übergangszeit (German statehood during a period of transition); moreover, the West German use of the term Grundgesetz (Basic Law) instead of Verfassung (Constitution) was meant to reflect the provisional status of the FRG. 53 Cf. Hermann von der Dunk, ‘Universalismus und Dualismus: Überlegungen zum Thema Deutschland und Europa’, in Karl Ottmar Freiherr von Arentin, Jacques Bariéty, and Horst Möller (eds), Das deutsche Problem in der Geschichte (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1997), pp. 149–64, esp. p. 156. 54 Karl Dietrich Bracher, ‘Rückblick auf Bonn’, APuZ B32–33/99, pp. 3–8, here p. 3. 55 Basic Law preamble: ‘um dem Leben für eine Übergangszeit eine neue Ordnung zu geben […] es hat auch für jene Deutschen gehandelt, denen mitzuwirken versagt war. Das gesamte Deutsche Volk bleibt aufgefordert, in freier Selbstbestimmung die Einheit und Freiheit Deutschlands zu vollenden.’ See Ingo von Münch, Dokumente, des geteilten Deutschlands, 2nd edn (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1992), II, p. 3. NB: the Basic Law was also made for those Germans who had not been able to take part in its creation, and thus it embodied the staatliche model for all Germans. 56 ‘Als Subjekt der Völkerrechts ist die Bundesrepublik Deutschland aber derselbe Staat geblieben, der im Jahre 1867 als Norddeutscher Bund gegründet und 1871 durch den Beitritt der süddeutschen Staaten zum Reich erweitert wurde, der sich 1918 auf revolutionärem Wege von einer Monarchie zu einer Republik wandelte, vom national-sozialistischem Regime in eine Diktatur umgeformt und schließlich nach seinem militärischen Zusammenbruch im Jahre 1945 seiner handlungsfähigen Organe beraubt wurde. Der Fortbestand dieses Staates als völkerrechtliche Einheit ist in den Berliner Erklärungen der Vier Alliierten Mächte vom 5. Juni 1945 nicht vorausgesetzt und auch durch die Beschlüsse der Potsdamer Konferenz nicht in Frage gestellt worden.’ See ‘Die Bundesrepublik Deutschland ist der einzig rechtmäβige deutsche Staat’, undated paper, PolArch B 038/Ref.IIAl–83.01/0/Bd.33 (1960–64), pp. l–2a. See also ‘Bezeichnungsrichtlinien; Gemeinsames Ministerialblatt Juli 1965’, PolArch B 038/ Ref. IIAl-83.00–83.01/Bd.694 (1967) pp. 1–3. The idea of being the ‘Rechtsnachfolger’ (successor by law) of the Reich was further underlined by the fact that the FRG was to be liable for all reparations and other payments—including those to the Jews and Israel—of the Reich before and after the war, as was set in the London Reparations Treaty of 1953. 57 See Spohr, Historical Perspective, pp. 26–41. 58 On the idea of the ‘zero hour’, see Sebastian Haffner, ‘Der Erfolg des Grundgesetzes’, in idem, Im Schatten der Geschichte (Stuttgart: DVA, 1985), p. 192; Jürgen Kocka, ‘1945. Neubeginn oder Restauration’, in Carola Stern and Heinrich A.Winkler (eds), Wendepunkte deutscher Geschichte 1848–1945 (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1994), pp. 141–68; Anselm Doering-Manteuffel, ‘Deutsche Zeitgeschichte nach 1945’, Vierteljahreshefte für Zeitgeschichte, 1 (1993), pp. 24–9. 59 See Martin and Sylvia Greiffenhagen, Ein schwieriges Vaterland (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1981); Martin Greiffenhagen, Die Aktualität Preuβens (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1981);

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Heinz Rausch, Politische Kultur in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Berlin: Colloquium Verlag, 1980); Erwin Curdt, ‘Wie demokratisch ist unsere Verwaltung?’, APuZ B7/90, pp. 21–9. Cf. Norbert Frei, Adenauer’s Germany and the Nazi Past, trans. Joel Golb (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). 60 See Konrad H.Jarausch and Hannes Siegrist, Amerikanisierung und Sowjetisierung in Deutschland (Frankfurt a. M: Campus, 1997); Gottfried Niedhart and Dieter Riesenberger (eds), Lernen aus dem Krieg? Deutsche Nachkriegszeiten, 1918 und 1945 (Munich: Beck, 1992); Erwin K.Scheuch, Wie Deutsch sind die Deutschen? Eine Nation wandelt ihr Gesicht, 2nd edn (Bergisch Gladbach: Bastei-Lübbe, 1992); Rolf Badstüber, Vom ‘Reich’ zum doppelten Deutschland: Gesellschaft und Politik im Umbruch (Berlin: Dietz, 1999), pp. 373– 438. Cf. Anselm Doering-Manteuffel, Wie westlich sind die Deutschen? Amerikanisierung und Westernisierung im 20. Jahrhundert (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht), 1999, pp. 34–70. 61 See Emil Nagengast, ‘Europapolitik and National Interest: Are the Germans Normal Yet?’, Debalte, 1 (1999) pp. 9–23, here pp. 11–14. 62 See Winkler, Der lange Weg, II, pp. 437–8; Verheyen, German Question, pp. 102–5. 63 Richard Rosecrance, The Rise of the Trading State (New York: Basic Books, 1986). 64 Peter J.Katzenstein (ed.), Tamed Power—Germany in Europe (London: Cornell University Press, 1997), p. 2. 65 Hans-Peter Schwarz, Die gezähmten Deutschen, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: DVA, 1985). 66 Hans W.Maull, ‘Zivilmacht Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Vierzehn Thesen für eine neue deutsche Auβenpolitik’, Europa-Archiv, 10 (1992), pp. 269–78; idem, ‘A German Perspective’, in Michael J.Brenner (ed.), Multilateralism and Western Strategy (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), pp. 42–77, here pp. 45, 56. 67 See Helga Haftendorn and Henning Riecke (eds), ‘…die volle Macht eines souveränen Staates…’ (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1996), p. 86. 68 See Edgar Wolfrum, Geschichtspolitik in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Darmstadt: WBG, 1999); Aleida Assmann and Ute Freyert, Geschichtsvergessenheit— Geschichtsversessenheit (Stuttgart: DVA, 1999). 69 See Verheyen, German Question, p. 108. 70 See Simon Reich and Andrei S.Markovits, The German Predicament (New York: Cornell University Press, 1997), pp. 1–58. 71 Maier, Unmasterable Past. 72 On the Historikerstreit during the 1980s, see Rudolf Augstein et al., Historikerstreit, 7th edn (Munich: Piper, 1989); Alfred D.Low, The Third Reich and the Holocaust in German Historiography (New York: Columbia University Press, 1994); Diner, Nationalsozialismus; Imanuel Geiss, Die Habermas-Kontroverse (Berlin: Siedler, 1988); Ernst Nolte, Das Vergehen der Vergangenheit (Berlin: Ullstein, 1987); Hans-Ulrich Wehler, Entsorgung der deutschen Vergangenheit? (Munich: Beck, 1988). 73 See Thatcher, Downing Street, p. 791. 74 Conor Cruise O’Brian most famously stirred historical fears of Germany by his ‘Fourth Reich’ headlines in the British press in November 1989. The issue had such an impact that it was even discussed in the House of Commons (Hansard, 1 Dec. 1989, cols 958 and 973). See www.parliament.the-stationery-office.co.uk/pa/cm198990/cmhansrd/1989–12– 01/Debate-2.htmland/Debate-3. 75 Rather than speaking of a ‘new’ German Question, some have simply referred to a ‘latest stage of the German Question’. See Reich and Markovits, German Predicament, p. 1. 76 See Philipp H.Gordon, ‘Berlin’s Difficulties: The Normalization of German Foreign Policy’, Orbis 2 (1994), pp. 225–43; Peter Pulzer, ‘Unified Germany: A Normal State?’, German Politics (henceforth GP), 1 (1994), pp. 1–17; Jürgen Habermas, Die Normalität einer Berliner Republik (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1995); Simon Bulmer and William Paterson, ‘Germany in the European Union: Gentle Giant or Emergent Leader?’, International Affairs

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(henceforth IA), 1 (1996), pp. 9–32; Josef Janning, ‘A German Europe—A European Germany’, IA, 1 (1996), pp. 33–41; Wolfram Wette, ‘Sonderweg or Normality: The Discussion of the International Position of the Federal Republic’, Debatte, 1 (1996), pp. 9– 20; Robert H.Dorff, ‘Normal Actor or Reluctant Power? The Future of German Security Policy’, European Security, 2 (1997), pp. 56–69; A.James McAdams, ‘Germany after Unification: Normal at Last?, World Politics, 2 (1997), pp. 282–308; Tuomas Forsberg, ‘The Debate over German’s Normality: A Normal German Debate?’, in Howard Williams, Colin Wright and Norbert Kapferer (eds), Political Thought and German Reunification: A New German Ideology (London: Macmillan, 2000), pp. 139–55; see also Stefan Berger, The Search for Normality (Oxford: Berghahn, 1997). 77 See article 1 of ‘Vertrag über die abschlieβende Regelung in Bezug auf Deutschland vom 12. September 1990’, in Karl Kaiser, Deutschlands Vereinigung—Die internationalen Aspekte, 2nd edn (Bergisch-Gladbach: Bastei-Lübbe, 1993), p. 262. 78 See Eduard J.M.Kroker and Bruno Dechamps (eds), Die Deutschen auf der Suche nach ihrer neuen Identität? (Frankfurt a. M.: FAZ, 1993); Konrad H.Jarausch (ed.), After Unity: Reconfiguring German Identities (Oxford: Berghahn, 1997); Andreas Staab, National Identity in Eastern Germany: Inner Unification or Continued Separation? (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1998); Anne-Marie Gloannec, ‘One German Identity’, Daedalus, 1 (1994), pp. 129– 48; Mary Fulbrook, ‘Aspects of Society and Identity in Germany’, Daedalus, 1 (1994), pp. 211–34; Heinrich A.Winkler, ‘Rebuilding of a Nation: The Germans Before and After Unification, Daedalus, 1 (1994), pp. 107–27; Christhard Hoffmann, ‘Introduction: One Nation—Which Past? Historiography and German Identities in the 1990s’, German Politics and Society, 2 (1997), pp. 1–7; Matthias Zimmer, ‘From the National State to the Rational State and Back? An Exercise in Understanding Politics and Identity in Germany in the Twentieth Century’, GP, 3 (1999), pp. 21–42. 79 Michael Meyer, ‘The Myth of German Unity’, Newsweek, 9 July 1990, p. 37; for further portraits of the differences between Germans in East and West, see ‘Den Neuen fehlt das Selbstvertrauen’, Der Spiegel, 46/1990, pp. 114–28; ‘Frauen zurück an den Herd?’, Der Spiegel 47/1990, pp. 113–27; Klaus Hartung, ‘Überlegungen zum Jahrestag der Einheit’, Die Zeit, 3 Oct. 1997; Lydia Lange, ‘Warum sich so viele Ostdeutsche immer noch nicht in der Bundesrepublik zurechtfinden’, Die Zeit, 11 May 2000, p. 18. 80 See Michael Mertes, ‘Germany’s Social and Political Culture’, Daedalus, 1 (1994), pp. 1–32. 81 See Greiffenhagen, Ein schwieriges Vaterland, pp. 23–33. 82 See Michael G.Huelshoff, Andrei S.Markovits and Simon Reich (eds), From Bundesrepublik to Deutschland: German Politics after Unification (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 1993), p. 276. 83 See Zimmer, ‘National State’, p. 34–5. 84 See ‘Regierungserklärung des Bundeskanzlers vor dem Deutschen Bundestag in Berlin— Grundsätze der Politik der ersten gesamtdeutschen Bundesregierung’, Bulletin, no.118, 5 Oct. 1990, pp. 1240–8; ‘Regierungserklärung des Bundeskanzlers vor dem Deutschen Bundestag—Unsere Verantwortung für die Freiheit. Deutschlands Einheit gestalten—Die Einheit Europas vollenden—Dem Frieden der Welt dienen’, Bulletin no. 11, 31 Jan. 1991, pp. 61–76; ‘Beitrag des Bundesministers des Auswärtigen Hans-Dietrich Genscher anläβlich der gestrigen Regierungserklärung des Bundeskanzlers im deutschen Bundestag am 31. Januar 1991’, Mitteilung für die Presse Nr.1019/91. 85 See Timothy Garton Ash, In Europe’s Name: Germany and the Divided Continent (London: Cape, 1993), p. 385. 86 See Angela E.Stent, Russia and Germany Reborn: Unification, the Soviet Collapse, and the New Europe (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), pp. 165–9. See also Lily Gardner Feldman, ‘The Principle and Practice of “Reconciliation” in German Foreign Policy: Relations with France, Israel, Poland and the Czech Republic’, IA, 2 (1999), pp. 333– 56; Ann L.Phillips, The Politics of Reconciliation: Germany and Central-East Europe’, GP,

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2 (1998), pp. 64–85; Vladimir Handl, ‘Czech-German Declaration on Reconciliation’, GP, 2 (1997), pp. 150–67. See also Patricia A.Davis, ‘National Interests Revisited: The German Case’, German Politics and Society, 1 (1998), pp. 82–111. 87 Winkler, ‘Rebuilding’, p. 108. With Germany reasserting its national interests as a unified sovereign state, it was evident that the idea—which some historians had postulated during the Cold War—that (West) Germany was a post-national state, had stopped making sense. Here one must not forget that Nipperdey, for instance, had considered the whole idea of West German ‘post-nationalism’ a ‘chimera of intellectuals’ that did not reflect reality. 88 Cf. Werner Link, ‘Alternativen deutscher Auβenpolitik’, Zeitschrift für Politik, 2 (1999), p. 126. 89 See Mathias Zimmer, ‘Return of the Mittellage? The Discourse of the Centre in German Foreign Policy’, German Politics, 1 (1997)’, pp. 23–38. 90 Jochen Thies, ‘Germany and Eastern Europe between Past and Future’, in Baring, Germany’s New Position, p. 72. 91 See Klaus Hartung, ‘Aufbruch ins Zentrum: Berlin ist nicht das Symbol der Vereinigungsmisere, sondern der Ort eines neuen Anfangs’, Die Zeit, 10 Sept. 1998; Martin S.Lambeck, ‘Union wehrt sich gegen die “Berliner Republik”’, Die Welt, 10 Nov. 1998; Kathrin Spoerr, ‘Die “Berliner Republik” ist ein intellektuelles Phantom’, Die Welt, 17 Nov. 1999. 92 Deutscher Bundestag, Referat Öffentlichkeitsarbeit (ed.), Berlin-Bonn, die Debatte: Alle Bundestagsreden vom 20. Juni 1991 (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1991); Mechthild Rössler, ‘Berlin or Bonn?’, in David Hooson (ed.), Geography and National Identity (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994), pp. 92–103. 93 See Michael Stürmer, Das ruhelose Reich: Deutschland 1866–1918 (Berlin: Severin & Siedler, 1983); Hagen Schulze, ‘Die “Deutsche Katastrophe” erklären: Von Nutzen und Nachteil historischer Erklärungsmodelle’, in Diner, Nationalsozialismus, pp. 90–101. 94 Richard von Weizsäcker, ‘Meilenstein Maastricht’, Bulletin, no. 41, 15 April 1992, p. 385. 95 Schwarz, Zentralmacht. The full title of his book is Die Zentralmacht Europas: Deutschlands Rückkehr auf die Weltbühne. 96 William R.Smyser, ‘Dateline Berlin: Germany’s New Vision’, Foreign Policy, 97 (winter 1994/1995), p. 140. 97 See Philipp H.Gordon, ‘Berlin’s Difficulties: The Normalization of German Foreign Policy’, Orbis, 38, 2 (1994), pp. 225–43; Peter Pulzer, ‘Unified Germany: A Normal State?’, GP, 1 (1994), pp. 1–17; Jürgen Habermas, Die Normalität einer Berliner Republik (Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp, 1995); Simon Bulmer and William Paterson, ‘Germany in the European Union: Gentle Giant or Emergent Leader?’, IA, 1 (1996), pp. 9–32; Josef Janning, ‘A German Europe—A European Germany’, IA, 1 (1996), pp. 33–41; Wolfram Wette, ‘Sonderweg or Normality: The Discussion of the International Position of the Federal Republic’, Debatte, 1 (1996), pp. 9–20; Robert H.Dorff, ‘Normal Actor or Reluctant Power? The Future of German Security Policy’, European Security, 2 (1997), pp. 56–69; A.James McAdams, ‘Germany after Unification: Normal at Last?, World Politics, 2 (1997), pp. 282– 308; Nagengast, ‘Europapolitik’ pp. 9–23; Forsberg, ‘The Debate’, pp. 139–55; See also Berger, Search for Normality. 98 Janning, ‘A German Europe’, pp. 34–7. 99 Jonathan P.G.Bach, Between Sovereignty and Integration (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999), p. 64–118. Cf. Gunther Hellmann, ‘Goodbye Bismarck?’, Mershon International Review, 40 (1996), pp. 1–39. 100 See Schwarz, Zentralmacht; Gregor Schöllgen, Die Macht in der Mitte Europas (Munich: Beck, 1992); idem, Angst vor der Macht (Berlin: Ullstein, 1993); Michael Stürmer, ‘Deutsche Interessen’, in Kaiser and Maull, Deutschland, pp. 39–61; Christian Hacke, Die Aussenpolitik der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, rev. edn (Frankfurt a.m.: Ullstein, 1997). See also essays on German foreign policy in Bertel Heurlin (ed.), Germany in Europe in the

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Nineties (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1996), as well as those by Schwarz, Baring, Schöllgen and Gillessen in Baring, Germany’s New Position, which are inspired by the realist tradition of analysis. 101 Klaus Kinkel’s speech of 21 October 1992 to the Gruner and Jahr Dialogue in Hamburg, printed as ‘Germany’s post-unification Foreign Policy’, Statements and Speeches, vol. 15, no. 16, (New York: German Information Centre, 1992). 102 Volker Rühe, ‘Sinn und Auftrag der Bundeswehr im vereinten Deutschland’, speech of 2 April 1992, Bulletin, no. 37, 7 April 1992, p. 346. 103 Karl Lamers, cited in Jeffrey J.Anderson and John B.Goodman, ‘Mars or Minerva? A United Germany in a Post-Cold War Europe’, in Robert O.Keohane, Joseph S. Nye and Stanley Hoffmann (eds), After the Cold War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), p. 48. 104 Ernst-Otto Czempiel, Weltpolitik im Umbruch, 2nd rev. edn (Munich: Beck, 1993); Dieter Senghaas, ‘Deutschlands verflochtene Interessen’, Internationale Politik, 8 (1993), pp. 31–7; Maull, ‘Zivilmacht’, pp. 269–78. 105 The reference is to the government’s decision to participate militarily in monitoring the economic embargo on Serbia. See the Bundestag debate in Deutscher Bundestag: Stenographischer Bericht, 101st sitting, 22 July 1992, Plenarprotokoll, vol. 12, no. 101, p. 8636. 106 See ‘Regierungserklärung—Parlamentsrede des Bundeskanzlers vom 10.11.1998 zum Programm der rot-grünen Bundesregierung’, www.welt.de/extra/dokumentation/regierung/9811_erklärung.htm,article13. 107 See Nagengast, ‘Europapolitik’, p. 9. 108 See Thomas Forsberg, ‘Debate’, p. 140. 109 See Petri Hakkarainen, ‘Saksalaista historiatraumaa purkamassa: Stasi-arkistot entisen DDR:n pesänselvityksessä’, Ulkopolitiikka, 4 (1999), pp. 25–32. 110 See Herfried Münkler, ‘Antifaschismus und antifaschistischer Widerstand als politischer Gründungsmythos der DDR’, APuZ B48/98, pp. 16–29; Jürgen Danyel, ‘Antifaschismus und Verdrängung: Zum Untergang mit der NS-Vergangenheit in der DDR’, in Jürgen Kocka and Martin Sabrow (eds), Die DDR als Geschichte (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1994); Antonia Grunenberg, ‘Antitotalitarianism Versus Antifascism—Two Legacies of the Past in Germany’, German Politics and Society, 2 (1997), pp. 76–90. See also Wolfrum, Geschichtspolitik. 111 See Eberhard Jäckel, ‘Die doppelte Vergangenheit’, Der Spiegel, 52/1991, pp. 39–42; Christoph Klessmann, ‘Das Problem der doppelten “Vergangenheitsbewältigung”’, Die Neue Gesellschaft, 12 (1991), pp. 1099–1105; Assmann and Frevert, Geschichtsvergessenheit. 112 See Jarausch, After Unity, p. 49. 113 See Daniel J.Goldhagen, Hitler’s Willing Executioners (London: Little Brown, 1996). 114 For the debates, see Julius H.Schoeps (ed.), Ein Volk von Mördern?, 4th edn (Hamburg: Hoffmann und Campe, 1996); Susanne Miller, ‘Die Deutschen—Ein Volk von Tätern? Die Goldhagen-Debatte’, Die Neue Gesellschaft, 10 (1996), pp. 891–4; Robert R.Shandley, Unwilling Germans? The Goldhagen Debate (Minneapolis; London: University of Minnesota Press, 1998). See also Wolfgang Wippermann, Wessen Schuld? Vom Historikerstreit zur Goldhagen-Kontroverse (Berlin: Elefanten Press, 1997); Norman G.Finkelstein and Ruth B.Birn, A Nation on Trial (New York: Metropolitan Books, 1998); Maria Zeus, ‘Truism and Taboo: The Rhetoric of the Berlin Republic’, in Howard Williams, Colin Wight and Norbert Kapferer (eds), Political Thought and German Reunification (London: Macmillan, 2000), pp. 64–95; Jeremiah M.Riemer, ‘Grace? Under Pressure? The Goldhagen Controversy after Two Years’, in Carl Lankowski, Breakdown, Breakup, Breakthrough—Germany’s Difficult Passage to Modernity (Oxford: Berghahn, 1999), pp. 212–26. 115 See Peter Steinbach, Widerstreit im Widerstand (Paderborn: Schönigh, 1994).

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116 Lea Rosh, ‘Die Juden, das sind doch die anderen’—Der Streit um ein deutsches Denkmal (Bodenheim: Philo-Vlg, 1999); Alexander Zeiger, ‘Die Diskussion währt bereits seit zehn Jahren’, Die Welt, 26 Aug. 1998. 117 See Hans-Günther Thiele (ed.), Die Wehrmachtausstellung (Bonn: Bundeszentrale für politische Bildung, 1997). 118 Frank Schirrmacher (ed.), Die Walser-Bubis-Debatte (Frankfurt a. M: Suhrkamp, 1999). 119 See ‘Das lange Warten—eine Chronologie der Ereignisse’, Die Welt, 16 Dec. 1999; ‘Vier hohe Hürden bei Verhandlungen um Zahlungen an Zwangsarbeiter’, Die Welt, 14 June 2000; ‘Einigung bei Rechtssicherheit: “Durchbruch” in Zwangsarbeiter-Verhandlungen’, Die Welt, 14 June 2000; ‘Einigung im NS-Entschädigungsstreit’, Die Welt, 14 June 2000; ‘Zwangsarbeiter: Deutsche setzten sich in Gesprächen durch’, Die Welt, 16 June 2000; Marianne Heuwagen, ‘Bundestag stimmt Stiftung für NS-Opfer zu’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 7 July 2000, p. 5. 120 ‘Eine Frage der Ehre—Ernst Nolte bekam den Adenauer-Preis der Deutschland-Stiftung’, SZ, 5 June 2000, p. 17; ‘Merkel distanziert sich von Preis für Nolte’, SZ, 23 May 2000, p. 5; Gustav Seibt, ‘Krawall an der Tabufront—Der Preis für Nolte’, Die Zeit, 15 June 2000, p. 53; ‘Offener Brief des Historikers Heinrich A.Winkler an den Direktor des Instituts für Zeitgeschichte’, Die Zeit, 15 June 2000, p. 53; Hans Maier, ‘Über die zunehmende Unfähigkeit der Deutschen unterschiedliche intellektuelle Positionen auszuhalten’, Die Welt, 28 June 2000. 121 See William E.Paterson, ‘Between the Bonn and the Berlin Republics’, University of Birmingham, Discussion Papers in German Studies no. IGS99/5, p. 15. 122 See ‘Regierungserklärung—Parlamentsrede des Bundeskanzlers vom 10.11.1998 zum Programm der rot-grünen Bundesregierung’, www.welt.de/extra/dokumentation/regierung/981l_erklärung.htm. 123 See Evans ‘After Reunification’, in idem, Rereading, p. 242; Harold James, ‘Conclusion: Cycles in German History’, in idem, German Identity, p. 240. 124 Schirrmacher, Die Walser-Bubis-Debatte, pp. 7–29, esp. pp. 12–13. 125 See this chapter, n. 119. 126 See ‘Staatssekretär des Auswärtigen Amtes Wolfgang Ischinger in der Zeitschrift Deutschland (Juli/August 1999) zu den Konturen einer neuen Außenpolitik’, 2 Aug. 1999, mailto:www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/index.htm. 127 ‘Rede des Staatsministers im Auswärtigen Amt Günther Verheugen anläβlich des Kolloquiums 50 Jahre Bundesrepublik Deutschland am 26.5.1999 in Sofia: “Entwicklungslinien und Perspektiven deutscher Auβenpolitik”’, www.auswaertigesamt.de/6_archiv/99/r/r990526.htm.

3 Germany’s West(europa)politik at a ‘Time Which as yet Has no Name’

‘Was ist Auβenpolitik, und was ist richtige deutsche Außenpolitik—in einer Zeit, die noch keinen Namen hat, in einem Europa, das immer gröβer, und in einer Welt, die immer kleiner wird?’1

West(europa)politik had formed the core of West Germany’s foreign political direction during the Cold War. So, when the unified Germany declared in 1990 that its anchor was in the institutional West, this statement was firmly based on Bonn’s former political line. Still, doubts arose: would the new Germany remain committed to the Western orientation of the Bonn republic? And how would unified Germany go about finding and defining its new role in a changing Europe? Whether the qualms about Germany underlying these questions were justified or not will be explored below. GERMANY’S CHANGING MILITARY ROLE: FROM THE GULF WAR TO KOSOVO After unification, whether or not German military could or should take part in missions other than territorial self-defence for Germany or its NATO partners became the touchstone of German ‘normality’. It was linked to the question of status and powerexertion. How would a sovereign and democratic Germany deal with military power? Democracy and military power had so far been two mutually exclusive elements in German history. During the Cold War the Bundeswehr had played a special role in the dialectics of German identity and civic culture. The rehabilitation of the military in West Germany and NATO membership lessened the image of West Germany as an occupied country and made it a partner of the alliance. Remilitarisation and alliance partnership were implicitly considered part of a process of Westernisation, earning a certain amount of sovereignty and credibility. In the context of unification and the regaining of full sovereignty in 1990, Germany chose to remain tied to the Western institutions—especially NATO. By agreeing to the 2+4 treaty, Bonn de jure bound itself to the obligation to diminish its

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armed forces to 370,000 soldiers, and to abstain from possessing atomic, biological and chemical weapons as well as from participation in any wars of aggression.2 Under the burden of these interna-tional obligations, the grade of German ‘normality’ was to be measured very much by Bonn’s (out-of-area) military role. This became evident in the context of the outbreak of the Gulf War just as Germany had unified. The initial stages of German approaches to the post-Cold War world, lasting from September 1990 to the conclusion of the Maastricht Treaty in December 1991, were to mark a final period of old thinking rather than a new beginning. When on 2 August 1990 Iraq invaded Kuwait, an act which led to the Gulf War in early 1991, unified Germany had for the first time to face in operative politics the questions of ‘responsibility’ and acting as a ‘normal’ great power using military force out-of-area. Before unification the out-of-area issue was primarily cast in terms of burden sharing within the Atlantic Alliance; with unification the issue grew to include the global role of the new Germany outside NATO territory. Accordingly, the question of what it meant to be the United States’ ‘partner in leadership’,3 assumed a practical weight. The domestic political controversy in autumn 1990 about troop deployment in the imminent Gulf War was centred on the traditional problem of Germany’s power projection.4 The first response of the federal government to an US request to send German ships to help to enforce an embargo against Iraq followed strictly the traditional line of policy of the old West Germany, namely that the Bundeswehr was constitutionally prohibited from military activities outside NATO territory.5 This was based on the all-party ‘securitypolitical consensus’ that had governed West German foreign policy since the early 1980s.6 However, in contrast to the past, the constitutional limitation was in 1990 presented as a surmountable obstacle, rather than a fundamental constraint to be accepted. Defence minister Gerhard Stoltenberg emphasised in autumn 1990 the desire of the federal government to change the constitution, in order to allow Bundeswehr deployment in UN missions.7 Thus, until the German Constitutional Court’s decision in July 1994, the foreign policy debate over out-of-area military deployment became entangled with the search of a judicial solution. In the absence of constitutional clarity, the German government adopted two paths that shaped the nature of the debate. While pushing for a constitutional amendment, on the policy front the Kohl government made unilateral decisions to engage the Bundeswehr at the margins of the Basic Law’s common interpretation.8 This broke with the traditional all-party consensus that out-of-area deployments of the Bundeswehr were ‘fundamentally out of the question’. In fact, the CDU/CSU, together with many legal experts, held that the constitution was not really in need of amendment in order to allow out-of-area missions, a position with which the Constitutional Court was eventually to agree.9 The government’s, and especially Kohl’s, assertiveness on the issue was significant because, as Alexander Siedschlag has explained, with the push for a more active foreign policy role there could not be domestic political consensus. The issue was no longer about the [postwar] objective to rehabilitate German foreign policy step by step, [in other words] a non-partisan common [West German] interest. Rather [the issue] was about which interests German foreign policy

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represents or should represent, and in which way these [interests] should be pursued.10 With the beginning of the out-of-area debate in the context of the Gulf War, (re)unified Germany’s foreign and security policy became an arena for contesting interpretations of Germany’s role, power and ‘normality’. Kohl himself stressed the political (in contrast to the juridical) nature of the debate by pointing out on 3 January 1991: ‘[I] want the Basic Law to be changed. However, I am not exploring its necessity as such: the change is politically necessary.’11 He repeated his intentions again in February and based his argument in his speech about ‘Germany’s role in Europe’ in March 1991 on ‘the leading interest in foreign policy since the Adenauer era in taking on greater international responsibility after the end of Germany’s division’.12 The German chancellor had revealed his interest in the Bundeswehr’s out-of-area engagements particularly in relation to Germany’s international status as an equal, credible and ‘normal great power and partner. After the outbreak of the conflict in the Gulf, the German government was caught by conflicting issues. In addition to the constitutional controversy, on the national scene political elites had to face up to widespread public condemnation of previous German arms exports to Iraq and of the manner in which the war was planned. Most German politicians in government and opposition alike were rather quiet about Germany’s international military engagement. They wanted to avoid making it a contentious topic in the election campaigns of the first all-German federal elections in December 1990. Furthermore, there seemed to be an atmosphere of uneasiness about foreign perceptions of German policy. While leaning towards military engagement would be interpreted abroad as the renaissance of German militarism, chequebook diplomacy and a purely civilian approach could be seen as aiming to avoid responsibility and burden-sharing.13 Furthermore, Bonn had to take into account Moscow’s ratification of the 2+4 treaty, which was to hang in the air until 15 March 1991. As explained in chapter 1, SovietGerman relations were clearly very delicate during autumn and winter 1990/91. Demonstrating the use of German military force before Soviet ratification of the 2+4 treaty seemed inopportune at best and counterproductive at worst. It was feared that the USSR might delay or even refuse ratification, and potentially delay Soviet troop withdrawal. Under these circumstances, Kohl had no interest in provoking the USSR.14 In the end, the German government took a courageous step by deciding to send German military (Alphajets and troops) to Turkey, which borders Iraq.15 While officially deployed for the defence of Turkey (a NATO member) under the umbrella of a NATO mission, the Bundeswehr made its first contribution of combat troops to a potentially dangerous conflict area. Kohl justified his moves by pointing to Germany’s particular sensitivity towards developments in the Gulf region and to its solidarity with the Allied soldiers. In fact, he drew historical parallels between Iraq’s expansionism and that of the Third Reich.16 This did not, however, satisfy the pacifist wings of the SPD and the Greens, who stirred up an emotional debate about the scope of Germany’s commitment to its allies which in turn triggered vast demonstrations against the war.17 As was perhaps inevitable, Germany’s actions were a highly contested issue in Germany. Those in favour of Germany’s military participation as a real proof of solidarity saw the deployment in Turkey as hesitant, a perpetuation of Germany’s

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isolation and indicative of a craven reluctance to assert power on the world stage. On the other hand, critics of the war and Bundeswehr out-of-area operations saw the government unilaterally deciding on an issue of historical importance for Germany. In the end, the surprisingly quick cessation of the ground war in Iraq in February 1991 subdued the domestic controversy as the out-of-area debate lost immediacy.18 What can be concluded from Germany’s policies in the Gulf War and how were they perceived abroad? With regard to the question of Germany’s ‘normality’, it was clear that Kohl and Genscher, with their decision to send troops to Turkey, had taken a first step towards a new German foreign policy. However, by and large the government remained within the parameters of West Germany’s traditions, by pointing to Germany’s role and status as a ‘civilian power’ which ruled out the use of military power in other than Germany’s own defence or that of NATO. At some DM 17.9 billion, Germany’s primary contribution remained financial.19 Internationally, Germany’s opting out of the operational military scene and paying what was called ‘compensation’ instead, was received with criticism implying that Germany was not acting as a ‘normal’ state and was avoiding responsibility and true burden-sharing.20 On the other hand there is no doubt that had Germany participated in an active military way, such action would have triggered a worldwide debate on Germany’s power and history. In sum, the contradictory nature of the expectations and fears related to Germany clearly pointed to the persisting German Question. The other issue revealing the newly unified Germany’s delicate political position and unclear foreign policy in 1991 was Germany’s unilateral recognition of Slovenia and Croatia on 23 December 1991.21 This diplomatic move immediately raised severe doubts about Germany’s multilateralist commitment, and has often been portrayed not only as an example of Germany’s new self-assertiveness, but also as a harbinger of future German policy. It was indeed an example of self-assertion, but it remains an isolated instance of a unilateral German move. The subsequent development of Germany’s role in the conflicts in the former Yugoslavia show that it was only a brief departure from the path of multilateral virtue in the ‘military’ context. During autumn and winter 1990–91, signs of a violent Yugoslavian break-up became increasingly visible. In order to avoid a domino effect with regard to the looming disintegration of the USSR, Germany, in line with its EC partners, wanted to keep Yugoslavia together. Developments in the USSR were clearly the most important concern throughout the German foreign policy establishment. Yet, with violence escalating in summer 1991, especially in Croatia, Bonn’s attitude shifted. This was due to the pressure of the conservative sections of the German media—the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung and Die Welt. They moved public opinion in favour of Croatia’s and Slovenia’s independence, and allowed a lobby of several hundred thousand Croats living in Germany to be heard. Under these circumstances the Kohl government was forced into appearing decisive. Bonn originally wished to see the Yugoslav crisis handled within the EC as well as believing that ethnic conflicts could be kept below the threshold of warfare by a policy of economic incentives and threats.22 However, from July onwards, chancellor Kohl began to demand the recognition of the right to self-determination, just as Germany had received it.23 When violence in Croatia reached its height in November-December 1991, Bonn intensified its political efforts towards the EC recognition of Croatia and Slovenia.

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France and the United Kingdom, however, were more supportive of Serbia, and had great reservations about the timing as well as the specifics of recognition. In this vein, they tried to use the UN Security Council to deflect Germany from its course,24 revealing the resurgence of historic European rivalries and making the EC look incapable of coordinated action. Following a Bundestag resolution of 15 November in favour of diplomatic recognition, on the basis that Yugoslav unity was considered a ‘concept without fiiture’,25 in early December chancellor Kohl and foreign minister Genscher promised Croatian president Franco Tudjman that Germany would recognise Croatia before Christmas. The EC Council of Ministers decided on 16 December 1991 to recognise Croatia and Slovenia by 15 January 1992 after an assessment of each Yugoslav republic by the EC Arbitration Commission. However, Bonn recognised the two republics on 23 December, even if his decision was only to be implemented by 15 January 1992, when the other members of the Community followed suit.26 In pushing through its policy of recognition, Bonn had defied not only strong opposition from France and the United Kingdom, but also from President Bush and the US secretary of state James Baker, Lord Carrington, a member of the EC negotiating committee on Yugoslavia, Cyrus Vance, UN peace negotiator to the former Yugoslavia, and UN Secretary-General, Javier Pérez de Cuéllar. The results of what Kohl called a ‘triumph of diplomacy’27 were mixed. Although fighting in Croatia stopped with recognition, the conflict seems to have contributed to the outbreak of fighting in BosniaHerzegovina. For this reason, Bonn’s self-confident foreign policy move towards recognition produced a severe backlash of international criticism, which was traumatic for German diplomacy. Bonn was blamed for too much assertiveness, and parallels were drawn to pre-world war German behaviour. Moreover, Germany was seen as bearing a particular responsibility for the break-up of Yugoslavia and the escalation of war. The principal conclusion drawn from this experience in Bonn was that Germany should henceforth avoid any such ‘demonstration of power’ and keep in line with its major partners.28 How should this new German assertiveness be understood? Some have argued that Bonn’s unilateral moves revealed Germany’s return to its historical power politics. However, such a claim does not seem to match the political realities of the early 1990s, as the new self-assertion and power political approach was not comparable to Germany’s past aggressive go-it-alones (also in the Balkans). Germany’s policy regarding recognition developed at a time when unified Germany was still mostly following old West German foreign policy lines while simultaneously trying to adapt to its new status as a sovereign nation-state. Chancellor Kohl’s Balkan policy was most probably guided by a will to demonstrate leadership at home, at a time when economic and social developments in eastern Germany were going badly. Foreign minister Genscher, in contrast, seems to have followed his political convictions that selfdetermination should be granted to all peoples. Moreover, he believed that a policy of diplomatic recognition—meaning the internationalisation of the conflict—could halt war. As it turned out, this was a clear miscalculation of the complex situation in Yugoslavia, which was as much a war of external aggression as a civil war and thus probably could not have been prevented by diplomacy alone.29 From today’s perspective it seems that the war which broke out in Bosnia subsequent to Croatian and Slovenian independence would have broken out anyway. German

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recognition policy was more a catalyst rather than the cause in an inevitable process. However, the political upheaval created by the fact that Bonn conducted a more assertive policy at a time when Germany itself and the rest of the world were only coming to terms with its unification, reveals how emphatically the German Question—and in particular the aspect of Germany’s power—had reappeared since 1990. While during the Gulf War Germany was criticised for abstaining from any visible role, its Yugoslavian policy was criticised for being too assertive. The German predicament of the early 1990s could hence be summarised as follows: On the one hand, Germany was expected to assume new responsibilities on the international level in accordance with its more powerful position, on the other, it was expected to downplay its newly acquired power…in order to assuage growing fears of an assertive… German giant.30 By 1992 it was clear that German foreign policymakers had to solve the inherent contradictions in unified Germany’s foreign and security policy between the concepts of ‘civilian power’ and ‘culture of restraint’,31 and the redefinition of its role as a major international actor. At the same time, the world had to come to terms with Germany’s increasingly visible political influence and reassess the weight and meaning of the country’s historical legacy in the light of contemporary politics. The escalating war in Bosnia during 1992 posed the next military challenge to Germany. In this second phase of the Yugoslavian crises, the international community’s efforts to stop the fighting included diplomatic efforts to find political solutions, humanitarian intervention and economic sanctions combined with selective military actions. As the EC failed to resolve the conflict through negotiations, the emphasis inevitably shifted to the UN and NATO—and thus implicitly to the leadership of the United States—as the only institutions to mandate and implement economic and military sanctions.32 It must be noted that since the end of the Cold War and in parallel with the crises in Yugoslavia, NATO itself was undergoing radical reshaping. The idea was to adapt NATO to the new circumstances of an evolving global security environment, changing from a purely collective defence alliance into an organisation with modified, new purposes including crisis management and out-of-area interventions.33 When military intervention in Bosnia became inevitable, Germany in traditional fashion claimed its inability to contribute military forces for constitutional reasons,34 and hence found itself pushed to the sidelines. Concentrating mainly on mobilising support for sanctions against Serbia and providing assistance to victims of war, the Kohl government maintained a low profile internationally.35 However, domestic debate in Germany on the Yugoslavian wars pushed the out-ofarea controversy towards a resolution. On 19 February 1992 the cabinet approved a working paper entitled ‘Military and Strategic Bases and Conceptual Re-formation of the Bundeswehr: Bundeswehrplan 1993’,36 providing for amendment of the Basic Law along the lines of chapter VII of the UN Charter. Defence minister Gerhard Stoltenberg publicly declared that ‘the public debates about deployments other than pure blue helmet ones are fictious discussions’.37 Without precise definitions, however, the way was left open for German military forces to participate in UN missions beyond the strict

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parameters of peacekeeping. Thus, the Bundeswehrplan 1993 followed NATO’s new strategy of November 1991. Moreover, it showed that Stoltenberg aimed for Germany to stay in line with alliance political developments towards out-of-area peace-enforcement missions. From a historical perspective, the 1992 working paper clearly marked a watershed in postwar Germany’s operative security policy. From then onwards the defence ministry started to work relatively independently of the German government on new guidelines with regard to military deployment in crisis situations and redefinition of the task of the Bundeswehr. In fact, after Stoltenberg’s resignation in March 1992, his successor as defence minister Volker Rühe pushed openly for a more weighty international German military role and an increased German say within NATO. Official documents of the defence ministry between 1992 and 1994 disclose Rühe’s increasing desire for a more active and assertive, even out-of-area, German military role. The papers include ‘Guidelines for Defence Policy’ of 26 November 1992, the ‘Bundeswehrplan 1994’ of 15 December 1992, the ‘White Book’ of 5 April 1994 (commissioned by the government) and Rühe’s ‘Conceptual Guidelines’ of 12 July 1994.38 This activity on the part of of the defence ministry was not without any impact on government policies. On an operative level, the government’s participation in peacekeeping missions outside NATO revealed Germany’s new political approach to security. By sending a medical unit to Cambodia in May 1992, Germany undertook its first blue-helmet mission in which Bundeswehr soldiers were active, not simply logistic, participants, but geographical distance allowed this precedent-setting peacekeeping mission to go unnoticed by the public. Former Yugoslavia was on Germany’ doorstep, and it was therefore German action in Bosnia that was constantly scrutinised and judged.39 In the Bosnian war Germany assisted the UN following government decisions on 4 and 15 July 1992. The Bundeswehr participated in air transports to Sarajevo and in the naval enforcement of an UN embargo against Serbia and Montenegro.40 The second mission in particular infuriated the opposition SPD. It felt that the government had presented them with a fait accompli without de jure backing, and in consequence brought a suit against the government on 21 July. This was tempered the next day when the parliament voted to approve military action after the fact.41 The SPD’s hardline parliamentary position eventually weakened, due to wide public support for the government’s policy as well as increasing splits within the party. On 22 August 1992 the different wings of the SPD agreed in the Petersberg decisions that German participation in UN peace-keeping missions should be allowed. Missions of the nature similar to the Gulf War—when the UN had authorised a UN member state to take over military command—were, however, explicitly rejected.42 With growing hostilities in Bosnia, the UN Security Council decided to allow the use of military means to enforce a no-fly zone over former Yugoslavia on 31 March 1993. This operation was to be conducted by NATO and began on 12 April with the deployment of NATO’s Airborne Warning and Control Systems (AWACS) units,43 and meant that NATO was participating for the first time in a military out-of-area intervention in Europe. As German crews comprised 30 per cent of NATO’s AWACS aircraft fleet,44 the Bundeswehr’s contribution to this operation was inevitable and stirred a major debate in Germany—significantly within the government coalition.45 Although no German fighter directly participated in combat, personnel aboard the aircraft which

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were used to identify possible Serb targets and to guide NATO fighter aircraft bore the responsibility for eventual loss of life. It was hence incontrovertible that German forces participated for the first time since the Second World War in a combat mission.46 German participation had been approved by the government on 2 April, but only on the basis of the CDU/CSU majority.47 The general feeling was that the government had gone too far by pushing through a party vote while the constitutional court had yet to make its general ruling on out-of-area Bundeswehr deployments. Significantly, the SPD and FDP brought the AWACS issue to the Constitutional Court, which on 8 April 1993 cleared the way for German participation in the operation, maintaining that Germany’s credibility as a reliable NATO partner and its international standing would suffer if the German crews withdrew. Thus, even if it stood the chance of later being considered unconstitutional, the deployment of the Bundeswehr continued.48 Unquestionably Kohl and defence minister Rühe from 1991 pursued an effective strategy of pushing outward against juridical constraints on Bundeswehr missions through involvement in UN peacekeeping activities. The ‘White Book’ of 1994 and even more Rühe’s ‘Conceptual Guidelines’ confirmed the gradual shift in German security policy towards out-of-area-missions.49 The tactics of the Kohl government in creating political realities were described by the opposition, but also by Rühe himself, as ‘salami tactics’.50 The status quo as it had existed since the AWACS crew debate was finally defined as legally uncontroversial when the German Constitutional Court ruled on 12 July 1994 that German military participation in multilateral peacekeeping and peacemaking missions was not incompatible with the Basic Law, as long as the Bundestag by simple majority approved each operation. Significantly, the interpretations of the correlating terms ‘deployment’ and ‘defence’ were left open, while it was specified that Germany could assign forces to NATO and Western European Union (WEU) operations directed at implementing resolutions of the UN Security Council. All three institutions—the UN, NATO and the WEU—were defined as systems of collective security, in which the Bundeswehr was allowed to operate. No amendment was needed to the constitution. From a historical perspective the ruling clearly seemed ironic as it had always been argued in West Germany that out-of-area missions were fundamentally prohibited by law. Evidently the changing political realities had led to the de jure reinterpretation of the Basic Law.51 The Constitutional Court’s ruling completely vindicated the policies of the CDU/CSU government during the early 1990s. Moreover, this ruling could be seen as an important historical turning-point. After more than four decades of exceptional conditions, Germany was moving towards a security policy like those of other European states and hence closer to ‘normality’ in the military domain. Further, it implicitly encouraged the gradual removal of the psychological constraints that influenced and restricted German international actions since and because of the Second World War. As General Klaus Naumann put it: ‘We [Federal] Germans, for the first time in our history this century have the opportunity to end conflict, taking legal and preventative steps, and if necessary military action.’52 Although the willingness of the German political elite to consider the military option could be considered a new and important feature of post-Cold War Germany, there remained a degree of caution in deciding in which UN missions German soldiers would

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participate. In the words of defence minister Rühe, the court’s decision ‘is not marching orders for worldwide deployment, as is constantly claimed, but a responsible decision will be made in each and every case. Our main responsibility lies in Europe and in the areas near to it.’53 Foreign minister Kinkel in turn stated that Germany would continue its ‘policy of restraint’, saying ‘“no” more often than “yes”’ when asked to participate militarily.54 As became evident in the ongoing war in the former Yugoslavia, military force had become a valid security political tool for Germany following the Constitutional Court ruling. Germany approved the deployment of German soldiers for logistical assistance and combat air cover in assistance of the withdrawal of UNPROFOR (UN Protection Force) from Bosnia. It gave its agreement to participation of German Tornados in NATO’s aerial attacks against the Bosnian Serbs, and finally participated substantially in both the Implementation Force (IFOR)—tasked with enforcing the Dayton Peace Accords of 21 November 1995—and the Stabilisation Force (SFOR).55 The debates of the Bundestag, in particular the debates of 30 November and 6 December 1995 on the Dayton Accords, revealed how deeply the ‘normality’ discourse and the various dimensions of the German Question were ingrained in German selfperception and thus in their foreign policymaking. The fact that the government decided in favour the deployment of ground troops was a vindication of the ideology of the centre-right spectrum that had, ever since unification, promoted the ‘realist’ view of ‘normalisation’, meaning Germany’s return to its great power status. In contrast, the Social Democrats and Greens had only started to adopt the idea of ‘normalisation’ after the Constitutional Court’s ruling in summer 1994. They coupled ‘normalisation’ with liberal notions of a multilateral civilisatory progress, that is, human rights issues and the question of the moral justification of peace enforcement.56 Looking at the developments in Germany’s foreign and security policy and the evolution of its military role between 1991 and 1995, one may conclude that overall Germany’s operative security policy remained guided very much by its history and by Bonn’s adherence to its self-image of a ‘reluctant power’. Germany was slow to take the initiative and responded only when it felt that a higher purpose, such as Germany’s reliability or the cohesiveness of the Atlantic Alliance, was at stake. ‘Yugoslavia’ made NATO redefine its purpose, strategies and responsibilities. In similar vein, it redefined Germany’s role within the confines of being an integrated and true participator. Compared with the United States, Britain or France, Germany’s military action was lowkey. Yet the crisis evidently pushed Germany closer towards full military participation in UN and NATO out-of-area missions, making it hence a more ‘normal’ international actor. Furthermore, out-of-area engagements clearly were in Kohl’s and Rühe’s interests. Their political thinking was guided by the concept that reinstating Germany as a great power militarily also meant that Germany had returned to resorting to the more traditional methods in international relations. Germany’s expression of interest in 1993 in a permanent seat in the UN Security Council was only another reflection of its international ambitions. The war in Bosnia increasingly blurred the distinctions between the ‘normalist’ and ‘liberal’ discourses about Germany’s military role. At the political level this meant that there was a rapprochement between right and left on the political spectrum on the issue of Germany’s troop deployment. A shift occurred on the left especially, with the pragmatic

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wing of the Greens and the Social Democrats taking more ‘realist’ standpoints with regard to peace enforcement. Morality served as a justification: in order to combat ethnic cleansing as it had occurred in the Bosnian war, the means of forceful humanitarian intervention was increasingly considered a responsibility and a moral obligation. While the pacifist circles continued generally to promote a German policy which abstained from ‘hard’ power projection and favoured crisis prevention and peaceful conflict resolution mechanisms, that is, remaining devoted to what was also associated with Genscherism, the idea of complete anti-militarism had disappeared.57 The consequences of such an ideological shift in operative policies became visible with the change of government in 1998. Just as the SPD and the Greens assumed office the Kosovo crisis escalated, and NATO signalled its intention to intervene militarily, even without a UN Security Council mandate. Suddenly Germany had to take a historic decision on participation in war. The alliance partners naturally expected a positive response from Germany.58 On 12 October the outgoing Kohl government, which according to usual procedure continued to stay in office after the elections until the new government would formally take over, announced the participation of German forces in a possible NATO air operation.59 This decision needed the approval of the Bundestag. In these very particular circumstances, the outgoing government and the leaders of the new governing coalition met and agreed on their support for NATO’s policy. It was decided further to summon the outgoing parliament for an extraordinary session on 16 October, during which a large majority (86 per cent) of MPs voted in favour of German participation in a NATO intervention.60 The vote for the air operation was taken at a time when it was believed that it might not necessarily have to be put into practice, if NATO was able to refrain from military action. Twenty weeks later, on 24 March 1999, NATO began the air war. How was it possible that the SPD and the Greens should vote in favour of a German military out-of-area operation without the UN mandate which they had always claimed to be a prerequisite? Germany’s participation in NATO operation was considered by all parties to be a necessity in order to demonstrate Germany’s reliability and steadiness as a partner.61 The new Schröder government, viewed with suspicion abroad, was even more anxious to demonstrate Germany’s continuing alliance political commitment to the alliance. Following NATO mainstream thinking, chancellor Kohl and especially defence minister Rühe had, with regard to the particular case of Kosovo, increasingly distanced themselves over the summer of 1998 from the position that a UN mandate was necessary for military intervention. Now, the new Red-Green government, on the grounds of its election promise of foreign political continuity, radically changed its previous position by following Kohl’s policy. Thus, the paradoxical situation emerged that in addition to the obligations imposed by NATO, the Schröder governmment had in effect limited foreign policy choices itself. In consequence, their new political orientation was not based on any new political thinking, but merely represented the adoption and underwriting of the former government’s position.62

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Figure 3.1 ‘Paßt! (‘Fits!’) Source: Horst Haitzinger, Tageszeitung (Munich), 13 April 1999.

Figure 3.2 ‘Noch’n Kosovo Flüchtling’ (‘Yet another Kosovan refugee’) Source: Horst Haitzinger, Tageszeitung (Munich), 9 April 1999.

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With NATO’s implementation of military intervention, the new German government, consisting, ironically, of former pacifists and internationalists, had become a participant in war. Its involvement in the Kosovo conflict clearly shows Germany’s new assertiveness and self-confidence, as it left behind the imperative of being a purely civilian power and rather resorted again to the more traditional foreign policy options. Nonetheless, Germany’s new ‘normality’ in the military area reflects less on a proactive military role, than on Germany’s interest in having a say in the politics of international security and in proving its reliability.63 Once the war started, the government justified on moral grounds Germany’s participation in an operation that was aimed at preventing a humanitarian catastrophe and genocide.64 In many ways this was a bitter irony: during the Cold War the pacifists had always pointed to the legacy of the Third Reich in order to justify the necessity for antimilitarism. Once in government, the use of force was considered as legitimate in the cause of preventing genocide precisely because of Germany’s history. The gradual evolution of unified Germany’s military role during the 1990s—even from one government to another—has revealed a fundamental overall shift towards realpolitik and a ‘normalisation’ within the framework of its commitment to international alliances. This was very much expected from Germany by its alliance partners. In the light of its participation in multilateral NATO and UN missions, there exist no historical fears of Germany using its military power unilaterally; the international community is in fact more concerned about Germany’s real readiness to fulfil its international responsibilities. As much as Germany’s move towards an increasingly self-confident military role was a reaction to the events in Yugoslavia and linked to its NATO commitment, it was part of Kohl’s and Rühe’s strategy to increase Germany’s international political weight in security matters—a strategy which the new government under Schröder included in its own policy. Still, history and the projection of political and military power seem to be dimensions which have not yet found their natural balance in German politics, as the most recent controversies about restructuring the Bundeswehr and on refraining from participation in a pre-emptive war against Iraq reveal.65 GERMANY, THE EU AND THE EURO: TOWARDS A GERMAN EUROPE OR A EUROPEAN GERMANY? Throughout the postwar period, (West) Germany has been a prominent and convinced advocate of ever closer European integration. Political elites as well as the population as a whole have seemed to favour constructing an increasingly post-national Europe. West Germany’s Europapolitik was the product of mixed motives: imperatives imposed by international conditions, philosophical and ideological convictions in reaction to the excesses of nationalism during the Third Reich, and calculations of West German ‘national interest’ which could only be expressed through multilateralism. Unification quickly raised questions among Germany’s neighbours about the future reliability of the country’s commitment to continued European integration. My intention is to discuss and explain in what follows the evolution of Germany’s role in the EU

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during the 1990s, in order to offer further insights into the new German Question. In this vein, rather than analysing Germany’s influence on the whole range of EU policies, I will concentrate on two particularly representative areas: Germany’s role in the creation of European Monetary Union (EMU) and in the debate on EU enlargement versus institutional reforms. Monetary union grew directly out of previous community initiatives. On the basis of the Single European Act in 1985, the Commission under Jacques Delors was keen to create a single market by the end of 1992. Delors believed that a single market would eventually force the EC towards a single currency. With the support of Kohl and Mitterrand, he started to draft ‘concrete stages leading towards [economic and monetary] union’66 finally released as the Delors report on 17 April 1989. This report very much bore the imprint of Germany, not to say the Bundesbank (the German central bank): the new monetary authority (the European Central Bank, ECB) had to be independent of political influence from member states and EU institutions, and the ECB’s main objective was outlined as monetary stability. Both were Bundesbank imperatives; and the Bundesbank had threatened to limit its approval of the Delors report, if these criteria could not be agreed upon. Clearly, Germany had presented its partners with a take-it-orleave-it position and conducted some kind of (economic) power politics.67 When the European Council met in June 1989 agreement was reached to start phase 1 of European Monetary Union (EMU) on 1 July 1990, and to establish an intergovernmental conference (IGC) thereafter; however, no date was set. This was a matter of conflict between Mitterrand and Kohl. Mitterrand—anxious to harness Germany and to achieve monetary union quickly—preferred that the IGC begin soon after 1 July 1990. Kohl aimed for a later date. In part he did not want to rush the preparations for EMU, in part he wanted the IGC to follow the German federal elections in December 1990. By putting off the date of the IGC, Kohl had triumphed for the moment.68 In contrast to the plans for EMU, political union seemed much less of a concrete issue and, without the collapse of the Soviet bloc in 1989–90, the broad discussions on the ‘democratic deficit’ of the EC and European political co-operation would probably never have produced a full-scale IGC. In view of the unstable situation in eastern Europe, with new potential member states appearing on the European map, an effective common policy suddenly seemed a necessity. Moreover, the prospect of an enlarged Germany at the geographic core of an undivided Europe revived the idea among Germany’s neighbours of using European integration to contain German power.69 However, contrary to the fears that in the context of the German unification process further European integration might slow down, unification became a catalyst for European integration, with the Franco-German axis emerging as its key element. EMU was a result of the Franco-German ‘DM/euro-German unification deal’ of 1989–90, as discussed in chapter 1, while the issue of a European political union was placed on the agenda in spring 1990.70 At the European Council in Dublin on 28 April 1990, a FrancoGerman initiative for European political union was launched ‘to accelerate the political construction of the Europe of the twelve’ through an IGC held in parallel with that on EMU.71 Germany clearly reassured France and its other neighbours of the continuity of its commitment to European integration and of its peaceful, democratic credentials.

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Moreover, it pushed through its own agenda of a double process of EMU and political union. Complex discussions followed until a final agreement was reached at Maastricht on 5 December 1991 in the form of the Treaty on European Union (TEU). What has simply been called the Maastricht Treaty represented a deepening of political and especially economic integration for the 12 member countries, with a clear timetable to implement a common European currency on 1 January 1999.72 However, the treaty faced a popular backlash with the unexpected rejection of the TEU by the Danish voters in June 1992 and only a marginal approval by the French a few months later.73 In Germany, growing doubts about the Maastricht Treaty’s legal implications for the political competence of the Länder fed into a constitutional debate. According to article 189 of the TEU, the EU Council and Commission could pass laws that were subject to the approval of the national governments, but not of national parliaments. In the Federal Republic, however, approval of legal acts by the Länder is necessary according to the Basic Law. The matter was brought to the Constitutional Court, which ruled that any EU measure affecting the constitution would have to be approved by a two-thirds majority in the Bundesrat. In areas touching traditional Länder prerogatives, the Federal Republic would be represented by a delegate of the Land.74 In view of the domestic complications in various countries including Germany, it was not surprising that the TEU was ratified late and only came into force in November 1993. In general, the German government’s approach to the constitutive dimensions of European integration revealed a line of continuity between West and unified Germany’s European policies. However, its neighbours’ newly arisen concerns were also a major reference point for German policymakers. Kohl repeatedly declared that integration (and EMU) had to be irreversible, rejecting accusations that Germany was trying to dominate Europe.75 On these grounds, the German chancellor had agreed at Maastricht to a firm timetable and a phased implementation of economic and monetary union. This was a personal decision taken against the objections of his advisors and the Bundesbank.76 While Kohl had underwritten the controversial end of the Deutsche Mark, he had at the same time pushed through an institutional framework modelled closely on the German system. In fact, the economic aspects of the Maastricht Treaty incorporated all of the Bundesbank’s significant demands as expressed in its position paper of September 1990. This left no doubt about Germany’s dominance in European economic questions.77 The German public’s reaction to Maastricht was decidedly cool. Various factors fed scepticism in 1992–93: the EMS exchange rate crisis and the growing worries about German domestic economic fundamentals in the light of the economic troubles of the eastern Länder that led to recession.78 However, public unease centred on the purpose and use of EMU and the EU’s budgetary fairness.79 Indeed, domestic political debate began to focus predominantly on Germany’s role as the EU paymaster. The Bundesbank report of November 1993 was highly critical of EU spending practices and forecast a dramatic rise in German contributions if spending discipline was not imposed. The situation was described as untenable.80 The opposition SPD used the Bundesbank report to criticise Kohl’s management of the country’s European politics, and made the paymaster issue part of German national electoral politics. Subsequently, government officials also began to question the formula for financing the EU budget. The reliance on aggregate gross domestic product (GDP)

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rather than GDP per capita for calculating a member’s contribution had caused the German stake to jump massively with unification. Germany’s annual net contribution almost doubled, to DM 22 billion between 1989 and 1997. Furthermore, by 1996 the Commission released figures showing that Germany contributed 29.2 per cent of the EU’s budget, but received only 14.8 per cent of total spending.81 Foreign minister Kinkel called for an overhaul of the EU’s financing system, in order to achieve a fairer distribution of the burden among the member states.82 Germany achieved some kind of success, forcing through a zero growth budget in 1997 and only a modest increase of 1.4 per cent in 1998. Still the budget and Germany’s contributions to it remained a contested issue, in which Germany’s national interest found expression. As a sovereign nation-state Germany was clearly no longer prepared to pay in order to keep everybody else content; this was even more the case as the Standortdebatte—a debate about Germany’s economic competitiveness—appeared on the political agenda as the German unemployment rate reached a peak in 1997 of 4.5 million unemployed.83 Polls conducted between 1994 and 1998 revealed that two-thirds of the German public were concerned about the loss of stability arising from EMU and fluctuating majorities simply opposed the introduction of a single currency.84 ‘Deutsche Mark nationalism’ was not only applicable to former East German desires for hard currency; five years after unification the entire German population’s attachment to the Deutsche Mark as a symbol of prosperity and stability surfaced on the political agenda. The heightened domestic politicisation of European issues was reflected in a new sharpness of SPD attacks on the government over EMU from autumn 1995 onwards. Chancellor Kohl accused the opposition of acting irresponsibly in trying to increase popular resistance to EMU and thereby causing Germany’s partners to doubt its commitment to Europe. He insisted on the necessity of EMU and on the importance of a stringent EMU framework, as proposed by finance minister Theo Waigel in September 1995,85 for both Germany and Europe, while pointing out that a single European currency would be as solid as the Deutsche Mark.86 Ironically, the SPD failed to secure electoral successes through its anti-EMU campaigns in the Länder elections in 1996 and 1997; and the fact that the SPD did not make opposition to EMU part of its federal election programme demonstrated the general constraints of a historical, interparty consensus that European integration was good for Germany.87 Significantly, Waigel’s proposal on budgetary discipline triggered serious differences between Germany and the rest of the EU, as his idea seemed to reflect the degree to which Germany did not trust its partners to maintain the correct economic policies within the single currency. In the end, however, a final agreement on what was to be called the ‘stability and growth

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Figure 3.3 ‘…nur noch wenige tausend Tagel’ (‘…only a few thousand days’) Source: Horst Haitzinger, Tageszeitung (Munich), 5 December 1991. pact’ was reached on 14 December 1996. Germany had gained yet another victory in the EU power game.88 Meanwhile, for Bonn the bid to meet EMU convergence criteria on schedule turned into a German nightmare. Having failed in 1995 and 1996, Germany only just moved back on track by 1997.89 In the face of economic difficulties, EMU became a hot issue in the domestic budget debate. The government justified general budget austerity, reforms of the welfare system and deferral of promised tax cuts with reference to EMU-related goals and obligations.90 Waigel’s plan to revalue the Bundesbank’s gold reserves to market prices in 1997, in order to use the resulting profits to retire debts accumulated since unification, led to a major row with the Bundesbank. Although the TEU generally required such a revaluation, Bundesbank president Hans Tietmeyer refused to use such a method for solving 1997’s deficit. Moreover, he lobbied Kohl hard for a delay in implementing EMU. The revaluation initiative bordered on true folly. It undermined the German government’s stability pact agenda, and furthermore exposed it to the charge of engaging in precisely the kind of budgetary ‘accounting tricks’ of which, among others, Italy was accused. In the face of domestic and international condemnation, Kohl and the Bundesbank agreed that the gain from the revaluation would be applied for the 1998 deficit, thus ensuring that Germany still had to meet the 1997 criteria and qualify for EMU without the help of accounting games.91 By spring 1998, the EMU project had become almost a foregone conclusion.92 On 27 February, the EU member states released their nationally calculated figures which

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showed that all 11 candidates interested in joining the euro zone had met the criteria. These results were confirmed by independent reports of the EU Commission and the EMI as well as the Bundesbank, in March 1998. In consequence, the implementation of the euro was to occur fully in line with the original timetable.93 EMU had its roots in a Franco-German initiative. Over the 1990s, however, the German government under Kohl and the Bundesbank increasingly emerged as the dominant shapers of the process. The European Central Bank’s location in Frankfurt underlined Germany’s leading role in Europe, especially in the euro zone. During spring 1998, a long-simmering dispute between France and Germany about the nationality of the ECB’s president came to the surface, involving national preferences, the question of prestige and status, and the symbolic weight embodied by EMU and its institutions. Although in the end a compromise was reached, this could not hide the fact that at the core of European politics lay the historical national rivalry between France and Germany.94 Since Gerhard Schröder’s becoming chancellor, Germany’s European policy even more than under Kohl has been dominated by Germany’s new Machtbewuβtsein95 and its ‘policy of enlightened self-interest’ (Politik des aufgeklärten Eigeninteresses).96 This means that the West German political tradition of a European policy where German and European interests were totally congruent had ended. In fact, to Schröder—as he had already said during his election campaign in summer 1998—Europapolitik was a practical question, not a moral one. He preferred to discuss the EU as a matter of economics and accounting, knowing of course, that this approach to Europe would resonate well with popular anxieties over budget cuts and tax increases. Chancellor Schröder pointed in his inaugural speech to the necessity of significantly reducing Germany’s net payments to the EU.97 While the principle of continued European integration was not questioned as such, this more explicit exercise of Germany’s power within the EU based on calculations of national interest was remarkable. As Joschka Fischer explained: ‘The long-term binding of Germany to Europe is the most important task of German foreign policy’, but ‘realism must be added to the vision of a European house.’98 When on 1 January 1999 the euro was launched, Kohl was gone. For the creation of EMU and Germany’s role in it, Helmut Kohl had been the pivotal actor. His motivation for EMU was founded in his personal belief that it was more important for Germany to follow long-term foreign policy interests—continuous European integration—rather than short-term ones. A key consideration in measuring Kohl’s genuine commitment to EMU was his decision to make it irreversible by fixing a date within the TEU for launching the euro in 1999. Without such a deadline, it seems unlikely that EMU would have proceeded after 1997 because the economic convergence of member states was so limited. The date clearly implied an incentive based on the fear of exclusion. It must be noted that for Germany in general and for Kohl in particular, European integration policies were a historico-moral issue of commitment to Western values and multilateralism. At the same time, European monetary politics were very much about Germany’s power. The creation of EMU reflected Germany’s status as the leading economic power in Europe, and the Bundesbank’s imprint on the new European institutions and policies pointed to Germany’s predominance as the shaper of EMU. This and the paymaster debates demonstrated Germany’s growing assertiveness, its

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increasingly pragmatic approach and clear willingness openly to exert its influence. Germany’s new Machtbewuβtsein became only truly outspoken, however, with the Schröder government’s accession to power. GERMANY AND EU ENLARGEMENT: A ZWANG NACH OSTEN? How was Germany’s status as a sovereign political and economic power reflected in the EU debates on widening and on institutional reforms during the 1990s? By 1990–91, the economic pull generated by the EC’s single market initiative, combined with the dissolution of Cold War geopolitical constraints, had produced a lengthy queue of applicants for membership of the EC/EU by former communist countries as well as ‘northern’ European Free Trade Association (EFTA) countries. Germany, one of the most consistent advocates of enlargement in the 1970s and 1980s, gave enthusiastic support, especially to the wave of EFTA applicants. Sweden, Finland and Austria joined quickly—on 1 January 1995—as their accession was not expected to trigger any major economic or political adjustments. They were western democracies and wealthy, and hence welcomed as EU net contributors. It has been further argued that Germany was a strong supporter of ‘northern’ enlargement as it was considered a necessary prerequisite to make eastern enlargement—one of Germany’s core interests—politically possible.99 Thus, in the context of ‘northern enlargement’ and the prospect of the admission of a number of east European countries, the question of power and influence reappeared on the European political agenda. Germany used enlargement to strengthen its position within the EU vis-à-vis a strong Mediterranean bloc around France. As Kinkel bluntly argued in spring 1994, the coming northern enlargement was ‘a significant step on the path to re-establish the balance of Europe’.100 Such declarations hinting at Germany’s weightier role in Europe, which to many Germans only stated the obvious, could not but provoke a furore in France and revive an old and dormant Franco-German rivalry about political influence within the union. The key problem was that the EFTA and eastern European enlargements were considered to threaten the parity on which Franco-German leadership in Europe was based. The EU membership of Sweden, Finland and Austria might have implied some indirect financial benefits for France, but in terms of geopolitics and culture it was considered to benefit Germany.101 In parallel with the very rapid enlargement process to include the EFTA countries, Germany had emerged in the immediate post-unification phase as the leading advocate for several post-communist countries, most notably Poland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Hungary. Chancellor Kohl stated in 1993: ‘for me as a German it is unacceptable that Poland’s and the Czech Republic’s western frontier should be the eastern border of the European Union in the long run’.102 More than was the case for other member states, Germany’s support for eastern enlargement was an unmistakable reflection of its central geopolitical place coupled with ideas of a Mitteleuropa without lines of division, and its desire to promote democracy, socioeconomic prosperity and stability on its eastern border.103 While under foreign minister Genscher eastern enlargement had been an issue rooted in his older ideological convictions of a new Ostpolitik and all-European unity, his successor’s—foreign minister Klaus Kinkel’s—approach was more pragmatic. The

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opportunities deriving from new east European market economies on the one hand, and a concern about the flow of ‘economic refugees’ as well as peace and stability behind its eastern borders on the other, constituted significant factors motivating Germany to support enlargement.104 The Federal Republic’s interest in the economic transformation of eastern Europe had its roots in a longstanding tradition of German economic involvement in the region. Even during the Cold War West Germany had pursued in the framework of its Ostpolitik a more active eastern trade policy than any other Western country.105 Michael Reich and Andrei S.Markovits have argued that ‘The newly unified Germany’s position would become in due course even more formidable by virtue of inheriting the former GDR’s close “socialist” ties with Eastern Europe and the [former] Soviet Union.’ They added that Germany’s economic ‘hegemony’ in central and eastern Europe would soon be matched by cultural dominance, whereby ‘Germany’s cultural hegemony in the region will assume a commercialised and capitalist character.’106 Whatever the true intentions of the German government—greater economic, political and cultural influence and consequently power, or security politics—enlargement towards the east would in any case benefit Germany disproportionately. Germany had an unquestionable interest in gaining influence in the central and eastern European Countries (CEEC). It would provide them with more bilateral financial resources than any other state.107

TABLE 3.1 Relative donor contributions and total assistance to central and east European countries, 1990–94 Country Germany

Total (million ECU)

Bilateral aid in total (%)

11,238.63

25.5

United States

9,574.65

21.7

France

5,512.30

12.5

Japan

3,126.70

7.1

Austria

2,267.47

5.1

Others

12,365.81

28.0

Bilateral donor total

44,085.56

100.0

Total assistance

74,707.02

Sources: Patricia Davis and Peter Dombrowski, ‘Appetite of the Wolf: German Foreign Assistance for Central and Eastern Europe’, German Politics, 1 (1997), p. 7; G-24 Scoreboard of Assistance Commitments to the Countries of Central and Eastern Europe, 1990–1994 (Brussels: European Commission Directorate General IA, March 1995).

Bonn was the driving force behind the first EU association agreements with the central eastern European transition countries—the so-called Europe agreements of 1991—as

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well as the launch of EC assistance programmes such as PHARE (Pologne, Hongrie: assistance à la reconstruction économique) and TACIS (Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States).108 The actual issue of EU membership for east European states turned out to be a challenge. Between 1992 and 1994, intergovernmental debates centred upon the dichotomy between deepening and widening. While Britain pushed for widening (aiming for a looser and less cohesive community) and France pushed for deepening (hoping to ensure its weight vis-à-vis Germany), Kohl emphasised the parallel necessity for both enlargement and institutional reforms.109 The chancellor’s commitment to eastern enlargement at EU summits in 1992–93 masked, however, a deeper ambivalence, and the opposition SPD warned against making ‘irresponsible promises to the CEEC states of fast EC membership.’110 In summer 1994 Kohl admitted ‘that the route of these countries into the EU [would be] a difficult and long one’,111 while at the same time Kinkel pointed to Germany’s perception of itself as being the ‘advocate of the whole of Europe’.112 According to the German foreign minister there should be interlinked layers of stability with a fully integrated core Europe at the centre, surrounded by a first layer of bilateral and multilateral affiliation agreements with eastern Europe, combined with a second layer of strong bilateral and multilateral support for Russia.113 At the Corfu European Council in June 1994, it was openly acknowledged that a Union with up to 27 members would require major changes in EU structures and institutions which would mean time-consuming reforms. It also became clear that the incompatibilities between ‘deepening’ and ‘widening’ had to be overcome. Subsequently ideas of a more flexible European order received increased attention.114 Official German policy trod carefully in this area, eager to avoid a harmful split among EU members. However, the circulation of an unofficial but widely noted CDU discussion paper in autumn 1994, produced by Wolfgang Schäuble and Karl Lamers (leader and foreign policy spokesman respectively of the CDU’s Bundestag faction) generated a huge controversy in German domestic politics as well as abroad. The paper advocated a ‘variable geometry’ or ‘multi-speed’ Europe with a limited number of core states which would be limited to EMU members comprising most probably the original six founder members minus Italy. With regard to a European security architecture, the authors stated that without further development of (west) European integration, Germany might be required to attempt the stabilisation of eastern Europe alone and in the traditional way.115 Chancellor Kohl reacted to the Lamers-Schäuble paper by a Bundestag speech in which he pointed to Germany’s commitment to Europe which stood in repudiation of German unilateralism. Lacking an overall concept on how to achieve ‘deepening’ and ‘widening’ in parallel did not mean lacking commitment. Kohl followed his usual pattern by concentrating on vision rather than on details: Germany’s future in an ever integrating Europe was his deepest conviction.116 While Germany had sustained political momentum behind the eastern enlargement initiatives during its presidency in autumn 1994,117 Bonn’s enthusiasm began to ebb as the paymaster debate emerged in 1995 in the context of Germany’s growing economic problems deriving from the slow post-unification transformation in former East Germany. Instead, German politicians under the leadership of defence minister Volker

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Rühe gradually developed a policy prioritising NATO and WEU expansion to the east before EU enlargement. Thus, in contrast to the very slow EU enlargement process, NATO was enlarged by spring 1999 with the accession of Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic.118 The potentially beneficial, but in the short term very costly eastern enlargement of the EU came indeed to be seen by the German government as a compulsion to the east (Zwang nach Osten).119 Although, on an ideological level and rhetorically Kohl undoubtedly viewed enlargement and EU institutional reforms as parallel processes, his growing concern with Germany’s financial contributions to the EU’s budget meant the inherent prioritisation of the idea of reforming Europe before enlarging it. Germany was no longer prepared to be the EU’s paymaster, as it had always been in the past, and Bonn’s policies revealed a new self-confidence and assertiveness in pointing to Germany’s national preferences. It was only in December 1997 at the Luxembourg summit that the EU’s vision turned again to enlargement. In the context of presenting its ‘Agenda 2000’, which set forth policy reforms and new budgetary proposals, the Commission recommended the immediate commencement of accession negotiations with the six best-qualified countries. These were Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Poland and Slovenia.120 In March 1998 German officials openly threatened to derail the policy reform package if a commitment to ‘substantial and permanent’ cuts in Germany’s net contributions to the EU was not forthcoming.121 The Bonn government expressed reservations about reforms of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) and structural funds, since this could end up increasing Germany’s net contributions to the EU and would almost certainly harm the interests of the eastern Länder in the process.122 Thus, in an ironic twist Germany’s budget goals conflicted with its widening objectives to the east. The newly elected Schröder government in autumn 1998 declared foreign political continuity. Still, an important shift occurred as what the Kohl government had kept quiet was now publicly announced. Whereas under Kohl and Kinkel Europapolitik had very much followed the lines Karl Lamers had expressed in early 1995 (‘We have to lead, but without anybody noticing’),123 foreign minister Fischer had no hesitation speaking openly about Germany’s central and weighty role in Europe based on its place and power.124 As soon became evident, the Schröder government gave priority to deepening over widening. It was argued that the eastward expansion of the EU necessitated the prior adoption of internal reforms. In November 1998 Berlin announced that it was not prepared to continue paying its high share to the European budget, and hence intended to break with Kohl’s ‘chequebook politics’.125 In his speech to the European Parliament in winter 1999, foreign minister Fischer added that a date for accession of new members could not be set until negotiations on Agenda 2000—including the contested financial issues—had been completed.126 During the German presidency, the government’s tone in spring 1999 became more cautious, and an agreement was reached at the Berlin summit over Agenda 2000. It included notably the reduction of Germany’s contribution to net transfers of nearly DM 2 billion yearly until 2006.127 Supporting a compromise rather than pushing through measures based on short-sighted economic interests showed that Germany under Schröder continued to be a European advocate.

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During the second half of 1999 attention was turned away from the financial aspects of EU reforms and the focus shifted again to the more visionary issues including enlargement. With regard to widening the EU, the notion of the ‘new realism’ in Germany’s enlargement policy since 1998 had created suspicion about the Schröder government’s commitment to enlargement. However, in numerous statements government officials emphasised that despite Germany’s hardline position on European financial affairs, enlargement remained a top priority of its Europapolitik.128 The Schröder government knew that the integration of eastern Europe into EU structures undoubtedly held economic benefits for Germany, and as Fischer stated, it would be a historical stupidity not to push for it.129 On these grounds one can argue that the new government’s enlargement policies were characterised by two elements: a strategic vision for eastern enlargement as well as the pragmatism and realism needed to complete the access negotiations. In operative terms the issue of widening gained true momentum in autumn 1999, during the Finnish presidency. At the Helsinki summit, agreement was reached on a concrete plan for the enlargement of the EU, and 2003 was set as the target date for possible accession of new members. Moreover, enlargement and the EU’s institutional reforms were again presented as parallel processes.130 Significantly, in summer 2000 a visionary debate bearing a German imprint about Europe’s future architecture suddenly surfaced. Foreign minister Fischer presented on 12 May 2000 his (personal) concept of Europe’s fiiture.131 Fischer’s vision clearly borrowed Genscher’s idealistic rhetoric of re-uniting Europe. He stated that one should ‘never lose sight of the historic dimension of eastern enlargement. For this is a unique opportunity to unite our continent, wrecked by war for centuries, in peace, security, democracy and prosperity.’ The speech disclosed how much Germany’s troubled history continued to play a part in German political thinking. Fischer pointed out that through enlargement ‘it will be possible lastingly to overcome the risks and temptations objectively inherent in Germany’s dimensions and central location through the enlargement and simultaneous deepening of the EU’. This clearly reflected the idea of the necessity of Germany’s ‘selfconstraint’ through integration into the West. At the same time, however, following the Red-Green coalition’s new assertiveness and political pragmatism, Fischer declared that enlargement was a supreme German national interest which would bring tremendous benefits for German companies and employment. The continuity of nation-states in Europe was presented as a necessity. This was the opposite of the federalist ideas of the Cold War period which had implied the dissolution of the nation-state into the EU. Moreover, it stood in contrast to the idealistic concepts of a post-national united Europe. During 1990 and 2000 some kind of re-nationalisation had evidently taken place, despite the developments of further European integration, especially in the economic sphere. Germany’s new Machtbewuβtsein and use of political power became particularly visible in two instances: the German-Finnish dispute on the question of German as a working language during unofficial EU meetings in summer 1999,132 and the controversy over the number of votes allocated to Germany in the EU’s Council of Ministers as it surfaced during the Franco-German summit in June 2000.133 While Helmut Kohl had maintained the culture of restraint and avoided touching on such issues in the post-unification years, chancellor Schröder did not hesitate to put the

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discussion of Germany’s power projection on the EU’s political agenda. The issues of power and place, which had been very much dissociated from Germany during the Cold War, had re-emerged. They revealed the problematic relationship between small and great powers as well as the historical suspicion of German power, especially by France. Still, despite its growing self-assertiveness as a nation and great power, as well as a willingness to resort to the more traditional methods of international relations including occasional political go-it-alones, Germany’s European policy today shows that selfassertion and western integration are not mutually exclusive. Fischer’s visionary speech of May 2000 undoubtedly reflects Berlin’s unbroken devotion to the concept of German identity and interests interwoven with those of Europe, even if the balance has shifted from the concept of using European institutions as a means of pursuing its national interests towards using the EU as a platform for voicing them. As Joschka Fischer put it: Only through the continuation of a policy of intelligent self-constraint and the multilateral expression of interests can we preserve the trust and predictability, which the old and new Federal Republic built up during fifty years of cautious foreign policy. This together with the unification of Europe is our most important foreign political heritage. Only if we hold on to this heritage without allowing the rise of any doubts, will new room to manoeuvre open up, which we will need and which German foreign policy can use creatively.134 In 1990, unified Germany re-emerged at the geographic centre of Europe as the continent’s weightiest and hence most influential actor in economic as well as political terms. During the early 1990s Germany was still looking for its new role in a continuously evolving Europe and world. Thus it adhered strongly to traditional West German foreign political rhetoric, pointing to unified Germany as a ‘civilian power’ and ‘trading state’, to its ‘culture of restraint’ as well as the full congruence of German and European interests. Foreign political continuity along the lines of West German traditions was very much embodied in the continuity of the main political actors: chancellor Kohl and foreign minister Genscher. Kohl’s deepest conviction was that Germany remained anchored in the West as well as being the motor of further European integration. Yet, with regained sovereignty and increased geopolitical weight, Germany’s position crystallised more and more visibly as the shaper of European affairs. EMU was a European project on which Kohl as a politician, the prestigious Bundesbank as an institution and symbolically the Deutsche Mark as a strong European currency, left a German imprint. While it was partly circumstances which made Germany take the lead, it was clear that Germany also wanted to play a leadership role. The same went for Germany’s policy of supporting enlargement to include EFTA countries and especially the post-communist states. Not only was Germany—for geopolitical reasons—most affected by east European affairs, Bonn also had a clear interest in the EU’s eastern enlargement for security as well as economic reasons. In parallel to these political processes that were shaped by Germany, the conflicts in the Gulf and then in the former Yugoslavia shaped new Germany’s military role. The post-Cold War conflicts forced Bonn to acknowledge its new role as a sovereign nationstate in the international community and to adjust to its position of responsibility as an

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‘equal’ alliance partner. The domestic, political and constitutional out-of-area debate clearly led to a certain ‘normalisation’ of Germany’s military role in comparison with the roles played by other nation-states. Significantly, while Kohl and defence minister Rühe very early on adopted a position of promoting ‘normalisation’ in the sphere of security and defence policy, Germany’s role in the EU followed West German traditions of keeping a low profile. Yet, in the second half of this decade, Germany emerged as an increasingly assertive member of the EU. In the context of Germany’s domestic economic difficulties, the European paymaster debates and Kohl’s prioritisation of EMU over enlargement suggested that Germany was to approach European affairs more pragmatically and with national concerns in mind. Although this was never stated as such under Kohl, the new Red-Green coalition in 1998 openly pointed to German national interests. Contrary to the suspicions that the new government’s red or green ideology would change Germany’s foreign policy line and thus erode its close relationship with its Western allies, foreign political continuity marked the shift from the Kohl to the Schröder era. That is, Germany’s loyalty to Western institutions prevailed. Changes have been more about style than content. The reason might well be that once the idea of ‘normalisation’ had entered the left, it brought them closer to realpolitik and the centre of the political spectrum. As Fischer pointed out in an interview on 3 June 2000: [I am not a] green foreign minister. Of course, party political convictions do play a role in what I am doing. But foreign policy is conducted on the basis of long-term national interests, and on the basis of calculability and the values for which the country stands.135 The self-assertiveness based on a new consciousness of power which had gradually emerged from 1995 onwards under the Kohl government became vocalised with the accession to power of a new generation of politicians in 1998 and the transfer of the government’s seat from Bonn to Berlin in 1999. Fully conscious of its historical legacy and fully committed to the Western civic culture and multilaterism, Germany at the beginning of the twenty-first century is again a state with outspoken national interests. It is not ashamed of its Germanness and openly acknowledges the implications of its role as a great power at the heart of Europe. Schröder phrased this as follows: Foreign policy is also a policy of interests. Any foreign policy which claims not to represent any interests would be pure hypocrisy. The crucial point is how interests are defined… German foreign policy should a policy of ‘enlightened self-interest’.136 As long as the new contours of the EU remain indistinct, the question as to how the new Germany will in the future play its central role in (eastern) Europe cannot be answered. Still, the analysis of German Ostpolitik in the following two chapters should offer further explanations of the character of the new Germany.

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NOTES 1 Roman Herzog, ‘What is foreign policy, and what is the right German foreign policy—at a time which as yet has no name, in a Europe that keeps growing and in a world that becomes ever smaller?’ ‘Ansprache von Bundespräsident Roman Herzog bei der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik in Bonn am 13. März 1995’, http://www.bundespräsident.de/n/nph-b/reden/de/dgap.htm?reden/deutsch1995. 2 See articles 2 and 3 in ‘Vertrag über die abschlieβende Regelung in Bezug auf Deutschland vom 12. September 1990’, in Kaiser, Deutschlands Vereinigung, pp. 262–3. 3 See chapter 1 above. 4 See Nina Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze als auβen- und sicherheitspolitisches Problem des geeinten Deutschland (Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1997), pp. 68–71. 5 See ‘Verständigung in Bonn nach eingehenden Beratungen’, FAZ, 21 August 1991. 6 See Alexander Siedschlag, Die aktive Beteiligung Deutschlands an militärischen Aktionen zur Verwirklichung kollektiver Sicherheit (Frankfurt a. M.: Lang, 1995), pp. 35–8. 7 See ‘Westeuropäische Union’, Europa-Archiv (1990), p. Z191. 8 See Jonathan P.G.Bach, Between Sovereignty and Integration (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999), pp. 122–3. 9 See ‘Kohl schließt Einsatz am Golf nicht aus’, FAZ, 17 Aug. 1990. 10 Siedschlag, Aktive Beteiligung Deutschlands, p. 50. 11 Quoted in Karl-Heinz Kamp, Die Debatte um den Einsatz deutscher Streitkräfte auβerhalb des Bündnisgebietes (St. Augustin: Forschungsinstitut der KAD Stiftung, 1991), p. 18 (emphasis added). 12 Helmut Kohl, ‘Die Rolle Deutschlands in Europa’, Stichworte zur Sicherheitspolitik, 4/1991, pp. 2–5. 13 See Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, pp. 68–76; Siedschlag, Aktive Beteiliguing Deutschlands, pp. 38–41. 14 Cf. chapter one. 15 See Karl Feldmeyer, ‘Dem möglichen Aggressor frühzeitig die Entschlossenheit der NATO demonstrieren’, FAZ, 7 Jan. 1991. 16 See Kohl’s Regierungerklärung, ‘Zur Lage in der Golfregion und in Litauen’, Bulletin no. 4, 15 Jan. 1991, 1991, pp. 21–4. 17 See Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, p. 74. 18 See Bach, Sovereignty, p. 125. 19 See ‘Weitere 5,5 Milliarden Dollar an Amerika’, NZZ, 31 January 1991; Helmut Hubel, Der zweite Golfkrieg in der internationalen Politik (Bonn: Forschungsinstitut der DGAP: Europa Union Verlag), 1991, p. 59. 20 See Max Otte, with Jürgen Greve, A Rising Middle Power (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000), pp. 93–4. 21 See ADG (CD-ROM) ‘Jugoslawien: Vukovar erobert; die EG kündigt Anerkennung Sloweniens und Kroatiens an’, 23 Dec. 1991, ref. 36345. 22 See Hanns W.Maull, ‘Germany in the Yugoslav Crisis’, Survival, 4 (1995–96), pp. 99–130, here pp. 100–5; Wolfgang Krieger, ‘Toward a Gaullist Germany? Some Lessons from the Yugoslav Crisis’, World Policy Journal, 1994, pp. 26–38. 23 See Jonathan Eyal, Europe and Yugoslavia (London: Royal United Services Institute, 1993), p. 25. 24 See Krieger, ‘Gaullist Germany’, p. 32. 25 Ibid. 26 See Maull, ‘Yugoslav Crisis’, p. 104; Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 937–67, here pp. 960–3. 27 Quote from ‘Ein groβer Erfolg für uns’, Der Spiegel, 23 Dec. 1991.

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28 See Marie-Janine Calic, ‘Jugoslawienpolitik am Wendepunkt’, APuZ B37/93, pp. 11–20, here p. 18. 29 Cf. Maull, ‘Yugoslav Crisis’; Krieger, ‘Gaullist Germany’; John Newhouse, ‘Bonn, der Westen und die Auflösung Jugoslawiens’, Blätter für deutsche und internationale Politik, 10 (1992), pp. 1190–1205; Carl C.Hodge, ‘Germany and the Limits of Soft Security’, European Security, 3 (1998), pp. 110–30, here pp. 120–6. Interviews with former German government officials. 30 Harald Müller, ‘German Foreign Policy after Unification’, in Paul B.Stares (ed.), The New Germany and the New Europe (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1992), pp. 126–73, here p. 130. 31 On the ‘culture of restraint’, see Franz-Josef Meiers, ‘Germany: The Reluctant Power’, Survival, 3 (1995), pp. 82–103. 32 Cf. Maull, ‘Yugoslav Crisis’, pp. 105–11. 33 See Miles W.E.Wade, Twenty-First Century NATO: Matching Words With Deeds, unpublished MPhil thesis, University of Cambridge (1999), here pp. 8–11; Cf. Siedschlag, Aktive Beteiligung, pp. 91–7. 34 See Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, pp. 146–9. 35 See Maull, ‘Yugoslav Crisis’, pp. 105, 108. 36 See Reich and Markovits, German Predicament, p. 140. Text printed in Stichworte zur Sicherheitspolitik, 2/1992, pp. 40–3. 37 ‘Interview im Heute-Journal 19.2.1992’, Stichworte zur Sicherheitspolitik 3/1992, p. 43. 38 See Siedschlag, Aktive Beteiligung, pp. 149–57. 39 See Bach, Sovereignty, pp. 125–6. 40 See ‘Deutsche Teilnahme an der Adria-Operation’, NZZ, 17 July 1992. 41 See ADG (CD-ROM) ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Bundes- und landespolitische Ereignisse; Einsatz der Bundesmarine in der Adria; ausländerfeindliche Krawalle in Rostock’, 25 Aug. 1992, ref. 37083 42 See Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, p. 120. 43 See NATO Handbook (NATO HQ, 1999), p. 115. 44 See Karen Donfried, ‘Germany on the Global Stage: The US-German Relationship after Unification’, in Lankowski, Breakdown, pp. 51–76, here p. 54. 45 Ibid., p. 93. 46 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitische Ereignisse auf Bundesund Landesebene; AWACS-Beschluß zur Teilnahme der Bundeswehr am NATO-Einsatz in Bosnien; Kommunalwahl in Hessen’, 8 April 1993, ref. 37739. 47 On the government’s decision to participate in operation ‘Deny flight’, see Bulletin, 29 (1993), pp. 253; Europa-Archiv (1993), p. Z101; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitische Ereignisse auf Bundes- und Landesebene; AWACS-Beschluß zur Teilnahme der Bundeswehr am NATO-Einsatz in Bosnien; Kommunalwahl in Hessen’, 8 April 1993, ref. 37739. 48 On the court’s decision, see ADG (CD-ROM), Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitische Ereignisse auf Bundes- und Landesebene; AWACS-Beschluβ zur Teilnahme der Bundeswehr am NATO-Einsatz in Bosnien; Kommunalwahl in Hessen, 8 April 1993, ref. 37739. See also Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, pp. 48–9. 49 See Siedschlag, Aktive Beteiligung, pp. 154–7. 50 See Hanns W.Maull, ‘Germany and the Use of Force: Still a “Civilian Power”’, Survival 2 (2000), pp. 56–80, here p. 63. 51 See Philippi, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze, pp. 34–58. 52 Klaus Naumann quoted in Sameera Dalvi, ‘The Post-Cold War Role of the Bundeswehr: A Product of Normative Influences’, European Security, 1 (1998), pp. 97–116, here p. 106. 53 Speech by defence minister Volker Rühe in Bonn, N-TV, 22 July 1994. 54 Interview with foreign minister Klaus Kinkel by Heribert Prantl, SZ, 16 July 1994, p. 12.

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55 See Maull, ‘Yugoslav Crisis’, pp. 109–11; Donfried, ‘Germany’, pp. 56–8. 56 See Bach, Sovereignty, pp. 147–75. 57 Ibid.; Dalvi, ‘Bundeswehr’. 58 See Heinz Loquai, Der Kosovo-Konflikt—Wege in einen vermeidbaren Krieg (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2000), pp. 113–28; Hanns W.Maull, ‘German Foreign Policy, Post-Kosovo: Still a “Civilian Power”?’, GP, 2 (2000), pp. 1–24. 59 See Loquai, Kosovo-Konflikt, p. 114. 60 Ibid., p. 125. 61 Cf. Gerhard Schröder’s speech at the 35th Munich Conference on 6 February 1999, ‘Ausgestaltung einer europäischen Sicherheits- und Verteidigungspolitik’, Bulletin, no. 8, 22 February 1999, p. 89. 62 Ibid., pp. 113–28; Maull, ‘Germany’, pp. 60–1; cf. idem, ‘Post-Kosovo’, pp. 1–24. 63 Cf.’ “Alle hatten Skrupel”: Verteidigungsminister Rudolf Scharping (SPD) über die Legitimität der NATO-Luftschläge und das veränderte Verhältnis der Deutsche zum Krieg’, Der Spiegel 13/1999, www.spiegel.de/spiegel/0,1518,14883,00.html. 64 See Loquai, Kosovo-Konflikt, pp. 132–7. 65 For a collection of the most recent newspaper articles on the reform of the Bundeswehr see, www.welt.de/politik/blickpunkt/bundeswehr/index.htx. For the Iraq issue, see ‘Schröder bleibt bei seinem Nein zu Irak-Angriff, Die Welt, 2 Oct. 2002. Cf. ‘Einigkeit in der KriegsFrage’, Die Welt, 2 Oct. 2002. 66 See Committee for the Study of Economic and Monetary Union, Report on Economic and Monetary Union in the European Community (Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities), p. 3. 67 See Dorothee Heisenberg, The Mark of the Bundesbank (London: Boulder, 1999), pp. 105–6. 68 Ibid., pp. 109–12. 69 See Kenneth Dyson and Kevin Featherstone, The Road to Maastricht (Oxford: OUP, 1999), pp. 370–81. 70 See Heisenberg, Bundesbank, pp. 184–6. 71 Quoted from David J.Reynolds, One World Divisible (New York: Norton & Co., 2000), p. 567. 72 See Heisenberg, Bundesbank, pp. 122–3; Dyson and Featherstone, Road, pp. 447–8. 73 See Jeffrey J.Anderson, German Unification and the Union of Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 45. 74 See ADG (CD-ROM) ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Urteil des Bundesverfassungsgerichts zum EG-Vertrag von Maastricht; Abschluβ des Ratifikationsverfahrens’, 12 Oct. 1993, ref. 38274; George Rees, ‘The Constitution and the Maastricht Treaty: Between Cooperation and Conflict’, GP, 1 (1994), pp. 47–74. 75 See Dyson and Featherstone, Road, p. 370. 76 See Heisenberg, Bundesbank, p. 196. 77 Ibid., pp. 115–18. 78 See Anderson, German Unification, p. 47. 79 See Dyson and Featherstone, Road, p. 450. 80 See Deutsche Bundesbank, Monatsbericht November 1993 (Frankfurt, 1993). 81 See Anderson, German Unification, pp. 51–2. 82 See ‘Germany’s Kinkel Wants Rethink on EU Financing’, Reuters, 20 July 1997. 83 See Michael G.Huelshoff, ‘The “Storm Before the Calm”: Labour Markets, Unemployment, and Standort Deutschland’, in Lankowski (ed.), Breakdown, pp. 99–103. 84 See ‘Most Germans Oppose Single Currency Plan for 1999’, Reuters, 31 Jan. 1996; Stephen Wood, Germany, Europe and the Persistence of Nations: Transformation, Interests and Identity, 1989–1996 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), pp. 158–60. 85 Interview with Theo Waigel, Focus, 16 September 1995; See Interview with Theo Waigel, ‘No Soft Options on Hard Issues’, Financial Times, 11 December 1995.

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86 See ‘Kohl: Weak EMU Would Hurt German Democracy’, Reuters, 16 Oct. 1995. 87 See Heisenberg, Bundesbank, pp. 172–6. 88 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Europäische Union. Frankreich. Finanzpolitik: Diskussion über die Konvergenzkriterien zur Teilnahme an der EWWU; Stellungnahmen von Helmut Kohl und Hans Tietmeyer; Vorlage aktualisierter Konvergenzberichte der EU-Kommission und des EWI; EU-Finanzministerkonferenz in Brüssel’, 27 Nov. 1996, ref. 41599; ADG (CD-ROM) ‘Europäische Union: Gipfeltreffen von Dublin; Einigung über den Stabilitätspakt erzielt’, 14 Dec. 1996, ref. 41649. 89 See table 7.1. ‘Forecasts of Budget Deficits as Percentage of GDP’, in Heisenberg, Bundesbank, p. 164. 90 Interviews with former German government officials. 91 See Heisenberg, Bundesbank, pp. 166–7. On the gold issue, see Jyri Raivio, ‘Saksan kultakikkailu voi vaarantaa Emun vakautta’, Helsingin Sanomat, 18 May 1997; Martti Virtanen, ‘Saksan rahaministeri Waigel: Kullalla ei paikata budjettia’, Helsingin Sanomat, 6 June 1997; Anni Lassila, ‘Saksan Emu-keskustelu velloo miltei hysteerisenä’, Helsingin Sanomat, 14 July 1997. 92 Cf. ADG (CD-ROM), Europäische Union. Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Beschlüsse der EUFinanzminister in Mondorf-les-Bains; Kontroverse um Tietmeyer-Äußerungen; zum Stand der EURO-Diskussion in EU-Staaten’, 13 Sept. 1997, ref. 42294. 93 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Europäische Union: Vorlage des EWWU-Konvergenzberichts, 25.3.1998, 42721; Commission of the European Communities’, Convergence Report for EMU (Luxembourg: Office of Official Publications of the European Communities, 25 March 1998); Deutsche Bundesbank, Stellungnahme des Zentralbankrates zur Konvergenzlage in der Europäischen Union im Hinblick auf die Dritte Stufe der Wirtschafts- und Währungsunion (Frankfurt a. M.: Bundesbank, 26 March 1998). 94 See Hans Stark, ‘France and Germany—A New Start?’, The International Spectator, 2 (1999), pp. 21–8, here p. 23. See also Martin S.Lambeck, ‘Duisenberg: Ich kann acht Jahre im Amt bleiben’, Die Welt, 7 May 1998; ‘Duisenberg legt sich nicht fest’, Die Welt, 8 May 1998. 95 Egon Bahr seems to have been the first to have used the term Machtbewuβtsein with reference to the Berlin Republic; see Egon Bahr, ‘Die “Normalisierung” der deutschen Außenpolitik: Mündige Partnerschaft statt bequemer Vormundschaft’, Internationale Politik 1 (1999), pp. 41–52, here p. 45. 96 See ‘Rede von Bundeskanzler Gerhard Schröder: Auβenpolitische Verantwortung Deutschlands in der Welt, am 2.9.1999 vor der DGAP in Berlin’, Internationale Politik, 10 (1999), pp. 67–72, p. 70. 97 See ‘Regierungserklärung—Parlamentsrede des Bundeskanzlers vom 10.11.1998 zum Programm der rot-grünen Bundesregierung’, www.welt.de/extra/dokumentation/regierung/981l_erklärung.htm. 98 ‘Mehr Realismus für Europa’, SZ, 6 Nov. 1998. 99 See Seppo Hentilä, ‘Saksa’, p. 25; Cf. Otte, Middle Power, p. 141; Anderson, German Unification, p. 53. 100 See Das Parlament, 18 March 1994, p. 2; cf. ‘Neuer Machtpol in Europa’, Der Spiegel, 7 March 1994, pp. 18–20. See also ‘Erklärung der Bundesregierung über die Erweiterungsverhandlungen der Europäischen Union’, Bulletin, 11 March 1994, pp. 217–18. 101 See Thomas Pedersen, Germany, France and the Integration of Europe (London: Pinter, 1998), pp. 188–9. 102 Quote from Renata Fritsch-Bournazel, ‘Paris und Bonn: eine furchtbare Spannung’, EA 12/1994, pp. 343–8, here p. 344. 103 Interviews with former German government officials. See Egon Bahr, Deutsche Interessen (Munich: Blessing, 1998), pp. 24–5. 104 See Verheyen, German Question, pp. 265.

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105 See chapter 4 below. 106 See Reich and Markovits, ‘Should Europe Fear the Germans?’, in Huelshoff, Markovits and Reich, From Bundesrepublik to Deutschland, pp. 283–4. 107 See Patricia Davis and Peter Dombrowski, ‘Appetite of the Wolf: German Foreign Assistance for Central and Eastern Europe’, GP, 1 (1997), pp. 1–22. 108 See Anderson, German Unification, p. 53. 109 See Reinhard Meier-Walser, ‘Germany, France and Britain on the Threshold to a New Europe’, Auβenpolitik, 4 (1992), pp. 334–43. 110 See Deutscher Bundestag, Stenographische Berichte, 12/108, 25 Sept. 1992, p. 9223. 111 See Kohl and Balladur, ‘Ein wesentlicher Schritt auf dem Weg zu einem dauerhaften Frieden auf unserem Kontinent’, Bulletin, no. 51, 31 May 1994, p. 481. 112 See Kinkel’s speech at the Council on Foreign Relations, Chicago 19.4.1995, Bulletin no. 32, 24 April 1995, p. 267. 113 Kinkel’s speech in Bonn, 29.6.1994, Bulletin, no. 63, 30 June 1994, p. 594. 114 See ADG (CD-ROM) Europäische Union: Gipfeltreffen auf Korfu, 25 June 1994, ref. 39053. 115 See CDU/CSU Fraktion des deutschen Bundestags, Überlegungen zur europäischen Politik. Bonn, 1 Sept. 1994. 116 See Helmut Kohl, ‘Aussprache über den Bundeshaushalt’, Bulletin, 9 September 1994; Cf. Otte, Middle Power, pp. 148–9. 117 Classified documents. 118 On NATO enlargement see chapter 4 below. 119 For the quote see Hentilä, Seppo, ‘Iso ja keskellä: Saksa mahtuu taas nahkoihinsa’, Ulkopolitiikka, 4 (1997), p. 24. 120 See ADG (CD-ROM) Europäische Union. Türkei: EU-Gipfel in Luxemburg; Erweiterung der Union beschlossen; die Türkei bricht den politischen Dialog mit der EU ab, 13 December 1997, ref. 42505. 121 Quoted from Anderson, German Unification, p. 54. 122 See Andreas Middel, ‘Waigel droht mit Blockade der EU-Reform/Bonn macht Zustimmung zur “Agenda 2000” von Verbesserung der deutschen Nettozahler-Position abhängig’, Die Welt, 23 March 1998, www.welt.de/daten/1998/03/23/0323sl70816.htx. 123 See ‘Oldtimer sucht Augenkontakt’, Der Spiegel no. 7, 13 February 1995, pp. 26–8. Kohl stated himself in his first interview after his chancellorship ‘Die neue “Hoppla-jetzt-kommich-Politik” ist schädlich. Wir sind mit achtzig Millionen Einwohnern das nach der Bevölkenmgszahl stärkste Land Europas, wir sind auch wirtschaftlich das stärkste Land— das ist richtig. Wir müssen doch den anderen nicht ständig sagen, daβ wir stark sind und die Numero eins’ (‘The new “hey, here I come policy” is damaging. With eighty million inhabitants we are in terms of population figures Europe’s strongest country, we are also economically the strongest country—that is correct. We do not have to tell the others all the time that we are strong and the numero one’.) See ‘Helmut Kohl im Gespräch mit Heribert Prantl, “Europa vor dem Ziel”’, SZ, 11/12 September 1999, pp. i–ii. 124 See ZEIT-Chefredakteur Roger de Wreck im Gespräch mit Bundesaußenminister Joschka Fischer, ‘Ein Realo sieht die Welt’, Die Zeit, 12 Nov. 1998. 125 Quoted in Institut für Europäische Politik/IEP (ed.), Enlargement/Agenda 2000—Watch, no.1, 1999, p. 24, www.upi-fiia.fi./julkaisut.html#enlarge; ‘Europa mit links’, Focus, 14 Dec. 1998, p. 20. 126 See Fischer’s speech at the European Parliament, 12 January 1999, www.auswaertigesamt.de/www/de/infoservice/presse/?bereich_id=4&type_id=3&like_str= &archiv_id=735&detail=1. 127 Christian Wernicke, ‘Vom Dressman zum Staatsmann’, Die Zeit, 31 March 1999. 128 See for instance ‘Rede von Joschka Fischer aus Anlaβ der Übernahme der Amtsgeschäfte, 28.10.1998’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/2/r/R981028b.htm; Rede Verheugens zum

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Thema “Die Osterweiterung der Europäischen Union: Stand und Perspektive”’, 11 Dec. 1998, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/2/r/R981211a.htm. 129 See Fischer’s speech at the European Parliament, 12 Jan. 1999, http://www.auswaertigesamt.de/www/de/infoservice/presse/?bereich_id=4&type_id=3&like_str=&archiv_id=735&d etail=1. 130 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Europäische Union: EU-Gipfeltreffen in Helsinki’, 11 Dec. 1999, ref. 43953. 131 See ‘Vom Staatenverbund zur Föderation—Gedanken über die Finalität der europäischen Integration. Joschka Fischer in der Humboldt-Universität Berlin’, 12 May 2000, www.auswaertigesamt.de/www/de/infoservice/presse/?bereich_id=4&type_id=3&like_str=Föeration&archiv_i d=97&detail=1.‘Fischer wirbt für europäische Föderation’, SZ, 13 May 2000. 132 See Tuomas Forsberg, ‘A Friend in Need or a Friend Indeed? Finnish Perceptions of Germany’s role in the EU and Europe’, UPI Working Papers no.24, 2000, pp. 14–16. See also Dirk Müller-Thedersen, ‘Berlin und Helsinki schrammen an diplomatischem Skandal vorbei’, 16 Oct. 1999, de.yahoo.com; Nikolaus Blome, ‘Kalte Dusche für Gerhard Schröder in Tampere’, Die Welt, 16 Oct. 1999; HS-archive ‘Mitä isot edellä, sitä pienet perässä’, Helsingin Sanomat, 8 Oct. 1999; HS-archive Seppo Hentilä, ‘EU:n kielikiistan taustalla on historia’, Helsingin Sanomat, 29 July 1999. 133 See Joachim Fritz-Vannahme, ‘Berliner Muskelspiele’, Die Zeit, 15 June 2000, p. 12. 134 ‘Rede bei der Mitgliederversammlung der DGAP am 24.11.1999 in Bonn’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/99/r/r991124.htm. 135 ‘“Ich bin nicht der Außenminister der Grünen”’, Die Welt, 3 June 2000. 136 See ‘Rede von Bundeskanzler Gerhard Schröder’, p. 70

4 Germany and Russia Reborn: Back to the Future?

Es ist wichtig, daß wir, die Bundesrepublik Deutschland, zu unserem wichtigsten und mächtigsten Nachbarn im Osten unseres Landes exzellente politische, wirtschaftliche und kulturelle Beziehungen pflegen.1

The events of 1989–91 generated suspicions of a self-confident, unified Germany, especially in view of its Ost- and Ruβlandpolitik. Not only had the world witnessed further rapprochement between Bonn and Moscow during the 2+4 talks on German unification in 1990, but Kohl had also strongly supported Gorbachev and the unity of the USSR all through 1991. After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, Boris Yeltsin’s Russia succeeded the USSR in its role as the great power in the east. Thus, by the end of 1991, Europe’s map looked similar to that of 1919: between an undivided sovereign Germany in the heart of Europe and Russia in the east there was a zone of small states forming Zwischeneuropa (a Europe in between). Would history repeat itself? Would Germany as the new central power embark again on great-power politics with Russia? Would this be detrimental to Europe’s security as it had been in the past? It is essential to understand that, following the tradition of West Germany, unified Germany’s Ostpolitik continued to be anchored in its Westpolitik. That said, even during the Cold War, Ostpolitik was something Germany could to some extent shape independently. Thus many expected that unified Germany’s Ostpolitik would be the most likely area for foreign political innovations and would reveal a new direction of foreign policy. Accordingly, just as in the pre-Cold War world, Russia was to stand out as absolutely critical to the post-Cold War shape of German foreign policy, and the security order in eastern Europe very much depended again on Bonn’s and Moscow’s national interests.

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THE HISTORICAL GERMAN QUESTION IN THE LIGHT OF GERMAN-RUSSIAN RELATIONS Current German-Russian relations and the questions they raise about the fate of the eastcentral European states and European security in general2 can only be understood if the rich and ambiguous relationship of the two nations is explained in historical perspective. Therefore, the intention here is to draw out the underlying elements that have shaped the quality of German-Russian ties. Ever since the late eighteenth century there had been a peculiar affinity between Germans and Russians. German influence on Russia was strong because German aristocrats played an important role in Russian political and intellectual life. Yet there were wider questions which made German-Russian ties complex and ambivalent and formed the core of the classic debate between Slavophiles and Westernisers: was Russia part of (western) Europe? Or was it more of a unique Eurasian country, whose natural allies were further east? How far to the west did Moscow see its sphere of influence extending? What about the non-congruence of ‘state’ and ‘empire’? It is evident that Russia has been active in Europe’s power game since the beginning of the eighteenth century. Since Catherine the Great the expansion of Russian (later communist) power was dominated by a ‘drive to the west’.3 The question of Russia’s identity, closely associated with the question of the nature and implications of what has been called Russia’s Eurasianism, resurfaced in post-Soviet Russia and has become a pivotal issue in the development of new post-Cold War East-West relations on the European continent.4 As discussed in more detail in chapter 2, the Germans also historically shared a similar uncertainty about whether they belonged more to western or eastern Europe, or whether Germany formed a category of its own, somewhere in between. This problem of German identity was particularly reflected in the Reich’s Schaukelpolitik after 1871. Against this background German-Russian relations clearly present themselves in two ways: on the one hand, they were drawn to each other; on the other, the relationship between Germany and Russia was steeped in conflict due to the internal restlessness that was reflected in their foreign policy. Linking Germany’s eastern and Russian policies to the historical German Question, it is important to note that between 1871 and 1945 the European continent suffered two devastating wars as a consequence of Germany pursuing its claims for eastern territories and hegemonic influence in Mitteleuropa. Germany’s bellicose, expansionist Ostpolitik, which effectively meant unavoidable conflict with a Russia itself trying to expand to the west, was what became chiefly associated with the so-called German Question. The problems arising from Germany’s struggle for mastery in Europe coupled with its aggressive Ostpolitik can only be explained when examined in the context of the very contradictory foreign relations between the German Reich and Russia (later the Soviet Union). The relationship between the two great powers has always been simultaneously one of co-operation and conflict—a ‘love-hate relationship’,5 a paradox, lethal for the stability of Europe as a whole, and representing an existential question for the peoples of east-

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central Europe.6 At first, the Reich and Russia cultivated political and economic partnership. But their relations increasingly suffered from territorial great power rivalry, which in the context of imperialism seemed to turn inevitably into warfare in the early twentieth century. Germany embarked on military expansionism to incorporate eastern territories into the Reich during the First World War, and this was underwritten in the German-Soviet Peace Treaty of Brest Litovsk in 1918. At the end of the war, however, as defeated nations Germany and the USSR underwent a major loss of territory. As confirmed in the peace treaty of Versailles in 1919, new, small countries appeared on Europe’s map between the two rump states.7 As both powers were revisionist, a new partnership soon emerged in the form of the Soviet-German Treaty of Rapallo in 1922. However, Rapallo was not about true partnership, but a Zweckgemeinschaft (a marriage of convenience) founded on antiWesternism. Further, it embodied clandestine military co-operation to the detriment of European security. With Hitler’s rise to power in Germany in 1933, co-operation with the USSR soon ended and the military build-up was to be used for purely nationalistic purposes. While Soviet western policy was about spreading Bolshevist revolution in the West, German Ostpolitik became, in the context of the Nazis’ racial ideology, a socalled Lebensraumpolitik. Aiming for a German racial empire in the east, the Nazis’ military expansionism clearly threatened the existence of the new states of central and eastern Europe and, most importantly, the USSR itself. In this light, the presentation of the Hitler-Stalin pact of 1939 as a non-aggression pact seems ironic. Again it reflected cooperative great power politics in the sense that Stalin and Hitler had secretly divided eastcentral Europe into their spheres of influence. But the pact really only hid Hitler’s true intention of attacking the Soviet Union within a short time. Germany’s military aggression quickly turned co-operation into war.8 When the Third Reich suffered total defeat in 1945, the eastern territories were cut off. In a world increasingly dominated by East-West bipolar ideological confrontation, the German rump was finally divided in 1949, with each half becoming incorporated into its respective military bloc. With regard to the past, German division symbolised the end of aggressive German power politics. In other words, with the disappearance of Germany as the central power of Europe, the German Question had found an answer. Ironically, the emerging Cold War structures in Europe meant that east-central Europe, which had suffered under Germany’s constant drive to expand its territory to the east, was prevented from becoming truly politically independent. Even in the face of an apparent answer to the German Question, for the states of Zwischeneuropa there was no escape from their fate of being dominated. They became communist satellites of Moscow. That said, with the fall of the Iron Curtain in Europe, a new, relative stability emerged on the continent, which had not existed while a unified Germany and the USSR (and previously, Russia) had been fighting for hegemony in central Europe. After a period of cold peace between the Eastern and Western bloc, superpower détente and the change of government in West Germany allowed Bonn and Moscow to enter a phase of rapprochement during the late 1960s. Chancellor Willy Brandt introduced the so-called ‘neue [new] Ostpolitik’ in 1969. It had nothing in common with the traditional expansionist Ostpolitik of the unified Germany of the early twentieth century. In contrast, neue Ostpolitik stood for exactly the opposite: détente, reconciliation and territorial status quo policies which in some distant future could lead to some form of

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unification between East and West Germany, the unspoken West German national interest.9 Closer ties with Moscow were clearly not intended as a move away from Bonn’s Einbindungsraison—the commitment to the Western institutional structures—which lay at the heart of West Germany’s civic culture. But neue Ostpolitik was a means by which West Germany could widen its foreign political scope of action vis-à-vis the Western Allies, and test how far the semi-sovereign state could act independently.10 Under the successive West German governments of Brandt, Schmidt and Kohl, Bonn was able to develop bilateral co-operative policies with Moscow on an increasingly broad scale, independently of the state of superpower relations. Economic relations (gas pipeline deals and technological transfer) were a notable success story,11 and by the late 1980s West Germany had emerged as the Soviet Union’s ‘most important capitalist trading partner’.12 West Germany was fully aware that its advanced economy gave it a structural advantage in economic power over the USSR, whose economic and technological decline was becoming acute. Significantly, economics had been decoupled from politics—in other words no specific, immediate quid pro quo was asked for. Nonetheless Germany hoped for an eventual payoff.13 In the first instance economic ties were seen as a means of building trust and Soviet goodwill, convincing Moscow that West Germany could be a reliable partner, rather than the evil opponent as in the past. If nothing else, West Germany clearly had at least a security interest in cultivating good relations with the USSR.14 As Gorbachev’s commitment to reform and open up the USSR was taken as genuine, relations between Bonn and Moscow warmed rapidly.15 In West Germany the hope began to grow that Gorbachev might make concessions to Bonn on key policy issues, if he could be made to see that capitalist West Germany was a vital economic partner, while East Germany represented a large net loss to the Soviets. Thus, from 1988 onwards, the Kohl government embarked on a policy of providing direct assistance to the USSR. It included a DM 3 billion loan,16 as well as West Germany’s political support for the establishment of the EC’s diplomatic ties with the Kremlin.17 In parallel, private German companies set up joint ventures in the USSR, which had become possible due to a new Soviet law of 1987.18 West Germany’s economic leverage was undeniably of major political importance in improving German-Soviet relations. Another decisive factor for closer German-Soviet ties was the growing mutual trust and personal friendship between Kohl and Gorbachev. Both elements did not, however, hide the fact that Bonn and Moscow were fully aware of the power-political status of the other: the USSR was a military superpower (even if in economic and political decline and in danger of disintegration); West Germany was mainly a strong economic power by which it offset its sovereignty deficit. Against this background it is evident that during the German unification process, both sides bargained heavily in pursuing their national interests. Germany’s position of (economic) strength in combination with the good rapport between Moscow and Bonn were among the key factors for making unification possible and for reaching the decisive compromises during the 2+4 talks, most importantly Germany’s continued membership of NATO. As in the past, German-Soviet relations played an essential role in changing the political and military map of Europe; however, the shift from the Cold War into the post-Cold War era happened peacefully.19

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When Germany regained national unity and sovereignty, the historic German Question reappeared immediately on the political agenda. Would the new sovereign Germany embark on a path of independent power politics and look east again? Unified Germany stated its continued commitment to Western integration and Western civic culture, and the legal ceding of territorial claims. This meant that three of the five factors of the German Question—namely unity, identity and civic culture—were essentially resolved. Furthermore, this implied that Ostpolitik would remain anchored in Westpolitik. Still, the question mark stood against Germany’s future place and its projection of power in postCold War Europe. Place and power were both elements of the German Question which in historical perspective were mostly associated with Germany’s excessively bellicose eastern policies and ambiguous relations with Moscow. In late 1990, speculation therefore arose about the future quality of German-Soviet relations and their influence on the emerging sovereign states in east-central Europe in view of Europe’s new security structures. Gorbachev’s position in the Kremlin was increasingly endangered as the USSR fell apart. At the same time, Bonn’s Moscow-first Ostpolitik (meaning absolute political and economic support for Moscow) in the immediate aftermath of unification disclosed a new German self-assertiveness, as well as a close Russo-German affinity. One reason was of course the particularly close friendship between Kohl and Gorbachev. Linked to this personal rapport was some kind of German feeling of gratitude towards Moscow for allowing unification to happen. Yet at the same time, German policies—including economic linkage—were calculated and clearly based on national interests, namely to achieve timely ratification of the 2+4 treaty by keeping Gorbachev in power and the Soviet Union together. In sum, the close relations between Bonn and Moscow in 1990–91 had an ambivalent rationale and reflected a peculiar interdependency between the two powers.20 Interestingly, as in the past, this new German-Soviet co-operation had some negative impact on the policies of some small countries in Zwischeneuropa which were trying to break away from Moscow’s sphere of influence. Ever since the Helsinki process was launched in the mid-1970s, German foreign minister Genscher had been the advocate of the universal right of peoples to self-determination which he linked to Germany’s own national problem of unachieved unification. Now in 1990–91 the German government— having achieved its own national aim—remained rather quiet in the historically very sensitive case of the Baltic Soviet republics’ struggle for independence.21 In fact, the Baltic case revealed the most contradictory elements of West Germany’s Ostpolitik, which had been dominated by the political philosophy of Genscherism. Genscherism was a policy of avoiding unpleasant choices and pursuing the reconciliation of seemingly incompatible goals. This had been possible for a semi-sovereign West Germany in the Cold War world, especially with regard to its eastern relations since the late 1960s. Once unified, a sovereign Germany had to make ‘ostpolitical’ choices. In making these choices, Kohl insisted that the promotion of Soviet unity was the top priority; he had far less time (if any) for giving practical support to the Baltic independence struggle (see chapter 1). After the Soviet collapse, unified Germany and Russia inevitably reappeared on the post-Cold War map of Europe as the two great powers which were bound to play the leading role in the evolution of Europe’s security architecture, especially in Zwischeneuropa. It is evident that the historical relations between ‘Germany’ and

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‘Russia’ as summarised above are vital for understanding the development of the new relations between the two sovereign states.22 The following detailed case study of postCold War German Ruβlandpolitik is intended to provide, with regard to the new German Question, answers as to the nature of the new Germany that fit the historical context— and go beyond. THE REALISATION OF UNIFICATION, 1992–94: RUSSIAN TROOP WITHDRAWAL FROM FORMER EAST GERMANY The new Germany that appeared in Europe’s centre at the end of the Cold War was a strengthened and increasingly self-assertive power. But, as soon became evident, it had to cope with the enormous financial challenge of rebuilding the economy of the former East Germany, the cost of which the Kohl government had greatly underestimated.23 In fact, the chancellor had not only miscalculated the economic, but also the political and psychological costs of unification.24 The situation in Russia was far more fragile and uncertain. After centuries of autocracy and 74 years of communism, an economically ruined and polit-ically shaky Russia had to build a democracy and market economy simultaneously and from scratch. While this was an important internal challenge, Moscow had in parallel to cope with the dual shock of losing its external empire in eastern Europe and its internal empire—the fourteen other republics of the USSR. In the light of this, there were dire predictions in Russia as well as abroad of large-scale violence, political instability, even the state’s total collapse.25 At the same time, Moscow’s international political status could not be dismissed. Even if it had renounced its ideological struggle with the West, Russia remained a nuclear superpower with a large standing army, which could potentially pose a military threat. Against this background, Russia’s major external challenge was to define its new role and conceptualise a new foreign policy. Germany too had to search for a new foreign policy identity, especially towards the east. Indeed, it had to re-prioritise between the development of ties with the east-central European states on one hand and Russia and the other post-Soviet successor states on the other. Yet in the immediate after-math of the collapse of the Soviet Union, it seemed obvious that, at least until the unification treaties were implemented and hence a vital national interest achieved, Germany’s Ostpolitik would be dominated by Ruβlandpolitik. How did the new German-Russian relations evolve? As Angela Stent rightly pointed out, ‘the Russia that emerged from the ruins of communism was led by a man who both impressed the West and also made it uneasy’: Boris Yeltsin. Initially, Bonn had tended to disregard Yeltsin as an uneducated and unpredictable provincial politician who was undermining the position of the more sophisticated Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev and with it the integrity of the Soviet Union. However, emerging as the hero of the August 1991 putsch and thus enhancing his domestic popularity, Yeltsin forced Germany to move away from its Gorbachev-centric view. In fact, acknowledging the necessity of continuing to cultivate close relations between Bonn and Moscow, Kohl’s policy toward Russia quickly evolved into economic and political support for Yeltsin after the USSR had collapsed and Gorbachev had resigned. Yeltsin had become the politician who was believed to be capable of reforming and stabilising the country, and with whom it was

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most likely that the German-‘Soviet’ issues deriving from the unification process could be wrapped up. These included troop withdrawal and the return of German cultural artefacts plundered by the USSR at the end of the Second World War. Indeed the implementation of German unification became Germany’s priority in its Russian policy.26 While the withdrawal of ex-Soviet troops was the more vital concern in GermanRussian relations, the problem of Russia’s refusal to return the ‘stolen art’ has been a particularly sensitive issue because of its historic symbolism. According to article 16 of the 1990 German-Soviet Treaty on Partnership, Neighbourliness and Co-operation ‘both sides agree that art treasures which disappeared or were unlawfully misappropriated, which are now in their territory, will be returned to their owner or owners or successors’.27 Both Russian legislative houses, however, passed a law in early March 1997 claiming that the cultural artefacts were Russian property and could not be returned to Germany. Yeltsin, eager to compromise with the German government, vetoed the legislation in March 1997,28 which meant that case was brought to Russia’s Constitutional Court. On 6 April 1998, it ruled that the Russian president had to sign the law. Yeltsin announced its re-examination, declaring it to be incompatible with international law and Russia’s international treaties.29 But the issue has remained unresolved and at the time of writing continues to sour relations between Moscow and Berlin.30 Germany’s primary goal of rapid former Soviet troop withdrawal (by 31 December 1994) was coupled with a strong interest in seeing the chaotic post-Soviet situation stabilised. In turn, Russian goals were to gain Germany’s political support for the new government and to secure as much economic assistance for reforms as possible. In this vein, it can be argued that Germany and Russia entered the post-Cold War period with an ‘old’ political agenda deriving from the events of 1989–91. It is significant that the nature of the linkage of economics with politics during the actual unification process differed from that thereafter. In 1990–91 Germany had used bilateral economic assistance programmes to achieve immediate political goals: first, unification with Germany’s NATO membership and second, timely Soviet ratification of the 2+4 treaty in order truly to regain full sovereignty. From 1992 onwards Germany, which was Russia’s major creditor,31 began to push its allies to assume more of the burden of assisting Russia, while clearly cutting down on its bilateral assistance.32 German finance minister Theo Waigel declared: ‘bilateral assistance, which we have offered in return for [German] unification, cannot be continued infinitely.’33 The only bilateral measure of economic assistance were the Hermes government export credits, which, in contrast to unification chequebook diplomacy promoting co-operation with Moscow, were merely seen as a means to support the exports of eastern German industry to Russia in order to secure east German employment.34 However, in view of the rapid decline of the Soviet-Russian economy, the idea of stabilising the situation in eastern Germany by exports to the CIS proved unrealistic. Russia failed to use the credits fully according to their purpose, and subsequently 90 per cent of the hitherto export-dependent employment in eastern Germany had disappeared by 1993.35 Thus it is not surprising that the Hermes credits were steadily cut down—DM 5 billion for 1992,36 DM 4 billion for 1993 and DM 2.5 billion for 1995.37 All the same, Russia was fully aware that it retained ‘a source of bargaining with every soldier who was still stationed on German ground’.38 Moscow’s tactics were to

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complain about obstacles beyond their control. Thus it was to demand German involvement and more important, further German financial assistance. Moreover, Yeltsin knew how to play the card of German gratitude for having gained unification. The Soviets had agreed to troop withdrawals within four years as part of the 2+4 negotiations and the bilateral Soviet-FRG agreements but, as in other aspects of these negotiations, they had bargained from a position of weakness and without considering all the consequences of such rapid withdrawal, such as the loss of Soviet hegemony in eastern Europe. The collapse of the USSR itself added even further unexpected difficulties that threatened to undermine the will or capacity of the Russian side to fulfil its commitments. Among the practical issues were first, the Polish government’s opposition to transporting the Soviet Western Group of Forces (WGF) through Polish territory; second, the problem that most of the housing for returning soldiers had been built in the newly independent Ukraine and Belarus (formerly the western reaches of the USSR) while the WGF and their advanced equipment had to return to Russia; and third, Russia’s failure to begin its own housing construction on time.39 In view of these difficulties, the Russian government asked Bonn for an extra DM 7 billion. The request was rejected.40 The German government pointed out that according to the Soviet-FRG agreement the troop withdrawal itself was entirely a Russian responsibility. Furthermore, Bonn made it clear that it was not Germany’s concern where the troops were to be returned and where the housing was to be built. Overall, however, Germany took a low-key approach and refrained from accusing Russia of violating the German-Soviet agreement or threatening to suspend the German contribution to the housing programme.41 For Germany, the Soviet military presence had virtually ceased to be an immediate threat by 1992. Before the end of the year, 50 per cent of the WGF had withdrawn from German territory, and the Bundeswehr did not consider the remaining troops as a military force capable of an offensive, especially given its lack of logistical and back-up support.42 However, with the rise of new financial obstacles related to claims and counterclaims concerning the WGF’s property in eastern Germany, and the question of the costs of environmental damage that the Soviet troops had inflicted, timely withdrawal of the forces could not be guaranteed.43 These unanticipated delays put Germany in a difficult position. While there was no necessity for Germany to change the rules or adapt to Russia’s complaints and demands, insistence on strict adherence to the terms of the agreement had to be weighed against German interest in successful withdrawal. After all, in principle the removal of the former Soviet troops from German territory was a core security objective and requirement. And, given the growing turmoil in Russia, there was some risk that former Soviet forces might not leave Germany if a more conservative, nationalist or even communist government were to replace Yeltsin. In the end, Germany would only feel fully sovereign once all the forces had left.44 As much as troop withdrawal was a foreign and security political problem, it also became a German party-political matter. With the next federal elections in Germany due before December 1994, chancellor Kohl’s interest in pushing for earlier troop withdrawal reflected political considerations. If he was successful, Kohl could campaign as the chancellor who completed unification.45 Speeding up the withdrawal was a key goal for the German chancellor when he met Yeltsin on 15–16 December 1992 in Moscow. Kohl and Yeltsin declared all mutual property claims to be null and void, and Bonn waived its

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right to demand compensation for damage done by the WGF. In addition, Germany granted Moscow an interest-free deferment of payment until 2000 of debts amounting to DM 17.1 billion from the ‘transferable rouble’ deal of 1990. Kohl also promised DM 1 billion for the victims of National Socialism in Russia, Belarus and Ukraine.46 Finally, the chancellor agreed to contribute DM 550 million more to the housing construction programme (making a total of DM 8.35 billion). In return for these indirect and direct financial offers, Yeltsin consented to accelerate the withdrawal of the ex-Soviet forces, so that by 31 August 1994 they would all have left German territory. He also dropped the earlier demands for monetary compensation for the bases the troops left behind. Again Bonn had used chequebook diplomacy with Moscow to achieve a major political goal.47 After 1992 Germany virtually stopped offering any new aid to Russia, the German government pointing to budgetary reasons.48 However, the timing of Germany’s actions suggests that in addition to the emerging limits of German spending capability, Bonn was gradually reducing bilateral economic assistance to Russia as the final issues of German unification were resolved, which made the political connection obvious. Whatever the true reasons, it is essential to realise that during the 20 months between the Kohl-Yeltsin summit and August 1994, the matter of a Red Army presence on German soil continued to influence German Ruβlandpolitik. However, there was a shift of focus: while until the end of 1992 troop withdrawal had been considered a bilateral issue of agreement in the realm of high politics, in 1993—in the light of Russian domestic developments—it became a matter of political feasibility. Ever since the end of the Cold War it had been a major German fear that Russia’s politico-economic instability might affect the troop withdrawals. German concerns were not unfounded. The military was humiliated by its loss of status and growing impoverishment (both of which deteriorated with the return of the troops from the former western flank of the Soviet empire), confused by the loss of their ideological mission and searching for a new purpose in a chaotic state.49 It was more than likely that the issue of troop withdrawal would be politicised on the Russian domestic scene, as the internal political and economic transformation process was moving slowly. It was precisely in this context of unsuccessful reform policies that a power struggle emerged between president Yeltsin and anti-reformers with Ruslan Khasbulatov (the chairman of the Supreme Soviet) as their vocal leader. The growing opposition to Yeltsin became visible as early as the Seventh Congress of Peoples’ Deputies of 1–14 December 1992, when Khasbulatov strongly disapproved of Yeltsin’s economic reform policies.50 Later he also criticised the president for having agreed with Kohl on the acceleration of the withdrawal of troops from Germany despite the lack of housing. Yeltsin’s critics clearly coupled Russia’s domestic politico-economic problems with military issues, and the perception of Russia’s loss of international political status, of which the issue of troop withdrawals was a reminder. Facing such serious political difficulties at home, Yeltsin (just like Gorbachev) used his political weakness and Western belief in him as a reformer as a trump card to pressurise the West for economic concessions to keep him in power and Russia on the track of reform. He declared: ‘Revanchism is possible if assistance to reform and democracy is not provided. Russia not only needs support today but urgently.’51 Germany had a larger stake in the outcome of the Russian transition than any other country, especially because of the troop withdrawal issue. How did Bonn react? In view

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of possible economic linkage policies, it is significant here to remind ourselves of the fact that Germany, which by 1993 was just about to end its bilateral economic assistance to Russia, had since early 1992 pushed for the internationalisation of aid. Importantly, during 1992 international willingness to offer Russia financial aid had been weak, and multilateralism was considered as a means of passing on costs to other countries and escaping true responsibility for a challenge which seemed unsurmountable.52 In early 1993, the new US administration under Bill Clinton began to promote international assistance to Moscow, and emerged as the new leader in the West’s Ruβlandpolitik. Clinton announced on 3 April: ‘I want America to act, but America cannot and should not act alone …we must now mobilize the world on behalf of peace and reform in Russia.’53 Behind the new active US economic assistance policy was the thinking of power politics. Just as at the end of the Cold War, when the West had bargained with the USSR from a certain position of power, the Clinton administration saw Western economic aid for Moscow as an instrument to influence the political development of Russia and thus to improve East-West relations along Western lines.54 With the United States becoming the motor of multilateral assistance to Moscow in 1993, Washington had moved closer to the German position of promoting an active common international effort to stabilise Russia and supporting Yeltsin to remain president. However, their motives behind such a policy were different: the United States sought to influence developments in Russia in order to be able to establish a US-Russian ‘strategic partnership’.55 Germany denied any further bilateral aid to Moscow and looked for multilateral aid initiatives to stabilise Russia, in order to secure the rapid withdrawal of remaining troops. Yeltsin came under increasing attack from Russian nationalists and anti-reformers during spring 1993. This culminated on 26 March in an attempt by the president’s opponents to impeach him. Yeltsin announced that a referendum would be held on 25 April, when the electors could vote on their confidence in him and his social and economic policies amongst other issues.56 With many in the West considering the deadlock as one between a ‘communist-era parliament’ and a ‘democratically elected president’,57 the West’s willingness to provide economic assistance grew rapidly. In fact, Western economic support for Russian reform policies effectively meant support for Yeltsin. He was considered the only predictable political actor in Russia willing to push through democratic reforms, and as a German diplomat pointed out: ‘In the end, nobody wants to be the guilty one, if Yeltsin were to be overthrown.’58 When on 15 April 1993 the Group of Seven (G-7) offered a US$ 43.4 billion assistance plan, one can safely argue that it was a political measure to show support for Yeltsin in view of the Russian referendum. The package included US$ 14.2 billion in currency stabilisation efforts offered by the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) and a US$ 15 billion Paris Club debt rescheduling that allowed Russia to delay until 2003 repayments of debts due in 1992 and 1993. Germany—Russia’s most important creditor with 50 per cent of Russia’s overall debts, or about US$ 40 billion—was originally reluctant about debt rescheduling and would have preferred the introduction of fresh money. Still, Bonn did not want to endanger the Yeltsin course of reform policies by rigid repayment demands, and it therefore agreed.59 Further, to make the troop withdrawal more acceptable for Moscow, the German government offered military

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partnership in the form of a German-Russian agreement on military co-operation which defence ministers Rühe and Grachev signed on 13 April 1993.60 Yeltsin emerged restrengthened after the referendum, in which the people had supported him as well as his reform policies,61 but the political struggle between the parliament and the president was far from over. On the contrary, it became increasingly fierce. Subsequently Yeltsin disbanded—in violation of the Constitution—the Supreme Soviet and Congress of Peoples’ Deputies by decree on 21 September 1993 and announced parliamentary elections to a new state Duma and Federation Council for 12 December 1993. In turn, the parliamentary opposition under the leadership of Khasbulatov and the vice-president, General Alexander Rutskoy, occupied the ‘White House’ (parliament building) with the aim of a putsch. On 4 October 1993, troops loyal to Yeltsin made an assault on the parliament and forcibly reinstated rule and order.62 The West was satisfied with Yeltsin’s ‘victory’ over the communist-nationalist opposition alliance and referred to it as triumph of democracy. Kohl was reported as stating that ‘the dangerous escalation in Moscow was solely initiated by a hard core of reform opponents. Germany was interested in the continuation of reforms, as Yeltsin had embodied them so far.’63 Yet it was really Yeltsin’s authoritarian ambitions that had come to light. His proposal for a new constitution which was to be voted on in parallel to the parliamentary elections has to be seen in similar vein, as it implied a significant increase in presidential power.64 With the Russians’ vote in favour of the new constitution, ironically, president Yeltsin installed an increasingly undemocratic political system in Russia.65 The Duma elections brought a surprising defeat for the reformers. Vladimir Zhirinovsky and his ultranationalist Liberal Democratic Party gained a major election victory, securing 22.92 per cent of votes.66 Zhirinovsky had advocated the reincorporation of the former Soviet republics into Russia, and with his victory Russia’s post-imperial trauma had come into the open.67 Promising the disillusioned military that their status and mission would be restored, Zhirinovsky had gained popularity among them. Indeed, 24 per cent of the WGF voted for Zhirinovsky according to WGF general Matvei Burlakov.68 The Germans especially were shocked by Zhirinovsky’s rise, and the German media reported extensively about him, even alluding to a ‘new Hitler’.69 In the end, neither the upheavals in Russia nor Zhirinovsky’s rise in politics had a visible impact on the willingness of ex-Soviet troops to return to Russia. The Russian political situation stabilised, and there was little doubt about who would control Russia: Boris Yeltsin. As became evident in January 1994, not only did Zhirinovsky stand for an aggressive nationalist force in Russian politics, but Yeltsin himself, as well as his foreign minister Andrei Kozyrev, began to move away from a line of co-operative foreign policy with the West and from rigid economic reform policies. Since late 1992 there had already been occasional signs of Russian great power politics, but in 1994 a change of course was actually taking place, towards a more autonomous and self-assertive Russian foreign policy.70 As prime minister Viktor Chernomyrdin stated: ‘the times of market-economic romance are over’.71 During 1994 Russian relations with the West cooled, and economic assistance for Russia slipped from the Western political agenda. The phase of the so called East-West ‘love-affair’ during which Western governments had believed themselves able to influence Russian politics with financial incentives had clearly come to an end.72

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At the German-Russian summit of 13 May 1994 in Bonn, economics played a minor role. Kohl made it clear that any new German financial engagement in Russia was out of the question.73 In fact, reaching agreement on arrangements for the Red Army’s leaving ceremony was the most important political result of his visit to Germany.74 The final withdrawal of ex-Soviet troops from German soil had taken place by 31 August 1994,75 and with it Russia lost its main economic bargaining source. Germany in turn achieved the fulfilment of a vital national interest. Although Kohl claimed that ‘the remarkable work…, which Germany had undertaken over the last years to support the reforms in Russia’ certainly did ‘not occur because of the presence of Russian troops’,76 it was undeniable that German economic assistance for Moscow—bilateral and multilateral— was more or less directly connected with rapid and peaceful troop withdrawal. In autumn 1994 the phase during which ‘implementing unification’ had dominated Germany’s Russia policy ended. This happened in parallel with the qualitative shift in East-West relations: after an intermission of four years of economic themes, the classic security problems had reappeared on the East-West political agenda. Moscow had not taken the route of truly embarking on a pro-Western foreign policy, and by 1994, if not earlier, Russia’s foreign policy had returned to a mixture of co-operation and imperialistic power politics. GERMANY, RUSSIA AND THE ENLARGEMENT OF NATO, 1993– 97: ‘CO-OPERATION AND INTEGRATION’ OR ‘REINSURANCE’ AGAINST MOSCOW? The timely withdrawal of former Soviet troops from German soil was Germany’s immediate post-Cold War security concern and the top priority on Germany’s Russian agenda. Thus, it was a major German interest to advocate stability in and good relations with Russia.77 Financial assistance served as the most important means of achieving these interlinked political goals, in a period dominated by euphoria at the ending of the Cold War and seeming East-West rapprochement. Yet Germany’s post-Cold War Russian policy had a second dimension. Apart from the priority of regaining full sovereignty over its soil, which was part of the old ‘end of Cold War and unification agenda’, Germany had to create a completely new Ost- and Ruβlandpolitik to match the new European geopolitical realities. Looking at Europe’s map in 1992 made it obvious that German-Russian relations would be central for future European security. The new Germany was in a very peculiar situation. In the aftermath of the Cold War, it was located again as a unified and sovereign great power at the heart of Europe. But, in contrast to Germany’s geographical and political Mittellage before 1945, in 1992 Germany was culturally and politically anchored in the West, making its new ‘old’ central position a geographical fact. The post-1990 Germany aimed to combine its Western links and the imperatives of its central European geopolitical location in a new type of policy which can be called ‘hinge-policy’. Eager to preserve and strengthen the achievements of postwar integration and reconciliation in the West, Bonn, as a benign Zentralmacht, wanted to extend these successes and benefits to a changing and unstable east.78 The German government was very much concerned with stability and security in eastern Europe, especially in view of the worsening crisis in the Balkans. There was less

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fear of an immediate eastern military threat than of a breakdown of social structures and political disorder, meaning hoards of unwelcome economic refugees or even the possibility of violent crises directly on Germany’s eastern border.79 As the westernmost state of NATO and the EU, Germany was aware that its eastern borders represented the dividing line between West and East, prosperity and poverty, stability and instability. The goal was to stabilise its immediate neighbours in east-central Europe (Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary) as well as the post-Soviet states, most importantly Russia, so that they would not threaten European—and German—security.80 Thus, in contrast to the historical desire to dominate the east, the new German Ostpolitik was focusing on the need to help the east. But help was founded on a realpolitik agenda. Stability in eastern Europe was the first and foremost national interest. Or as Egon Bahr wrote: ‘My analysis of German interests reveals: first [and] vital: to avoid a threatening power establishing itself again in the east.’81 In this context, it is essential to note that in the absence of a viable peace settlement between the Western world and Russia,82 Germany’s new Ostpolitik focus on a policy of ‘co-operation and integration’83 had nothing to do with political altruism, but was the result of security political calculations.84 How was this reflected in German-Russian relations? It is evident that since the Treaty on Partnership, Neighbourliness and Co-operation between Bonn and Moscow in 1990, Germany and Russia had begun to cultivate a special relationship. One reason for such special post-Cold War German-Russian affinity was the need to fulfil the ‘old’ German unification agenda; the second reason had its roots in the new geopolitical circumstances. As Kohl declared on 16 December 1992 during his visit to Moscow, ‘It is important that we, the Federal Republic of Germany, cultivate excellent political, economic and cultural relations with our most important and strongest eastern neighbour.’85 Bonn was clearly aware of the importance of its large neighbour in the east. On the one hand Russia was seen as a future trading partner with huge natural resources and scientific potential. On the other, Russia’s sheer geopolitical presence on the continent represented a potential threat to the stability of Europe (and Germany) which needed to be contained.86 And, despite its economic and social decline, it was still a nuclear military force which on a global scale gave Moscow the political status of a great if not a superpower.87 Nothing was feared in Bonn more than chaos in and a subsequent collapse of the Russian state, which might produce fall-out in east-central Europe and even threaten Germany and the rest of western Europe. In order to make this Russian unpredictability predictable, the Kohl government advocated a policy of supporting Russian president Yeltsin politically and economically in his efforts to reform and democratise his country. On 5 April 1993 Kohl proclaimed: The success of the course of reform which President Yeltsin and his government are pursuing is in the interest of Russia and its people as well as in the interest of all other countries. Support for the reforms is an investment for a peaceful future. A relapse into confrontation would inflict burdens on us that are much greater than the assistance that is necessary now. The federal government promotes [the idea] that the West will quickly and effectively put into effect a programme of bilateral and

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multilateral assistance with representatives of the Russian government and the international financial institutions.88 Indeed, at a time when Yeltsin was facing growing opposition from anti-reformers and anti-Westerners at home, Kohl considered him as the personification of democratisation, economic reforms and stability: stabilising Russia meant in the first instance supporting Yeltsin. Practising politics on such a personal level added yet another facet to GermanRussian relations. While paradoxically Germany deeply distrusted Russia and its Eurasianism, the deep mutual friendship that bound Kohl and Yeltsin reflected trust. Kohl advocated ‘Yeltsin-aid’ as he believed the president, more than any other Russian politician, to be able to take advantage of the Western ties to turn Russia into a democracy and a predictable partner. At the same time, however, it is essential to realise that the German government’s Russia policy of ‘co-operation and integration’ and the rhetoric of partnership among the states was a calculated means aimed at containing the Russian threat of unpredictable instability through multilateral control.89 In other words, Germany’s Ruβlandpolitik was a mixture of seeking true co-operation and constantly looking for reinsurance to deter a potential threat. To this end, Germany lobbied for Russian interests at G-7 summits and IMF meetings, and was Russia’s advocate in trying to promote the creation of special ties between Western institutions (most prominently the EU and NATO) and Russia. Seeking to internationalise its relations with Russia also had a second purpose. In view of the KohlYeltsin friendship, which publicly dominated German-Russian relations and which was considered to be peculiarly cosy by other countries, especially in Zwischeneuropa, Germany was determined not to give the impression of looking for a unilateral role in Russia which could remind the world of Rapallo. Moreover, it was believed that multilateral ties would relieve Germany of what it viewed as a substantial and openended economic burden.90 But nothing could change the geopolitical fact that, just as at the beginning of the century, Germany was again the closest Western great power to Russia and Russia was Germany’s most important and powerful eastern neighbour. Seeing each other as chief partners especially in (eastern) European politics as well as cultivating a personal friendship made it inevitable that Kohl and Yeltsin symbolised the increasingly close ties between Germany and Russia. President Yeltsin pointed out: ‘Russians and Germans are the two largest nations in Europe. Their relationship is decisive for the fate of the entire continent.’91 Significantly, power and place had returned as the defining factors for Germany’s direction in Ruβland- and Ostpolitik, though with different implications than in the past. As much as it was evident that Germany’s new Ostpolitik would be dominated by its Ruβlandpolitik, it was undeniable that German-Russian relations were going to be deeply ambivalent.92 Germany’s new Ostpolitik consisted of two important threads: Bonn’s policy towards Russia and Osteuropapolitik. Indeed, in addition to stabilising Russia, Germany had a second vital ostpolitical interest: linking its immediate eastern and central European neighbours to Western institutional structures. Bonn wanted to have a zone of stability to the east. The central European states’ desire to join Western institutional structures as soon as possible coincided with Germany’s own security interest. Given Bonn’s preoccupation with seeking relief from being the westernmost outpost of the Western

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alliance structures, and given Germany’s historically troubled relationship with its immediate eastern neighbours, especially Poland, defence minister Rühe launched a new initiative in March 1993 calling for NATO enlargement.93 It should be noted that this reflected the defence minister’s own desire to highlight his ministry’s importance in German foreign policymaking.94 During the Genscher era the foreign ministry had largely eclipsed the defence ministry. Under Genscher ideas of a collective all-European security system (including Russia) had dominated ostpolitical thinking, of which the Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) was the institutional outgrowth, succeeding the CSCE. Rühe’s proposal of extending NATO clearly represented a different school of thought. Thus, while the chancellery and foreign office were preoccupied with developments in Yeltsin’s Russia, Rühe begun to shape a new line of policy for Germany’s second ostpolitical interest. Although at first somewhat hesitant, the entire German government soon turned towards the idea of NATO enlargement.95 Moreover, it was also rather quickly taken on board by officials of the Clinton administration, which then started to make it an operative policy.96 The United States of course had a preference for NATO enlargement over upgrading the OSCE into a serious institution for regulating European security, for the reason that Russia and the United States have an equal role in the OSCE, and it was feared that through an upgraded OSCE Russia could influence European security arrangements too much.97 Russia of course was known to be rather keen on extending the powers of the OSCE. Until autumn 1993 Yeltsin, despite his problems with an increasingly nationalist and anti-Western opposition, seemed to accept the central European states’ desire of looking for integration into Western alliance structures, including NATO, without seeing it as a threat to Russian interests. On 23 August 1993 he said to Polish president Lech Walesa that his country as a sovereign nation could apply for NATO membership ‘in the interest of overall European integration that does not stand against the interests of other states, including Russia’.98 On these grounds it can be argued that at the time, German and Russian eastern European interests seemed rather compatible. This changed rapidly, however, when Yeltsin came under domestic pressure which forced him to disavow the statement that he made in Poland, and foreign minister Kozyrev pointed out that Russia would not accept power vacuums along its borders which might be filled by ‘other powers, which are not friendly and could even be hostile to Russian interests.’99 Under the influence of imperial-revisionist tendencies in Russian politics—especially following the Duma elections in December 1993—Yeltsin and Koszyrev changed Russia’s foreign political direction towards a policy increasingly confrontational towards the West and dominated by imperialistic rhetoric. The RussianWestern honeymoon was over. Instead of ‘the end of history’ which Francis Fukuyama had postulated at the end of the Cold War,100 Europe was rather witnessing a ‘return of history’ with the re-emergence of realpolitik. In January 1994 NATO, in connection with its invitation to all post-communist states to participate in its Partnership for Peace (PfP) initiative, committed itself to prepare studies on how and when to enlarge.101 The emergence of a new operative NATO policy to amend Europe’s security structures also meant that a new phase of German-Russian relations was about to start: Bonn would have to balance its Russian with its central European interests and make choices. In Kinkel’s words, ‘the issue of NATO’s eastern enlargement forces Germany to perform very difficult splits’.102 Although the

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government emphasised that Germany’s policy towards the states of Zwischeneuropa was not a function of its Russia policy,103 it was evident that Germany’s—and especially the chancellor’s—Ostpolitik priority was Moscow. Helmut Kohl pointed out that ‘it was right that NATO was opening up gradually towards a rapprochement with central Europe. Yet [it was also right that the Alliance] for the time being refused the entry of these states out of consideration for Russia’s fear of encirclement.’104 Thus the chancellor emphasised the importance of not taking any actions that would provoke Moscow to take a confrontational course. After all, Russian troop withdrawal had yet to be concluded. Advocating the building of close security relations between the West and Moscow was the chancellor’s line of policy.105 At a NATO meeting on 25 May 1994, Russian defence minister Pavel Grachev proposed that ‘if Russia joined PfP, it should have a special role and special relations with NATO. Germany was the ally most willing to agree that Russia deserved a special role’ according to its foreign political status.106 Although signing up to PfP was in the end disconnected from Russia’s demand for special treatment, the issue was to remain on the East-West as well as the German agenda over the following years as NATO enlargement became a more concrete issue. In advocating NATO’s widening eastwards and the creation of a new NATO-Russia partnership, Germany pursued double strategy.107 With the beginning of the Chechnyan war in December 1994 the Russian government’s imperialistic rhetoric was translated into an active policy. The conflict abruptly reminded the West of Russia’s military power and its disregard for international norms, especially with regard to human rights.108 In the context of Kozyrev’s statements on Russia’s need to defend ethnic Russians in its ‘near abroad’ (possibly with military force), the Chechnyan war led to much speculation in the West as to the direction in which Russian foreign policy would go.109 Moreover, the war represented a severe test for Germany’s strategy of Russia’s inclusion in European organisations.110 It had only been at the EU’s Corfu summit in June 1994 that, following Germany’s active lobbying, Russia and the EU had signed a Partnership and Co-operation Agreement.111 Questions emerged as to whether the policy of ‘co-operation with and integration of Russia’ was reasonable, and Kohl’s unquestioned support for Yeltsin was called into doubt. On 5 January 1995 the German chancellor delivered a clear statement on the Chechnyan question. In a telephone conversation with Yeltsin he said that Chechnya was an internal Russian affair and ‘that it was important that Russia’s reform processes were continued…the preservation of Russia was of greatest significance; any destabilisation of Russia would mean a destabilisation of Europe… The nuclear superpower Russia should remain integrated in “the process of the peaceful development of our world”.’112 Kohl left no doubt that Germany would remain Russia’s friend and partner and that he would continue to support Yeltsin and his reform policies. During 1995 Russia’s anti-Western position hardened and opposition to NATO enlargement became increasingly vocal, among conservatives as well as democrats. While there was no shift in the rather friendly and co-operative attitude of the German chancellery and foreign office vis-à-vis Moscow in May 1995, defence minister Rühe did not hesitate openly to condemn Russia’s threats unilaterally to withdraw from disarmament agreements or forcefully to pursue Russian national interests. In fact, at the spring meeting of the North Atlantic Co-operation Council (NACC), he advocated NATO’s rapid eastern enlargement before the year 2000, calling for a ‘transfer of

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stability’.113 Furthermore, Rühe was the first German politician publicly to name Poland, and also the Czech Republic and Hungary, as Germany’s preferred candidates for NATO’s first enlargement round.114 Chancellor Kohl publicly expressed Germany’s support for Polish membership of NATO for the first time when he spoke in the Sejm on 6 July.115 This demonstrated that, in principle, the German government was united in its policy of integrating the central European states in NATO, despite Kohl’s special relationship with Yeltsin and his devotion to co-operative policies with Russia as a matter of priority. In fact, the government had taken the decision to make NATO enlargement an operative policy on 17 May 1995.116 What Warsaw, Prague and Budapest saw as German support for their case—making eastern Europe part of west European structures in an effort to reunite Europe—was in truth a calculated German choice in its own vital national interests in order to improve its security. With regard to its Ostpolitik this meant that Germany had to balance carefully its interests in Ruβland-and Osteuropapolitik: the extension of Western institutions into eastern Europe and German partnership with Russia. In 1995, NATO enlargement and Russia’s consent seemed mutually exclusive goals; however, Bonn believed that the future NATO membership of Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary was for Moscow the least worst option and could be swallowed by the Kremlin.117 The German government had already internally agreed on 18 November 1994 that Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary were Germany’s preferred candidates for accession to NATO. It had also decided to begin working on an operative policy to establish a future NATO-Russia relationship,118 so that isolation of Russia could be avoided. On 20 September 1995, NATO’s ‘study on eastern enlargement’ was published.119 From that point, it was clear that the Alliance’s widening to the east had become an irreversible part of NATO’s policies. What did this mean for Germany’s Russia policy? Russia vehemently objected to NATO’s official decision to enlarge. In contrast to the parallel EU enlargement debate, NATO touched on Russia’s security political interests. Especially because of the wording of article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty, which states that an armed attack against one or more of its members shall be considered an attack against them all, the Western alliance was perceived as an exclusive hostile institution consigning Russia to isolation. It is noteworthy that ever since NATO enlargement had appeared on the international agenda in 1993, the Kremlin had expressed a feeling of being betrayed by the West. Moscow claimed there had been verbal assurances in the context of German unification and that country’s continued NATO membership, that NATO and especially its nuclear umbrella would not be extended eastwards. Instead, they had assumed the OSCE to be the motor of an ‘all-European policy of peace’. No primary sources, however, indicate any such Western assurances, and thus the Western side clearly contradicts the Kremlin’s interpretation of events.120 NATO’s ‘lift and strike’ (lift the arms embargo on Bosnia and strike the Serb armies encircling Sarajevo) campaign in the Bosnian war in September 1995 only served to fuel Russia’s suspicion of the Western Alliance, which was increasingly considered a potential threat to Russian security.121 In parallel to NATO’s enlargement study, on 22 September 1995 Yeltsin issued a decree on ‘Russian Strategy with regard to the Member States of the CIS’, setting out Russia’s first priority in its national security and strategic interests. The document stated

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that Russia’s main purposes were the strengthening of the country as the dominant actor on former Soviet territory and the economic and military integration of this territory.122 Placing this in the context of Russia’s increasing concern with its international status, it was obvious that European security and especially NATO enlargement was perceived as a zero-sum game where, by definition, what was won by one side was lost by the other. The West—especially the United States and NATO—was looked upon with suspicion that had to be countered by the formation of a balancing coalition. The results of the Duma elections in December 1995—which saw the communists, agrarians and extreme nationalists capture 50 per cent of the seats—eliminated any Western hope that Moscow’s foreign policy might return to a more pro-Western course.123 When on 5 January 1996 Yevgeny Primakov was appointed the new foreign minister, Russia had formally moved away from reform and ‘partnership’ with the West. At the centre of Primakov’s vision was the idea that ‘Russia …remains a great power’ and that the country’s foreign policy should reflect that status.124 The orientation of the German chancellor’s Ruβlandpolitik remained unaffected, despite the increasingly confrontational tone emanating from Moscow and the continuing Chechnyan war. Moscow was Bonn’s priority.125 Hoping to keep the great eastern power stable and predictable and to gain Russian acceptance of NATO enlargement, Germany intensified its diplomatic efforts with Moscow. Kohl advocated not only the creation of a strategic partnership between Russia and NATO, but also the amendment of the CFE agreement so that Russia’s flank limits were modified according to Moscow’s wishes,126 and Russia’s full membership of the Council of Europe.127 Russia became a member of the Council of Europe on 28 February 1996, despite various members’ misgivings about human rights violations in Chechnya.128 At the yearly conference on security and defence in Munich on 3 February 1996, Kohl defended Germany’s ‘advance in trust’ for Moscow by pointing out that Yeltsin had legitimate concerns about NATO enlargement in view of the psychological effects on Russia.129 In the light of his belief that Russia was Germany’s most important partner in the east,130 and that stability in Europe (including NATO enlargement) could only be achieved by co-operating with a Russia led by Boris Yeltsin,131 it was not surprising that Kohl used his state visit to Moscow on 17–20 February to stand up for his friend in his presidential election campaign. Such allegations were of course denied.132 But Kohl stated on 20 February: This visit shall be another sign of the close, good and…warm relations between Russia and Germany. They are also a sign of [our] trust in the reform process in Russia…. The dialogue with Russia is of very special interest to Germany and Europe. Russia is our most important and strongest neighbour in the east…. President Yeltsin will…run in the elections. I have welcomed this already at home. And I want to say here too, how important it is for us that he has so far been an absolutely reliable partner.133 The chancellery’s diplomatic efforts to support Yeltsin were underlined by direct economic assistance. The government guaranteed nearly DM 3 billion in credits by German banks and its own Reconstruction Loan Corporation offered Moscow another

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DM 1 billion. Furthermore, Germany bore the highest financial burden with nearly 50 per cent of the costs when the Paris Club on 29 April 1996 decided on a long-term debt rescheduling of US$ 40 billion over 25 years, following a previous rescheduling of US$ 25.5 billion on 16 November 1995. While it was not really new that assistance for Russia meant assistance for Yeltsin, it was the openness with which the credits were justified as a ‘political stabilisation loan’ in the context of the coming elections that was qualitatively new.134 After Yeltsin’s victory in the presidential elections in June 1996, the Russian government seemed by August to have reluctantly decided that it would have to accept NATO expansion and try to obtain the best deal possible. Indeed, Kinkel and Primakov had during their consultation on 29 July discussed the German concept of a NATORussia Charter (16+1), including the idea of a special NATO-Russia council. On 21 August, Primakov in turn presented Russia’s views on NATO enlargement and the development of a strategic partnership between NATO and Russia, which demonstrated that Moscow was ready to re-embark on a dialogue with the Western Alliance after NATO-Russian relations had frozen in 1995.135 Officially, however, Moscow continued vehemently to oppose NATO enlargement.136 The German government, here personified by chancellor Kohl, played a pivotal role as an intermediary between NATO (and indirectly the United States) and Russia. In fact, as much as Germany considered itself as an important member of NATO, it also saw itself as Russia’s friend.137 Kohl had become Yeltsin’s chief partner and during 1996–97 he grew into the key player in persuading the Russian president finally to sign up to the NATO-Russia Founding Act and to accept NATO’s enlargement. Simultaneously, since Yeltsin wanted to see NATO enlargement postponed to 1997 in order to be able to consolidate his position at home, Kohl lobbied his NATO partners to give their consent to Russia’s wish. The German chancellor had Yeltsin’s full trust in solving problems regarding the East-West agenda. As the Russian president put it in a public statement during his visit in Germany on 17 April 1997, ‘the regular meetings with the German chancellor helped to solve international problems, before they became insoluble’.138 Indeed, during 1996 the chancellor had met Yeltsin alone four times in Moscow and was the first politician to meet the Russian president after his announcement of his heart surgery in September 1996. Brokering an acceptable agreement for both Russia and NATO had become an issue of high politics—a ‘Chefsache’ between Kohl and Yeltsin.139 Indeed, following his ‘Russia-first Ostpolitik’, it was Kohl’s desire to see Russia content and thus on several occasions in 1996, the German chancellor insisted that NATO enlargement would have to wait until Yeltsin had agreed. Whereas NATO-Russian relations were traditionally an affair between Washington and Moscow, Bonn had through the Kohl-Yeltsin axis not only displayed its new self-assertiveness, but had established its new role as the hinge power bound to the West. Thus, with regard to European security politics a new strategic triangle—Washington-Bonn-Moscow—had appeared, underwriting Germany’s new self-assertiveness in international relations. During the intense months of negotiation that followed in spring 1997, Russia finally responded to an agenda largely set by the West (especially Germany).The Founding Act was signed on 27 May 1997. Its key compromise was that NATO pledged that it would not deploy nuclear weapons or combat forces in the new member countries (but without making this a legally binding statement).140 In addition to the Founding Act there was a

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second Western quid pro quo to gain Russia’s co-operation in view of NATO enlargement: Russia would become the eighth member of the G-7. Chancellor Kohl had in fact advocated Moscow’s participation (and later Russia’s membership) ever since the end of the Cold War. At the Denver G-7+l summit on 20 June 1997 Russia was elevated to a new status to participate in the summit on world economics, and was promised membership of what was now to become formally the G-8; in May 1998, Russia then became a full member of the G-8.141 For all chancellor Kohl’s diplomatic efforts to find compromises with regard to Russian concerns about NATO enlargement, in the end it seems that the Alliance’s negotiations with Moscow were wrapped up quite quickly. The Russian side was satisfied by the special Russia-NATO summit that met before the general summit inviting new east-central European members. There is no doubt, however, that chancellor Kohl had been the key figure in getting Russian assent to NATO’s eastern expansion. It was on 8 July 1997 at NATO’s Madrid summit that the Alliance agreed to admit a first group of three new members—Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary. It was agreed that these countries would enter by 1999, as a result of which NATO’s outer borders would move 450 miles east.142 NATO enlargement clearly was the most difficult and weighty issue in Germany’s considerations in Ruβland- and Osteuropapolitik. In contrast, provided the Kaliningrad issue could be resolved, the parallel debate about the EU’s expansion was much less of an issue with Moscow, which then saw the EU as mostly an economic alliance,143 and consequently held a minor position on the GermanRussian security political agenda. Seven years after German unification, Bonn could see the first fruits of its new policies towards Russia and eastern Europe. With its immediate eastern neighbours invited to become NATO members, Germany—for the first time in its history—was to be surrounded only by friends, with those on the east even linked to the same Western security structures. At the same time, 1997 marked the beginning of a new era for German-Russian relations. Through Germany’s efforts with its Russia policy, the big, economically and politically unstable, neighbour had been tied to and integrated in various European and international institutions (most prominently NATO, the EU, the G8 and the OSCE). This bound Moscow to comply with certain Western norms which, it was hoped, would mean that Russian politics would become more predictable. One could argue that in a way Russia’s ‘Western integration’ was a new form of containment. The logic behind it could be compared to the Westbindungspolitik of West Germany during the Cold War. It was through Kohl’s and Yeltsin’s mutual trust and the implementation of their close friendship in politics that the distrust between Germany (and the West in general) and Russia was diminished. Thus, despite and because of Kohl’s focus on Yeltsin, Germany was successfully able to balance both of its Ostpolitik interests: to achieve NATO’s eastern enlargement to include Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary, and to establish partnership and co-operation with a relatively stable Russia. What had at first seemed mutually exclusive goals had become compatible. Germany had indeed managed to gain security vis-à-vis Russia by advocating the implementation of security structures including Russia. It should be noted that Germany’s policy towards eastern Europe was only equally as important as its Russia policy to the extent that it touched immediate German security

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interests. In other words, Bonn clearly made a great diplomatic effort to maintain a consensus with Moscow while pursuing its vital security interest in integrating its immediate eastern European neighbours into NATO. Yet Germany had consciously abstained from risking its relations with Moscow to advocate NATO enlargement to include those states of Zwischeneuropa which were (a) not vital for Germany’s security considerations, and (b) sensitive cases for Russia. GERMANY’S RUSSIA POLICY, 1997–2000: FROM STAGNATION TO NEW PARTNERSHIP? How was Germany’s Russia policy to develop under the new geopolitical circumstances? The visit of the German president, Roman Herzog, to Moscow on 31 August-4 September 1997 (the first visit by a German president in ten years) was considered an important sign by Germany in terms of boosting Russia’s self-confidence and counteracting any Russian feeling of isolation following the decision of NATO to enlarge.144 Herzog not only pointed to German-Russian friendship, but also underlined the importance of future political partnership with regard to European security: On the threshold of the twenty-first century, we want to step into an era of peaceful co-operation, without walls, ideological rifts and political enmities… The actions of our future security policy are not dominated any more by fear of each other, but by the will of a security partnership. The common interest in stability and security has to be to the fore.145 Yeltsin in turn underlined that for him relations with Germany were ‘the priority among the priorities’.146 Just as in the past, German-Russian relations continued to represent one of the core political axes in Europe. In fact, German foreign minister Kinkel agreed with his Russian counterpart Yevgeni Primakov in mid-July 1997 that in order to strengthen the Bonn-Moscow axis, Russia and Germany would hold annual consultations between government leaders and ministers starting from 1998.147 In practice however, German-Russian relations entered a phase of stag-nation in late 1997-early 1998. Kohl was absorbed with the coming federal elections, Russia was struggling with an ever deepening economic crisis, and Yeltsin suffered from worsening health problems which limited his foreign political engagements. German-Russian relations focused primarily on just two issues: first on, Yeltsin’s suggestion of the launching of a Franco-Russo-German troika,148 which, when it met in March 1998, seemed like a historic relic and proved politically insubstantial.149 A second issue was the improvement of German-Russian military relations following the irritations caused by NATO’s eastern enlargement as well as the intensification of co-operation on questions such as military reform.150 When the first German-Russian governmental consultations took place on 8 and 9 June 1998, economic affairs and the Kosovo crisis were the main themes. Germany was lobbying for Russia’s consent for a possible deployment of NATO troops in Kosovo. But Primakov and defence minister Igor Sergejev declared that Moscow was against a NATO operation without a UN mandate, as well as against imposing sanctions on Belgrade.

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With regard to Russia’s economic crisis Kohl promised that ‘Germany with its European partners would help with measures to overcome the economic crisis in Russia’.151 Yet, in contrast to the beginning of the decade, Germany abstained from granting any new credits. Although the consultations were meant to move German-Russian relations to a broader governmental level, it was obvious that the Kohl-Yeltsin Männerfreundschaft predominated.152 A decisive shift in German-Russian relations took place when chancellor Schröder took office in autumn 1998.153 In his inaugural speech Russia was not mentioned at all, and foreign minister Fischer referred to Russia only in the context of promoting the need to support democratisation processes.154 In fact, under Schröder German-Russian relations seemed to have entered a new phase of pragmatism. This was picked up by the press, which made much comment on the end of the famous Boris-Helmut ‘sauna friendship’.155 The new German chancellor wanted to develop his relations with Moscow on a broader basis than Kohl. Consequently, during his first visit to Moscow, Schröder insisted on meeting opposition leaders, in addition to Yeltsin. Still, the new chancellor emphasised his genuine interest in continuing the good German-Russian relations that had been established under his predecessor. Yeltsin, in turn, did not fail to refer to his special friend ‘Gelmut’, although he expressed his agreement with Schröder that relations between Berlin and Moscow were independent of people and governments. In view of Russia’s economic crisis, which had become even more acute following the financial crash in Moscow on 17 August 1998, Schröder promised to be Russia’s advocate in the international monetary institutes, but did not promise any fresh German money other than for ‘concrete projects’.156 The Schröder government approached Moscow with a new self-assertiveness and style of independence. Berlin tried to distance itself from a Yeltsin-centric Russian policy, a policy in which Yeltsin personified the guarantee of Russia’s stability and development towards a democratic state under the rule of law. In other words, Schröder wanted to move on from an era in which distrust of Russia, counterbalanced by personal ties, had led to rather emotional style of policymaking among two leaders. Schröder’s ‘new’ Russia policy underwent its first tests during 1999, with the Kosovo crisis in spring and the second Chechnyan war which broke out the following autumn. Russia was against NATO’s operation in Kosovo and consequently froze its relations with NATO on 24 March. The Kremlin withdrew itself from the NATO-Russia council, which hence stopped working properly.157 The West, aware of Russia’s key role in the attempt to achieve peace in Kosovo, tried to use economic assistance as a means of influencing Russia’s political standpoint. This became obvious with the IMF’s sudden decision to free US$ 4.6 billion for Moscow in April. The aid did not, however, lead to any immediate result.158 Subsequently, it was the German government which tried to keep Russia actively involved in the West’s diplomatic efforts to find a solution to end the Kosovo conflict. As chancellor Schröder publicly explained after consultations with Russia’s prime minister Chernomyrdin on 29 April, ‘a political solution and lasting peace in the Balkans [is] impossible without Russia’s participation, [but] the central demands of the Alliance are equally indispensable’.159 In a similar vein, parliamentary state-secretary Ludger Volmer pointed to Russia’s important role as the ‘honest broker’160 between Belgrade and NATO, and that hence it was ‘one of the most important tasks that the West

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finds agreement with Russia as far as concrete action is concerned. Only if both sides are united will there be a good chance that we will be able to achieve a UN resolution by the Security Council.’161 Again Germany had played the role of an intermediary between the Western Alliance and Russia. In the end, it was very much to Germany’s credit that the peace talks which involved Russian prime minister Chernomyrdin, US deputy secretary of state Strobe Talbott and Finnish president Martti Ahtisaari as chief negotiators with Serbian president Slobodan Milosevic, were successfully concluded and a Balkan Stability Pact created. Indeed Ahtisaari pointed out that the plan for reconstruction should not be called Marshall Plan II, but the ‘Schröder plan’.162 In context of the second Chechnyan war, Schröder, in contrast to Kohl five years earlier, publicly condemned Moscow’s action as a violation of the values Russia had signed up to by being an OSCE member and forcefully demanded the end of the military action.163 Moscow justified Russia’s military operation as a legal means of ‘fighting terrorism’ and claimed that Moscow’s operation was not an act of aggression since Chechnya was Russian territory.164 Schröder reminded Moscow harshly that ‘the principle of a state’s sovereignty should not be misused any more as a fig leaf for oppression and inhumanity’.165 Ironically, foreign minister Fischer seemed to return to Kohl’s consensus politics with Russia over the Chechnya issue. At his meeting with the interim Russian president Vladimir Putin, Fischer said that Russia should not be put under any pressure and that its isolation through sanctions would be the wrong path. He went further by stating: ‘Moscow’s participation in making decisions concerning Europe’s stability and security is decisive.’166 With the chancellor and his foreign minister taking very different approaches, Berlin’s Russia policy during Schröder’s first years in office was characterised by ambivalence and lack of direction. The Kremlin revealed traditional great power thinking during the Kosovo war as well as through its military action in Chechnya. Subsequently, the old German distrust of Moscow, which had seemed absent during 1997–98, resurfaced. ‘Encircled’ by NATO members, Germany in 2000 was from the point of view of strategic security clearly in a better position than between 1992 and 1997, but at the same time the former KGB agent Vladimir Putin, who emerged in the March 2000 presidential elections as Yeltsin’s successor, represented a new factor of unpredictability. Despite the defeat of Zhirinovsky and his ultra-nationalist bloc, Putin’s rise to power was a cause of concern for the German government (and the West in general). Would he be a hardline politician and restore the power of the secret services, or would he continue with Yeltsin’s reform policies and his approach of co-operation with the West? How would the Schröder-Putin relationship develop, with a German chancellor still trying to find his Russian policy line? During the Russian-German consultations in Berlin on 15 and 16 June 2000, it became evident that both Germany and Russia were looking for a qualitative change in their relations. In fact, Schröder spoke of a substantial new beginning of closer GermanRussian ties and the importance of the creation of a ‘strategic partnership’.167 It could be argued, against the background of the previous chapter’s analysis of Berlin’s West(europa)politik, that an increasingly self-assertive Berlin republic was consciously looking to play its role as a great power not only in western European institutions, but

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also with regard to the east. Whether it will want to do so more multilaterally or more bilaterally has yet to be seen. In any case, Germany’s new vocalised self-assertiveness in Ruβlandpolitik must not be confused with the end of Germany’s Western commitments and a return to old Mittellage policies. As permanent under-secretary Wolfgang Ischinger pointed out: ‘[It would be wrong] to suspect behind Germany’s partnership offer to Russia a thought of equidistance, in other words Germany in the middle of the United States and Russia. Our friendship with the United States, bilaterally and within the Alliance: these are secured and lasting achievements of German and European politics.’168 (Re)unified Germany’s policy towards Russia revealed that a sovereign Germany again pursued visibly national interests. Germany had consciously reassumed its position as the Zentralmacht of Europe and its Ostpolitik, in contrast to its West(europa)politik, reflected from the outset a self-confident realpolitik. As Germany was seemingly geopolitically and emotionally predestined to embark on a policy of special relations with its big eastern neighbour, in historical perspective the close rapport between Bonn and Moscow should come as no surprise. Yet between 1992 and 1997 Bonn cultivated close ties with Moscow, not because of expansionist ambitions, but because of two vital national security interests. First, Germany wanted to achieve the rapid withdrawal of former Soviet troops stationed on former Eastern German soil. Second, Bonn’s new Ostpolitik focused on deterring a potential threat from the east (possibly Russia). In operative policies this meant on the one hand the integration of Germany’s immediate eastern neighbours into Western security structures. On the other hand, Kohl advocated a policy of ‘stabilising Russia’, that is, supporting Yeltsin as the leader whom he trusted as a friend and politician to be able to reform and democratise that vast country, and of integrating Moscow into Western institutional structures. Against this background it is evident that the new German-Russian cosiness covered deeper ambiguities. While on a personal level German-Russian partnership reflected trust, paradoxically in politics the partnership rhetoric seemed to hide a policy of ‘containment and reinsurance (Rückversicherung)’. By 1997, Germany had achieved the fulfilment of its immediate security concerns. The Russian troops had left and NATO’s enlargement to include Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary had been decided. With regard to the latter issue, three important implications have to be pointed out. First, by extending NATO to the east, Germany had achieved a vital national interest: it was now surrounded by countries to the east and west which were part of an alliance whose anchor was the United States. In security terms, Germany had a zone of stability on its eastern border, with the continued US presence in Europe representing an implicit deterrent to Russia. Second, with the United States’ wider influence in Europe, the potential danger of Germany’s return to its historico-political Mittellage—a key factor in the historical German Question—now seems to have been resolved. It is quite possible that some NATO members advocating the Alliance’s enlargement might have seen it as a means of containing Germany. Yet, on the basis that Germany itself pushed for NATO enlargement, one could also argue that it could be seen as a measure of German selfcontainment.

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Third, with Germany’s security interests coinciding with the political desires of its immediate eastern neighbours to join western Europe, Germany’s overall dominant Ruβlandpolitik was not detrimental to their aspirations. On the contrary, because of Germany’s national interest in an eastern zone of stability, Bonn became their true advocate. The goals of Osteuropapolitik were made compatible with those of Ruβlandpolitik. However, the question as to what Germany’s Russia-first policy meant for the other states of Zwischeneuropa, whose situation bore little relevance to immediate German national interests is an interesting one. It will be discussed in the following chapter in the form of studying the case of the Baltic states. When chancellor Schröder and Russian president Putin began to redefine GermanRussian relations in June 2000 after nearly three years of stagnation and ambiguity, Europe’s security realities had significantly changed. Germany was surrounded by NATO member states in east and west, and Russia was tied to the most important Western institutional structures (the EU, NATO, G-7+1). Russia’s integration was very much a result of the lobbying of Germany—which had grown more and more into the role of an intermediary, especially between NATO (very much associated by the Kremlin with the United States) and Moscow. In view of this emerging strategic triangle, Germany’s new status as a great power in Europe was crystal clear. To a certain extent, owing to its geopolitical situation, Germany had been pushed into its great power role. But at the same time, Bonn had also itself looked for such a position. While it remains an open question as to how far Russia will adhere to the norms attached to its bonds with the West, for German-Russian relations Moscow’s institutional integration has meant that— for the foreseeable future—they will operate very much within multilateral structures. Schröder’s declared desire to build a new ‘strategic partnership’ between Moscow and Berlin (and on a broader governmental basis than during the Kohl-Yeltsin era), points to Berlin’s new outspoken international assertiveness. Joschka Fischer underlined this when he gave a speech at the German-Russian forum in Berlin on 15 February 2000: ‘The future of Russia is one of the most decisive questions about Europe’s future. We, the Germans, probably understand this better than any other peoples. We will hence continue to promote the greatest possible closeness to Russia and discourage its isolation. We want Russia to become an organic part and co-operative co-creator of the new democratic Europe.’169 The (full) implications of this new development of bilateral German-Russian relations for Europe’s future security structures are as yet unclear. With regard to the German Question we can conclude that (re)unified Germany’s Russia policy is evidently very different from its competitive, aggressive and expansionist eastern policies between 1871–1945. As a result of the lesson of and devotion to Westintegration, the new Germany’s Ruβlandpolitik is anchored in Westpolitik. Sovereign Germany’s new Ostpolitik is not about aggressive military expansionism. Power has so far been projected by a new self-assertiveness in policymaking and by bringing influence to bear peacefully and responsibly. Yet, as in the past, Germany’s Ruβlandpolitik has continued to be guided by the peculiar dynamics of power politics related to geography. Even if the reasons may vary today, the ambivalence of Ruβlandpolitik persists.

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NOTES 1 Helmut Kohl, ‘It is important that we, the Federal Republic of Germany, cultivate excellent political, economic and cultural relations with our most important and strongest eastern neighbour.’ ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 16 Dec. 1992, ref. 37426. 2 See Timothy Garton Ash, ‘Germany’s Choice’, Foreign Affairs, 4 (1994), pp. 65–81; Baring, Germany’s New Position. 3 See Lothar Rühl, ‘The Historical Background of Russian Security Concepts and Requirements’, in Vladimir Baranovsky (ed.), Russia and Europe (Oxford: OUP, 1997), pp. 21–41, esp. pp. 26–7. ‘Drang nach Westen’ see Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Ruβlands Drang nach Westen (Zurich: Manesse-Verlag, 1991), p. 21. 4 See Vesa Oittinen, ‘Euraasialaisuus Venäjän politiikassa’, Ulkopolitiikka, 1 (1996), pp. 5–10. 5 See Fred Oldenburg, ‘Das vereinigte Deutschland und das neue Rußland’, DeutschlandArchiv 11 (1993), pp. 1242–54, esp. p. 1242. 6 See Sergei Medvedev (ed.), ‘“Zwischeneuropa”: Historic Experiences, National Views and Strategic Alternatives’, UPI Working Paper no. 6, 1998, p. 11. 7 See Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, pp. 149–382; Peter Graf von Kielmansegg, Deutschland und der Erste Weltkrieg (Frankfurt a. M.: Athenaion, 1968), pp. 579–628. 8 Hildebrand, Vergangenes Reich, pp. 424–32, 563–848; Erwin Oberländer (ed.), Hitler-StalinPakt 1939: Das Ende Ostmitteleuropas? (Frankfurt a. M.: Fischer, 1989); Walter Laqueur, Russia and Germany (New York: Little, Brown, 1965). 9 See Bender, Die ‘Neue Ostpolitik’ und ihre Folgen, 4th edn (Munich: DTV, 1996). 10 See Haftendorn and Riecke, Volle Macht, p. 86. 11 See Angela E.Stent, From Embargo to Ostpolitik (Cambridge: CUP, 1981); idem, Technology Transfer to the Soviet Union: A Challenge for the Cohesiveness of the Western Alliance (Bonn: DGAP, 1983). 12 Stent, Russia, p. 62. 13 See Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 425; idem., ‘More Flies with Honey: Positive Economic Linkage in German Ostpolitik from Bismarck to Kohl’, International Studies Quarterly, 1 (2000), pp. 73–96, esp. p. 81; Oldenburg, ‘Vereinigtes Deutschland’, p. 1250. 14 See Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 425. 15 As Kohl said to Shevardnadze during his visit in Bonn on 17–19 Jan. 1988, ‘die Bundesregierung sei bereit, ein neues Kapitel in der Geschichte der Beziehungen zwischen der Bundesrepublik und der UdSSR zu beginnen. Dazu gehörten konkrete Verbesserungen vor allem im wirtschaftlichen, kulturellen und humanitären Bereich.’ ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 30 Jan. 1998, ref. 31869. 16 On German-Soviet economic and technological co-operation, see report on German-Soviet summit of 24–27 October 1998 in Moscow, in ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 27 Oct. 1988, ref. 32676. 17 Genscher promised Shevardnadze during his visit to Germany (17–19 January 1988) ‘daβ sich Bonn in der EG für eine gemeinsame Außenpolitik Westeuropas auch gegenüber dem Warschauer Pakt und für offizielle Beziehungen zum RGW einsetzen werde’. ADG (CDROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Auβenpolitik’, 30 Jan. 1998, ref. 31869. 18 By the end of 1988, more than 200 of 600 joint-venture projects involved German firms. See Iliana Zloch-Christy, East-West Financial Relations: Current Problems and Future Prospects (Cambridge: CUP, 1991), p. 58. 19 See chapter 1. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid.

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22 See Thies, ‘Germany’, p. 65. 23 In the Bundestag debate on finance issues on 21 February 1991, Kohl confessed that he had been wrong, when promising that there would be no tax increases in order to finance a costly unification process. The opposition accused him of having lied to the voters during the federal elections of 1990. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitische Entwicklung’, 1 April 1991, ref. 35490. During the Aussprache über den Kanzleretat on 6 June 1991 chair of the SPD Björn Engholm criticised the Kohl government strongly for having made ‘empty promises and fooled the East Germans’. The federal government had in the first instance misjudged the costs of unification,‘“dann verniedlicht und dann weggetäuscht”, und erst nach der Bundestagswahl die Öffentlichkeit “bruchstückweise” informiert.’ In turn, CDU secretary general Volker Rühe acknowledged that the economic burden had been miscalculated for East Germany and that it had been wrong to exclude the option of possible tax increases. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitische Ereignisse’, 20 June 1991, ref. 35761. See also James Sperling, ‘German Foreign Policy after Unification: The End of Cheque Book diplomacy?’, West European Politics, 1 (1994), pp. 73–97, here p. 75. 24 Most prominently German president Richard von Weizsäcker criticised the German government harshly for not having prepared the Germans for the long-term economic and material burden. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Bundespolitische Ereignisse; Wirtschafts-, Finanz- und Sozialpolitik’, 16 July 1992, ref. 36990; cf. Richard v. Weizsäcker, Richard von Weizsäcker im Gespräch mit Günter Hofmann und Werner A.Perger (Frankfurt a. M.: Eichborn, 1992); Günter Hofmann and Werner A.Perger (eds), Die Kontroverse: Weizsäckers Parteienkritik in der Diskussion (Frankfurt a. M.: Eichborn, 1992). For an economic analysis see Gerlinde and Hans-Werner Sinn, Kaltstart: Volkswirtschaftliche Aspekte der deutschen Vereinigung (Tübingen: Mohr, 1991); Horst Siebert, Das Wagnis der Einheit: Eine wirtschaftspolitische Therapie (Stuttgart: DVA, 1992). 25 See Frank Umbach, ‘The “Yugoslavisation” of the former Soviet Union and Western Crisis Management’, BoiSt report no. 24, 1993; Bogdan Szajowski, ‘Will Russia distintegrate into Bantustans?’, The World Today, 8–9 (1993), pp. 172–6. 26 See Stent, Russia, pp. 156–158, quote on p. 158. Interviews with former German government officials. 27 See Kaiser, Deutschlands Vereinigung, p. 340. 28 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Regierungsumbildung; Jahresbotschaft Jelzins; Diskussion um Beutekunst’, 6 March 1997, ref. 41861; see also ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland/Rußland: Jelzin in Baden-Baden’, 17 April 1997, ref. 41962; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Wechsel im Amt des Verteidigungsministers; Dekrete Jelzins’, 22 May 1997, ref. 42039. 29 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Kirijenko neuer Regierungschef, 24 April 1998, ref. 42765. 30 See ‘Russland schlägt neue Beutekunst-Kommission vor’, Die Welt, 29 April 2000; Manfred Quiring, ‘Ein Hoffnungsstrahl am Beutekunst-Himmel: Ende eines Raubes’, Die Welt, 2 May 2000; ‘Deutschland sucht strategische Partnerschaft mit Rußland’, FAZ, 16 June 2000, p. 1; See also Kimmo Elo, ‘Sotasaaliskeskustelu Saksan ja Venäjän suhteissa’, Ulkopolitiikka, 4 (1999), pp. 33–9. 31 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 195, 211, 249. 32 Ibid., pp. 166–7. 33 “‘GUS-Hilfe nicht unbegrenzt fortsetzen’”, Augsburger Allgemeine, 23 Jan. 1992. 34 As German finance minister Mölleman pointed out with regard to the Hermes export assistance credits, ‘Das muß man ja einmal gegenrechnen, was es bedeuten würde, wenn schlagartig diese durch Hermes-Bürgschaften bislang gesicherten Wirtschaftsbeziehungen wegbrechen würden…. Das würde bedeuten, daβ 700000 Menschen ihre Arbeit verlieren würden.’ BPA-Archiv Dok 35002/1991 ‘Jürgen Möllemann zu Fragen der zuküftigen

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Wirtschaftsbeziehungen mit den Republiken der ehemaligen Sowjetunion’, Deutschlandfunk ‘Informationen am Morgen’, 19 Dec. 1991. 35 See Fred Oldenburg, ‘Germany’s Interest in Russian Stability’, BoiSt report no. 33, 1993, pp. 29. 36 See ADG (CD-ROM). ‘Weltwirtschaft: Weltwirtschaftsgipfel in München’, 8 July 1992, ref. 36956. 37 See Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 436; cf. Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 280–1; Hans-Herrmann Höhmann and Christian Meier, ‘Deutsch-russische Wirtschaftsbziehungen: Stand, Probleme, Perspektiven. Teil II: Bereiche, Tendenzen, Szenarien’, BoiSt report no. 56, 1994, p. 21. 38 Peter Hartmann (political consultant to the German chancellor) as quoted in Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 166. 39 See Wallander, Mortal Friends, pp. 73–7. Cf. Oldenbourg, ‘Vereinigtes Deutschland’, pp. 1248–50. 40 In February 1992 Yeltsin had indeed asked the government for an extra DM 7 billion to cover the costs of extra housing, higher transit fees and the values of real estate left behind. See Stent, Russia, p. 162. 41 See Celeste A.Wallander, Mortal Friends, Best Enemies (London: Cornell University Press, 1999), pp. 76–77. 42 Interviews with former German government officials. 43 See Oldenburg, ‘Vereinigtes Deutschland’, p. 1250. 44 Interviews with former German government officials. 45 Kohl announced on 1 Oct. 1992—during the celebration of his 10 years as chancellor—that he would stand again in the next federal elections and that his foreign political vision would be the implementation of unification and European integration. Kohl clearly played the trump card of being Kanzler der Einheit. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Innenpolitik’, 28 Oct. 1992, ref. 37284. Cf. Newnham, ‘Price’, p. 436. 46 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 16 December 1992, ref. 37426. 47 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 173. 48 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 280–2. 49 See Roy Allison, ‘The Russian Armed Forces: Structures, Roles and Policies’, in Baranovsky (ed.), Russia. pp. 165–95; Alexander A.Konovalov, ‘The Changing Role of Military Factors’, in Baranovsky, Russia, pp. 196–218. 50 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Kampf um die Reformen: Der siebte Volksdeputiertenkongreß; Tschernomyrdin neuer Ministerpräsident’, 21 Dec. 1992, ref. 37461. 51 Vanora Bennet, ‘Yeltsin appeals for urgent Western help’, Reuters, 16 March 1993. 52 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, pp. 193–214. 53 Quote from Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 246. 54 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 273. 55 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 238. 56 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Volksdeputierte entmachten weitgehend den Präsidenten; Amtsenthebung gescheitert’, 27 March 1993, ref. 37688. 57 See Stephen White, Richard Rose and Ian McAllister, How Russia Votes (Chatham, NJ: Chatham House, 1997), p. 80. 58 Quote from Bernd Ziesemer, ‘Groβe Gefahr’, Wirtschaftswoche, 19 March 1993. 59 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 268. 60 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 22 April 1993, ref. 37780; see also Stent, Russia, p. 164. 61 See White, Rose and McAllister, How Russia Votes, pp. 81–3.

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62 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Putschversuch von Nationalkommunisten gescheitert, Erstürmung des Weiβen Hauses durch Jelzin-treue Truppen; Ausnahmezustand über Moskau’, 4 Oct. 1993, ref. 38255. 63 Ibid. Cf. ‘Kanzler Kohl rief Jelzin an’, Die Welt, 30 Sept. 1993; Thomas Wittke, ‘Trotz leiser Skepsis stützt Helmut Kohl Boris Jelzin’, General Anzeiger, 11 Nov. 1993. 64 See Dimitri K.Simes, After the Collapse (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999), p. 160. 65 See White, Rose and McAllister, How Russia Votes, pp. 92–106. 66 Ibid., pp. 121–3. 67 See Leon Aron, ‘Foreign Policy Doctrine of Postcommunist Russia’, in Michael Mandelbaum (ed.), A New Russian Foreign Policy (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1998), pp. 33–4. 68 See Stent, Russia, p. 163. 69 See ‘Russen-Hitler: Ich vernichte die Deutschen’, Bild, 3 Jan. 1994; Claus Preller, ‘Wie bei Hitler’, Hannoversche Allgemeine, 5 Jan. 1994; Herbert Kremp, ‘Sieg, Unheil’, Die Welt, 6 Jan. 1994; ‘Rußland: Die neue Angst der Deutschen’, Die Woche, 13 Jan. 1994. 70 See ‘Kritik der CDU an Jelzins Rhetorik’, NZZ, 8 Jan. 1994. See also Leon Aron, ‘Foreign Policy’, pp. 23–5; Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 279. 71 See ‘Tschernomyrdin: Zeit wirtschaftlicher Romantik vorbei’, FAZ, 21 Jan. 1994, p. 1. 72 See Lothar Rühl, ‘Strategische Partnerschaft mit Rußland’, NZZ, 16 March 1998. 73 Classified document. 74 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland. Ruβland: Jelzin in Bonn’, 13 May 1994, ref. 38961. 75 Full withdrawal meant that, in the four years following the signing of the 2+4 treaty, six armies with 22 division and 42 independent regiments had returned to Russia and other CIS states. 546,000 personnel (340,000 soldiers and 206,000 civilians), 123,629 pieces of heavy weapons and equipment as well as 2.7 million tonnes of matériel had left Germany. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland/Deutschland: Verabschiedung der russischen Soldaten aus der Bundesrepublik; Jelzin in Deutschland’, 31 Aug. 1994, ref. 39274. 76 BPA-Archiv Dok. 72510 ‘Bundeskanzler Helmut Kohl zu den deutsch-russischen Beziehungen nach dem Abzug der russischen Truppen aus Deutschland. Interview mit Sergej Sonowski’, Interfax, 24 Aug. 1994, p. 1. 77 Interviews with former German government officials. 78 See Verheyen, German Question, pp. 261–4. 79 Interviews with German government officials. 80 On 6 Feb. 1993 at the 30th Konferenz für Sicherheitspolitik in Munich, chancellor Kohl pointed out ‘Deutschland [ist] elementar auf ein stabiles gesamteuropäisches Umfeld angewiesen…und [wird] zusammen mit seinen Freuden und Partnern weitere Anstrengungen unternehmen…um hierzu beizutragen.’ Further, he stressed that human rights, democracy, Rechtsstaatlichkeit, economic freedom and social fairness were important elements for Europe’s stability and were endangered by ethnic and social conflicts which would appear more quickly than the instruments to control them. Quoted in Ulrich Weisser, Sicherheit für ganz Europa (Stuttgart: DVA, 1999), pp. 23–4. 81 Bahr, Deutsche Interessen, pp. 24–5. 82 Classified document; see also Andrew J.Pierre and Dimitri Trenin, ‘Developing NATORussian Relations’, Survival, 1 (1997), pp. 5–18, here p. 7. 83 See Heinz Timmermann, ‘Ruβland und Deutschland: Ihre Beziehungen als integraler Bestandteil gesamteuropäischer Kooperation’, BoiSt report no. 39, 1995, p. 15. 84 Interviews with former German government officials. 85 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik’, 16 Dec. 1992, ref. 37426. 86 On the issue that Russia was seen as a potential security threat to Germany, classified document.

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87 Cf. Heikki Patomäki, Vain Kauppakumppaneita? EU, Venäjä ja EU: n ulkosuhteiden rakenteistuminen (Helsinki: UPI, 1996), p. 18. 88 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Auβenpolitik’, 22 Apr. 1993, ref. 37780. 89 Interviews with former German government officials. See also Timmermann, ‘Rußland’, p. 11. 90 Interviews with former Estonian, Lithuanian and German government officials. See also Stent, Russia, pp. 174–7. 91 ‘Zu jedem Kampf bereit’, Der Spiegel, 24 Apr. 1994 (interview with Boris Yeltsin). 92 See Thomas Wittke, ‘Bonn setzt auf einen “Marschallplan des Geistes”’, GA, I March 1994. 93 Interviews with former German government officials. See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 24–5. For Rühe’s speech on NATO enlargement, see Volker Rühe, ‘Shaping Euro-Atlantic Policies: A Grand Strategy for a New Era’, Survival 2 (1993), pp. 129–37. 94 Interviews with former German government officials. 95 Interviews with former German government officials. Admiral Weisser has pointed out that Kinkel and Kohl carefully seemed to consent to defence minister Rühe’s NATO enlargement policy initiative during early summer 1993. See Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 35. 96 Ibid., pp. 44–8; Stent, Russia, pp. 217–19. 97 Stent, Russia, p. 229. 98 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 40–1. 99 See Lena Jonson, ‘Russia and the “near abroad”: Concepts and Trends’, in Bertel Heurlin and Birthe Hansen (eds), The Baltic States in World Politics (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1998), p. 129 fn.6. 100 Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1992). 101 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: Gipfelkonferenz in Brüssel; Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, 11 Jan. 1994, ref. 38584. 102 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: Gipfelkonferenz in Brüssel; Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, 11 Jan. 1994, ref. 38584; see also ‘Für Bonn ein “ganz schwieriger Spagat”’, FAZ, 8 Jan. 1994. 103 See Thomas Wittke, ‘Bonn setzt auf einen “Marschallplan des Geistes”’, GA, 1 March 1994. 104 ‘Verständnis für Rußlands Angst vor der Einkreisung’, SZ, 14 Jan. 1994. 105 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: Gipfelkonferenz in Brüssel; Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, 11 Jan. 1994, ref. 38584. 106 Stent, Russia, p. 215. 107 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 85–90. 108 On the Chechnyan war, see Stasys Knezys and Romanas Sedlickas, The War in Chechnya (College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press, 1999); Anatol Lieven, Chechnya (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998); John B.Dunlop, Russia Confronts Chechnya (Cambridge: CUP, 1998); Carlotta Gall and Thomas de Waal Gall, Chechnya (London: Pan, 1997). 109 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 301–2; Jonson, ‘Russia’, p. 114. 110 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußand: Fortgang des Tschetschenien-Kriegs; Einnahme des Präsidentenpalastes in Grosny’, 19 Jan. 1995, ref. 39654; Timmermann, ‘Rußland’, p. 13. 111 See Heinz Timmermann, ‘Rußlands Außenpolitik: Die europäische Dimension’, BoiSt report no. 17, 1995, pp. 15, 18. See also ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Europäische Union: Gipfeltreffen auf Korfu’, 25 June 1994, ref. 39053. 112 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Ruβland: Der Konflikt in Tschetschenien’, 12 Jan. 1995, ref. 36041. 113 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: Tagung der Nordatlantischen Versammlung; Frühjahrstagung der Auβenminister und des NACC’, 31 May 1995, ref. 40039. 114 See ‘Bewertung der künftigen Rolle Moskaus’, FAZ, 12 May 1995. 115 See Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 80. 116 Ibid.

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117 Interviews with former German government officials. 118 Interviews with German government officials. See Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 66. 119 ‘Study on NATO Enlargement’, September 1995, NATO-HQ. 120 Gorbachev remains vague in his arguments. See Michail Gorbatschow, Wie es war: Die deutsche Wiedervereinigung (Berlin: Ullstein, 1999), p. 186; see also the unpublished MPhil thesis by Sven Sakkov, NATO Enlargement: The Case of the Baltic States, MPhil thesis, University of Cambridge (1997), pp. 62–3. 121 See ‘NATO-Erweiterung’, Bild, 9 Sept. 1995; Knut Pries, ‘Die Leitung nach Moskau ist stark gestört’, Frankfurter Rundschau, 15 Sept. 1995. 122 See Jonson, ‘Russia’, pp. 120–3. 123 See White, Rose and McAllister, How Russia Votes, pp. 219–34. 124 See Coit D.Balcker, ‘Russia and the West’, in Mandelbaum, Russia, pp. 167–93; here pp. 182–3; White, Rose and McAllister, How Russia Votes, pp. 235–9. See also Bernt Conrad, ‘Mit rosaroter Brille’, Die Welt, 30 Jan. 1996. 125 See ‘Bonn gibt Beziehungen zu Moskau Vorrang’, FAZ 16 Feb. 1996. 126 See Wolf J.Bell, ‘Rüstungsbalance durch “territoriales Netzwerk”’, GA, 12 Feb. 1997; Wallander, Mortal Friends, p. 109; on CFE more generally see also Joachim Lang, ‘Die Anpassung des KSE-Vertrages’, Europäische Sicherheit, 7 (1998), pp. 50–2. 127 See ‘Kohl wirbt für die Aufhahme Rußlands in den Europarat’, NZZ, 29 Sept. 1995; ‘Europarat/Bundeskanzler wirkt für deutsch als Amtssprache’, Handelsblatt, 29 Sept. 1995. 128 See ‘Bekenntnis Primakows zur Rechtsstaatlichkeit: Aufnahmezeremonie im Europarat’, NZZ, 29 Feb. 1996. 129 See ‘Kohl: Interessen Rußlands berücksichtigen’, Tagesspiegel, 4 Feb. 1996. Cf. ‘Die Aufnahme ein Vertrauensvorschuß’, FAZ, 27 Jan. 1996. 130 See ‘Kohl zu Jelzin: Rußland bleibt unser wichtigster Partner’, Berliner Morgenpost, 20 Feb. 1996. 131 See Treffen mit Jelzin in Moskau: Der Kanzler mit Samthandschuhen’, Neue Osnabrücker Zeitung, 20 Feb. 1996. 132 See ‘Ruβlandreise zu Wahlkampfzeiten: Kohl fliegt nach Moskau’, WAZ, 17 Feb. 1996; Manfred Quiring, ‘Kohl will den Dialog mit Rußland fortsetzen’, Berliner Zeitung, 17 Feb. 1996; ‘Wahlhelfer Kohl’, FAZ, 20 Feb. 1996. 133 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Kohl besucht Rußland; Reden Kinkels über die Beziehungen Europas zu Rußland und über die Entwicklungspolitik’, 21 Feb. 1996, ref. 40809. 134 See Bierling, Wirtschaftshilfe, p. 313. 135 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 94–6. 136 See Thomas Wittke, ‘Zwei Vorschläge, die Moskau beruhigen sollen’, GA, 4 Sept. 1996; Ada Brandes and Manfred Quiring, “‘NATO-Erweiterung extrem negativ’”, Berliner Zeitung, 4 Sept. 1996, ‘Primakow bekräftigt Ablehnung der NATO-Erweiterung’, GA, 5 Sept. 1996. 137 Interviews with former German government officials. 138 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland. Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Jelzin in Baden-Baden’, 17 April 1997, ref. 41962. 139 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 97, 113–14. 140 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO. Rußland: Grundakte über die Beziehungen Ruβlands zur NATO unterzeichnet’, 27 May 1997, ref. 42056. See also Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 108–18. 141 Cf. ‘Vor dem Besuch der amerikanischen Außenministerin Albright’, SZ, 20 Feb. 1997. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Weltwirtschaft: Weltwirtschaftsgipfel in Denver’, 22 June 1997, ref. 42122; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Weltwirtschaft: Weltwirtschaftsgipfel in Birmingham’, 17 May 1998, ref. 42812. 142 See Stent, Russia, p. 228. 143 See Christian Hoffmann, ‘Neues Interesse an Europa’, FAZ, 7 Oct. 1997.

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144 See ‘Für Jelzin sind die Beziehungen zu Deutschland die “vorrangigsten unter den vorrangigen”’, FAZ, 2 Sept. 1997; Karl-Ludwig Günsche, ‘Zukunft in Moskau’, Die Welt, 4 Sept. 1997. 145 ADG (CD-ROM), Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitik, 19 Sept. 1997, ref. 42311. 146 Ibid. 147 See ‘Kinkel bei Primakow’, SZ, 16 July 1997; ‘Ruβland: Primakow und Kinkel diskutieren NATO Gipfel’, Handelsblatt, 16 July 1997. 148 See ‘Kohl und Jelzin vereinbaren Troika-Treffen’, NZZ, 1 Dec. 1997. 149 See Christiane Hoffmann, ‘Das Treffen im ehemaligen Erholungsheim des sowjetischen Minister-rats umweht ein Hauch von Geschichte: Kohl und Chirac bei Jelzin in Moskau’, FAZ, 27 March 1998; ‘Inhaltsarmer Dreiergipfel bei Moskau’, NZZ, 27 March 1998; Thomas Kröter, “‘Boris, fall’ jetzt nicht zurück in den russischen Imperialismus”’, Tagesspiegel, 27 March 1998. 150 See Stefan-Andreas Casdorff, ‘Rühe betont auffällig die Gemeinsamkeiten’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 29 Jan. 1998; Rüdiger Moniac, ‘NATO-Erweiterung bleibt umstritten’, Die Welt, 29 Jan. 1998, ‘Impulse für deutsch-russische Militärprojekte’, NZZ, 30 Jan. 1998. 151 See ADG (CD-ROM), Deutschland. Rußland: Jelzin zu Regierungskonsultationen in Bonn, 8 June 1998, ref. 42862. 152 Cf. Günter Bannas, ‘Sorge um einen Freund’, SZ, 9 April 1998. 153 For a first analysis of the Schröder government’s foreign policy (including Ostpolitik), see Forsberg,‘“Berliinin Tasavallan” ulkopolitiikka’, pp. 4–18, here pp. 11–12. 154 See ‘Regierungserklärung: Parlamentsrede des Bundeskanzlers vom 10.11.1998 zum Programm der rot-grünen Bundesregierung’, www.welt.de/extra/dokumentation/regeirung/9811_erklaerung.htm; See also ‘Rede aus Anlaβ der Übernahme der Amtsgeschäfte. Rede von Bundesaußenminister Joschka Fischer am 28.10.1998 im Weltsaal des Auswärtigen Amtes in Bonn’, www.auswaertigesamt.de/6_archiv/2/r/R981028b.htm. 155 According to Die Welt the chancellory pointed out: ‘die deutsch-russische Diplomatie solle “raus aus der Sauna”’. See Martin S.Lambeck, ‘Bonn plant neue Rußland-Politik’, Die Welt, 14 Nov. 1998, www.welt.de/daten/1998/11/14/1114de81256.htx. 156 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Deutschland. Reisen Herzogs und Schröders; erste Maßnahmen zur Steuerreform; Regierungserklärung und Debatte zur EU-Ratspräsidentschaft; Parteitag von Bündnis 90/Die Grünen; Atomnovelle gestoppt; Kontroverse im Kabinett’, 22 Dec. 1998, ref. 43240–1. 157 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Jugoslawien: NATO-Luftschläge begonnen; heftige Proteste Moskaus’, 24 March 1999, ref. 43409–2. 158 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Personelle Wechsel; Rede Jelzins an die Nation; Grundsatzeinigung mit dem IMF; Entführung eines russischen Generals in Tschetschenien; Bombenanschlag in Wladikawkas’, 20 Feb. 1999, ref. 43430. 159 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Jugoslawien. NATO: Fortsetzung der Luftschläge; Ziele in Belgrad angegriffen; zivile Opfer; Annan legt Fünf-Punkte-Plan vor; Diskussion um Einsatz von Bodentruppen; Zahl der Flüchtlinge dramatisch angestiegen; weitere Berichte über serbische Greueltaten in Kosovo; Vermittlungsversuche Tschernomyrdins; Vizepremier Draskovic entlassen’, 28 April 1999, ref. 43486. 160 ‘Rede von StM Volmer am 29. April 1999’, www.auswaertigesamt.de/6_archiv/2/r/R990429b.htm. 161 ‘Interview mit StM Volmer im ZDF-Spezial am 4. Mai 1999 zu einer möglichen Feuerpause’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/2/i/I990504b.htm. 162 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Jugoslawien. NATO: Tschernomyrdin in Belgrad; jugoslawische Führung akzeptiert Forderungen der G-8; weitere Luftangriffe; Milosevic stimmt den Grundprinzipien des Friedensplans zu; jugoslawische Truppen verlassen Kosovo; NATO

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setzt militärische Operationen aus; UN-Resolution 1244; KFOR-Einheiten rücken in Kosovo ein; Luftangriffe offiziell für beendet erklärt’, 20 June 1999, ref. 43587. 163 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘OSZE: Gipfeltreffen in Istanbul’, 19 Nov. 1999, ref. 43922. 164 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Rußland: Fortsetzung des Kriegs in Tschetschenien; russische Rechtfertigung; westliche Kritik’, 26 Nov. 1999, ref. 43934. 165 ‘Kanzler Schröder kritisiert Rußland’, Die Welt, 23 Nov. 1999. 166 Tomas Avenarius, ‘Bundesaußenminister zu Besuch in Russland’, SZ, 22 Jan. 2000, p. 10. 167 See ‘Deutschland sucht strategische Partnerschaft mit Rußland’, FAZ, 16 June 2000, p. 1. 168 ‘Rußland als europäische Macht. Vortrag von StS Wolfgang Ischinger im Rahmen der Sommertagung des politischen Clubs der evangelischen Akademie von Tutzing am 2.7.2000’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/2/r/R000702b.htm. 169 ‘Speech by German foreign minister Joschka Fischer at the German-Russian forum on 15 February 2000 in Berlin’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/index.htm.

5 The Baltic States: A Gauge of Unified Germany’s Ostpolitik and European Security

Helmut Kohl mag sich vorstellen, daß die Reichsautobahn von Bonn über Berlin direkt nach Moskau verläuft, doch das ist nicht die Realität.1

Figure 5.1 ‘Sõber Helmut’ (‘Friend Helmut’) Source: Postimees, 23 February 1996.

‘Look friend Helmut, if all Estonians followed the example of Tiit…then they could even join NATO.’ (Tiit was Tiit Vähi, Estonia’s PM at the time.)

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The new Bonn-Moscow axis that emerged in 1989–91 and dominated Germany’s Ostpolitik throughout the first post-Cold War decade unquestionably represented a problem for the Baltic states. As in the past, when the Baltic countries had been the constant battlefield of Germany and Russia, they found themselves after 1991 located in a ‘grey zone’ between east and west. In this new post-Cold War world their situation represented the litmus test of Europe’s security architecture. Would they remain in Russia’s shadow or would they be able to join the political and military organisations of the West? After Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania regained independence their goal was to escape Russia’s self-declared sphere of influence by joining the ‘institutional West’ with Germany’s support. Not only did the Baltics perceive Germany as western Europe’s most influential power, but they also felt that it bore a historico-political responsibility for their cause. What exactly were the implications of Germany’s Russia-first policy for the Baltic states and for the development of an all-European security architecture in 1992–2000? What have these new German-Baltic relations revealed about relations between small and great powers today? And finally, what clues does the German-Russian-Baltic triangle give us about the nature of unified Germany’s Ostpolitik and with it about the German Question, in particular its features place and power? It is these questions that this chapter seeks to explore. WHY THE BALTIC STATES? The Baltic states have experienced a tumultuous history, forming a region where Russia and key (western) European powers have fought for strategic and ideological influence. Over the centuries different parts of the Baltic region were dominated by Sweden, Poland, Germany and Russia. Despite the circumstances of foreign domination, the Baltic peoples sustained a strong national identity, an identity that is clearly tied to Europe and the West. Indeed, the nations of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania are located at a border where East meets West: culturally, economically, and politically. One could argue that the strong competition between Russia and the various European powers—in the twentieth century Germany— for supremacy in the Baltic region has mirrored what Samuel Huntington has referred to as the ‘clash of civilisations’.2 In this vein, the Baltics have always deemed themselves the Western outpost against the Russian sphere of influence. Although the Baltic states have been considered during the twentieth century as a geostrategic entity, one has to realise that in fact they are three very contrasting countries with differing politico-cultural histories. Latvians and Lithuanians are linguistically related, since Latvian and Lithuanian belong both to the Balto-Slavic group of languages. Estonian by contrast is one of the Finno-Ugric languages. This sets Estonia apart from the other two Baltic nations, and establishes instead a close cultural link to Finland. With regard to political and civic culture, the connections between the Baltics are different. Estonian and Latvian territories very much were dominated by Prussia and the Protestant church. Lithuania, however, was during the Middle Ages part of the vast Catholic Lithuanian-Polish kingdom, which at its high

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TABLE 5.1 Countries dominating the societal spaces of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania 1227–1561

1561–1710

1710–1918

1918–40

1940–91

Political space

Germany Denmark

Sweden Poland Denmark Russia Germany

Russia Germany

Germany (Russia/USSR)

Russia/ USSR

Economic space

Germany Russia

Germany Sweden Russia

Russia Germany

Germany United Kingdom

Russia/ USSR

Cultural space

Germany

Sweden Germany

Germany Russia

Germany Finland Sweden

Russia/ USSR

Political space

Germany

Sweden Poland Russia Germany

Russia Germany

Germany (Russia/USSR)

Russia/ USSR

Economic space

Germany Russia

Germany Sweden Russia

Russia Germany

Germany United Kingdom

Russia/ USSR

Cultural space

Germany

Sweden Germany

Germany Russia

Germany Sweden

Russia/ USSR

Political space

Lithuania Poland

Lithuania Poland

Poland Russia Germany

Poland Germany (Russia/USSR)

Russia/ USSR

Economic space

Lithuania Poland Germany Russia

Germany Sweden Russia

Poland Russia Germany

Germany United Kingdom (Russia/USSR)

Russia/ USSR

Cultural space

Lithuania Poland

Poland Lithuania Germany

Poland Germany Russia

Poland Germany

Russia/ USSR

Estonia*

Latvia†

Lithuania†

*Source: Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World: Cultural and Political Perspectives on the Estonian Post-Communist Transition (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997), p. 133. †Kari Alenius, Viron, Latvian ja Liettuan Historia (Jyväskylä: Atena, 2000).

Germany and the Baltic problem after the cold war

142

point extended from the Baltic to the Black Sea. Indeed, it was only in 1919, when the three Baltic nations had emerged on Europe’s map as titular states, that Lithuania became by definition part of the entity which the Germans labelled Baltikum, previously only associated with Estonia and Latvia.3 When scrutinising German policies vis-à-vis the Balts, it must be noted that from the twelfth century Baltic civic culture—mostly in Estonia and Livonia—was shaped by German civilisation at a time when there was no German nation-state. Only after the creation of the Reich did the Baltic lands become a focus of ‘Germany’s’ Ostpolitik. The non-congruence of the German nation-state’s borders with what was considered the German culture-nation meant that the Reich began to look especially to expanding to the territories to the east with ethnic German minorities, such as those in the Baltic region.4 In consequence, the Baltic nations (after 1919 ‘states’) emerged in 1914–18 and later in 1939–45 as a key issue in Germany’s policy of eastern military expansion, linking their fate hence closely to the German Question. During the First World War, Germany occupied the Baltic territories as a result of General Erich Ludendorff’s eastern military campaign. Subsequently, the Baltics’ separation from the Soviet Union was agreed upon in a supplementary treaty to the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, signed on 27 August 1918. Although it was unclear whether they would be incorporated into the Reich or form a zone of ‘states at the edge’ (Randstaaten) attached more loosely to Germany, the German intention was clearly to erect a protective barrier against (the East, i.e.) Russia. With both Germany and Russia defeated at the end of the war, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania appeared for the first time as independent states on the map of Europe. The Baltic states were part of what can be called Zwischeneuropa (the Europe in between: the Europe between the Soviet Union and Germany), which was considered a zone of buffer states, a cordon sanitaire between the Reich and the Soviet Union.5 It was here that the two great powers were to seek territorial revisions, since both continued to consider the Baltic states, of major strategic importance for controlling the Baltic Sea, as an area of special interest. However, the eastern policies Hitler was to conduct must not be seen as a direct continuation of those of Weimar. The 1920s were a decade when the Weimar Republic sought to develop its economic—not military— influence in the newly independent Baltic states; and this also helped to sustain their independence in the early years.6 At the same time however, the apparent Soviet-German conciliation during the interwar period was to prove fatal to the Baltic states’ existence. The Treaty of Rapallo in 1922 stood for the restrengthening of German and Soviet military might—pointing towards revisionism and potential conflict that was most likely to be detrimental for Zwischeneuropa once Hitler had acceded to power. In this vein, indeed, the Hitler-Stalin Pact in 1939, supposed to prevent aggression between NaziGermany and Soviet Union, regulated both powers’ expansionist aims. It included the settlement of their spheres of interest in the Baltic area through its secret complementary protocols of 23 August and 28 September 1939. These secret protocols authorised the absorption of the Baltic states into the Soviet empire and their disappearance from the European map. Stalin implemented the pact and occupied the Baltic states after the fall of France in June 1940. In a further twist however, Hitler had no intention of adhering to the pact with its protocols. As he had planned, Germany eventually attacked the USSR in 1941, and occupied the Baltic territory. Indeed, the three Baltic states played an important

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role in Hitler’s aggressive intentions to take over Lebensraum in the east (as he followed Ludendorff’s path). Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania clearly lay at the heart of the wider schemes to establish a greater German economic sphere (deutscher Groβwirtschaftsraum) and racial empire. Hitler’s writings before 1933 had already elaborated on the idea of living space at the expense of the Soviet Union and the Baltic states. In his Zweites Buch (1928) he had stated: ‘What the Mediterranean sea is to Italy, the eastern coast of the Baltic Sea is to Germany.’7 Against this historical background, the centrality of the Baltic issue to the historical German Question and with it to European security is evident.8 In a completely new way, the Baltics remained linked to German affairs throughout the Cold War. The Baltic states had been annexed by the USSR and subsequently made Soviet republics. Hence, in the bipolar architecture of Europe after the Second World War, they were solidly integrated into the communist bloc. However, most Western governments including Bonn refrained from giving Moscow de jure recognition of the Soviet Union’s borders in the Baltic, adhering to the doctrine that the Baltic states were occupied lands and that according to international law their situation was unresolved. In similar vein, the possibility of German (re)unification was from West Germany’s perspective a legal issue that had to be kept open by the de jure non-recognition of East Germany as a legitimate second German state and of its borders. Germany’s division, which seemed to offer an answer to the historic German problem, had placed a new political German Question concerning unification on the international agenda. Indeed, while the former eastern territories (Pomerania, Silesia, and East and West Prussia) became part of Poland and the USSR as a consequence of the Potsdam conference in 1945, rump Germany’s division had been intended as a temporary state of affairs. The future unification of Germany, coupled with a final peace settlement, lay clearly at the core of West Germany’s Basic Law. In the context of détente policies (late 1960s-late 1970s), the importance of the CSCE and the Helsinki Final Act in 1975 must be highlighted. The latter was a unique agreement between the Eastern and Western blocs including declarations on the possibility of the peaceful change of borders and the right of peoples to selfdetermination, and explicitly mentioned the openness of the German and the Baltic cases.9 Nevertheless, the resolution of both issues lay with the Kremlin. As has been analysed in chapter 1, it was only in the context of the end of the East-West conflict, or to phrase it more sharply, in the context of the Soviet Union’s steady decline and final disintegration, that Germany was unified and the Baltic states regained independence. In total contrast to the world wars in the twentieth century, in 1989–91 the major geopolitical shifts and changes in Europe occurred peacefully. Although geographically the map of Europe in 1991 reminded one very much of the Europe of 1919, politically it was entirely different. During the Cold War western Europe, including West Germany, had become increasingly institutionally integrated, with most western European countries being either NATO or EU members or both. As much as NATO was predominantly about military and the EU about economic and political co-operation, both institutions also reflected the member states’ devotion to commonly held Western liberal norms, such as democracy and human rights. Germany, the formerly expansionist great power in geographical and political Mittellage, was in 1991 a unified and sovereign state committed to its post Second World War Western civic culture, identity and institutional

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integration. However, Bonn’s continued devotion to Western integration did not mean that its scope for Ostpolitik was zero. On the contrary, unified Germany’s political innovations and new foreign policy direction could be expected to become particularly visible in its Ostpolitik. As German policies during the Baltic states’ independence struggle and the parallel process of Soviet disintegration revealed, the German government’s focus was immediately on Moscow which mirrored a new German selfassertiveness in its role as Europe’s Zentralmacht pursuing its national interests. For the Baltic states the new Bonn-Moscow axis meant that in 1989–91 their case only came second. Once independence had been achieved and the USSR had disintegrated, a number of questions emerged. What would the new Germany’s Russia-first Ostpolitik mean for its future relations with the Baltic states? In which direction would Germany’s Russia policy influence its aims to create a new post-Cold War all-European security architecture? The east-central European states were clearly looking to ‘reunite’ with western Europe after having been tied for decades to the communist bloc. Would Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania achieve integration in the Western ‘security community’ and thus escape the fate of being left in a ‘grey zone’ between the West and Russia? Would the new Germany—(institutional) Europe’s central power with a historico-moral responsibility for their region—live up to the Baltics’ expectations and help them in achieving their main goal of ‘rejoining Europe’? This historical sketch has underlined the extent to which the Baltic states’ survival depended on German-Russian relations and how far they really were treated as pawns by the great powers. The fact that the Baltic states can be seen as a gauge of Germany’s power political status and ambitions in Ostpolitik in the past, make the link between the Baltic issue and the historical German problem very clear. Importantly, in the context of the re-emergence of the German Question after the Cold War and the uncertain future of the states between Russia in the east and ‘institutional Europe’ in the west, the Baltic question also reappeared. The following analysis of Germany’s Baltic policies from 1992–2000 is intended to shed fürther light on the nature of unified Germany’s new Ostpolitik with its implications for post-Cold War European security. GERMANY’S BALTIC POLICIES, 1992–94: SUPPORTING ‘SUSTAINABLE DEMOCRACY’ After the re-establishment of diplomatic relations on 28 August 1991, Germany—bearing a historico-moral responsibility for the Baltic states—began to build a network of bilateral and multilateral ties with Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. It should be pointed out that the German government’s Baltic policy was from the start mostly in the domain of the foreign office, since the chancellery focused its Ostpolitik primarily on Moscow.10 Ever since the Baltic independence struggle, it had been evident that for chancellor Kohl the Baltics were a low-priority issue. He concentrated on relations with Boris Yeltsin and conducted his Russia-centric eastern policies on the grounds of pure realpolitik.11 In contrast to the powerful chancellery, the German foreign ministry might have seemed more like a sideshow, where some idealists, most prominently foreign minister Genscher, as well as a group of Baltic Germans held the flag high for the Baltic cause and that of a truly unified Europe. Still, Genscher’s and the foreign ministry’s activities were not

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unimportant. And from Kohl’s point of view, the chancellor could be certain that they would keep the Baltics on board. The means at the disposal of the foreign ministry were rhetoric and ‘soft’ political measures that did not interfere with nor disturb Kohl’s Russian policy. Thus, despite the internal differences between chancellery and federal foreign office, Germany soon presented itself as the ‘advocate of the Baltic states’.12 Bonn declared its clear intention to support the Baltics’ efforts in rebuilding functioning democracies, and did so as part of its Ostpolitik to secure peace in east central Europe. Ever since 1991, it therefore focused its Baltic policies on the following three objectives: 1 supporting the Baltic states in the transformation process to democracy, functioning Western legal administrative systems and market economies; 2 leading the Baltics to European political institutions and security organisations; and 3 helping to secure lasting independence and territorial integrity.13 Germany’s bilateral assistance took many forms and touched on all kinds of areas. These included law and justice, government and administration, economics, security, culture and environmental issues. In the more detailed description of this assistance that follows, Estonia is given particular attention. Significantly, as discussed in chapter 1, the Estonians were the first in the mid-1980s to begin their struggle for independence from Moscow, and the Republic of Estonia was to become the first Baltic state to start access negotiations with the EU. The strong link between Estonia and Finland gave Estonia a comparative advantage over Latvia and Lithuania in its ambitions to re-enter the West. But clearly Germany also played an important role in shaping the second Estonian Republic. In line with Germany’s general Osteuropapolitik focusing on the ‘export’ of stability to all of eastern and central Europe, creating internal stability and sustainable democracy in the Baltic states was among the political priorities of Bonn’s Baltic policy.14 In practice, this meant the establishment of law and order and a functioning, democratic administration in each country. Through the channels of the ministry of justice and the Deutsche Stiftung für internationale rechtliche Zusammenarbeit (German foundation for international legal co-operation), Germany offered advice for the building of modern juridical and administrative structures in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. The Estonian constitution, as it came into force on 3 July 1992, was very much drawn from the German Basic Law. In fact, Roman Herzog—president of the German Constitutional Court between 1987 and 1994—had personally advised the Estonian constitutional assembly during the process of establishing of a new constitution.15 This stood in the historical tradition of German influence on Estonia’s civic culture. In this context of rebuilding a functioning statehood with well-educated elites, mention should be made of the German foreign ministry’s programme to advise the Baltic states on the restructuring of their foreign service and to provide training for young diplomats in Bonn in the framework of a programme to assist all eastern and central European states.16 Furthermore, cultural exchange has been flourishing as many organisations and foundations such as the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD), the German Research Association (DFG), the Goethe Institutes, the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation and others have established new ties with each of the Baltic states.17

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With regard to the economic transformation process, German activities between 1991 and 1993 centred on assisting the newly independent Baltic states in privatisation and the improvement of economic competitiveness. Headed by the federal ministry for economic co-operation (BMZ) and the federal ministry of finance (BMF), consultation services and educational programmes for the governmental as well as the private sector were offered and co-ordinated in particular by the Reconstruction Loan Corporation (KfW), the Agency for Technical Co-operation (GTZ) and the Treuhand Eastern Europe consulting group (TOB).18 The German foreign ministry provided training for Baltic finance executives and management personnel.19 In the framework of the so-called ‘technical cooperation and assistance programme’ Germany granted Estonia in 1992 DM 13 million (in 1993 DM 13 million), Latvia DM 13.3 million (in 1993 DM 13 million) and Lithuania DM 14 million (in 1993 DM 20.4 million).20 All German offers to the Baltic states were welcomed and accepted.

TABLE 5.2 German bilateral assistance to Estonia, 1991–92* Organisation

Assistance

Ministry of Economic Cooperation

offer to publish an investment guide in German on the basis of an Estonian draft consulting services for Pärnu in the field of garbage disposal and recycling in co-operation with the Estonian Chamber of Industry and Commerce: publication of an export directory for Estonia (after the eventual introduction of obligatory membership to the Chamber); support in developing a computer-based trade register seminar on ‘how to do business with Germany’ support of the Estonian Investment Bank (legal advice) support of the environmental fair in Tallinn in September 1992 training in the field of banking

Ministry of Economics

three seminars (export promotion in the field of engineering and textiles; seminar on meat packing) eventual support for the construction of a business information system consulting activities in the field of the restructuring of the Estonian industry

Ministry of Cooperation

long-term experts as requested by the Estonian authorities, probably in the fields of privatisation, several factories and banking

Minstry of Foreign Affairs

DM 1 million for training courses of management personnel three months’ advice on the restructuring of the MFA five months’ training for three young Estonian diplomats restoration of the epithapia in Toomkirk financial support for the German cultural institute

Ministry of Defence

supply of two aircraft for the Estonian border guards; other equipment under discussion

Ministry of Interior

DM 3 million for equipment of the Estonian police for 1991–93

Ministry of Justice

seminar on trade law seminar on bankruptcy

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147

seminar on procedural law Ministry of Finance

analysis of the tax system training

Ministry of Labour

short-term experts on the restructuring of the social security system in Estonia

Ministry of Agriculture

promotion of dairy farming in the Viljandi area (construction and equipment of stables, equipment for the Vana Võidu extension-centre, short term experts, training spare parts for agricultural machinery for DM 1,103,000) 97 training stages in Germany (12 of one year, 35 of four months, 20 of three weeks, 30 of two weeks)

Ministry of Education and Science

vocational training project at 42nd and 43rd school of Tallinn, starting in September 1993

Organisation

Assistance

Ministry of Environment

seminars on: environmental damage caused by military; organisation of environmental administration; recultivation in the oil shale mining areas; preliminary study on less hazardous technology of fuel burning

Bundestag

three training stages for five months

Bundesbank

advice to Eesti Pank

Bavarian Ministry of Finance

support in the field of tax collection improvement

Rheinland-Pfalz

25 used police cars, other equipment aid to Estonian police

Stadt Hamburg

DM 3 million for the Baltic countries

Treuhand Beratungsgesellschaft

advice to Estonian privatisation agency

Osteuropa

(two experts)

Senior Export Service

short-term experts for the admininistration of Türesindi wool factory, Kreenholm manufacturer

German Institute for International Development

study on the rentability of flax production

Deutscher Akademischer

two long-term and several short-term lecturers in Estonia;

Austauschdienst

various scholarships

Deutsche Welle

training of six Estonian journalists and staff of Eesti Radio

Konrad Adenauer Stiftung

various seminars; training of journalists

Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung

equipment aid for Estonian scientific institutes

Goethe Institute

training for German-language teachers (in Germany as well as Estonia)

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Deutsche Volkshochschule

adult training project under preparation

Zentralstelle für das

four German teachers in Estonian schools

Auslandsschulwesen

one expert on German-language teacher training in Estonia

Chamber of Commerce Kiel co-operation with Tallinn with the financial support of the federal government *Eesti Väliministeerium (arhiiv), Saksa 1990–92, ‘German Aid for Estonia, 19.10.1992’.

Just as in the case of the drafting a constitution in close co-operation with Germany, the Estonian government and its central bank—the Eesti Pank—had a keen interest in the Bundesbank’s advice on monetary policies.21 Tallinn was indeed the first of the three Baltic governments to take the step of introducing its own currency and pegging it to the Deutsch Mark (the exchange rate being: 1 Deutsche Mark=8 Kroons).22 The introduction of the Estonian Kroon on 22 June 1992 was a risky move, cutting Estonia out of the rouble zone at a time when 90 per cent of trade was conducted with Russia and the CIS.23 Monetary reform was to pay off, however: only five years later, by 1997, 75 per cent of Estonia’s foreign trade was conducted with the West.24 In this context it should be pointed out that Estonia’s privatisation process was very successful. Following closely the German Treuhand model as used

TABLE 5.3 Estonian imports from selected European countries, 1993–98 Country

1993

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

(US $ million) Finland

248.5

500.2

829.7

939.9

1,038.7

1,082.1

Russia

153.7

277.0

410.1

438.3

640.9

530.9

Germany

95.8

166.1

243.5

321.4

444.4

518.3

Sweden

79.5

148.3

215.5

262.9

402.9

433.6

Netherlands

32.4

50.9

79.1

91.9

113.9

122.5

Lithuania

29.6

42.9

41.1

50.2

67.3

78.5

Denmark

23.2

44.0

71.0

90.8

114.5

131.9

Latvia

20.2

24.2

50.5

62.5

77.4

96.7

Italy

18.4

40.3

66.3

104.5

132.2

155.9

Ukraine

14.5

27.8

26.8

51.7

45.4

49.6

United Kingdom

13.0

35.8

56.3

106.2

135.9

142.5

Belarus

13.0

14.1

15.7

14.0

17.0

15.7

France

10.4

24.5

36.7

65.2

99.2

119.1

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Belgium

9.4

23.1

39.2

44.7

58.6

66.3

Norway

4.2

10.7

21.3

29.3

47.3

57.0

Poland

3.6

10.1

15.1

34.9

50.0

64.8

Others

25.1

55.5

102.8

151.2

194.8

221.7

794.5

1,495.5

2,320.7

2,859.6

3,680.4

3,887.1

Europe (west and east)

Source: Statistical Yearbook of Estonia 1999—CD-ROM (ESA, 1999).

in the former GDR, Estonia’s private sector already contributed 60 per cent of gross domestic product (GDP) by 1994. In contrast, Latvia’s and Lithuania’s pace of privatisation was much slower; a stringent national strategy was not introduced until 1994 or 1996 respectively.25 Estonia’s economic success story clearly seems to underline the usefulness of the approach of taking advantage of the expertise of other Western states, Germany in particular, when embarking on radical economic and monetary reform policies in 1991–92 (even if detrimental to any rapid development of social welfare).26 Estonia was very fast indeed in shifting its focus in foreign trade from Russia and eastern Europe to the West. Significantly, it was not Europe’s economic great power Germany but Finland with whom Estonia conducted most European trade. Although during 1993 and 1998 Germany’s imports from Estonia rose by a factor of five in absolute terms, Finland’s by a factor of four and Russia’s by a factor of three (see Table 5.4), the picture in terms of market share looked very different (see Figure 5.3). Finland has replaced Russia as Estonia’s largest export market with a share of round 20 per cent during the 1990s. Sweden, however, has emerged as the third force (with a steady rise from 10 to 17 per cent in market share) while Germany has remained fourth (declining from nearly 9 per cent in 1993 to under 6 per cent in 1998). As for Estonian imports, the developments in terms of market share have

Figure 5.2 Trends in Estonian imports from selected European countries, 1991–98

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150

Source: Statistical Yearbook of Estonia 1999—CD-ROM (ESA, 1999). For the 1991 figures see Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World: Cultural and Political Perspectives on the Estonian Post-Communist Transition (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997), p. 321. been relatively similar. Indeed, figure 5.2 shows that Estonian imports from Finland basically switched positions with those from Russia, which obviously used to be the dominant trading partner in Soviet times. While the former increased its market share from 2 per cent in 1991 to 31.3 per cent in 1994 and has since settled somewhere around 30 per cent, the latter’s share declined during the same period from 45.9 per cent to 19.3 per cent and has continued its downward trend. Germany’s market share in contrast between 1993 and 1998 remained steady at an average of around 12 per cent, having risen from 0.8 per cent in 1991. German-Estonian business relations have actually developed fairly slowly, which might have been due to the fact that German business regarded this northern Baltic state as terra incognita and the ‘playground’ of the smaller Nordic states. In general, because of its small size, German firms viewed the potential of the Baltic market rather sceptically,27 Only gradually did they begin to turn towards the Baltics, focusing on Latvia and, especially, Lithuania. Here German imports had by 1998 gained the second largest share in the market, notably after Russia. Indeed, it is significant that in contrast to Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius retained strong trading links with Russia (see Tables 5.5 and 5.6).

TABLE 5.4 Estonian exports to selected European countries, 1993–98 Country

1993

1994

1995

1996

1997

1998

(US $ million) Russia

181.1

301.9

325.1

342.8

550.4

431.5

Finland

166.5

234.5

395.8

381.0

460.4

612.0

Sweden

76.2

142.5

199.9

240.1

394.7

540.8

Latvia

68.6

107.7

137.3

171.3

252.7

306.0

Germany

64.2

89.1

132.6

146.6

163.3

178.9

Netherlands

32.6

41.7

86.0

61.3

98.9

71.5

Lithuania

29.5

71.4

86.2

118.7

178.4

151.0

Ukraine

28.3

40.2

69.0

104.1

145.1

160.1

Denmark

19.1

44.9

60.5

73.3

93.8

118.0

United Kingdom

11.2

36.6

60.3

71.8

107.6

138.5

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Belarus

9.1

27.0

45.6

40.6

40.2

29.6

Poland

8.5

9.0

21.1

24.2

26.6

15.9

Italy

5.3

11.6

15.5

19.5

22.2

23.7

Belgium

5.0

14.3

16.4

25.5

33.7

38.8

Norway

4.8

19.7

34.2

31.4

47.5

67.1

France

2.4

6.0

14.0

23.6

20.6

29.4

Others

23.2

31.9

37.0

64.9

106.5

116.0

735.6

1,230.0

1,736.5

1,940.7

2,742.6

3,028.8

Europe (west and east)

Source: Statistical Yearbook of Estonia 1999—CD-ROM (ESA, 1999).

From the early 1990s it was the German government agencies that were at the forefront of assisting the Baltic states in a third area: security. The German interior ministry between 1992 and 1994 supplied each country with equipment amounting to the value of DM 3 million for building efficient police forces.28 Further, the German defence ministry offered the Baltic states military training courses in Bonn.29 However, the Baltic states were particularly interested in surplus matériel from the former East German military (NVA). As they tried to build up new military defence forces as well as border guards, they felt that they desperately needed military hardware. However, Estonian and Latvian hopes of receiving weapons and other military equipment to create and strengthen their armed forces were dashed. Any equipment delivered to the Baltic republics from Germany as well as from other west European countries (such as Finland, Sweden or Norway) was stripped of all armour and meant solely for the use of border protection forces.30 There seemed to be an unspoken agreement in western Europe to maintain an unofficial arms embargo over the Baltics. One can only speculate about the reasons. Apparently they were not legal, but political.31 Most evidently it can be suggested that the West wanted by all means possible to avoid provoking Moscow. Consequently suspicion was aroused when Estonia made a weapons deal with Israel amount- ing to US$ 59 million in 1993. Israel delivered light weapons, anti-tank ordnance, communications systems and ammunition.32 The issue of security—meaning here policing and border protection—was a problematic issue in German-Baltic relations for over seven years. Only in March 1999 did Germany grant the Baltics a visa-free travel regime. This was considered proof that they had established a functioning security order.33 Germany’s support for the Baltics states’ political and economic transformation processes in the immediate post-Cold War phase was not limited to the bilateral level. Bonn also played its role as the Baltics’ advocate in multilateral frameworks. Germany’s keen interest in Baltic as well as east European affairs generally had its roots in the Genscherite Cold War Ostpolitik vision of an undivided Europe as a result of détente policies. When the Iron Curtain was peacefully lifted in 1989–91, an atmosphere of euphoria emerged in Europe, especially in Germany. There were high hopes for a new East-West partnership.34

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Figure 5.3 Trends in Estonian exports to selected European countries, 1991– 98 Source: Statistical Yearbook of Estonia 1999—CD-ROM (ESA, 1999). For the 1991 figures see Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World: Cultural and Political Perspectives on the Estonian Post-Communist Transition (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997), p. 321. Bonn—convinced of the successes of its chequebook diplomacy during the unification process—embarked on a policy of exporting stability by financially supporting the reform processes in eastern and central Europe, considering this to be a proactive peace policy.35 In similar vein, the

TABLE 5.5 Selected European trading partners of Latvia in 1991 and 1998 Latvian imports 1991

Latvian exports

1998

1991

1998

% Russia

44.40

14.5

54.40

16.0

Germany

1.30

14.2

0.80

11.7

Estonia

5.20

6.6

3.20

5.3

10.10

6.6

5.30

7.8

Lithuania

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153

Sweden

0.40

5.8

0.60

5.8

Finland

0.80

6.8

0.20

1.4

Netherlands

0.01

3.3

0.01

3.2

Ukraine

8.70

1.5

12.00

6.5

Denmark

5.20

3.4

0.01

4.5

United Kingdom

0.01

2.3

0.01

8.4

Belarus

5.90

1.9

6.90

3.9

Poland

0.01

4.1

0.01

2.8

Others

17.97

29.0

16.56

22.7

100.00

100.0

100.00

100.0

Europe (west and east)

Source: For the 1991 figures, see Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World: Cultural and Political Perspectives on the Estonian Post-Communist Transition (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997), p. 321; 1998 figures: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania: Foreign Trade 1998 (ESA, 1999), pp. 13–18.

promotion of a policy of creating a web of inclusive European institutions was founded on the hope that the new post-Cold War Europe would evolve along the lines of allEuropean co-operation which would exclude any hegemonic aspirations of individual states. As the immediate post-Cold War phase was marked by the ‘Russian-Western honeymoon’, the belief that Russia had truly moved on to the path towards democracy and a free market economy only seemed to fuel German enthusiasm for advocating partnership and integration, especially in the most vulnerable Baltic region. Following the Baltic states’ accession to the UN and the CSCE in autumn 1991,36 the rapprochement between the EU and the Baltics was one of the most important interests of German Baltic policy. Already in late 1991 Genscher demanded the conclusion of association agreements between the Baltic states and the EU in order to open the prospect of future EU membership.37 This was based on his conviction that, just like the other east central European countries, the Baltic states should be included in an enlarged union.38 In order to strengthen the independence and security of the Baltic states, helping them to establish ties to the EU was part of the Genscherite concept of a ‘soft’ security policy— meaning integration in a network of institutions, yet excluding the military guarantees which are associated with ‘hard’ security.

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TABLE 5.6 Selected European trading partners of Lithuania in 1991 and 1998 Lithuanian imports

Lithuanian exports

1991

1991

1998

1998

% Russia

49.60

21.20

56.50

16.50

Germany

1.20

18.20

0.60

13.10

Latvia

4.70

1.80

6.70

11.10

Belarus

8.40

2.20

8.30

8.80

Ukraine

10.40

1.90

11.40

7.80

Estonia

1.80

1.50

2.30

2.60

Finland

0.06

3.20

0.30

0.90

Sweden

0.04

3.70

0.30

2.60

Netherlands

0.01

2.20

0.05

2.50

Denmark

0.01

3.80

0.30

4.10

United Kingdom

0.10

3.70

0.40

3.50

Poland

1.40

5.50

0.70

3.00

Others

22.28

31.10

25.15

23.50

100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

Europe (west and east)

Source: 1991 figures: Marju Lauristin and Peeter Vihalemm with Karl E.Rosengren and Lennart Weibull (eds), Return to the Western World: Cultural and Political Perspectives on the Estonian Post-Communist Transition (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997), p. 321; 1998 figures: see Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania: Foreign Trade 1998 (ESA, 1999), pp. 13–18.

With regard to the Baltics’ immediate association with the EU, Genscher was not successful at the time. Western Europe was simply not ready for one, big, visionary step of embracing all of eastern Europe at once. Not only was the EU dealing with internal questions about institutional reform and the future direction of the EU as a whole, but eastern Europe was at very different levels of transition, politically and economically. Moreover, the motor of the EU’s potential enlargement, Germany, was increasingly absorbed in its own transformation problems in the former East Germany, making Bonn even more aware of the much larger difficulties and higher transformation costs in eastern Europe.39 When Genscher retired as foreign minister in May 1992,40 after eighteen years in office the direction of Germany’s Osteuropapolitik was bound to change. Moreover, with the resignation of Kohl’s strongest colleague in the German government, the chancellery

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and its realpolitik consolidated its dominance over foreign policy. Consequently, without a strong German foreign ministry lobby for a pan-European institutional framework, the Bonn government’s enthusiasm for pushing for the rapid establishment of an EU including all the east central European states soon ebbed. This clearly showed that the Baltic states were not an immediate priority in Germany’s Osteuropapolitik, and certainly not of Kohl. Although Germany continued to advocate the Baltics’ institutional integration,41 the establishment of ties between the EU and Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania became a gradual process. On 11 May 1992 each Baltic state signed a Trade and Co-operation Agreement with the EU which entered into force in 1993; on 18 July 1994 they signed free trade agreements with the EU that became effective on 1 January 1995, and on 12 June 1995 the EU signed the Europe Agreements with Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. The Europe Agreement granted each Baltic state the status of associate member of the EU, providing the legal basis of the association. Most importantly, it enabled them to be part of the EU’s pre-accession strategy, an individualised programme to prepare each associate country for EU accession. Giving the Baltic states the prospect of full membership signalled to Moscow that they were sovereign entities belonging to the circle of future members of EU.42 It is important to note that, in view of Bonn’s overall strategy of stabilising east central Europe, linking the Baltic states to the EU was not only intended as a means of strengthening their political independence, but was an important element of supporting the economic reform process. The EU’s technical support programme PHARE provided the Baltic states between 1992 and 1997 with DM 245 million. With a stake of 28 per cent in this multilateral assistance, Germany was the largest contributor.43 Other institutions in which Germany lobbied successfully for the establishment of Baltic ties included the Council of Europe, the WEU and the NACC. As a sign of recognition of their progress in the development of democratic structures, the Council of Europe admitted the Baltic states as members in 1993 (Estonia and Lithuania)44 and in 1994 (Latvia). The NACC and the WEU—institutions that served the Baltics merely as fora for political consultations on security matters but excluded ‘hard’ security guarantees—made them members in 1992 and associate partners in May 1994 respectively.45 The underlying strategy of Bonn’s Baltic policy was focused on the Baltics’ integration in old and new ‘soft’ security structures.46 This became particularly visible through the German-Danish initiative of founding the Council of Baltic Sea States (CBSS) on 5–6 March 1992. It included all states of the Baltic rim. On the German side the initiative was pushed by Genscher, who was convinced that security in the Baltic Sea region could only be achieved within an institution including both Russia and the Baltic states.47 After all, it was their relationship that was particularly historically and psychologically charged. Germany’s interest in Baltic Sea co-operation was not least based on the assumption that Germany would be affected by all positive and negative developments in the region, and thus had a vital interest in achieving stability and security there.48 Security did not, however, mean military security. The CBSS was created as an instrument of regional co-operation and political dialogue, focusing on issues such as environmental protection, regional infrastructure, economic co-operation and fighting against crime.49 In a region where Russia obviously was the preponderant

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local actor and due to its geopolitical mass played the central role in security management and generation, the CBSS was an institution serving the building of confidence and security50 and thus, reflecting a policy of so-called ‘preventive diplomacy’.51 It is evident that the Baltic republics’ state-building process was strongly influenced by the Russian factor. Especially with regard to securing territorial integrity and sovereignty, the presence of Russian military forces in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania presented a major problem. Baltic political leaders considered the formerly Soviet forces on their territory to be a direct national security threat. It was therefore one of the highest of their national priorities to achieve Russian troop withdrawal as soon as possible.52 Acknowledging that the troops were stationed on foreign ground, Russia (as the successor state of the USSR) agreed with the Baltics in January/February 1992 on a general framework for the Red Army’s pull-out. Russian military withdrawal was scheduled to begin in March 1992. However, very few Russian troop contingents moved in March, and during the Baltic-Russian expert talks which also started that month, it became obvious that the Russian military was envisaging full withdrawal only by 1997– 99.53 In western Europe and the United States Russian troop withdrawal was considered an essential step towards an East-West partnership and a sign of Moscow’s denial of any imperialist ambitions. It was seen as a necessity for underwriting the newly independent states’ sovereignty, and for the establishment of peace and stability in Europe. In other words, Russian troop withdrawal from the Baltics was a vital Western security interest.54 Believing in Russia’s intentions for democratic reforms and well aware of its economic dependence on the West, in May 1992 NATO countries offered assistance to Russia in the pull-out of its military.55 It was obvious that, in contrast to (West) Germany’s political leverage in the case of Russian troop withdrawals from former East Germany, the Baltic states had neither the financial means for chequebook diplomacy nor the political power to achieve their national security objectives. Moreover, the Baltic case was far more delicate than the German one. The problem for Russia was psychological. Whereas recalling troops from the eastern German soil meant withdrawal from the former external Soviet empire—the Warsaw Pact territory which Moscow had itself consciously relinquished in 1989—the pull-out from Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania meant the withdrawal from soil that had been Soviet and thus had belonged to the heartland.56 Ever since the Baltics’ independence, Russian policymakers from president Yeltsin down refused to consider the Baltic republics as truly international equals. Indeed, Moscow did not accept the view that under international law the Baltic states had only been Soviet territory following their unlawful occupation.57 So despite imperial contraction and the loss of the Baltics, Russia still regarded them as within its legitimate sphere of influence. When Helmut Kohl raised the topic of troop withdrawal at the G-7 summit in Munich on 6–8 July 1992,58 Boris Yeltsin promised that all 130,000 Russian troops stationed in the Baltics would be withdrawn by 1994.59 This showed how much Yeltsin was looking for a consensus with the most important Western economic powers, in order to keep open the channels for Western economic assistance for Russia. At the OSCE Helsinki summit on 9–10 July, the Western states—aware of their economic and political leverage—then pushed without Russia’s formal agreement for a declaration calling for the speedy, orderly and complete withdrawal of foreign troops from the Baltics.60 After all, Russia was politically bound by its commitments under the

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OSCE not to deploy troops in foreign countries without the consent of those governments. Kozyrev, the Russian foreign minister, repeated Yeltsin’s position during the BalticRussian consultations on 6 August that Russian forces would leave the Baltics. But he pointed to certain preconditions: the Baltic states would have to step down from any historical territorial claims deriving from the pre-Second World War era61 and to consent to a continued Russian military presence in certain strategically important bases. According to Kozyrev this was vital for international security. The Estonian president, Arnold Rüütel, expressed his rejection of what he called a ‘Russian defence system in the Baltic states’, because this would make the Baltics a sphere of Russian influence.62 The troop withdrawal issue was a highly contentious intra-Russian affair. The implications for the Baltics became visible for the first time in the context of the announcement of an agreement between Vilnius and Moscow on 8 September 1992. This agreement stipulated that Soviet troops would leave Lithuania by 31 August 1993.63 Under political pressure from the communists and nationalists in the Federal Assembly as well as from the military, president Yeltsin eventually announced on 31 October 1992 a decree halting troop withdrawal from the Baltics.64 Under US leadership, the West in turn threatened Moscow that it would end economic and humanitarian assistance, making the economic leverage of the West in its relations with Russia once again evident.65 In spite of these threats, Moscow’s rhetoric became increasingly hostile towards the Baltics. Clearly Yeltsin wanted to bolster his power and authority which seemed gradually to be eroding. In this vein, Kozyrev announced in December 1992 at the CSCE: The area of the former Soviet Union cannot be considered as a zone where the CSCE norms fully apply. It is rather a post-imperial space, where Russia has to defend its interests by all possible means, including economic and military. We will decisively advocate the immediate entry of former Soviet Republics into a new federation or confederation, for which there will be drawn up a strict treaty.66 In March 1993 he declared that Russia needed to maintain an ‘imposing presence’ in the Baltic. This and similar statements at other times were followed by almost instant retraction. But such constant missteps could not be dismissed as isolated instances or gaffes. On the contrary, they seemed to reflect Russia’s deeper unwillingness to accept the loss of influence over the region.67 Although the extent to which Russia intended imperialistic bluster to be taken as realistic statements of policy remains unclear, it is obvious that for Moscow troop withdrawal was a useful bargaining chip in pushing the Baltics towards various political concessions. These included changes in citizenship laws and the residence requirements of Russian émigrés and retired military personnel, financial contributions towards housing expenses, border issues and basing rights. The issue was not withdrawal in principle, but the terms of withdrawal.68 Following Zhirinovsky’s victory in the Duma elections in December 1993, the Kremlin’s policies in general, but towards the Baltic states in particular, took a much harsher and nationalistic line. Yeltsin and Kozyrev wanted to preserve their political power in the face of Zhirinovsky’s right-wing, nationalist challenge. During spring 1994

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Estonia and Latvia were consistently threatened by Russia that negotiations on troop withdrawal would be suspended or even ended.69 With a highly public and forceful government media campaign, the Kremlin advocated a policy of standing against the ‘apartheid’ and ‘ethnic cleansing’ directed at Russians in the Baltic states.70 Moreover, numerous official and semi-official documents indicated Russia’s policy of the ‘direct protection’ of Russian speaking minorities in countries of the ‘near abroad’ which culturally and ethnically identified themselves with the Russian Federation.71 The phrase ‘near abroad’ is telling, being a political definition which implicitly questioned the Baltics’ sovereignty. Old imperial habits seem to die hard, and evidently Moscow wanted to see the Baltic states as within its sphere of influence. On a more abstract level, one could argue that from late 1992 onwards Russia’s Baltic strategy consisted of two strands. First, in bilateral negotiations, Moscow played the card of using its substantial international political advantage and the force of the status quo to intimidate the Baltics by the continuous physical presence of troops. This military threat was particularly emphasised by the temporary increase in troop deployment in the Kaliningrad oblast resulting from the intermediate stationing of former Soviet WGF forces in the exclave.72 The second strand of the Kremlin’s strategy was more subtle. It involved linking troop withdrawal to the so-called ‘human rights’ issues, claiming that Russian-speaking minorities, which made up over 30 per cent of the population in Estonia and Latvia, suffered from discrimination in those countries. The Russian government sought multilateral involvement by the OSCE and the Council of Europe, and tried to bring to bear general principles regarding human and minority rights laid down by international institutions in favour of its arguments on the Russian minorities issues in the Baltics.73 The implications of this policy will be discussed in more detail below. Despite constant threats to halt the troop withdrawal and the lengthy and complicated process establishing a formal agreement, the armed forces were pulled out on schedule. In the end, all Red Army forces had left Lithuania by 31 August 1993 and Estonia and Latvia a year later.74 Riga and Tallinn had to consent to a quid pro quo for the early troop withdrawal. Estonia accepted Russian operational control over the decommissioning of the Paldiski nuclear reactors. This was coupled with the temporary occupation of the facilities at the Paldiski military site, which included a submarine complex, until 30 September 1995. Similarly, Latvia accepted that, monitored by the OSCE, Russia would be allowed to operate the Skrunda ballistic missile early warning radar station until August 1998, while the dismantling of the radar station should take place by 29 February 2000.75 The Baltic authorities thought this a small price to pay for the long-term goal of ending Russian domination.76 What role did Germany play in the wider international context of Russian troop withdrawal? In 1993–94 the Baltic states looked especially to Germany for support in their difficult relations with Moscow. They hoped that Bonn, with its close contacts with the Kremlin, could act as an intermediary.77 In addition to asking for diplomatic aid, the Estonian foreign minister, Juri Luik, indicated the interest of Estonian building firms in being commissioned to build housing in Russia for returning WGF. Although the projects were distributed by the Russian defence ministry, a lot of them were paid for by Germany. Luik pointed to Germany’s potential influence, explaining that not only was he

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pursuing his country’s economic interests, but also seeking (with Germany’s help) to improve the tense Estonian-Russian relations in general.78 President Lennart Meri of Estonia made much louder noises than his foreign minister. During German president von Weizsäcker’s visit to Estonia (11–12 July 1993), he publicly requested rapid Russian troop withdrawal. Weizsäcker, who spoke of the Baltics’ important hinge role between east and west, promised Germany’s diplomatic support with regard to pushing Moscow towards the pull-out of Russian armed forces, but insisted that a better solution needed to be found for the Russian-speaking minorities.79 Here, one has to realise that in German politics the president has a purely ceremonial role, therefore Weizsäcker’s promises had to be weighed against the chancellery’s line of Ostpolitik. In fact, it is symptomatic that it was the German president who visited one of the Baltic states, while chancellor Kohl simultaneously met with Yeltsin in Irkutsk and discussed the WGF’s withdrawal from eastern German territory.80 From this coincidence one can conclude that especially with regard to military-security matters, the German executive focused its national security interests on a Russia-first Ostpolitik. Because of this the foreign ministry’s rhetoric on Baltic advocacy looked rather weak. Kohl pressured Yeltsin to adhere to timely troop withdrawal in the Baltic states also, on the grounds that stability in the Baltic region was ‘of funda-mental significance for all of northern Europe and elsewhere’. But, just like Moscow, he connected the removal of Russian military forces from Estonian and Latvian soil with the ‘satisfactory arrangement of the status of the Russian-speaking population’.81 The chancellor clearly wanted to avoid alienating Moscow. Perhaps he calculated that settling the Russian minority issue would demolish, on the international stage, any claim the Kremlin might have about keeping the troops in. After all, the Russian government had invested very considerable political capital in what they considered a ‘human rights issue’. If the West were to settle this issue to Russia’s satisfaction, then Moscow in turn would lose its political leverage over the Baltics and would have to give in on the troop withdrawal issue. This speculation is based of course on the assumption that Russia’s demands were fair, and that Kohl wanted to see Yeltsin satisfied as much as to keep the Baltics on board. The counterargument would be that Moscow greatly exaggerated the problem of discrimination encountered by Russians in the Baltic states, and that Kohl simply supported Yeltsin’s line in order to maintain friendly relations with his Russian counterpart. In any case, as the contested troop withdrawal question continued to linger in the air, the German government’s line reflected the difficult balance Germany had to find in its Baltic policy. On the one hand, it was in its interest to consider Moscow’s opinion. On the other, it wanted to play its role as the advocate of the Baltics. No doubt Kohl was more interested in pursuing a Russia-first policy, but the intention was to avoid any parallels to the Hitler-Stalin Pact, when Germany had sold the Baltics to Moscow.82 Translating this dilemma into operative policies meant that Germany demanded a rapid Russian troop withdrawal. Yet overall, Germany’s involvement in the troop withdrawal negotiations was one of quiet diplomacy. German officials consulted informally with the Baltic governments on the terms and procedures of Russian forces’ pull-out from Germany to help them develop successful policies towards Russia.83 Bonn lobbied for softer laws on aliens in Estonia and Latvia and urged the Baltics to seek security with and not against Russia—that is, through co-operative security regimes. Further, it advocated

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the involvement of the OSCE and the Council of Europe in Estonia and Latvia in order to solve the Baltic-Russian deadlock on minority rights.84 Latvia’s quotas and Estonia’s residency restrictions came under severe criticism from the OSCE and the Council of Europe. Ultimately both states loosened their restrictions to accommodate international norms and introduced amended citizenship laws.85 Russia at first seemed satisfied with the arrangements and the ex-Soviet forces left by 31 August 1994. But with Moscow returning to imperialist policies (in Chechnya) it began to internationalise the ‘human rights problem’, using it as a means of political pressure against Tallinn and Riga from 1995 onwards in the border demarcation negotiations.86 Germany’s policy concerning the troop withdrawal problem in the Baltics—the first security political question associated with ‘hard’ security—disclosed what ‘soft’ security political initiatives, advocating co-operation and partnership, could hide: Bonn’s Russian policy interests dominated Germany’s Baltic policies. Only because early troop withdrawal as such was a vital German interest did the Kohl government pressurise Yeltsin and by doing so lived up to its rhetoric of being the Baltics’ advocate, hence covering up the chancellery’s overall low-key Baltic policy.87 However, on the grounds that Moscow’s expectations of Germany were incompatible with Baltic expectations, it was clear that in security-related matters Germany would not be able to reconcile the two strategies of being at the same time the advocate of both Moscow and the Baltic states. Bonn had to make choices, and chancellor Kohl had chosen to prioritise relations with Yeltsin on the grounds of realpolitik.88 The chancellor was happy to grant the Baltics ‘soft’ support which the foreign ministry provided with its rhetoric. However, he abstained from giving ‘hard’ help for fear of jeopardising WGF withdrawal from eastern Germany. Against this background and at a time of increasingly nationalist Russian Western policies, president Meri criticised western Europe— including Germany—for the ‘appeasement’ of Russia.89 Bonn, in addition to its Ostpolitik dilemma, was confronted by the Baltic states with another particularly delicate historical problem that surfaced in the context of Russian troop withdrawal. When president von Weizsäcker visited Latvia and Lithuania in October 1993,90 the Baltic governments did not hesitate to raise the issue of Germany’s Nazi past.91 The question was not about reviving bitter historical memories and trying to use history as a form of foreign political pressure. At stake was a concrete political point: German payments for Nazi victims in the Baltics. It was only in 1992 that Kohl had agreed with Yeltsin on a donation of DM 1 billion for Nazi victims in Russia, Belarus and Ukraine which was the result of negotiations that had started when the USSR was still intact.92 However, there had been no word about Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, and for obvious reasons they were not to receive any money from Moscow. Following an SPD request to the Bundestag in October 1993, the issue was debated in Bonn.93 Subsequently the German government made an offer to the Baltic states that they should each receive a one-off donation of DM 2 million with which ‘Germany would fulfil its historical responsibility’. Bonn requested that it be used for social projects rather than single citizens. The amount was considered small by the Baltic governments,94 but after various negotiations on the amount and use to which it should be put,95 Tallinn decided in autumn 1994 to accept Germany’s merely symbolic donation, the so-called ‘gesture of goodwill’, as it was feared that during Germany’s next parliamentary term the amount might be even smaller due to the possibility of budgetary restraint. In the end, it was only

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in June 1995 that the negotiations on compensation between Tallinn and Bonn were concluded, and it was declared that ‘all demands of citizens of the Republic of Estonia on the grounds of NS persecution measures [would be considered as settled]’.96 Lithuania and Latvia followed suit in 1996 and 1998 respectively. These agreements concluded, Germany felt it had complied with its historical liabilities. With the Baltics finally free of a foreign military presence and with the reappraisal of Germany’s Baltic Nazi legacy including agreements on monetary compensation for Nazi victims, it can be argued that by late 1994 the difficult Baltic past—associated first with German and then with Soviet occupation—ould be left behind and a new era opened up. Indeed, president Meri called Russia’s troop withdrawal ‘the symbolic end of the Second World War’.97 1994 also marked the end of a phase during which Germany and the Baltic states themselves had primarily focused on the reinstating of functioning Baltic democracies. As the above sketch has revealed, Germany lived up to its claim of being the Baltics’ advocate in respect of the enormous bilateral and multilateral efforts supporting Estonia’s, Latvia’s and Lithuania’s political and economic reforms, integration into Western institutions, and ambitions to secure independence and territorial integrity. However, ‘hard’ security matters were basically skirted. On the one hand this was due to the fact that in the immediate post-Cold War years there was an atmosphere of true East-West rapprochement. A new strategy of European security was only slowly emerging. There did not seem to be an immediate need to get involved in issues such as military guarantees, and thus, Germany advocated co-operative ‘soft security’ regimes. On the other hand, it was clear from the beginning that the Baltic states represented one of the most sensitive issues in Russian-Western relations. Kohl’s focus in Ostpolitik was unquestionably on Moscow. Since Germany was at the same time as the Baltics concerned with Russian troop withdrawal, in its case from eastern Germany, Bonn wanted to avoid any provocation of Moscow. Consequently, Germany abstained from donating weapons to the Baltic states’ new armed forces, and embarked on ‘quiet diplomacy’ with regard to the pull-out of former Soviet forces, coupling it to the Russian minorities issue. It was an open secret that the German chancellor had no particular interest in the Baltics (and that foreign minister Kinkel, in contrast to his predecessor Genscher, was a weak counterpart). And if he did, it was only insofar as they related to German national interest. While he cultivated a highly emotional relationship of reconciliation with Warsaw on historico-moral grounds, the chancellor seemed to ignore Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius.98 It could be argued that Germany refrained from playing a major role in the Baltics to prevent the rise of any suspicion of an over-active Germany that wanted to enlarge its sphere of influence just as in the past. Still, unified Germany pursued its interests by means different from those previously employed by West Germany. Under chancellor Kohl’s leadership Bonn conducted realpolitik. The ‘hard’ security issue of troop withdrawal brought to surface Germany’s Ostpolitik dilemma: claiming simultaneously advocacy for Russia and the Baltics, while focusing mainly on Moscow. In the terms of security issues, this was an unresolvable approach due to the Balto-Russian crisis.

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GERMANY’S BALTIC POLICIES IN THE CONTEXT OF EU AND NATO ENLARGEMENT, 1993–2000 While Germany continued in its support for the economic and political transformation processes in the Baltics, in 1993 there emerged the debate on a new European security architecture based on the enlargement of the EU and NATO. This raised new questions about Baltic security and Germany’s policies. How would Germany play its role as the self-proclaimed advocate of the Baltic states in the enlargement debates? How would Bonn reconcile its Ruβlandpolitik with its Baltic policy in this institutional context? As has been analysed in the previous chapter, the question of new European security structures appeared at the top of the European political agenda just as the honeymoon between Russia and the West was ending (in 1993/94). The Baltic states, as Russia’s immediate neighbours, felt particularly threatened by Moscow’s move towards a neoimperial line of foreign policy. Not only were they geopolitically placed in Zwischeneuropa, but Moscow made it clear that following the logic of its ‘near abroad’ doctrine, it considered Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania to be in its sphere of influence. Moreover, Russia was not willing to settle the border issues with the Baltics quickly. The fact that Russia had since late 1992 insisted on demarcating the dividing lines itself, even before any discussion had arisen about the enlargement of NATO, very much put into question the possibility of establishing a co-operative security regime which the German foreign office in particular was promoting. In this international context, it was not surprising that for all three Baltic states achieving membership of the European Union and the Atlantic Alliance, and thus ‘joining the West’, was the most important foreign political goal. They abhorred the idea of being left in a ‘grey zone’ between East and West which in the past had been so detrimental to their very existence.99 At the time it seemed obvious that as soon as NATO enlargement arrived on the European security political agenda, it would ultimately indicate where the future dividing line between a Russian-dominated East and an institutional West, including military security guarantees, would run. While EU membership was considered as the means for establishing the economic and political conditions necessary for increased welfare provisions and the overall stability of a state and its people, NATO was perceived by the Baltic policymakers as the most effective security mechanism. NATO was backed by US military might and was based on the doctrine of common defence.100 In this vein, since NATO’s PfP initiative did not offer any ‘hard’ security, it is not surprising that president Meri declared at the January 1994 NATO summit that PfP was simply: a nice formula, which would not make peace more secure. The UN Charter already has equivalent rules, without the world organisation having been able to guarantee peace. [The] deciding [factors] are [however] concrete security guarantees and rapid admission to NATO.101 National defence—based on the doctrine of ‘total and territorial defence’—was one of the highest priorities of the Baltics, and consequently their foreign policy focused on full NATO membership.102 Not only were the politics of the Baltic countries predominantly based on the realist logic of geopolitical competition in eastern Europe rather than on the

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liberal logic of all-inclusive co-operative institution building, but, by 1993, so were the policies of the other main actors who influenced the region: Germany, Russia and the United States, even if their rhetoric might suggest otherwise.103 The Baltic states looked especially to Germany for support in their attempts to join the Western institutions. Indeed, following the speech by Volker Rühe, the German defence minister, in March 1993 proposing NATO enlargement and the EU’s Copenhagen summit in June 1993 at which it was agreed ‘that the associated countries in central and eastern Europe that so desire shall become members of the European Union’,104 Germany emerged as the advocate of parallel EU and NATO expansion to include all of eastern Europe including the Baltic states.105 The underlying reasons were political as well as economic. Germany wanted to enhance its own security by having an extended zone of stability to its east as well as seeking for new export and investment outlets.106 Yet, after having noticed how diversified central and eastern Europe really was, how high the costs of rapid parallel enlargements were going to be, and how categorically Russia objected to NATO’s expansion, especially to include the Baltic states, Bonn became more careful about advocating both institutions’ enlargement to comprise all of eastern Europe.107 This reflected a Russia-first policy. In order to avoid a confrontation with Moscow, the chancellery’s Yeltsin-first Ostpolitik led to a government decision in November 1994. The aim was to lead all ten aspirant countries towards NATO structures, but to push for an initial NATO enlargement involving only Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary. This was thought to be the most Moscow would accept.108 At the same time, however, conclusion of agreements between the Baltic states and the EU in July 1994 was meant as a sign to them of future EU membership—a Baltic target to which Russia did not seem to object. In fact, Russia saw the EU in purely economic terms and thus even considered potential Baltic EU membership to be profitable for itself.109 Germany and the United States were the dominant forces in the creation of a framework for NATO enlargement. This process seemed organised and structured ever since it officially appeared on the international agenda in January 1994.110 By contrast, the widening of the EU to include eastern Europe appeared to be a much more complicated and slower process. In the early 1990s the EU focused on the easier ‘northern’ enlargement due in January 1995. Furthermore, there was a continuous internal debate about the EU’s institutional reforms, without which the expensive and extensive eastern enlargement was considered impossible.111 By the end of 1994 German policymakers privately saw NATO and EU enlargement as two processes that were both relevant for European security, but which should evolve independently in shape and time. In other words, they did not regard future NATO members simultaneously as potential EU members or vice versa.112 It is significant that Germany’s NATO policy, out of consideration for the Kremlin, excluded the Baltic states from this early point in time. The predominance of Moscow in Germany’s Ostpolitik was further revealed by the German defence minister’s initiative to promote the creation of a new, special NATO-Russia partnership in parallel to the enlargement of NATO.113 In his public statements foreign minister Kinkel continued to use the rhetoric of Germany’s Baltic advocacy. In April 1995, he stated that ‘Germany [was] their advocate concerning their integration into the European security architecture’,114 and further pointed out that ‘the development in the Baltic region [would] be an important gauge of

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the success of an all-European policy based on interdependence, partnership and cooperative security’.115 These statements, and others like them, amounted to attempts to blur the different implications of EU and NATO membership. It did not disclose the German government’s line with regard to its preference of potential NATO members. Trying to take the heat out of the issue of ‘selection’, Kinkel simply explained: ‘NATO [has] so far only spoken in favour of [its] eastern enlargement in principle.’116 During Rühe’s visit to the Baltic states on 21–23 August 1995,117 Germany’s decision to exclude the Baltics states from NATO’s first enlargement round was publicly stated for the first time. Referring to Helmut Kohl’s speech of 6 July to the Polish parliament in which the chancellor had promised Poland NATO membership by 2000 and had spoken of ‘“differences” in the planned sequence of accessions’, Rühe asked the Baltics for patience. He explained that the opening of the EU and NATO to eastern Europe was going to be a longer process and that, especially with regard to NATO membership, Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary were ‘naturally ahead’.118 The German defence minister further suggested that rather than pushing for integration into the Atlantic Alliance, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania should focus on developing military ties with the Nordic states.119 Rühe clearly tried to refer security responsibilities to Finland and Sweden in order to bypass any possible confrontation with Russia over the Baltic issue. This suggested German ‘free riding’ and placed the Nordic states and especially Finland in a dilemma. With Russia as its immediate neighbour Helsinki was itself focusing on policies of nonprovocation, and it was unrealistic to imagine that Finland could give the Baltic states— or even only Estonia—any security guarantees.120 In fact, in addition to assisting the Baltics in building sustainable democracies, Helsinki’s security focus politically since 1992 has been primarily to offer Estonia training courses for military personnel at the Finnish military academy. Finland’s intent has been to assist its closest Baltic neighbour in developing a territorial defence capability of raising the deterrence threshold, rather than offering any security guarantees.121 Finland is superficially in a very similar geopolitical situation to the Baltics, having to face a large nuclear and conventional power: Russia. However, with a credible own military deterrence vis-à-vis Moscow and not being part of the Kremlin’s ‘near abroad’ logic, Helsinki has considered its new EU membership as sufficient additional security against any external pressure, especially from Russia.122 Moreover, Finland’s civic culture was always Western and having institutionally moved westwards by entering the EU in 1995, Helsinki escaped any association with Zwischeneuropa in the post-Cold War Europe. Rühe’s statements caused a major uproar in the Baltic states and in Germany. Most prominently Lennart Meri distributed a position paper in which he said: Obviously there is no clear defence and political security rationale for the intention to include some and not others of the central and eastern European states [in NATO]. Pre-selecting certain privileged [countries] points to an ‘appeasement’ [policy]; this is based on geography and follows the same illogic as the use (by Russia) of the term ‘near abroad’.123

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Contradicting the defence minister in public, Kinkel, who tried to continue to present Germany as the Baltics’ friend, vehemently pointed out that the accession of the three Baltic states to NATO was part of Bonn’s policy.124 This clash of opinions between Rühe and Kinkel was less a party political conflict, more a reflection of the lack of coordination between the foreign and defence ministries.125 To the Baltics it appeared that Germany’s official Baltic policy was a lot of empty promises. Ironically, as discussed above, the German government’s decision to push only for NATO membership for its immediate eastern neighbours rendered the Rühe-Kinkel confrontation, as well as any future speculative statements about new NATO members, as rhetorical.126 The reason why Western governments including Germany were reluctant, until the NATO foreign ministers’ meeting on 29 May 1997 in Sintra,127 openly to name the potential new member states stemmed from the fear of alienating those applicant countries which would suddenly find themselves stranded in a zone between Russia and the institutional West. Some states would be inevitably excluded from the initial enlargement and would feel relegated to the Russian sphere of interest, having to face an increasingly nationalist Russia which saw NATO enlargement in terms of a new Yalta.128 Although NATO’s study on enlargement stipulated that the ‘aim of an improved security architecture [was] to provide increased stability and security for all in the Euro-Atlantic area’, precisely ‘without recreating dividing lines’,129 it was undeniable that the question of new dividing lines in Europe had been returned to the political agenda because of Moscow. Thus, in addition to Germany’s considerations for Russia, the issue of ‘dividing lines’ in general shows how closely the process of NATO’s expansion was connected to Russian objections. While NATO’s enlargement as such was opposed by Russia, but could be negotiated on with regard to the potential membership of Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary, future Baltic membership was ruled in by principle.130 The reasons were twofold. First, Moscow wanted to avoid NATO territory bordering Russia’s heartland. Second, it feared loss of credibility as a territorial and strategic great power—an image Moscow has tried ever since the USSR’s collapse to re-establish through its ‘near abroad’ doctrine. When Yevgeni Primakov took over from Kozyrev as foreign minister in 1996, Russia’s Baltic policy became increasingly confrontational. In part this was a funtion of Primakov’s nationally oriented foreign policy approach (which promoted the concept of Russia as a great power in Europe and the world). But it was also intended as a countermove to the imminent NATO enlargement decision. The Russian government’s statements pointed to the situation of Russian minorities in the Baltic states, coupling them to the unresolved border treaties, and issued threats of economic sanctions. The Kremlin made it unquestionably clear that the accession to the Baltic states to NATO would undermine relations between Russia and NATO.131 Chancellor Kohl emerged more and more as the intermediary between Moscow and NATO, lobbying in 1996–97 for a policy of assisting Yeltsin in his power struggle at home as well as for a framework to structure Russian partnership with NATO.132 Germany’s influential role with regard to the Kremlin, coupled with its dominant position in NATO as one of the shapers of the Alliance’s post-Cold War institutional evolution, was however unavoidably detrimental to the Baltics’ aim to rapidly achieve NATO membership.

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At NATO’s Sintra meeting in May 1997 the different Alliance partners publicly named for the first time their preferred candidates. In addition to the definite Visegrad three Slovenia and Romania were mentioned. It is noteworthy that Rühe and his US counterpart, William Perry, had already announced in a seminar with the Baltic representatives in September 1996 that ‘for the time being the Alliance could not admit Estonia, Latvia and Lithania out of consideration for Moscow, but only offer them a super-partnership for peace’.133 As for Germany in particular, there cannot be any doubt that the direction of Bonn’s Baltic policy depended almost entirely on the temperature of its relations with Moscow. A senior German defence ministry official further pointed out that ‘Germany conceives the Baltic states as an indicator for Russian-Western relations.’134 At the Madrid summit on 8 July 1997, following the United States and Germany in supporting the concept of three rather than four or five new countries, NATO invited Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary to join the Alliance. It was obviously a political decision, since there had been no fixed criteria for applicant countries. Thus the process started off with the countries which were considered the most easy to admit and suited German and US interests in particular.135 Indeed, it seems that the official argument, of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania ‘not yet being ready’ to shoulder the military burdens of the Alliance,136 was used to disguise the real reasons: Russian opposition as well as strong national preferences, especially of the United States and Germany. Washington’s recent policy had indeed been to promote the Baltics’ integration into the EU as a temporary substitute for NATO.137 Still, conscious of Germany’s self-proclaimed role as the advocate of the Baltic states, Kinkel tried to balance the very delicate security situation for the Baltic states. He wanted to ensure that NATO would show continuing interest in the security and stability of the Baltic region, and that the door to the Alliance would remain open for Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. Kinkel went public with this concept in an article for the International Herald Tribune that appeared on 30 May 1997—just before the Madrid summit.138 The so-called ‘Kinkel formula’ met with basic agreement at NATO. As a reassurance, to the Baltic states, the Madrid Declaration on Euro-Atlantic Security and Co-operation, issued by the heads of state and government, stated: ‘No European democratic country whose admission would fulfil the objectives of the Treaty will be excluded from consideration.’ The declaration recognised specifically the progress achieved towards greater stability and co-operation by the Baltic states, mentioning them as potential future candidates.139 This last was something to which president Yeltsin categorically objected, then and in the future. On 13 July 1997 he proclaimed in Moscow that the Baltic states were former Soviet territory and that they would never be allowed to join the Atlantic Alliance. Yeltsin was supported in his view by Primakov, who declared that Russia had no objections if the Baltics wanted to join any European organisations. However, he bluntly described NATO enlargement in general as ‘the biggest mistake since the end of the Cold War’, and expressed his strong disapproval for the US open door policy towards the Baltics.140 All through 1997 the Kremlin launched various diplomatic initiatives to find a new approach to the Baltic states and to keep them out of NATO. The initial milestone was the establishment of the first consistent doctrine vis-à-vis the Baltics since the USSR’s break-up in February 1997. This doctrine was set out in a document entitled ‘Russia’s

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long-term policy towards the Baltic countries’. It outlined Russia’s interests in the Baltic area—strategic humanitarian, economic and juridical. Although it focused on NATO enlargement, it looked to emphasise Moscow’s rejection of the use of force or coercion in relation to the Baltic states.141 The publication of ‘Russia’s longterm course’ was followed by Moscow’s offer of security guarantees to the three Baltic states. Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius saw this as a reminder of Russia’s traditional, imperialistic political thinking. First included in a statement by Boris Yeltsin at the Russo-American summit in Helsinki in March 1997,142 the offer was developed into a major initiative by November 1997 which the Russian foreign ministry turned into a proposal for a ‘pact of regional security and stability’. Although Russia did not propose the classic security guarantees against threats from third countries, but guarantees by Russia proper through agreed confidence-building measures against risks, the Baltic leaders at their meeting in Palanga unequivocally rejected it on 10 November.143 In view of the emerging European security architecture, it is significant that the Baltic states were clearly being treated by Moscow as well as by the West as a geostrategic entity. During Rühe’s consultations with the Baltic political leaders in autumn 1995, it had become clear that none of the Baltic states would even be considered individually for potential NATO accession. Subsequently, Germany emerged as an enthusiastic advocate of the emerging Baltic trilateral military co-operation.144 The Baltic states had signed a trilateral co-operation agreement in February 1995. Based on this agreemnet, five important initiatives were launched: BALTBAT (Joint Baltic Battalion), BALTRON (Baltic Naval Squadron) and the regional BALTNET (Airspace Surveillance Network), BALTSEA (a co-ordinating body for defence, security and political assistance to Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania) and BALTDEFCOL (Baltic Defence College). The three states themselves considered such co-operation an important initiative to indicate to the NATO allies the willingness and ability of the Baltic states to work together and integrate.145 In return, the West offered its support in terms of equipment and know-how. The Nordic states had declared an end to their unofficial arms embargo upon Russian troop withdrawal, and the United States had announced a programme in February to sell weapons to east central Europe, including the Baltic states.146 But it was only in 1996 that the West in general began to deliver light weapons to the Baltic states.147 The West’s support for strengthening Baltic defence forces was of course a political decision,148 closely tied to the Russian factor in international politics. One can only speculate that the West assumed that by 1996 military aid in the form of arms supplies would be under control within the BALT-framework that was monitored by the West and thus would not offend Russia. For instance Germany offered Estonia two minesweepers in 1997 and 1,500 machine guns in 1998, and to Latvia two minesweepers in 1997 and one in 1999.149 Further, Germany continued to train military Baltic personnel and since 1995 retired German military have been made available as consultants.150 In comparison, the Baltics’ small but very supportive neighbour Finland has focused its efforts on two initiatives— offering consultation within trilateral BALTic projects, as well as creating a specific, but temporary, initiative supporting Estonia’s development of defence capabilities. The ‘Estonia project’ was launched in 1996 with the intention that it should last until 2002. It included the training of Estonian military personnel in Finland as well as consultant specialists rather than instructors working in Estonia. Further, Helsinki donated an

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artillery battalion including all the necessary hardware and ammunition and two patrol boats and a staff officers’ vessel to the Estonian coastguard in 1997.151 It is evident that especially with regard to Estonia, Finland—less influential in international politics than Germany—has played much more than Germany the role of a true advocate on national defence issues, while Bonn’s efforts have constantly been overlaid by its Moscow-first policy. What then was Germany’s approach to the Baltics’ hopes of rapidly joining the EU? There was no coherent German Baltic policy. With the chancellery focusing on Ruβlandpolitik and the defence ministry pushing for NATO’s expansion to include Germany’s immediate eastern neighbours, within the German government it was the foreign ministry that most prominently lobbied for the rapid conclusion of the Baltic states’ European Agreements.152 These ultimately made the Baltics eligible for future EU membership, placing them on the same level as Poland, Hungary, the Czech Republic, Romania and Bulgaria. The European Agreements, finally signed on 12 June 1995, were the result of Germany’s EU presidency in the second half of 1994, when Bonn had vehemently insisted on the Baltic states’ integration into the EU.153 Since Baltic membership of NATO had stopped being an immediate issue in Germany’s Baltic policy after 1994, foreign minister Kinkel concentrated on actively supporting Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in their applications to join the EU. With the signing of the EU-Baltic free trade agreements, it had already crystallised that in the EU accession negotiations the Baltic states would not be regarded as a geostrategic entity. There was no doubt about Estonia’s leading position among the three Baltic republics, since there was no transition period stipulated either in the free trade agreement or the European Agreement with Estonia. Moreover, it was EU policy that gaining membership of the EU was a highly individual process during which, of course, the differences between the applicants were to become highlighted. For the Baltic states being potentially chosen on individual performance rather than on geostrategic considerations implicitly meant to a certain extent the end of a united tripartite Baltic front.154 After Rühe had suggested during his visit to the Baltic states in August 1995 that while NATO membership was not imminent EU membership should be considered as a first step to the institutional West and a potential advantage on the road to NATO, it was inevitable that Baltic solidarity turned into competition for gaining access to the EU. In fact, the question quickly turned to ‘who’ and ‘when’.155 Here it should be pointed out that during 1995 chancellor Kohl seemed to get increasingly involved in Germany’s EU enlargement politics, pushing the foreign ministry to one side. As discussed in chapter 3, this was due to the rise of the paymaster debate in Germany and the question whether institutional reforms should precede enlargement. Especially in autumn 1995 Kohl’s actions revealed a tendency to dominate—a development that was disturbing for the Baltics’ EU ambitions. During his speech to the European Parliament Kohl declared on 28 September that it was in Germany’s interest to create for all three Baltic states a secure future in Europe, but that Germany had also to consider Moscow’s interests.156 Kohl had been on a brief visit to Moscow on 2–3 September157 and, influenced by that, he announced at the EU summit in Mallorca on 22–23 September, with regard to the EU’s eastern enlargement, that Yeltsin wanted to see any decisions on the widening processes of Western institutions delayed

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until after Russian elections.158 Kohl himself was clearly willing to support Yeltsin’s wishes. This was again a sign that Kohl consistently put Moscow first in his Ostpolitikconsiderations. However, Bonn’s eastern Europe policies seemed in general less enthusiastic and increasingly guided by ‘realist’ thinking. The lack of a coherent strategy within the German government with regard to its Baltic policy, and in particular the chancellor’s authoritative and inflexible position, irritated the Baltic states.159 It became evident that the chancellor favoured the Visegrad three as the sole new members of both the EU and NATO, and viewed the Baltics as a monolithic bloc that did not particularly interest him. Kohl’s attitude was undoubtedly potentially detrimental for the aspirations of each Baltic state to join the EU, not to mention NATO. Treating the Baltics as a unity could easily mean their omission from the EU’s first enlargement round due to their different levels of transition, with the weakest holding up the other two. In any case, Kohl did not think of the Baltics as potential candidates.160 This is not to say that Britain, France and Italy were Baltic enthusiasts. But then none of them had such close historical connections to the region as Germany did, nor were they in the immediate neighbourhood. Seeing itself as being in the front rank of candidates to join the EU, Estonia wanted at all co`sts to avoid a double ‘no’ from both NATO and the EU in the enlargement negotiations, and began to promote its own case.161 It was ironic that all three Baltic candidates felt that their ambitions were endangered by the very state that had proclaimed itself as their advocate. Significantly, from 1996 onwards, Finland and Sweden—EU members only since 1995—vigorously expressed their support for the EU’s widening to include the Baltics.162 The coincidence that Estonia—as Finland’s closest Baltic partner and protegé—was the leader among the Baltics as a result of its successful economic and political reform processes, suited Helsinki’s EU policies particularly well, and Helsinki thus emerged as Tallinn’s strongest supporter within the EU.163 However, it was clear that the final EU decision on future members would essentially depend on Europe’s great powers, some of whom were from the start less enthusiastic about eastern enlargement. Under these circumstances the Zentralmacht and EU’s paymaster Germany played a key role. As Estonia’s foreign minister Siim Kallas phrased it in 1996: ‘We know that Germany is our advocate in Europe. [But] if Germany is against something, then there is no point on insisting on it.’164 Kallas clearly put all his hopes into hands of the German foreign ministry. In view of the Russian presidential elections in June 1996, chancellor Kohl’s focus of Ostpolitik during that year was solely on Yeltsin, trying to assist the Russian president politically and financially to stay in power, and hoping thus to keep developments in Russia on a predictable track.165 Thus there was to be no change in Kohl’s attitude vis-àvis the Baltic states. When speaking with the Estonian prime minister, Tiit Vähi, at the meeting of Baltic Sea government representatives in Visby on 3 May 1996, Kohl ruled out even one Baltic state becoming an EU member as part of the first enlargement round.166 During a non-official meeting with Meri on 15 July 1996 in Bonn, Kohl covered his deeper motives by pointing out more generally that EU enlargement was a question of peace and war in a future Europe, rather than money, and that the Baltic states were of course part of Europe.167 Such rhetoric was not helping Estonia to fulfil its

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aspirations to join the institutional West. Rather the conversation reflected Kohl’s thinking of realpolitik and his focus on good relations with Russia as he declared that Germany should not remain at the edge of the West.168 It is important to realise that the chancellor was not alone in his lack of interest in the Baltic case. He had strong support within his party, most prominently from Wolfgang Schäuble (the leader of the CDU faction in the Bundestag) as well as from his closest political advisor and Kohl’s right hand, Joachim Bitterlich, both of whom sidelined the Baltic question altogether.169 Here it should be pointed out that Kohl cultivated a ‘regal’ system which meant that he surrounded himself with the foreign policy advisors of his choice (such as Bitterlich). These advisors helped the chancellor create his own lines of policy, according to which he often totally bypassed the foreign ministry. The federal foreign ministry’s strength or weakness thus depended very much on the charisma and political clout of the foreign minister. Under the ineffectual Klaus Kinkel, it lacked both. In these particular circumstances, the foreign ministry diplomats’ main role was reduced to maintaining an atmosphere of good relations and clearing up any diplomatic upheavals the chancellor might have caused—as the Baltic story showed. Indeed, the German foreign ministry lobbied actively for Baltic EU membership. On 12 March 1996, Kinkel, along with his Danish counterpart, declared that Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania should join the EU as soon as possible.170 As if to prove the substance of the foreign ministry policy of being ‘the Baltics’ advocate’, Kinkel invited all three Baltic foreign ministers together for consultations in Leipzig on 28 August 1996171—a highly symbolic date since it marked the fifth anniversary of Bonn’s re-establishment of diplomatic ties with the Baltic states. Kinkel pointed out that ‘Germany sees itself as the advocate [of the Balts, and it is] therefore the aim of German foreign policy to anchor Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania formally and more strongly in the European institutions’.172 On the same day, the foreign ministry also published its agenda on German-Baltic relations (Agenda der Beziehungen Deutschlands zu den Baltischen Staaten). With regard to security and concrete political initiatives for potential Baltic institutional membership of the EU and NATO the paper was rather insubstantial. It implied Bonn’s general rhetoric of successful bilateral relations and referred to Germany’s interest in tying the Baltic to the Euro-Atlantic structures without mentioning any concrete steps or timeframes.173 At the 3+1 consultations, it was agreed that from 1996 onwards such meetings would take place once a year, in order to underline the formality of German-Baltic cooperation.174 As became public in September 1996, Rühe, who had emerged among the thinkers at the forefront of NATO enlargement, opposed a double rejection for the Baltics in their NATO and EU aspirations. While he proclaimed that out of consideration for Moscow Baltic accession to NATO as part of the first round of enlargement was impossible, he began to urge that the Baltics had to be included among the first countries to join the EU.175 However, unlike his US counterpart, Rühe did not intend to suggest that probable Baltic EU membership should be seen as a substitute for NATO membership. Moreover, he believed that he and Kinkel would be able change Kohl’s mind on the Baltic case.176 In this vein, from late 1996 onwards internal discussion in Germany grew about the various methods suggested to begin negotiations with the EU applicants. The chancellery clearly advocated the ‘group model’, having in mind Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic. Parts of the German parliament as well as Denmark and Sweden among other

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EU member states expressed their preference for the ‘starting line model’ (meaning that negotiations with all applicant countries should begin simultaneously). Kinkel suggested an enlargement of the EU that would ‘differentiate without discriminating’. In other words, he promoted the idea that those states that would not be in the first enlargement group would have the opportunity of starting negotiations at any time after having undertaken the necessary reforms, and could even overtake other accession candidates, depending simply on the progress made. This enlargement model was called the ‘stadium model’.177 The German foreign minister tried to find a diplomatic mediating position before the European Council meeting in Luxembourg in December 1997 at which candidate countries’ accession negotiations were to start. With regard to the Baltics, Kinkel had stated during talks with the then Finnish foreign minister Tarja Halonen on 25–26 January 1997 that he had changed his mind that the three Baltic states should be treated as an entity in EU accession negotiations. He now saw Estonia in the lead and believed that its EU membership could perhaps be a sign for the others.178 During the visit of Estonia’s foreign minister Toomas Hendrik Ilves to Bonn on 20 January, Kinkel even spoke of Estonia as one of the leaders among the east-central European states, due to its successful reform processes.179 Despite the foreign ministry’s eagerness to support the Baltic states in their EU aspirations, Helmut Kohl’s position remained a key issue. In an interview with journalists in early May 1997, Estonian president Meri expressed his disappointment and dissatisfaction with the chancellor’s perspective on the Baltics’ position in Europe on the grounds of a Russia-first Ostpolitik, by alluding: ‘Helmut Kohl might believe that the Reichsautobahn runs directly from Bonn via Berlin to Moscow, but that is not the reality.’180 Meri’s sarcastic statement was intended to point out the fact that Kohl and Yeltsin consciously conducted great power politics to the detriment of small countries’ interests. Only in early March Yeltsin had declared that he considered an EU enlargement to include the Baltic states to be an unfriendly step. Moreover, Russia was still using the ‘human rights’ issue as well as refraining from signing border agreements with the Baltics as means of political pressure to remind them of Moscow’s power and to prevent or at least slow down their integration into NATO and the EU. Kohl, in turn, underlined once again his full support for the three Visegrad states’ EU ambitions, without even mentioning the Baltics at the Amsterdam summit of 16–17 June 1997. The Commission’s avis of July ended the ongoing speculations, as it proposed among the six best qualified EU candidates one Baltic state—Estonia. Subsequently, Moscow declared that it had no objections to EU enlargement, while the German chancellor decided to refrain from any public statements on the issue until December 1997.181 The European Council of Luxembourg did finally—on 12 December 1997—invite Estonia to begin EU accession negotiations, while Latvia and Lithuania were excluded.182 It is significant that Kinkel’s proposal of the so called ‘stadium model’ for the commencement of accession negotiations was accepted by the EU. Despite Kohl’s overall dominance in Ostpolitik, it seemed to demonstrate that the foreign ministry had some influence on eastern European affairs—at least when it came to EU policies. On a larger scale, it further revealed Germany’s influence in the EU in general, and in particular its importance in formulating the latter’s Baltic policy. Kinkel had lobbied for

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his proposal in October 1997 in order to console the potential ‘outs’ of the EU’s first enlargement round, looking in particular to Riga and Vilnius. In fact, the ‘stadium model’ proposal had to be seen in the context of Kinkel’s aim once again to underline Germany’s feeling of responsibility for the Baltics’ future within the ‘West’ and true advocacy:183 Estonia would begin its accession negotiations according to the Luxembourg decisions on 30 March 1998, while Latvia and Lithuania would be included in a reinforced preaccession strategy. By the beginning of 1998 the first phase of building new post-Cold War European security structures had ended. It was evident, that—just as in the past—the Baltic (security) question was proving particularly complex in East-West relations, or to phrase it more sharply, the Baltic states were a disruptive factor in German-Russian relations as well as in relations between the institutional West and Russia. With the formerly ‘Western’ institutions enlarging into eastern Europe, the Baltic states crystallised the debate as to where new dividing lines in Europe would be drawn. Their omission from NATO’s first enlargement round and the politics that revolved around that decision revealed Russia’s influence in European security considerations. Yet, at the same time, Germany and most prominently chancellor Kohl played a central role on the Western side. As Europe’s Zentralmacht and Moscow’s most important partner and friend in continental Europe, nothing could hide the fact that Germany’s Russia-first policy and Kohl’s lukewarm attitude towards the Baltic states had eventually led the Baltics’ exclusion from NATO. While the NATO issue revealed the return of geopolitical and realist thinking in German Ostpolitik, EU enlargement brought into the open the full complexity of German-Baltic relations. Here also the chancellor’s policy towards the Baltics was overshadowed by his focus on Moscow and his preferential support for the Visegrad three. However, the foreign ministry in particular wanted to see its policy as the Baltics’ advocate given substance, and thus Kinkel was trying hard to find an acceptable solution for the Baltics with regard to future EU membership. He succeeded in so far as Estonia was invited to begin accession negotiations with the EU, and in persuading the EU to take over his ‘stadium model’ so that rejected candidates could remain part of the integration process. Still, the Baltic states were disillusioned by their alleged advocate, which seemed to take its role as Russia’s advocate much more seriously, and from which they expected so much more backing in their aspirations to join the Western institutions rapidly. It was an irony that Germany, the self-proclaimed champion of the Baltics, was ‘best friends’ with their deepest enemy: Russia. There remained in the Baltics a feeling of rejection especially by the German chancellor. Indeed, it was symbolic that Kohl only once paid a visit to the Baltic states between 1991 and 1998. When he finally came to Riga on 22–23 January 1998, he did not arrive on a state visit, but as a participant in the CBSS meeting of its heads of states and to consult with the Russian prime minister, Viktor Chernomyrdin.184 Needless to say, since Kohl’s distanced attitude to the Baltics over the years had been interpreted as his disregard for the small Baltic nations, it could not be made up for by one appearance in Latvia. In this vein, it was not surprising that the Baltics’ expectations of Germany rose following Gerhard Schröder’s election victory over Kohl in September 1998. Two questions appeared: would a new government turn away from a Russia-first and towards a more Baltic-friendly Osteuropapolitik now that the Kohl-Yeltsin Männerfreundschaft

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had found an end? Would chancellor Schröder visit the Baltic states? The Baltic states’ goals were clear; they continued to struggle finally to become full members of the EU and NATO, and, especially with regard to the latter, Russia remained the key problem. On his visit to Vilnius in June 1998, the Russian foreign minister Yevgeni Primakov had once again declared: ‘The Baltic states’ NATO membership is inacceptable because this interferes with our geopolitical interests.’185 It was evident that the Kremlin had mentally set a limit on how far NATO could enlarge.186 Still, the Baltics hoped to be at least part of the second wave of NATO enlargement, which they expected to be announced at NATO’s Washington summit in April 1999, when Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary were officially to join the Alliance. Significantly, the Baltic states had on 16 January 1998 signed with the United States a so-called ‘Baltic Charter’, which underlined US interest and engagement in the Baltic region at a critical point, just after the Baltics had had to deal with exclusion from NATO’s first enlargement process. The Charter stated that NATO’s enlargement was an ‘ongoing process’ with an ‘open door’ to new members. However, it did not include any ‘hard’ security guarantees, and thus NATO membership continued to be the highest security political aim of the Baltic states.187 While there had apparently been a government agreement in Bonn that Osteuropapolitik would undergo some positive shifts of emphasis with regard to the Baltics,188 chancellor Schröder’s first statements suggested the opposite. Although his approach to Moscow was from the start much cooler than Kohl’s, his main interest in autumn 1998 seemed to be the reduction of Germany’s financial burden within the EU, an issue closely connected to the EU’s institutional reforms. EU enlargement was apparently pushed to the bottom of the political agenda.189 Latvia and Lithuania, who were hoping to be invited to EU accession negotiations at the Vienna summit in December 1998, received a first warning in October. Schröder spoke at an informal meeting of the EU heads of governments in Pörtschach about the potential EU members’ ‘wrong impressions’,190 an allusion to Bonn’s newly proclaimed ‘realism’. According to a German foreign ministry official at a Swedish-US Baltic Sea conference in Stockholm in November 1998, Germany had moved to taking the line that ‘[Berlin] did not want a quick, but a successful enlargement…[and that] enlargement was a difficult and very complicated and slow process.’191 Germany’s reservations about the EU’s widening to include eastern Europe became apparent at the Vienna summit on 11–12 December. Germany refrained from supporting a Swedish-Danish initiative to invite Latvia to begin substantive accession negotiations, although Latvia was given a positive rating by the EU Commission.192 Had Germany thrown its weight behind the Scandinavians, an invitation would have probably been extended. Now Latvia and Lithuania had to wait together until the financial issues were resolved to Germany’s satisfaction (see chapter 3) at the Berlin European Council meeting in March 1999. They were finally invited to begin accession negotiations during the Helsinki summit on 10–11 December.193 In the meantime, Germany had taken a friendlier line vis-à-vis the Baltics. In July 1999, Joschka Fischer had told his Estonian counterpart that he advocated the idea of the three Baltic states joining the EU together in the first enlargement round. Moreover, at the 3+1 meeting in Tallinn the foreign ministers of Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Germany agreed that ‘those candidates that comply with the Copenhagen criteria should be invited by the EU’s Helsinki summit to begin

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substantive accession negotiations. In this context, the ministers commended continuous progress made by Latvia and Lithuania.’194 Indeed, the EU’s focus truly shifted to the Baltic region in autumn 1999 during Finland’s presidency. Finland itself stood out not only for its strong advocacy for Baltic EU membership, but for its political initiative in shaping the EU’s Baltic policy. Already in autumn 1997 the Finnish prime minister, Paavo Lipponen, had put the initiative regarding a ‘northern dimension’ of the EU on the agenda.195 Broadly speaking, it was intended as a long-term strategy that emphasised the positive interdependence of the EU, Russia and the Baltic Sea region, in order to reduce any dividing lines. Moreover, it raised the EU’s awareness of the ‘northern’ region as such.196 While the initiative was still in its preparatory phase, the idea of turning it into a more operative policy was shattered in late 1999, as Russia’s military campaign in Chechnya overshadowed international relations in general and the progress of the Finnish EU presidency in particular. By early 2000 it had become clear that the EU enlargement process would be complex and prolonged. Chancellor Schröder finally fulfilled in June 2000 the Baltics’ hopes that the German chancellor would visit their states. Yet, despite this, he did not promise the Baltic states anything other than ‘German advocacy’ within the EU and assistance in their struggle to fulfil the acquis communautaire. With regard to NATO, Schröder remained equally evasive.197 He sharply distinguished between ‘the formal process of EU accession already under way [and] the “wish”…to become a member of NATO’,198 and only repeated the decisions taken at the Washington summit in April 1999. NATO’s door would remain open to all aspirants, including the Baltic states which had been specifically named as potential future members, and they would have to fulfil the conditions of a concrete instrument of preparation—the Membership Action Plan (MAP). In the chancellor’s view NATO enlargement was not an imminent issue. Schröder’s rhetoric suggested that, just as his predecessor, he was trying to avoid any confrontation with the Kremlin, even more so as during his meeting with Putin in mid-June that he expressed his interest in establishing the Berlin-Moscow axis on new foundations including a strategic partnership. During the first post-Cold War decade, when Europe’s new security order was beginning to take shape, the Baltics seemed for a long time stuck in a grey zone between ‘East’ and ‘West’. With a Russian neighbour apparently continuing to base its politics on imperialistic thinking and spheres of influence, and Germany’s continuous focus on Moscow, the Baltics have found it rather difficult to escape the historical shadow of being a pawn of great powers, despite their increasingly closer cultural, economic and political ties with the institutional West. The study of Germany’s post-Cold War Baltic policies has shown that Bonn’s Ostpolitik was clearly dominated by Ruβlandpolitik. The sovereign, unified Germany consciously chose to prioritise great power relations in Ostpolitik over the policy of supporting small states based on ethical norms that had been the trademark of the former West Germany. Although during 1992–94 Germany actively assisted the Baltic states in rebuilding sustainable democracies, this was a policy intended to fulfil Germany’s own national interest and security concern: securing stability and peace in east-central Europe. Germany’s rhetoric of being the ‘Baltics’ advocate’ was made an operative policy by the

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offer of generous bilateral aid to the political and economic transformation processes in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. The vital issue of security guarantees for the Baltics was, however, ignored, in order to avoid any provocation of Moscow. Despite Germany’s sense of historico-moral responsibility towards the Baltics as a fatal consequence of the effects of the the Hitler-Stalin Pact, and despite its rhetoric promoting east-central Europe’s return to the institutional West, Bonn’s political support of the Baltics in their attempt to join the EU, and NATO especially, was rather weak. It was evident that especially in the early 1990s chancellor Kohl had no desire to risk his close rapport with Moscow by too vocal a Baltic policy. Bonn sought of course for an uncomplicated and rapid Soviet troop withdrawal from former East German territory and, to ensure this, from the Baltics. In an ironic twist, the parallel withdrawal of the Red Army from the former Soviet Baltic republics did not improve the geopolitical situation of these newly independent states. Instead, with the rise of increasingly nationalist voices in Russia and the Kremlin’s determination to consider Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania within its sphere of influence, the Baltic states had to face even greater obstacles in their diplomatic struggle to gain membership of the Western alliance structures. Significantly, the EU and NATO enlargement processes became decoupled. As it soon emerged, the EU’s potential widening to the east including the Baltics was acceptable to Moscow, since the Kremlin perceived the EU as purely economic in nature (and hence it assumed that Kaliningrad would not be too much of a problem). While chancellor Kohl had little interest—either personal or political—in the Baltic cause, Kinkel made Baltic EU membership an operative policy of the federal foreign ministry. However, from 1995 onwards, it was Finland and Sweden that emerged as the most vocal and strongest advocates for the Baltic states. Germany in general took a low-key role, and this continued under chancellor Schröder’s government. The question of NATO membership emerged as the real problem in the debate over Europe’s future security architecture in general and German-Baltic relations in particular. NATO enlargement was essentially a German idea and as such a security priority of Germany—however, this was the case only in so far as enlargement comprised Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary. These countries were of much greater importance in terms of German security than the three small Baltic states. Furthermore, the Visegrad states’ potential membership was acceptable to Moscow and thus did not endanger the German-Russian partnership. The Baltic case, however, proved very delicate in German-Russian relations, as Moscow vehemently objected to Baltic NATO membership. Essentially, Germany had consciously chosen to play the role of Europe’s Zentralmacht and the most important partner for Russia in western Europe. At the same time, Germany feared a possible threat from the east and so conducted a mixed policy vis-à-vis Russia: a commitment to ‘partnership’ was combined with a strategy of ‘containment and reinsurance’. Kohl’s Yeltsin-first policies underlined these calculations of realpolitik: in no way should the Baltic states endanger the balance in German-Russian relations. Thus Germany abstained from advocating Baltic NATO membership in the first enlargement round. (Within NATO it was, just like in 1990–91, mainly the small Nordic countries—Iceland and Denmark—that were most wholehearted in their support for the Baltics. In realpolitik terms they knew that their actions would hardly upset Moscow.) Although the change of

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government in Germany in 1998 and in Russia in 2000 meant that Germany’s Ostpolitik was no longer dominated by the special Kohl-Yeltsin relationship, Germany’s Baltic policies continued to be effectively dependent on Berlin’s Ruβlandpolitik. Unquestionably Germany and Russia have re-emerged as the main actors in eastcentral Europe, while generally post-Cold War Europe has seen a return of geopolitics. Though the imminent prospect of EU and NATO membership does today afford them some hope of increased security, the small Baltic states had to accept during the 1990s the role, similar to the that in past, of being the great powers’ pawns. With regard to the German Question it can be concluded that Germany’s Baltic policies, as at the beginning of the twentieth century, represent a fact of Germany’s Ruβlandpolitik. But the world has changed. Unified Germany is bound to the institutional West, and especially through NATO the United States acts as a countervailing force in Europe. Germany’s new Russia-first policy is totally different from the old competitive, bellicose and expansionist Ruβlandpolitik that was so fatal for the simple existence of the Baltic states. Germany no longer represents a physical threat to the Baltics. But Berlin’s new consciousness of its place and power reflected in its relations with Moscow, may well have delayed—for over a decade—the Baltics’ goal of gaining Western security guarantees under the umbrella of NATO. Nothing is fixed however, and Europe’s institutional structures and German-Russian relations are continuing to evolve. In this vein, the German Question as to how Germany will use its place and its power in the future, and what the consequences will be for (eastern) Europe, remains open. NOTES 1 ‘Helmut Kohl might believe that the Reichsautobahn runs directly from Bonn via Berlin to Moscow, but that is not the reality.’ Lennart Meri, ‘Baltikum: Deutschland als Bremser auf dem Weg nach Europa’, Der Spiegel, 5 May 1997. For different versions of the quote, see ‘Estland/Gespräch mit Präsident Meri’, Handelsblatt, 5 May 1997; ‘Baltikum: Warten auf Kohl’, Focus, 5 May 1997. 2 Samuel P.Huntington, The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1996). 3 See Meissner, Baltische Nationen, pp. 11–49; Lauristin and Vihalemm with Rosengren and Weibull, Return, pp. 43–72, 129–35; Hiden and Salmon, Baltic Nations, pp. 9–24; Zigmantas Kiaupa, Ain Mäesalu, Ago Pajur and Guido Straube, The History of the Baltic Countries (Tallinn: Avita, 1999), pp. 77–128. 4 See Rothfels, Bismarck, der Osten und das Reich, pp. 182–204. 5 See Sigmar Stopinksi, Das Baltikum im Patt der Mächte, 2nd edn (Berlin: Berlin Verlag, 1997); Meissner, Baltische Nationen; Kielmansegg, Deutschland, pp. 579–628; Liulevicius, War Land on the Eastern Front. On the history and definition of Zwischeneuropa, see Medvedev, ‘“Zwischeneuropa”’. 6 See John Hiden’s argument in his The Baltic States and Weimar Ostpolitik (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). 7 Quoted in Rolf Ahmann, ‘Nazi German Policy towards the Baltic States on the Eve of the Second World War’, in John Hiden and John Lane (eds), The Baltic and the Outbreak of the Second World War (Cambridge: CUP, 1992), p. 51. 8 See chapter 4, n. 8; See also Hans-Erich Volkmann, ‘Die Außenbeziehungen zwischen dem “Dritten Reich” und den baltischen Staaten 1933 bis 1939: Ein Aufriβ’, Zeitschrift für Geschichtswissenschaft, 7 (1998), pp. 580–602; Hiden and Lane, The Baltic.

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9 See chapter 1. See also Jussi M.Hanhimäki, ‘Ironies and Turning Points: Détente in Perspective’, in Odd Arne Westad (ed.), Reviewing the Cold War (London: Frank Cass, 2000), pp. 326–42. 10 Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. 11 See chapter 4. 12 The phrase ‘Anwalt der Balten’ (the advocate of the Baltics) was apparently created by Hans-Dieter Lucas; it appeared in the media in July 1993. Ever since under the former under-secretary of state Bernd von Staden the German foreign ministry began to create a new Baltic policy in 1991, the planning staff focused on turning the concept into operative policies. Interviews with German government officials. See also ‘Bonn will Anwalt der Balten sein’, SZ, 10 July 1993; Bernt Conrad, ‘Bonn springt den Balten bei—und beruhigt die Russen’, Die Welt, 1 July 1993; Thomas Wittke, ‘Bonn verstärkt das Engagement im Baltikum’, GA, 1 July 1993; Claus Gennrich, ‘Pioniere der Reformen und Scharniere der Diplomatie’, FAZ, 2 July 1993. 13 See ‘Bonn will Anwalt der Balten sein’, SZ, 10 July 1997; Bernt Conrad, ‘Bonn springt den Balten bei—und beruhigt die Russen’, Die Welt, 1 July 1993. See also Hans-Dieter Lucas, ‘United Germany, the Baltic States and the Baltic Sea Region’, in Matthias Jopp and Sven Arnswald (eds), The European Union and the Baltic States (Helsinki: UPI, 1998), pp. 171– 90, here p. 172. Cf. Gerd Föhrenbach, Die Westbindung der Baltischen Staaten (BadenBaden: Nomos, 2000), p. 119. 14 Cf. Wolf J.Bell, ‘Bonn verstärkt die intellektuelle Hilfe für den Aufbau im Osten’, GA, 26 March 1992. 15 Classified documents. 16 Classified document. 17 See Nortwin Graf Leutrum, ‘Das Verhältnis der Bundesrepublik Deutschland zu Baltischen Region’, in Boris Meissner, Dietrich A.Loeber and Cornelius Hasselblatt (eds), Die Auβenpolitik der baltischen Staaten und die internationalen Beziehungen im Ostseeraum (Hamburg: Bibliotheca Baltica, 1994), pp. 361–2; Lucas, ‘United Germany’, p. 174. 18 Classified documents. Interviews with former German government officials. 19 Classified document. 20 See Claus Gennrich, ‘Pioniere der Reformen und Scharniere der Diplomatie’, FAZ, 2 July 1993. For slightly differing figures see Leutrum, ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, p. 361. 21 Classified document. 22 See Konrad Maier, ‘Estland: Tiger im Baltikum?’, APuZ, B37/98, pp. 17–26, esp. p. 23. 23 Classified document. See ‘Neues Geld und Recht sollen Estland retten’, FR, 19 May 1992. 24 See Maier, ‘Estland’, p. 23, n. 27; cf. Siegfried Thielbeer, ‘Der kühne Sprung in eine neue, konvertible Währung tut seine Wirkung’, FAZ, 18 Apr. 1994. 25 See Maier, ‘Estland’, p. 24; cf. Undine Bollow and Villu Zirnask, ‘Estland’, in Werner Weidenfeld (ed.), Mittel- und Osteuropa auf dem Weg in die Europäische Union (Gütersloh: Verl. Bertelsmann Stiftung, 1996), pp. 55–76, here pp. 66–7; Detlef Henning and Aigars Strupiss, ‘Lettland’, ibid., pp. 56–98, here p. 90; Saulius Girnius and Elena Leontjeva, ‘Litauen’, ibid., pp. 99–118, here p. 111. For the Lithuanian case, see also http://www.un.lt/hdr/1997/chapter2/ch2_.htm. 26 See Maier, ‘Estland’, pp. 24–5. 27 See Lucas, ‘United Germany’, p. 173. 28 See Udo Bergdoll, ‘Auf dem Weg in die Europäische Gemeinschaft’, SZ, 1 Feb. 1992; ‘Deutsch-litauisches Abkommen’, FAZ, 29 Feb. 1992. For the Estonian case, classified documents. Cf. Axel Krohn, ‘Germany’, in idem (ed.), The Baltic Sea Region (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1996), pp. 96–115, esp. pp. 100–1. Krohn’s figures are evidently wrong when he writes about DM 30 million being offered to each Baltic state. 29 See ‘Report on Germany’s support given to the development of Estonian defence forces and military co-operation’ (title classified), p. 2. Cf. Föhrenbach, Die Westbindung, pp. 125–6.

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30 Document: ‘Unentgeltliche Materialabgaben an Estland 1992–1999’, and ‘Unentgeltliche Materialabgaben an Lettland 1992–1999’. Interviews with Jukka Knuuti on 19 Oct. 1999 and Jobst Echterling on 29 Oct. 1999, both in Helsinki. See also Bernd M.Weber, ‘Auswirkungen von Spannungen im Ostseeraum Auβenpolitik auf die Militärpolitik der Anrainerstaaten’, in Meissner, Loeber and Hasselblatt, Auβenpolitik, pp. 203–27, esp. pp. 222–3 (Weber is a lieutenant-colonel at the German defence ministry and his un-footnoted article clearly contains internal information). Cf. Dietmar Seher, ‘Bonn liefert Waffen an baltische Republiken: Oppositions-Widerstand gegen Transfer ist programmiert’, Berliner Zeitung, 7 Jan. 1993; Axel Krohn, ‘Germany’s Security Policy in the Baltic Sea Region’, in Olav F.Knudsen (ed.), Stability and Security in the Baltic Sea Region (London: Frank Cass, 1999), pp. 113–28, here p. 116. 31 Interview with German government official. Cf. ADG (CD-ROM), Estland. Lettland. Russland: Abzug der russischen Truppen aus Estland und Lettland, 31 Aug. 1994, ref. 39277. Cf. Udo Bergdoll, ‘Auf dem Weg in die Europäische Gemeinschaft:’, SZ, 1 Feb. 1992. Bergdoll refers in his article to the current legal situation. So does Maris Skujins, who writes about COCOM—the Co-ordinating Committee for Multilateral Export Controls— which placed restrictions on weapons imports from the West. These remained in force until the mid-1990s. Maris Skujins, ‘Die strategische Lage der baltischen Staaten’, Österreichische Militärzeitschrift, 6 (1996), pp. 643–50, esp. p. 648. 32 Cf. Mare Haab, ‘Estonia and Europe: Security and Defence’, in Peter van Ham (ed.), ‘The Baltic States: Security and Defence after Independence’, Chaillot paper 19, 1995, p. 26; Skujins, ‘Strategische Lage’, p. 648. Note that Haab’s and Skujin’s numbers on the costs of the weapon deal differ by about US$ 10 million. Haab, in contrast to Skujins, indicates her source. 33 See ‘Staatsminister Verheugen begrüßt Aufhebung der Visumpflicht für Staatsangehörige der baltischen Staaten’, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/2/p/P981216c.htm. Classified documents. 34 See Dieter Buhl and Theo Sommer, ‘Die Welt bist von Grund auf verändert’, Die Zeit, 30 Aug. 1991. 35 See ‘Unsere Verantwortung gegenüber Mittel- und Osteuropa sowie der Gemeinschaft Unabhängiger Staaten’, CDU press release, 3 July 1992. 36 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Vereinte Nationen: Eröffnung der 46. UN-Generalversammlung’, 17 Sept. 1991, ref. 36043; ‘Sowjetunion. Litauen. Lettland. Estland: Die Anerkennung der Unabhängigkeit der baltischen Staaten’, 6 Sept. 1991, ref. 36005–1; ‘Balten nun formell in der KSZE’, FR, 16 Oct. 1991. See also Lange, ‘Baltic States’, p. 240. 37 Interviews with German government officials. See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Vereinte Nationen: Eröffnung der 46. UN-Generalversammlung’, 17 Sept. 1991, ref. 36043. Cf. Barbara von Ow, ‘Deutsche Botschafter in Riga, Tallinn und Wilna’, SZ, 3 Sept. 1991. 38 Interviews with former German government officials. 39 See chapters 3 and 4. 40 See ADG, (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Rücktritt von Hans-Dietrich Genscher; Klaus Kinkel wird Bundesauβenminister’, 18 May 1992, ref. 36768 41 On Germany’s support for Baltic-EU association agreements, see ‘Unterstützung für Litauen’, Die Welt, 12 Feb. 1992. Classified documents. 42 See Dzintra Bungs, The Baltic States (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1998), pp. 16–17; Sven Arnswald, EU Enlargement and the Baltic States (Helsinki: UPI, 2000), pp. 29–37. 43 See Lucas, ‘United Germany’, p. 174. Cf. Wolf J.Bell, ‘Bonn verstärkt die intellektuelle Hilfe für den Aufbau im Osten’, GA, 26 March 1992; Leutrum, ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland’, p. 363. 44 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland’, 14 May 1993, ref. 37844; ‘Erweiterung auf 28 Mitgliedsländer: Litauen und Slowenien neu im Europarat’, NZZ, 14 May 1993; ‘Estland 29. Mitglied des Europarates’, NZZ, 15 May 1993.

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45 See Mare Haab, ‘Potentials and Vulnerabilities of the Baltic States: Mutual Cooperation and Competition’, in Birthe Hansen and Bertel Heurlin (eds), The Baltic States in World Politics (Richmond: Curzon, 1998), p. 8. 46 Interviews with German government officials. 47 See ADG (CD-ROM), Europa: Ostsee-Konferenz in Kopenhagen, 6 March 1992, ref. 36553; ‘Erklärung der Konferenz der Außenminister der Ostseestaaten’, Bulletin no. 26, 10 March 1992, pp. 257–8. 48 Interviews with former German government officials. 49 See ‘Council of Baltic Sea States—Background Information: The Copenhagen Declaration’, www.cbss-commissioner.org/index.html. 50 See Kari A.Möttölä, ‘A Security Space In Between’, paper given at the International Studies Association 39th Annual Convention, 17–21 March 1997, p. 10; idem, ‘Security around the Baltic Rim: Concepts, Actors and Processes’, in Lars Hedegaard and Bjarne Lindström (eds), The NEBI Yearbook 1998 (Berlin: Springer-Verlag, 1998), pp. 363–404, here pp. 372– 5. 51 Interviews with former German government officials. 52 Classified document. See ‘Unbequeme Wahrheiten des Esten Meri: An Okkupation und Präsenz “sowjetischer Truppen” erinnert’, FAZ, 9 March 1992. 53 See Gerhard Wettig, ‘Ablösungsprobleme im früheren sowjetischen Imperium: Das russischbaltische Verhältnis und das Problem des Truppenrückzugs’, in Meissner, Loeber and Hasselblatt, Auβenpolitik, pp. 368–98, here pp. 372–3. 54 Interviews with former German and US government officials. For the Nordics’ perspective on the necessity of Russian troop withdrawal, see ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Slowenien. Liechtenstein. Skandinavien. Dänemark. Rüstung. Norwegen. Intern. Organisationen: Kurzberichte’, 4 Sept. 1992, ref. 37126; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland: Erste freie Parlamentsund Präsidentschaftswahlen’, 20 Sept. 1992, ref. 37167. 55 See ‘NATO unterstützt Rußland bei Truppenabzug’, SZ, 9 May 1992. 56 See Wettig, ‘Ablösungsprobleme’, pp. 385–94. Cf. Wallander, Mortal Friends, pp. 84–94; Mark A.Chichock, ‘Interdependence and Manipulation in the Russian-Baltic Relationship: 1993–97’, Journal of Baltic Studies, 2 (1999), pp. 89–116, here esp. pp. 95–101. 57 Classified document. See Boris Meissner, ‘Die russische Politik gegenüber der baltischen Region als Prüfstein für das Verhältnis Rußlands zu Europa’, in Meissner, Loeber and Hasselblatt, Außenpolitik, pp. 466–504, esp. pp. 481–93, here p. 491. 58 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Weltwirtschaft: Weltwirtschaftsgipfel in München’, 8 July 1992, ref. 36956. 59 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland: Erste freie Parlaments- und Präsidentschaftswahlen’, 20 Sept. 1992, ref. 37167. 60 See Wallander, Mortal Friends, p. 85. See also ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland: Erste freie Parlaments- und Präsidentschaftswahlen’, 20 Sept. 1992, ref. 37167. 61 Estonia insisted on the recognition of the Treaty of Tartu of 1920 by which it claimed back from Moscow the town of Ivangorod and territories in the Pskov area. These lands had been annexed by the Russian Republic in 1945. Linked to the territorial issue was the question whether Moscow would recognise that the Baltic states had been illegally occupied. If Russia were to recognise the Peace Treaty of Tartu and with it Estonia’s territorial claims, it would not only accept that Estonia was not a newly independent state, but also acknowledge the continuity of Estonia’s existence, interrupted by Soviet occupation. Precisely because of these legal interpretations the issue was highly contested. See Indrek Jääts, ‘East of Narva and Petserimaa’, in Tuomas Forsberg (ed.), Contested Territory (Aldershot: Edward Elgar, 1995), pp. 188–201. Cf. Bonifacijs Daukasts and Arturs Puga, ‘Abrene’, in Forsberg, Contested Territory, pp. 178–87. 62 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland: Erste freie Parlaments- und Präsidentschaftswahlen’, 20 Sept. 1992, ref. 37167. See also Wettig, ‘Ablösungsprobleme’, p. 374.

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63 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Litauen: Sejm-Wahlen; Verhältnis zu Polen und Russland’, 25 Oct. 1992, ref. 37269. 64 See Wettig, ‘Ablösungsprobleme’, p. 376. Cf. ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Litauen: Sejm-Wahlen; Verhältnis zu Polen und Rußland’, 25 Oct. 1992, ref. 37269. 65 See ‘USA drohen Rußland wegen Verzögerung beim Truppenabzug’, Der Tagesspiegel, 1 Nov. 1992. 66 My underlining. ADG (CD-ROM), ‘KSZE: Dritte Auβenministerkonferenz; Kosyrews Rede; Konferenzbeschlüsse; Jugoslawien-Erklärung’, 15 Dec. 1992, ref. 37423 (emphasis added). 67 See Chichock, ‘Interdependence’, pp. 91–2. 68 Ibid., pp. 98–9; Wallander, Mortal Friends, pp. 84–5. 69 See chapter 4. 70 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland: Verabschiedung des umstrittenen Staatsbürgerschaftsgesetzes; Proteste Moskaus’, 8 July 1993, ref. 38035. 71 See Hansen and Heurlin, Baltic States, pp. 126–8, 144. 72 See Pertti Joenniemi and Jan Prawitz (eds), Kaliningrad (Aldershot: Ashgate, 1998), pp. 107–29, esp. p. 124; Hansen and Heurlin, Baltic States, pp. 147–51; Visuri, ‘Sicherheitslage’, pp. 21–3. 73 See Ari Puheloinen, Russia’s Geopolitical Interests in the Baltic Area (Helsinki: National Defence College, 1999), pp. 95–102, 112–4; Wallander, Mortal Friends, pp. 84–6. 74 See ‘Erklärung zum Anzug der russischen Truppen aus Litauen’, Bulletin no. 74, 16 Sept. 1993, p. 775; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Litauen: Abzug der letzten russischen Soldaten aus Litauen’, 31 Aug. 1993, ref. 38162; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland. Lettland. Russland: Abzug der russischen Truppen aus Estland und Lettland’, 31 Aug. 1994, ref. 39277. 75 See ‘US Relations with Russia and the Newly Independent States: Ambassador to Russia James Collin’s statement at the Committee Hearing March 12, 1998’, www.usemb.se/bsconf/1998/brief/collins.html; Witschalek, ‘Ostseeraum: Lettland’, Österreichische Militärzeitschrift, 4 (1998), pp. 470–2, here p. 472; ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland. Russland: Truppenrückzugsabkommen unterzeichnet; vorläufiges Ende der Regierungskrise; Wirtschaft’, 26 July 1994, ref. 39168. 76 Classified document. 77 Interviews with former Estonian, Lithuanian, and German government officials. 78 ‘Für schnelleren Abzug der früheren Sowjetarmee’, SZ, 9 Feb. 1993. 79 Classified document. See also ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Auβenpolitische Ereignisse’, 10 Sept. 1993, ref. 38184; ‘Bonn will Anwalt der Balten sein’, SZ, 13 July 1993; ‘Besuch von Bundespräsident Weizsäcker’, Handelsblatt, 13 July 1993; ‘Weizsäcker mahnt in Estland Russenabzug an’, Die Welt, 13 July 1993; ‘Gute Dienste’, Der Tagesspiegel, 13 July 1993; ‘Deutschland und die Balten: Neue Ostpolitik’, Hamburger Morgenpost, 13 July 1993; ‘Weizsäcker mahnt Esten zu Minderheitenschutz’, Neue Presse, 13 July 1993; Carl G.Ströhm, ‘Vermittler im Baltikum’, Die Welt, 13 July 1993. 80 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitische Ereignisse’, 10 Sept. 1993, ref. 38184. 81 Document given to the author: ‘Letter from Helmut Kohl to Lennart Meri, 21 July 1994’. 82 Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. See also ‘Deutschland, die Balten und der Schirinowskij-Faktor’, FAZ, 9 March 1994. 83 Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. See also Udo Bergdoll, ‘Anwalt der Balten’, SZ, 10 March 1994; Bernt Conrad, ‘Stärkung für die Balten’, Die Welt, 10 March 1994; ‘Bonn um stärkere Kooperation mit Rußland und dem Baltikum bemüht’, Der Tagesspiegel, 10 March 1994. 84 Interviews with Estonian and German government officials. See ‘Bonn will Anwalt der Balten sein’, SZ, 13 July 1993; Wolf J.Bell, ‘Eine Scharnierfunktion zu den GUS-Staaten’, GA, 2 March 1994; ‘Kinkel verspricht Hilfe: Vor dem Besuch der baltischen Außenminister

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in Bonn’, FAZ, 7 March 1994’; ‘Im Gespräch mit Moskauer Minister: Kinkel verlangt erneut Abzug aus dem Baltikum’, SZ, 12 March 1994. 85 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland. Verabschiedung des umstrittenen Staatsbürgerschaftsgesetzes; Proteste Moskaus’, 8 July 1993, ref. 38035. 86 Conversations with former Estonian government officials. See also Aivars Stranga, ‘BalticRussian Relations: 1995-Beginning of 1997’, in Atis Lejins and Zaneta Ozolina (eds), Small States in a Turbulent Environment (Riga: LIIA, 1997), pp. 199–202. 87 Interviews with former German government officials. 88 Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. 89 ‘Meri klagt über “Appeasement” des Westens’, FAZ, 1 March 1994; Cf. Ewald Stein, ‘Das Baltikum im Spannungsfeld zwischen Rußland, Europa und den USA’, Handelsblatt, 22 Apr. 1994. 90 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Außenpolitische Ereignisse’, 23 Oct. 1993, ref. 38312; ‘Besuch des Bundespräsidenten in Litauen und Lettland’, Bulletin no. 95, 4 Nov. 1993, pp. 1057–9. 91 See ‘Weizsäcker: Baltische Staaten zu Europa’, FAZ, 23 Oct. 1993; Hannes Gamillscheg, ‘Der Gast bringt keine Visa, aber gute Worte’, FR, 23 Oct. 1993; idem, ‘Richardas fon Vaiczekeris muß sich viele kritische Fragen anhören’, Hannoversche Allgemeine, 23 Oct. 1993; ‘Unterstützung für Lettland’, FAZ, 25 Oct. 1993; Holger Schmale, ‘Reise in die deutsche Vergangenheit: Richard von Weizsäcker im Baltikum’, Allgemeine Zeitung Mainz, 25 Oct. 1993; ‘Weizsäcker verspricht Nazi-Opfern Hilfe’, Hannoversche Allgemeine, 25 Oct. 1993. 92 See chapter 4. 93 Classified document. 94 Classified documents. See ‘Bonn eckt im Baltikum an: Litauen und Lettland unzufrieden mit Entschädigungsangebot’, FR, 18 Feb. 1995. 95 Classified documents. 96 Classified document. For Latvia see ‘Zwei Millionen Mark für NS-Opfer’, FAZ, 28 Aug. 1998. See also ‘Lithuania, Germany agree on Nazi Compensation’, RFE/RL, 29 July 1996. 97 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland. Lettland. Russland: Abzug der russischen Truppen aus Estland und Lettland’, 31 Aug. 1994, ref. 39277. 98 Interviews with former German government officials. 99 Interviews with former Estonian and Lithuanian government officials. See also ‘Rede des Ministerpräsidenten der Republik Estland Mart Laar anläβlich des Kolloquiums der Deutschen Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik am 28.6.1993 in Bonn’. 100 Ibid. 101 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: Gipfelkonferenz in Brüssel; Partnerschaft für den Frieden’, 11 Jan. 1994, ref. 38584 (emphasis added). 102 Conversations with Estonian, Latvian and Lithuanian former government officials. See also Ministry of Defence of the Republic of Estonia (ed.), Estonia on the Threshold of NATO (Tallinn, 1999), p. 9; Ministry of National Defence of the Republic of Lithuania (ed.), White Paper ’99 (Vilnius, 1999), p. 11; Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Latvia (ed.), Latvia in NATO (Riga, 1999). 103 Interviews with former German government officials. Cf. Weijo Pitkänen, ‘Baltia saranana “sydänmaan” ja ulkomaailman välissä, Ulkopolitiikka, 1 (1998), pp. 46–60; Stephen J.Blank, NATO Enlargement and the Baltic States (Carlisle, PA: SSI, 1997); Stuart J.Kaufman, ‘The Baltic States in post-Cold War US Strategy’, in Hansen and Heurlin, Baltic States, pp. 46– 64. 104 Quote from Peter van Ham, ‘The Baltic States and Europe: The Quest for Security’, in Hansen and Heurlin, Baltic States, pp. 25–6. 105 Interviews with former German government officials. See Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 62. Weisser quotes from Kohl’s speech in the Bundestag on 13 Jan. 1993: ‘Die NATO ist für

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neue Mitglieder offen…ein wesentliches Ergebnis der Beratungen in Brüssel ist für mich, daß die Allianz und die Europäische Union heute auf das gleiche Ziel hinarbeiten, nämlich die Einbeziehung der jungen Demokratien in Mittel- und Osteuropa in bestehende westliche Gemeinschaften’. Cf. Aivars Stranga, ‘The Baltic States in the European Security Architecture’, in Atis Lejins and Zaneta Ozolina (eds), Small States in a Turbulent Environment: The Baltic Perspective (Riga: LIIA, 1997), pp. 9–59, p. 36. 106 Interviews with former German government officials. 107 See Pitkänen, ‘Baltia saranana’, pp. 50–2; Blank, NATO Enlargement, p. 22; Interviews with former German government officials. 108 Interviews with former German government officials. See Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 66. 109 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Europäische Union: Konstituierende Sitzung des neugewählten Europaparlaments’, 19 July 1994, ref. 39152. Interviews with former German government officials. See also Blank, NATO Enlargement, p. 26. Cf. Classified document. 110 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 61–84. 111 See chapter 3. 112 Interviews with former German government officials. 113 See chapter 4. 114 ‘Die baltischen Staaten wollen NATO und EU rasch beitreten’, FAZ, 8 Apr. 1995, p.2. 115 Klaus Kinkel, ‘“Wir werden auch weiterhin Freunde der Balten sein”’, Frankfurter Allgemeine Sonntagszeitung, 20 July 1995. 116 ‘Die baltischen Staaten wollen NATO und EU rasch beitreten, FAZ, 8 Apr. 1995 (emphasis added). 117 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Helmut Kohl in Südafrika und Namibia, Auslandsreisen des Bundespräsidenten; weitere außenpolitische Ereignisse’, 11 Sept. 1995 ref. 40332. 118 Ibid. See also ‘“Es gibt da schon Unterschiede”, FAZ, 23 Aug. 1996; ‘Rühe fordert von Lettland und Litauen Geduld bei der Annäherung an EU und NATO’, SZ, 23 Aug. 1995; ‘Letten wollen die Zusicherung der NATO: Rühe bremst Hoffnungen auf einen schnellen Beitritt’, Handelsblatt, 23 Aug. 1995. 119 Classified document. See ‘Rühe spricht von neuer NATO’, Handelsblatt, 24 Aug. 1995. 120 Interviews with Finnish government officials. 121 Documents: ‘Suomen puolustusvoimien koulutustuki Viron puolustusvoimille; Support given by Finland to the development of defence capabilities in the Baltic countries in 1999, 12 Aug. 1999’; ‘Suomen apu Baltian maiden maanpuolustuksen luomiseksi, 12 Aug. 1999’; ‘Finnish support to the Estonian nation defence, 17 March 1999’; ‘Suomen apu Baltian maiden maanpuolustuksen luomiseksi, 31 Dec. 1998’. 122 Interviews with Finnish government officials. 123 See n. 117 above. 124 See ‘Rühe irritiert Auswärtiges Amt mit Äußerungen im Baltikum’, SZ, 24 Aug. 1995; Thomas Linke, ‘Drei Länder auf dem schwierigen Weg nach Westen’, Handelsblatt, 25 Aug. 1995. See also ‘Saksamaa väliminister kummutas kaitseministri seisukohti’, Eesti Sõnumid, 25 Aug. 1995. Cf. Classified document. 125 Interviews with former German government official. 126 See ‘Secretary of State Madeleine K.Albright and German Foreign Minister Kinkel: Press Briefing, 17 Feb. 1997’. Kinkel stated: ‘at the Madrid summit, we are going to decide who is going to be admitted to NATO…there are no pre-decisions especially as far as the Baltic States are concerned’. 127 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO Frühjahrstreffen der Außenminister; EAPC Nachfolgeorganisation des NACC’, 30 May 1997, ref. 43072. 128 See Sakkov, ‘NATO Enlargement’, p. 8. Interviews with former German government officials. 129 See NATO-HQ, Study on NATO Enlargement, Sept. 1995, ch 1, p. 1.

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130 Classified document. See ‘Wenn nicht NATO, dann wenigstens EU’, FAZ, 18 Feb. 1997. The article points to a paper by the Kremlin on its future Baltic policies, in which it is clearly stated that the Baltic states’ membership of NATO is unacceptable. See also Klaus-Dieter Frankenberger, ‘Zwischen Reform und Erweiterung’, FAZ, 10 Oct. 1996. 131 Classified document. See Stranga, ‘Baltic-Russian Relations’, pp. 184–237. 132 See chapter 4. 133 Quote from Knut Pries, Trostpflaster für die Balten’, FR, 26 Sept. 1996; classified document. 134 Classified document. 135 See Weisser, Sicherheit, pp. 131–4. 136 Classified document. 137 See Klaus-Dieter Frankenberger, ‘Die EU als Trostpflaster?’, FAZ, 26 Nov. 1996. 138 Classified document. See Klaus Kinkel, ‘The Resolute NATO and EU Goal is Security for all of Europe’, International Herald Tribune, 30 May 1997. Cf. Weisser, Sicherheit, p. 129. Note that Weisser in error gives 3 May 1997 as the date. 139 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: NATO-Gipfelkonferenz in Madrid: Benennung Polens, Ungarns und der Tschechischen Republik als Beitrittskandidaten; EAPC-Treffen: Unterzeichnung der Charta über Partnerschaft zwischen der NATO und der Ukraine’, 9 July 1997, ref. 42164–2; Madrid Declaration, 8 July 1997, NATO HQ. 140 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘NATO: NATO-Gipfelkonferenz in Madrid: Benennung Polens, Ungarns und der Tschechischen Republik als Beitrittskandidaten; EAPC-Treffen: Unterzeichnung der Charta über Partnerschaft zwischen der NATO und der Ukraine’, 9 July 1997, ref. 42164–2 (emphasis added). 141 See ‘Zhit kak dobrye sosedi’, Rossiiskaya gazeta, 13 Feb. 1997, p.7. [Living as good neighbours: Russia’s long-term policy towards the Baltic countries]. 142 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Vereinigte Staaten. Rußland: Gipfeltreffen in Helsinki’, 21 March 1997, ref. 41898. 143 See Sergei Medvedev, ‘The New Russian Policy Towards the Baltic States’, in Jopp and Arnswald, European Union, pp. 235–69, esp. p. 246. 144 Interviews with German government officials. 145 Official documents from Latvian MFA on Baltic military co-operation. 146 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Estland. Lettland. Russland: Abzug der russischen Truppen aus Estland und Lettland, 31 Aug. 1994’, ref. 39277; Skujins, ‘Strategische Lage’, p. 648. 147 See Atis Lejins, ‘The Baltic States, Germany, and the United States’, in Sven Arnswald and Marcus Wenig (eds), German and American Policies towards the Baltic States (BadenBaden: Nomos, 2000), p. 59. 148 Conversation with former German government officials. 149 Conversation with former German government officials. Document: ‘Unentgeltliche Materialabgaben an Estland 1992–1999’. See also ‘Das Baltikum am Anfang militärischer Sicherheit’, NZZ, 29 Aug. 1995. 150 Classified document given to the author: ‘Report on Germany’s support given to the development of Estonian defence forces and military co-operation’ (report’s official title not revealed to the author). 151 See n. 121. 152 On the support of the foreign ministry, see ‘Kinkel verspricht Hilfe’, FAZ, 7 March 1994; ‘Deutschland, die Balten und der Schirinowskij-Faktor’, FAZ, 9 March 1994; ‘Die drei baltischen Außenminister bei Kinkel in Bonn’, FAZ, 10 March 1994; Martin Winter, ‘Baltische Staaten in die EU?’, FR, 10 March 1994; Bernt Conrad, ‘Kinkel sagt den Balten Rückendeckung zu’, Die Welt, 10 March 1994; Udo Bergdoll, ‘Anwalt der Balten’, SZ, 10 March 1994. Interviews with former German government officials. 153 Classified documents. 154 See Bungs, Baltic States, pp. 16–17, 87–93.

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155 Interviews with former Estonian and Lithuanian government officials. 156 Classified document. 157 See ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Helmut Kohl in Südafrika und Namibia, Auslandsreisen des Bundespräsidenten; weitere außenpolitische Ereignisse’, 11 Sept. 1995, ref. 40332. Classified document. 158 Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. 159 Classified document. Interviews with former Lithuanian government officials. 160 Classified documents. Interviews with former German government officials. 161 Classified documents. 162 See Sven Arnswald, EU Enlargement, p. 35. Classified document. 163 Classified documents. 164 See ‘Deutschland will Anwalt der Balten sein’, FAZ, 29 Aug. 1996. 165 See chapter 4. 166 Classified document. 167 Classified document. See also ‘Gute Miene zum verschwiegnen Spiel: Meri in Bonn’, FAZ, 16 July 1996. Cf. Jasper von Altenbockum, ‘Die baltischen Staaten sind von Bonn enttäuscht’, FAZ, 18 July 1996. Note that Altenbockum offers some strange interpretations: he claims that the German foreign ministry has a much cooler attitude towards the Baltics than does the chancellery. Documentary evidence of course suggests exactly the opposite. 168 Classified document. 169 Document, fax of 20 March 1996 of a published article, Der Europäer: Gespräch zwischen Hans-Peter Schwarz und Wolfgang Schäuble, pp. 384–403, here p. 387. Schäuble stated: ‘Bei der Ost-Erweiterung habe ich nicht von den baltischen Staaten gesprochen. Die Erweiterung Europas oder gar der NATO um diese Staaten steht heute nicht an. Ich weiß um die Hoffhungen des Baltikums, doch wir müssen diesen Ländern gegenüber ehrlich sagen, daβ dies für uns im Moment nicht auf der Tagesordnung steht.’ ‘In view of eastern enlargement I have not spoken about the Baltic states. Europe’s or even NATO’s enlargement to [include] these countries is not an issue today. I know about the Baltics’ hopes. However, we have to tell these countries honestly that [their concerns] are currently not on our agenda.’ Classified documents. 170 See ‘Kinkel und Petersen für EU-Beitritt baltischer Staaten’, FAZ, 12 March 1996. 171 ADG (CD-ROM), ‘Bundesrepublik Deutschland: Auβenpolitische Ereignisse’, 27 Aug. 1996, ref. 41341. 172 Klaus Kinkel, ‘Estland, Lettland und Litauen—unsere Partner auf dem Weg nach Europa’, Leipziger Volkszeitung, 27 Aug. 1996. 173 Classified document. See also Udo Bergdoll, ‘Stille Diplomatie für die baltischen Staaten’, SZ, 28 Aug. 1996; ‘Kinkel macht den Balten Hoffnung auf raschen Beitritt zur EU’, Handelsblatt, 29 Aug. 1996; ‘Bonn als Fürsprecher des Baltikums’, NZZ, 29 Aug. 1996. 174 See ‘Deutschland will Anwalt der Balten sein’, FAZ, 29 Aug. 1996. 175 See Knut Pries, ‘Trostpflaster für die Balten’, FR, 26 Sept. 1996; ‘Baltikum darf auf schnellen Beitritt zur EU hoffen’, Berliner Zeitung, 16 Nov. 1996. Classified document. 176 Classified document. 177 Interviews with German government officials. See also Lucas, ‘United Germany’, pp. 177– 8. 178 Classified document. Cf. ‘Baltische Staaten auf dem Weg in die EU: Keine gemeinsame Aufnahme angestrebt’, FAZ, 13 Jan. 1997. 179 See ‘Estlands Auβenminister besucht Bonn: Aufnahme in die EU gefordert’, SZ, 21 Feb. 1997. 180 See n. 1. 181 Classified document. Interviews with former government officials. See ‘Genugtuung in Estland’, FAZ, 17 July 1997.

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182 See ADG (CD-ROM), Europäische Union: EU-Gipfel in Luxemburg; Erweiterung der Union beschlossen; die Türkei bricht den politischen Dialog mit der EU ab, 13 Dec. 1997, ref. 42505. 183 Classified document. 184 Classified documents. See Hannes Gamillscheg, ‘Das Diktat des Helmut Kohl’, Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger, 22 Jan. 1998; idem, ‘Der Gast aus Bonn diktiert das Programm’, FR, 23 Jan. 1998; idem, ‘Jetzt kommt er endlich: Bundeskanzler Kohl besucht zum erstenmal das Baltikum’, Stuttgarter Zeitung, 23 Jan. 1998; Jakob Lemke and Jan Pallokat, ‘Das Baltikum ist vom deutschen Engagement enttäuscht: Gedankenfauler Anwalt’, Rheinischer Merkur, 23 Jan. 1998; ‘Die Sprache der Groβen’, FAZ, 24 Jan. 1998; Thomas Wittke, ‘Besuch bei den Balten’, GA, 24 Jan. 1998; ‘Die Formel Eins’, FR, 24 Jan. 1998. 185 Manfred Quiring, ‘Rußland noch immer eine Bedrohung’, Die Welt, 17 June 1998. 186 Cf. ‘Moskau verteidigt seine “rote Linie”’, SZ, 19 Oct. 1996. 187 Text of ‘A Charter of Partnership among the United States of America and the Republic of Estonia, Republic of Latvia, and Republic of Lithuania’, http://www.state.gov/; interviews with former Estonian and US government officials. 188 Interviews with former German government officials. 189 See chapter 3. 190 ZDS-BPA Hannes Gamillscheg, ‘Verliert Motor and Schubkraft? Balten bauen auf Bonn’, FR, 28 Oct. 1998. 191 Jaspar von Altenbockum, ‘Das Ende der Romantik: Lettland und Litauen stellen sich auf den “Realismus” der Europäischen Union ein’, FAZ, 27 Nov. 1998. 192 See Lejins, ‘Baltic States’, p. 58. 193 See ADG (CD-ROM), Europäische Union: EU-Gipfeltreffen in Helsinki, 11 Dec. 1999, ref. 43953. 194 ‘Joint Communiqué: Meeting of the Ministers of Estonia, Germany, Latvia, and Lithuania in Tallinn, 3.9.1999’. Interviews with former German and Estonian government officials. Classified document. 195 Paavo Lipponen, ‘The European Union Needs a policy for the Northern Dimension’. Speech given at the ‘Conference on Barents Region Today’, in Rovaniemi, 15 Sept. 1997. 196 See Hanna Ojanen, ‘How to Customise Your Union: Finland and the “Northern Dimension” of the EU’, Northern Dimensions 1999 (UPI’s Yearbook, 1999), pp. 13–26, here pp. 14–18. 197 See ‘Balten fürchten die Endlosschliefe: Kanzler Schröder kann EU- und NATO-Beitritt nicht zusagen’, SZ, 5 June 2000; Thomas Rietig, “‘Behutsamkeit” ist das Zauberwort bei NATO und Baltikum’, 5 June 2000, de.news.yahoo.com/000605/4wxm3; ‘Schröder besucht die drei baltischen Staaten’, SZ, 6 June 2000. 198 See Rietig, ‘“Behutsamkeit”’.

Conclusion, or One Answer to the German Question

‘What, where, and when is, or will be Germany?’ This ‘definition’ of the historical German Question by George Bailey stood at the beginning of our analysis of the German problem. The aim of this book has been to examine Germany’s Ostpolitik in the aftermath of the Cold War and to discuss it in historical perspective in order to shed more light on how the new unified Germany and the ‘new’ German Question must be understood today; in other words, to offer not the, but an answer to the German Question. The conceptual framework underlying the narrative of this book has revealed the multifaceted nature of the German problem both in the past and at the present time. From 1871 to 1945 it was the combination of five problematic elements—unity, identity, civic culture, place, and power—that seemed to evoke anti-Western sentiments in Germany and set the country on a bellicose path. In more concrete terms, the incongruence between nation-state and culture-nation especially on the eastern borders, the illiberalism of the German Obrigkeitsstaat and Germany’s geographic Mittellage were among the domestic and international factors that favoured the German choice of a policy of expansionism to the east. In its worst form this was to be reflected in the Nazi regime and Hitler’s policy of Lebensraum (living space), giving rise to the Second World War and finally the Holocaust. Only the division of Germany in the aftermath of the Second World War and in the context of a growing ideological East-West conflict took the historical German problem totally off the international agenda. Indeed, two ‘democratic’ German states were created: a socialist eastern German Democratic Republic—a puppet state directed by Moscow— and a western, liberal democratic Federal Republic of Germany. The latter underwent a radical process of denazification and subsequent political and cultural Westernisation, as was to be reflected in the new Western democratic civic culture and the anchoring of the Bonn Republic in the Western institutions and military alliance systems. In contrast to its eastern counterpart, West Germany was relatively free to act, and in the 1950s and 1960s it began to project its power as Europe’s strongest economic force. Indeed, ‘Germany’s’ reputation was rehabilitated during the Cold War decades as the FRG became a respected, Western political actor. Nevertheless, the Nazi legacy was continuously present and was reflected in Bonn’s lack of sovereignty and political power, that is, the fact that ‘national interests’ were replaced by ‘European interests’. Ironically, this ‘anomaly’ of Germany’s division in the Cold War context seemed finally to allow stability on the European continent and to provide an answer to the

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historical German Question. That said, it has to be realised that the events of 1945/49 had given rise to a new German problem, the question as to whether or not Germany could be reunified and if so, under what terms. In the end this so-called political German Question remained unresolved for four decades. It was only in the context of a crumbling Soviet glacis in the late 1980s—meaning the political changes in the USSR and the subsequent peaceful people’s revolutions in Eastern Europe—that unification suddenly reappeared on the agenda of operative politics in autumn 1989. Indeed, unification was a process that initially started from below and in the GDR. Federal chancellor Kohl’s move towards an active unification policy after the fall of the wall gave ‘unification from below’ validity ‘from above’. More importantly, however, he gave the emerging East German public mood a focal point and a Western leader who was increasingly shaping political developments and in the end controlled and led the unification process. On 3 October 1990 East and West Germany unified, or more precisely East Germany was absorbed into the West German state and its political, economic and legal structures. The new unified Germany was again a sovereign political power that would be able to express its national interests like any other nation-state. As Heinrich A.Winkler wrote: ‘In 1990 the post-national German Sonderweg of the [western] Federal Republic of Germany ended.’1 At the same time the historical German Question reappeared. Would Germany seek again to dominate the European continent? It is significant that German unity was the product of transition to a new European order and could not have come about without a number of fundamental changes in the international environment replacing the Cold War. Indeed, the re-establishment of German unity was not preceded by any expansionist German nationalism, either in the East or the West. As it turned out, for the East Germans unification was very much about joining the West German economy and welfare state. For the West German political leadership it was the chance to match the forty-year-old unification rhetoric with pro-active deeds, to strengthen its political position at home in view of the coming federal elections in autumn 1990 and to secure a place in the history books of the future. The old German Question involved five main issues—unity, identity, place, power and civic culture. As it presented itself in 1990, the new German Question focused mainly on three of the formerly five factors. With the renunciation of any territorial claims in the East, the de jure acceptance of all its borders and the de jure commitment to further European integration, uncertainties about aspects of unity and civic culture were resolved. However, questions emerged with regard to Germany’s identity, place, and power. Although less problematic for Germany’s foreign policy than in the past, identity has been a distinctive issue during the 1990s and continues to be so. Between 1871 and 1945 identity was very much connected to the problem of how the borders of the German culture-nation could be made compatible with the smaller nation-state. Moreover, Germanness was then considered something ‘non-Western’. Consequently, Germany’s policy of eastern expansion was (among other reasons) very much the result of a problematic identity coupled to the myth of a universal German Reich. Since unification in 1990, the question of German identity has revolved around the problems posed by unifying the eastern and western German people within a new German state anchored in the West. More specifically, the questions are whether the

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Germans as a whole are truly committed to a Western civic culture, and how East and West Germans together will come to terms with the Nazi and socialist past. At the time of writing, the German population is still divided, and thus it remains to be seen how and in which direction an all-German identity will develop. In any case, the domestic debates during the 1990s have revealed that the common Nazi past remains unmastered, not to mention the other difficult task of coming to terms with former East Germany’s socialist legacy. Both pasts, brown and red, trouble the nation’s identity and affect its current politics. The fears of the neighbours of the new Germany focused essentially on its future foreign policy role in Europe: its place and power. At the end of the Cold War a unified, enlarged Germany reappeared at the geographical centre of Europe. And by regaining its sovereignty, it was again a political force. All of a sudden Germany was more than just the powerful trading state it had been during the Cold War. Domestic and international reactions to this new situation were very ambivalent: on the one hand, Germany’s regained political power was considered a potential threat to Europe’s balance of power; on the other, there were high expectations of a greater German involvement in international affairs. Such ambivalence towards Bonn’s new role of course had its roots in Germany’s disastrous past, as became particularly visible in the political and scholarly debates on Germany’s normality which arose in the early 1990s. Whereas on the surface these debates centred on the question of whether the new Germany already was or would become a ‘normal’ state, on a deeper level the two core questions were: (1) what is normal for Germany? and (2) what is normal for everybody else? Setting two standards made it evident that the Nazi past cast a very long shadow indeed. And many, both scholars and politicians, even doubt whether Germany can ever be considered normal. Permanent under-secretary Ischinger stated in August 1999: ‘We are not a fully normal country [now] and will not be one in the near future.’2 What can be said about Germany’s place and power during the 1990s? It would be wrong to draw any direct parallels between the unified Germanies of the past and the new Germany of 1990, simply because the post-Cold War world is a very different place. In fact, establishing a direct connection between the pre-1945 Germanies and today would implicitly support the ‘orthodox’ German Sonderweg thesis. Instead, it is important to realise that for Germany expressing national interests and power through aggressive, military expansionism seems to belong to the past. In this sense, the new sovereign Germany has been characterised as a ‘post-classical nation-state’. This means that the unified, sovereign Germany—just like any other nation-state in western Europe—now openly expresses and peacefully pursues its national interests, while being anchored in Western institutions and committed to multilateralism. The fact that the unified Germany amended its Basic Law in order to include a paragraph on Germany’s commitment to the European integration process demonstrates that the cultural and institutional Westbindung had become a given fact in which Ostpolitik was anchored. There was no Ostpolitik without Westpolitik. Germany’s Western policies were first dominated by the domestic debate about unified Germany’s military role, especially its involvement in ‘out-of-area’ conflicts. Moving from the internationally criticised chequebook diplomacy during the Gulf War in 1991 to sending logistic troops to Bosnia in 1993 disclosed the changing political perspective of chancellor Kohl. Military participation in alliance missions, even those

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‘out-of-area’, was now countenanced by the German government. De jure this process of ‘normalising’ Germany’s role within the Western military alliance was underwritten by the ruling of the German Constitutional Court in summer 1994. However, this ruling only gained full political approval when the Red-Green government that came to power in 1998 voted on Germany’s participation in NATO’s intervention by force in Kosovo in 1999. Previously, the SPD and the Greens had strongly opposed German military participation in ‘out-of-area’ operations and instead advocated a policy of pacifism. Once in power, their line of policy followed that of the Kohl government. But while there was continuity of policy, there was a discontinuity in its presentation. Significantly, the style of the Schröder-Fischer coalition was characterised by an outspoken conduct of realpolitik and a publicised consciousness of power, while Kohl’s similarly assertive policies had been masked by a softer rhetoric. Chancellor Kohl adhered to West Germany’s Cold War rhetoric on the congruence of Germany’s national and European interests, and EMU and enlargement stood, of course, for German self-constraint by means of its closer attachment to the European Union. Both his euro policy and EU enlargement policies, however, revealed Germany’s regained confidence as a political force. There was no doubt about the sovereign Germany using its economic and political power to advance its own interests. The Bundesbank clearly left its imprint on EMU, the federal government promoted the EU’s rapid eastern enlargement out of its own economic and security political interests, and the paymaster debates concerning the EU’s budget revealed how much the EU’s future depended on a Germany that would no longer hesitate to express its own views. Still, it was only with the accession of the Schröder government in 1998 that a German chancellor would openly speak of Germany’s national interests while pointing out its continued commitment to the EU. Thus, contrary to the belief that a red or green ideology would change the direction of Germany’s foreign policy line and erode Germany’s close relationship with its Western Allies, continuity in foreign policy marked the shift from the Kohl to the Schröder era in 1998. Ironically, it was the outspoken pragmatism and realpolitik of the left, rather than of the right, that publicly revealed Germany’s new consciousness of power in its Europapolitik and its quest to be seen as a normal, postclassical nation-state among others. Despite these evident changes in Germany’s self-perception in the context of its Westpolitik, unified Germany’s foreign political innovations were most likely to occur in its Ostpolitik. While Westpolitik was restrained by the institutional framework, Ostpolitik was something Germany could to a certain extent shape independently. Thus the examination of Ostpolitik in chapters 4 and 5 provided more insights into the new German Question and in particular its elements of place and power. German-Russian relations were the crucial element in German Ostpolitik. Throughout history Moscow had been the defining partner in Germany’s Ostpolitik in good times as well as bad, and although the Cold War had interrupted this close relationship, the Bonn-Moscow axis re-emerged quickly during the unification process. Germany needed Moscow’s consent to unification, while Moscow was in the need of economic assistance. This mutual dependency was to bring a fruitful outcome especially for Germany, as indeed bribery and economic bargaining played a major role in the unification diplomacy. At the same time the friendship between Kohl and Gorbachev was another facet of the story of German unification that added to Bonn’s diplomatic success.

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The Kohl government embarked on a Moscow- (Gorbachev-) first policy in 1990/91, trying to support the Soviet president in his aim of keeping the Soviet empire together. Such a policy was aimed at securing stability in Europe. Moreover, Germany had to include in its political calculations vis-à-vis Moscow the necessity that Soviet troop withdrawal from eastern Germany should take place by late 1994. However, the chancellor’s Moscow-first policy at the end of the Cold War meant that Germany took a very low-key approach towards the Baltic states’ struggle for independence. Germany’s national interests, which demanded good relations with Moscow, had a higher priority than supporting the legitimate Baltic cause of independence that the former West Germany had vocally supported in its post-national days during the Cold War. When the Soviet Union finally collapsed in 1991, there was no change in Germany’s attitude towards Moscow. The Kohl-Gorbachev friendship was replaced by an even closer Kohl-Yeltsin ‘men friendship’ or even ‘sauna friendship’ and Germany’s USSRfirst policy became a Russia-first Ostpolitik. Reunified Germany’s Russian policy revealed from the start that a sovereign Germany—personified in chancellor Kohl— visibly pursued national interests and conducted realpolitik, fully conscious of its position as Europe’s Zentralmacht. Indeed, Germany had two vital security interests: expediting the Russian troop withdrawal from German territory and deterring potential threats from the east. Kohl managed to achieve the early pull-out of Russian forces by chequebook diplomacy, but the second task was more complicated. On the one hand Germany promoted NATO enlargement to include Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary in order to be surrounded on all its borders, and especially its eastern one, by alliance partners. On the other, Kohl advocated a policy of ‘stabilising Russia’. This meant supporting the political position of Yeltsin (considered to be the only trustworthy Russian politician capable of reforming the country) and also integrating Russia into Western institutional structures to make it a more predictable actor. This latter idea of Russia’s ‘tie to the West’ could be compared to West Germany’s Western policies in the aftermath of the Second World War. Importantly, while on a personal level German-Russian partnership reflected trust and friendship, paradoxically in politics the partnership rhetoric hid a policy of containment and reinsurance. By 1997 Germany had achieved both its security concerns: Russian troops had left and NATO enlargement to include Germany’s three preferred candidates had been decided. Thereafter German-Russian relations entered a phase of stagnation and ambiguity, not least because after Schröder took office in autumn 1998, Germany’s Russian policy seemed to lack direction. However, Russia remained Germany’s priority partner in Ostpolitik. And in fact German-Russian relations revived in mid-2000 when both countries’ new leaders, Chancellor Schröder and the new Russian president, Vladimir Putin, spoke of a new strategic partnership between Berlin and Moscow. The case-study of German-Baltic relations made it even more evident how unified Germany chose to prioritise great-power relations in Ostpolitik over a policy based on ethical norms that had been a trademark of the former West Germany. Despite Germany’s historico-moral responsibility towards the Baltics, and despite its rhetoric of promoting east-central Europe’s return to the institutional West, Germany’s political support of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in their attempt to join the EU, and especially NATO, was rather weak. Particularly in the early 1990s (while Russian troop withdrawal

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was still ongoing), Germany had no desire to risk its close rapport with Moscow by promoting a very vigorous Baltic policy. While Bonn’s rhetoric of being the ‘Baltics’ advocate’ was turned into an operative policy by offering generous bilateral aid in the political and economic transformation processes in all three Baltic countries, the vital issue of security was not touched on. Throughout the 1990s many in the Russian political and military leadership considered Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania as falling under Moscow’s sphere of influence. And with the Kaliningrad problem unresolved, the Baltic case was an even more delicate issue—not just in German-Russian relations but especially in view of the evolving construction of a European (security) architecture as a whole. The Baltic case disclosed that as early as 1990 Germany was desirous of playing its great power role as Europe’s central power and has seen itself ever since as western Europe’s most important partner for Russia. With Germany and Russia re-emerging as the main actors in east-central Europe, the newly independent Baltic states had to accept again the role of being the great powers’ pawns. In this sense, post-Cold War Europe witnessed a ‘return of geopolitics’. That said, the new Germany does play its role very differently from that played by both the Second and Third Reich. There are many reasons for this, but chief among them is the strength of contemporary Germany’s institutional and political integration in the West. The overarching matrix of Western institutions and the continued place of the United States as a countervailing force on the European continent has provided the enabling context for Germany’s decisive move westwards. Arguably, unified Germany’s commitment in 1990 to further European integration and the Atlantic Alliance marked the point when Germany anchored itself in the West.3 With the widening scope of European integration, the question as to whether or not the Cold War categories of ‘East’ and ‘West’ will retain much utility in the future is debatable. But we are now in a position to say that the forty-year history of East Germany presents a mere ‘episode’ in German history. The West German past, however, can be judged a real ‘epoch’, because Bonn’s (Western) identity and civic culture continues to live on in unified Germany. This book has argued that three essential features of the German Question—unity, identity, and civic culture—have basically been resolved. Yet it remains to be seen how the new Germany will play its role as a sovereign state in the future. With Europe’s security structures evolving and Germany’s future foreign policy choices still open, the questions of place and power remain unresolved. NOTES 1 Winkler, Der lange Weg, II, p. 655. 2 ‘Staatssekretär des Auswärtigen Amts Wolfgang Ischinger in der Zeitschrift Deutschland (Ausgabe Juli/August 1999) zu den Konturen einer neuen Außenpolitik’, 2 Aug. 1999, www.auswaertiges-amt.de/6_archiv/index.htm. 3 Heinrich August Winkler in his recent history of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Germany has spoken of Germany’s long path to the West. I wish, however, to abstain from such a teleological interpretation, which just like the Sonderweg thesis, seems to introduce a oneway-street explanation of German history. See esp. Winkler, Der lange Weg, II, p. 657.

Postscript: The Methodology of a Contemporary History

HISTORIOGRAPHY This book’s claim to novelty lies in its subject and its distinctly historical approach, as well as in the primary sources used. In terms of its subject, while there are historical monographs on German unification and some more general studies on the Baltic independence struggle, nothing has so far been published discussing both processes together as part of the Cold War’s endgame. As to the post-Cold War era, most of the literature falls methodologically into the disciplines of international relations, political science or human geography. However, very few historical studies have appeared. This is largely a function of traditional historians’ disdain for very contemporary topics, a disdain stemming not only from their concern about the lack of temporal distance to the events, but also from a related concern about the lack of available primary sources. As I show in the following discussion of this book’s historiography and methodology, these concerns, though understandable, are misplaced. Literature on the International Aspects of German Unification Due to the extremely limited archival material available, the early historical literature on German unification has mainly been based on official documentation, memoirs, the press and interviews. Thus it falls into the category of what is called the ‘first draft’ of the history of unification; in general, it focuses on supplying a coherent account of events as well as trying to capture the atmosphere of the revolutionary events just past. Among many others, the following books are particularly useful: Karl Kaiser’s collection of the most important official documents on the international aspects of German unification including a general and brief narrative on the events in 1989–1990, Deutschlands Vereinigung; Elizabeth Pond’s Beyond the Wall—a journalistic story of the revolutionary events in East Germany (mainly based on interviews with US and German political actors); Stephen Szabo’s history, The Diplomacy of German Unification, which complements well Pond’s book, because it includes additional evidence based on interviews with Soviet political actors; and the volume by Michael Beschloss and Strobe Talbott (At the Highest Levels) in which they describe the German unification process in the context of US-Soviet relations, mainly based on interviews with US and Soviet officials. Notably, this first wave of literature is mainly American and German.

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A second wave of literature has been emerging following the declassification of archival material which began in the early 1990s; it falls into the category of a ‘second draft’ of history. These books are more detailed historical analyses and offer explanations which can only come from the evaluation of archival evidence. Most of the recent scholarly debate has centred on the collapse of communism in the GDR and that state’s subsequent dissolution, as well as the Soviet Union’s Western and German policies during the late phases of the Cold War and especially during the German unification process. This choice of topics follows from the declassification of virtually all East German archival documents, excluding the Foreign Ministry files, combined with the gradually increasing, if currently very restricted, access to material from the Soviet archives after the disintegration of the USSR. Due to the origin and language of these sources, this literature has been dominated by German historians. Three outstanding monographs in particular contribute to the historiography of the German unification process from the eastern perspective: Hannes Adomeit’s history of Soviet-East German relations from Stalin to Gorbachev, Imperial Overstretch; Rafael Biermann’s published doctoral thesis, Zwischen Kreml und Kanzleramt which centres on Soviet policies with regard to German unification; and Charles Maier’s Dissolution, a historico-political analysis of the economic decline of the GDR, its collapse and the ensuing process of German unification. Some authors have been able to obtain privileged access to Western archival material, and offer dramatically different perspectives and new insights into the events of 1989–90. On the US side, particularly notable is Philip Zelikow and Condoleezza Rice’s part memoir, part scholarly analysis, Germany Unified and Europe Transformed. Both its authors are academics who participated in the diplomacy of unification as members of the US National Security Council (NSC) during the Bush administration. Their book draws on still classified US sources, as well as on German and Soviet documents and extensive interviews with key political actors—not to mention their personal political experience. Although Zelikow and Rice’s particular perspective might have provided a good starting point for an explanation of the events they describe, they stick to the goal of providing a ‘first draft’ of history and focus on telling ‘the story of this extraordinary episode in modern diplomacy’ (from their perspective).1 Unfortunately they skirt the questions ‘why’ and ‘how’, and simply try to relate ‘what exactly happened’. On the West German side, political scientist Werner Weidenfeld was commissioned by the German chancellery to write the fourth volume of the official history Geschichte der Deutschen Einheit, entitled Auβenpolitik für die Deutsche Einheit. He was granted privileged permission to study, among others, documents in the files of the (West) German chancellery.2 These were declassified in parallel as part of another official federal government project leading to the publication of a selection of those documents by the Bundesministerium des Inneren with the participation of the Bundesarchiv. Weidenfeld’s research team was thus granted access to more sources than are available to today’s researchers. As no other historian will have the chance to see all the documents Weidenfeld was able to evaluate until the official declassification of the files in 2020,3 his monograph sets the terms for new scholarly debate. It is a historically detailed and quite analytical account of the international aspects of the German unification process in 1989– 90, unification which, he concludes, was successfully achieved thanks to ‘favourable conditions, statecraft and quite a bit of luck’.4 With the aid of the West German

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documents he is able shed new light on the genesis of Kohl’s Ten Point Programme and its international implications; the complications in Franco-German relations, the FrancoSoviet conspiracy in late autumn 1989; the struggles around the Polish border recognition issue; and the impact of West German financial aid for the USSR on Gorbachev’s political decisions. However, due to the nature of this work—an official history commissioned by the chancellery—its view is West Germany-biased and partial, and events are not situated in the larger historical perspective. It should be noted that the three other volumes of the series—written by Karl-Rudolf Korte, Dieter Grosser and Wolfgang Jäger—focus on the internal aspects of German unification. Although slightly less important for the interpretations in our book, they should under no circumstances be neglected. So far scholarly studies on French and British policies during 1989–91 are very rare. Whereas nothing has been published on the British side, there are, however, three publications dealing with France’s German policies at the end of the Cold War. The first one is volume 3 of the four-volume official history La décennie de Mitterrand by the Agence France-Presse journalists Pierre Favier and Michel Martin-Roland, whose work, in contrast to Weidenfeld’s project, was not commissioned; they used their advantage of knowing French politics and politicians so well as to gain privileged access to archival material in the Elysée and numerous interviews, in particular with President Mitterrand himself. Their most interesting findings include those of French dislike of unification and of the implications of European integration for a unified Germany and vice versa. It is unfortunate that there no detailed discussion of the primary sources used. The second study shedding light on Franco-German relations during unification and afterwards is Valérie Guérin-Sendelbach’s published doctoral dissertation Frankreich und das vereinigte Deutschland: Interessen und Perzeptionen im Spannungsfeld, which is based mainly on official documentation. Her study’s two key theses are (1) that in principle France was willing to accept German unification, while at the same time there were worries and anxieties about Germany and its future path; and (2) that owing to the changed balance of power in Europe following German unification, Bonn and Paris have had to redefine their relations, while the special relationship was to prevail. Most recently, political scientist Tilo Schabert has published a monograph on François Mitterrand’s policy towards Germany. His book Wie Weltgeschichte gemacht wird: Frankreich und die Deutsche Einheit—based on insights into classified documents from the Elysée Palace as well as interviews—highlights the French president’s key role in the making of German unity and hence seeks to revise the negative picture of Mitterrand (or what he calls a ‘legend’) previously painted by scholars. However, with a strong bias towards the president’s papers, his Mitterrand-friendly conclusions remain debatable.5 Literature on the Baltic Independence Shelves of books have been written on the German unification process. However, various details in the descriptive chronology of events remain unexplored and analytical explanation is in its infancy. In addition, few historians have so far made an attempt to put their descriptive accounts into an analytical framework by discussing the German unification process in the wider picture of European or superpower politics and by placing it in a wider historical context; most literature on German unification is very

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Germany centred. It is the studies that focus on US-Soviet relations at the end of the Cold War that place the unification process in a wider political, and also historical framework. Indeed, the story of German unification belongs to the scholarly debate on how the Cold War ended. Central questions are: how far did the decline of the Warsaw Treaty Organisation and the Soviet empire in economic, social, territorial and military terms influence the German unification process? To what extent can the East Germans popular revolt be compared to the Estonians’, Latvians’ and Lithuanians’ struggle for freedom and democracy? It is evident that the Baltics’ independence struggle had an impact on German unification policies, and yet their story has so far to all intents and purposes been omitted from the historical scholarship of German unification. In general, political histories on the independence struggles of the Baltic states in the international context in languages I could read have hitherto been nearly non-existent. One reason might be that interested non-native researchers lack the language skills to take advantage of the open Communist Party Archives in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, where the documents since the late 1980s have been written in each state’s own language. Another reason seems to be that the native historians have not yet embarked on studying the events through which they lived, but rather focus on research on the early years of Soviet occupation—a taboo topic for over four decades. There are, however, a few exceptions: Anatol Lieven’s The Baltic Revolution: Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and the Path to Independence, a journalistic story on the struggle for independence of the three Baltic states between 1988 and 1991; Mart Laar’s Teine Eesti: Eesti iseseisvuse taassünd 1986–1991, a two-volume publication combining a detailed description of the Estonian independence movements and political developments in the first volume, with selected documents from the Communist party archive and interviews with key Estonian political actors in a second volume; and Matti Lukkari’s Viron itsenäistyminen, a merely descriptive account of the Estonian struggle for independence. The Baltic countries’ independence movements and processes have mainly been discussed in chapters of books on Baltic history and on eastern European transition and in a few essays, most of which have been published in the Journal of Baltic Studies (see Select Bibliography). The problem here is that they are brief and with a very specific agenda. Post-Cold War Literature So far there are no conventional historical analyses of Germany’s post-Cold War politics based on other than official sources because of the classification rules of thirty years or more. As will be discussed in more detail in the section on primary sources, I found that there were ways round the generally proclaimed lack of primary source material. Looking at a subject from many different angles and being able to use several languages opened up surprising possibilities of looking behind the public political facade. A few authors have written on Germany’s eastern policies during the 1990s, basing their stories mainly on official documents and the press. Four studies in particular have addressed, with reference to German foreign policy, the political and security situation of the Baltic states in the context of NATO enlargement and the correlation of power between themselves and the great powers (the US-Russian-German power and interest triangle). Stephen Blank’s report, NATO Enlargement and the Baltic States: What Can

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the Great Powers Do, and Weijo Pitkänen’s article, ‘Baltia saranana “sydänmaan” ja ulkomaailman välissä’ (The Baltics between the ‘heartland’ and the outside world), are probably most useful. Gerd Föhrenbach’s published political science doctoral dissertation Die Westbindung der baltischen Staaten and the collection of short essays by political actors edited by Sven Arnswald and Marcus Wenig, German and American Policies towards the Baltic States, though offering interesting viewpoints, both remain rather superficial in their analysis. As for German-Russian relations, there are three important works: Stephan Bierling’s postdoctoral dissertation Wirtschaftshilfe für Moskau: Motive und Strategien der Bundesrepublik Deutschland und der USA 1990–1996, an extremely thorough analysis of Germany’s and the United States’ chequebook diplomacy vis-à-vis Moscow, and the international and domestic reasoning behind it; Angela E.Stent’s excellent historicopolitical study Russia and Germany Reborn: Unification, the Soviet Collapse, and the New Europe, in which she discusses the new, post-Cold War German-Russian relationship from a historical viewpoint; and Celeste A.Wallander’s Mortal Friends, Best Enemies: German-Russian Cooperation after the Cold War, a very theoretical but detailed examination of German-Russian security relations of the early 1990s, with reference to the role of European and global institutions. Much more scholarly writing exists in the disciplines of political science and international relations theory on the implications of a unified Germany’s position as a fully sovereign nation at Europe’s geographical heart, its identity and national interests, and the question of its ‘normality’, on its actual European policies during the 1990s as well as on the various problems of transformation—the areas of economics, politics, security and ethnicity—in eastern Europe, here especially the Baltic states (see the Select Bibliography). PRIMARY SOURCES Writing history is dependent on the primary sources available. Yet equally important is the analysis of these sources. It is up to the author to interpret the source material and to construct a narrative. Still, the field of contemporary history is often dismissed as journalism.6 It is generally judged that not enough primary material has yet been made available, and that one is still too close to the events to be able to judge them and place them properly in the larger historical context. In view of the former argument, with this book I have tried to show that it is possible to write a widely-researched, substantial piece of historical narrative on a documentary basis especially on the period of the two years leading to the end of the Cold War, but even on very contemporary affairs. Unfortunately, as our literature survey has revealed, it seems that hitherto few historians have seriously considered the research potential of the many kinds of primary material available. As to the issue of a lack of perspective, it is noteworthy that until the early nineteenth century contemporary history was still fully acceptable history. Only with the ascendancy of Ranke’s views on the scholarly study of history—that events could be only be properly examined and explained with a suitable temporal distance and based on archival documents—and the subsequent professionalisation of the field, did the historians’ opinion change.7

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However, for the various reasons that are discussed in more detail in the subsections below, I argue that one should not shy away from writing history close to the events even (and especially) today. Over the years our viewpoint will inevitably become a retrospective one and might even include post hoc interpretation; in turn, valuable insights and analyses of current and forward-looking perspectives might be lost. Archival Documents As explained earlier, parts of this work are ‘first drafts’ of history; others are ‘second drafts’, where the explanation comes from the evaluation of archival material as well as from the first wave of scholarly publications in the field of history. When undertaking the research for this book (as a doctoral dissertation) in 1998–2000, I profited from the exceptional situation that, due to special provisions by various governments and declassification under the US Freedom of Information Act (FOIA), a great deal of archival material on the events of 1989–1991 had already been made available for public examination. I was also privileged to be granted access to information which was still classified. German Unification In 1992, the first unified German government, led by chancellor Helmut Kohl, in an extraordinary step abandoned the usual thirty-year restriction period and declassified virtually all East German archival documents. The files from the Zentrales Parteiarchiv (ZPA, Central Party Archive) of the Sozialistische Einheitspartei Deutschlands (SED, Socialist Unity Party of [eastern] Germany) have been available at the Stiftung Archiv der Parteien und Massenorganisationen der DDR (SAPMO) in Berlin-Lichterfelde which has been part of the Bundesarchiv in Koblenz since 1992. For this project, files of the SED Politbüro and central committee as well as of the offices of leading East German politicians dating from the late 1980s up to 1990 have been consulted. More specifically, they include the documents concerning the fall of the Berlin wall which were exchanged between the CPSU and the SED, papers analysing the true economic state of the GDR and papers which were prepared by the SED on meetings with Soviet politicians. A number of the most important documents which reflect East German-Soviet relations at the highest levels as well as intra-German relations have been published by Daniel Küchenmeister, Detlef Nakath, Gerd-Rüdiger Stephan and Gero Neugebauer (see Select Bibliography). In quite obscure ways various other classified documents related to unification were also made publicly available. In 1990 the USSR published Eduard Shevardnadze’s speech for the opening of the 2+4 ministerial meeting of 5 May 1990, although there had been an agreement on confidentiality. Subsequently the other foreign ministers speeches were also published.8 Further examples of single documents being published as an exception to general declassification laws or agreements include those in Kvitsinsky’s memoirs, Vor dem Sturm, and in Gorbachev’s Gipfelgespräche. Even more extraordinary than the opening of former East German archives was the decision by the government of unified Germany to grant access to West German government files: first to a select group of historians and political scientists only, and then in 1998, to the public. Chancellor Kohl personally took the initiative9 in having 430 documents from the West German chancellery declassified. These can be consulted in the Bundesarchiv-Zwischenarchiv (in St Augustin), but they have also been published in a

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collection of documents named Sonderedition aus den Akten des Bundeskanzleramtes 1989/90, as part of the series Dokumente zur Deutschlandpolitik, published by the Bundesministerium des Inneren with the participation of the Bundesarchiv. The printed sources give insight into the decision-making processes and the negotiations for the re-establishment of German unity from the Western and more specifically the West German side. Documents include transcripts of telephone conversations, summaries of conversations and discussions, notes, memoranda and strategy papers. Less than a decade after German unification, scholars now have a unique opportunity to evaluate more precisely the West German chancellery’s unification policies in 1989–90. In the same context, another special provision grants access to the parliamentary files of the Ausschuβ Deutsche Einheit in the Parlamentsarchiv in Bonn. Unfortunately, the German foreign ministry, the Auswärtiges Amt, has not declassified any of its documents, since it sticks to the thirty-year classification rule, and indeed the same applies to the East German foreign ministry files, since they were appropriated by the new united Germany’s foreign ministry. Thus for another twenty years it will probably not be possible to know much more about the process from the German side. Other declassified Western material on the international aspects of German unification can be found in the United States: at the National Security Archive (NSA) in Washington DC and the Hoover Archives at Stanford. As part of the NSA’s End of the Cold War Project, US state department documents in particular on the US-Soviet Malta summit in December 1989 and the May summit in 1990 as well as CIA reports on the situation in the USSR in 1989–1991 have been declassified under the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) and are deposited at the NSA. In general, however, White House and state department documents remain classified. Importantly, the NSA’s collection on the end of the Cold War also includes numerous Soviet papers on the Kremlin’s policies towards the two Germanies before and during the unification process. At the Hoover Archives the Zelikow-Rice Papers 1989–1995, essentially the working material of the authors for their book, include a few interesting Soviet documents on the Gorbachev-Mitterrand meetings in December 1989. Further, it is instructive to read through the correspondence between the authors and other active participants in the German unification process such as Hans-Dietrich Genscher about the draft of Zelikow and Rice’s book. Significantly, even the immediate participants of the process interpret their involvement and decisions differently. The collection consists, however, mostly of official press briefing notes by the US state department or the White House, and varied secondary source material on German unification: newspaper articles, articles from journals, chronologies and book reviews. Consequently, Zelikow and Rice’s book is actually more rewarding for the researcher than their depository, as explanations and arguments are based on still-classified material to which they refer in their footnotes. None of the US classified material used in their book is deposited in this collection at Hoover, highlighting the problem of unequal access to primary material. But at least the book offers precise pointers to the documents used, and once declassified they should be quite easily tracked down. Baltic Independence While the material mentioned above obviously includes some information on the Baltic theme, since the processes of Baltic independence and the

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collapse of the wider Soviet empire intersected, this subsection describes which Balticspecific documents were consulted for this study and where they can be found. Declassified documents on the Baltic states’ independence struggle can be found today in the Communist Party Archives in Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius, as well as in Moscow. For the Soviet side of things I decided to focus my research on the collections of recently declassified Soviet sources at the NSA in Washington rather than going to Moscow, because after the brief opening of former Soviet archives in Moscow in the early 1990s, during the second half of the 1990s they were practically closed again. The preselected documents, many of them already translated, in the collection folders ‘The End of the Cold War in Europe: “New Thinking” and New Evidence’ and ‘Declassified Russian and US Documents—Prepared for the Mershon Center Conference on US-Soviet Military and Security Relationships at the End of the Cold War, 1988–1991’ are particularly valuable as they include Soviet analyses and correspondence on the situation in the Baltics. Furthermore, the Chernyaev diaries at the NSA offer useful explanations of the Baltic republics’ independence developments from a Soviet perspective. The joint microfilming project of Soviet ‘fonds’ called ‘Archives of the Soviet Communist Party and Soviet States’, undertaken by the Hoover Institution, the State Archives of the Russian Federation, and Chadwyck-Healey Ltd included only very few relevant documents for my research. These can be found in Fond 89, ‘Communist Party of the Soviet Union on Trial’, which is not a coherent collection, but an ad hoc compilation and can be consulted at the Hoover Archives. Indeed, Fond 89-documents were selected from several Soviet archives for the 1992 trial of the CPSU, which examined the constitutionality of Yeltsin’s decree banning the Communist Party. The collection is very large and includes very varied material. On the Baltic issue, there was a handful of useful documents reflecting Moscow’s disregard for the Baltic independence struggle. With regard to source material from the Communist Party Archives of each of the Baltic states, most of the papers of the late 1980s are in each country’s native language. Consequently, I confined my research to the Rahvusarhiivi eraarhiiviosakond in Tallinn, Estonia (the former Communist Party Archive, now National Archive (section: political parties)). Documents relevant for this book were: (1) analyses by the CPSU and by the Estonian Communist Party (ECP) of the independence movements in Estonia, of economic reforms, of the establishment of new parties and of the changes within the ECP itself; (2) correspondence between the numerous Communist Party institutions in Moscow and their counterparts in Tallinn. In Estonia, I was also granted access by special permission to the archive of the Eesti Väliministeerium (Estonian foreign ministry) for a very brief and restricted period of time. Here I was able to study the correspondence between Tallinn (as the capital of Soviet Republic of Estonia) and Western governments during 1989–92. The Estonian SSR had a puppet ‘foreign ministry’ for its external affairs, but it became increasingly independent as Moscow’s grip loosened. Although all three Baltics states as a geopolitical entity, form a casestudy for Germany’s Ostpolitik from 1989 to 2000, particular attention is focused on Estonia. The Estonians were the first in the mid-1980s to begin their struggle for independence from Moscow, and the Republic of Estonia became the first Baltic state to start access negotiations with the EU as a result of its rapid political and economic progress. No

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doubt the cultural-linguistic link between Estonia and Finland gave, and still gives, Estonia an advantage in its ambitions to re-enter the West. As to archival material from Latvia and Lithuania, I was fortunate being able to consult copies of documents in the Russian language which had been taken from the Communist Party archives in Riga and Vilnius to Washington DC as part of the Cold War International History Project (CWIHP). Those materials have been neither translated nor organised, and it was the first time that they had been used by a scholar. The range of documents is very varied and the selection seems random; however, it did include a few papers on the Lithuanian and Latvian bloodshed of January 1991. At the Hoover Archives there were two very interesting subject collections relevant for my research on the Baltic independence struggle: the Estonian Subject Collection and the Latvian Oral History Project. The Estonian Subject Collection included a lot of useful pre-independence material: newspaper articles, Baltic exile organisations’ publications and official political declarations. On Latvian current affairs, the Latvian oral history project 1999, containing 20 tapes of interviews of various politically active Latvian figures (party leaders, artists, journalists), offered some insight into current Latvian affairs. Germany’s post-Cold War ‘Ostpolitik’ In addition to the publicly available archival material available today, I consulted unpublished theses that were partly based on classified information. Moreover, I was granted access by various interviewees (who, for obvious reasons will remain unidentified) to private papers and to specific documents from government files for the period 1991–1999. This gave me first-hand and so far privileged insight into strategies and correspondence on particular processes of current affairs (1990s) central to this book, but also on some specific issues of the 1989–91 period. In the footnotes reference is made to ‘classified documents’. I have not quoted directly from such documents, in order to adhere to the classification conventions, but by examining in parallel official documentation and the press, it has been possible to use quotations from the latter two. Only those documents which were specifically pointed out to me as samples have been quoted directly, and are referred to simply by the document title without indicating the source. Other documents, which were considered by the interviewees fully quotable and without any sensitive information, have been listed in the bibliography. Whatever the amount of archival sources available for researchers today or in the future, it is nevertheless not possible to write a complete account of events solely on the basis of documents. Of course further factual knowledge will arise with the declassification of files in twenty years’ time. But, as the end of the Cold War period proves, documentary gaps exist, deriving in particular from a new style of diplomacy. Several of my interviewees pointed out that during the German unification process on many occasions traditional diplomatic practices were dismissed, simply because processes took place at such a breathtaking speed. Apart from the time factor, personality was important. For instance, chancellor Kohl dominated not only his chancellery but also his party and his government with his methods of imposing his policies. Korte, in his book and articles, has referred to this as the ‘System Kohl’. This indicates that during the entire Kohl era the chancellor wrote only a very few comments (in pencil) on documents, and even asked for them to be rubbed off before papers were filed. Various protocols of conversations are only summaries. From

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the foreign ministry it is also known that some very controversial dialogues or statements were not written down.10 With the revelations of the Kohl/CDU financial scandal in autumn 1999-summer 2000 it also came to light that in the German chancellery numerous files had been destroyed or made to disappear with the chancellor’s knowledge, if not upon his orders. Doubts have hence arisen as to what extent Kohl was seeking to ‘write history’ himself. A historian by training, he seems to have made conscious decisions to declassify early material on German unification, while secretly destroying other documentary evidence of the 1980s and 1990s. It appears that he personally wanted to shape the image by which he would be remembered in the future.11 As a means of compensating for gaps and weaknesses in the archives, other primary sources—memoirs, interviews with key political actors, official documentation and the press—should not be dismissed. In discussing their relevance for this work, I intend to draw out why, despite the imperfect and asymmetrical access to the archival material today and the close proximity to events, researching the topic of this book at the present time might even have offered some advantages over future research. Printed Memoirs Memoir literature forms important primary source material for this monograph, although its use is limited mainly to chapter 1. Not many of the decision makers involved in politics now would under normal circumstances have already written about their lives, had it not been for the sudden reality of an event which for decades had been considered as ‘das Undenkbare denken’ (thinking the unthinkable). The magnitude for modern history of the issue of the re-establishment of Germany’s unity in 1990 and the end of the Cold War, after four decades of division, is obvious. Hoping to secure their particular place in history, most of the active participants competed to publish their memoirs as soon as possible after the events. Consequently, there is a huge amount of historical information and personal interpretation. The Baltic independence struggle was another event of importance in 1989–91, but has been treated in a much less spectacular way by the great powers’ policy-makers and also by the media. It has been touched upon only briefly in the memoirs on German unification and the end of the Cold War. However, should not go unnoticed that the political actors of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania have published their personal accounts of the events in those countries. On a methodological and historiographical scale, the question is of course: what has the increasing availability of unpublished and published archival documents, and the simultaneous increase in scholarly studies, meant for the credibility and value of memoirs in telling the story of German unification and the end of the Cold War? The answer is that memoirs are, and will remain, particularly important because so much of the diplomacy was conducted informally and on a personal level. They include information which could not be gathered together otherwise or which exists nowhere else in writing. Memoirs are useful because of what they reveal about the psychology and reasoning of the politician in question; some of the traits revealed are equally relevant for his current policy-making. Memoirs that refer in detailed fashion to classified government documents, such as Zelikow and Rice’s book, are much more useful for history scholars

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than a personal story written for the general public, such as Egon Krenz’s Wenn Mauern fallen. Chancellor Helmut Kohl’s account of the events in 1989–90 (published in 1996) is among the most important sources for the historian. However, although it offers important insights, Kohl has chosen to omit some unpleasant episodes and problematic policy details and has kept silent about the actual content of discussions with colleagues in the government, especially the details of his differences with his coalition partner and foreign minister Hans-Dietrich Genscher. Often Kohl does no more than describe his own position. A most revealing insider story is the very detailed diary account by Horst Teltschik, the chancellor’s advisor. Kohl and Teltschik both highlight the predominant position of the chancellery and the CDU/CSU, whereas Hans-Dietrich Genscher focuses on the foreign ministry’s position in the 2+4 negotiations. With regard to the personal rivalry between the chancellor and his foreign minister, it should be noted that both avoid any mention of serious personal clashes. Both Genscher and Kohl have clearly written their books with an eye to securing themselves a place in history. Each refers to his particular leading role in the unification process and both try to connect their policies to their long-term convictions of achieving German unity. For this reason Kohl spends the entire first chapter describing his and his party’s vision of unification through Westpolitik. His aim is to show how deeply ingrained were the convictions he had formed as a young supporter of West Germany’s first chancellor, Konrad Adenauer. Genscher’s account centres on his convictions on the national question based on the spirit of the Helsinki Final Act, his belief in Ostpolitik and the idea of an all-European security structure (but still including Germany’s alignment with the West). In addition to personal competition, Kohl’s and Genscher’s memoirs reveal implicitly the institutional rivalry between the chancellery and the German foreign ministry, a fact which is underlined by Teltschik, and by Frank Elbe and Richard Kiessler in their book on the foreign ministry’s work. Kohl generally avoids personal comments on Genscher and his policies but Horst Teltschik’s memoirs contain frequent snipes against the foreign minister,12 which the latter returns.13 To a certain extent, Teltschik conducted his own unification policy for Kohl from the chancellery and hence was a rival to the foreign minister. It is the Americans Zelikow and Rice who highlight the extent of bureaucratic infighting in Bonn compared with the unusually cohesive decision-making process in Washington at the time. Disputes over the Polish border or NATO extension, which originated in Bonn between the Foreign Office and the chancellery, were sometimes stilled in Washington.14 Accordingly, this institutional rivalry was mirrored in international affairs through transgovernmental coalition building: the Bush-Kohl/NSCchancellery coalitions and the Baker-Genscher/State Department—Auswärtiges Amt coalitions. While they could be divisive, these transnational coalitions provided close ties and trust between politicians in action. The Kohl government and the Bush administration were in harmony over the ends, although they temporarily disagreed over the means. This was most obvious on the issue of the extension of NATO jurisdiction to the territory of the former GDR.15

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The United States not only fully backed West German unification policies, but also provided an environment for superpower negotiations in bilateral discussion with the USSR. Zelikow and Rice’s account sometimes exaggerates the US role and underestimates both Soviet and German influences. Kiessler and Elbe’s volume counterbalances this picture to some extent. There is indeed friendly rivalry between the US and German accounts over who was more responsible for altering NATO policies towards the USSR.16 The latest of the US accounts to be published is Bush’s and Scowcroft’s double memoir on German unification. It offers no real surprises, but the chosen form of juxtaposing each politician’s version of a certain episode is very rewarding for the researcher. Throughout the account, Bush emphasises the firmness and importance of his personal judgements about German unification and his very good relations with chancellor Kohl. Another essential American memoir is that by the US secretary of state, James Baker. He is very selective in what he covers, and German unification is one issue among many others in international politics; however, he offers a good insight into the decision-making process behind state department policy, especially in the case of the 2+4 talks. Baker also highlights the importance given to terminology in the context of the German Question.17 Gorbachev’s memoirs are useful only in so far as they contain excerpts from the original records of his meetings and present a clear account of his political thinking. German unification as a whole is only briefly discussed in the 1,200-page volume, and Gorbachev offers interesting new information on only one episode: the US-Soviet summit in late May 1990. Gorbachev’s later volume of memoirs on German unification is similarly devoid of any ground-breaking revelations. Comparing Gorbachev’s accounts of his consent to Germany’s membership of NATO on 31 May 1990 with those of Zelikow and Rice, and of Bush and Scowcroft, one notes that the Soviet leader, by omitting some details, seeks to give the impression that he took the initiative in letting Germany choose its alliance, whereas the Americans clearly describe it as Bush’s verbal initiative.18 Just like Gorbachev’s memoirs, Eduard Shevardnadze’s book is mainly aimed at justifying his political thinking. On Germany, he describes the sharp domestic opposition to his policies, and his participation in the 2+4, talks which he refers to as ‘the meetings of the Six’.19 Margaret Thatcher in The Downing Street Years is the most direct and blunt about her dislike of German unification and her obsession with Europe’s balance of power. She openly accused Mitterrand of having chosen the wrong policy when he refused to revive an anti-German Anglo-French axis. Mitterrand, on the other hand, in Über Deutschland conceals his attempts to slow down unification, and clearly tries to refute the accusation that he tried to obstruct Germany unity, which archival evidence seems to have established as justified. Of the French sources, Jacques Attali’s diaries (published titled Verbatim) reveal French fears and discomfort over German unification. At the time of their publication, these diaries created a major upheaval in France. Mitterrand publicly distanced himself from some of the very blunt anti-German (unification) comments which Attali ascribed to him. Mitterrand used his memoirs to respond to Attali and to represent himself as a friend of Germany. Although Attali’s diaries cleary reflect a selective recall or distillation of events, it is possible to cross-check specific assertions of

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fact, as in Mitterrand’s meeting with Gorbachev in Kiev, or his talks with Bush or Kohl, Attali’s notes are substantially accurate. The memoir literature by former East German leaders must be consulted with care. Since West Germany took the lead in the unification process, the GDR’s leaders were not only suffering from the dissolution of the state and the declining credibility of their policies, they increasingly lost political power and importance, especially in the context of the 2+4 talks. Often the accounts are self-justifying or simply tell a personal, nonpolitical and emotional story. However, some of the volumes give interesting insights: Egon Krenz tries to justify his policies as general secretary of the SED in Wenn Mauern fallen; Günter Schabowski seems more self-critical and describes rather well the final years of the Honecker Politbüro (see Der Absturz); Hans Modrow in his Ich wollte ein neues Deutschland uses a few pages to counter Kohl’s arrogant comments on his weak performance at their meeting in Dresden in November 1990; Ulrich Albrecht writes a very detailed account of the GDR’s position in the 2+4 process, which had no influence on the main political decisions (see Die Abwicklung). Memoirs from the US side embed the issue of German unification in the endgame of the Cold War. In fact, US accounts tend to include the German problem in a broader portrait of US policy towards Europe and the USSR, which shows that the Americans, although strong supporters of German unity, very much treated unification as part of a larger political framework. This means that US-Soviet relations and the development of the superpowers’ correlation of forces had their own impact on US policy towards Germany’s unification. The Baltic independence struggle became an important issue between the two superpowers and clearly influenced their positions when discussing German unification. Baker’s choice of title for a key chapter: ‘Spring of tumult: German unification, Lithuanian independence, and Soviet upheaval’ shows this.20 In contrast, German memoirs neglect the issue of the nationalities of the Soviet empire, especially the Lithuanian crisis in early 1990, although the Sonderedition aus den Akten des Bundeskanzleramtes 1989–90 includes enough documents on the Baltic states to demonstrate that the Baltic crisis was a real problem for the development of the German unification talks. German and Soviet politicians focus heavily in their memoirs on the ‘groundbreaking’ German-Soviet summit in the Caucasus when the Soviets accepted a unified Germany’s NATO membership. Some accounts, such as journalist Hans Klein’s Es began im Kaukasus, concentrate exclusively on this story. Key US actors point instead to the US-Soviet summit later in May as the central event in Gorbachev’s reversal on the NATO issue. In view of the history and developments within the Baltic states, and more specifically for an understanding of Estonian independence policies, the following memoirs proved very illuminating: Lennart Meri’s conversation with Andreas Oplatka (in German) reads like a memoir of Estonia’s current president’s whole life, and gives the researcher a very clear picture of the birth and development of the popular independence movements and the atmosphere of the period of Soviet rule. Further, one learns about Meri’s personal political visions and ambitions during the last phase of the actual independence struggle in 1988–91 and thereafter. Tunne Kelam’s memoir (in Estonian) is based on an interview, and also includes a collection of his speeches during the independence process. Kelam, in the late 1990s chairman of the Estonian parliament, was one of the foremost political

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figures during the independence process. His account offers an excellent description of internal changes in Estonia during the independence struggle. The autobiography of Vytautas Landsbergis, the Lithuanian leader, was published in English in summer 2000. During 1990–91, as leader of the Sajudis, he was the most forceful exponent of the three Baltic republics’ quest for independence; of the three states Lithuania acted most confrontationally (and thus internationally most visibly) towards the Kremlin. In view of this, the existence of Landsbergis’s memoirs is particularly valuable for historians. As much as the book discusses Lithuanian history under Soviet rule, it is primarily a highly detailed account on Lithuania’s struggle to gain independence. It offers new insight into the violent Soviet intervention into Vilnius in January 1991 by an eyewitness who was also a key political actor, and reveals a great deal of the diplomacy between Lithuania and the Western governments. All the memoirs show that as events unfolded rapidly, due to popular revolutionary pressure ‘from below’, personal contacts and informal communication were dominant factors in policymaking. Memoirs offer details and personal reflections not to be found elsewhere, and the sheer number of personal accounts means that they can be crosschecked against each other. Thus for the story of German unification, the Baltic independence struggle and the end of the Cold War in general, memoir literature clearly is an important element of primary source material. Oral History: Interviews and Closed Seminars Although archival material, memoirs, official documentation and newspapers form the basis of primary sources on paper, for the present study interviews with key political actors represented a very important source of non-public information. The challenging peculiarity of oral history lies in the fact that it is very much up to the interviewer to extract from interviewees answers to the particular questions posed. How an interviewee will answer is a totally open matter; in an ideal world the same answer would always be given to a particular question, but human nature being what it is, the same question is likely to be answered differently at different times. Thus oral history deals with two uncertain factors—interviewer and interviewee—while the conventional method of studying archival documents and memoirs simply deals with one. As for the latter, with the factual basis invariably provided, the researcher’s task is to read ‘against the grain’. Oral history is often dismissed as an unreliable source. However, by using a wellestablished system, it can be made a reliable resource. I would argue that there are four key elements which have to be present in order to make oral history a truly valuable primary source: (1) it is important to interview a meaningful number of people who are (2) chosen well; (3) one needs to be very systematic about the actual interviewing, in order to be able to crosscheck statements on specific issues between interviewees; and (4) it is essential to look for corroboration by checking interviewees’ answers as far as possible against printed sources.21 In the following paragraphs I shall discuss in more detail why oral history was so important for this monograph, and how I undertook my interviewing in practice. Why oral history? Many of the processes described in documents, books or the media remain difficult to comprehend in terms of their connections and correlations, but also in terms of the underlying choices of a politicians, unless it is possibile to talk to the actors

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involved. Indeed, the purpose of interviews is to obtain data on foreign policymaking and strategy beyond that which is publicly available.22 In particular, for chapters 1, 4 and 5 of this book and to a certain extent for chapter 3, my interviews did not simply form some kind of adjunct to other primary sources, but were part of the empirical core of my research. Depending on the range of source material available for the different periods of time and the perspectives studied in this work, the purpose, use and weight of interviews as a source did change. In analysing German unification and the Baltic independence struggle, interviews were particularly valuable for finding out how politicians perceived when, why and how these two processes intersected or were directly linked to other processes with consequences on a world political scale. For a historian researching these end of Cold War events, it was an extraordinary chance to be able to study a whole range of declassified archival evidence while the actual political actors are still alive, remember the events and are available to be interviewed. Concerning the examination of the post-Cold War policies of Germany, Russia, the United States and the Baltic states in 1991–2000, it is obvious that most documents are officially classified. It is here that interviewing as a research method for writing contemporary political history at the time policy options are formulated and strategies chosen, is particularly useful and informative. Official policy lines and statements can be found on the government websites of all states, and the mass of newspapers offer a lot of information. Yet how can we find out ‘what is really going on behind the scenes’? How can we know which journalist got it right? ‘Off-the-record interviews’ on current policies and politics can provide the researcher with the political and strategic background information not publicly available. There is quite a difference between interviewing retired politicians and those who are still in office. To gather information about current affairs by interviewing decision makers while in power obviously avoids the problems of imperfect memory, post hoc rationalisation and posturing which are inherent in after-the-fact interviewing. There was, however, a particular problem with oral evidence for this monograph—when interviews were conducted after a political process of such major importance as the ending of the Cold War and most actors not only were still alive, but even continued to be involved in politics—in the sense that politicians often tried to use the interview as a means of promoting themselves as ‘great historical actors’. This distortion of the personal account can and must be rectified by cross-checking statements against declassified documents and printed primary and even secondary sources. In general, it is noteworthy that interviews bring to light information which otherwise could not be gathered together, or which does not exist anywhere else in writing. Events unfold fast, many decisions depend on the politicians’ personal contacts and friendships, aspects which can be discovered and scrutinised during an interview. To piece such elements together in thirty years’ time on the bases of documents alone will be a very difficult task. Thus meeting some of the government officials, with the possibility of personally following and observing for a number of hours their train of thoughts and psychology unquestionably added an extra facet to understanding their intentions. Here, interviews have their own historical value. Making make oral history a reliable source? Two factors were particularly important in using oral history technique for this project: the number of interviews and the selection of

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interviewees. I conducted 43 formal interviews and talked on a more informal level during closed seminars with approximately another 40 German, Estonian, Latvian, Lithuanian, Finnish and US politicians and government officials during 1999 and early 2000. My interviewees were officials from the president’s offices, foreign ministries and ministries of defence and members of parliament and of permanent representations or missions to NATO. Bearing in mind that especially in the countries in the process of transformation— Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania—governments have changed frequently over the last decade, I tried to get hold of such interviewees who were in key decision-making positions or had been dealing with the relevant field over a long period, preferably for most of the decade. Interviews were conducted in Bonn, Berlin and Düsseldorf in March and April 1999, in Tallinn, Riga and Vilnius in May 1999 and again in Bonn and Berlin and in Brussels in September 1999. Furthermore I interviewed key political actors in Helsinki and Tallinn during a research stay at the Finnish Institute of International Affairs and at the Estonian MFA in October-December 1999, as well as in Washington DC while based at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars during January-February 2000. Most interviews were off-the-record for my own background information only. None of my interviewees allowed me to record my interview. Thus my source consists of handwritten notes taken during the interviews including a number of exact quotations. Generally speaking securing interviews with key political actors is a game of luck and circumstance. People involved in current affairs tend to be extremely busy and ‘important’, a tendency which is reinforced in times of political crisis. This meant that in the period immediately after the change of government in Germany (autumn 1998), during the Kosovo crisis (spring 1999) and in the context of the investigations into the Kohl/CDU finance scandal (autumn 1999-summer 2000), certain individuals were not available for interviews at all. During the interviews it was important to distinguish between personal and official views. The decision makers most often expressed their personal views on policies they made ‘themselves’. They were very eager to distinguish their personal ideas from the government’s official line. With reliability being the most contentious issue in view of oral evidence, I differentiated between personal information and governmental policy and looked for corroborative printed evidence—official or classified documents (shown to me)—that would support the interviewees’ statements. Thorough cross-checking of the political actors’ statements and views first against each other, then against their own memoirs and other written sources (press, official documents) was particularly important in order to make my oral evidence a reliable source. The one-off chance of participation at closed seminars in addition to the more formal personal interviews is an exceptional feature of the oral history component in this book. It was very much about ‘being at the right place at the right time’ and helped me undertake my research even more effectively. As a member of a research tour to the Baltic states in May 1999 arranged by the Centre of International Studies (University of Cambridge), I was able to attend the presentations at various ministries and organisations in all three countries and note statements on official governmental policies, all of general interest to me. More specifically, I also could use the question and answer sessions to explore issues

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particularly relevant for this study; not to mention the knock-on effect of these contacts for arranging further personal interviews for autumn 1999 in Estonia. Similarly, an invitation—arranged by Lauri Lepik of the Estonian embassy in Washington DC—to the closed conference ‘The US-Baltic Charter at Age Two: Achievements, Problems, and Prospects’ by the Council of Foreign Relations in Washington DC added another unique chance to hear and question main political actors such as Strobe Talbott. Altogether the results of over 80 interviews and background discussions could be used in my project. I have listed all my interviewees by country and date and indicated the details of name, position held, place and date in the select bibliography at the end of this book. In the endnotes I have abstained from naming interviewees or discussion partners for reasons of confidentiality. Moreover, I have only referred to ‘interviews’ when a number of interviewees shared a particular view, in order to back up a specific point for which I could not find any other source material. Politicians have been cited from written, publicly available sources. The vast and varied range of primary sources that I discovered during my research can clearly be taken as proof that, contrary to the belief of traditional historians that thorough historical research can only be undertaken at least thirty years after the events, it is already possible to write a substantial historical analysis on events recently past. In fact it can be argued that due to the diversity of the primary sources, including in particular the component of oral evidence so helpful for this project, it was actually most valuable to write the ‘story’ today rather than later. It is undoubtedly one of this monographs’s very unusual features that, while being a historical narrative in the traditional sense, it captures the spirit of a time when the future direction of Germany and Europe all seem very uncertain. With the perspective turning to retrospection as time goes by, and the Zeitzeugen who might remember some details from ‘the past’ gone, conclusions may be drawn very differently. NOTES 1 Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. xii. 2 Specific files were also declassified for the official history from the following institutions: the federal ministry for intra-German relations, the federal ministry for domestic affairs, the West German permanent representation in East Berlin, and the committees of the West CDU and East SPD. 3 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, p. 645. 4 The idea of statecraft has in fact been put forward already in earlier works. See Kaiser, Deutschlands Vereinigung, pp. 21–6; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, p. ix. 5 Tilo Schabert, Wie Weltgeschichte gemacht wird: Frankreich und die Deutsche Einheit (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 2002). 6 See Timothy Garton Ash, History of the Present: Essays, Sketches and Dispatches from Europe in the 1990s (London: Penguin, 1999), pp. ix–xxi, here esp. p. x. 7 See John Lewis Gaddis, On Contemporary History: An Inaugural Lecture Delivered before the University of Oxford on 18 May 1993 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995); Llewellyn Woodward, ‘The Study of Contemporary History’, Journal of Contemporary History, 1 (1966), pp. 1–13. 8 The speeches can be found in Europa Archiv, 19 (1990), pp. 493–502.

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9 There was speculation whether the publicity of the chancellor’s initiatives in summer 1998 was a tactical move by Kohl to enhance his chances in the autumn 1998 federal elections, by reminding the people of his services to the country’s unification. See Gunter Hoffman, ‘Ein Kanzler schreibt Geschichte’, Die Zeit, 4 June 1998, p. 1. 10 See Weidenfeld, Auβenpolitik, p. 646. 11 See Hans-Jörg Heims, ‘Des Kanzlers Mut zur Lücke—Der Bericht von Sonderermittler Burkhard Hirsch belegt: Unter Helmut Kohl wurden wichtige Akten systematisch vernichtet’, SZ, 29 June 2000, p. 12; ‘Sonderermittler legt Abschluβbericht vor/Hirsch: Kanzleramt hat illegal Akten vernichtet/Zwei Drittel aller Daten sollen vor Regierungsübergabe gelöscht worden sein/Vorermittlungen gegen Beamte’, SZ, 29 June 2000, p. 1; Michael Stiller, ‘Verlegt, versteckt, vernichtet: Das System Kohl ist mit den Akten so umgegangen wie mit Spendengeldern: nach Gutdünken’, SZ, 26 June 2000, p. 4; ‘1,2 Millionen Aktenseiten fehlen—Hirsch-Bericht: Nach CDU-Wahlniederlage wurden im Kanzleramt Daten zerstört’, Die Welt, 26 June 2000, www.welt.de/daten/2000/06/26/0626hbl76009.htx. Cf. Clay Clemens, ‘A Legacy Reassessed: Helmut Kohl and the German Party Finance Affair’, German Politics, 2 (2000), pp. 25–50. 12 See Teltschik, 329 Tage, pp. 49, 226. 13 See Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 670, 781. 14 See Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 223, 253–4. 15 Ibid, pp. 176, 211, 214–15. 16 See Kiessler and Elbe, Runder Tisch, pp. 144–6; Genscher, Erinnerungen, pp. 802–3; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 307, 325. 17 See Baker, Politics, pp. 195–200, 210–11, 215–16. 18 See Gorbatschow, Erinnerungen, pp. 721–3; idem, Deutsche Wiedervereinigung, pp. 136–8; Zelikow and Rice, Germany Unified, pp. 275–83; Bush and Scowcroft, World, pp. 179–86. 19 See Shevardnadze, The Future, pp. 136–7. 20 Baker, Politics, p. 198. 21 Cf. John Tosh, The Pursuit of History. Aims, Methods and New Directions in the Study of Modern History, 3rd edn (Harlow, Pearson Education 2000), pp. 193–210; Anthony Seldon, ‘Elite interviews’, in Brian Brivati, Julia Buxton and Anthony Seldon (eds), The Contemporary History Handbook (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1996), pp. 353–65; Anthony Seldon and Joanna Pappworth, By Word of Mouth (London: Methuen, 1983), pp. 55–88. 22 Cf. Seldon and Pappworth, Word, pp. 36–53; Seldon, ‘Elite interviews’, pp. 353–9.

Select Bibliography

PRIMARY SOURCES Unpublished Sources Bundespresse- und Informationsamt, Zentrales Dokumentationssystem (Bonn, Germany) Electronic database of German language newspapers and magazines 1995–1999 Microfiche of German language newspapers and magazines 1989–1994

German Embassy to Finland, Helsinki Report on Germany’s support given to the development of Estonian defence forces and military cooperation (the actual title of the document is classified) Unentgeltliche Materialabgaben an Estland 1992–99 Sicherheitspolitische Kooperation im Ostseeraum

German Embassy to Latvia, Riga Unentgeltliche Materialabgaben an Lettland 1992–99

Parlamentsarchiv, Bonn ParlArch Ausschuß für innerdeutsche Beziehungen ParlArch Ausschuβ Deutsche Einheit

Politisches Archiv, Bonn Bestand B12: Abteilung 7 (Ostabteilung) 1949–63—Referat 700 Wiedervereinigung und Berlin Bestand B038: Referat IIA1, Berlin und Deutschland als Ganzes 1963–71

Stiftung Archiv für Parteien und Massenorganisationen, SAPMO, Berlin SAPMO DY 30/J IV 2/2, Politbüro 1989 SAPMO DY 30/2/2.039, Büro Egon Krenz

Hoover Institution Archives, Stanford Zelikow-Rice Papers, 1989–95 Estonian Subject Collection, ID CSUZXX 810-A Latvian Oral History Project 1999, ID CSUZ 99028-A Russian Archives Project, Fond 89: Declassified Documents, Collection of Duplicates Cold War International History Project, Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, Washington DC Collection: Documents from Latvia, Lithuania, Ukraine

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National Security Archive, Washington DC Russian, East European Archive Documents Database (READD): A.S.Chernaev’s notes/diary on file at NSA’s READD, Box 13, 1986–91 (original source is the Archive of the Gorbachev Foundation) US State Department documents and CIA reports of 1989–91 as part of the NSA’s ‘End of the Cold War Project’, Boxes 3 and 4 (declassified under the FOIA) NSA document collection folder: ‘The End of the Cold War in Europe, 1989: “New Thinking” and New Evidence, A Critical Oral History Conference’, Musgrove May 1–3, 1998 ‘Briefing Book of Declassified Russian and US Documents: Prepared for the Mershon Center Conference on US-Soviet Military and Security Relationships at the End of the Cold War, 1988–91, 15–17 October 1999’, compiled by William Burr, Thomas Blanton and Vladislav Zubok

Suomen Puolustusministeriö (Helsinki) ‘Suomen puolustusvoimien koulutustuki Viron puolustusvoimille’ ‘Support given by Finland to the development of defence capabilities in the Baltic countries in 1999’, Jukka Knuuti, 12 August 1999 ‘Suomen apu Baltian maiden maanpuolustuksen luomiseksi’, Jukka Knuuti, 12 August 1999 ‘Finnish support to the Estonian nation defence’, Jukka Knuuti, 17 March 1999 ‘Suomen apu Baltian maiden maanpuolustuksen luomiseksi’, Jukka Knuuti, 31 December 1998

Helsingin Sanomat, archive for internal use only (Helsinki) Electronic database of Helsingin Sanomat

Eesti Välisministeerium, Tallinn Islandi 1990–92 Saksamaa 1990–92 Taani Soome USA 1990–91 (I), 1991–92 (II) Venemaa/Ukraina (1990–91) Saksa (1991–2/1993) ÜLD

Estonian Embassy, London Copy of Toomas Hendrik Ilves’ speech at Chatham House, London on 4 May 1999 (off the record): ‘Estonia and the state of change in European security’

Rahvusarhiivi Eraarhiiviosakond—endine Parteiarhiiv (Tallinn, Estonia) 1–5-EKP KK üldosakonna ‘eri kaust’ 1945–89 1–43-EKP KK üldosakond 1989 a.: Ideoloogia komisjon, Riigiõiguse osakond 1–44-EKP KK üldosakond 1990 a.: Ideoloogia osakond 1–45-EKP KK NLKP platvormil (nn.Annuse partei) 1990–91: Ideoloogia osakonna koostatud analüüsid ühiskondlik-poliitilisest situatioonist Eestis mais-juunis 1991 1–50-EKP KK; Eesti Demokraatlik Tööpartei 1992–94

Theses and Papers (that include references to or are based on classified material) Johannesson, Gudni T., ‘Studningur Islands vid sjalfstaedisbarattu Eystrasaltsrikjanna 1990’, MA thesis, University of Iceland (1997) (translated notes provided by the author)

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——,‘The Might of the Weak? Icelandic Support for Baltic Independence, 1990–91’, paper based on MA thesis, Oxford (1998). Kolga, Margus, ‘Uuev NATO: Eesti-NATO suhted 1989–98’, Tartu University: Peaseminaaritöö), Tallinn (1999). Mertes, Michael, extracts from his diary. ——,‘Die Entstehung des Zehn-Punkte-Programms vom 28. November 1989’, April 2000 version. Sakkov, Sven, ‘NATO Enlargement: The Case of the Baltic States’, MPhil thesis, University of Cambridge (1997).

Oral Evidence Personal Interviews in 1998–2000 (the position indicated is that held at the time of the interview or that relevant for this book)

Estonia Toomas Hendrik Ilves, minister of foreign affairs (1996–98, 1999–2001), 5 May 1999 in London. Sulev Kannike, ambassador, head of Estonian mission to NATO, 6 September 1999 in Brussels. Toivo Klaar, diplomatic counsellor to the Estonian president, 20 October 1999 in Tallinn. Clyde Kull, deputy under-secretary, ministry of foreign affairs, 18 May 1999 in Tallinn. Lauri Lepik, first secretary (political), Estonian embassy in Washington (1996–), 25 January 2000 in Washington, DC. Tiit Matsulevits, Estonian ambassador to Germany (1999–96) and to Russia (1998–), 30 October 1999 in Tallinn. Sven Sakkov, defence policy counsellor, Estonian mission to NATO (1998–2001), 6 September 1999 in Brussels. Kyllike Sillaste, director, political planning division, ministry of foreign affairs, 18 May 1999 in Tallinn. Heiki Sirkel, German affairs desk officer, ministry of foreign affairs (1994–98), 25 November 1999 in Tallinn. Sander Soone, director, division of security policy and international organisations, ministry of foreign affairs, 19 May 1999 in Tallinn. Alar Streimann, deputy under-secretary, ministry of foreign affairs, 25 November 1999 in Tallinn. Kaja Tael, advisor to the minister on Estonian-Russian relations, ministry of foreign affairs, 9 November 1999 in Tallinn. Kaili Terras, German desk officer, ministry of foreign affairs, 18 November 1999 in Tallinn.

Finland Mari Eteläpää, desk officer, defence policy department, defence ministry, 2 November 1999 in Helsinki. Juha Harjula, deputy director, defence policy department, defence ministry, 29 October 1999 in Helsinki. Pauli Järvenpää, head of Finnish mission to NATO, 30 September 1999 in Brussels. Jukka Knuuti, security policy advisor in the department of defence policy, defence ministry, 19 October 1999 in Helsinki. Kari Möttölä, specialist researcher, ministry of foreign affairs (1989–99), 27 October 2000 in Helsinki. René Nyberg, deputy director general, division for eastern affairs, ministry of foreign affairs, 18 October 1999 in Helsinki.

(East/West) Germany Norbert Baas, director, division of northern and east and central European countries, foreign ministry, 9 September 1999 and 17 September 1999 in Bonn.

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Egon Bahr, deputy under-secretary and minister of ‘special affairs’ (1969–74), 19 May 1998 in Bonn. Joachim Bitterlich, foreign political advisor to the chancellor (1993–98), German permanent representative to NATO (1998–99), 6 September 1999 in Brussels. Jobst Echterling, defence attaché, German embassy in Helsinki (1997–2000), 29 October 1999. Hans-Dietrich Genscher, (West) German foreign minister (1974–92), 26 March 1998 and 14 April 1999 in Bonn. Hans-Henning Horstmann, deputy political director, foreign ministry (1996–99), 7 September 1999 in Berlin. Hans-Dieter Lucas, Baltic desk officer, foreign ministry (1991–96), 10 February 2000 in Washington DC. Lothar de Maizière, (East) German prime minister (March-August 1990) and foreign minister (August-November 1990), 17 April 1998 in Berlin. Michael Mertes, director, policy analysis and speech-writing unit, (West) German chancellery (1987–98), 8 September 1999 in Bonn. Hans-Friedrich von Ploetz, permanent under-secretary, foreign ministry (1995–99), 17 September 1999 in Bonn. Heinrich Rentmeister, head, office of defence minister Volker Rühe (1992–98), 23 March 1999 in Bonn. Gerhard Enver Schrömbgens, German ambassador to Estonia (1998-), 19 November 1999 in Tallinn. Marlies Stecher, permanent representative, German embassy in Tallinn, 19 November 1999. Günther Verheugen, Staatsminister, foreign ministry (Oct. 1998-Oct 1999), 6 September 1999 in Bonn. Admiral Ulrich Weisser, Leiter des Planungsstabes, defence ministry (1992–98), 26 March 1999 in Düsseldorf. Richard von Weizsäcker, (West) German president (1984–94), 14 April 1998 and 29 April 1999 in Berlin. Henning von Wistinghausen, German ambassador to Estonia (1991–95) and to Finland (1999-), 26 October 1999 in Helsinki.

Lithuania Laima Andrekiene, minister for European affairs (December 1996-March 1998), 24 May 1999 in Vilnius. Rokas Bernotas, deputy foreign minister, 24 May 1999 in Vilnius. Kazys Bobelis, member, foreign relations committee, Lithuanian parliament, 25 May 1999 in Vilnius. Jolanta Jacovskiene, advisor for foreign affairs to Vytautis Landsbergis (1991–2; 1996-), 24 May 1999 and 25 May 1999 in Vilnius.

United States Damian R.Leader, deputy director, office of Nordic and Baltic affairs, department of state (1998-), 9 February 2000 in Washington DC. Closed Seminars/Personal Conversations University of Cambridge, Centre of International Studies, Research Tour: Baltic Republics, 17–26 May 1999

Tallinn, Estonia 18–19 May 1999 Toomas Hendrik Ilves, Estonian foreign minister Tunne Kelam, deputy speaker of the Estonian parliament Jüri Luik, Estonian Defence Minister

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Aivo Orav, Bureau of security policy, Estonian ministry of foreign affairs Hendrik Praks, Estonian ministry of defence Sven Sakkov, defence policy counsellor at the Mission of Estonia to NATO Kyllike Sillaste, director of political planning division, Estonian ministry of foreign affairs Kaja Tael, advisor of the ministry on Estonian-Russian relations, Estonian ministry of foreign affairs

Riga, Latvia 20–21 May 1999 Heidi Bottolfs, OSCE Mission in Latvia Ludmilla Buligina, head of Western Europe division, Latvian ministry of foreign affairs Nils Janssons, head of security policy division, Latvian ministry of foreign affairs Inese Paune, senior inspector of the international relations department, Latvian ministry of interior Juris Puikans, Russia and CIS Department, Latvian ministry of foreign affairs Inna Steinbucka, Latvian ministry of finance Zane Zeibote, EU Department, Latvian ministry of foreign affairs

Vilnius, Lithuania 24–25 May 1999 Rimantas Dagys, member of the Lithuanian Social-Democratic Party Povilas Gylys, member of the Lithuanian Democratic Labour Party faction of the Lithuanian parliament Kestutis Janskauskas, head of security policy division, Lithuanian ministry of foreign affairs Andrius Kubilius, deputy chair of the Lithuanian parliament, member of the board of the Homeland Union Darius Kuolys, advisor on social policy to the Lithuanian president Klaudijus Maniokas, director of integration strategy, European committee of the government of Lithuania Romualdas Ozalas, deputy chair of the Lithuanian parliament, leader of the Centre Union Darius Pranckevicius, head of economic co-operation division, Lithuanian ministry of foreign affairs Vitalijus Sapronas, head of multilateral projects section, Lithuanian ministry of defence Council on Foreign Relations/Joint Baltic American National Committee, Inc. 10 February 2000, Washington DC, USA

The US-Baltic Charter at Age Two: Achievements, Problems, and Prospects (a) Socio-political achievements and future challenges Stephen Flanagan, director INSS, National Defense University Paul Goble, communications director, RFE/RL Väinö Reinart, director-general, political department, Estonian ministry of foreign affairs

(b) Economic achievements and future challenges Giedrius Cekuolis, director of multilateral relations department, Lithuanian ministry of foreign affairs Glenn Jackson, Williams International, director, federal government affairs Conrad Tribble, Northern Europe Initiative (NEI) coordinator, US Department of State

(c) Security achievements and future challenges Major Gen.H.A.Kievenaar, US Army (Ret.), SAIC Stephen Larrabee, senior analyst, RAND Edgar Rinckevics, state secretary, Latvian ministry of defence

(d) Luncheon remarks Strobe Talbott, deputy secretary, US department of state

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Other participants included government officials from the United States and the three Baltic states such as Ronald D.Asmus and Damian Leader (US state department), Margus Kolga (Estonian ministry of defence), Rolandas Paksas (office of the Lithuanian president) and the Baltic states’ Washington embassy staff. ICBH/GHI Witness Seminar: Anglo-German Relations and German Reunification 18 October 2000, German Historical Institute London, England

Witnesses Sir Michael Alexander, GCMG, ambassador and UK permanent representative on the North Atlantic Council (1986–92) Sir Rodric Braithwaite, GCMG, UK ambassador to Russia (1988–92) Sir Michael Burton, KCVO, CMG, minister, Berlin (1985–92), member, Commission of Allies (1990), head of embassy office (1990–92) Sir David Goodall, GCMG, minister, Bonn (1979–82), deputy secretary, cabinet office (1982–84), deputy under-secretary of state, foreign and commonwealth office (1984–87), high commissioner to India (1987–91) Sir Christopher Mallaby, GCMG, GCVO, UK ambassador to Germany (1988–92) Markus Meckel, MdB, East German foreign minister (April-August 1990) Colin Munro, deputy head of mission East Berlin (1987–90), consul general in Frankfurt a. M. (1990–93) P.Laurence O’Keeffe, CMG, CVO, UK ambassador to Czechoslovakia (1988–1991) Hermann Frhr von Richthofen, German ambassador to London (1988–93)

Memoirs Albrecht, Ulrich, Die Abwicklung der DDR (Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag, 1992). Attali, Jacques, Verbatim: Chronique des années 1988–91, vol. III (Paris: Fayard, 1995). Bahr, Egon, Zu meiner Zeit (Munich: Blessing, 1996). Baker, James A., Drei Jahre, die die Welt veränderten: Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1996). ——, The Politics of Diplomacy: Revolution, War, and Peace, 1989–92 (New York: Putnam’s, 1995). Bush, George, and Scowcroft, Brent, A World Transformed (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1998). Falin, Valentin, Politische Erinnerungen (Munich: Knaur, 1993). ——, Konflikte im Kreml, trans. Helmut Ettinger (Munich: Blessing, 1997). Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1995). Gorbachev, Mikhail S., Memoirs (London: Bantam, 1995). Gorbatschow, Michail S., Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1995). ——, Wie es war: Die deutsche Wiedervereinigung (Berlin: Ullstein, 1999). Hutchings, Robert L., American Diplomacy and the End of the Cold War (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1998). Kelam, Tunne, Tunne Kelam—Eluloointervjuu (Tallinn: SE&JS, 1999). Klein, Hans, Es begann im Kaukasus, 2nd edn (Berlin: Ullstein, 1991). Kiessler, Richard, and Elbe, Frank, Ein runder Tisch mit scharfen Ecken (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1993). Kohl, Helmut, Ich wollte Deutschlands Einheit (Berlin: Propyläen, 1996). Koivisto, Mauno, Kaksi kautta I, II (Helsinki: Kirjayhtymä, 1994–95). Krenz, Egon, Wenn Mauern fallen—Die friedliche Revolution (Vienna: Paul Neff, 1990). Kwitzinskij, Julij A., Vor dem Sturm (Berlin: Siedler, 1993). Laar, Mart, Teine Eesti: Eesti iseseisvuse taassünd 1986–91, 2 vols (Tallinn: SE&JS, 1996). Landsbergis, Vytautas, Lithuania—Independent Again, prepared for an Englishspeaking audience by Anthony Packer and Eimutis Sova (Cardiff: University of Wales Press, 2000). Mitterrand, François, Über Deutschland (Frankfurt a.M.: Insel, 1996).

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Modrow, Hans, Ich wollte ein neues Deutschland (Berlin: Dietz, 1998). –—, Aufbruch und Ende, 2nd edn (Hamburg: Konkret Literatur Verlag, 1991). Oplatka, Andreas, Lennart Meri—Ein Leben für Estland (Zürich: Verlag Neue Züricher Zeitung, 1999). Palazchenko, Pavel, My Years with Gorbachev and Shevardnadze: The Memoir of a Soviet Interpreter (University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997). Schabowski, Günter, Der Absturz (Berlin: Rowohlt, 1991). Scharping, Rudolf, Wir dürfen nicht wegsehen: Der Kosovo-Krieg und Europa (Berlin: Ullstein, 1999). Schäuble, Wolfgang, Der Vertrag (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1991). Schmidt, Helmut, Menschen und Mächte, 2nd edn (Berlin: Goldmann, 1991). Shevardnadze, Eduard A., The Future Belongs to Freedom, trans. Catherine A. Fitzpatrick (London: Sinclair-Stevenson, 1991). Teltschik, Horst, 329 Tage (Berlin: Goldmann, 1993). Thatcher, Margaret, The Downing Street Years (London: HarperCollins, 1993). Walters, Vernon, Die Vereinigung war voraussehbar, trans. Helmut Ettinger (Berlin: Siedler, 1994). Weizsäcker, Richard von, Vier Zeiten: Erinnerungen (Berlin: Siedler, 1998). Zelikow, Philip, and Rice, Condoleezza, Germany Unified and Europe Transformed (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997).

Printed Official Sources Archiv der Gegenwart (print and CD-ROM) Bulletin des Presse- und Informationsamtes der Bundesregierung Der Bundesminister des Auswärtigen informiert Deutschland-Archiv Dokumente der Wiedervereinigung Deutschlands Dokumente zur Deutschlandpolitik Europa-Archiv Stenographische Berichte des Bundestages Stichworte zur Sicherheitspolitik Texte zur Deutschlandpolitik Biermann, Rafael, ‘Moskau und die deutsche Wiedervereinigung: Zwei Interviews’, OsteuropaArchiv, 3 (1998), pp. A99–A111. Bundesministerium des Inneren unter Mitwirkung des Bundesarchivs (eds), Deutsche Einheit: Sonderedition aus den Akten des Bundeskanzleramtes 1989/90 (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1998). Deutscher Bundestag, Referat Öffentlichkeitsarbeit (ed.), Berlin-Bonn, die Debatte—Alle Bundestagsreden vom 20. Juni 1991 (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1991). Eesti Kaitseministeerium, Eesti NATO lävepakul: 80-aastane Eesti kaitsevägi (Tallinn, 1999). Gorbatschow, Michail S., Gipfelgespräche (Berlin: Rohwolt, 1993). Küchenmeister, Daniel (ed.), Honecker-Gorbatschow: Vieraugengespräche (Berlin: Dietz, 1993). Kuhn, Ekkehard, Gorbatschow und die deutsche Einheit (Bonn: Bouvier, 1993). Meri, Lennart, Botschaften und Zukunftsvisionen: Reden des estnischen Präsidenten (Bonn: Bouvier, 1999). Ministry of National Defence of the Republic of Lithuania, White Paper ’99 (Vilnius: Ministry of National Defence, 1999). Münch, Ingo von, Dokumente des geteilten Deutschlands, 2 vols (Stuttgart: Kröner, 1974 and 1976). Münch, Ingo von (ed.), Die Verträge zur Einheit Deutschlands, 2nd edn (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1992). Nakath, Detlef, and Stephan, Gerd-Rüdiger, Von Hubertusstock nach Bonn (Berlin: Dietz, 1996).

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——, Countdown zur deutschen Einheit (Berlin: Dietz, 1996). Nakath, Detlef, Neugebauer, Gero, and Stephan, Gerd-Rüdiger (eds), ‘Im Kreml brennt noch Licht’ (Berlin: Dietz, 1998). Statistical Office of Estonia, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in Figures 1999 (Tallinn: ESA, 1999). ——, Statistical Yearbook of Estonia 1999 (CD-ROM) (Tallinn: ESA, 1999). Stephan, Gerd-Rüdiger (ed.), ‘Vorwärts immer, rückwärts nimmer!’ (Berlin: Dietz, 1994). Ulkopoliittisia Lausuntoja ja Asiakirjoja, 1989–94 (Helsinki: Ulkoasianministeriö, 1989–94).

SELECTED SECONDARY MATERIALS Books Adomeit, Hannes, Imperial Overstretch (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1998). Anderson, Jeffrey J., German Unification and the Union of Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). Arnswald, Sven, EU Enlargement and the Baltic States (Helsinki: UPI, 2000). Arnswald, Sven, and Wenig, Marcus (eds), German and American Policies towards the Baltic States (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2000). Ash, Timothy Garton, History of the Present (London: Penguin, 1999). ——, In Europe’s Name (New York: Vintage, 1994). Bach, Jonathan P.G., Between Sovereignty and Integration (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1999). Bahr, Egon, Deutsche Interessen (Munich: Blessing, 1998). Baranovsky, Vladimir (ed.), Russia and Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Baring, Arnulf (ed.), Germany’s New Position in Europe (Oxford: Berg, 1994). Bender, Peter, Die ‘Neue Ostpolitik’ und ihre Folgen, 4th edn (Munich: Deutscher Taschenbuch Verlag, 1996). Beschloss, Michael R., and Talbott, Strobe, At the Highest Levels (New York: Little, Brown, 1993). Bierling, Stefan G., Wirtschaftshilfe für Moskau (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1998). Biermann, Rafael, Zwischen Kreml und Kanzleramt (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1997). Blackbourn, David, and Eley, Geoff, The Peculiarities of German History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984). Blank, Stephen J., NATO Enlargement and the Baltic States (Carlisle, PA: SSI, 1997). Bracher, Karl D., Eschenburg, Theodor, Fest, Johannes C., and Jäckel, Eberhard (eds), Geschichte der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, 5 vols, vol. II (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1981–87). Brechtefeld, Jörg, Mitteleuropa and German Politics (London: Macmillan, 1996). Bremmer, Ian, and Taras, Ray, New States, New Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997). Bungs, Dzintra, The Baltic States (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1998). Clemens, Walter C. Jr., Baltic Independence and Russian Empire (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1991). Dyson, Kenneth H.F., and Featherstone, Kevin, The Road to Maastricht (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999). Evans, Richard J., Rereading German History (London: Routledge, 1997). Favier, Pierre, and Martin-Roland, Michel, La décennie de Mitterrand, 4 vols (Paris: éditions du seuil, 1990–99). Fulbrook, Mary, German National Identity after the Holocaust (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1999). Gaddis, John Lewis, We Know Now (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Gerner, Kristian, and Hedlund, Stefan, The Baltic States and the End of the Soviet Empire (London: Routledge, 1993). Gordon, Philip H. (ed.), NATO’s Transformation (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 1997). Gorodetsky, Gabriel (ed.), Soviet Foreign Policy 1917–91 (London: Frank Cass, 1994).

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Grosser, Dieter, Das Wagnis der Währungs-, Wirtschafts- und Sozialunion, vol. II (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1998). Gruner, Wolf D., Die deutsche Frage (Munich: Beck, 1985). Guérin-Sendelbach, Valerie, Frankreich und das vereinigte Deutschland (Opladen: Leske & Budrich, 1999). Hacke, Christian, Die Außenpolitik der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, updated edn (Frankfurt a.M.: Ullstein, 1997). Heisenberg, Dorothee, The Mark of the Bundesbank (London: Lynne Rienner, 1999). Herbst, Ludolf, Option für den Westen, 2nd edn (Munich: DTV, 1996). Heurlin, Bertel (ed.), Germany in Europe in the Nineties (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1996). Heurlin, Bertel, and Hansen, Birthe (eds), The Baltic States in World Politics (Richmond: Curzon Press, 1998). Hiden, John, The Baltic States and Weimar Ostpolitik (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987). ——, Germany and Europe 1919–39, 2nd edn (Harlow: Longman, 1993). Hiden, John, and Lane, Thomas, The Baltic and the Outbreak of the Second World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.) Hiden, John, and Salmon, Patrick, The Baltic Nations and Europe (London: Longman, 1994). Hildebrand, Klaus, Das vergangene Reich, 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1996). Hillgruber, Andreas, Deutsche Geschichte 1945–75, 3rd edn (Frankfurt a.M: Ullstein, 1980). Jäckel, Eberhard, Das deutsche Jahrhundert (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1996). Jäger, Wolfgang, Die Überwindung der Teilung, vol. III (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1998). James, Harold, A German Identity (London: Phoenix, 1994). Jarausch, Konrad H., The Rush to German Unity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). Jarausch, Konrad H. (ed.), After Unity (Oxford: Berghahn, 1997). Jarausch, Konrad H., and Siegrist, Hannes, Amerikanisierung und Sowjetisierung in Deutschland (Frankfurt am Main: Campus, 1997). Jarausch, Konrad H., and Sabrow, Martin (eds), Weg in den Untergang (Göttingen: Vandenhoek & Ruprecht, 1999). Kaiser, Karl, Deutschlands Vereinigung—Die internationalen Aspekte, 2nd edn (BergischGladbach: Bastei-Lübbe, 1993). Kaiser, Karl, Maull, Hans W., Krause, Joachim, and Eberwein, Wolf-Dieter (eds), Deutschlands neue Auβenpolitik, 4 vols (Munich: Oldenbourg, 1994–8). Katzenstein, Peter J. (ed.), Tamed Power (London: Cornell University Press, 1997). Kielmansegg, Peter Graf von, Deutschland und der Erste Weltkrieg (Frankfurt a.M.: Athenaion, 1968). Kirby, David G., The Baltic World 1772–1993 (London: Longman, 1995). Knudsen, Olav F. (ed.), Stability and Security in the Baltic Sea Region (London: Frank Cass, 1999). Korte, Karl-Rudolf, Deutschlandpolitik in Helmut Kohls Kanzlerschaft, vol. I (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1998). Lankowski, Carl (ed.), Breakdown, Breakup, Breakthrough—Germany’s Difficult Passage to Modernity (Oxford: Berghahn, 1999). Loquai, Heinz, Der Kosovo-Konflikt—Wege in einen vermeidbaren Krieg (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2000). Lauristin, Marju, Vihalemm, Peeter with Rosengren, Karl E., and Weibull, Lennart (eds), Return to the Western World (Tartu: Tartu University Press, 1997). Lebow, Richard N., and Risse-Kappen, Thomas (eds), International Relations Theory and the End of the Cold War (New York: Columbia University Press, 1995). Lejins, Atis, and Ozolina, Zaneta, Small States in a Turbulent Environment (Riga: LIIA, 1997). Lieven, Anatol, Chechnya, Tombstone of Russian Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998).

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——, The Baltic Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). Loth, Wilfried, Die Teilung der Welt 1941–55, 8th edn (Munich: DTV, 1990). Lukkari, Matti, Viron itsenäistyminen, 2nd edn (Helsinki: Otava, 1996). Lutz, Dieter S. (ed.), Der Kosovo-Krieg (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1999/2000). ——(ed.), Das Undenkbare denken—Festschrift für Egon Bahr zum siebzigsten Geburtstag (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1992). Maier, Charles S., Dissolution (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997). ——, The Unmasterable Past, 2nd edn (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1997). Mandelbaum, Michael (ed.), A New Russian Foreign Policy (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1998). Marsh, David, Germany and Europe (London: Heinemann, 1994). Mastny, Vojtech, The Cold War and Soviet Insecurity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). McAdams, A.James, Germany Divided (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993). Meissner, Boris, Auf dem Weg zur Wiedervereinigung Deutschlands und zur Normalisierung der deutsch-russischen Beziehungen (Berlin: Berlin Verlag, 2000). ——, Die baltischen Nationen, 2nd edn (Cologne: Markus, 1991) Meissner, Boris (ed.), Die baltischen Staaten im weltpolitischen und völkerrechtlichen Wandel (Hamburg: Bibliotheca Baltica, 1995). Meissner, Boris, Loeber, Dietrich A., and Hasselblatt, Cornelius (eds), Die Auβenpolitik der baltischen Staaten und die internationalen Beziehungen im Ostseeraum (Hamburg: Bibliotheca Baltica, 1994). Müller, Rolf-Dieter, and Ueberschär, Gerd R., Hitlers Krieg im Osten 1941–1945 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 2000). Myllyniemi, Seppo, Die baltische Krise 1938–41, trans. Dietrich Assmann (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlags-Anstalt, 1979). Nipperdey, Thomas, Deutsche Geschichte 1800–1918, 3 vols, special edn (Munich: Beck, 1998). ——, Nachdenken über die deutsche Geschichte (Munich: Beck, 1986). Nordberg, Erkki, The Baltic Republics (Helsinki: National Defence College, 1994). Oberdorfer, Don, The Turn—How the Cold War Came to an End (London: Cape, 1992). Oberländer, Erwin (ed.), Hitler-Stalin-Pakt 1939 (Frankfurt a.M.: Fischer Taschenbuch Verlag, 1989). Odom, William E., The Collapse of the Soviet Military (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1998). Otte, Max with Greve, Jürgen, A Rising Middle Power? (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). Parrot, Bruce, State Building and Military Power in Russia and the New States of Eurasia (London: M.E.Sharpe, 1998). Philippi, Nina, Bundeswehr-Auslandseinsätze als auβen- und sicherheitspolitisches Problem des geeinten Deutschlands (Frankfurt a.M: Lang, 1997). Pond, Elizabeth, Beyond the Wall (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1993). Puheloinen, Ari, Russia’s Geopolitical Interests in the Baltic Area (Helsinki: National Defence College, 1999). Raitviir, Tiina, Eesti Üleminekuperioodi Valmiste (1989–93) (Tallinn: Estonian Academy Publishers, 1996). Raun, Toivo U., Estonia and the Estonians, 2nd edn (Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press, Stanford University, 1991). Reich, Simon, and Markovits, Andrei S., The German Predicament (New York: Cornell University Press, 1997). Reynolds, David J., One World Divisible (New York: Norton & Company, 2000). Rothfels, Hans, Bismarck, der Osten und das Reich (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1960). Rouget, Werner, Schwierige Nachbarschaft am Rhein, Frankreich-Deutschland (Bonn: Bouvier, 1998).

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Wilds, Karl, ‘Identity Creation and the Culture of Contrition: Recasting “Normality” in the Berlin Republic’, German Politics, 1 (2000), pp. 83–102. Zimmer, Matthias, ‘From the National State to the Rational State and Back?’, German Politics, 3 (1999), pp. 21–2. ——, ‘Return of the Mittellage. The Discourse of the Centre in German Foreign Policy’, German Politics, 1 (1997), pp. 23–38.

Index

Agency for Technical Co-operation, 165 Agenda 2000 see European Community/European Union Agenda der Beziehungen Deutschlands zu den Baltischen Staaten, 190 Ahtisaari, Martti, 144 Airborne Warning and Control Systems, 93 Atlantic Alliance see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Adenauer, Konrad, 64, 88 Alexander von Humboldt Stiftung, 164 Alldeutscher Verband, 58 Allianz für Deutschland, 9, 10, 42 n.41 Alsace Lorrainers, 56 Amsterdam, 191 ‘appeasement’, 178, 183 Austria, 105, 106 Austro-Hungarian empire, 56 AWACS see Airborne Warning and Control Systems Bach, Jonathan, 72 Bahr, Egon, 133 Bailey, George, 207 Bakatim, Vadim, 30 Baker, James A., 13, 90 Balkans, 132, 144; and Balkan Stability Pact, 144 BALTBAT see Baltic Battalion BALTDEFCOL see Baltic Defence College Baltic Airspace Surveillance Network, 186 Baltic Battalion, 186 Baltic Charter, 193 Baltic Defence College, 186 Baltic Germans, 56, 159, 162 Baltic Naval Squadron, 186 Baltic Sea, 158 Baltic states, 1, 3, 5, 19–23, 147, 156–97, 211–13; and bloodshed in Vilnius and Riga, 32, 33; and bilateral help to Estonia/Baltics by Germany, 163–4, 179, 212; and compensation for Nazi victims by Germany, 178, 179; and CSCE, 171;

Index

228

and defence forces, 181, 186; and EU enlargement, 171, 180, 187–95, 212; and Germany, 156–97; and independence struggle, 2, 5;19–36, 47 n.115, 162; and NATO enlargement, 180–5, 190, 192, 195, 196, 212; and non-recognition of Baltic annexation, 22, 23, 24, 28, 29, 35, 48 n.120, 160; popular fronts, 20, 21; and Russia, 19–34, 36–8, 157, 159, 166, 172–85, 192, 195; and Russian speaking minorities, 137, 175–7, 179, 184; and Russian troop withdrawal, 173–9, 195; and security, 170; and Supreme Soviets in the Baltics, 21, 48 n.122; and territorial claims, 174, 184, 200 n.61; and transformation process, 162–71, 212; and trilateral military co-operation, 186; and UN, 171; see also Genscher, Germany, Gorbachev, Kinkel, Kohl, Rühe, Russia, Soviet Union, Yeltsin Baltikum, 158 BALTNET see Baltic Airspace Surveillance Network Balto-Slavic languages, 157 BALTRON see Baltic Naval Squadron Basic Law, 165, 210; and Maastricht Treaty, 101; and military deployment, 87, 88, 92, 210; and unification, 9, 10, 12, 64, 69, 79 n.52, 160 Beamten, 57 Belarus, 127 Belgrade, 143, 144 Berlin, 1, 2, 3, 34, 111, 156, 191; and fall of the Berlin Wall, 6, 7, 39 n.3; see also Berlin Republic, Germany Berlin Republic/Berliner Republik, 70, 145; and East Berlin, 71 Bierling, Stefan G., 13 Bismarck, Otto von, 58, 70 Bitterlich, Joachim, 189 Blackbourn, David, 62 Black Sea, 158 BMF (Bundesministerium der Finanzen) see federal ministry of finance BMZ (Bundesministerium für wirtschaftliche Zusammenarbeit und Entwicklung) see Federal Ministry for Economic Co-operation and Development Bonn/Bonn Republic, 1, 2, 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19, 23, 25, 26, 28, 30, 34, 37, 38, 65, 67, 68, 70, 71, 86, 90, 91, 103, 112, 119, 122, 123, 132, 142, 146, 156, 160, 176, 191, 207; see also Germany Bonn-Moscow axis, 143, 156, 160, 211 Bosnia-Herzegovina; and wars 90–5, 138, 210 Brandt, Willy, 122 Brezshnev Doctrine, 6 ‘brown past’, 209 Budapest, 137 Bulgaria, 187

Index

229

Bundesbank, 10, 164; and EMU/euro, 100, 101, 103, 104, 111, 210; and gold reserves, 103 Bundesrat, 101 Bundestag, 12, 164; and military participation of Bundeswehr in out-of-area operations, 90, 94, 210 Burlakov, Matvei, 131 Bush, George, 12, 13, 23, 26, 27, 31 Bosnian wars, 94, 95 Bundeswehr, 75, 86, 87; and Bosnian wars, 93, 210; and Bundeswehrplan, 92, 93; and ‘out-of-area debate’, 73, 87, 88, 89, 96, 210 Cambodia see UN missions (peace keeping) CAP see Common Agricultural Policy Carrington, Lord, 90 Catholic church, 157 CBSS see Council of Baltic Sea states CDU see Christian Democratic Union CEEC see Central and eastern European countries Central and eastern European countries, 119, 120, 121, 133, 170, 171, 186, 191, 195; and EU, 106, 107, 196, 213; and NATO, 141, 162, 196 Central position see Mittellage CFE treaty see Conventional Armed Forces in Europe Treaty Chechnya, 136, 137, 139, 144, 145, 194; see also Russia Chernomyrdin, Viktor, 131, 143, 192 China, 6 Christian Democratic Union, 9, 10, 12, 70, 72, 73, 87 Christian Socialist Union, 34, 72, 87 CIS see Commonwealth of Independent States Civilian power, 65, 89, 92, 98, 111 ‘clash of civilisations’, 157 Clinton, Bill, 129; and NATO enlargement, 135; see also United States Cold War, 54, 63–7, 68, 70, 86, 105, 110, 119, 121, 132, 142, 160, 161, 207, 208, 209, 213 Cold War’s Endgame, 5 collective memory, 66, 73 colonialism, 58 Common Agricultural Policy, 109 Commonwealth of Independent States, 126, 138 Communism 1, 7, 73, 74, 121, 124, 125, 161; and collapse/crisis, 5, 6, 36, 125 conservative ruling elite, 58 Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE), 8, 31, 34, 135, 160, 174 Constitutional Court, 12, 165; and Maastricht Treaty, 101; and ‘out-of-area’ military deployment decision, 87, 94, 95

Index

230

Conventional Armed Forces in Europe Treaty, 139 Council of Baltic Sea States, 172, 173, 192 Council of Europe; and Baltic states, 172, 175, 177; and Russia, 139, 175, 177 Croatian independence, 89–91 CSCE see Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe CSU see Christian Socialist Union culture-nation, see Germany culture of remembrance, 75, 76 ‘culture of restraint’, 92, 95, 110, 111 Cyprus 109; and EU enlargement, 109 Czechoslovakia, 5 Czech Republic, 133, 142; and EU enlargement, 106, 108, 109, 187; and NATO enlargement, 108, 137, 141, 146, 181, 182, 184, 185, 193, 196, 212 Czempiel, Otto-Ernst, 72 DAAD see Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst Däubler-Gmelin, Herta, 73 Dayton Peace Accords see Yugoslavia DDP see Deutsche Demokratische Partei Delors, Jacques, 99; and Delors report, 100 Demokratischer Aufbruch, 42 n.41 Denmark; and the Baltic states, 24, 25, 31–6, 193, 196; and EU enlargement, 190, 193 Détente, 122, 170 Deutsche Demokratische Partei, 60 Deutsche Fortschrittspartei, 57 Deutsche Frage, 54 Deutsche Freisinnige Partei, 57 Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst, 164, 165 Deutsche Sozialunion, 42 n.41 Deutsche Stiftung für internationale rechtliche Zusammenarbeit, 164 Deutsche Volkshochschule, 164 Deutsche Volkspartei, 60 Deutsche Welle, 164 Deutschland, 56 Deutschlandfrage, 54 Deutsche Mark, 6, 9, 11, 30, 37, 100, 101, 111 ‘Deutsche Mark nationalism’, 102 Deutschlandpolitik, 8, 24, 64 Deutschtum, 58; see also Germanness DFG (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft) see German Research Association Dolchstoβlegende, see ‘stab in the back legend’ Doppelte Vergangenheitsbewältigung, 74 Drang nach Osten, 56, 61

Index

231

Duma, 130; and elections (1993), 131, 135; and elections (1995), 139, 188 DVP, see Deutsche Volkspartei East-central Europe see central and eastern European countries Eastern Europe, 2, 6, 7, 15, 22, 23, 36, 37, 106, 137, 208; and economic assistance from Germany, 107; and integration into Western (EU/NATO) structures, 110, 171; and revolutions, 23, 208 Eastern European satellites, 7, 64, 121 ‘Eastern Locarno’, 56 East German military matériel; and Baltics, 170 East Germany see German Democratic Republic East-West conflict, 63, 160 East-West ‘love-affair’, 131 East-West partnership, 170, 173 East-West relations, 120, 129, 132 EBRD see European Bank for Reconstruction and Development EC see European Community/European Union ECB see European Central Bank Eesti Pank, 165 EFTA see European Free Trade Association Einbindungsraison, 122 Eley, Geoff, 62 EKP see Estonian Communist Party Ellemann-Jensen, Uffe, 31 EMS see European Monetary System EMU see (European) Economic and Monetary Union Estonia, 20, 157–65, 179, 185, 187, 189, 190, 191, 194, 195; and bilateral help to Estonia/Baltics by Germany, 163–4, 179, 212; and constitution, 165; and declaration of independence, 22; and defence forces, 170, 187; and economic reform, 21, 47 n.113, 165–7; and Estonian Communist Party, 21; and EU enlargement, 109, 171, 172, 187–91, 212; and NATO enlargement see Baltic states; and ‘phosphorite war’, 19; and privatisation, 165, 166; trade, 166; Rahvarinne, 20; and Russian-speaking minorities, 175–7, and Russian troop withdrawal, 175–7, 212; 184; see also Baltic states, Germany, Russia Estonian Communist Party, 21 EU see European Community/European Union EU association agreements, 107, 171 EU Europe agreements, 187 EU trade and co-operation agreements, 172

Index

232

Euro, 99 Europapolitik, 109 Europe, 1, 5, 53, 59, 61, 62, 63, 67, 70, 71, 86, 88, 99, 110, 119, 132, 140, 146, 158, 159, 161, 170, 181, 184, 194, 208, 209; and European security (architecture), 1, 3, 14, 108, 119, 124, 132, 133, 135, 136, 138, 142, 145, 146, 147, 157, 160–2, 179, 180, 184, 194, 196, 213 European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, 130 European Central Bank, 100, 104 European Community/European Union, 3, 16, 65, 68, 69, 71, 99, 132, 160, 171, 193, 194, 210; and acquis communautaire, 194; and Baltic states, 171, 180, 181, 187–95; Bosnia, 90, 92; budget, 102; and Commission avis, 191; and Copenhagen summit, 181; and Corfu European Council (1994), 107, 137; and deepening and widening debate, 108, 181; and enlargement, 3, 105–13, 171, 180, 181, 187–195; and Helsinki summit (1999), 110, 193, 194; and integration, 16, 68, 69, 99–101, 104, 105, 107, 110, 141, 171, 193, 213; and Luxemburg summit (1997), 108, 109, 190, 191; and ‘multispeed’ Europe, 108; and relations with Russia, 134, 137, 147; and ‘variable geometry’, 108 European Economic and Monetary Union, 16, 99, 100, 210; stability pact, 102 European Free Trade Association, 105, 106, 112 ‘Europeanisation’, 65 European Monetary System, 101 Evans, Richard, 62 FDP see Free Democratic Party Federal ministry for economic co-operation, 165 Federal Ministry of Finance, 165 Federal Republic of Germany, 1, 3, 5, 6, 7, 9, 10, 17, 18, 23, 37–9, 63–6, 68, 71, 73, 86, 99, 141, 160, 179, 207, 208, 210, 213; and economic power, 111, 123, 210; and Soviet Union, 122, 123, 160 Federation Council (Russia), 130 Finland, 182, 183; and Baltic states, 20, 166, 182, 188, 194; and Baltic defence forces, 170, 183, 187; and EU enlargement, 105, 106, 183, 188, 194 Finno-Ugric languages, 20, 157 Fischer, Joschka, 75; and Baltic states, 194; and Chechnya, 144, 145; and Europapolitik/his European vision, 104, 109, 110, 194; and ‘outspoken realpolitik’, 210; and Russia, 143–5, 147; see also Germany, Schröder

Index

233

First World War, 54, 59, 121, 159 Forth Reich, 29, 67 Four Powers/Victor Powers/Western Allies, 10, 11, 24, 63, 69; and Four Power rights, 8, 17 France, 5, 12, 15, 16, 38, 68, 96; and Baltic states, 188; and EU enlargement, 107 Franco-German axis, 100 Franco-German rivalry, 106 Franco-Russo-German troika, 143 Free Democratic Party, 70, 72, 73 ‘freedom of choice’, 6 FRG see Federal Republic of Germany Fukuyama, Francis, 136 G-7 see Group of Seven G-8 see Group of Eight GDR see German Democratic Republic Genscher, Hans-Dietrich, 12, 13, 34, 36, 69, 89, 135, 170; and all-European unity/idealism, 106, 110, 111, 124, 162; and Baltic states, 162, 171, 172; and CBSS, 172; and Genscher-Kohl rivalry/disagreements, 12, 36, 52 n.193, 162, 171; and Genscherism, 96; and Genscher and Soviet Union, 149 n.17; and ‘soft’ security policy, 171; and Yugoslavian wars, 91, 96; geopolitics/geopolitical situation, 1, 24, 55, 59, 62, 63, 67, 71, 105, 106, 112, 132, 133, 161, 183, 196, 213 German-Baltic co-operation/3+1 consultations, 190, 193 German Democratic Republic, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 15, 17, 18, 63–5, 68, 106, 160, 171, 207, 208, 213 German-Finnish language dispute, 110 German illiberalism, 62, 65, 69, 73, 207 Germanness, 58, 61, 113 ‘German Question’, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 15, 16, 23, 39, 53–76, 89, 91, 95, 99, 120, 121, 123, 124, 145, 146, 159, 160, 197, 207, 208, 213; and historical German Question, 54, 64, 67, 76, 119, 120, 124, 146, 160; and ‘new’ German Question, 54, 67, 68, 71, 76, 124, 211; and political German Question, 54, 64, 66, 67, 76, 160, 208; and German Question—concepts of civic culture, 54, 57, 59, 60–2, 65, 66, 68–70, 73, 76, 86, 112, 123, 161, 207, 208, 209, 213; identity, 54, 56–61, 64, 65, 67–70, 73, 76, 86, 123, 161, 207–9, 213; place 55, 59, 61, 70, 71, 76, 106, 111, 123, 134, 156, 196, 197, 207–9, 211, 213; power 55, 56, 58, 61, 65, 69–71, 73, 76, 86–8, 89, 91, 105, 106, 110, 111, 123, 134, 147, 156, 196, 197, 207–9, 211, 213; unity, 54, 57, 59, 61, 64, 66–8, 70, 76, 123, 207, 208, 213 German Research Association, 165 German-Russian friendship/partnership, 142, 146, 196, 212 Germany, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 16, 18, 37–9, 53–76, 77 n.2, 110–12, 160;

Index

234

and aggressive/bellicose expansionism (to the East), 37, 56, 58, 59, 61, 71, 120, 121, 123, 147, 159, 196, 207, 209, 210; and all-German elections (1990), 10, 37, 88, 100; and Baltic security, 170, 173, 179, 180, 186, 192, 196, 212; and Baltic states, 156–97, 212; and Baltics’ advocate, 3, 162, 170, 172, 176–181, 184, 189, 192, 194, 195, 197 n.12, 212; and bilateral help to Estonia/Baltics, 163–4, 179, 212; and bourgeoisie, 57, 58; and Causcasus summit (1990), 13, 28; and central power see Zentralmacht; and chancellery-foreign-ministry rivalry, 12, 137, 162, 171, 189, 191; and chancellery’s and president’s role, 176; and chequebook diplomacy, 26, 88, 109, 126, 128, 170, 173, 212; and civilian power, 18, 111; and confederation, 9; and Vertragsgemeinschaft, 8, 41 n.19; and culture-nation, 56, 58, 61, 158, 207, 209; and economic/financial assistance to USSR/Russia, 17, 18, 26, 30, 122, 126–132, 140, 143, 173, 211; economic ‘hegemony’ in CEEC, 106; Einigungsvertrag, 11; and EMU/euro, 99–105, 210; and EU ‘northern’/‘eastern’ enlargement, 105–13, 171, 181, 187, 193; and EU paymaster (debate), 101, 105, 108, 109, 112, 188, 193, 210; and ‘European interests’, 104, 111, 207; and great power (status), 2, 59, 60, 72, 86, 88, 104–6, 112, 134, 145, 147, 184, 209, 213; and historical responsibility/burden (Baltics and Nazi past), 23, 66, 68, 73, 75, 157, 161, 162, 179, 212; and international responsibilities (militarily), 91, 99, 209; and Machtbewuβtsein, 18, 69, 104, 105, 110, 211; and Machtvergessenheit, 65; and Machtversessenheit, 65; and military power/role, 72, 86, 89, 93–6, 98, 210; and nation-state, 55, 57, 58, 59, 61, 159, 207, 209; and national interests, 14, 18, 23, 38, 65, 70, 72, 99, 104, 108, 112, 119, 122, 123, 131, 135–7, 146, 179, 207, 210, 211, 212; and NATO enlargement, 136–42, 147, 180–5, 187, 211; and new assertiveness, 5, 67, 73, 89, 91, 104, 105, 108, 110–112, 123, 140, 144, 146, 147, 211; and normality/normalisation, 65–7, 71–3, 75, 76, 86–9, 95, 98, 112, 209, 210; and political interests/power politics, 3, 72, 99, 106–11, 209, 210; and politics of co-operation (and integration into West) of Russia/Yeltsin, 132, 133, 134, 137, 139, 141, 142, 143, 145–7, 171, 211; and politics of containment and reinsurance/security against Russia, 132, 134, 142, 146, 147, 212; and realism/pragmatism, 109, 110, 143, 211; and realpolitik, 18, 34, 38, 58, 98, 104, 133, 162, 171, 178, 179, 188, 189, 196, 210–12; and (re)unification, 1, 2, 5–19, 22–4, 27, 28, 39 n.2, 53, 63, 64, 67, 72, 122, 124, 133, 160, 161, 170, 208, 209; and Russia, 119–48, 159–60, 184; and sovereignty, 29, 53, 63, 65, 71–3, 75, 105, 112, 123–5, 146, 207, 209, 211; and ‘trading state’, 111, 209; and trade with Baltic states, 165–7;

Index

235

and treaty on partnership, neighbourliness and co-operation (1990), 125, 133; and treaty on some transitional measures (FRG-USSR, 1990), 17; and ‘unification from below’, 6, 7, 208; and visa-free travel with Baltics, 170; and West German-Soviet summit (1989), 8; see also Baltic states, Genscher, Gorbachev, Kinkel, Kohl, Rühe, Russia, Soviet Union, Weizsäcker, Yeltsin glasnost, 19, 20 Goethe Institut, 164 Goldhagen, Daniel, 74 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 6, 7, 8, 10, 12–17, 19–24, 26–32, 35, 36, 125, 129, 211; and crackdown on Baltics, 32–33, 51 n.174; and ‘new thinking’, 6; and power-struggle with Yeltsin, 31, 33, and putsch, 35; see also Baltic states, Germany, Russia Grachev, Pavel 130, 136 Great Depression, 61 Great War, 59 Greens, 70, 72, 89; and ‘green ideology’, 211; and Kosovo, 96, 97, 210 ‘grey zone’ (Baltic states), 156 Groβraumpolitik, 60 Groβwirtschaftsraum, 160 Group of Seven; and Russia, 130, 134, 141 Group of Eight, 141, 147 ‘group model’, 190 Gruner, Wolf D., 54 GTZ (Gesellschaft für Technische Zusammenarbeit) see Agency for Technical Co-operation Gulf War, 28, 29, 31, 32, 34, 86, 87, 88, 91, 210 Habermas, Jürgen, 72 Habsburg, 60 Hacke, Christian, 72 Haffner, Sebastian, 56 Halonen, Tarja, 190 Hannibalsson, Jon Baldvin, 24 ‘hard’ security policy/guarantees, 171, 172, 177, 179, 180, 181, 193 Heimatvertriebene, 12 Helsinki Final Act/process, 7, 22, 36, 124, 160 Hermes export credits, 18, 30, 126, 150 n.34 Herzog, Roman, 2; and Russia, 142; and Estonia, 165 Hildebrand, Klaus, 56, 60 ‘hinge policy’, 132; hinge power, 140 Historikerstreit, 66, 74; and second Historikerstreit, 74, 75

Index

236

Hitler, Adolf, 56, 60, 61, 74, 75, 121, 160, 207; and Zhirinovsky, 131 Hitler-Stalin Pact, 21, 22, 25, 47 n.114, 121, 159, 177, 195 Holy Roman Empire of German Nations, 56 Holocaust, 54, 61, 66; and Holocaust memorial, 74, 75 Honecker, Erich, 7, 8; and escape, 34 housing construction programme (for WGF), 128, 176 human rights, 136, 139; see also Russia Hungaro-Austrian border, 7 Hungary, 5, 133, 142; and EU enlargement, 106, 108, 109, 187 and NATO enlargement, 108, 137, 141, 145, 181, 182, 184, 185, 193, 196, 212 Huntington, Samuel, 157 Iceland; and the Baltic states, 24, 25, 31–6, 196 IFOR see Implementation Force IGC see Intergovernmental Conference Ilves, Toomas Hendrik, 190 IMF see International Monetary Fund imperialism, 58; and imperialist political ideology, 59 Implementation Force (Bosnian wars), 95 institutional Europe, 161 ‘institutional West’, 86, 157, 192, 195, 196 Intergovernmental Conference, 100 International Monetary Fund, 130; and Russia, 130, 134, 143 Iraq-Kuwait crisis, 29, 87 Irkutsk, 176 Iron curtain, 121, 170 Ischinger, Wolfgang, 76, 209 Israel and military equipment for Baltic states, 170 Jackson/Vanik amendment, 29 Janning, Josef, 72 Kabinettsausschuβ Deutsche Einheit, 10 Kallas, Siim, 189 Kalniningrad, 67, 141, 175, 195, 212 Katzenstein, Peter J., 65 KfW (Kreditanstalt für Wiederaufbau) see Reconstruction Loan Corporation Khasbulatov, Ruslan, 128, 130 Kinkel, Klaus, 189, 191; and attitudes behind his/Kohl’s Europapolitik, 109, 181, 190, 191; and Baltic states, 179, 182, 183, 189, 190, 191, 195; and Estonia, 190; and EU enlargement, 105, 106, 107, 189, 190, 191;

Index

237

and Germany’s normality, 72; and Kinkel-formula (NATO open-door policy), 185; and Kinkel-Rühe clash, 183; and NATO enlargement, 136, 182; and NATO-Russia relations, 140, 142; and ‘stadium model’ and EU enlargement, 190, 191; see also Baltic states, Germany, Kohl, European Community/European Union, Rühe Kohl, Helmut, 3, 5, 8–18, 23, 27, 28, 31, 36, 67, 69, 74, 75, 87, 88, 89, 108, 119, 133, 141, 143, 156, 179, 189, 192, 210; and attitudes behind his Europapolitik, 109, 110, 111, 210; and campaign for chancellery (1994), 128; and ‘chancellor of unity’, 9, 11, 24, 30, 37, 150 n.45; and Chefsache 46 n.100, 140; and compensation for Nazi victims in Russia, Belarus and Ukraine, 128; and cost of unification, 149 n.23, 171; and economic linkage (German-Soviet/Russian relations), 17, 18, 30, 35, 37, 122, 123, 127–31, 139–40, 143, 211; and EMU/euro, 99, 100–5, 112; and EU eastern enlargement, 106–8, 110, 112, 171, 187, 188, 189, 190, 210; and EU’s deepening and widening, 108, 181, 210; and Kohl-Gorbachev friendship, 19, 24, 30, 31, 38, 123, 125, 211; and Kohl-Yeltsin friendship, 3, 130, 133, 134, 137, 139, 140, 142, 143, 146, 177, 188, 189, 192, 195, 196, 211, 212; and NATO enlargement, 136–41, 147, 181, 182, 184, 192, 195, 196; and (personal) views/politics on the Baltic states, 24, 25, 30, 124, 162, 171, 173, 177–9, 188, 189, 191, 192, 195, 196; and politics of co-operation (and integration) see Germany; and politics of reinsurance against Russia see Germany; and Russia/Kosovo, 143; and Russian-speaking minorities in Baltics, 177; ‘stabilising Russia’, 134, 135, 146, 211; and ‘system Kohl’, 46 n.100, 189; and Ten Point Programme, 8, 14, 37; and Yugoslavian wars/military out-of-area engagements, 90–92, 94, 96, 210; see also Baltic states, Genscher, Germany, Gorbachev, Russia, Soviet Union, Yeltsin Konrad Adenauer Stiftung, 164 Kosovo conflict, 96–9, 210 Kozyrev, Andrei, 131, 135, 136, 137; and Baltic states, 174 Kremlin see Gorbachev, Russia, Yeltsin Krenz, Egon, 8, 41 n.18 Kroon, 165 Krychkov, Vladimir, 35 Kulturauftrag, 58 Kulturnation, 56; see also culture-nation and Germany. Kuzmin, Fiodor, 32 Lagarde, Paul de, 58 Lafontaine, Oskar, 9 Lamers, Karl, 72;

Index

238

and Lamers-Schäuble paper on EU enlargement, 108 Länder, 13, 70; and European Community/European Union 101, 109 Landsbergis, Vytautas, 25 Latvia, 20, 157–62, 164, 185, 187, 190, 191, 192, 195; and declaration of independence, 22; and defence forces, 170, 186; and EU enlargement, 172, 191, 194, 212; and NATO enlargement see Baltic states; and Russian-speaking minorities, 176–7; and Russian troop withdrawal, 175–177; Tautas Fronte, 20; see also Baltic states, Germany ‘law of confinement’, 55 Lebensraum (-politik), 56, 61, 73, 121, 207 Liberal Democratic Party (Russia) see Zhirinovsky Liberale Vereiningung, 57 Liberals, 57; and liberal Germans, 60 liberalism, 58 Lipponen, Paavo, 194 Lithuania, 22–6, 157–62, 164, 187, 190, 191, 195; and declaration of independence, 22, 28; and defence forces, 170; and EU enlargement, 172, 190–4, 212; and Lithuanian crisis, 20, 24–6; and Lithuanian-Polish kingdom, 157; and NATO enlargement see Baltic states; and Russian troop withdrawal, 174, 176; and Sajudis, 20, 25; and Soviet embargo, 24, 25, 28, 32; see also Baltic states, Germany Livonia, 159 London Agreement (1953), 12 Ludendorff, Erich, 159 Luik, Jüri, 176 Maastricht Treaty, 87, 100, 101 Männerfreundschaft, 143, 192, 211 Maizière, Lothar de, 11 MAP see Membership Action Plan Markovits, Andrei S., 106 ‘mastering the past’, see Vergangenheitsbewältigung Maull, Hans W., 65, 72 Membership Action Plan (NATO), 194 Meri, Lennart, 156, 176; and Baltic/Estonian security, 178–80, 183 Meyer, Michael, 68 Milosevic, Slobodan, 144 Mitteleuropa, 55, 58, 60, 61, 63, 70, 106, 120 Mittellage, 55, 60, 71, 110, 132, 145, 207

Index

239

Mitterrand, François, 15, 16; and friendship with Kohl, 16; and Germany and EMU/euro, 99, 100; and geopolitical calculations, 16; and Kiev summit with Gorbachev (1989), 15, 45 n.83; and Lithuania (the Baltic states), 25, 26; and visit to GDR, 16, 45 n.86 MFN see Most Favoured Nation Status Modrow, Hans, 8, 41 n.18 Montenegro, 93 Moscowpolitik, 2; and Moscow-first policy/Ostpolitik, 3, 5, 123, 139, 211 Most Favoured Nation Status, 26, 27 multilateralism (German), 65, 69, 89, 99, 112; and Russia, 129, 134, 147 NACC see North Atlantic Co-operation Council National liberal party, 57, 60 National Socialism see Nazism. NATO see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Naumann, Klaus, 95 Nazarbayev, Nursultan, 35 Nazi regime see Third Reich Nazi Reich see Third Reich. Nazism/Nazi legacy/Nazi past, 62, 66, 73, 74, 75, 76, 98, 209 Neue Wache, 74 Nipperdey, Thomas, 59, 62, 63 Nolte, Ernst, 74, 75 North Atlantic Co-operation Council, 137, 172 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, 3, 8, 25, 31, 65, 87, 89, 94, 132, 141; and Bosnian wars, 90, 92; and enlargement, 3, 135, 136, 139, 140, 180–5, 192; and Kosovo war, 96, 97, 98; and Madrid summit (1997), 141, 185; and NATO-Russia Council, 140, 144; and NATO-Russia Founding Act, 140, 141; and out-of-area debate, 92, 94–6; and Partnership for Peace, 136, 180, 184; and Russia, 134, 136, 138–42, 146, 147, 182; and Sintra summit (1997), 183, 184; and study on eastern enlargement, 138; and unified Germany’s membership of NATO, 10, 12, 13, 14, 17, 23, 26, 41 n.25, 42 n.28, 68, 86, 126; and Washington summit (1999), 193; see also Baltic states, Russia ‘northern dimension’ (EU), 194 Norway, 170 NVA (Nationale Volksarmee) see East German military Obrigkeitsstaat, 207; and obrigkeitsstaatliche Tradition, 57

Index

240

Oder-Neisse border, 8, 11, 12, 67 ‘open-door’ policy (NATO), 193, 194 Organisation for Security and Co-operation, 135, 141, 174, 175, 177 OSCE see Organisation for Security and Co-operation Osteuropapolitik, 135–7, 141, 146, 163, 171, 188, 192, 193 Ostpolitik, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 19, 30, 53, 56, 57, 59, 60, 66, 71, 76, 106, 113, 119, 120, 125, 132–6, 137, 140, 142, 146, 147, 156, 158, 161, 162, 170, 176, 178, 179, 182, 188, 189, 195, 196, 207, 210– 12; and neue Ostpolitik (Willy Brandt), 122 Ostverträge, 12 ‘out-of-area debate’ see Bundeswehr and North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Paldiski, 176 Paris Club, 130, 139 Parliamentarism, 57, 60 ‘partner in leadership’, 13, 87 Partnership for Peace see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Party of Democratic Socialism, 10, 70, 74 PDS see Party of Democratic Socialism PfP see Partnership for Peace ‘people power’, 5 peoples’ right to self-determination, 14, 18, 21, 23, 24, 27, 91, 124, 160 Perestroika, 19, 20, 21 Pérez de Cuéllar, Javier, 90 Perry, William, 184 PHARE see Pologne, Hongrie: assistance à la reconstruction économique Pöhl, Karl Otto, 10 Pörtschach, 193 Poland, 5, 12, 69, 133, 135, 142; and Baltic states, 157; and EU enlargement, 106, 108, 109, 187; and NATO enlargement, 108, 135, 137, 141, 145, 181, 182, 184, 185, 193, 196, 212 ‘policy of enlightened self-interest’, 113 ‘political responsibility’, 65 ‘political stabilisation loan’, 140 Pologne, Hongrie: assistance a la reconstruction économique, 107, 172 Pomerania, 160 post-classical nation-state, 69, 210, 211 ‘post-national’; and Germany/German identity, 65, 82 n.87; and Europe, 110 ‘post-national German Sonderweg’, 208 Potsdam, 160 Prague, 7, 137 ‘preventive diplomacy’, 173 Primakov, Yevgeni, 139, 140, 142, 184, 185 Protestant church, 157 Prunskiene, Kazimiera, 26, 34 Prussia, 56, 57, 68, 157, 160 Pugo, Boris, 30

Index

241

Putin, Vladimir, 145–7, 194, 212; see also Russia ‘quiet diplomacy’, 179 Racial ideology, 61 Randstaaten, 159 Rapallo see Treaty of Rapallo Rational patriotism, 76 Realpolitik, 23, 73, 136, 181, 195 Red Army see Western Group of Forces Red-Green coalition, 70, 97, 110, 112, 210 reconciliation, 69, 122, 132, 179 Reconstruction Loan Corporation, 139, 165 ‘red’ past, 74, 209 Reich, Michael, 106 Reich, 3, 55, 56, 57, 59, 66, 70, 120, 159, 209; and Reichsidee, 56, 60; and Baltic states, 159 Reichsautobahn, 156, 191 Reichswehr, 60 ‘reluctant power’, 95 Riga, see Latvia. Röpke, Wilhelm, 55 Romania, 5, 187 RSFSR see Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic Rückversicherung, 146; see also Germany (politics of containment and reinsurance/security against Russia) Rühe, Volker, 72, 135, 137; and Baltic states, 182, 183, 186, 187, 189, 190; and EU enlargement, 108, 181, 190; and Kinkel-Rühe clash, 183; and NATO enlargement, 108, 135, 137, 181, 182, 183, 186, 187, 190; and normalisation, 112; and Russia, 130, 135; and Yugoslavian wars/military out-of-area engagements, 93, 94, 97 Rüütel, Arnold, 174 Russia, 3, 15, 31, 59, 60, 69, 133, 157, 159, 175; and Baltic states, 19–34, 36–38, 157, 159, 166, 172–85, 192, 195; and Chechnyan wars, 136, 137, 139, 144, 145, 194; and debts, 128, 129, 130; and economic linkage policies (German Russia relations), 122, 123, 127, 128, 129, 143, 211; and EU enlargement, 181, 191, 194; and Eurasianism, 120, 134; fight against terrorism, 144; and Germany, 119–18, 192, 211; and ‘human rights’ issue/Russian minorities in Baltics, 137, 175–7, 179, 184; and imperialistic power politics, 132, 135, 136, 138, 180, 186; and Kosovo, 143, 144; and NATO enlargement, 135, 136, 138, 140, 147, 180–5, 192, 195; and NATO enlargement to the Baltics, 180–5, 195;

Index

242

and national interest, 119, 126, 138, 174, 183, 192; and the ‘near abroad’, 137, 175, 183, 184; and proposal for ‘pact of regional security and stability’ (1997), 186; and relations with NATO, 132–42, 146, 147; and referendum on Yeltsin and his policies (1993), 130; and rise of nationalist tendencies, 124, 129, 130, 131, 135, 175, 178, 183; and rise of Yeltsin, 31, 125; and sphere of influence (esp. in the Baltics), 3, 157, 173–5, 192, 195; and transition, 129, 173; and troop withdrawal, 3, 13, 17, 29, 124–8, 131, 132, 136, 145, 151 n.75, 173–9, 195, 211, 212; and US/multilateral economic assistance to Russia, 129, 130, 134, 173; and western economic assistance, 130, 173, 174; and the West (partnership), 131, 137, 139, 145, 146, 173; see also Baltic states, Germany, Gorbachev, North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, Soviet Union, Yeltsin Russia-first policy, 138, 140, 146, 157, 161, 176, 177, 181, 191, 192, 196, 211 Russia policy see Ruβlandpolitik Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic see Russia ‘Russian-Western honeymoon’, 171 Ruβlandpolitik, 119, 124, 125, 128, 129, 132, 134, 135, 137, 139, 141, 145, 146, 147, 148, 180, 187, 193–6; and politics of co-operation (and integration) see Germany; and politics of reinsurance against Russia see Germany, Kohl. Rutskoy, Alexander, 130 ‘sauna-friendship’, 143, 211 Schäuble, Wolfgang; and Baltic states, 189; and Lamers-Schäuble paper on EU enlargement, 108 Schaukelpolitik, 69, 120 Schmidt, Helmut, 122 Schöllgen, Gregor, 72–4 Schröder, Gerhard, 3, 70, 147, 211; and Baltic states, 192, 193, 194, 195; and Chechnya, 144; and Europe, 104, 109, 110–13, 193, 194; and Kosovo, 97, 144; and ‘outspoken realpolitik’, 210, 211; and ‘realism’, 193; and Russia, 143–7, 193; and Schröder-Plan, 144; see also Baltic states, Fischer, Germany, Putin, Russia Schulze, Hagen, 62, 71 Schwarz, Hans-Peter, 65, 71, 72 Second World War, 54, 63, 67, 68, 74, 174, 207 SED see Socialist Unity Party ‘seesaw politics’, 70; see also Schaukelpolitik ‘self-constraint’/self containment, 110, 111, 146, 210 Senghaas, Dieter, 72 Serbia, 90, 93

Index

243

Sergejev, Igor, 143 settlement of international aspects of German unification, 11, 14, 67, 86, 123; and 2+4 talks, 10, 11, 17, 43 n.54, 119; and 2+4 Moscow meeting (1990), 13; and 2+4 Paris meeting (1990), 12; and peace treaty, 11; and ratification, 29, 30, 34, 36, 88, 123, 126 SFOR see Stabilisation Force Shevardnadze, Eduard, 12, 14, 26, 31 Siedschlag, Alexander, 87 Sileasia, 160 Single European Act, 99 Sintra, 183 Skrunda, 176 Slovakia; and EU enlargement, 106 Slovenia; and EU enlargement, 109; and NATO enlargement, 184; and Slovenian independence, 89–91 Smyser, W.R:, 71 Social Democratic Party (SPD), 9, 73, 75, 89, 96, 97; and EMU/euro, 101, 102; and EU enlargement, 107; and Petersberg decisions, 93; see also Germany, Red-Green, Schröder Socialist Unity Party 6, 7, 8, 74 ‘soft’ security policy, 171, 178, 179 Sonderweg, 54, 55, 62, 69, 72, 73, 74, 210 Soviet Congress of Peoples’ Deputies, 22, 36, 128, 130 Soviet-first policy, 30, 34, 38, 211 Soviet Union (USSR), 5, 7, 11, 16, 17, 18, 20, 63, 119, 120, 160, 208; and Baltic states, 159; communist hardliners 12, 26, 31; and confederation, 21; and economic crisis, 6, 22, 30; and imperial dissolution/disintegration 24, 31, 32, 34, 36, 90, 124, 125, 127, 160, 185, 208, 211; and MFN, 26, 27, 29; and military superpower, 123; and OMON troops, 32; and reaction to declaration of Baltic independence, 26, 49 n.143; and rise of nationalism, 20, 22, 33; and Soviet embargo on Lithuania (Soviet-Lithuanian crisis), 24, 25, 26, 27, 32; and Soviet empire, 2, 125, 128, 159; and troop withdrawal see Russia; and Union Treaty, 36; and use of force, 6, 7, 22; see also Baltic states, Germany, Gorbachev, Kohl, Lithuania, Russia, Yeltsin SPD see Social Democratic Party Staat, 57; and Machtstaat, 57 Stabilisation Force, 95

Index

244

‘stab in the back legend’, 60 ‘stadium model’ (EU enlargement) see Kinkel Stadt Hamburg, 164 Stalin, Joseph, 121, 159 Standortdebatte, 102 ‘starting line model’ (EU enlargement), 190 Stent, Angela, 125 ‘stolen art’, 125, 126 Stoltenberg, Gerhard, 87, 92, 93 ‘strategic partnership’, 145, 147, 212 Streitkultur, 74 Stresemann, Gustav, 58 Stürmer, Michael, 62, 71, 72 ‘study on eastern enlargement’ see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Sudeten Germans, 56 ‘superpower honeymoon’, 29 Supreme Soviet (Russia), 31, 130 ‘sustainable democracy’, 162, 164, 195 Sweden, 105, 106, 182; and the Baltic states, 157, 182, 188, 193, 195; and Baltic defence forces, 170; and EU enlargement, 188, 190, 193 TACIS see Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States Talbott, Strobe, 144 Tallinn see Estonia Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States, 107 Teltschik, Horst, 8, 9 ‘territorial saturation’, 58 Thatcher, Margaret, 15, 16, 38 Thies, Jochen, 70 Third Reich, 54, 61, 62, 66, 72, 74, 75, 99; and Nazi regime, 61, 207 Tietmeyer, Hans, 103; and Bundesbank gold reserves, 103 transferable rouble see Transferrubel Transferrubel, 18, 30, 128 Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, 121, 159 Treaty of Rapallo, 121, 134, 159 Treaty of Versailles, 59, 67, 121; and Versailles revisionism, 60 Treaty on European Union see Maastricht Treaty Treaty on Partnership, Neighbourliness and Co-operation (1990) see Germany Treuhand Beratungsgesellschaft, 164 Tudjman, Franco, 90 Turkey, 89 ‘two-state solution’, 63 Ukraine, 127 United Kingdom, 5, 13, 15, 16, 38, 90, 96; and Baltic states, 188;

Index

245

and EU enlargement, 107; see Thatcher UN see United Nations United Nations, 31, 33, 94, 96, 144; and Kosovo, 96, 143; and UN missions, 87; and peace-keeping, 92, 93; and peace-enforcement, 92; and sanctions, 29; UN Protection Force (Bosnian wars), 95 UNPROFOR see UN Protection Force United States, 12, 13, 23, 63, 96, 146, 213; and Baltic Charter, 193; and Baltic states, 23–9, 31–6, 173, 180, 181, 190; and economic bargaining with USSR, 26, 27, 29, 174; and EU enlargement, 185; and Gulf War, 28, 31; and Malta summit (1989), 14, 24; and NATO enlargement, 135, 146, 185; and US/multilateral economic assistance to Russia, 129, 173, 174; and Washington summit (1990), 13, 26, 27; and Yugoslavian wars, 90, 92; see also Bush, Clinton, multilateralism, North Atlantic Treaty Organisation US-Russian ‘strategic partnership, 129 USSR see Soviet Union Vähi, Tiit, 156, 189 Väljas, Väinö, 21. ‘verflochtene Interessen’, 65, 111 Vergangenheitsbewältigung, 66 Verheugen, Günther, 76 Vilnius see Lithuania. Visegrad countries, 184, 188, 191 Volk, 58 Volkskammer, 12 Volmer, Ludger, 144 Walesa, Lech, 135 Walser, Martin, 75; Walser-Bubis debate, 74, 75 Waigel Theo, 5; and financial assistance to Russia, 126; and stability pact (EMU), 102, 103 Warsaw, 7, 137, 179 Warsaw Pact, 5, 6, 11, 22, 29, 173 Washington see United States Weber, Max, 58 Wehler, Hans-Ulrich, 62 Wehrmacht exhibition, 74 Weimar Republic, 10, 59, 60, 64, 69, 159 Weizsäcker, Richard von, 71;

Index

246

and Baltic states, 176, 178; and compensation for Nazi victims in Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, 178, 179; and cost of unification, 149 n.24; see also Germany Weltpolitik, 56, 73, 147 Westbindung, 71, 111, 142, 210 Western European Union, 94 Westernisation, 86, 207 Western integration (and commitment) of Germany, 64, 65, 69, 71, 99, 110, 111, 112, 123, 132, 145, 147, 161, 213; see also Westbindung West Germany see Federal Republic of Germany Western Group of Forces, 127, 131, 175, 178; and Duma elections (1993), 131 West(europa)politik, 3, 76, 86, 99, 145 Westpolitik, 8, 54, 11, 210, 211 WEU see Western European Union WGF see Western Group of Forces (USSR) White House see United States Wiedergutmachung, 66 Wiedervereiningungspolitik, 64 Wilhelm II, 56; Wilhelmine era, 58 Winkler, Heinrich August, 56 world power, 59 Yalta, 183 Yanayev, Gennady, 35 Yasov, Dimitri, 32 Yeltsin, Boris, 3, 31, 33, 35, 119, 125, 130, 131, 133, 138, 139, 173, 174, 212; and attempt to impeach Yeltsin, 129–30; and domestic socio-economic and political problems/reforms, 128–31, 133–5, 137, 139, 146, 173, 212; and EU enlargement, 191; and Kohl/Germany, 119–28, 134, 139, 173, 212; and NATO enlargement, 135, 138, 139, 185; and OSCE, 135; and presidential elections (1998), and Russian-Western relations, 131, 145; 140; see also Germany, Russia, Soviet Union, United States Yugoslavia, 89–105; and breakup and wars, 90–3; and Dayton Peace Accords, 95 ‘Yeltsin-aid’ (assistance for Yeltsin), 134, 140; see also ‘political stabilisation loan’ Yeltsin-first Ostpolitik, 181, 189 Yeltsin-centric Russia policy, 144 Zeitgeist, 58 Zentralmacht, 71, 72, 132, 146, 161, 188, 192, 196, 212 Zentrale Macht, 71

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Zentralstelle für das Auslandsschulwesen, 164 Zhirinovsky, Vladimir, 131, 145, 175; and his ultranationalist party, 131, 141 Zwangsarbeiter, 74 ‘Zwang nach Osten’, 105 Zweckgemeinschaft, 121 Zwischeneuropa, 119, 121, 123, 134, 142, 146, 159, 180, 183