In Europe (107 page)

‘I was born in 1939; in the 1950s Europe to me was the Marshall Plan, cities, travelling, culture. In the 1960s I suppose I didn't have much to do with Europe. There were Catholic young people's conferences of course, international seminars, I even stayed in Lisbon for six weeks once. But, unlike my future colleagues Helmut Kohl or Jean-Luc Dehaene, I was not caught up in the “European adventure” from an early age. Europe was alive for me, very much so, but not as a political idea.

‘In 1973 I was appointed finance minister in the Netherlands. That was when I first started hearing talk of Europe, the jokes about de Gaulle, Luns and Adenauer. But to me, Europe in those days was more of a technical matter: massive dossiers, endless meetings, the old boneshaker in which you were driven to Brussels all the time. That's where the committees met, and it was only natural for a finance or foreign minister to play an important role. In those days, the meetings were hard-nosed, they had nothing to do with European idealism. You were there as a cabinet minister with administrative responsibilities. And, of course, a lot of issues were still being dealt with entirely outside the EEC. The Netherlands, for example, had a head-on trade conflict with Japan, and as a Dutch cabinet minister in those days you went to Japan to negotiate directly. It was only gradually that things like that became European issues. The 1973 oil crisis wasn't seen as a European affair either: we still saw that as a Dutch problem. The OPEC boycott, after all, directly impacted only the Netherlands and the US.

‘Four years later, as parliamentary leader for the Dutch Christian Democratic Alliance, I first became acquainted with the European Christian Democrats. That was the first time that I met men like Kohl, Martens and Andreotti as fellow politicians. And gradually I began to form a new perception of Europe, a political perception, very different from the bureaucratic Europe I had known before.

‘In 1982 I was appointed prime minister of the Netherlands. In Copenhagen, at the European Council of Ministers, I met my European colleagues for the first time. I already knew Wilfried Martens, Helmut Kohl and Margaret Thatcher, of course, but there in Copenhagen I saw the whole club together for the first time. Right from the start of that
meeting, there was this incredible tension between Thatcher and Mitterrand. The crux of Mitterrand's arguments was that investing in Europe meant turning our back on America, discovering our own strengths, protecting ourselves. After that, and on that basis, one could start initiating dialogues outside Europe. His story, in short, was an anti-American one. Our own strengths first. Thatcher said: “Rubbish. Rot. Open the doors. Free trade.”

‘The bureaucracy of the 1970s seemed to have vanished, and I found myself taking part in a political debate, all afternoon. Ten years before that, as far as I know, such open discussions between European heads of government simply did not take place. In those days Europe was still seen as a matter for intergovernmental officials, plus a few cabinet members, usually the ministers of finance, agriculture and foreign affairs. That was it, that was Europe. Very concrete, based on a limited number of institutions, dealing with practical problems.

‘That evening in Copenhagen, after dinner, the discussion continued informally about what Europe really meant, about European culture, even about the role of the Reformation. At that point, looking back on it now, we were already working on an entirely new concept of Europe – not a technical Europe, but a political one. And despite all our differences, we formed a kind of club.

‘Which is not to say that the practical cooperation between our countries went without a hitch. There was a lot of talk, wonderful plans were made, but it all went rather awkwardly. Bit by bit, though, between 1982–9, we succeeded in conquering that “Eurosclerosis”. At Schengen in 1985 we decided to do away with internal border controls between the Benelux countries, France and Germany. Later on, more and more countries joined. In that way, a single policy could be formed with regard to border controls, security and asylum issues. In 1989 the internal market was ready to go and then finally in 1991 you had the Treaty of Maastricht which made way for, among other things, the arrival of the euro in 1999 and 2001.

‘In the 1980s, though, we had to deal not only with a European policy line, but also with a NATO line and everything that brought with it. The EEC and NATO were two distinct cooperative structures, separate worlds, each going their own way. Helmut Kohl and I, for example, were very
opposed to the stationing of cruise missiles, while Mitterrand was much more accommodating on that score. Not because he was pro-American, but because he felt that a clear reply to the Soviets was needed.

‘Naturally, we were very interested in what was happening in the Soviet Bloc, and we talked about it among ourselves, along the lines of, “What do you think of this Gorbachev fellow?”, but we didn't see it as a common issue. Until the wall came down. Then, suddenly, we had to deal with it. Kohl foresaw the consequences right away: this was the historical opportunity for which Germany had been waiting so long. He put everything he had into effecting the merger of the DDR and the Federal Republic in 1990, and he succeeded. But for us, well, how does one deal with that? Were we to grant unconditional support to a reunified Germany? And what would happen after that? Wouldn't that new Germany go on to lay claims to what had once been East Prussia? Historians are wrong when they say that, around 1989, no one was worried any more about the sanctity of the Oder-Neisse border with Poland. Because there were powerful political forces at play within Germany, people who would have loved to see the old situation restored. Major potential conflicts still lay between Germany and the rest of Europe.

‘So Mitterrand and Kohl made a deal: you, with your strong Deutschmark, will support the European Monetary Union (EMU) and the new European currency – and, along with it, the French franc. In return, we will support German unification – on condition that you leave no room for doubt concerning the definitive status of the Oder-Neisse border. I was worried about Poland as well, but Kohl gave me his word that maintaining the Oder-Neisse border would be the
sine qua non
of the debate. He was convinced of that, but I still had my doubts. Had a decision to correct the border in an easterly direction been put to the vote in Germany – and all kinds of groups were trying to get things to that point – we would have had a major problem on our hands. And Kohl was enough of a politician to know that the slightest thing could have moved it all beyond his control. Those millions of old
Heimatvertriebene
, such powerful forces, there were such strong emotions involved …

‘Later, Kohl wrote to Gorbachev and said: I've made the German parliament abide by the Oder-Neisse border, and now I'd like you to do something for me … I don't think that was merely bluffing on his part. He
really saw it as his own personal achievement that, by acting calmly and wisely, he had reconciled the Germans to the immutability of the OderNeisse border. But if that was truly an achievement, logic says there must also have been a chance that things could turn out differently. Kohl was always reassuring the people around him, including me, telling us there was no need to worry. But to say it wasn't an issue, oh no. Of course it was an issue.

‘Ruud Lubbers and Helmut Kohl, two old European friends who split up over German reunification, that's the way publicists wrote about it later. But that's not what it was about. We were on very good terms, true enough, we often carried on long conversations. And until Maastricht, one year after German reunification, everything was still fine. Right before the Maastricht summit, in fact, Kohl and I had lunch together. We had a good talk, both of us were in favour of the creation of the EMU, that was our common line of approach. Kohl accepted the fact that I would chair the meeting, not only on technical matters, but also in terms of its content. At that point I was probably the only one who could keep the British from exercising their veto. The treaty was hammered out with a great deal of difficulty, but the old feeling was still there: excellent, so now we've done that. Europe was on the move again, we were actually headed towards a single currency, that had all been taken care of.

‘But at the same time, Maastricht was also the start of a new era. Thatcher was gone. Mitterrand wasn't getting any younger. And within that same general atmosphere, Kohl began distancing himself from me as well. Maastricht was behind us and relations within Europe were being reshuffled. More and more, the Bonn-Paris axis began ruling the agenda.

‘Yet I believe that the essence of our parting of the ways was largely personal. Following the enormous success of reunification, Kohl became a different man. He had steamrollered his way over a few opponents before then, of course, but he had always been quite a good colleague, quite amiable. After 1990, however, he began towering above himself, he became the first chancellor of a reunited Germany, he excelled at that, he revelled in it, but he was no longer able to see the other leaders as his colleagues, unless they happened to be the president of the United States. He began treating Mitterrand the way Yeltsin later treated Gorbachev,
condescendingly, humiliatingly. And when I wanted to do things differently, that irritated him no end.

‘At Maastricht, most of the member states had been in favour of having the new European Central Bank in Amsterdam. He was the only one who favoured Frankfurt; he had to go out of his way to force that one through. Not long afterwards, the Croatians announced their secession from the Yugoslav federation. We considered that extremely dangerous, we believed it could mean the start of Yugoslavia's disintegration, and we were right: it finally resulted in a long, violent civil war. But Kohl supported the Croatians openly, he saw their right to self-determination as an extension of that of the German people themselves. Our fearless foreign minister, Hans van den Broek, protested vehemently against that standpoint, again and again. And Kohl's attitude changed to one of: those damned Dutch again! At the drop of a hat, Ruud Lubbers was no longer a partner but a troublemaker.

‘In 1994, Jacques Delors asked me to succeed him as chairman of the European Commission. The Spanish prime minister, Felipe Gonzalez, publicly announced my candidacy. I went to Mitterrand. “No,” Mitterrand said, “Kohl and I have agreed to support your Belgian colleague, Jean-Luc Dehaene. You're
trop marin
, too Atlantic, you focus too much on England and America.”

‘At that point you could already see the contours of the new Europe taking shape: Kohl and Mitterrand simply put their heads together at Mulhouse and decided things like that, just the two of them, then announced it and expected everyone to go along with them. Kohl, the colossus of Europe, choosing his own man, his aide in Brussels, Dehaene. And he was
so
angry when the Netherlands didn't accept that decision.

‘The shortest talk I ever had with him was also the last one we ever had. It was about that chairmanship. Kohl had terrorised the little countries, one after another they had bowed to his pressure, but four countries were still standing: England, the Netherlands, Spain and Italy. Kohl said: “But this is undemocratic. Eight of the twelve are for Dehaene. Why won't you accept that?” I said: “I see things differently. Together, the four countries who oppose Dehaene's candidacy account for half the population of the EU. Fifty per cent of the European population is saying no to this, no matter what you and Mitterand say. Dehaene and I should
both withdraw our candidacy.” Kohl was furious. But that's the way it was, and that's the way it went.

‘In late August 1994, I stepped down as prime minister of the Netherlands. Do you know how that goes here in Holland? My wife was in the hospital, I had my chauffeur drop me off there, then he drove on to our house. My daughter let him in. He had three of those huge satchels full of my personal documents. He upended them here, on this table, he said “Bye, Heleen,” and he left.

‘That was the end of twenty-one-years in Dutch politics.’

IN THE TRAIN ON THE WAY TO GDANSK, WINTER ARRIVED. THAT MORNING
the air had still been cold and clear, but around noon the sky suddenly disappeared behind a curtain of grey, and autumn was over. The wind came up, it started hailing, then the fields turned calm and white. The farms were asleep, the village chimneys were smoking, snow drifted beside the tracks.

Gdansk is smaller and more intimate than you would expect. It is the perfect city for strikes, uprisings and revolutions. The cranes at the shipyards, the church steeples, the hotel apartment for the foreign press, the inner city with its Dutch Renaissance houses, all are within fifteen minutes’ walk of each other. How many revolutions have failed because the movement was too diffused, too fragmented? Here it is the very opposite, here you can literally shout freedom from the housetops and everyone will hear.

It was in this forest of churches and cranes that it all started, the tiny fissures that ultimately brought about the earthquake of 1989. An enormous strike in 1970, bloodily beaten down, put an end to Gomulka's old brand of communism. In 1976, an assistance committee for the families of those who had been arrested formed the basis for Solidarity, an opposition movement – openly supported by the Polish-born Pope – which soon had approximately ten million members. A strike in 1980 at more than 300 locations led to freedom for the trade unions, and to Mass being read on the radio each Sunday.

The December 1981 coup by General Wojciech Jaruzelski turned back the clock for a time, a state of emergency was declared, but it was too late: the influence of the church and trade unions on broad sections of
the population could no longer be undone. In addition, the country's economic problems had become more than the regime could handle. A round-table conference in January 1989 – by which time the country's annual inflation had risen to 600 per cent – finally brought free elections and freedom of speech. Gdansk was the place where it all began, and that was no coincidence, for it was here that all of communism's weak spots overlapped: religion, nationalism, rebellious industrial workers, the obstinacy of an old German Hanseatic port, a clear organisation and a wind that always came blowing in from overseas.