Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe Since 1989: Transformation and Tragedy 9780190055080, 0190055081

Table of contents :
Cover
Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe since 1989
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
List of Figures
List of Tables
List of Boxes
List of Maps
Preface
Acknowledgments
List of Abbreviations Used in Text
List of News Sources Cited in Text
1. From Europhilia to Europhobia?: Trajectories and Theories of Europeanization in the Post-​Communist World since 1989
2. Europe as a Cultural-​Civilizational Construct
3. Political Europeanization since 1989
4. Security Europeanization since 1989
5. Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization since 1989
6. Russia: Eternal and Incomplete Europeanization
7. The Baltic States: Successful “Return to Europe”
8. Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova: Almost European?
9. The Caucasus States: The Endpoint of Europe or Europe’s New Eastern Boundary?
10. The Central Asian States: Not European by Mutual Agreement?
11. Conclusion: The Continuing Influence of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient on European, Russian, and Post-​Soviet Politics
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

 

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe since 1989

 

 

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe since 1989 Transformation and Tragedy

K AT H E R I N E   G R A N E Y

1

 

1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2019 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Graney, Katherine, 1970– author. Title: Russia, the former Soviet republics, and Europe since 1989 : transformation and tragedy / Katherine Graney. Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, 2019. | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2018061177 | ISBN 9780190055080 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190055097 (paperback) Subjects: LCSH: Russia (Federation)—Politics and government—1991– | Former Soviet republics—Politics and government. | Europe—Politics and government—1989– | Russia (Federation)—Foreign relations—Europe. | Europe—Foreign relations—Russia (Federation) | Former Soviet republics—Foreign relations—Europe. | Europe—Foreign relations—Former Soviet republics. | BISAC: POLITICAL SCIENCE / International Relations / General. Classification: LCC DK510.763 .G7357 2019 | DDC 303.48/24704—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018061177 1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2 Paperback printed by WebCom, Inc., Canada Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States of America

 

For Sean, Ronan, and Maeve, with love and gratitude

 

 

CONTENTS

List of Figures  ix List of Tables  xiii List of Boxes  xv List of Maps  xvii Preface  xix Acknowledgments  xxi List of Abbreviations Used in Text  xxiii List of News Sources Cited in Text  xxvii

PART ONE   THEORIES AND HISTORIES OF EUROPE ANIZ ATION

AND THE POST-​C OMMUNIST WORLD SINCE 1989

1. From Europhilia to Europhobia?: Trajectories and Theories of Europeanization in the Post-​Communist World since 1989  3 2. Europe as a Cultural-​Civilizational Construct  36 3. Political Europeanization since 1989  62 4. Security Europeanization since 1989  88 5. Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization since 1989  113

PART T WO   CA SE STUDIES

6. Russia: Eternal and Incomplete Europeanization  141 7. The Baltic States: Successful “Return to Europe”  171

 

viii C o n t e n t s

8. Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova: Almost European?  210 9. The Caucasus States: The Endpoint of Europe or Europe’s New Eastern Boundary?  264 10. The Central Asian States: Not European by Mutual Agreement?  317 11. Conclusion: The Continuing Influence of the Eurocentric-​ Orientalist Cultural Gradient on European, Russian, and Post-​ Soviet Politics  375 Notes  381 Bibliography  393 Index  419

 

FIGURES

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4 1.5 1.6 2.1 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 7.1 7.2 7.3 7.4 7.5 7.6 7.7 7.8 7.9 7.10 7.11 7.12 7.13 8.1 8.2 8.3

Phase One of Europeanization: Europhoria (1989–​1999)  15 Phase Two of Europeanization: Europhilia (2000–​2008)  17 Phase Three of Europeanization: Europhobia (2009–​)  18 Europeanization in Political Institutions  28 Europeanization in Security Institutions  29 Europeanization in Cultural-​Civilizational Institutions  34 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness  60 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Russia  144 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Russia  147 Political Europeanization in Russia  159 Security Europeanization in Russia  167 Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Attributes of the Baltic States  172 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Estonia  174 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Latvia  175 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Lithuania  176 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Estonia  192 Political Europeanization in Estonia  195 Security Europeanization in Estonia  196 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Latvia  197 Political Europeanization in Latvia  200 Security Europeanization in Latvia  202 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Lithuania  203 Political Europeanization in Lithuania  206 Security Europeanization in Lithuania  208 Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Attributes of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova  211 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Belarus  214 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Belarus  216 ix

 

x F i g u r

8.4 8.5 8.6 8.7 8.8 8.9 8.10 8.11 8.12 8.13 9.1 9.2 9.3 9.4 9.5 9.6 9.7 9.8 9.9 9.10 9.11 9.12 9.13 10.1 1 0.2 10.3 10.4 10.5 10.6 10.7 10.8 10.9 10.10 10.11 10.12 10.13 10.14 10.15 10.16

es

Political Europeanization in Belarus  222 Security Europeanization in Belarus  226 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Ukraine  229 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Ukraine  233 Political Europeanization in Ukraine  240 Security Europeanization in Ukraine  244 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Moldova  247 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Moldova  249 Political Europeanization in Moldova  255 Security Europeanization in Moldova  260 Linguistic, Historical, and Cultural Comparison of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan  265 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Georgia  270 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Georgia  272 Political Europeanization in Georgia  278 Security Europeanization in Georgia  284 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Armenia  288 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Armenia  290 Political Europeanization in Armenia  295 Security Europeanization in Armenia  299 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Azerbaijan  302 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Azerbaijan  304 Political Europeanization in Azerbaijan  308 Security Europeanization in Azerbaijan  314 Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Comparison of the Central Asian States  318 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Kazakhstan  341 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Kazakhstan  342 Political Europeanization in Kazakhstan  345 Security Europeanization in Kazakhstan  347 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Kyrgyzstan  349 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan  350 Political Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan  352 Security Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan  353 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Uzbekistan  355 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Uzbekistan  357 Political Europeanization in Uzbekistan  359 Security Europeanization in Uzbekistan  360 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Tajikistan  363 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Tajikistan  364 Political Europeanization in Tajikistan  366

 



1 0.17 10.18 10.19 10.20 10.21 11.1

Figures

Security Europeanization in Tajikistan  367 Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Turkmenistan  369 Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Turkmenistan  370 Political Europeanization in Turkmenistan  372 Security Europeanization in Turkmenistan  373 Strength of Europeanization Projects in the Former Soviet Union 

xi

377

 

 

TA B L E S

1.1 1.2 2.1 4.1 7.1 7.2 8.1 8.2 9.1 9.2 10.1 10.2 10.3 11.1 11.2

Post-​Communist and Post-​Soviet Countries  5 Strength of Europeanization Projects in the Post-​Soviet States  11 Post-​Soviet States: Levels of Intrinsic Europeanness  61 Levels of Integration of Post-​Communist States with NATO  97 Demographics of the Baltic States, 1989 and 2014  172 Major Trading Partners of the Baltic States, 2014  173 Demographics of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, 1989 and 2014  211 Major Trading Partners of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, 2014  212 Demographics of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, 1989 and 2014  268 Trading Partners of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, 2014  269 Demographics of the Central Asian States, 1989 and 2014  319 Trading Partners of the Central Asian States, 2014  319 Economic Impact of Petroleum Resources in the Central Asian States, 2014  320 Factors Influencing Strength of Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States  378 Factors Influencing Future of Strong Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States  379

xiii

 

 

B OX E S

1.1 1.2 1.3 1.4

The Ukraine Crisis (2013–​)  8 Three Sets of Actors in Europeanization  12 Three Animating Forces Characterizing Europeanization since 1989  13 Three Chronological Phases of Europeanization since 1989  14

xv

 

 

MAPS

1.1 2.1 3.1 3.2 4.1 5.1 5.2

Europe and the Former Soviet Union  6 The Different “Europes”  40 Europe According to the European Union: Current and Candidate Members  63 The Eastern Partnership States (EAP)  75 Europe According to NATO  90 Europe According to Eurovision  118 Europe According to UEFA Membership  130

xvii

 

 

P R E FA C E

This is a big book about a big topic. I wrote this book in part to solve a problem that I  encountered every time I  taught my Politics of Russia and the former Soviet Union class at Skidmore College. There are many books about Russian politics, and an increasing number of books about each of the other fourteen ex-​ Soviet republics. But I was never able to find a book that provided a historically rich, theoretically sophisticated, and relatively undated introduction to both Russia and the other states that used to make up the Soviet Union. I decided to write such a book myself. A second reason for this book dates back to the fieldwork I did for my dissertation in Tatarstan, Russia, in 1996–​1997. During the interviews I conducted with ethnic Tatar political and cultural leaders, I was quite surprised by the number of times these actors would bring up the question of the “civility” of the Tatars. They wanted to be sure that I understood that Tatars were “civilized, like you in Europe and the West,” and that “Tatars do not eat raw meat—​we are not savages” (a reference to steak tartare). Relatedly, I was also struck by the prominence of Europe in the strategy of Tatarstan’s leaders during the quest for political sovereignty in the 1990s and 2000s—​their sincere belief that “European” norms of democracy, human rights, and the respect for ethnic diversity should serve as the basis for a renewed form of ethno-​federalism in Russia in the post-​Soviet period. While space prevents me from discussing this specific aspect of the Europeanization process here, I am happy that the genesis of the present project can be found in my earlier work on Tatarstan, Of Khans and Kremlins: Tatarstan and the Future of Ethno-​Federalism in Russia. As I began to think about ways to approach a one-​volume treatment of Russia and the post-​Soviet states that would be more than just an encyclopedic recitation of facts and important political developments in these countries, it was becoming more and more clear that the early promise of “a Europe whole and free” arising out of the fall of the Berlin Wall and collapse of the Soviet Union was xix

 

xx P r

eface

in serious eclipse. Indeed, it became apparent that “European expansion,” once seen by many in the former communist world as a concept bearing the promise of progress and plenty, was more and more viewed as a nefarious plot emanating from Brussels and Washington aimed, at best, at the exploitation of the ex-​Soviet states and, at worst, at the total destruction of their “way of life.” (Russia has become the foremost proponent of this discourse, but variants of it can be heard in Hungary, Poland, and other places as well.) I came to see that the deeply felt concerns that my Tatar friends voiced in the 1990s about their status in a world where “Europeanness” was still the standard of civility and worthiness, and their hopes for a future organized along “European” political and economic principles, were closely related to the tensions that began to arise both within Europe and between Europe and Russia in the 2000s (and have come to a boil in the 2010s, as the continuing Ukraine Crisis that began in 2013–​2014 demonstrates). As they have been historically—​since Peter the Great decided to “hack a window to Europe” in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries—​cultural-​civilizational understandings about “Europe” and “Europeanness” and the political and security arrangements based on those understandings are a singularly important factor in understanding patterns of political development in the former Soviet Union since 1989. I have tried to produce a volume that can serve as the basis for an introductory course in post-​Soviet politics but that is also appropriate for courses on contemporary European politics. (As the history of Russia is inextricably intertwined with that of Europe, and as the practical overlap between these two regions has increased dramatically since 1989, it hardly seems possible to do otherwise.) And while appropriate for students with little to no background in Russia and post-​Soviet politics, I  believe this analysis has much to benefit even long-​time students of Russia and the former Soviet Union. As this project roamed far from my own small area of expertise, I have relied on the research and analyses of the leading scholars in our field of Russian and post-​Soviet politics and on Europeanization, and I am grateful for the opportunity to share with my colleagues and students these scholars’ insights into the concepts of Europe, Europeanness, and Europeanization and how these concepts animate political developments in Russia and the former Soviet Union.

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am very grateful to the Skidmore College Collaborative Research program for funds to support work on ­chapter 5 and the creation of the maps and graphs in this book, and to Emma Kurs, Katie Morton, Jennifer Cholnoky, and Reilly Grant for their skillful work on the same. I am also grateful to Skidmore College for the sabbatical leave that helped make this book possible. I want to thank the many other students who helped me greatly at various stages of this project, including: Michael Bruschi, Elizabeth Collins, Britt Lynzee Dorfman, Misha Lanin, Matt Marani, Katie Morton, Jesse Ritner, and Megan Schachter. I am also grateful to my friend Barbara McDonough for helping with logistical aspects of this work’s production. Special thanks to Jennifer Delton for helpful and intellectually stimulating conversations as well as necessary respites to ski. I am also grateful to the anonymous reviewers from Oxford University Press, whose insights helped shape the final draft in important and helpful ways. Most of all, I want to thank my family for bearing with me during this long journey. Ronan and Maeve—​it’s finally done! And you have your dogs, too. See, it all worked out. Sean, thank you, as always, for everything. The only thing I love in the world more than reading and writing and teaching about Europe and Russia is you guys.

xxi

 

 

A B B R E V I AT I O N S U S E D I N   T E X T

AA ADR AIOC APF BALTOPS BSS CAS CFE CIA CIS CIS FTA COE CPC CPSU CRRF CSCE CSTO DCFTA DCI EAP EAPC EAPP EBU EC ECHR ECSC ECSR ECU

association agreement Azerbaijan Democratic Republic Azerbaijan International Operating Company Azerbaijani Popular Front Exercise Baltic Operations Black Sea Synergy Central Asian Strategy Conventional Forces in Europe Central Intelligence Agency (US) Commonwealth of Independent States Commonwealth of Independent States Free Trade Area Council of Europe Conflict Prevention Center Communist Party of the Soviet Union Collective Rapid Reaction Force Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe Collective Security Treaty Organization Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Acts development cooperation instrument Eastern Partnership Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council Eastern Partnership Plus European Broadcasting Union European Community European Court of Human Rights European Coal and Steel Community European Council on Social Research Eurasian Customs Union xxiii

 

xxiv A b b r

EEAB EEC EEU ENP EOC EP ESC EST EU EURO FARE FFP FRG FSU FYU GDR GOC GUAM HDI IPAP IS ISAF ITU K2 KFOR KHL KUMU LGBTQ MAP MFA MOC NACC NATO NGC NGO NRC NUC OIRT OSCE PACE

eviations

East European Assistance Bureau European Energy Community Eurasian Economic Union European Neighborhood Policy European Olympic Committee European Parliament European Song Contest (Eurovision) European Security Treaty European Union European Football Championships Football against Racism in Europe Fair Play Program Federal Republic of Germany (West Germany) former Soviet Union former Yugoslavia German Democratic Republic (East Germany) Georgian Orthodox Church Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan, and Moldova Human Development Index Individual Partnership Action Plan Islamic State International Security Assistance Force International Telecommunications Union Karshi-​Khanabad Airbase Kosovo Force Kontinental Hockey League Art Museum of Estonia lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer (or questioning) Membership Action Plan Minister of Foreign Affairs (Russian Federation) Moldovan Orthodox Church North Atlantic Cooperation Council North Atlantic Treaty Organization NATO-​Georgia Commission non-​governmental organization NATO-​Russia Council NATO-​Ukraine Council International Radio and Television Organization Organization of Security and Cooperation in Europe Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe

 



PCA PCRM PFP PHARE

Abbreviations

Partnership Cooperation Agreement Party of Communists of the Republic of Moldova Partnership for Peace Poland and Hungary: Assistance for Restructuring Their Economies PJC Permanent Joint Council REACT Rapid Expert Assistance and Cooperation Teams RFU Russian Football Union ROC Russian Orthodox Church RPL Russian Premier League SCO Shanghai Cooperation Organization SOCAR State Oil Company of Azerbaijan Republic TACIS Transition Assistance to the Commonwealth of Independent States TCP Trans-​Caspian Pipeline TURKSOI International Organization of Turkish Culture UPA Ukrainian Insurgent Army US CENTCOM United States Central Command USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics WTO World Trade Organization

xxv

 

 

NEWS SOURCES CITED IN TEXT

Online News Agencies and Journals Armenia News ArmeniaNow Baltic Course CAD (Caucasus Analytical Digest) CACI Analyst (Central Asia and Caucasus Analyst) Civil Georgia Defense News DW (Deutsche Welle) EDM (Eurasia Daily Monitor of the Jamestown Foundation) EUObserver EURACTIV.com EurasiaNet EurasiaNet Weekly Digest Euronews Inside Europe Lithuania Tribune LragirAM (Armenian Open Society Foundation) NATO News NEE (New Eastern Europe) NewEuropeOnline openDemocracy RAD (Russian Analytical Digest) RFE/​RL (Radio Free Europe/​R adio Liberty) TOL (Transitions OnLine) TOL Weekly (Transitions OnLine Weekly)

xxvii

 

xxviii

News Sources

ValdaiClub Window on Eurasia

International and National News Sources AFP (Agence France-​Presse) AIS Moldpres (Agentia Informationala de Stat “Moldpres”)—​Moldova Al Jazeera AP (Associated Press) APR (Armenia Public Radio) BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) Bloomberg Business Der Spiegel—​Bulgaria FOCUS Information Agency Interfax—​Ukraine Izvestiya—​Russia Kommersant—​Russia Lithuania Tribune Moscow Times Newsweek NYTimes—​New York  Times Respublika Tatarstan—​Tatarstan, Russia Reuters Reuters Canada Sovetskaya Tatariya—​Tatarstan, Russia Telegraph—​UK Vatanym Tatarstan—​Tatarstan, Russia Voice of Russia Vremya i Dengi—​Tatarstan, Russia

 

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe since 1989

 

 

PA RT   O N E

THEORIES AND HISTORIES Europeanization and the Post-​Communist World since 1989

 

 

1

From Europhilia to Europhobia? Trajectories and Theories of Europeanization in the Post-​Communist World since 1989

The fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 is one of the only purely joyful and universally celebrated moments of the twentieth century. Families and countries were reunited; the traumas of repression, poverty, and division that marked life under communism were over; and the expansion of the European dream of freedom and prosperity to the formerly “occupied” states could begin. Three decades later, we are now a long way from triumphant renditions of the Ode to Joy at the Brandenburg Gate. Europe faces multiple serious challenges, including the Eurozone and attendant austerity and unemployment crises in southern Europe, the refugee crisis that has exacerbated the already problematic rise of illiberal populist movements and non-​democratic governments across the continent, military conflict following Russian annexations in Europe’s eastern fringe, and perhaps most shocking of all, Brexit. Books proclaim that we are witnessing “the End of Europe” and are busy envisioning a world “After Europe” (Kirchick 2017; Krastev 2017). The European postwar experiment that was characterized after 1945 by intentionally increased economic and political unity among European states and the promotion of a peaceful, multilateral foreign policy, and since 1989 by the expansion of these new European norms and institutions into the post-​communist world, now seems to be in grave peril. It might seem then that this is an inopportune moment for a book examining Europeanization at Europe’s eastern edges: Russia and the other fourteen former Soviet republics. Surely Europeanization, which I define as the desire for, seeking of, and acquisition of the institutional and ideational forms of “Europeanness,” is a process that seems to be, particularly in the territories of the former Soviet Union, at best perpetually stalled, and at worst a finished and failed experiment. This book argues that examining the process of Europeanization that has occurred over the past three decades in the post-​communist world in general, 3

 

4

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

and in Russia and the other fourteen former Soviet republics in particular, reveals that the roots of many aspects of contemporary Europe’s profound malaise may be found in those encounters.1 As Kristen Ghodsee has put it, the “legacies of the fall of communism infuse current European political realities” (2017, xv; emphasis mine). The lingering influence of the Soviet experience is ambiguous and multivalent, with some aspects clearly exacerbating Europe’s centrifugal present, but with others suggesting that if Europe is to rediscover its faith in the postwar norms and practices that have brought historic levels of peace and prosperity, it may, unexpectedly, find both inspiration and help in the way that some places in the former Soviet Union understand, value, and seek to achieve “Europeanness.” Scholars have noted that the post–​Cold War relationship between Europe and Russia is essentially a competition over meaningful understandings of the world, where the loyal and allegiance of the post-​communist states are the objects of the game. Since 1989, Europe and Russia have been engaged in a “normative rivalry” involving the “mutual readjustment of two identities in the making” (Kazharski and Makarychev 2015), in a “war of words and stories” that is essentially discursive in nature (Bechev 2015), in a battle of “cultural statecraft” fought with the weapons of persuasion and attraction (Forsberg and Smith 2016), and in a “competition not for physical objects that can be consumed . . . but for psychological states that are generated in the mind” (Snyder 2018). Inspired by these arguments, I employ the concept of Europeanization here broadly, as the way that both the institutional, practical and normative, discursive meanings of “Europe” and “Europeanness” have been negotiated and shaped through the interactions of European actors such as the European Union (EU), the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the Union of European Football Associations (UEFA), and the European Broadcasting Union (EBU) on the one hand, and actors in the post-​communist (generally) and post-​Soviet (specifically) worlds on the other. (See Table 1.1 and Map 1.1.) This book deepens our understanding of Europe’s contemporary crises using the lens of the “battle of stories” that has characterized relations among Europe, Russia, and the former communist states since 1989. These relations are mediated by two related and long-​standing dynamics. The first is the profound and abiding east/​west divide in Europe, which is generated and sustained by historical and contemporary “mental maps” that associate particular characteristics and behaviors with either geographic pole, and which clearly privilege those on the western side of the divide. The contemporary iteration of the east/​ west divide, in which east is associated with “post-​communist/​unfree/​inferior” and west with “never communist/​free/​superior,” is only the latest stratum in the much older formation of cultural understandings of Occident and Orient and civility and barbarism, where the former is associated with the west and the latter with the east. Following Martin Malia, I  refer to this throughout the book as

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

5

Table 1.1 Post-​Communist and Post-​Soviet Countries Post-​Communist Countries

Post-​Soviet Countries* (all)

Albania*

Russia•

Bosnia-​Herzegovina+

Estonia•

Bulgaria*

Latvia•

Croatia+

Lithuania•

Czech Republic*

Belarus•

Hungary*

Ukraine•

Kosovo+

Moldova•

Montenegro+

Georgia•

Republic of North Macedonia (FYROM)+

Armenia•

Poland*

Azerbaijan•

Romania*

Kazakhstan•

Serbia+

Uzbekistan•

Slovakia*

Kyrgyzstan•

Slovenia+

Tajikistan• Turkmenistan•

(Other: German Democratic Republic/​ GDR)* * Denotes member of the Warsaw Pact (May 1955–​February 1991). Albania member until 1968. GDR member until 1990. + Denotes member of Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (1945–​1991/​2). Kosovo had status of autonomous province in Serbian republic. • Denotes constituent republic (Soviet Socialist Republic, or SSR) of the Soviet Union (USSR).

the “Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient” (EOCG) (Evtuhov and Kotkin 2003; Malia 2006). The second, related fault line emanating from the post-​communist world fueling contemporary challenges to the postwar European experiment is more explicitly political and centers on the geopolitical fact of Russia as Europe’s largest and most powerful neighbor. The history between Europe and Russia is a complicated one in which Russia is sometimes seen as a close ally of, an integral part of, or even the “savior” of Europe (as after the defeat of Napoleon in 1812 and the defeat of the Nazis in 1945), but at other times as the closest and most immediate, and thus most dangerous and insidious, military and political threat to a free and united Europe (as during the Cold War and, in some ways, today).

Map 1.1  Europe and the Former Soviet Union

EU Candidate Countries Categorized by the European Union as “Other European Countries” Former Soviet Union

EU Member States

 

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

7

Over the past three decades, the pendulum of Russia’s relations with Europe has swung from one end to the other of the arc that it has historically traveled repeatedly, moving from the promise of building “a Europe whole and free” together with the west of Europe in the early 1990s to the present moment, wherein Russia positions itself as the avatar and leader of a movement based on an alternative vision of Europeanness. Since the later 2000s, Russia has promoted a form of Europeanness that it claims is both alt (alternative and oppositional) and alte (older and more authentically European) in relation to the liberal, multilateral vision that has dominated Europe since 1945. Russia’s alt/​ alte vision of Europeanness champions populism, nationalism, and xenophobia in domestic politics, and realpolitik, state sovereignty, and the rejection of multilateralism in international relations (Forsberg and Smith 2016; Kazharski and Makarychev 2018; Snyder 2018; Tsygankov 2016). Across the European continent, Russia’s alt/​alte vision of Europe shows increasing potential to challenge the liberal institutions and norms that have defined Europe since 1945. How and why did this happen? Will the centrifugal tendencies stressing Europe internally and the bellicose relations between Europe, Russia, and the former Soviet Union worsen, or are they mere growing pains on the way to Gorbachev’s hopeful mid-​1980s vision of a Europe “whole and free,” encompassing the territory from the Atlantic Coast to Vladivostok? These are the larger questions that this book’s examination of three decades of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union seeks to answer. Along the way, this inquiry also brings into stark relief the high moral stakes of Europe’s current political turmoil. The stories told here demonstrate the great political, economic, security, and moral value of the postwar European experiment and of the extension of that experiment into the former Soviet Union. It also shows that in some of the republics of the former Soviet Union, the “European dream” remains a compelling and aspirational vision. Understanding how Europe’s achievements are seen from these eastern neighbors and appreciating the sacrifices some of them are willing to make in the name of “becoming European” might help remind “established” European states of the value of what they have achieved, and make them more willing to work to protect it. In the most prominent example, Ukraine’s Maidan Square in late 2013 and early 2014 was “the first place that anyone died under” the EU’s blue and yellow flag (Kirchick 2017, 222–​23). The bravery of Ukrainians in those days provided Europeans with “reminders of an older more vigorous Europe beneath the malaise of a Euro crisis and decaying public politics” (Wilson 2014, 1). (See Box 1.1.) If the encounter with the former Soviet world has helped to shape many of the problems Europe currently faces, it might also be that one of the most effective ways Europe can revive its flagging belief in the liberal norms and institutions that have served it so well since 1945 is to continue to promote those norms in the post-​Soviet world, where a “more direct

 

Box 1.1  The Ukraine Crisis (2013–​) THE UKR A INE CR ISIS

November–​December 2013: On November 21, 2013, Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovich announced that Ukraine would not sign an Association Agreement with the European Union, but instead would pursue closer ties with Russia. Throughout November and December, crowds of up to 800,000 people come to Maidan Square in Kiev to protest Yanukovich’s turn to Russia. These well-​organized protests become known as the EuroMaidan, for their main demand that Ukraine continue on a course toward eventual EU membership. January–​February 2014: In January, Yanukovich’s government passes a tough anti-​protest law, but the EuroMaidan activists refuse to leave the square. The Ukrainian government, in a response dubbed the AntiMaidan, uses snipers and other force to try to clear the square. Over 100 people are killed. In late February, Yanukovich flees the capital, and the Ukrainian parliament names a pro-​EuroMaidan interim prime minister and president. New presidential elections are scheduled for May 2014. March 2014: Pro-​Russian forces move to take control of Simferopol, the capital of the Crimean region of Ukraine. Russia’s parliament votes to authorize the use of force to “protect Russian interests” in Ukraine. “Little Green Men,” Russian forces in unmarked green uniforms, help consolidate the takeover of Crimea and appear in the Donetsk and Luhansk regions of Ukraine. On March 16, Crimea votes to secede from Ukraine. On March 18, Putin signs a law making Crimea a part of the Russian Federation. Summer 2014: Low-​level war between Ukrainian loyalists and pro-​ Russian forces (complemented by Russian forces) continues in Donetsk and Luhansk regions. On June 27, Ukraine signs its Association Agreement with the EU. On July 18, a Malaysian Airlines flight from Amsterdam is shot down in Ukraine by pro-​Russian forces. Nearly 300 people are killed. October 2014: A new pro-​European parliament and president (Petro Poroshenko) are elected in Kiev. 2015–​present Fighting continues in Ukraine’s eastern regions. 10,000 estimated casualties since 2013.

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

9

knowledge” of living under illiberal regimes means that people there “possess a greater appreciation” for Europe’s postwar experiment (Kirchick 2017, 229).

Europeanization in the Former Communist World since 1989: From Europhoria and Europhilia to Europhobia in Three Short Decades The descent of the Iron Curtain after World War II prompted an agonized debate about the nature of the new European divide, with prominent voices on both sides eventually emerging to promote the reunification of the continent. In the 1970s the policy of détente and the Helsinki process represented an initial attempt at mending Europe’s Cold War breach through the creation of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (the CSCE, predecessor to today’s Organization on Security and Cooperation in Europe, or OSCE), which brought the Warsaw Pact states and the western states into a novel, pan-​ European web of security and normative agreements (significantly, the United States and Canada were also signatories). In the mid-​1980s, the Soviet Union’s young new leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, surprised everyone and elevated the prospects for some type of European reunification with his “New Thinking” in foreign policy, which included the boldly and precisely stated aim of “reuniting our Soviet motherland with her European destiny” and reclaiming the Soviet Union’s “rightful place” in the “common European homeland” (English 2000, 140; Petrov 2013; Wolff 1994, 372). The rapidity of communism’s collapse first in the Soviet satellite states of Eastern and Central Europe and then in the Soviet Union itself surprised actors in both halves of Europe. The end of communism was also almost exactly coincident with the then–​European Community’s (EC) efforts to transform itself into the more institutional robust and politically and economically meaningful European Union. This synchrony presented both a huge potential complication and a huge potential opportunity for the EC. The difficult challenge of persuading western European states to risk transferring some of their political and economic sovereignty to a new and untried “European Union” was made even harder by the sudden re-​emergence of many more potentially viable members of said union from behind the Iron Curtain. The Europe of the fledgling EU was suddenly potentially much larger, its ultimate geographic limits less clear. Did the claims about European unity underlying the Helsinki process of the 1970s and Gorbachev’s assertions in the 1980s about “our common European home” mean that in the 1990s the nascent EU would eventually extend to the farthest boundaries of the former Soviet Union?

 

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Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

Of course, the answer has turned out to be no. Instead, what we have seen over the past three decades is a complex and conflictual process that has transformed and multiplied the institutional practices and normative understandings of what it means to be European. There is a clear gap between those ex-​Soviet states that already have become “fully European” by joining the EU and NATO (namely, the three Baltic states of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia), and those that remain “outside” of Europe, namely, Russia and the rest of the Soviet successor states. The latter are largely mired in cycles of authoritarianism and corruption. Russia itself is increasingly actively hostile not just to the further expansion of but also to the very existence of the EU and NATO (Hale 2005; King 2010; Krastev 2011; Levitsky and Way 2010; Snyder 2018; Toal 2017; Vachudova 2008, 2010; Way 2005, 2008). Despite this generally grim situation, it would be empirically, strategically, and morally wrong to assume that Europeanization is dead in the former Soviet Union. The desire for and progress of Europeanization is quite variable throughout the fifteen former Soviet states. The Baltic states of Latvia, Lithuania, and Estonia have already achieved full Europeanization in the form of EU and NATO membership, and are among the most enthusiastic defenders and supporters of those institutions during the current crisis of European morale. Several of their post-​Soviet brethren have voiced the desire to follow the Baltic states down this “strong” or maximal path of Europeanization—​ specifically, Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia. Other ex-​Soviet republics have pursued a moderate, hybrid sort of “complementary” or “balancing” approach to Europeanization that mines both European and post-​Soviet opportunities for political, economic, and security development. In this middle category are Armenia and Azerbaijan, whose Europeanizing efforts have been stronger, and also Belarus and Kazakhstan, whose efforts are decidedly weaker. Other post-​ Soviet states exhibit a near total lack of desire for any form of “Europeanization,” namely Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan. (See Table 1.2.) The case studies presented in Part II of this book explore each state’s unique Europeanization effort in some detail. Russia’s relationship to the idea of Europeanization is certainly the most complex of all the states under consideration here. Under the Yeltsin administration, Russia was content to “borrow and benefit” from Europe’s institutional and normative models (Tsygankov 2016, 146), as long as Europe agreed that it must treat Russia as an equal partner, not a supplicant (Snyder 2018, 79). As the process of Europeanization evolved, and more post-​communist and even post-​Soviet states grew closer to Europe both institutionally and normatively, Russia’s stance changed into a more openly hostile one. This more antagonistic era has been characterized by two main trends. The first is the attempt to entice post-​Soviet states to reject Europeanization by offering its own ersatz versions

 



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Table 1.2 Strength of Europeanization Projects in the Post-​Soviet  States Strong

Moderate/​+

Moderate/​−

Weak

Estonia

Armenia

Belarus

Kyrgyzstan

Latvia

Azerbaijan

Kazakhstan

Tajikistan

Russia*

Turkmenistan

Lithuania Georgia

Uzbekistan

Moldova Ukraine

of the EU and NATO in the form of the Eurasian Economic Union (EEU—​the current name of an organization explicitly modeled after the EU that is meant to evolve into a true “Eurasian Union”)2 and the CSTO (the Collective Security Treaty Organization). The second trend involves concentrated efforts to weaken Europe’s institutional and normative consensus by promoting an alt/​alte vision of European civilization, disseminated through information war, electoral influencing, and other forms of “cultural statecraft” (Brattberg and Mauer 2018; Cizik 2017; Forsberg and Smith 2016). Russia’s current animosity toward the institutions and norms of postwar Europe should not obscure the fact that the idea of and practices associated with “Europeanness” remain a matter of almost obsessive concern for Russia, as has been the case throughout its history. Nor should it mask the reality that Russia actually has adopted a fair number of those same “European” institutions and norms since 1989, albeit grudgingly and imperfectly. For this reason, I  characterize Russia’s attitude toward Europeanization as “medium/​weak,” while recognizing that this hardly does justice to the complexity of Russia’s relationship with “Europe” and “Europeanness” since 1989. Chapter 6 examines the intriguing paradoxes underlying Russia’s Europeanization efforts with more of the close scrutiny they demand. In order to properly contextualize the case studies of Europeanization in Russia and each of the other former Soviet republics that are presented in Part II of this book, we must first examine in some depth the more general process of Europeanization that has taken place across the Iron Curtain since its collapse in 1989. I  present a brief overview of this process here, then discuss specific aspects of it in more detail in the remainder of Part I. In my conceptualization, Europeanization involves three main sets of actors, is animated by three main forces, and has evolved through three overlapping but clearly distinct chronological phases. In order to both concretize and narrow the

 

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Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

application of this complex general schema of Europeanization to Russia and the fourteen other former Soviet states, I segment the study of that process into three sectors—​political (focusing chiefly on the EU), security (NATO), and cultural-​civilizational (the EBU and UEFA). These sectoral discussions are also previewed briefly at the end of this chapter and presented in more depth in the rest of Part I—­​­chapters 3, 4, and 5, respectively.

Three Sets of Actors in Europeanization The three sets of actors involved in the broad process of Europeanization in the post-​communist world are as follows. (See Box 1.2.) First are the European gatekeepers, the elites who populate the most important political, security, and cultural-​civilizational institutions of Europe—​the EU, NATO, and UEFA/​EBU, respectively. The second set of actors comprises the non-​Russian states of the former communist world—​a set that includes but is not restricted to the fourteen republics of the former Soviet Union. The third actor is Russia itself. While they differ greatly from one another in terms of history, landmass, resource endowment, and leadership, all the non-​Russian post-​communist states are situated both literally and metaphorically between two larger hegemons, and as such, must navigate their futures in a challenging, tightly constrained environment. Russia’s historical status as an empire in its own right (both in its Tsarist and Soviet guises), and the fact that it continues to occupy a liminal state between its imperial past and its present as a “nation-​state” (albeit the world’s largest), means that Russia’s participation in and influence on the Europeanization processes of the past thirty years is equal (and increasingly, opposite) to that of European actors. It is the dubious fate of the smaller states of the post-​communist world to be caught in the (evolving and changeable) dynamic between these two larger blocs.

Three Animating Forces of Europeanization Three animating forces characterize the process of Europeanization that has evolved over the past three decades. (See Box 1.3.) The first is the

Box 1.2  Three Sets of Actors in Europeanization European Gatekeepers Post-​Communist  States Russia

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

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Box 1.3  Three Animating Forces Characterizing Europeanization since 1989 Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) Values-​based identity commitments embedded in postwar European institutions Instrumental concerns of post-​communist and post-​Soviet states

European-​Orientalist cultural gradient, which sets the broad contours of relations between the western and eastern halves of Europe, and which I present in more detail in c­ hapter 2. The assumptions of the EOCG shape the way that Europeanization was initially framed and offered to the post-​communist states, namely as a “tutelary” and “one-​way” process whereby “superior” western European states and institutions dictated to “inferior” former communist states the terms and conditions upon which they would be “allowed” to enter Europe. The number and type of conditions required for Europeanization is consonant with a given state’s position on the EOCG, and Europeanization becomes harder and less likely for those positioned further from the European “norm.” Significantly, as they gained membership in Europe’s most important institutions (the EU and NATO), “new” European states from the post-​communist world sought to recast the terms of the EOCG to include some of their post-​communist brethren and exclude others (namely Russia). The second and related dynamic at play in Europeanization since 1989 concerns the way that institutional, “official” Europe understands itself. Since 1945, European institutions such as the EU and NATO have been organized on the premise that they are “special” communities of states based chiefly on shared liberal values and norms, and not merely communities of self-​interested actors each pursuing sovereignty according to the dictates of realpolitik. States in the former communist world would skillfully use Europe’s value-​based self-​ understanding to “rhetorically entrap” European gatekeepers into pursuing enlargement to the post-​communist east (Schimmelfennig 2003). That very process of enlargement itself would, ironically and unexpectedly, later bring about wrenching transformations in Europe’s understanding of itself as a set of value-​based communities (Agh 2016; Appel and Orenstein 2018; Ghodsee 2017; Krastev 2017; Malova and Dolny 2016; Person 2016). The final dynamic animating the broad contours of Europeanization in the former communist world since 1989 is about self-​interest rather than self-​identification. Identity and interest are intertwined in complex ways, and throughout this analysis I remain attentive to the moments when the two are in conflict, or when one clearly prevails over the other. Because the post-​communist

 

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Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

states exist in a profound form of the security dilemma, trying to preserve their sovereignty in the midst of two increasingly hostile blocs, the influence of self-​ interest is at times more visible in the choices they make regarding whether or not, or to what degree to pursue Europeanization in a particular sector (political, security, or cultural-​civilizational).

Three Chronological Phases of Europeanization It is helpful to break the general process of Europeanization in the post-​ communist world since 1989 into three roughly decade-​long phases. (See Box 1.4.) Phase One, which I call “Europhoria,” took place from 1989 to 1999. Phase Two, “Europhilia,” encompasses the years 2000–​2008. The third stage, which I label “Europhobia,” dates roughly from 2009 to the present. Phase One of Europeanization: Europhoria (1989–​1999). Some of the states that emerged newly freed from communism’s wreckage in 1989, especially the Visegrad states of Czechoslovakia, Poland, Hungary, were intimately, if decreasingly, familiar to the powers of western Europe. Towering figures from these states, particularly Czech dissident Václav Havel, made morally and politically forceful arguments—​ultimately successful—​that they belonged in the European Union and NATO. Havel and others challenged those building the new EU and leading NATO to pursue an understanding of Europeanness that was based on what we might call Europe’s “best moral self.” They pushed gatekeepers in western Europe to embrace confidently the salutary vision of Europe as it had been preserved and cherished behind the Iron Curtain—​Europe as a values-​ based community that stood for political democracy, human rights, a commitment to a multilateral approach to international relations, and a free but just form of social-​welfare capitalism. (See Figure 1.1.) Bolstered by the quick and seemingly successful reunification of Germany in 1990, and also “rhetorically entrapped” by the skillful use of their own claims to high moral-​mindedness against them by “pastoral authorities” like Havel (Schimmelfennig 2003; Kuus 2007), European gatekeepers in the EU and NATO had, by the end of the 1990s, made the decision to proceed with a

Box 1.4  Three Chronological Phases of Europeanization since 1989 Europhoria (1989–​1999) Europhilia (2000–​2008) Europhobia (2009–​)

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

Eurocentric-Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG)

Values-based identity commitments embedded in postwar European instutions

Instrumental concerns of postcommunist and post-Soviet states

15

• Assumptions about the degree of intrinsic Europeanness of individual post-Soviet states according to history, culture, geography.

• “Rhetorical entrapment” of European institutions by their own commitments to the idea of Europe as a community of values.

• Desire of individual post-communist states to maximize their political, economica and security advantages in new context.

Figure 1.1  Phase One of Europeanization: Europhoria (1989–​1999)

large-​scale enlargement of the EU and NATO. The pool of states that had been invited to begin membership accession negotiations with the EU by the time of the Helsinki European Council meeting of December 1999 included not just most of the former Warsaw Pact states, but also three of the former constituent Soviet republics themselves—​Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania. NATO expansion unfolded even more quickly; at the April 1999 NATO Summit in Washington, Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic were introduced as full-​fledged members of the Euro-​Atlantic alliance, while other post-​communist and post-​Soviet states (the three Baltics again) left Washington that April with “Membership Action Plans” (MAPs) aimed at their speedy integration into NATO. In cultural-​civilizational terms, “Euphoric” Europeanization proceeded even more quickly and expansively between 1989 and 1999. By 1999, all the former Warsaw Pact states, Russia, the three Baltic states, the three Caucasus states, plus Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova had joined UEFA and competed in the European Football Championships; by the same date, most of the former Warsaw Pact states, as well as Estonia, Lithuania, and Russia had joined the EBU and participated in Eurovision. This brief review of the early period of Europeanization reveals clearly how both the assumptions of the EOCG and Europe’s self-​identification as a values-​ based community helped shaped that process. Post-​communist states that were able to present themselves as “more European” gained faster entry into European institutions—​most notable here is the differential success of the Visegrad states compared with the Balkan states (Romania, Bulgaria, and the states of the

 

16

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

former Yugoslavia), and of the Baltic states compared with the rest of the former Soviet republics. We also see the importance of Europe’s self-​identification as a values-​based community to this first, “Europhoric” expansion of Europe. The vision of Europe as a group of states committed to freedom and democracy attracted not only the Visegrad and Baltic states, but even the Soviet Union of Gorbachev and the Russian Federation of Yeltsin. One might see this as either a sincere phenomenon attesting to the perennial appeal of these values, or as a case of Europe being “rhetorically entrapped” by savvy easterners into expanding against its own self-​interest (as Schimmelfenning does). In either case, the self-​definition of European institutions as values-​based entities is a central factor in explaining the dynamics of early Europeanization. The fact of instrumental self-​interest was also at work alongside identity and normative concerns during the first decade of Europeanization. Newly independent post-​communist states may have identified with the notion of “Europe” and longed for freedom and democracy, but they also obviously wanted protection and help as they emerged from communism. Economic turmoil and political uncertainty in Russia, coupled with the powerfully visible example of prosperity via neoliberalism coming from Europe, added to the overall tendency of actors in the post-​communist world to seek Europeanization as the answer to dilemmas of both security and economic growth (Appel and Orenstein 2018). Phase Two of Europeanization: Europhilia (2000–​2008). During this second, somewhat truncated state of Europeanization, large cohorts of post-​communist and post-​Soviet states (if only the Baltic ones) became full-​fledged members of European institutions (characterized by the “Big Bang” enlargements of the EU and NATO in 2004). (See Figure 1.2.) These states began to use their new status to reshape both discursive and institutional definitions of Europeanness so that more post-​Soviet states such as Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova could be included in “Europe,” while others, chiefly Russia, would be definitively excluded from the same. By the end of this period of “Europhilia,” European gatekeepers in the EU and NATO, at the behest of the “new European” states from the former communist world, had sent clear signals to post-​Soviet states like Georgia and Ukraine that soon the process of Europeanization would be open to them. “Color Revolutions” in Georgia in winter 2003–​2004 and in Ukraine in winter 2004–​2005 were in part inspired by and in turn catalyzed “Europhilic” pro-​ Europeanization sentiments in these states (Horvath 2011). This transformation of the EOCG to include more of Russia’s former territories, while further excluding Russia, coupled with the apparently strengthening possibility that some former Soviet republics beyond the Baltics might actually be allowed to join Europe’s institutional “communities of values,” led to a pronounced change in Russia’s relationship with Europe and attitude toward

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

Reconfigured EurocentricOrientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG)

Values-based identity commitments embedded in postwar European institutions

Instrumental concerns of post-communist and postSoviet states

17

• “New Europeans” push for new definitions of who is culturally European--Russia is definitely not. • Some post-Soviet states begin to push for “enhanced” position in reconfigured EOCG.

• “New Europeans” push for some post-Soviet states to be considered as part of European institutions (“Eastern partnership” states). • Some post-Soviet states seek “protection” from Russia in Europe on basis of “shared values.”

• “Successful” Europeanization in some post-communist and post-Soviet states enhances the attractiveness of Europeanization model. • Russia comes to see Europe and Europeanization as potent threats to its security.

Figure 1.2  Phase Two of Europeanization: Europhilia (2000–​2008)

Europeanization. Rejecting an “equal partnership” with Europe, Russia began in earnest to pursue its own institutional alternatives to Europe in the form of the Eurasian Union project and the CSTO. To underscore the new seriousness of its animosity to the continuation of Europeanization into the former Soviet Union, Russia also mounted its first armed opposition against the further spread of Europe to the east, invading Georgia in the summer of 2008. The introduction of the element of armed force changed the calculus of self-​interest facing the former Soviet states; it made clear that the cost of pursuing Europeanization was potential Russian invasion, but also that whatever “alternative” to Europeanization Russia was offering them was probably going to end up more like the imperial relations of Tsarist and Soviet days than the “Eurasia is just like Europe” vision that Russia was forwarding during these years. Phase Three:  Europhobia 2009–​? The transformation from two decades of European strength and expansion to an era of what I characterize as Europhobia has been dizzyingly rapid. (See Figure 1.3.) Beginning around 2009, the utility, desirability, and viability of the European postwar project has been increasingly (and increasingly successfully) besieged by both internal and external forces. Internally, Euroskeptic, far-​right, and populist parties and movements in EU and NATO member states have won national elections and, in the case of Britain, voted to leave the EU altogether. Externally, the entirely historically precedented revival of Russia’s attempts to strengthen its own position by weakening European unity and challenging the liberal norms at the base of the postwar European project is joined by the entirely historically unprecedented attempt by

 

18

Russia, the Former Soviet Republics, and Europe

Further Reconfiguration of Eurocentric-Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG)

Values-based identity commitments embedded in postwar European institutions

Instrumental concerns of post-communist and postSoviet states

• Some post-Soviet states (Baltics, Ukraine, Georgia) continue to believe in EOCG and enhancing their position on it. • Some post-communist states (Hungary, Poland) reject EOCG and assert ability to define Europeanness for selves (and in concert with Russia).

• Baltics, Ukraine, and Georgia continue to push for liberal, multilateral, values-based institutions in Europe. • Hungary and Poland, in concert with Russia, along with significant political actors in all EU states, challenge liberal, multilateral, values-based institutions in Europe.

• Russian use of military force in Georgia and Ukraine to oppose Europeanization and advent of multiple crises within the EU make calculations of interest regarding Europeanization more difficult for post-Soviet states.

Figure 1.3  Phase Three of Europeanization: Europhobia (2009–​)

some actors in the United States, including President Donald Trump, and his erstwhile gray cardinal, Steve Bannon, to do the same. One of the few points of Europhilic light that remains lit and has even by some metrics brightened during this more general era of Europhobia is in those post-​Soviet states where Russia has pressed its anti-​European agenda most firmly, particularly in Ukraine since the advent of the EuroMaidan movement in fall 2013. The roots of the era of Europhobia are found in two seismic events occurring in the second half of 2008—​the Russian invasion of Georgia in August and the collapse of the Lehman Brothers bank in September. The former signified a new level of Russian antipathy to the post-​1989 processes of Europeanization, while the latter inaugurated an acute global economic crisis that had the effect in Europe of “shaking to the core” the belief in liberal political ideas and neoliberal economic models that had characterized relations between post-​communist states and Europe during the same era (Appel and Orenstein 2018). Particularly in the post-​communist states (Agh 2016; Person 2016), although certainly not only there, the belief in the “inevitable” triumph of these liberal values in Europe has been harrowingly dashed, and replaced with the comforting, if misleading, belief in the “eternal” embrace of the sovereign nation-​state (Krastev 2017; Snyder 2018; Ther 2016). The immense refugee/​migrant crisis in Europe, which reached its peak in the summer of 2015, has been described by Ivan Krastev as a truly “pan-​European” phenomenon that presents a challenge of “revolutionary” proportions (2017, 14). The serious “bungling” of both these crises by EU politicians in Brussels has amplified Europhobic, antiliberal, and centrifugal

 



From Europhilia to Europhob ia?

19

tendencies across Europe (Krastev 2017, 49; Kazharski 2017; Malova and Dolny 2016, 309). Russia has capitalized on this period of “Europhobic” crisis by demonstrating a continued willingness to halt Europeanization in the former Soviet world by military means (in Ukraine since winter 2013), through multifaceted efforts to further weaken the postwar European project and its institutions from within, and by presenting itself as the purveyor of an alt/​alte narrative of Europeanness that emphasizes sovereignty, illiberalism, and “strength” in politics and Christianity, ethnic nationalism, white supremacy, and cultural conservatism in the civilizational realm. While all European states have been impacted by Russia’s “cultural statecraft” and “information warfare” (Brattberg and Mauer 2018; Cizik 2017; Forsberg and Smith 2016), strong political factions in the Visegrad states, and in Hungary most of all, find Russia’s “alternative” understanding of Europe to be increasingly appealing (Kazharski and Makarychev 2018). Russia’s alt/​alte model of Europeanness is not merely discursive or civilizational. Appel and Orenstein point out that Russia’s institutional mix of “centralized statism and kleptocracy” has since 2010 and for all intents and purposes been “successfully imported into Hungary” (2018, 166), while Snyder laments that in the third post-​communist decade, Russia has both “begun to imagine” and to actually execute “a reverse integration, in which European states would become more like Russia” (2018, 80). It is certainly possible to see Brexit, and the rise of illiberal governments in Hungary and Poland, as signs of such a process.

Contextualizing Europeanization Processes in Russia and the States of the Former Soviet Union I have sketched out how I understand the general process of Europeanization in the post-​communist world to have unfolded since 1989; the rest of the book is devoted to examining how the fifteen post-​Soviet states in particular have navigated the question of Europeanization. As stated, I am defining Europeanization here as the process through which both the institutional, practical and normative, cultural meanings of “Europe” and “Europeanness” are negotiated; I further assert that the two historical dynamics of the EOCG and Russia relationship with Europe broadly shape that process. When focusing on Europeanization specifically in the subset of fifteen post-​Soviet states, I am therefore particularly interested both in how the EOCG operates in an overall sense, and in how Russia’s historical status as an imperial hegemon with a fraught relationship to both the other states of Europe and to the question of its own European identity further complicates the Europeanization process. For the fourteen other non-​Russian,

 

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post-​Soviet states, I am attentive to how their historical status as subjects of both imperial and Soviet Russia and their current status as small states fighting for sovereignty between the European and Russian hegemons shape the contours of Europeanization. Exactly because of the historically complicated and marginal position that these states occupy at the edges of an expanded (and potentially expanding) Europe, examining the process of Europeanization in Russia and the fourteen post-​Soviet states elicits profound insights into Europe’s troubled present, and its possible future.

The EOCG in Russia and the Former Soviet Union Scholars studying the process of Europeanization through enlargement in the post-​communist era emphasize the interactive nature of the process and the importance of conditionality—​the setting of firm reform targets for aspirant states in exchange for clear progress in “becoming European” through the granting of membership in pan-​European organizations (Cirtautas and Schimmelfennig 2010; Grabbe 2006; Mungiu-​Pippidi 2010; Schimmelfennig and Scholtz 2010; Vachudova 2008, 2010). Successful Europeanization through enlargement thus involves both adequate “outreach” efforts on the part of European gatekeeping actors in the EU and NATO and an adequate response by state actors in post-​communist countries. Europeanization and enlargement have worked when European gatekeeping actors offer credible incentives to post-​communist countries (in the form of EU and NATO membership), and when states in post-​ communist countries have both the will and capacity to respond positively to those incentives. Existing studies of Europeanization emphasize the importance of objective, extrinsic variables in the successful completion of the process—​states hoping to become part of institutional Europe must demonstrate measurable progress in achieving a whole set of political and economic conditions before they can move forward on the European path. Yet these accounts also highlight the import of more subjective, intrinsic types of variables in understanding the success or failure of the Europeanization process. The initial subjective judgments that European gatekeeping agents make about the intrinsic “Europeanness” of a given post-​communist state influence both the decision to allow that state to embark on a path of Europeanization and the degree of political and financial commitment Europe will make to see that state through to the onerous process of “joining Europe.” Scholars have examined in preliminary large-​N studies the question of how different historical and institutional legacies impact the processes of Europeanization in the former Communist world (and also Europe’s Mediterranean neighborhood) (Cirtautas and Schimmelfennig

 



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2010; Schimmelfennig and Scholtz 2010). These conclude that a truer understanding of the processes of Europeanization in the post-​communist world must be embedded in “the complicated reality of the region’s intertwined historical legacies” (Cirtautas and Schimmelfennig 2010, 438). They call for further investigation into the way that “fundamental cultural predispositions” patterned by religion and civilizational inheritance “possibly shape” the relationship between aspirant countries and various European institutions (Schimmelfennig and Scholtz 2010, 457). This book answers this call by positing that all actors involved in the Europeanization process since 1989 are operating with a powerful and broadly similar cognitive map covering both Europe and the former Soviet Union, though they may interpret the boundaries and meanings of this mental geography in different ways. Expanding on the use of the term by historian Martin Malia and others, one can call this worldview the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient—​the EOCG (Evtuhov and Kotkin 2003; Malia 2006). Historically, this gradient has had both taxonomic and descriptive functions as well as prescriptive and remedial ones. The EOCG that forms the mental map of both European gatekeepers and post-​Soviet actors as they more or less ardently or successfully pursue Europeanization assumes that there is something called “Europeanness,” an intrinsic set of cultural-​civilizational characteristics, acquired through historical experience, that directly determines the ability of a given state or people to develop those objective, extrinsic characteristics that are also associated with Europeanness. These extrinsic markers include modernity, prosperity, democracy, good governance through the rule of law, and respect for diversity and human rights.3 For countries that are considered to be “unproblematically” European, located at the “top” of the EOCG (according to Malia and others, the top of the gradient is indicated by a northern and western geographic situation and being a member of the “Atlantic West”—​France, Spain, or Britain), the intrinsic and extrinsic qualities of Europeanness developed together into what Ernest Gellner calls the sui generis “miracle” of Western Civilization, which then became the norm for all other peoples of the world to emulate, if they could (De Rougement 1966; Gellner 1989; Hay 1957; Malia 2006; Trevor-​Roper 1965). As put succinctly by Malia, “modern civilization overall is a European creation, as uncomfortable as it may be for the rest of humanity” (2006, 2). From its Eurocentric pinnacle in the Atlantic northwest, the cognitive, descriptive, and prescriptive map that is the EOCG follows a steady declivity across and down the European and Eurasian landmasses in a southeasterly direction, marking more severe lag times in the achievement of and deficient levels of possession of both the intrinsic and extrinsic characteristics of Europeanness

 

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as it goes, until, finally, the point is reached at which both the characteristics of European civilization and the potential to develop them are absent—​the Orientalist nadir, realm of the barbarian and the true “other.” This “hegemonic western scale” (Bakic-​Hayden 1995, 924; Herzfeld 1987, 28)  or “civilizational slope” (Melegh 2006)  demarcates “Europe” from “Asia” and “the Orient” and places the countries and peoples along its expanse not only in geographic zones but in moral categories as well, marking a normative descent from civilization to barbarism, human to savage, development to non-​ development, good to bad, and desired to despised (Evtuhov and Kotkin 2003; Malia 1994, 55; 1999, 13; Melegh 2006, 9–​14). This “imaginative geography” can therefore be described fruitfully as both Eurocentric, valuing all that is associated with Europeanness, and also Orientalist, devaluing all that is considered non-​ or anti-​European (Khalid 2000, 698).4 Entire libraries have been devoted to understanding (and, crucially and necessarily, deconstructing) the two poles of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient. Most significant for my purposes here is the middle portion of the EOCG, the “zone of ambiguity,” variously called Eastern Europe, Central Europe, Central and Eastern Europe, post-​communist Eurasia, or “the post-​communist world.” Larry Wolff has masterfully detailed the process by which this area, mediating as it did between Europe and the “true other of the Orient and Islam,” helped Europe define itself by providing a model of “semi-​Europeanness,” “potential Europeanness,” or “developmental Europeanness” against which “true Europe” could be constituted as the ruling norm (1994, 2010). Scholars studying Europeanization and the eastern enlargement of the EU and NATO after the collapse of communism (including the case of Turkey) have observed that while this process is ostensibly driven by the ability of candidate states to fulfill the objective political and economic benchmarks set for them based on the principle of conditionality, the cognitive map provided by the EOCG also strongly influences the decisions of European gatekeeping actors about how to proceed with enlargement (Baykal 2005; Neumann 1998; Rumelili 2004). European gatekeepers’ subjective feelings and judgments about the intrinsic “Europeanness” of a given state influenced their decision about whether or not they would be able to fulfill the objective criteria associated with conditionality. These subjective understandings include both traditionalist, “cultural,” populist, and illiberal ways of defining Europe that openly stress the necessity of a shared historical, cultural, and religious heritage as criteria for “belonging” to Europe, and more “civic,” elite, liberal, and values-​based understandings of Europe that stress a shared commitment to norms such as democracy and the rule of law, respect for diversity and human rights, and some form of a free economy (Oner 2011; Risse 2010; Taras 2009).

 



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Countries that were judged to have the highest levels of “Europeanness” according to the criteria of the EOCG, like the Czech Republic, Poland, and the Baltic states, were moved along the enlargement path with great dispatch (Neumann 1998). Those perceived to be located in “lower” positions on the EOCG, such as Romania, Bulgaria, the Balkans, and Turkey, have encountered much more opposition from European gatekeeping actors along the road to “becoming European.” These states “further down” the EOCG continue to face such barriers to full acceptance in the EU, demonstrated by the September 2011 decision to prevent Romania and Bulgaria from joining the Schengen Zone (Bakic-​Hayden and Hayden 1992; Bakic-​Hayden 1995; Patterson 2003; Todorova 1994, 2009). The expansive territories that once composed the Russian Empire and Soviet Union have a particularly complicated and fraught position on the EOCG. The centrality of “the European question” to Russia’s struggle for a national identity and Russia’s attendant ambiguous status as an only “semi” or “quasi” European country has been one of the chief animating forces in its historical and contemporary development (Malia 1994, 1999, 2006; McDaniel 1996; Neumann 1996, 1998, 2008; Poe 2000, 2002; Riasanovsky 2003, 2005). The bitter years of the Cold War marked Soviet Russia in the eyes of many Europeans on either side of the Berlin Wall (chief among them dissidents such as Milan Kundera) as a malevolent, non-​European force, contaminating all peoples it touched with a virulent anti-​European, de-​developmental virus (Kundera 1984; Peteri 2010). Since the war with Georgia in 2008 and the annexation of Crimea in 2014, actors in both Russia itself and in Europe have at times actively styled Russia as the embodiment and proponent of anti-​or non-​European forces. Yet it is also true that for significant portions of European history, the Russian Tsarist empire was fully accepted as a “civilized and European” entity, namely from the time of Peter the Great onward, and particularly so during the reigns of Catherine II and the post-​Napoleonic era (Engelstein 2009; Malia 1999).5 Even during the Soviet repressions of the 1930s and at the height of the Cold War, some European actors saw the Soviet Union not as anti-​European but rather as the true embodiment and fulfillment of the promise of European modernity (Kotkin 2003; Malia 2006; Riasanovsky 2003, 2005). Some Soviet leaders, particularly after Stalin, also saw the Soviet Union as being on a path heading “in the same direction” as European modernity in its postwar consumerist mode (Peteri 2010, 12). The inability of the Soviet economic and social system to fulfill its promise to “provide a workable way toward an alternative modernity” explains in part the ultimate collapse of that system in the late 1980s (Peteri 2010; Castillo 2010). Both Russia’s intelligentsia and its leadership historically have been intensely ambivalent about Russia’s Europeanness, stressing or rejecting this dimension

 

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of Russia’s past and present as domestic stability and international security imperatives demand (Engelstein 2009). It is crucial to note that Russian leaders, during both the Tsarist and the Soviet eras, largely replicated the EOCG within the Russian state itself, seeing the imperial centers of Moscow and St. Petersburg as highly Europeanized metropoles from which civilizing and Europeanizing missions to the peripheral parts of the state must emanate.6 As Dostoyevsky put it, despite the fact that Europe might see Russians as “slaves” who were not quite worthy of the title “European,” in their relationship to their own internal “Asian” territories and peoples, Russians were eager to play the role of “European master . . . to the extent possible, when possible” (quoted in Khalid 2000, 697). The fact that Russia’s Tsarist and Soviet leaders replicated the EOCG within Russia is not surprising, for two reasons. The first is that just as Eastern Europe and the Balkans served as “the other” against which “true” Europe defined itself, so did the “other” of the peripheral parts of the Russian state help build up the Russian center’s weak, embattled, and ambivalent sense of Europeanness. The second is that the geographical boundaries of the Tsarist imperial and Soviet states so neatly replicated the geographic declension of the EOCG; if in Eastern Europe the gradient runs from the “Atlantic West” to the Balkans, in the Tsarist and Soviet case it runs from the northwestern territories of the Baltics to the Central Asian republics. To the original European judgment that all the countries to Europe’s immediate east (especially Russia) were somehow only partially and deficiently European, those states that were formerly part of the Tsarist and Russian empires must therefore add another legacy of also being seen (to different degrees in different places and at different times) through Eurocentric and Orientalist lenses by their former masters in Moscow and St. Petersburg. An important aspect of the present analysis is untangling these various historical and contemporary strands of imaginative geography and understanding how each might influence contemporary ideas and policy about Europeanization in Russia and the Soviet successor states. The Centrality and Complexity of Russia’s Influence on Europeanization in the Former Soviet Union. When Mikhail Gorbachev made his claim for the Soviet Union’s essential Europeanness in the 1980s, he was both acting in the spirit of the Helsinki process of the 1970s and making a geopolitical power play aimed at salvaging-​by-​transforming the Soviet Union’s foreign relations with the West (Blacker 1990/​1991). Yet Gorbachev’s forceful assertion that “We [the Soviet Union] are Europeans,” and that Russia’s history “was an organic part of Europe’s great history,” elides two important facts. First, like Catherine the Great before him, who asserted plainly in her 1767 Instructions to the Legislative Commission that “Russia is a European state,” Gorbachev used bald declaration to mask the fact that Russia’s status as a European entity has historically been a

 



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matter of great question, debate, and contention in both Europe and Russia, and that it, quite obviously, remains very much so to this day. Second, by claiming the status of “Europeanness” for the entire Soviet Union, Gorbachev also effectively avoided questions about the colonizing, “civilizing” missionary histories of the Russian Tsarist and Soviet states. With his triumphant claims of “achieved Europeanness” for the Soviet Union, Gorbachev was also claiming that these imperial missions had completely realized their goals, and that “Europeanization” and modernization had been successfully achieved within vast expanse of the Soviet Union’s borders, from Kaliningrad to Kamchatka, Tallinn to Tajikistan. The collapse of Soviet power revived, in an acute way, the enduring question about Russia’s desire to become or ability to become a “normal” modern, European nation-​state (Beissinger 1993, 1995; Shevtsova 2010a, 2010b; Trenin 2007). To a great extent, the question of Europeanization in the Soviet successor states hinges on the question of Russia’s own European orientation and Europeanizing intentions, or lack thereof—​a question that is central to Russia’s militarized disputes with Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine in recent years. The question of Russia’s own Europeanness and its place in Europe is thus perennially and centrally significant for its own political development and that of its closest neighbors. Chapter 2 delves into the history and ideas about European culture and civilization that animate the EOCG, with a particular focus on how Russia has fit into that schema. Chapter 2 further constructs a heuristic scale that both European gatekeeping agents and actors within post-​Soviet states themselves might use to judge the levels of “intrinsic” Europeanness of different Soviet successor states. This scale, though by necessity reductive and open to dispute, is meant to be suggestive of why European gatekeeping agents may or may not choose to engage more deeply with particular Soviet successor states and why those states themselves may or may not choose to present themselves as belonging to European culture and civilization (and why they may or may not succeed in those efforts). Chapters  3, 4, and 5 examine how the EOCG has interacted with the fact of Russia’s post-​imperial presence to inform Europeanization processes in three different sectors—​political (­chapter  3), security (­chapter  4), and cultural-​ civilizational (­chapter 5) realms. Europeanization in the Political and Security Realms in the States of the Former Soviet Union. Most extant studies of Europeanization focus solely on enlargement—​the process by which post-​communist states have sought to become members of the EU and NATO. Here, in ­chapters 3 and 4, I offer my own contribution to these discussions, highlighting in both the way that the dynamics of the EOCG and Russian hegemony have structured the processes of enlargement. European gatekeeping actors generally insist that the process of enlarging European political and security institutions is based on a “civic” understanding

 

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of Europe, with membership being open to any “European” state that can meet the objective, extrinsic political and economic criteria set by those institutions as conditions for accession. As put in the Charter of European Identity, a document inspired by former Czech Republic president Václav Havel, “being a European is not a question of birth, but education.”7 According to the logic of conditionality-​ based enlargement, being European is a question of demonstrating the correct political and economic forms and figures to EU and NATO audiences. Yet, as studies by Baykal (2005), Neumann (1998), Oner (2011), and Rumelili (2004) demonstrate, the actual practice of EU and NATO enlargement since 1989 suggests that there exists a subtle but influential a priori requirement that those states seeking membership in European institutions through the adoption of these extrinsic criteria must first meet the requirement of being judged to be intrinsically “European” enough in an intrinsic cultural and civilizational sense before being allowed to proceed with the process of proving they have met the extrinsic criteria necessary for accession to European institutions. If membership in Europe’s political and security institutions is truly based on “acquired,” extrinsic characteristics and not “inherent,” intrinsic ones, then relations between actors in the process of Europeanization should be characterized by bargaining founded on clear criteria and calculations of interest (rather than on intersubjectivity based understandings of identity). If, however, successful Europeanization is also predicated on more intrinsic, ontological, and cultural or civilization understandings of “Europeanness,” as many actors located at less desirable locations along the EOCG argue that it is, then assumptions and negotiations about identity will also be part of Europeanization as well. Related to this situation, and of great import for understanding Europeanization in Russia and the Soviet successor states, is the fact that many scholars (and the popular press) agree that the most prominent European political institution, the EU, currently finds itself suffering from “enlargement fatigue” (along with the Eurozone and debt crises that also plague it), with some suggesting that the “natural limits” of a reconstituted, post-​communist EU might have already been reached, if not exceeded (Todorova 2009, 192; see also Bindi and Angelescu 2011). If European enlargement is truly over, the result is the effective re-​establishment of a divided Europe, with Russia and the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states clearly on the outside, a situation that has the potential to perpetuate and deepen cycles of autocracy and penury in the excluded states. Perhaps cognizant of such negative potentialities, the EU itself has acted to prevent the emergence of such a stark “in or out,” “all or nothing” dynamic regarding institutional Europeanization for Russia and the Soviet successor states (as has NATO). EU programs such as the European Neighborhood Program (ENP) and the Eastern Partnership (EAP) are in fact specifically designed to prevent the type of frustrated backlash in the former Soviet Union and to continue

 



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the process of European institutional “integration without membership.” Within the auspices of these programs, the “new” European states of Poland and the Baltic states have made continued (and ever closer) EU and NATO engagement with the ex-​Soviet republics an important foreign policy priority. The violent clashes of the EuroMaidan and the ongoing crisis in eastern and southern Ukraine that began in late 2013 demonstrate vividly the disruptive potential inherent in the question of increased institutional Europeanization in Soviet successor states. EuroMaidan’s strong support for increased institutional Europeanization for Ukraine, and the AntiMaidan’s effective means of opposing that process, have made clear to European gatekeeping agents the shortcomings of the “integration without membership” formula but have not suggested a clear alternative to this policy. Here I characterize a country’s institutional Europeanization efforts in the political and security realms as “strong” if that state shows evidence of seeking ever-​increasing levels of participation in and eventual membership in the most central political and security European institutions (the EU and NATO); as “moderate” if it shows little interest in pursuing eventual EU or NATO membership but participates actively in the “lesser” European political and security institutions such as Council of Europe (CoE) and the OSCE; and as “weak” if it shows no real demonstrated inclination to participate in institutional Europe—​political or social—​in any meaningful way, acts to impede the functioning of these institutions, or seeks to join institutions that represent “alternatives to Europe,” such as Russia’s Eurasian Economic Union project (EEU) or the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO). (See Figure 1.4 and Figure 1.5.) Although I do not attend in detail in this analysis to the activities of the CoE and OSCE, the most important “secondary” European institutions in the political and security realm, respectively, I do include levels of participation in them as a useful supplementary measure of Europeanization in the former Soviet states. Europeanization in the political and security sectors has two features that distinguish it from the Europeanization process in the cultural-​civilizational realm. The first is that the criteria for joining the EU and NATO, Europe’s most important political and security institutions, are concrete and well known, having been firmly established during the “Euphoric” first phase of Europeanization from 1989 to 1999. The second is that while the criteria for Europeanizing in this way are clear, they are also onerous, costly, and for many if not all post-​Soviet states, potentially unrealistic. There is a high cost associated with Europeanizing in the political and security realms by joining the EU and NATO: cleaning up political and economic corruption, opening up the political system, adhering to the rule of law in domestic and international contexts, stark austerity measures in the economic realm, expensive military reforms, and potential military invasion by

 

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Europeanization in Political Institutions

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU Relations: Expressed intention to join EU; member of Eastern Parternship (EAP).

EU Relations: Member of Eastern Partnership (EAP).

EU Relations: Not a member of Eastern Partnership (EAP).

Council of Europe: Active member of Council of Europe; initiates Council activities.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe; does not hamper Council activities.

Council of Europe: Not a member of Council of Europe or hampers Council activities.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Not a member of any institutions such as the CIS, EEU or SCO.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Member of institutions such as the CIS, EEU, or SCO, but in a limited way.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Full-fledged, active member of institutions such as the CIS, EEU or SCO.

Figure 1.4  Europeanization in Political Institutions

Russia. This makes the decision to pursue Europeanization by seeking full membership in the EU or NATO a very difficult one for post-​Soviet elites. I argue that a combination of both instrumental and identity reasons might persuade Soviet successor states to pursue such an arduous course. From an instrumental perspective, actors in the Soviet successor states might believe that only a political institution such as the EU provides the most just and prosperous form of political and economic existence, and they want these goods for themselves and their populations. Similarly, they may believe that only membership in NATO can provide them with the security guarantees they need to survive and protect their sovereignty in the international system. Thus, regardless of whether or not they are considered culturally European or are seen as “natural” or intrinsic members of European civilization according to the judgments of European gatekeepers or the EOCG, post-​Soviet actors might pursue EU or NATO membership because of the material and security benefits they promise,

 



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Europeanization in Security Institutions

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Government has at least once publicly expressed intention of joining NATO; Participates in the IPAP program.

NATO Relations: Active member of the PFP program; participates in joint exercises with NATO.

NATO Relations: May be member of PFP; little evidence of active participation in PFP.

OSCE Relations: Active member of the OSCE; initiates OSCE activities.

OSCE Relations: Member of the OSCE; does not hinder OSCE activities.

OSCE Relations: May or may not be member of the OSCE; actively obstructs OSCE activities.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Not a member of any institutions such as the CSTO.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Member of some institutions such as the CSTO, participates in a limited way.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Full-fledged, active member institutions such as the CSTO.

Figure 1.5  Europeanization in Security Institutions

and out of a desire to organize their societies according to the most highly evolved political, economic, and security norms available. On the other hand, post-​Soviet actors may want to pursue membership in the EU and NATO specifically because they see themselves as ontologically European and want to model their domestic political, security, and cultural practices on specifically European models. Their self-​identification as states with a “European vocation” dictates that they align with European political, security, and cultural-​ civilizational institutions and norms, no matter the cost. Post-​Soviet elites may also experience pressure from constituents demanding that they improve political, economic, security, and social conditions in the state, bringing them to a “European level” through institutional Europeanization. Just as during the Arab Spring, citizens initially rose against their authoritarian governments because those governments did not treat them as in ways “worthy of human dignity,” societal actors in post-​Soviet states may demand that their rulers adopt European political and social institutions because they identify themselves as belonging to a “dignified” European civilization that respects human rights and freedoms (as

 

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is seen on a small but important scale in Belarus’s opposition movement and as manifested in Russia on a larger scale in the winter of 2011–​2012 and in Ukraine during EuroMaidan).8 If the logic of the EOCG does influence contemporary processes of European enlargement, then those countries that are either located “higher” on the cultural gradient or that can convince Western European audiences that they are located higher on that gradient, will find themselves more enthusiastically received by the EU, NATO, and other European institutions, and will ultimately enjoy more success in “becoming European.” One way of creating this sense that a state sits “high” on the EOCG is through the “Soviet captivity” narratives that the Central European states, and, crucially, the Baltic republics, were able to use successfully in pushing for membership in the EU and NATO (Case 2009; Neumann 1998). Because political and security Europeanization is very costly in the short run, it is only those countries that have both the strongest senses of intrinsic Europeanness or those states with a strong desire to “move up” the EOCG and “prove” their Europeanness that will actually be motivated to pursue aggressively the high-​cost strategy of Europeanization in the political and security realm. For other states, which occupy a “lower” position on the EOCG (have lower “intrinsic” Europeanness), pursuing maximal political and security Europeanization through EU or NATO membership will be prohibitively problematic and expensive. A more particular logic governs decisions about Europeanization in the security realm. In understanding the behavior of Soviet successor states toward NATO, foremost in the analysis must be Russia’s status as the unquestioned historical and present hegemon of the region and the status of the other fourteen Soviet successor states as smaller states in the international system. Such states are even more acutely exposed to the survival imperative of the international system, particularly in close proximity to a hegemon (Ingebritsen 2006). This truth has been brought home particularly harshly to Moldova, Georgia, and Ukraine, but it holds for all the ex-​Soviet republics. Realist theories of international relations would suggest that the pursuit of Europeanization in the security realm should be less influenced by the dynamic of the EOCG. For realists, state behavior in international relations is explained by pure calculations of self-​interest, with the imperative of state survival. If a Soviet successor state pursues Europeanization in the security realm, it will do so only to increase its security in a hostile international system. Conversely, liberal institutional and constructivist revisions to realist theory suggest that states may pursue geopolitical Europeanization for reasons of both interest and identity; geopolitical Europeanization might be attractive not only because it can bring tangible security benefits but also because it offers normative attractions and consolations.

 



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Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in the Former Soviet Union. At the very heart of the workings of the EOCG is the assumption that possessing Europeanness and being considered part of European civilization is intrinsically valuable. It posits that Europeanness is something that is, if lacking, worthy of pursuit. As noted, many observers further argue that European gatekeeping agents consider the assumptions of the EOCG when granting access to institutional forms of Europeanness through enlargement; the more a state is thought to possess intrinsic Europeanness or to “belong” to European civilization, the more access to institutional Europeanization via enlargement it should be granted. Given this, it is reasonable to assume that post-​Soviet states might pursue cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization for both intrinsic, identity-​ oriented reasons (belonging to European civilization provides a prestigious and legitimating source of identity), and for more instrumental reasons (the more “intrinsically European” a state can make itself seem to be, the more empirical benefits in the form of political and economic Europeanization it will accrue). For this study, I define cultural-​civilizational Europeanization efforts as discursive and policy actions aimed at establishing the European cultural and civilization credentials of a given nation or culture and establishing definitively that one’s people, culture, and country are intrinsically or ontologically European and thus belong to Europe in a cultural and civilizational sense. Chapter 5 examines this general dynamic in more depth, while the individual case studies examine the way each post-​Soviet state has grappled with the question of its own Europeanness. One might expect such Europeanizing efforts to occur particularly in the shaping and interpretation of national histories and national traditions of literature, art, music, and religion. Berg and Oras assert that elites in all states employ a form of “geopolitical reasoning” that guides them to “choose a suitable historical truth from many, separate versions of ‘our people’ and ‘the others’ ” and to place themselves within “a hierarchy of friendly and hostile nations as well as proximate and distant countries” (2000, 602). It is clear that in those post-​ communist states that have already “joined Europe” via EU and NATO accession, national histories and cultures were interpreted and presented in such ways that demonstrated a “self-​assertion of modernization and Europeanization that ended as an act of secession” from the communist past (Baberowski 2007, 34). Cultural-​civilizational Europeanizing efforts by Soviet successor states also take place in the realms of entertainment and media (such as the EBU’s annual Eurovision Song Contest), and sport (such as UEFA’s quadrennial EURO European Football Championships). All these efforts have in common the attempt to locate the “national” within the “European”—​emphasizing how a national history fits into the overarching narrative of European history or demonstrating how national cultural forms meet “European” standards. Perhaps

 

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unintentionally, the Eurovision Song Contest has also become a vector through which “European” expectations about respecting the human rights and dignity of LGBTQ persons have also been debated in the former Soviet states. The desire to prove or improve one’s “Europeanness” by participating in “European culture” via Eurovision is complicated by the acceptance of LGBTQ persons and their rights that comes with support of Eurovision; several post-​Soviet states have found their Eurovision successes and pretensions hampered by persistent anti-​LGBTQ sentiment in their societies. According to the logic of the EOCG, states, peoples, and nations located near the top of the Eurocentric conceptual map (who have “high” intrinsic Europeanness) can safely be assumed to possess European cultures and be members of European civilization, while those “further down” (with “medium”—​also meaning mixed or ambiguous—​intrinsic Europeanness) and near the “bottom” of the gradient (“low” intrinsic Europeanness) cannot help being aware of their inferiority and lack of such cultural-​civilizational credentials. Therefore, those located in less prestigious positions along the cultural gradient may want to “move up” by pursuing cultural-​civilizational Europeanization and demonstrating their European cultural and civilizational bona fides for those audiences near the top of the Eurocentric gradient (Western European gatekeeping audiences), who then have the option of accepting or rejecting the proclaimed “Europeanness” of these actors. The process of cultural-​civilizational Europeanization is thus an intersubjective one, in which both Soviet successor states and Western European gatekeeper actors are operating from the same set of Eurocentric assumptions—​that European culture and civilization are superior and desirable—​while potentially not agreeing on what criteria define European culture or civilization or when a given state or culture has achieved the designation of being “European.”9 This leads us to one idea about how a given post-​Soviet country’s position on the EOCG will influence the strength and shape of its attempt to assert the state’s cultural-​civilizational Europeanness. The lower a country’s purported intrinsic Europeanness, the comparatively stronger will be its desire to emulate and to belong to the “civilized” Europe that rejects it. Alternatively, we can imagine that as distance from the top of the Eurocentric gradient increases, so might frustration and anger within these states, leading to the rejection of “civilized” Europe in a frisson of ressentiment and the consequent search for alternative (and potentially more geopolitically problematic) forms of national and cultural belonging (Buruma and Margalit 2004; Carrier 1995; Greenfeld 1992). It also might be the case that countries with purported low intrinsic Europeanness might actually find the question of Europeanness of little importance and may look elsewhere for discourses of national and cultural identity, but without the resentment-​ driven, anti-​European, or anti-​Western attitudes that some authors fear.

 



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Soviet successor states also might seek cultural-​civilizational Europeanization for more instrumental reasons, or for a combination of instrumental and intrinsic reasons. Post-​Soviet elites might identify their states and cultures with European civilization in order to gain domestic legitimacy or to create national unity and increase citizen confidence in the state. Furthermore, post-​Soviet elites who mount convincing claims to cultural-​civilizational Europeanness might bring actual material benefits to their countries by virtue of bringing them closer to institutional Europe (and the resources thereof). Post-​Soviet elites might calculate that their chances of succeeding at institutional Europeanization will go up if they can also “move themselves up” a few notches on the Eurocentric cultural gradient by mounting convincing efforts at cultural-​civilizational Europeanization. (These states may also make the reverse calculation, that in order to effectively Europeanize in a cultural-​civilizational sense and gain a higher and more prestigious place on the Eurocentric cultural gradient, their state may need to make the tough choice to truly buckle down and implement the reforms associated with institutional Europeanization.) Levitsky and Way’s contention that the propensity for real democratization in the post-​Soviet world (and in other “competitive authoritarian” states) varies in direct relations to the closeness of ties that a given state has to “the West” relates to this point (2010). Both Europe’s willingness to become more politically and economically involved with post-​Soviet states and the extent to which post-​ Soviet states pursue or welcome such European involvement are influenced by understandings about the degree of intrinsic “Europeanness” of a given post-​ Soviet state and the extent to which that state is thought to “belong” to Europe. Those post-​Soviet states that most strongly possess and most convincingly forward projections of themselves as “belonging” to Europe in a cultural and civilizational sense will be more likely to successfully initiate the beneficial cycle of western linkage that leads to increased democracy as identified by Levitsky and Way. The costs of pursuing a strategy of cultural-​civilizational Europeanization would seem to be quite low when compared with the potential payoffs in increased state legitimacy, prestige, or feelings of national well-​being. Whether or not claims to belong to European civilization and Europe’s cultural sphere are “accepted” by European gatekeeping actors, domestic audiences in Soviet successor states may appreciate their leaders making such claims. Yet there is also the danger that some in the domestic audience might find claims to cultural-​civilizational Europeanness false or pretentious or see them as a betrayal of the national culture. This is a particularly acute danger in states that have a truly mixed or deeply divided sense of national identity. While the recent events in Ukraine represent perhaps a worst-​case scenario of this danger, most of the Soviet successor states are divided to some extent over the question

 

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of Europeanness and Europeanization (represented by the two extremes, the Baltics being mostly pro-​Europe and the Central Asian republics being mostly anti-​Europe or uninterested in Europe). Opposition to a strategy of cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization may also arise if some in the domestic audience believe that the national culture should more properly be associated with a different civilizational entity (such as the Islamic world in the case of Azerbaijan and the Central Asian states, or the “Slavic world” in the Russian, Ukrainian, and Belarusian cases). The case studies presented in ­chapters  6 through 10 evaluate the strength of each post-​ Soviet state’s cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization efforts, categorizing them as either strong, moderate, or weak. (See Figure 1.6.) The ratings are based on the volume, range, and intensity of efforts to align national histories and cultural traits with “European” civilization and culture, as well as on evidence that the given state has sought to participate in contemporary European cultural processes, such as the EBU’s Eurovision Song Contest, and UEFA’s European Football Championships. Progress toward the provision of rights for LGBTQ persons also factor into this rating. The case studies attempt

Cultural-Civilizational Europeanness

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Europeanizing narrative dominant; weak or no alternative narratives.

National Identity Narratives: Europeanizing narrative present, alternative narratives compete strongly.

National Identity Narratives: No or weak Europeanizing narrative; alternative narrative dominant.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has EUROVISION. Significant progress on LGBTQ rights.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has not won. Little progress on LGBTQ rights.

Cultural Europeanization: Not an EBU member. Lack of gender equality. Active anti-LGBTQ agenda.

Sport: UEFA member and has hosted or bid to host EURO football championship or in top 10 national rankings.

Sport: UEFA member; has not hosted or bid to host EURO football championship; not in top 10 national rankings.

Sport: Not a UEFA member.

Figure 1.6  Europeanization in Cultural-​Civilizational Institutions

 



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to determine the degree to which actors in each post-​Soviet state seek to “create new images of their own countries,” designed to give the impression that “the republics they live in have in reality always been associated with Europe,” and “in such a way that no trace is left of Russia or its empire” (Baberowski 2007, 334). If such “Europeanizing” efforts are absent or weak, the case studies investigate the cultural and civilizational narratives offered in their place. Given the centrality of the EOCG to my understanding of the dynamics of the contemporary European malaise and the processes of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union, it is necessary to examine in more detail the historical evolution and contemporary manifestation of the EOCG. The next chapter does so, with particular attention to Russia’s role as both a subject of and agent responding to the assumptions about “Europeanness” embedded in the EOCG’s discursive landscape.

 

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Europe as a Cultural-​Civilizational Construct

A particular mental map or “symbolic geography” guides both European gatekeeping actors and Soviet successor states as they regard the possibilities of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union—​ the Eurocentric-​ Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) (Bakic and Bakic-​Hayden 1992, 4). As Kuus argues, the processes of European enlargement since the fall of communism “are not undermining but working in tandem with the notion of a multi-​tiered Europe in which Europeanness declines as one moves east” (2007, 22). Without a clear maritime or other geographic dividing line in the east, Europeans have had to work hard to develop other ways of marking where Europe ends and “the Orient” begins. The result of this ongoing historical project of defining self and other in Europe is the EOCG. Martin Malia, himself following Alexander Gershenkron’s ideas about economic development and backwardness in Europe and Ernest Gellner’s work on the development of civil society in Europe, argues that, “from the 13th century on, it is appropriate to speak of a declivity of development separating an advanced from a backward Europe and dividing the continent between leader and follower regions” (2006, 15–​16). All three of these thinkers include the territory of Russia (what Gellner called “the erstwhile Tsarist Empire”) in their mental maps of Europe (1994, 113). It is in fact the very problem of Russia’s obvious resemblance to, but simultaneous clear difference from, Europe, in terms of Russia’s lesser levels of economic, social, and political achievement, which prompted the idea of a “European declivity of development.” While Gellner, Gershenkron, and Malia are concerned mostly with measuring the historical development across the European continent and into Russia of the “extrinsic” aspects of Europeanness such as democracy, rule of law, and capitalism, other thinkers have refined the idea of a European declivity of development by pointing out that it also includes intrinsic, cultural-​civilizational criteria as well (Asad 2002; Bakic-​Hayden 1995; Herzfeld 1987; Melegh 2006; 36

 



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Said 1978; Todorova 1994, 2009; Wolff 1994, 2010). This conceptual expansion has also necessitated a geographic expansion of the gradient into parts of the Eurasian geographical landmass that Malia and Gellner did not include in their analyses (especially Turkey and the former Ottoman lands). The enlarged view of the cognitive map that guides thinking about post-​ communist Europe suggests that this imaginative geography supports a “flexible and shifting” but nevertheless persistent “dichotomy between Europe and the Orient” (Khalid 2000, 698). European civilization represents the zenith of the scale, “the ultimate cultural touchstone, the secular Eden,” while the nadir is occupied by “Oriental barbarism,” representing the “complementary opposite” of Europe (Herzfeld 1987, 28). The resulting EOCG marks, sorts, or “metonymically maps” the “peoples, spaces, countries and regions” of the European and Eurasian landmasses onto a type of civilizational “ruler” (Melegh 2006, 14). This “hegemonic scale” judges actors according to both their current levels of Europeanness as measured by political, economic, and social development and according to their potential for such further development (Herzfeld 1987, 28). Atilla Melegh asserts that, since the 1980s, “the geopolitical and geocultural imagination has been recaptured by the idea of a civilizational or East-​West slope,” and that in the post-​communist era this imaginative geography provides “the main cognitive mechanism for the reorganization of international and social-​political regimes in the Eastern part of the European continent, for almost all political actors, Eastern and Western” (2006, 9). Georgy Peteri argues that this is the case because during the Cold War era, “ ‘East’ and ‘West’ became the constituting elements of the most important single bipolarity in terms of which various communities and major political and cultural projects and movements tended to define themselves and one another”—​making it natural that they would continue to use these frames to define themselves and others in the post-​ Soviet era (2010, 4).

Defining the EOCG: Eurocentrism, Orientalism, and Everything in Between The EOCG “assumes some kind of axis with two end points, East and West” (Melegh 2006, 14), and also posits “absolute and systematic differences” between those points—​the zenith of the West, which is assumed to be “rational, developed, human, and superior,” and the nadir of the East or the Orient, which is assumed to be “aberrant, underdeveloped, and inferior” (Said 1978, 300). While there is much merit in Adeeb Khalid’s understanding that the concepts of Europe and the West on the one hand, and Asia and the Orient on the other

 

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hand, are “pure artifice,” this study shares his interest in understanding the “politics of deployment” of the underlying poles of this powerful “imaginative geography” (2000, 698–​99). How are the poles of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient erected? How are the spaces between them categorized and understood by actors both inside and outside them?1 How might the current deployment of understandings about which spaces and territories and peoples are designated as European or potentially European, and which are not, work to shape contemporary politics in the former Soviet Union? The vision of world history that informs the EOCG has been ably defined by John Hobson: “At its heart is the notion that the West properly deserves to occupy the center stage of progressive world history, past and present” (2004, 2). Journalist Ryszard Kapuscinski elaborates further that Europe occupies “an unchallenged position . . . as the reference point for the evaluation, praise, or condemnation of any other form of human life, past or present” (quoted in Bauman 2004, 29). Malia defends this view by noting that “modern civilization overall is a European creation, however unfair that may be to the rest” (2006, 2–​3). His assertion is echoed by Bauman, who explains that the Eurocentric worldview arose because Europe was “the sole social entity that, in addition to being a civilization, also called itself a civilization,” and as such, saw the rest of the world as needing to be remade in the image of itself through “ennobling acts” of exploration, colonization, and tutelage (2004, 7). Michael Wintle, in his magisterial The Image of Europe, argues that our “whole system of continental divisions is quite easily shown to have been an exercise in Eurocentric ideological imperialism,” wherein our most basic geographic understandings of the continents, “so dearly insisted upon by European geographers,” clearly serve to “underpin the idea of Europe’s cultural distinction, which is essential to modern Europe’s own identity” (2009, 39). By the eighteenth century, Wintle argues, this sure belief in “Europe’s civilizational superiority” was “fully established” and visible in maps, monuments, and other visual representations that show Europe as “seated, crowned, serene, commanding, cultured and sophisticated” while the rest of the continents, conceived of as Europe’s “others,” are portrayed as “exotic, primitive, and even bestial” (2009, 53–​55).2 European economic, military, and political superiority, demonstrated amply through the era of exploration and colonization (Abernathy 2000), led directly to Europe’s ability to effectively wield “the symbolic power . . . to represent the civilized, enlightened, and progressive” (Bakic-​Hayden 1995, 930). Europe gained the concomitant power to define the “Orient” or the “East” as being uncivilized, unenlightened, “outside history,” marked by “absences—​of change, of progress, of liberty, of reason, and so on  .  .  .  up to and including the absence of common humanity” (Khalid 2000, 693). If, in Said’s seminal articulation,

 



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“Europe” is powerful and articulate, advanced, and civilized, then the “Orient” (also variously the “East” or “Asia”) is defeated and inarticulate, backward and uncivilized: in a word, barbarian (1978, 57, 206–​8).

Defining the in Between: Eastern Europe, Central Europe, Mitteleuropa, and the Balkans Between the two poles of Europe and the Orient stretches a vast and “ambiguous” space, Eastern Europe. In this view, Eastern Europe is “demi-​Orientalized” and “mediates between” and also “measures the distance between . . . true civilization and true barbarism” (Wolff 1994, 5–​13). The countries located along the Eastern European portion of the EOCG are thus located on a “sliding scale of merit” (Melegh 2006, 30). This position, because it is “on the edge of Europe,” creates in them “a profound anxiety about whether qualification for Europeanness is actually possible,” at the same time that it generates an intense desire to be accepted as European (Agnew 2002, 28). Malksoo describes Eastern Europe as being considered at once both “Europe but not Europe” and cites Derrida’s characterization of Eastern Europe as a “supplement” to the true Europe of the West, “secondary” but still “necessary for its [the West’s] self-​ completion” (2010, 57–​58). The prevalence of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist standard against which the Eastern European territories, as “peripheral European countries,” must and do “judge their multiple selves in comparison with and against one another,” leads to a sort of “nesting Orientalism” (Bakic-​Hayden 1995, 930). In this “passing the buck of ” Orientalism, each country tries to prove that it is more European than its neighbors to the East or South (Neumann 1998). Along the central sections of the EOCG designated as “Eastern Europe,” then, every country wants to be more European than others (and more European than they are judged to be by outsiders), and, ultimately, one finds that “one is always someone else’s barbarian” (Rupnik 1994, 94). This dynamic has led to the assertion by actors along the expanse of the cultural gradient generically known as “Eastern Europe” that this territory must be further divided into hierarchically ranked zones, the boundaries of which are matters of great psychic and material import, and as such, subject to much debate (see Map 2.1). Nearest the “top” but still outside of the unquestioned European territories of the “Atlantic West” is the area of “Central Europe,” famously defined by Soviet-​era dissident intellectuals such as Milan Kundera and Adam Michnik as a “truly” European zone that had been “captured” against its will by the wholly

The Balkans

Slovenia

Central Europe

The Baltics

Map 2.1  The Different “Europes”

The Baltics and Slovenia have experienced a changing identity over time. They shifted from “Eastern Europe” to the Soviet sphere, and they are now accepted as part of “Central Europe.”

Germany and Austria were historically considered “Central Europe” or “Mitteleuropa.” They are now accepted as members of Europe proper.

Europe

Germany & Austria

 

 



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alien and un-​European Russian Empire in its Soviet guise (Garton Ash 1986; Kundera 1984; Michnik 2011). In Kundera’s late–​Cold War analysis, the Central European countries, by which he meant Czechoslovakia, Hungary, and Poland, were located “geographically in the center of Europe,” culturally “entirely in the West” of Europe, but, tragically and against their will, being held “politically in the East” (quoted in Kuus 2007, 32). Kundera’s influential articulation of a captive Central Europe that had moral claims to the attention and aid of the West was a new variant on older understandings of Central Europe as “Mitteleuropa,” a geographical expression covering all the territories of the German and Hapsburg empires, and thus the territory of contemporary Germany and Austria. Gellner and Malia note that the historical trajectory of political development in these lands lags when compared with that of the Atlantic West, necessitating the distinction of Mitteleuropa, which brought with it a concomitant sense of inferiority. The role played by this lingering sense of resentment and anxiety (reinforced in traumatically humiliating fashion in 1918) about Germany’s own “Europeanness” and “modernity,” and its fear of succumbing to the Slavic (Polish and Russian above all) inferiors to its east, in explaining the rise of and subsequent horror of Nazism is substantial (Casteel 2016; Katzenstein 1997; Mazower 2008b). Due to (West) Germany’s thorough repentance and transformation after the World War II, which began with its incorporation into the European Coal and Steel Community and NATO, by the time Kundera issued his Central European manifesto in 1984, there were no serious arguments or doubts about West Germany’s or Austria’s graduation from some form of “middling” or Central European status to “full Europeanness.” The strength of this understanding is one reason for the quick reunification of the two parts of Germany after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1990. The unquestionable Europeanness of contemporary Germany, which is by all indicators the economic and political hegemon of the EU, provides those post-​communist states that were part of the historical German or Hapsburg empires with the strongest arguments in favor of their own Europeanness and fitness to “return to Europe.” During the 1990s, a group that Kuus calls the “intellectuals of statecraft” in the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland had great success in “rebranding themselves [and their countries] as fundamentally Western” and “shifting the connotations of ‘Eastern Europeanness’ further eastward” (2007, 16). These successful Central European entrepreneurs of Europeanization did not achieve this feat alone nor hoard the coveted European status for themselves; the period of enlargement up to and including the EU’s “Big Bang” of 2004 saw the expansion of the set of countries understood to be part of Central Europe and thus deemed worthy of full Europeanness to include the three former Baltic republics as well as Slovakia and Slovenia.

 

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The successful attempts of this larger group of states to transform themselves into members of the “kidnapped West” category of Central Europe in the 1990s was achieved in part by “recycling the concept of the East” and “passing it further to the East,” chiefly, onto Russia (Kuus 2007, 34). In the 1990s, the enlarged set of Central European elites (including the leaders of the Baltic states) skillfully and ultimately successfully employed the “mantra” of a diffuse “security threat from the East” (i.e., Russia). This threat was “linked not even so much to the Russian state” as to the “vaguer and more flexible notion of Easternness or likeness to the East,” that Russian culture and civilization were said to embody (Kuus 2007, 34, 52). This persistence of a perceived Russian threat to Europe helped to convince European gatekeeping agents in the EU and NATO that European safety in the post–​Cold War context could only be insured by offering Central European states full inclusion in the institutions of Europe. The decisive shifting of the EOCG further to the east, which rendered the former “Central Europe” as unproblematically European while reinforcing the essential non-​Europeanness of Russia proper, is characteristic of the second phase of Europeanization (2000–​2008), as discussed in c­hapter  1. Aliaksei Kazharski (2017) has noted the “evolution” of the idea of “Central Europe” during the third, “Europhobic” phase of Europeanization (since 2009)  into a “new, hybrid stage,” characterized by a “cultural, conservative” interpretation of the nation and the “rejection of humanitarian universalism” (positions that align them more closely with Putin’s Russia than the Brusselcrats of the EU). During this latter period, he argues, we should not speak of the “end” or “de-​ Europeanization” of the region known as Central Europe, but rather expect that this region’s “normative conformity and identification with the West will only be partial” from now on. As we shall see in c­ hapter 8, a similar developing hostility to liberal values of postwar Europe has not happened in the Baltic states during this same period, which is intriguing. The other most enduring and clearly marked subgrouping within the Eastern European universe, also located “lower down” the EOCG, is the Balkans (Bakic-​Hayden 1995; Patterson 2003; Mustafa 2002; Todorova 1994, 2009). As Todorova shows, due to both the southern and eastern geographic orientation of the countries and their specific religious and historical characteristics, the Balkans have been understood as being related to Europe and within its civilizational realm chiefly by functioning as Europe’s “dark side” and its underdeveloped, uncivilized “alter ego” (1994, 482). There is much evidence to suggest that during the post-​communist enlargement process, European gatekeeping actors have only reluctantly come to see the Balkan states as fully “European.” Romania and Bulgaria, the first two Balkan states in the EU, were admitted only in 2007, three years later than their “Central European” neighbors, and only after having been forced to complete additional

 



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levels of “conditionality requirements” that were not demanded of the first ex-​ communist joiners. EU enlargement into the Balkan states is characterized by narratives conveying a rationale of controlling disorder and providing security to a region marked chiefly by its absence. Yet if the embrace of the Balkans by the EU and NATO is reluctant, it is also real, which provides an important way for the former Soviet republic of Moldova, which can make credible claims to be “Balkan” if not “Central European,” to access “Europeanness” and pursue Europeanization.

Defining Europe and Europeanness A number of scholars have noted the emergence of “two distinct substantive concepts of what Europe actually means” in the contemporary era (Risse 2010, 6). The first is a “modern, EU-​oriented” view of Europe, “embraced mainly by elites,” that is predominantly secular and based on the possession of more extrinsic characteristics based on common fidelity to values and behaviors such as liberal democracy, tolerance, and human rights (Risse 2010, 6; Rumelili 2004). This is the “cosmopolitan” (Baykal 2005), the “civic” (Oner 2011), and the “liberal” view (Taras 2009), according to which Europe is chiefly a values-​based civilization. It is articulated quite clearly in the first two articles of the failed “Draft Treaty for Establishing a Constitution in Europe,” which describe European civilization and culture chiefly in the language of abstract political values and principles, while famously (and controversially) declining to refer to the importance of Christianity and other historically formative developments in Europe as defining characteristics of the same (Emerson 2007; Weigel 2004). The other contemporary vision of Europe is more populist and finds Europe to be essentially “a group of white, Christian peoples that see themselves constituting a distinct civilization” (Risse 2010, 6). This narrative of European civilization has been characterized as “illiberal” (Taras 2009), “communal” (Baykal 2005), and “cultural” (Oner 2011). It is based on intrinsic characteristics that certain “European” countries and peoples have developed as a result of their historical experience (Rumelili 2004). Important proponents of this more culturally based view of European civilization in the post-​communist era include the Vatican and other traditionalist Christian forces (Patterson 2010; Shorto 2007), as well as actors on the more conservative-​populist end of the European political spectrum (Risse 2010). The escalation of the refugee crisis in fall and winter 2015–​2016, during which over a million mostly non-​Christian, non-​white people crossed into Europe, led to a marked resurgence of public support for this culturally based understanding of Europeanness. Russia from Putin’s second term onwards has positioned itself

 

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as a leading representative of and champion of this “illiberal” form of European identity. It has also backed up its rhetoric with both carrots (financial help to like-​minded political movements and parties) and sticks (ranging from propagandistic and “fake news” ventures like RT and Sputnik to more malign actions such as attempting to harm pro-​EU and pro-​Europe politicians and parties across Europe during crucial elections and, of course, using military force to prevent progressive Europeanization in Georgia and Ukraine). Talal Asad has pointed out that if the differences of opinion reflected in these debates about the criteria that define European civilization are real, the “confused geography and history” that they present actually obscure the fact that proponents of both views of European civilization are acting with the “unconfused purpose” of “separating Europe” from its non-​European others, whether those others be found in “communism, Islam, the Islamic world, or Russia” (2002, 218–​19). Asad argues that underlying both views of European civilization is the strong conviction that the boundaries of Europe (in the cultural-​civilizational and institutional senses) must be carefully policed to keep out certain non-​European, “alien,” or “other” (especially Islamic) elements. The burden of “proving” their European credentials against the background of the EOCG therefore falls on Russia and the Soviet successor states. While the European gatekeeping agents that the Soviet successor states negotiate with may have a more or less expansive view of what constitutes Europeanness, they are all, to some extent, operating on the assumption that, with the exception of the Baltic states, who were successful in rebranding themselves as “European enough” to win EU and NATO membership in the early 2000s, the countries of the former Soviet Union (including Russia), are, in some important sense, only questionably, partially, or potentially European.

Geography: Where Does Europe End? The geographical understanding and representation of Europe on actual maps has changed over the years, as Wintle ably describes (2009). Beliefs about which territories are “geographically European” and which are not inform cultural-​ civilization notions of Europeanness and help form the criteria for belonging in institutional forms of Europeanness in its political, security, and social forms. According to Article 237 of the EU’s Treaty of Rome, “any European state may apply to become a member of the Community,” while Article 10 of the NATO founding treaty offers that “The Parties may by unanimous agreement, invite any other European State in a position to further the principles of this treaty.” While left intriguingly undefined, it seems that the usage of the modifier “European” in these two cases refers to the geographic location of a given state. Polish foreign

 



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minister Radoslav Sikorski has certainly interpreted it as such, arguing for extending EU membership candidate status to Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova precisely because “they are completely situated within the European continent” (Rotman and Veremeeva 2011). As Wintle notes, for the ancient Greeks, the Sea of Azov and the Don and Nile Rivers constituted Europe’s eastern and southern boundaries, an understanding that persisted through the early Middle Ages (and which leaves the question of what parts of the Black Sea littoral counted as “European” unanswered) (2009, 41). The eras between the Middle Ages and the Enlightenment were marked by “500 years of discussion about where the boundary between the continents should be” (Wintle 2009, 45). In the nineteenth century, Russian tsar Peter the Great, needing “an unambiguous geographic framework” within which “to accommodate the Europeanization of Russia’s self-​image,” began energetic efforts to establish a definitive border between Europe and Asia (Bassin 1991, 6). With the help of geographer Vasili Tatischev and Swedish mercenary Phillip Johann von Strahlenburg, the notion that Europe’s easternmost geographic boundary was located in Russia’s Ural Mountains eventually took hold (Bassin 1991; Wintle 2009, 45).3 Thus the convention of dividing Russia at the Ural Mountains into “European” and non-​European spheres also developed; a similar development occurred with Turkey, whose “European” half continues to appear on the map of the Euro note today (Wintle 2009, 46). Beginning with the Helsinki process in the 1970s and perpetuated by various NATO, Soviet, and CSCE/​OSCE officials, an even more expansive understanding of Europe, stretching from Vancouver to Vladivostok, came into use, and still enjoys some cachet today (as is discussed further in c­ hapter  4). Europe’s southeastern boundary is also undetermined, with the chief question being whether or not the Black Sea region (or some parts of it) should be included as part of Europe. While the accession of the Baltic states to the EU and NATO effectively ended the debate about their geographic Europeanness, that question remains acute for the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states, particularly Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, and the Caucasus countries of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan.

Religion: Christendom and the Islamic “Other” Religion, specifically Christianity, is the criterion identified by a clear majority of scholars as having the most profound and lasting influence on understandings of what “Europe” and “European civilization” are and what they are not. In their discussions of the phenomena of “nesting Orientalisms” in Europe’s east, Milica Bakic-​Hayden and Robert Hayden argue effectively that the gradient is

 

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organized in a “hierarchical way revealed in terms of the relative valuation of religion” (Bakic-​Hayden and Hayden 1992, 4) This hierarchy privileges above all the Catholic and Protestant Christian societies of the northwest of Europe while valuing somewhat less the Orthodox Christian societies to the south and east. When the Christian religious frontier is crossed and populations become predominantly Muslim, even though the geographic distance traveled may not be great, the difference in purported degree of “belonging” to Europe is significant. Along the civilizational slope as it is laid out across southeast Europe and the Balkans, both the “European” Muslim populations of Bosnia and especially the “non-​European” Muslims of the Balkans (the Turks of southeastern Bulgaria), who are considered “the ultimate Orientals,” become progressively more devalued and “othered” in the eyes of Europe (Bakic-​Hayden and Hayden 1992; Bakic-​Hayden 1995). The identification of Christianity as the most important constituent characteristic of Europeanness is acknowledged not only by those scholars and actors whom we would expect to be sympathetic to such an interpretation of European history, such as Pope Benedict XVI, who argues that “Europe will not know who it is without its Christian soul” (Shorto 2007, 61), but also by the contemporary secular historians employed by the European Commission. These have produced a reading of European history that is a resolutely “Christian Democratic” one, offering a view of “Europe as Christendom” that might even be characterized as “Catholic, ignoring as it does the influence of both Byzantium and Orthodoxy on European history,” and seeing Europe as “bounded by implicitly non-​European Muslims and Slavs” beyond the Danube and south of the Pyrenees (Mazower 2008, 267–​68). Even those such as Krishan Kumar, who seek to carve out a larger place in the historical narrative of European civilization for Islamic influences (and contemporary Islamic immigrants in Europe), agree that “there is something called European culture and the main basis of that is religion, specifically Christianity” (2003, 36). The identification of Europe with Christianity stems of course from Europe’s historical and philosophical lineage with the Roman Empire, itself officially converted to Christianity by Constantine in the early fourth century. This identification of Europe as “Christendom” was strengthened by the evolution of the western Roman Empire into a realm marked by the spiritual power of the Roman Catholic Church and the temporal power of the Frankish kings, uneasily and ambiguously united in the tenth century in the entity of the Holy Roman Empire and strengthened in the ensuing centuries by the increasing existential and military threat posed by Islam and its political empires (Brown 1996; Lewis 1993; Lewis 2008). In the eastern Roman Empire, meanwhile, Byzantium evolved its own “symphonic” fusion of temporal and Christian spiritual power, which chafed at the west’s monopolization of the mantle of Christendom

 



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(Trepanier 2007). While the schism of 1054 would officially mark the division of western and eastern Christianity, the common threat that Islamic forces (in both their Arab and Turkish guises) posed to both helped to cement the primacy of Christianity as a marker of identity and “civilization” in both parts of Rome’s lost empire. The role of the “Islamic other” in cementing Europe’s core Christian identity is recognized almost universally; by those who see this development as a triumphant achievement (Brown 1996; Hay 1957; Lewis 1993; Patterson 2008; Weigel 2004), those who evaluate it neutrally (Heather 2010; Wagner 2008; Wintle 2009), and those who see it as problematic (Lewis 2008; Kumar 2003). The key role that the “other” of Islam played in helping to form strong and lasting core identity of Europe as Christendom is summarized nicely by Kumar, who argues that “Europe drew together because of the Muslim threat” and that “the nearest thing to all-​European enterprises” for nearly over 500 years were “joint actions against Muslims from the Crusades in the Middle Ages to the defense of the Hapsburgs against the Turks in the late Seventeenth century” (2003, 36). Said notes that it was “not for nothing” that Islam, particularly in the guise of the Ottoman Turks, “came to symbolize terror, devastation, the demonic, hordes of hated barbarians,” because for Europe, Islam in fact was “a lasting trauma,” representing for “the whole of Christian civilization a constant danger” until the late seventeenth century (1978, 59). The deep-​seated fear of Islam and the “Ottoman obsession,” characterized by a “recurrent fear of Turkey as an invading menace” (Lewis 1993, 74–​75), continue to impact both elite and popular views of European enlargement, first and foremost as regards Turkey, of course. It also shapes opinions on the issue of Muslim immigration into Europe. Given the enduring nature of the identification of Islam, particularly in its Ottoman, Turkic guise (though in Spain the memory is more of the long encounter with Arab Islam, with recent history also highlighting the Arab aspect of the Islamic “other” for all Europeans), it seems clear that those Soviet successor countries (or peoples in those countries, such as the Tatars in Russia) that are historically Islamic or have an ethnic affinity or historical relationship with Ottoman Turkey (or the Mongol Turks in Russia) will have a much more difficult time convincing European gatekeeping agents of their “Europeanness” than will historically Christian countries or countries without a historical relationship to the Ottoman Empire. This may hold true even for the Christian peoples who experienced Ottoman rule. Orthodox Christianity: European “Enough”? The identification of Christianity as an essential component of Europeanness became so powerful during the long years of European state formation and engagement with Islam on the European continent (from the Battle of Poitiers in 732 until the last successful defense of Vienna in 1683), that even after the twin traumas of the Reformation (with the

 

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attendant and horrible religious civil wars in Europe) and the Enlightenment (with its relentless anti-​clericalism and emphasis on rationality), “Christianity remained the one indispensible element and sign of civilization dividing Europe from the rest of the world” (particularly the Islamic world, one might add) (Wintle 2009, 33). The framing of the refugee crisis of fall and winter 2015–​2016 as a “battle for Europe’s Christian identity” by actors such as Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán demonstrates the continued importance of Christianity as a mark of Europeanness (regardless of the pronounced lack of actual Christian religious practice across contemporary Europe). Disagreement remains about whether, as a factor identifying a particular people or country as “European,” all Christianities are created equal. While most historians agree that the Catholic and Protestant split that emerged from the Reformation did not alter the “Europeanness” of any of the parties involved, the impacts of the earlier split between the western, Roman church and the eastern, Greek church (formalized in 1054 but emerging since the division of the Roman Empire in 395) was, in terms of bringing the European credentials of the Eastern, Orthodox populations into question, much more profound. Historians of Europe’s early formative period, such as Peter Heather (2010) and Peter Brown (1996), argue that the rudiments of a “European” state system and a European civilization are clearly visible by the year 1000 (Heather 2010, 514–​19). Christianity, the “religious orientation of rich, developed Europe,” was the factor that allowed the states established by Viking raiders “from Dublin to Iceland to the Baltic to Kiev” to affect the transition from being “barbaric outsiders” to becoming, together with the states of the Holy Roman Empire, co-​members of a truly, if nascent, “European” Christendom (Brown 1996, 301; Heather 2010, 514–​19, 568–​69). Kievan Rus’s conversion to Christianity in 988, together with that state’s strong trade and political relationships with states to the west, including dynastic marriages such as that of Henry I of France to Anne, Princess of Kiev, in the mid-​eleventh century, placed Kievan Rus squarely in the “European” camp, to the extent that we allow that any such grouping existed at that point (Malia 2006, 14).4 At this early date then, the schism of 1054 that formalized the split between Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy did not represent a lasting or meaningful “separation of Europe and Asia” (Delanty and Rumford 2005, 34). A real sense that Eastern, Orthodox Christians might not be fully members of European Christendom began to develop only after Constantinople fell to the Ottoman Turks in 1453 (Bakic and Bakic-​Hayden 1992; Bakic-​Hayden 1995; Case 2009; Delanty and Rumford 2005; Hay 1957; Malia 2006, 15). The Ottoman occupation of the Christian peoples of the former Byzantine Empire almost immediately began to affect a cognitive shift toward the perception of Orthodoxy as partly or wholly un-​European. As early as 1458, Pope Pius

 



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II wrote to Sultan Mahomet II that the Christians now under the Sultan’s rule “were not as true Christians,” and that “despite their worship of Christ,” they were “tainted with error” and had “fallen away” from the true faith of Rome (Hay 1957, 83–​84). (Pius II was referring chiefly to Armenians and Georgians, though many other Eastern Orthodox peoples eventually came under Ottoman rule, including peoples living in what is today the Balkans, in Moldova and in Ukraine.) After the fall of Constantinople to the “Ottoman menace,” then, Eastern Orthodox Christianity joined Islam as an “other” against which the “true” Christian European civilization defined itself (Checkel and Katzenstein 2009, 14; Delanty and Rumford 2005, 34; Mazower 2008, 267–​68; Wagner 2008).5 The fact that the Christian populations of the Balkans and Eastern Europe who found themselves under Ottoman rule more richly developed their own Christianized national identities in opposition to those very “Oriental others” who ruled over them made no difference to Europe proper (that is, Western and Northern Europe). “True” Europe continued to see the Balkans, to an even greater degree than it did the rest of Eastern Europe, as “a repository of all the negative characteristics against which a positive and self-​congratulatory image of the ‘European’ and ‘the West’ were constructed” (Todorova 1994, 454–​55). Particularly influential in this regard is Samuel Huntington’s famous “clash of civilizations thesis,” which while generally coloring debates about ethnic and religious violence in the 1990s, was of particular import in the post-​communist world (1996). Most significantly, Huntington’s view that “Orthodox civilization” was completely divorced from “Western civilization” (that is, Catholic and Protestant civilization), has deeply influenced the way post-​Soviet actors on both sides of this purported civilizational divide understand themselves and their degree of “Europeanness” (Kuus 2007; Pachlovska 2009). The “Mongol Yoke” and Eastern Orthodoxy. Characterizations of Russia’s territory and people as “un-​European” or “uncivilized” in some way began even before the Ottoman occupation, specifically during the “Mongol Yoke.” The invasion and occupation of the lands of Kievan Rus by the “barbaric,” “heathen” Mongol Turks, which lasted for roughly 300 years (from 1242 to the fall of the Kazan Khanate to Ivan IV in 1552), served to compound and deepen the division between Western and Orthodox Christianity. The Mongol occupation severed Kievan Rus’s ties with the rest of Christian Europe and left its successor, Muscovite Rus, with the permanent taint of alien, barbaric, tyrannical anti-​ Europeanness (Halperin 1987; Plokhy 2006, 356; Poe 2000; 2002; Riasanovsky 2005, 37). The fact that the Mongol Turks (also known as the Tatars or Tartars) are historically and ethnically distinct from the Ottoman Turks who would later menace Christendom’s western flank and absorb much of Byzantium did not matter—​the de-​Europeanizing effect carried by the Mongol (or Tatar)

 

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occupation functioned in a way remarkably similar to that of the “Ottoman menace.” The gradual de-​Europeanization of the former lands of Kievan Rus and of what would become the Russian Tsarist empire derived both from the purported extreme cruelty and tyranny of the Mongol elite that occupied them and also from the fact that those Mongol overlords practiced the Islamic religion (various Mongol leaders and khanates converted to Islam at different points in the thirteenth–​fourteenth centuries). The tyrannical governing methods bequeathed to Muscovite Rus by the Mongol Yoke (continued and refined, many argue, by the Tsarist and Soviet states) were one mark of Russia’s non-​ Europeanness, and its centuries of proximity to the “infidel” Islamic world another. Eastern Orthodox populations who had the historical experience of being under the political rule of “heathen” Muslim powers, whether Mongol Turk or Ottoman Turk, suffer heavily for this in terms of the perceived lowering of their “intrinsic” Europeanness.6 The designation of Eastern Orthodox Christianity as somehow “not quite European” has of course been challenged by actors in societies themselves, including famously by Tsarist Russia’s identification of Moscow as “the Third Rome,” the true heir to Rome and Byzantium’s Christian legacy (Batunsky 1988, 1994; Malia 1999; Walicki 2003). Scholars such as Holly Case also put forth the view that if “true Europe” considers itself to be authentically so because of its Christian roots, it must recognize that the (largely Orthodox) Christian societies of Europe’s east “have repeatedly taken hits from the East” in the form of the Mongols, Turks, and Soviets, protecting Christianity’s frontier, so that “core” Europe might enjoy its privileged Christian status “in peace” (Case 2009, 113–​14). Hungary’s Viktor Orbán has used a similar characterization to justify his extreme anti-​immigrant policies, claiming that “once again,” Hungary was being called by history to “defend Christendom’s eastern flanks” from hordes of Muslim immigrants, this time those fleeing conflicts that are largely of the west’s own making (Washington Post, September 5, 2015). In this upending narrative, the lived experience of “easternness,” whether through Orthodoxy, Ottoman rule, or Soviet control, is seen not as a negative reality but as one that has led to the countries of Europe’s east becoming “the repository of truths that western Europe has rejected” such that these countries now consider themselves “the center of Europe” (Berglund 2010, 359; Kazharski 2017). Russia also actively employs a variant of this discourse, claiming now, as it did in 1815 and again after 1848, and again after its defeat in the Crimean War, that it remains the only repository of “pure” European Christian values, while Western Europe flounders in a climate of moral degradation and perversity fostered by its slavish devotion to “tolerance and human rights” (Pipes 2005).

 



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Historical Legacies as Markers of Europeanness The other characteristics that are said to mark a people or country as European are a linked set of “intrinsic” historical experiences that manifest themselves in another linked set of “extrinsic” political values or behaviors. Anthony Smith has argued that to be considered European, a particular community must have participated “to some extent” in a set of “historical traditions and cultural heritages” that includes: Roman tutelage and its attendant legacy of Roman law; Judeo-​Christian civilization and the legacy of its ethical system (particularly through participation in the Holy Roman Empire); the Renaissance and its humanistic heritage; the era of Enlightenment; the era of Romanticism; and the era of Classicism (Smith 1992, 70–​71). Other scholars also stress the centrality of the “unifying experience of Roman hegemony” to Europe’s objective evolution and its subjective sense of itself (Agnew 2002; Meier 2008; Patterson 2008; Wintle 2009, 32), a development that occurred particularly during the Renaissance, when Europe “rediscovered” its rich roots in the period of Classical antiquity. Some scholars argue that because it was during the Renaissance that the legacy of Rome was rediscovered and elevated in Europe, the Renaissance itself should be seen as “the crux of European history,” the time when Europe began to see itself as “a distinct civilizational construct, connoting a superior culture” (Headley 2008, 9, 79). Another fundamental prerequisite for Europeanness is participation in the philosophical and social developments of the Enlightenment era, which elevated the values of rationalism and empiricism. Malia insists on disqualifying Ottoman Turkey from Europe but including Tsarist Russia for the very reason that Russia welcomed and enthusiastically participated in the Enlightenment, however belatedly and incompletely, while Ottoman Turkey did not (1999, 40–​41). Much of the contemporary skepticism about Turkey’s European vocation derives from the sense that, despite Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s resolute efforts to secularize Turkish society, it never truly shed the theocratic legacy of the Sultanate experience (in contrast to true European states, who separated church and state both earlier and more successfully). In the eyes of most European historians, it is only by experiencing these historical events as intrinsic, constitutive parts of national culture that European states come to manifest the “extrinsic” values and behaviors that are characteristic of modern Europeanness, chief among them being a reverence for liberty and freedom above all other values (Pagden 2002b, 4; Joas and Wiegandt 2008, 5). The high regard for liberty that the historical experience of Roman rule, Christianity, the Renaissance, and the Enlightenment are said to have bequeathed to “Europeans” expresses itself in concrete, extrinsic terms through the institutions of political democracy and the rule of law, including

 

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parliamentary institutions, and in a conscious, enduring commitment to diversity, tolerance, and human rights ( Joas and Wiegandt 2008, 5–​15; Smith 1992). The organic relationship between the intrinsic and extrinsic complex of characteristics that defines Europeanness is made clear in the “Charter of European Identity,” a project developed on the challenge of Czech president Václav Havel, who was himself deeply occupied with the question of European identity for some years, to the European Parliament in March 1994. Havel’s proposal was taken up by the pro-​EU German civil society group Europa-​Union Deutschland, which together with other pan-​EU civil society actors developed and ratified a version of the charter in 1995. As it is arguably the foremost example of “official” Europe’s conception of European civilization’s intrinsic and extrinsic dimensions, it is worth quoting at some length: Europe is above all a community of values. The aim of European unification is to realize, test, develop and safeguard these values. They are rooted in common legal principles acknowledging the freedom of the individual and social responsibility. Fundamental European values are based on tolerance, humanity and fraternity. Building on its historical roots in classical antiquity and Christianity, Europe further developed these values during the course of the Renaissance, the Humanist movement, and the Enlightenment, which led in turn to the development of democracy, the recognition of fundamental human rights, and the rule of law. If the presence of certain extrinsic, institutional arrangements is thus seen as the result of an organic process engendered by traveling the common historical developmental path of Europeanness, then the absence of such objective traits in political and social life can be taken as evidence of the intrinsic “non-​ Europeanness” of a given society. It was seen as such by thinkers as diverse as Bodin, Hegel, Montesquieu, and Sir Walter Raleigh, all of whom saw both Tsarist Russia and Ottoman Turkey as essentially “non-​European” because of the tyrannical nature of political rule in those places, regardless of the “Europeanizing” pretensions of Russian leaders such as “the Greats,” Peter and Catherine (Le Goff 2003, 279; Malia 1999, 43–​53; Poe 2000, 4, 166–​69). The late development and promotion of Soviet communist tyranny would be interpreted as the same type of evidence of Russia’s extrinsic and intrinsic “non-​Europeanness,” whether by historians like Hugh Trevor-​Roper (1965) or by dissidents like Milan Kundera (1984). Despite recent post-​communist attempts to isolate the generation of both the ideas and practice of communism within the borders of the former Soviet Union, we must recognize that other European thinkers, such as Jean-​Paul

 



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Sartre, viewed Soviet communism as the logical culmination of (indeed the apogee of) general European movements toward greater modernity, freedom, and equality, and that the Bolsheviks themselves were to a significant extent a product of contemporary European social and political trends (Kotkin 2003; Malia 2006; Riasanovsky 2003).

How European Is Russia? Eastern Europe as a whole, and Russia in particular, functioned historically as one of the “devalued others” against which European civilization proper developed its own identity. Anthony Pagden says of Russia that it was “an unsettling presence” that “threw into stark relief the fact that Europe was more a culture, a shared way of life, than a place” (2002c, 46–​47). It is almost a cliché to say at this point that Europe and Russia, “doomed to share the same continent,” have been caught in a centuries-​long cycle of “both mutual attraction and repulsion,” with the relationship demonstrating “both centrifugal and centripetal forces” over time (Baranovsky 1997, 1–​3). Europe is, in fact, “the main other in relation to which the idea of Russia is defined,” to such an extent that, when Russians discuss Europe, they are in effect “discussing themselves” (Neumann 1996, 1). Pre-​ Petrine Russia was not much concerned with the question of its Europeanness, a concept that in any event was in its infancy in Europe itself during the fourteenth–​seventeenth centuries, just beginning to replace “Christendom” as a term of self-​description. Russia before Peter instead found fulfillment “in its own fully articulated ideology of its own national exclusivity as the chosen bearers of true Christianity, the third Rome” (Bassin 1991, 3–​4), an articulation that was worked out between Kiev’s conversion in 988 and the Russian princes’ subsequent struggle to throw off the heathen Mongol Yoke (Batunsky 1988, 1994). Despite Muscovite Rus’s conviction that it was a Christian state doing the divine work of driving the infidel Muslims from its soil, other Christian actors in Europe during these long centuries (thirteenth–​sixteenth) viewed pre-​ Petrine Muscovy as a heathen realm, a sworn foe that was “in league with the Tatars and Turks to destroy Christendom” (Poe 2000, 19–​20). Malia points out that while the 400-​year occupation of Rus by the obviously barbarian and Oriental (and later, Muslim) Mongol Turks led to the “detachment” of Rus from Christendom in the minds of European observers, Spain and Hungary had faced similar Muslim occupations, but were not as completely denuded of their Europeanness in the way that Rus was (2006, 15–​16). Other factors also played into the construction of Christian, post-​Mongol Russia as non-​European. One was geographic remoteness—​before Peter the Great, Russia was not active in the “Northern Dimension” of European politics

 

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and was separated from the heart of Europe’s “Atlantic West” by huge expanses of land that were difficult to traverse. A second was Russia’s own internal political culture, xenophobic and closed off to foreigners, and, as Poe argues, marked by an extremely tyrannical form of government (inherited from the Mongols through the khanate system) (Poe 2000, 4, 169–​75). Together with the history of Islamic occupation, these seem to have conspired to make Muscovy un-​European in the eyes of Western Europe, despite Muscovy’s self-​identification as a Christian state forged by the successful expulsion of Muslim overlords (Halperin 1987). Russia was, notoriously, led first by Peter the Great to acknowledge “the singular importance and unconditional preeminence of the European continent and European civilization,” and Peter’s insistence on Westernization set the stage for the dramatic struggle over the question of Russia’s Europeanness that has ever since endured (Bassin 1991, 5). While there is disagreement on the degree to which Peter and later Catherine the Great succeeded in their attempts to “Europeanize” Russia,7 the entire history of Russian nationalism since Peter must be seen as the “tortuous” attempt to reconcile the “frustrating, ambivalent and ineluctable dependence on the West” that he initiated (Greenfeld 1992, 222). The course of Russian nationalism during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries is well known, and here it is necessary only to note the sheer range of forms that this engagement with Europe and Europeanness brought forth among Russia’s intellectuals: Slavophile assertions that Russia’s superiority derived exactly from its essential non-​Europeanness; Westernizer beliefs that Russia could and should “out-​Europeanize the Europeans” by imitating their developmental forms more spectacularly and on a larger scale; the neo-​Scythian assertions that Russian power and promise in fact derived from the very “Asian and barbarian” roots that made it suspect in Europe’s eyes; and finally the Eurasianist tradition that felt Russia should craft its identity specifically around the fact that it was neither wholly European nor wholly Asian.8 When Tsarist Russia became Soviet Russia in 1917, many Western Europeans conveniently chose to forget the fact that Marxism’s intellectual and political roots were to be found in squarely Europe and instead chose to see Soviet communism as “yet another manifestation of the Oriental ‘other’ ” (Pagden 2002c, 47). During the Soviet era, the term “Eastern” became “loaded with further negative connotations” and the “absences” that marked Eastern Europe—​absence of freedom, development, culture—​became integral to the way Western Europe rebuilt itself after the calamities of the two world wars (Malksoo 2010, 58). In their Soviet guise, “socialism and its consequences” came to “embody precisely that European ‘other’ in the eyes of old [Western] Europeans, that is, the abandonment of the central, cultural roots of Europe in its tradition of Christianity and the Enlightenment” (Kaschuba 2007, 33).

 



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Some Europeans did continue to regard Soviet Russia and Soviet communism as the organic products of European political and historical trends, even in the face of strong Cold War anti-​communist and anti-​Russian trends. In the eyes of many leftist Western European intellectuals and, crucially, in the minds of Soviet leaders themselves, the Soviet project, and Stalinism in particular, “was at least in part a Westernizing phenomenon” because “it claimed the mantle of all progressive and hence Western civilization” (David-​Fox 2010, 262; Malia 1994). Shaped as it was by the “standards and patterns of the Occident” (Peteri 2010, 12), the Soviet system attempted to realize itself, particularly in its post–​ World War II variants, not as “some sort of alternative” to the Western European modernity, but rather as its “apotheosis” (Castillo 2010, 104). A large segment of the last generation of Soviet leaders and foreign policy advisers was, according to English, “distinctly Westernizing” to an unusual degree (2000, 5). Midwifed in the détente and Helsinki eras, and culminating in Gorbachev’s plea for the reinclusion of the USSR in “our common European home,” this strain of late-​Soviet ideology stressed that Europe must remember that “Russia is indivisibly part of Europe,” and vowed that while Peter the Great “only opened a window on Europe . . . we [the glasnost’ era foreign policy cadres around Gorbachev] are knocking down the walls” (English 2000, 140, 193).

A Soviet “Taint” in the Contemporary European Arena? The way that the Soviet communist experience is remembered and reinterpreted today has important implications for contemporary understandings about which states and peoples already “belong” to Europe, which might belong to Europe someday, and which definitely do not belong. Those post-​communist that have successfully “become European” by joining the EU and NATO have attempted to get those European institutions to adopt an “official remembering” of Soviet communism that is wholly negative and that characterizes the Soviet experience in the countries “behind the Iron Curtain” as one of brutal occupation that inflicted damage on those peoples and societies on par with the suffering that the Nazis caused in Europe’s West (Malksoo 2009, 2010; Zhurzhenko 2007). The largely successful project to rewrite “official” European history in the post–​Cold War period to include stories of Soviet Russia’s anti-​European barbarity and savagery against defenseless and “truly European” states in Central Europe and the Baltics is a significant development that clearly shapes the ways in which Russia and other non-​Baltic Soviet successor states pursue (or do not pursue) Europeanizing efforts. Kristen Ghodsee has noted that the insistence by Baltic and Visegrad states that European institutions officially recognize their status as unambiguous

 

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“victims of communism” has left those states with no “viable” history, opening them to the siren song of far-​right nationalist politics as their only language of protest in the face of the “ravages of global capitalism” since the fiscal collapse of 2008 (2017, xviii–​x x). In the 2010 collection devoted to “remembering communism,” Augusta Dimou points out that in reunified Germany, new official history textbooks present versions of the past that obscure and deny the clearly and undeniably Western European origins of communism. Instead, contemporary German accounts of the Cold War era present a Kundera-​esque view that locates, and thus isolates, the communist phenomena entirely in the “barbarian,” and presumably non-​European, territory of Russia, completely eliding the indigenous philosophical roots of communism in Germany and the rest of Europe and its practical existence in eastern Germany for over four decades (Dimou 2010, 296). Castillo has a different take on the “Ostalgie” of post-​communist remembering in Germany’s east and other parts of the former communist world but argues that it has the same ultimate impact—​distancing the anti-​European, communist East from the current, pro-​European West (2010).9 The view that Soviet communism is an anti-​Europeanizing force (even if, in Ostalgie’s view, a gentle and benevolent one) emanating from barbarian and Oriental Russia, is reflected in an opposite, mirror image by Solzhenitsyn, who viewed communism as an “alien, anti-​Russian virus” imported from Western Europe into Russia (emphasis mine). This idea most certainly continues to influence European gatekeeping actors’ judgments about the contemporary “Europeanness” of both Russia and those states that suffered direct Soviet rule as constituent republics of the Soviet Union (Garton Ash 1986, 161). The fact that the idea of the “Soviet taint” does continue to mark ex-​ Soviet countries as “un-​European” in some intrinsic way is quite visible in the Europeanization efforts of the Baltic states (discussed in ­chapter  3 and ­chapter  7). The crucial characteristic of the Baltic states’ successful pleas for rapid enlargement and inclusion in the EU and NATO was the “Soviet captivity narrative” that they presented to European gatekeeping actors (and indeed had been presenting continuously since the Soviet takeover). The Baltic states were able to make a convincing case that their decades of Soviet “tainting,” like the experience of the Central European states, happened against their will, by virtue of occupation, and therefore should not be allowed to obscure their essential and intrinsic Europeanness. These politics of European memory are also clearly at work in Russia, whose own post-​Soviet national narrative contains elements that seek to reconcile Russia’s Soviet experience (including crucially World War II) within the larger European narrative, though in a way that rejects Europe’s recent official condemnations of “Soviet tyranny” during and after the war. Russia’s

 



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contemporary historical narrative continues to insist unequivocally that Russia’s “liberation of Europe from Nazi tyranny” in 1945 was “a great justice done” (Malksoo 2009, 665; Zhurzhenko 2007). Putin’s insistence on the “purity” of the Soviet victory over Nazism and Russia’s refusal to acknowledge any tyrannical aspects to the Soviet war effort is, Malksoo argues, Putin’s chief way of “positioning Russia firmly among the ‘normal’ European countries” in the post-​ Soviet period (Malksoo 2009, 668).

Russia as European Colonizer: Civilizing Others to Civilize Itself In an effort to counter Europe’s rejection of Russia as an alien, Oriental, and barbarian realm, Russian leaders from Peter onward set out to prove Russia’s Europeanness by modeling, to varying extents, the political and cultural forms of European countries (quite successfully, at least in the realms of literature, art, theater, and music, as even the most Russophobic Europeans must admit). While the cultural self-​Europeanizing efforts of Russia’s elites (many of whom knew French and German better than Russian) are well known, nowhere were European attitudes and forms more carefully followed than regarding the way that the expanding Russian Empire treated its own “internal colonies”:  the Muslim populations of the Caucasus, Middle Volga and Central Asia, and the native peoples of Siberia—​what Brower and Lazzerini have called “Russia’s Own Orient” (1997; see also Tolz 2011). Tsarist Russia’s Europeanizing and civilizing agenda applied not only to Muslim populations in the Caucasus and Central Asia, but also to those Christian populations that were considered “Oriental” or “Asian” in Russian eyes, including Georgians and Armenians (Grant 2009; Hokanson 1994; Jersild and Melkadze 2002; Layton 1986; 1992), and the pagan populations of the Middle Volga and Siberia (Bassin 1999; Sunderland 1996; Werth 2002). The Tsarist Russian government’s own Orientalist attitudes and policies thus affected a wide spectrum of non-​Russians, whose useful role was to serve as the vehicle through which Russians could themselves, by administering a successful, modern, enlightened empire, finally be embraced by European civilization as a full and equal member of its exclusive club. More simply put, Tsarist Russia hoped that by civilizing the “barbarians” in its midst, it could, once and for all, civilize itself as well (Bassin 1999, 205). Tsarist Russian attempts to gain admittance into European civilization by creating enlightened subjects out of the “savages” in its midst varied over time in form and intensity. These included the display by Russian monarchs of “exotic” territories and peoples in dependent roles for both domestic and foreign

 

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audiences (see especially Schönle 2001); the introduction of education in the Russian language and other “modern” subjects such as natural science for non-​Russians (which often included some degree of proselytization on behalf of the Orthodox Church); the establishment of public libraries and other “enlightening” cultural institutions; and, at times, the forcible prohibition of certain native traditions and practices (including nomadism and shamanism). These policies were modeled on and engendered the same mix of contradictory responses among non-​Russians in the empire as similar policies did in other European colonies (Tolz 2011, 27). The Soviet state, like its Tsarist predecessor, was also preoccupied with ideas of progress and bringing “enlightenment” to the non-​Russian masses, but this time in the name of creating modern, Soviet men and women who would serve as examples of the correctness and forward-​thinking nature of Soviet communism for what was portrayed as the backward, decrepit, and doomed realm of “bourgeois” Europe (Hirsch 2005; Malia 1999; Martin 2001; Northrup 2003; Suny and Martin 2001). Soviet ideology was intensely paradoxical at times, grafting the traditional, anti-​European ressentiment that had historically animated Russian nationalism onto the socialist and communist ideas that had themselves emerged, geographically and philosophically, from the heart of Europe (Greenfeld 1992; McDaniel 1996). The Soviet adoption of the European philosophy of communism resembles the Tsarist embrace of European-​style imperialism. The Soviets, however, aimed to become even more European than the rest of Europe by becoming more progressive, free, and modern than any other contemporary European state. Non-​ Russians reprised their role as useful subjects in this process; the new levels of “civilization” that they acquired (again, sometimes willingly, sometimes not) at the hands of the Soviets were displayed as putative evidence of the progressive, benevolent, rational, and enlightened nature of Soviet rule (Edgar 2006; Sarkisova 2017; Slezkine 1996). Islam and Europeanness in Tsarist and Soviet Russia. While both Tsarist and Soviet Orientalist-​type policies toward non-​Russians applied to Christian, Muslim, and pagan populations alike, Russia’s desire to “civilize” and bring European enlightenment to the “barbarians” and “savages” in its midst was motivated, to some degree, by religious fervor and rivalry, particularly a deep-​ seated antipathy toward Islam, and the desire to settle old scores dating from the era of the Mongol occupation. In both the Tsarist and Soviet eras, leaders exhibited the same particular antagonism toward Islam that other Europeans also held. In this respect, Russia “readily joined in the general European ideology of imperialism”; in fact, it was “remarkable” to what extent attitudes towards “Asians” and Muslims in imperial Russia in particular were “narrow, consistent and consistently European” (Riasanovsky 1972, 8).

 



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For this exact reason, it is imperative to examine how the question of belonging to Europe, in the cultural-​civilizational, institutional, and geopolitical senses, is debated in Muslim-​majority areas in Russia and the Soviet successor states (particularly in Azerbaijan and the five Central Asian republics). The historical and cultural experience of these countries makes them the most “distant” from Europe according to the Eurocentric-​Orientalist cultural gradient, thus the barriers to cultural-​civilizational, institutional, or geopolitical Europeanization are the greatest for them. And yet, their long association with the quasi-​European and fully “civilizing” and imperial Tsarist and Soviet states introduced into these Muslim and “Oriental” societies an unmistakable strain of identification with the “modern,” “progressive,” and European values and worldview that those states embodied. Understanding how these Muslim-​ majority Soviet successor states are now negotiating these various inherited legacies and designations—​“Islamic/​ Oriental/​Eastern” versus “Russian-​Soviet/​European/​Western”—​and how their attempts to “rejoin” a Europe that some would argue they have never been a part of, is important. Not only because it helps to delineate the emerging outlines of both official Europe and European civilization, but also because it might shed light on the increasingly important question of “Islam in Europe” and how “established” European states might interact more effectively and democratically with the increased number of Muslim citizens that now live within them.10

Indexes of Intrinsic Europeanness To summarize the argument presented in this chapter, and to help identify where European gatekeeping agents and Soviet successor states themselves might imagine themselves to be located on the EOCG, Figure 2.1 presents a measure of “intrinsic” Europeanness. It identifies characteristics that seem to be positively associated with intrinsic Europeanness, those that are ambivalent dependent on interpretation, and those that are negatively associated with intrinsic Europeanness. Table 2.1 offers a ranking of the intrinsic Europeanness of Russia and each of the Soviet successor states, high, medium, or low, while the expanded discussions of the intrinsic Europeanness ratings for each of the post-​ Soviet states are found in the individual case studies of each state. These measures of each post-​Soviet state’s “intrinsic Europeanness” are not intended to serve as a definitive means of categorization. Rather the hope is to present a broad-​stroke sketch of the geographic, religious, and historical “raw materials” that each post-​Soviet state has on hand to employ as it chooses to (or not to) in pursuit of Europeanness. These same factors are also what European gatekeeping agents use to make their own judgments about the

 

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Intrinsic Factors of Europeanness

High

Medium/Mixed

Low

Religion: Protestant or Catholic Christianity

Religion: Eastern Orthodox or “Oriental” Christianity

Religion: Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Roman, Holy Roman, Habsburg, PolishLithuanian Commonwealth

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Ottoman, Mongol Turk , Persian

Geographic Location: North/Western; included on all contemporary maps of Europe

Geographic Location: Central/Eastern; included on some contemporary maps of Europe

Geographic Location: South/Eastern; not included on contemporary maps of Europe

Historical Experience (2/3 or 3/3) Renaissance Reformation Enlightenment

Historical Experience (1/3) Renaissance Renformation Enlightenment

Historical Experience (0/3) Renaissance Reformation Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Oppression/Captivity

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Ambivalent/Mixed

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Protection/Modernizing

Figure 2.1  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness

degree of Europeanness of different post-​Soviet states. In most cases, the historical experiences and present realities of these states are intensely ambiguous and complicated, not lending themselves to a clear categorization of any of these states as “European or not” (the same is true, albeit to a lesser extent, of any of the “accepted” European states, for that matter). But the post-​Soviet states do possess these factors of “intrinsic Europeanness” in different measures and mixtures, and thus have different abilities to craft convincing stories of their Europeanness in the contemporary period, should they decide to.

 



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Table 2.1  Post-​Soviet States: Levels of Intrinsic Europeanness High Intrinsic Europeanness

Medium/​Mixed Intrinsic Europeanness

Low Intrinsic Europeanness

Estonia

Armenia

Kyrgyzstan

Latvia

Azerbaijan

Tajikistan

Lithuania

Belarus

Turkmenistan

Georgia

Uzbekistan

Kazakhstan Moldova Russia Ukraine

The case studies that follow in Part II of this book look for evidence of cultural and civilizational Europeanization by examining the stories that they tell both domestic and external audiences about their national and state identities in the post-​communist period, with particular emphasis on the idea of Europeanness in them. The national narratives of the Soviet successor states are constructed from multiple sources, including:  official state documents, the popular press, civil society, cultural artifacts, and participant observation. I also find evidence of cultural-​civilization Europeanization of participation in European cultural and sport institutions like Eurovision and the EURO football championships. The ideas about who is European and who is not encoded in the EOCG inform the decisions of European gatekeeper agents as they sit in judgment of the cultural-​civilizational Europeanization projects of Soviet successor states, which in turn influences the extent to which they are willing to offer these states meaningful opportunities to participate in European institutions. The next three chapters examine how European gatekeeping actors have defined “institutional” Europe in the post-​communist era through the processes of enlargement, looking at this process in Europe’s political institutions, security institutions, and cultural-​civilizational institutions. In each of the three realms, the evidence suggests that ideas about Europe and Europeanness derived from the EOCG have shaped the enlargement process in significant ways.

 

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Political Europeanization since 1989

Despite the existence of other pan-​European entities like the Council of Europe (CoE), the EU is obviously and unquestionably Europe’s most important political institution. EU enlargement via the granting of membership to former communist states is the chief way that claims to “belong to Europe” are given concrete political and institutional meaning in the post-​communist period.1 Membership in the EU not only clearly marks who truly belongs to Europe in a political sense, but also confers significant material advantages and opportunities on those who gain this status. (See Map 3.1.) This has remained true even in the face of the EU’s significant problems in the twenty-​first century—​the daunting Eurozone and refugee crises, authoritarian “backsliding” by newer EU members like Hungary and Poland, and Brexit. Those post-​communist states that aspire to Europeanness but are unlikely to be granted membership in the EU in the foreseeable future feel a great impact from this exclusion, in terms of both identity and the loss of incentives and resources that might help create truly “European” political norms and forms in those states.2 I have argued that Europeanization in the post-​communist world more generally and the post-​Soviet realm particularly can be usefully conceptualized as a three-​phase process. This chapter focuses on the specific dynamics of EU enlargement during that process. Consistently since 1989, the European-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG), Europe’s own self-​identification as a special type of entity guided by liberal values, and the instrumental concerns of actors both in Europe and in the former communist world (particularly Russia) have worked together to shape the process of political Europeanization via EU enlargement. As one traces the path of EU enlargement over the past three decades, the assumptions of the EOCG, namely that some countries are more intrinsically European and therefore worthy of membership in the EU than others, are clearly visible, as are the attempts by different actors to make the European case for various post-​communist and post-​Soviet states. As Panke and others have pointed out, the whole raison d’être for first the founding and later the expansion of the EU is a type of “civilizing process” whereby postwar Europe would civilize itself 62

Mediterranean Sea

Black Sea

Map 3.1  Europe According to the European Union: Current and Candidate Members

EU Member Countries *The UK is scheduled to leave EU in March 2019 Official Candidates for EU membership (Albania, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Turkey) Recognized as Potential Candidates for EU Membership (Bosnia-Herzegovina, Kosovo)

Atlantic Ocean

Baltic Sea

 

 

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through an institutional commitment to liberal values, along the way ridding itself of the taint of fascism and two destructive world wars (if never properly recognizing or atoning for other European sins such as colonialism) (Bechev 2015; Panke 2015, 350–​52). During the earliest phase of EU expansion, the rationale for granting membership to the “most European” post-​communist countries (the Visegrad and Baltic states) was a warm welcoming back to Europe. As the EU expanded further to the south and the east, into the Balkans, the rationale became increasingly securitized. The offer of membership to Romania and Bulgaria (2007) and Croatia (2014), and the promise of future membership to other Balkan states has occurred more under the auspices of “pacifying and civilizing” them and thus ensuring the security of Europe, rather than due to a strong sense that they truly “belong” in Europe (Diez 2004; Todorova 2009).3 Likewise, as the EU has enlarged further down the EOCG, the accession process has become more onerous, with the southern and eastern states having to fulfill more conditions for accession then did the earlier joiners. As the EU expanded into the post-​communist world, the taint of “non-​ Europeanness” or “incivility” was pushed further down the EOCG, chiefly through the discursive and political actions of new EU member states such as Poland and the Baltics. In essence, the “burden of Easternness” was “recycled” and “transferred further east,” onto Russia (Kuus 2007, 34). This was achieved particularly through the politics of history, by “writing Russia out” of a newly canonized European history that demonized both the Soviet era and contemporary Russia’s refusal to repent for that history. This increasingly tense “discursive competition” between Europe and Russia was accompanied by an equally dynamic institutional competition and would, by 2008, harden into an actual militarized, realpolitik rivalry, characterized at least on the part of Russia by actual armed intervention (Kazaharski and Makarychev 2015, 328). Another important force animating the process of political Europeanization in the post-​communist world is the EU’s own self-​identification as a special institution based on a shared commitment to liberal values. Whether understood as the idea of “rhetorical entrapment” (Schimmelfennig 2003) or as “soft imperialism” aimed at “satisfying its own self-​image” (Panke 2015, 325), the EU’s professed belief in the inevitable and universal nature of its own liberal institutional model (at least regarding other European states) provides a propulsive logic to the process of EU enlargement in the post-​communist world (Panke 2015; Snyder 2018). Together, the continual evolution of the EOCG at the hands of the new EU members from the former communist world and the EU’s own universalizing rhetoric have fostered an abiding sense of the seeming inexorability (or at least possibility) of enlargement into some additional parts of the former Soviet Union.

 



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In terms of policy, this is expressed through a constant upgrading of relations with those former Soviet states that are considered the most European. Thus, the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP) begat the Eastern Partnership Program (EAP), which begat “Association Agreements” (AA), which begat the “Eastern Partnership Plus” (EAPP). The steady expansion of the EU’s ability to “extend its institutional order beyond its borders” into some non-​Baltic areas of the former Soviet Union is in part responsible for the hardening of Russia’s opposition toward the EU and those of its former satellites that would join it since 2008. Appel and Orenstein argue that “few transition theorists” understood the “superpowerful” effects that the EU’s enlargement to the east would have even on those post-​Soviet states whose actual chances of “returning to Europe” via EU membership were quite low (2018, 24–​25, 67–​74). The EU enlargement process in the post-​communist world created a “competitive dynamic” that compelled all but the most obstinately authoritarian states in the former Soviet Union (namely Belarus, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan) to reorient their economies to the norms and practices dictated by the EU and other international institutions (Appel and Orenstein 2018). Within this general trend, however, different post-​Soviet states have pursued political Europeanization with various degrees of intensity and seriousness. Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine have consistently pursued strong political Europeanization projects, up to and including the clearly expressed desire for eventual EU membership. Armenia and Azerbaijan have moderately strong political Europeanization projects, taking as much advantage of the EU’s ever-​expanding offers of “relationship” as they feel they can while maintaining their respective security situations (which are precariously balanced with one another and Russia due to the unresolved Nagorno-​Karabakh crisis). Belarus is in the singular position of being “chased” by the EU, which deems it, by dint of geography and history, as “European enough” to warrant inclusion in the Eastern Partnership program. Kazakhstan has shown mild pragmatic interest in Europe as an element of its “Eurasianist” policy, while the other four Central Asian republics are as uninterested in political Europeanization as their weak levels of “intrinsic” Europeanness suggest that they might be.

Brief History of European Enlargement in the Post-​communist World European history in the modern era is the story of violently disruptive attempts by peoples at all points on the EOCG to determine what political and institutional forms best expressed “European norms and values” and indeed, to determine exactly what those “European norms and values” were (Muller, J-​W. 2011).

 

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From the Old Regime norms that were challenged first in France in 1789 by the ideas of liberté, egalité, and fraternité, and in Russia in 1917 by the idea of revolutionary and “scientific” communism, to the convulsive battle that pitted those same communist ideals in an uneasy alliance with liberalism against the juggernaut of fascism in World War II, Europe’s modern history would not suggest the felicitous outcome that presented itself by the late twentieth century. After World War II, a hard-​won, initially fragile, but increasingly robust consensus developed in Europe around the idea that “European values” at heart meant freedom, tolerance, and a commitment to realizing human rights. Institutionalizing those values meant establishing a liberal democratic state based on the rule of law and a large degree of economic freedom, tempered with a robust commitment to social welfare ( Judt 2005). This postwar European consensus also included an escalating desire to harness the fruits of regularized economic, political, and social cooperation among Europe nation-​states by creating “an ever-​closer union,” at first limited to the realms of the steel and coal industry, and later extending to nearly all aspects of domestic life and even external and foreign policy concerns in the mature European Union. With the economic help of the Marshall Plan and under the security umbrella of NATO (both US-​sponsored initiatives), the European Union grew into the world’s largest economy, whose members were blessed to have both the highest per capita incomes and standards of living in the world, along with the lowest rates of economic inequality. By the late twentieth century, the EU was also an increasingly assertive force on the global stage, pressing for multilateral relations and progressive foreign policy reforms around the world, including the push for new collective security arrangements in Europe and domestic human rights reforms in the Soviet Union in the 1970s through the Helsinki process. In the mid-​1980s, when Mikhail Gorbachev began to speak of reuniting Europe by allowing the Soviet Union to rejoin “our common European homeland,” it was thus in part a recognition of the great success of the postwar European model of political, economic, social, and geopolitical organization, as well as an expression of desire to share in that success (though not, pointedly, by discarding the Soviet model and adopting Europe’s institutional forms wholesale, despite the fact that Gorbachev’s reforms would eventually precipitate the former, if not the latter). Gorbachev sought to salvage the Soviet economy by unburdening the USSR of its expensive military commitments in Eastern Europe, signaling that the Brezhnev Doctrine of military invasion to preserve Soviet allied regimes was dead. The removal of the threat of Red Army intervention inspired first Poland, where the ground had been laid by the courageous and patient Solidarity movement, and then Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and the rest of the Warsaw Pact states to first dismantle communism and second to demand

 



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that they be allowed to “rejoin Europe” by being accepted as equal members of Europe’s leading political and security institutions—​the European Union and NATO. The idea that “reuniting Europe” meant the enlargement of Europe’s most important political and security institutions, the EU and NATO, began with the rapid absorption of the former East Germany (German Democratic Republic) into West Germany (Federal Republic of Germany) in October 1990, less than a year after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Two aspects of the reunification of Germany are important here:  first, that in becoming part of the existing West German state, the former East Germany in one fell swoop also became a member of both the EU and NATO; and second, that this all-​European institutional impact of reunification was not widely debated among the other members of these pan-​ European organizations. The assumption of the Kohl government was that forty years of Soviet rule in East Germany had done nothing to change the intrinsic Germanness and therefore Europeanness of that territory or its people. A debate about this de facto enlargement of the EU and NATO was therefore unnecessary (Neumann 1998).4 The rapid reunification of Germany had the (perhaps unintended) effect of presenting a model for other post-​communist states to aspire to. If East Germany could so easily be completely welcomed back into the European fold, which now meant membership in pan-​European political and security institutions such as the EU and NATO, then they would settle for nothing less than the same treatment. The reunification of Germany therefore set the parameters of the meaning of “reuniting Europe” for other Eastern European states in the wake of the collapse of communism; to rejoin Europe meant to become full members of the EU and NATO.

Enlarging the EU to the East The question of whether or not (or which of) the other post-​communist states “belonged” to Europe in the same way that Germany’s eastern half did and so also deserved to be integrated into the EU and NATO was much more contentious than the decision to reunify Germany. The abundant good will and lack of skepticism about “reunifying Europe” that accompanied the recreation of a united Germany observably decreases in direct proportion to the distance (or perceived distance) that EU enlargement has “traveled” along the EOCG over the past two decades. As European reunification through EU enlargement has progressed along the cultural gradient, suspicions about the “Europeanness” of the countries in question and the onerousness of the process those countries must traverse to join the EU have both intensified.

 

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Journalist Jonathan Eyal has described the process of reunifying Europe by EU enlargement as being governed by two “unspoken ideas” about the countries newly liberated from communism.5 The first is the tutelary nature of the process—​the former communist lands could “return to Europe,” but only if they changed in the specific ways stipulated by the EU. James Headley refers to this process as “hierarchical inclusion”; the EU could dictate to candidate states from the former communist world the nature and speed of changes in a top-​ down manner, without having to change its own self-​definition or institutional framework (2012, 436). Second, European reunification via EU enlargement is characterized by a deep fear of the “encroachment” of the “wild east” into Europe (a fear highly visible in the debates about “old” and “new” and “core” and “non-​core” Europe that erupted around the question of support for the Iraq war in 2003) (Levy et al. 2005a; Malksoo 2010).6 Two documents from the early days of post-​ communism show EU gatekeepers grappling with the two main questions undergirding the process of enlargement: which countries were “European” enough to be considered as candidates for EU membership, and what should the process of accession to the EU look like for those countries? A quotation from a 1992 EU report entitled “Europe and the Challenge of Enlargement” captures nicely EU gatekeepers’ thinking on the first question: Article 237 of the Rome Treaty, and Article O of the Maastricht Treaty, say that “any European State may apply to become a member.” The term “European” has not been officially defined. It combines geographical, historical and cultural elements which all contribute to European identity. The shared experience of proximity, ideas, values and historical interaction cannot be condensed into a simple formula and is subject to review by each succeeding generation. The Commission believes that it is neither possible nor opportune to establish now the frontiers of the European Union, whose contours will be shaped over many years to come. (European Commission 1992, 11) This report makes it clear that as early as 1992, EU gatekeepers were open to the idea of enlarging the organization to include some of the post-​communist states beyond East Germany, while also stating that the EU would apply some type of criteria to evaluate the “Europeanness” of potential candidates. It became incumbent upon those post-​communist states that desired membership in the EU (and remains incumbent upon “each succeeding generation” of such states) to “make the case” to EU gatekeepers granting entry onto the path of eventual EU membership that they did in fact possess in sufficient amount the “geographical, historical and cultural elements that all contribute to European identity.” In

 



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the 1992 formulation, two other, more extrinsic criteria complemented the requirement for adequate intrinsic Europeanness: “democratic status and respect of human rights.” Furthermore, applicant states would have to accept and demonstrate the capacity to fulfill the “legal, economic and political framework” of the EU (the acquis communitaire) and the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (European Commission 1992, 11). These first thoughts about the question of post-​communist enlargement were codified and systematized at the European Council’s 1993 Copenhagen Summit (the “Copenhagen Criteria”). While eliding to some degree the question of “intrinsic Europeanness” of potential post-​communist candidate countries, the Copenhagen Criteria specified in more detail both the extensive extrinsic criteria that candidate countries “must have achieved” before being granted EU membership and the framework through which the EU gatekeepers would help them achieve these goals (essentially, the scaffolding of “conditionality”). The goals included: • stable institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law, human rights and respect for and protection of minorities; • the existence of a functioning market economy as well as the capacity to cope with competitive pressure and market forces within the Union; • the ability to take on the obligations of membership including adherence to the aims of political economic & monetary union” (European Commission 2011b). The specific means of helping candidate countries achieve these goals articulated at Copenhagen included: formal agreements stipulating concrete reform targets and specific timetables for their achievement (these took the form of bilateral association agreements between the candidate countries and the EU, also called “Europe Agreements,” which would later evolve into bilateral “Accession Partnerships”); regular meetings between the European Council and the candidate states to discuss the reform process; and substantial economic and legal support (via PHARE and other instruments).7 The self-​proclaimed “Central European” states of Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic (whose experience Slovakia, Slovenia, and the three Baltic states closely followed and clearly emulated) clearly led the way in the 1990s in terms of fulfilling the tasks associated with gaining accession to the EU—​ proving their “intrinsic” Europeanness in terms of history and culture, and their “extrinsic” Europeanness in terms of fulfilling EU conditionality requirements. As Schimmelfennig’s influential analysis demonstrates, Central European elites skillfully employed rhetorical evidence from both history and culture to argue that they were full and organic parts of European civilization. They repeatedly

 

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told EU audiences that “we are part of you,” attempting to instill among EU gatekeepers a sense of moral obligation to support enlargement to the east (2003,5). Early Enlargement:  “Returning Kin to Europe.” An important part of these arguments was that the “essential Europeanness” of the Central European states had been only temporarily interrupted by historical accident, stolen from them when they were “kidnapped” by the alien, anti-​European forces of Soviet communism (a crime, not incidentally, that was enabled by the moral weakness shown by “Europe” at Yalta in 1945)  (Malksoo 2009, 662; Neumann 1998, 408). As Kuus puts it, Central European intellectuals like Havel successfully employed their “pastoral moral authority” and “cultural and moral capital” to convince European gatekeepers of the truth of their “grand statements about the centuries-​old struggles and belonging of Central Europe to Europe,” and that these truths demanded immediate political action on the part of Western Europe (2007, 84–​86). Schimmelfennig identifies another factor crucial to the ultimate success of the Central European states’ efforts to get EU gatekeepers to accept their applications for EU membership: the skillful use by Central European states of the EU’s own “constituent rules,” chief among them a commitment to liberal norms and a stated pledge to spread those norms throughout “Europe” (2003, 278–​80). The Central European states used “rhetorical action” to position themselves as inherently liberal states committed to democracy and human rights, and as such, fully deserving of EU consideration and membership. Not responding to these overtures would mean a betrayal of the values at the heart of the European Union project; if the EU was to stand for anything, it must stand for supporting the spread of liberal democracy to the former communist states (Schimmelfennig 2003). Many scholars agree that ultimately the effective combination of the “cultural belonging” and “appeal to liberal norms” arguments explain why the EU (and NATO) decided to pursue enlargement, with more rational actor accounts of the supposed security benefits of enlargement playing only a secondary role (Lane 2007; Michta 2006; Risse 2010, 207–​09; Schimmelfennig 2003; Sjursen 2006a, 2006b). Evidence that the question of “intrinsic Europeanness” of the potential new post-​communist members weighed on EU officials is found in the 1993 Copenhagen Criteria and the 1997 Amsterdam Amendment to the Maastricht Treaty, which both predicate the initiation of membership talks with post-​ communist aspirant states on the a priori “Europeanness” of those states. A report by former Dutch prime minister Wim Kok, requested by the European Commission and presented to it in the run-​up to the 2004 “big bang” enlargement of the EU, similarly argues that while a main empirical benefit of EU enlargement would be “the chance to achieve peace and security on a European

 



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scale,” the true inspiration behind the project was not instrumental, but rather sentimental and moral, namely “the vision of a reunified Europe whole and free” (2003, 8). Kok’s report takes pains to demonstrate that the “Central and Eastern European” countries that were set to join the EU in 2004—​Poland, Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovakia, Slovenia, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia—​“are more similar to than different from” the existing EU member states, and that they “have shared since the Middle Ages in the interplay of cultural influences characterizing continental Europe.” The result is that these states developed the same political and social structures “that have existed in Europe in successive centuries.” As such, “their experience of separation by the Iron Curtain” must be seen as a “temporary aberration,” and at any rate, “in fields such as art, architecture, music, cinema and literature, their contributions to Europe’s culture is widely understood and appreciated by existing EU members” (Kok 2003, 69–​70). It is crucial here to highlight the fact that during this process the Baltic states, despite their geographic location outside of the traditional boundaries of “Central Europe,” were, by dint of their cultural and historical experience (and the political sympathies of the United States), relocated symbolically into Central Europe. The sentiment that the Central European states of the first EU enlargement were an intrinsic and natural part of Europe returning home was echoed by a Spanish member of the European Commission, Eneko Landaburu, in 2007, when he characterized the 2004 “big bang” EU enlargement as having “offered the possibility of bringing together nations which are all part of the European family” (Landaburu 2007, 9). The 2004 enlargement was necessary, in his view, because “Europe is as present in Prague and Budapest as it is in London or Paris,” and as such, Europe could no longer bear to be “artificially split into two parts” (Landaburu 2007). The former communist states that gained EU membership during the first phase of Europeanization certainly saw themselves in this way. As Estonian prime minister Johan Parks stated on the day of EU accession in 2004, “We are returning to where we belong.” Czech Republic president Václav Klaus outlined the matter even more starkly on the same day, asserting of his country that “We are not ‘joining’ Europe, because we have been there a long time. We have always been there, even at the times of our greatest subjugation” (RFE/​RL May 1, 2004). Author Helene Sjursen argues that this type of rhetoric about the enlargement of the EU as a “kinship-​based duty,” accompanied by an emphasis on the shared European cultural and historical background of the aspirant states, was “a constant factor” in EU policy documents and speeches on enlargement in the 1990s and 2000s (2006a, 11–​12). Sjursen contrasts this discourse with the debate surrounding Turkey’s simultaneous bid to join the EU, pointing out that EU

 

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actors never referred to Turkey with the type of “kinship” language that they used about the Central and Eastern European aspirant states, instead calling Turkey “an important partner” that might have “strategic importance” for Europe, but would never be considered a “member of the family” (Sjursen 2006a, 12–​13). Later Enlargement: “Protecting Ourselves from Barbarians.” As the EU moved in 2007 toward its second round of (and second phase of) post-​communist enlargements, which included Romania and Bulgaria, two Balkan states whose populations were mostly Orthodox Christian, both a subtle shift in the rationale for enlargement and a “tightening up” in the process of conditionality occurred. Mungiu-​Pippidi argues that the EU’s initial decision to offer Romania and Bulgaria an EU membership perspective, taken at the EU’s 1999 Helsinki Summit, was intended more to “stabilize” these areas in the wake of the “anarchy” evolving in their neighborhood (namely, in Serbia and Albania) than out of any genuine conviction that they were an organic or integral part of Europe (2010, 67). Likewise, Diez observed the shift from a “return to Europe” discourse, which marked the first round of enlargement, to a discourse about the need for the “pacification” of Europe and the desire to avoid going “back to the future of war” as the rationale for extending the EU into the Balkans later in the decade (2004, 320–​26). The Western Balkans may have to be integrated into institutional Europe to prevent them from destroying Europe (again), this rhetoric suggested, but Europe will do so only to save itself and to (finally) civilize them, not with a sense of joyful reunification (Diez 2004; Todorova 2009).8 As the perceived cultural and civilizational barriers to Europeanness for candidate countries increased, the process of acceding to the EU also changed subtly. There is substantial agreement among scholars that the conditionality process, which holds out EU membership as the “carrot” making the “sticks” of painful economic and political reforms more bearable, is a “highly effective” one (Daskalovskii 2011, 55). It has allowed “even the most difficult future EU candidates” to make progress toward democracy (Vachudova 2008, 24), and helps those states transition to democracy “faster, and with less uncertainty and risk” (Mungiu-​Pippidi 2010, 59). The process of conditionality allows EU norms and practices to “become imbedded in domestic politics and institutions long before accession” in candidate states (Grabbe 2006, 203). As the EU enlargement process has moved south and east across the EOCG, EU gatekeepers have deemed it prudent to “enhance” the conditionality process by adding several more stages of negotiation, more detailed and onerous conditions to be met, and closer monitoring and verification of reported gains (Huszka 2010, 5). Given that many of the Western Balkan states now in the official pipeline for EU membership suffer from problems of weak statehood, state capture, and systematic corruption, which might be characterized as emblematic

 



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of “lower” extrinsic Europeanness, this institutional expression of increased skepticism may well be warranted. Actors perceived to be located in positions “further down” the EOCG are perfectly aware of the skepticism with which “real” Europe views them. The language used by Romanian president Trajan Basescu on the day of his country’s accession to the EU in 2007 clearly expresses a sense of having “lagged behind” Central Europe in some important way and illustrates the contrast with the assured sense of belonging expressed by his counterparts who joined three years earlier. He could only tell his people, with evident relief, that “We have arrived in Europe” (BBC News January 1, 2007). More disturbingly, Hungarian prime minister Viktor Orbán has cynically used Orientalist tropes about the continued backwardness of the “new European” states to justify his recent authoritarian actions. Orbán argues that while “cooperative” democratic principles may work in “Scandinavia,” for a “semi-​Asiatic people like ours,” only “strength in leadership” can guide the state out of Europe’s current period of economic turmoil (TOL Weekly August 3, 2012). Since “real” Europeans seem to still think us “barbarian” in some fundamental way, Orbán cynically implies, why shouldn’t we act accordingly? Russia has capitalized on these lingering feelings of inferiority to gain support for its alt/​alte understanding of Europe among some actors in post-​communist states.

The End of Enlargement? The EU and the  Non-​Baltic Soviet Successor States The reluctance of gatekeeping actors in the EU to see countries located in positions further down the EOCG as truly “European” and thus worthy of full institutional integration with Europe becomes significantly more pronounced when the country in question is Russia or one of the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states. In one sense, many EU gatekeepers see the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union uniformly; none of these states is seen by all EU members as being either intrinsically or extrinsically European enough to have an assured “European vocation” that will eventually lead to EU membership in the same way that even the most “troubled” of the Western Balkan states is. This skepticism has held true for some members of the EU even in the wake of the Ukraine events that began in 2013. Given the great diversity that characterizes Russia and the eleven non-​Baltic Soviet successor states, it is not surprising that the EU’s relations with this group are markedly heterogeneous, though all are premised on some form of “belonging without membership” and “integration without accession.” EU

 

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approaches to these states can be divided into three categories. First, there is the unique case of Russia, whose size, economic and military strength, historical role as hegemon in the region, traditional status as a “quasi-​European” state, and own unwavering insistence on “special relations” with the EU led to the development of an exceptional type of bilateral partnership with the EU. Russia has resisted any EU attempts to subject it to “conditionality” in any form, instead persisting in its assertion that Russia is “already European” and as such, deserves to meet Europe as a “truly equal partner” and not a “supplicant” seeking membership on the EU’s terms (Headley 2012, 431; Tumanov et al. 2011). At the same time, at least up until the Ukraine crisis, Russia acknowledged its need for the EU’s help in making the legal and infrastructural reforms necessary to facilitate Russia’s economic interactions with the EU. In the wake of the Ukraine crisis, the EU remains divided about how to press its conflicting political and economic goals regarding Russia, but on the whole the EU seems more inclined than before to join the “new” European states in viewing the possibility of any “true partnership” between Russia and the EU with real skepticism (Bildt 2015). Russia’s more recent attempts to influence European elections and to foster dissent within the EU have further complicated the relationship. In the second category are those states that the EU has judged to be “sufficiently European” to be worthy of particularly close and robust relations, chiefly through the European Neighborhood Program (ENP), established after the EU enlargements of 2004 and 2007, and its offshoot the Eastern Partnership (EAP), created in 2009. (See Map 3.2.) In this category are the three states that have expressed a strong interest in joining the EU—​Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine—​and also one state that has resolutely held itself apart from Europe—​ Belarus—​but which is nevertheless considered “intrinsically European” enough to be pursued by the EU in (sometimes uncomfortably) ardent ways. Prodded on by both its own newest post-​communist members, particularly the Baltic states, and by actors in Georgia, Moldova, Ukraine, and Belarus (in the form of the beleaguered opposition), the EU’s policies toward these four states have, however incrementally and reluctantly, evolved to the point where eventual membership in the EU for some of these states no longer seems entirely unrealistic. This is particularly true in the wake of Ukraine’s strong pro-​Europe rhetoric and actions and Russia’s subsequent aggression towards Ukraine. The EU also invited Armenia and Azerbaijan to join both the ENP and EAP, though EU interest in these two states is expressed more in a “securitized” form of discourse motivated by the desire to establish domestic stability within these states and regional security around them, as well as by the hope of ensuring access to the valuable energy resources that at least one of them (Azerbaijan) has to offer Europe, rather than a sense of their being truly or intrinsically European. For their part, neither Armenia nor Azerbaijan (nor Belarus) has expressed the

Moldova

Map 3.2  The Eastern Partnership States (EAP)

The Eastern Partnership States (EAP)

Mediterranean Sea

Baltic Sea

Belarus

Black Sea

Ukraine

Armenia

Georgia

Azerbaijan

 

 

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explicit desire to eventually join the EU such as Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia at various times have done. Armenia has, like Belarus, also joined Russia’s alternative to the EU, the Eurasian Economic Union (about which there is more in ­chapter 6). In stark contrast to the confused, contradictory, but overall increasingly complex set of ties that it has with the six EAP states, the EU has distinctly cooler and less robust relations with another part of the former Soviet Union, the five Central Asian republics. The EU has not invited any the five Central Asian republics to join either the ENP or the EAP, nor does it have a “privileged partnership” with any of them as it does with Russia. The EU’s relations with the five Central Asian republics have not evolved significantly over the course of the post-​communist period and resemble the relations the EU has with other “non-​neighboring” countries—​bilateral and more in keeping with the model of foreign policy relations—​than they do its relations with Russia or the six EAP states. One explanation for approach is geography—​the five Central Asian republics are in fact not direct geographic neighbors of the EU. But then again, neither is Armenia or Azerbaijan, both of which are officially considered to be both EU “neighbors” and “partners.” It is worth pondering here then the thought that the decades, and, in some cases, centuries, of Russian and Soviet efforts at “modernizing,” “Europeanizing,” and “civilizing” the five Central Asian republics have not resulted in those states acquiring levels of “intrinsic Europeanness” high enough for the EU to consider enhanced institutional relations with them to be a priority. Nor, beyond the partial exception of contemporary Kazakhstan, which finds some utility in the idea of being a truly Eurasian state and serving as a “road to Europe,” is the idea of “becoming European” a priority for the Central Asian states (as is discussed in more detail in ­chapter 10). Given Russia’s position as the unquestioned hegemon in the post-​Soviet region, the singular character of the EU’s relations with Russia, and the influence that this relationship has in determining the course of the EU’s relations with the other non-​Baltic Soviet successor states, a closer examination of the evolution of EU policy toward Russia during the post-​communist era is warranted. Such an evaluation is particularly necessary in the wake of accusations that the Ukraine crisis that began in 2013 was in part caused by “a surfeit of complacency” on the part of the EU regarding the nature of its relationship with Russia.

The EU and Russia Presented with the dissolution of the USSR in 1991, the EU made two consequential decisions:  first, to establish a program of political and economic

 



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assistance to the Soviet successor states, including Russia (TACIS—​Transition Assistance to the Commonwealth of Independent States); and second, not to include the three Baltic Soviet successor states in the new program, but rather to bring them into PHARE, the program it had created two years earlier for the post-​communist states in Central and Eastern Europe. This decision effectively put the Baltic states on the pre-​accession path that culminated in their accession to the EU in 2004. The TACIS program initially did not differentiate among the twelve non-​ Baltic Soviet successor states, but sought to provide them all with, in the words of one of its architects, “immediate assistance: economic, social, administrative (even food aid),” and to deliver this assistance “fast and un-​bureaucratically” (Frenz). One significant aspect of the early TACIS years was what Dmitri Trenin calls “decline management”—​trying to contain the most dangerous aspects of the collapse of the Soviet Union, especially potential mishaps involving or illegal transfers of nuclear and conventional weapons (2007, 84). The differing emphases of the PHARE and TACIS programs of the 1990s are clear: the former was meant to prepare post-​communist states for EU membership, the latter to prevent catastrophes from developing in the former Soviet Union and potentially spilling over to “Europe proper.” The distinction between the two groups of countries reflects the assumptions of the EOCG and remains salient today. A “Special” Relationship with Russia. As the countries of the former Soviet Union began to find their footing and set out upon distinct development paths in the 1990s,9 so too did the EU begin to supplement TACIS’s one-​size-​fits-​all approach with more bespoke policies toward each of the post-​Soviet states. Rather quickly, it became obvious that while clearly diminished, Russia remained the once and future hegemon of the former Soviet region, and would demand that the EU treat it as such—​as an “already European,” “equal” partner, and not a “supplicant seeking aid” or a “basket case” in need of “European help” (Delcour 2007; Headley 2012; Snyder 2018; Trenin 2007, 91–​95; Tumanov et al. 2011). Largely assenting to Russia’s self-​characterization and demand for recognition of its preeminence in the former Soviet Union, after 1994 the EU developed a robust set of both bilateral and multilateral relations with Russia that supplanted TACIS. This relationship was clearly not, however, premised upon any teleology of EU accession or even necessarily closer EU “integration” for Russia (Trenin 2007, 84). Instead, the EU’s approach to Russia during the first phase of Europeanization appears to have been based on two distinct premises. The first was that Russia is a unique “quasi-​European” entity that does have legitimate historical and contemporary claims to “belong” to Europe in some important sense, claims that must be continually verified through adherence to “European norms,” though not in the form of EU membership for Russia. The second premise is a recognition of and appreciation of (critics would say a

 

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complete capitulation to) the immense and increasing strategic importance of Russia to the EU and its individual member states, particularly in the realm of energy. Both these suppositions would be gravely challenged during the third phase of Europeanization, particularly after Russia’s choice to use military force in Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine since 2014 to prevent those countries from deepening their relations with the EU. In 1994 the EU initiated formal bilateral relations with Russia to supplement (and eventually supplant) TACIS via the signing of the Partnership Cooperation Agreement (PCA) between the two entities (the PCA did not come into force until ratified by the Russian Duma in 1997). While the 1994 PCA did obligate Russia to “endeavor to ensure that its legislation will be made compatible with that of the European Community” (Article 55), it was not premised on the tutelary developmental model of conditionality that characterized the EU’s agreements with the Baltic and Central European states. Neither the 1994 PCA nor its successors arrangements, the EU-​Russia “Common Spaces” framework (inaugurated in 2003) and the current EU-​Russia “Modernization Partnership” (established in 2010), contained hard or fast political or economic reform benchmarks for Russia, nor any type of EU monitoring mechanism for Russian reforms. Instead, as the names of the various programs suggest, EU relations with Russia have tended to emphasize the equality and interdependence of the two parties. Some scholars in both Europe and Russia have criticized the EU’s approach to Russia, characterizing the “partnership” model as “passive,” “pathetically impotent,” and premised only on the “naïve, stupid hope that Russia will somehow start adapting to EU rules,” even while recognizing that Russia probably would “never have given into” a demand that Russia submit to a more tutelary and conditional relationship with the EU in the same way that the Baltic states were willing to (Shevtsova 2010a, 25–​26, 44). As Dmitri Trenin notes, there are good reasons, including the Russian elite’s own ambivalent attitudes toward Russia’s “European” identity, that the EU has not premised its bilateral relations with Russia on conditionality, but rather chosen the more distant, if pragmatic, model of “partnership”: Russia cannot be modernized or ‘Westernized’ by means of institutional integration into the West [in this case the EU] like Poland, or, theoretically, Ukraine. Not only is it too big, too complex, and in many ways, too backward, its elite is too rigid in its attachment to Great Power thinking. (Trenin 2007, 95) From Partner to Problem? After their accession to the EU in 2004, the Central European and Baltic states also warned their new EU colleagues to

 



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be skeptical about Russia’s true level of “Europeanness” and Russia’s ultimate intentions toward Europe and the process of Europeanization in its former territories. While the EU continued to pursue pragmatic forms of partnership with Russia after its invasion of Georgia in 2008, the Ukraine events of 2013–​ 2014 seem to have affected a permanent change in the EU’s view of Russia. Former Swedish prime minister Carl Bildt, who was intimately involved in the EU’s response to the Ukraine crisis, judged in May 2015 that whereas it had previously been able to see Russia as a “strategic partner” for the EU, it was now necessary to consider Russia to be “a strategic problem” or even a “strategic adversary” (Bildt 2015). The geostrategic interests of individual EU member states, particularly those of “core” European states like France and Germany, do heavily influence EU policy toward Russia. Rather than push Russia to reform in the name of “becoming European,” a fundamental geostrategic need for Russia’s hydrocarbons and gas leads both the EU as a collective and its individual member states to consistently give their “strategic partner” Russia a “free pass” on its lack of domestic institutional reforms and its continued human rights abuses (Blank 2009; Ortis 2011; Shevtsova 2010a). The geostrategic energy and economic concerns of individual European countries like Germany and France undoubtedly contribute to reluctance to push Russia on political reforms, yet it would be a mistake to give too much influence to the craven desire for petrochemical resources in explaining EU policy toward Russia. Since 1991 the EU has worked to “embed” Russia ever more deeply in a series of bilateral and multilateral agreements that it hopes will work to “socialize” Russia to EU norms (obviously, the Ukrainian events of 2013–​2014 were a significant disappointment for the EU in this regard).10 Both individual EU member countries, especially Poland and the Baltic states, and some members of the European Parliament, have been increasingly vocal in their insistence that the EU must “stand for something” when it comes to Russia, and have demanded that the EU use its influence to pressure Russia to “act European” if Russia wants to continue to be treated as a “European equal” by the EU (Makarychev 2012; Malksoo 2010, 78–​80). European unity around the question of sanctions against Russia has proven remarkably firm since the Ukrainian crisis began, in part because the ensuing years have also seen increasingly brazen Russian attempts to weaken the EU itself (not just European-​ leaning ex-​Soviet states). Russia’s reluctance to be “treated like a supplicant” by the EU, and its clear commitment to stopping Europeanization and fomenting dissension inside the EU are tempered by its growing understanding over the past two decades that if Russia is to sustain its increasingly lucrative and beneficial economic relations with the EU, it must increasingly adopt at least some

 

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EU legal, political, and economic norms. Both the EU and Russia understand that neither party can achieve its goals in the broader post-​communist and former Soviet region without the other one’s help, or at least consent (Headley 2012; Tumanov et al. 2011, 130). Even in the wake of its disruptive and angry anti-​European rhetoric and aggressive actions in Ukraine in 2013–​ 2014, therefore, Russia has allowed the EU to mediate Russian-​Ukrainian energy negotiations, suggesting that Russia understands its own embeddedness within the EU political and economic universe, despite its opposition to future EU enlargement. Modernization as Europeanization? The most contemporary rubric governing EU-​Russian relations, the “Modernization Partnership” (whose status is ambiguous in the wake of the Ukraine crisis), reflects these principles. Here, “modernization” seems to be serving as a code word for “Europeanness,” and the partnership a way for the EU to encourage Russia to adapt its domestic structures to European norms. In explaining the goals of the EU-​Russian Partnership to a Polish audience at Warsaw University in January 2011, Van Rompuy stressed that the achievement of “a modern Russia,” one “integrated into rules-​based international structures and institutions,” was a “core interest for all 27 European Union states” and for “all on the European continent” (Van Rompuy 2011). (Significantly, the rhetoric of “modernization” played a similar role in an earlier era, regarding Russian socialist understandings of what European-​derived socialist modernity would bring to traditionally “backward” Russia.) The rhetoric of “modernization” subtly distances the EU from Russia along the lines of traditional Eurocentric-​Orientalist analysis (it is clear that the EU is already modern and that Russia is the one that needs to modernize), whereas the rhetoric of equal partnership appears to soften enough the implication that Russia needs European “help” in modernizing to make the concept acceptable to Russia. Given Russia’s past sensitivity to slights from the EU and from Europe in general, it is plausible to think that part of the Russian anger manifested toward the EU during and after the EuroMaidan crisis stems from its perception that even this “modernization” program has pejorative connotations that undermine Russia’s “great power status.” In the aftermath of the Ukraine crisis and revelations about Russian interference in European political life (including the poisoning of British citizens attributed to Russia), the EU has placed strong sanctions on Russia and the “partnership” between the EU and Russia has, if not formally repudiated, as called for by a European Parliament resolution in June 2015, been frozen in place.

 



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The Other Soviet Successor States and the EU: Enlargement Deferred, or Denied? During the 1990s, the EU’s policy toward the non-​Baltic former Soviet republics remained uniform; soon after supplementing the TACIS program by (re-​) establishing bilateral relations with the Russian Federation in 1994 via the Partnership Cooperation Agreement format, the EU offered PCA relations to all the other eleven non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states as well. By the end of the 1990s, only Belarus, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan lacked these agreements.11 The PCA framework was clearly distinct from the conditionality and accession trajectory that the Baltic and Central European states had embarked upon. The aim of these “partnership” agreements was rather to “provide a suitable framework for political dialogue” between the EU and the Soviet successor states, and to “support these countries’ efforts to strengthen their democracies and develop their economies” by “accompanying them on their transition to a market economy.” As the first enlargements of the EU into the post-​communist world became imminent, the EU began to contemplate the potential impact that opening up to so many new states and moving its borders up to (and in the Baltic cases, actually into) the territory of the former Soviet Union might have on the countries that were about to become “neighbors” of the EU. Russia provided its own unique dilemma—​would the EU anger Russia more by including it with its former satellite states in an EU neighborhood program, or by leaving it out of such a program? France argued strongly that any new “neighborhood” policy should also cover the EU’s neighbors across the Mediterranean to the south, who in the wake of the pending eastern enlargements had renewed their own calls for stronger relations with the EU (Cichocki 2010a, 10; Edwards 2008, 52). When it was unveiled in 2004, the EU’s European Neighborhood Policy (ENP) cast a wide geographic net, inviting for participation Russia, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, and the three Caucasus states, along with ten southern neighbors in the wider Mediterranean region.12 The five Soviet successor states in Central Asia, which had been included in the TACIS and PCA initiatives, were pointedly not invited to join the ENP, nor, apparently, were they ever considered seriously as potential participants. Russia rejected the invitation to participate in the ENP, arguing that its historical role in Europe and its contemporary significance on the continent demanded a separate institutional formulation based not on the idea that Russia was a “less civilized periphery that needed to be salvaged by Europe,” but rather one that reflected the fact that the EU and Russia were “co-​civilizers” of the post-​communist world (which ended up being the “Four Common Spaces” arrangement) (Kolvraa and Ifversen 2011, 59).

 

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The ENP was more predicated on the conditionality/​accession model than any previous EU policy toward the former Soviet states (Daskalovski 2011, 67). The ENP built on the existing PCAs that all of the new Soviet successor neighbor states (except Belarus) had ratified with the EU, by helping each country to outline “ENP Action Plans” intended to enhance these earlier forms of cooperation. The EU developed several instruments to help finance the ENP and to deliver “technical assistance” on improving governance and economic reform to the partners. By 2005, Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan had all developed ENP Action Plans and submitted these to EU authorities.13 Ukraine and Moldova were particularly disappointed with two aspects of the ENP program: first, that it did not recognize them as specifically and separately European neighbors, distinct from the “southern neighbors” of the Mediterranean Sea region; and second, that it denied them the “European vocation” that would lead to EU membership (Danii and Moscauteanu 2011; Popescu and Wilson 2009, 14; Tugui 2011). Supporting Ukraine and Moldova in their criticisms of the ENP were “new” EU member states Poland and the Czech Republic. When French president Nicolas Sarkozy moved in 2008 to differentiate the “southern neighbors” within the ENP through an enhanced Mediterranean Union program, the Czech Republic, with the support of Poland and Sweden, quickly proposed an analogous program targeted specifically at the “Eastern Partners” of the ENP. From Neighbors to “Partners” (The Eastern Partnership—​EAP). Polish foreign minister Radosław Sikorski left little doubt about the rationale behind the decision to pursue the EAP initiative after four years of the ENP. When announcing the program in Brussels in May 2008, he stated that “the EU has ‘European neighbors’ in the east, whereas to the south, they are just ‘neighbors of Europe’ ” (RFE/​RL May 30, 2008). European Policy Studies analyst Michael Emerson lauded the EU’s decision to target specifically the six eastern neighbors through the new EAP program, arguing that “fundamentally, it is uncontroversial that the eastern neighbors  .  .  .  have a certain European identity and aspirations and even [EU membership] perspectives . . . whereas this is not the case for the Mediterranean Arab states” (RFE/​RL May 30, 2008). In inaugurating the EAP, the EU made an institutional commitment recognizing the enhanced “Europeanness” of Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, even if it remains unclear what the final institutional relationship between these states and the EU will be.14 The EAP built on the ENP by offering new forms of both bilateral and multilateral cooperation to the six Soviet successor states it covers.15 In terms of bilateral cooperation, the EAP offered members the possibility to sign new Association Agreements (AAs) with the EU that would go “even further than ENP Action Plans,” and would “include deep and comprehensive free trade

 



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agreements for those ready and willing to take on the far-​reaching commitments with the EU that these entail.” Previously, such agreements had only been signed with official candidates for EU membership (the most recent states to sign such pacts are Serbia and Montenegro) (Kommersant May 7, 2009). The EAP also went beyond the ENP by introducing several new multilateral initiatives for the six eastern neighbors. These include instruments aimed at enhancing economic integration with the EU and developing “energy security” throughout the region, new multilateral initiatives on democratization and increasing good governance (including annual meetings of a new Eastern Partnership Civil Society Forum, meant to develop civil society in the partner countries by fostering their ties to one another and their counterparts in the EU), as well as programs addressing the environment and climate change, integrated border management, and small and medium enterprises.16 Despite the similarities with the previous EU enlargement model of conditionality, the EU’s official EAP website continued to assert that “the EAP does not contain an accession perspective” for participants, while also prudently adding that the program “does not prejudge the nature of future relations between the EU and each EAP country.” Disregarding the clear warnings against allowing the EAP to raise EU membership hopes, Ukraine’s Ambassador to the EU Andriy Veselovsky said in December 2008 that the EAP was “a definite step towards Ukraine’s membership in the EU.” “Otherwise,” he continued, “why would we go through all the trouble?” (RFE/​RL December 4, 2008). Moldovan officials, for their part, claimed to be “bitterly disappointed” that the EAP did not contain a formal EU membership perspective, though they acknowledged that institutional mechanisms of the program functionally brought them a step closer to EU accession (Danii and Moscauteanu 2011, 104). The EU made it clear on the official EAP website that the program is “not at all an anti-​Russian initiative.” Regardless, Russia was no happier with the creation of the EAP than it had been with the ENP, accusing the EU of seeking to establish a “sphere of influence” with the new program (RFE/​RL April 4, 2009). The August 2008 incursion of Russian forces into Georgia brought the potential significance of the EU’s EAP initiative into greater relief and “landed the EU straight into the middle of great power politics” in the region (RFE/​RL May 6, 2009). Russian analyst Sergei Karaganov suggested that Russia’s invasion of Georgia was partially motivated by the establishment of the EAP and that “the core of all differences between the West and Russia is this question of whose sphere of influence the Soviet successor states will fall into” (RFE/​ RL May 6, 2009). European Commission director general for external relations Eneko Landaburu responded to Moscow’s Georgian incursion by stating that “the aggressive nature of Russia’s policies regarding its neighbors” put the EU in a position where “it becomes vital for us to reinforce our cooperation with

 

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our eastern neighbors.” He also for the first time publicly connected the EAP to EU membership, saying that “a successful EAP” would be the “best thing” for former Soviet states that seek to “one day join the EU” (RFE/​RL January 21, 2009). In the wake of the August 2008 Georgian war, both Georgian and Moldovan activists increased pressure on the EU to use the EAP framework to offer the promise of an eventual, if not immediate, EU membership perspective to the eastern partners, warning that if it did not do so, these states would “lose hope” in the EU and “have no choice” but to turn to Moscow out of self-​preservation (Tugui 2011). The EU continued to decline to make such an offer, though the official joint declaration issued by the twenty-​seven EU countries and five EAP states on the occasion of the second EAP summit, held in Warsaw in September 2011 (Belarus did not attend),17 did “recognize the European aspirations and the European choice of some of the partners” and “highlighted the particular role of the EAP to support those who seek an ever-​closer relationship with the European Union.” In 2010 the European Council on Social Research (ECSR) released the results of an ambitious survey and research project aimed at assessing the results of the ENP and the EAP.18 The study found that while the program had increased overall knowledge about and interest in the EU in the target countries, it also had “increased anxiety” in the EAP states about the “perceived necessity of choosing between the EU and Russia” for their political and economic futures (Korosteleva 2011, 3). The EAP states also expressed frustration that while the program seemed to be premised on conditionality, in the sense that the EU set all the reform goals for the program, which the EAP states then had to fulfill (a phenomenon the EAP states described in negative terms as “being subjected to “external governance by the EU” and as “EU paternalism”), the EAP states also clearly understood that the EU was reluctant to offer them clear EU membership perspectives (Korosteleva 2011, 3–​11). This is the tension at the heart of the EU’s relations with the six EAP Soviet successor states: the EU recognizes these states as “European enough” (particularly in terms of their “intrinsic Europeanness”) that the mechanisms employed for enlargement to previous post-​communist states seem to apply to these states as well, but also recognizes that the “European deficits” of these states (particularly in terms of their “extrinsic Europeanness”) are severe enough to make granting them EU membership a very risky proposal. It is unclear how the EU can address the tensions embedded in the EAP program (namely that it is difficult to ask the EAP states to “act like candidates for membership” without actually promising them membership), but as the 2010 ESCR study points out, unless it does so, the EU “risks losing these states as friends” (Korosteleva 2011, 6).

 



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The Ukraine Crisis:  New Association Agreements and an Eastern Partnership Plus? Unexpectedly but clearly, political developments in Ukraine in 2013–​2014 gave the EAP program and the attempt to sign AAs between EAP states and the EU both renewed importance and renewed urgency. Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovich’s suspension of the AA process in November 2013 served as the catalyst for the EuroMaidan movement that eventually toppled him, and in the wake of Russia’s response to the EuroMaidan movement, the EU redoubled its public support of Ukraine’s “European vocation.” The EU expedited the signing of the AAs and Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Acts (DCFTA) with Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia, and all were concluded by June 2014. By early 2017, the EU had also extended visa-​free travel to these three states. Some EU members, including all of the “new” European states, also pushed for the EU to offer a concrete rebuttal to Russia’s activism in Ukraine in the form of a “some sort of ‘European package’ ” that would be a “a station beyond the Association Agreements,” but no such new promises or policies emerged from the May 2015 Riga Summit of the EAP (RFE/​RL February 7, 2014).19 The European Parliament took the lead in relations with the EAP states after the failure of the Riga summit, preparing in time for the September 2017 Brussels EAP Summit a new “Eastern Partnership Plus” (EAPP) proposal that would speed political Europeanization for Ukraine, Georgia, and Armenia. Specifically, the EAPP would shepherd these states toward the EU Customs and Energy Unions, offer them “unilateral tariff preferences,” and incorporate them into a “roam like home” program for cell phone usage within the EU (RFE/​RL September 11, 2017). Two Lithuanian diplomats, including former prime minister Andrius Kubilius, called further for the EU to fund a $50 billion “Marshall Plan” for Ukraine and to publicly reiterate its support for Ukraine’s “European vocation.” This led EU Enlargement Commission member Johannes Hahn to scoff that the EU had already “in a sense” provided Ukraine with such a plan (to the tune of 12.8 billion Euros in aid since 2014) and that it remained committed to Ukraine’s “sovereign choice” in the matter of relations with the EU (NEE October 17, 2017). The Ukraine Crisis has thus in a way both raised the stakes of continued political Europeanization in the former Soviet Union (by demonstrating Russia’s willingness to employ force to prevent it) and also stiffened EU resolve to continue that process (by forcing the EU yet again to “be its best moral self ” and stand up in Ukraine for the liberal values that underpin enlargement and the entire European project). In an attempt to square this circle, the EU continues to keep the rhetorical door to membership open by voicing support for the EAP states to “choose the level of ambition and goals to which it aspires in relations with the EU” (presumably up to and including membership at some point), while in practice becoming more “flexible and pragmatic” regarding Russia’s

 

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interest in the EAP states, promising to “anticipate better Russia’s interests” and “keep it involved in all negotiations” in this region (Panke 2015, 358–​59). The EU and the Central Asian States. As the EU’s relations with the Eastern Partners, and, until recently, with Russia, have become denser and closer in the two decades since the collapse of communism, the distinction between the EU’s approach to these states and the overall weakness of its relations with the five Central Asian Soviet successor states has come into starker relief. While the EU clearly recognizes the Eastern Partners as belonging in some significant way to “European civilization,” there is little indication that the EU views the Central Asian states in a similar manner. As ­chapter  10 demonstrates, the Central Asian states themselves (with the partial exception of Kazakhstan) appear satisfied with the rather weak and distant set of relations they have with the EU and have not put any pressure on the EU for closer ties in the way the other Soviet successor states have (and as even Russia, at least during the first phase of Europeanization, did). The EU included the Central Asian states in the TACIS and PCA initiatives of the 1990s, with only partial success—​Tajikistan finally signed a PCA with the EU in 2010 and Turkmenistan still has not done so. After the initial overture in the early 1990s, not until the 2000s did the EU move to “upgrade” its relations with the Central Asian states through a formal document called the “EU and Central Asia Strategy for a New Partnership.”20 The motivation for the new policy is the realization that “in a globalized world,” where Central Asia “lies at a strategically important intersection between the two continents [Europe and Asia],” it would be easier to realize the EU and Central Asia’s “common goals of achieving stability and prosperity” by “means of increasing our peaceful interaction.” The increased interaction between the Central Asian states and NATO members during the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars also appears to have influenced the decision to pursue an “upgrade” of relations. Another stated motivation for the change to a “strategic partnership” is the fact that through the ENP and EAP initiatives, the EU and the Central Asian states are literally “moving closer together.” Beyond these, the EU admits to other normative (“peace, democracy, human rights and the rule of law”) and strategic (“security, stability, energy”) motivations for its new initiative in Central Asia. The new “Partnership” does introduce new institutional elements into the EU’s relations with Central Asia, including a “regular regional policy dialogue” at the Foreign Minister level, new EU education and “rule of law” initiatives in Central Asia, and regular “results-​oriented” human rights and energy dialogues with each Central Asian state. Overall, however, the framework is still much thinner and looser than the relations the EU has with the other Soviet successor states. The patterned differentiation in EU relations with the fifteen post-​Soviet states since the establishment of TACIS reflects clear EU judgments about both the

 



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intrinsic “Europeanness” of those states, judgments that largely conform to the “mental map” of the EOCG. The EU has granted the greatest levels of access to those states which it perceives to be more “intrinsically European,” while retaining much looser and weaker relations with the demonstrably less “intrinsically European” Central Asian states. As demonstrated by calls in 2018 for the EU to adopt an “Eastern Partnership Plus” program to protect the Europeanizing aspirations of Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova, some of the EU’s newer members to push the EU to continue to fulfill its own stated normative goals by pursuing ever-​closer relations (if not yet membership) with the “most European” of the former Soviet republics especially in the face of the increased threat to the postwar European experiment posed by growing internal EU disarray and Russia’s alt/​alte vision of European politics (ever more visible in political maneuvering within the EU and military maneuvering on its borders in Ukraine). Because it is an expressly multilateral, liberal political institution committed to democratic values and practices, the ongoing dynamics of EU enlargement into the former Soviet world through a subtle form of “rhetorical entrapment” based on understandings of “Europeanness” are perhaps not entirely unexpected. What is more surprising, as discussed in the next chapter, is the similarity between these processes of political Europeanization in the post-​communist world since 1989, and those that we observe in the security sphere and NATO enlargement during the same period.

 

4

Security Europeanization since 1989

A fundamental assumption of political science, harkening back to Thucydides’ analysis of the Peloponnesian War, is that the domestic and international realms differ in a significant way, and that actors employ a different logic for each. While the domestic realm may leave ample room for normative considerations in policy formulation, the scope of moral or values-​based action in foreign and international relations is understood to be far more circumscribed. It follows, therefore, that Europe’s most important security organization, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), would approach the idea of redefining post-​communist Europe as a security community in very different way than the EU has done with post-​communist Europe as a political community. In fact, however, NATO’s efforts to remake Europe’s security community in the wake of communism’s collapse are remarkably like those of the European Union (EU), with a few key differences; this fact underlines the extent to which contemporary Europe sees itself principally as a values-​based community with an analogously “post-​modern” view of “European” security priorities and possibilities (Kagan 2003). Russian actions in Georgia (2008) and in Ukraine (since 2013) have forced European security institutions to the realization that their attempt to integrate Russia into a values-​based security environment cum common European home has failed dramatically. Put another way, Europeanization in the security realm since the collapse of the Berlin Wall should be characterized less as the confrontation of two military blocs or powers and more as the failed attempt to convert Russia to the liberal-​democratic worldview undergirding NATO expansion. Since 1989, Russia has increasingly come to see NATO as a grave danger not solely in the form of a military power that challenges Russia territorially, but also as a “military-​civilizational force and pole of attraction” that threatens Russia’s “patrimonial” and autocratic domestic regime from within, and its “soft power” in its former territories (Sherr 2015, 53).

88

 



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Identity and Interest in NATO Like the EU, NATO has pursued a policy of enlargement toward the post-​ communist world that, while ostensibly (and in fact) based on liberal democratic norms, is also both informed by and replicates some of the assumptions of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG). NATO, like the EU, has drawn relatively tight civilizational barriers around its vision of “Europe as a security realm,” and has, like the EU, thus far declined to allow any of the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states to become full members. However, also like the EU, NATO has found itself since 1989 bound by its own self-​definition as a “community of liberal values” open to “all European states that share these values,” which has led to a similarly inexorable process of expansion. NATO too finds itself doing discursive and institutional gymnastics, as it tries to find more and more ways (and programs) to accommodate the desire of some post-​Soviet states for NATO membership (particularly Georgia and Ukraine), while also accounting for the reality of Russia’s apparently increasing willingness to use military force to prevent the same. This dilemma is in fact even more acute for NATO than the EU. NATO’s “Open Door” policy has been accompanied by an explicit verbal promise of future membership to two post-​Soviet states—​Georgia and Ukraine.1 (See Map 4.1.) Georgia has made rapid progress toward fulfilling the conditionality requirements NATO has put before it, and it is becoming more and more difficult for NATO to come up with “objective” excuses not to allow Georgia to begin the accession process. Moreover, the ongoing Ukraine crisis and Russia’s new assertiveness with “active measures” and “information war” in Europe has forced NATO to, however belatedly, confront the inherent paradox between its “liberal” self-​identification and the reality that it is still, in fact, a military and security alliance. Astonishingly, geopolitical calculations of interest based on a realist understanding of the self-​help needs of the alliance and its members had, until recently, been a relatively limited part of the toolkit used by NATO in remaking Europe’s security realm. As Gerard Toal puts it, over the past two decades NATO has been more interested in a “civilizing mission” than in being a “security alliance” (2017, 299). Some analysts see this values-​based approach to security as the precious hallmark of Europe’s hard-​won postwar order, to be guarded and defended at all costs (Lucas 2014; Sherr 2015). Others accuse NATO of being naïve at best, and cynically hypocritical at worst, in its employ of the “Europe whole and free” rhetoric. Such authors counsel NATO to abandon its values-​ based stance of “Open Door” enlargement and resign itself to some type of strict

Map 4.1  Europe According to NATO

Members of NATO

 

 



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neutrality for the EU’s Eastern Partner states (Charap and Colton 2017; Toal 2017; Wolff 2015). NATO’s commitment to norm-​based, collective security for Europe has not prevented individual European countries from pursuing more traditional, self-​ help policies in the security realm, particularly the realm of energy. In fact, one of the main sources of tension within NATO in the post-​communist period is the division between older NATO members that see rapprochement with Russia as being in their self-​interest, even after the annexation of Crimea, and newer NATO members from the former communist world that, for reasons of both identity and interest, want NATO both to take a supremely hard line against Russia and to expand NATO into the former Soviet realm as far as possible and as soon as possible (Bugajski 2008). Russia’s refusal to adopt the norms of the European security community on offer from NATO is expressed in ways that are immediately and devastatingly harmful for the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states, particularly for Georgia and Ukraine. Moldova has also been subject to negative Russian economic “diplomacy,” Russian violation of its territorial and political sovereignty, and Russia’s perpetuation of “frozen conflicts.”2 In addition to using hard power in Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine since 2013 to challenge NATO expansion, Russia has proposed its own blueprint for reorganizing European security in the post-​ communist era (the 2009  “European Security Treaty”). Russia also sponsors “Euro alternative” regional security organizations such as the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and, together with China, the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO). As a result of Russia’s actions in Georgia and Ukraine, Europeanization in the security realm is increasingly viewed by all relevant actors as a zero-​sum enterprise. Decisions in the security realm are therefore governed to a greater extent by calculations of interest than identity, though self-​identification as a “European” state also influences Soviet successor state behavior toward NATO, as the case studies demonstrate in more detail. Ironically, Russia’s bid to force NATO to abandon efforts to create both broader and deeper European security by helping post-​communist states become truly “European” ones committed to democracy and collective security seems to have had the opposite impact. By forcing NATO to confront the limits of its “common civilizational values” strategy and instead face squarely the fact that Russia very much sees “Europe,” including especially the post-​Soviet states, as a space governed by “nineteenth-​ and twentieth-​century, zero-​sum logic,” Russia has forced NATO to deal with its long-​smoldering problems—​over-​ extension, over-​reliance on US funding and support, and a lack of understanding of or commitment to NATO’s core values.3 In NATO’s case, Russia’s actions have occasioned a recommitment to the “Open Door” policy of expansion into the former Soviet Union.4

 

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NATO as a “European” Entity NATO as a security organization is unique in the fact that its existence owes as much to a sense of European common identity as to a desire to promote common interests and security. Due to its roots in the Cold War, NATO also includes the United States and Canada as full members, a fact that significantly alters the parameters of “European” security and allows for a strong measure of influence from the North Atlantic hegemon on European security matters. Created in the wake of World War II with the signing of the North American Treaty in April 1949, NATO was founded with the express goal of bringing together for the purposes of collective security those European states that found themselves on the Western, “free,” side of the rapidly hardening divide descending across the continent.5 By constituting itself as an organization devoted first and foremost to “the freedom, common heritage and civilization” of its [European] peoples, defined as being “founded on principles of democracy, individual liberty and the rule of law,”6 NATO helped to create Cold War understandings of “Europe.” More precisely, the “Western” Europe defined by NATO was self-​understood as the “true” Europe, while those communist states on the “wrong” side of the Iron Curtain were seemingly cast out of the “common heritage and civilization” of Europe and left roped to the alien tyranny of Soviet rule. NATO also formally linked “European” civilization, well-​being, and security to that of America and Canada (the rest of the “free world”) for the first time. NATO thus positioned itself as the defender of “true Europe” and European civilizational values, but as Schimmelfennig points out, “one of the basic purposes” of NATO was to actually socialize its members more fully into those same liberal “European” norms that it claimed to be protecting—​this was particularly relevant in the case of West Germany, which joined NATO in 1955 (2003, 81).7 If NATO was formed explicitly to oppose the existential, civilizational, and material threat of the “anti-​European” Soviet bloc, its founders also left the door open for at least the theoretical possibility of redemption for their neighbors trapped behind Soviet lines: Article 10 of the North Atlantic Treaty allowed that “The Parties may, by unanimous agreement, invite any other European state in a position to further the principles of this Treaty and to contribute to the security of the North Atlantic Area to accede to this treaty.” Used prior to 1989 only to admit “reformed” authoritarian states like Turkey (in 1952), Greece (also in 1952), Germany (in 1955), and Spain (in 1982), in the wake of Gorbachev’s glasnost’ and “New Thinking” in foreign policy, Article 10 would quickly become NATO’s most important tool for remaking Europe via enlargement to the east via its “Open Door” policy. The institutionalization of the division of Europe after World War II via NATO and the Warsaw Pact, while pervasive, enduring, dangerous, and heartbreaking,

 



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was never as complete and irrevocable as Cold War rhetoric on both sides could sometimes make it seem.8 Perhaps understandably, officials on both sides of divided Germany, but particularly West Germany’s Willy Brandt, were at the forefront of efforts in the 1960s and 1970s to find ways to overcome the Cold War divisions that had artificially enhanced and reified previously existing but softer east-​west distinctions in Europe. The movement toward some type of rapprochement between Europe’s two halves finally gained traction in the 1970s when the superpower patrons of each side began to follow a policy of détente, enabling the “Helsinki process” negotiations that resulted in the signing in August 1975 of the Helsinki Final Act by every NATO and Warsaw Pact member, including the American and Soviet superpowers and Canada. The Helsinki Accords, whose aims were institutionalized in the Conference for Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), were an ambitious attempt to imagine what a security community covering the whole of Europe, despite deep ideological rifts and antithetical defense blocs, might look like. The Helsinki Final Act restored communist countries behind the Iron Curtain, including “Soviet Russia,” to their “European” status, both by virtue of their inclusion in the new CSCE, but also through the explicit recognition in the preamble of the “common history” and “common elements of traditions and values” that all signatories shared. While the CSCE (which became the OSCE in 1995) never did (and still doesn’t) have the influence on security in Europe that NATO did and does, the Helsinki Process did help, slowly but inexorably, lead to the emergence in the 1980s of the truly “new thinking” of Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev. Gorbachev’s impassioned pleas for the inclusion of the USSR in “Europe’s common home” via the radical reanimation of the principles and institutions of the CSCE quickly spiraled out of his control to culminate in the revolutionary events of 1989–​1991 (English 2000; Tsygankov 2010, 33–​45). NATO Enlargement Eastward since 1989:  Values or Security? NATO’s post-​ communist enlargement, like that of the EU, has been a cautious process that both is informed by and reinforces some aspects of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG). NATO has, like the EU, limited membership to those post-​communist states that possess the highest levels of intrinsic Europeanness and that can fulfill stringent normative, political, and military conditions for membership (via a less onerous form of the EU’s “conditionality principle”), while also devising less comprehensive forms of engagement for states deemed less “European” (which includes all the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states). Like the EU, NATO also endeavored, also ultimately unsuccessfully, to formulate some type of bilateral relations with Russia that on the one hand would serve to bind Russia more closely to the “European” political and security norms, while also recognizing Russia’s unique position among post-​communist states as a

 

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former superpower (and contemporary aspirant to the status of a great power that “co-​governs” Europe with NATO). While NATO has gone somewhat further than the EU, in that it has given a public promise to both Georgia and Ukraine that they would “someday” become members of NATO, for practical purposes NATO’s relations with even these “most European” Soviet successor states are identical to the EU’s:  ever-​ intensifying engagement and a recognition that they possess some degree of “Europeanness,” but with plenty of resistance to and roadblocks in the path to full membership. After the wave of democratic change traveled through the Warsaw Pact states in 1989, NATO reached out a “hand of friendship” to these states at a summit in London in July 1990, where the old enemies pledged to work together to “create an enduring peace on this continent” (London Declaration, 1990). When the Warsaw Pact disbanded itself in July 1991, NATO moved in December of that year to create a provisional framework that would express the “commitment to cooperative security” that NATO and its newly free neighbors shared—​the North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC)—​a formation that was not sufficient to contain either the Europeanizing ambitions of the recently liberated Central European states. The late Ronald Asmus, an American diplomat who was an advocate for and participant in the enlargement of NATO in his capacity as US Deputy Assistant Secretary for European Affairs from 1997 to 2000, left two very useful accounts of the decision to enlarge NATO (Asmus 2002, 2010). As Asmus tells it, US president Bill Clinton both recognized and relished the historic opportunity that the collapse of communism presented to NATO, and urged his top policy advisers to come up with a strategy grand enough to address the significance of the moment (Clinton called the effort to come up with this idea the “Kennan sweepstakes,” comparing the era in importance to the immediate post-​World War Two era, which was largely defined by Kennan’s theory of “containment” ). The “winning” idea was the concept of “democratic enlargement” of NATO into the post-​communist east, an idea that captured Clinton’s imagination when it was pressed upon him personally by the Czech, Polish, and Hungarian leaders Václav Havel, Lech Wałesa, and Árpád Göncz at a meeting in the spring of 1993 (Asmus 2002, xvi; Bindi 2011, 18).9 Clinton made the idea of enlargement the centerpiece of NATO’s January 1994 summit in Brussels, where he told NATO that it had both an historical opportunity and the moral duty to create “a Europe whole and free.” Clinton and his two secretaries of state, Warren Christopher and Madeleine Albright, continued to push their European colleagues to embrace enlargement throughout the mid-​1990s, arguing that with enlargement NATO could do “for Europe’s East” what “Truman and Acheson [via the creation of NATO and the Marshall

 



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Plan] did 50 years ago for Europe’s West: integrate new democracies, defeat old hatreds, provide confidence in economic recovery” (Asmus 2002, xxv). For Clinton and his team, NATO enlargement was primarily, in Secretary Albright’s words, a “moment of injustice undone” and “promises kept,” rather than a reaction to a realist calculation of Europe’s post-​communist security needs (Asmus 2002, 178). This last point highlights one of the most important characteristics of NATO enlargement in the post-​communist period—​that it “fundamentally changed the geopolitical function of NATO from an exclusive military coalition with a defensive posture to an active agent of change in political processes” (Techau 2011, 199). With the decision to enlarge, NATO’s mission became more about “community building” in Europe and “the normative aspect of helping post-​ communist transitions and stability” than it was about any “traditional military functions” (Michta 2006, 4; Schimmelfennig 2003, 93). In Sherr’s view, NATO became “less a military bloc per se” than a “military-​civilisational force” (2015, 53). For Asmus, the idea that that NATO enlargement might be intended to foster the NATO mission to “deter conflicts” seemed “almost an afterthought” (Asmus 2002, 177). Central European (and even Baltic) actors pushed Clinton and European leaders to see NATO enlargement as a matter of European civilization-​building more than security-​building, and the two are not unrelated. It is an obvious assumption of NATO’s enlargement strategy that only the true transformation of post-​communist European states into true European states can guarantee security in Europe. Central European leaders’ arguments about their countries’ “historical belonging” to Europe certainly impressed Clinton in 1993 (Schimmelfennig 2003, 93; Sjursen 2006a). Asmus describes a meeting where Latvian president Guntis Ulmanis urged Clinton to act for NATO membership for the Baltic states by noting that the Balts also “shared the values which have united Western Civilization since the Bible,” the very values that had “brought NATO and the EU into existence” (2002, 161–​62). Clinton was apparently inspired by Ulmanis’s lofty civilizational rhetoric, indicating through the US-​Baltic Charter of 1997 the US’s support for the idea that the Baltic states were “part of a common vision of Europe” and pledging to help integrate them into NATO and other European institutions (Asmus 2002, 232–​35). Having adopted Clinton’s “democratic enlargement” plan, NATO moved relatively quickly to grant membership to those states that had “the best claim to share a common heritage and civilization” with current NATO members—​the Central European states of Czech Republic, Hungary, and Poland (Schimmelfennig 2003, 93). These three states were invited in 1994 to join NATO’s new framework for institutionalizing bilateral relations with the post-​communist world, the “Partnership for Peace” (PFP). While other post-​communist states would

 

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eventually join and then end up lingering in the PFP framework for years (see Table 4.1), the Central European states were quickly “upgraded” to the status of “invited candidates” for NATO membership (at the Madrid Summit in 1997), and then made full members of NATO in 1999. The Mechanics of NATO Enlargement:  The MAPs (1999) and Big Bang (2004) After quickly integrating the Central European states, NATO took a more cautious route in expanding further into the post-​communist world. President Clinton’s first secretary of state, Warren Christopher, had warned NATO leaders in the early 1990s that they must not “recognize any fundamental division between Catholic, Orthodox, and Islamic parts of Europe” when considering enlargement, arguing that “that kind of thinking fueled the war in the former Yugoslavia” and that “it must have no place in the Europe we are building” (Walker 2000, 468). While NATO seems to have followed the logic of the EOCG in the sense that the Central European states were made members so quickly, NATO did include both majority-​Catholic and majority-​Orthodox states in the “next most European” grouping of post-​communist states that joined NATO in 2004. The so-​called big bang enlargement of NATO in 2004 involved a group of seven ex-​communist states, including the three Baltic states along with Slovenia, Slovakia, Romania, and Bulgaria. It took these states five additional years to traverse the path to NATO membership—​not horrendously long, but certainly lengthier than the track that was afforded the apparently more “truly” European states of Kundera’s Central Europe. At the 1999 Washington Summit, NATO made its boldest and most systemic statement thus far about both the principles underlying and the practical mechanisms for enabling its own enlargement. NATO confirmed its adherence to Christopher’s “non-​civilizational” principles of enlargement, announcing that only extrinsic criteria would be used to judge fitness for enlargement, not intrinsic characteristics (with “geographic location” standing in here for “intrinsic” understandings of Europeanness). Specifically, Article 7 of the Washington Summit Communique stated that:  “No European democratic country whose admission would fulfill the objectives of the Treaty will be excluded from consideration, regardless of its geographic location, each being considered on its own merits.” NATO also introduced a new “Membership Action Plan” (MAP) program at the 1999 Washington Summit to distinguish the group of seven “next most European” states from the other post-​communist states that had also joined NATO’s PFP program. The MAP was a “strictly supervised mechanism managing democratic reforms of the military and more general reforms” (Techau 2011, 199), in essence a conditionality vehicle modeled both on the Central European states’ experience of becoming NATO members in 1999 and on the

 

Table 4.1 Levels of Integration of Post-​Communist States with NATO (*Denotes Post-​Soviet  State) Partnership for Peace (PFP)

IPAP

Intensified Dialogue

MAP

NATO

✓

✓

Albania

✓

Armenia*

✓

✓

Azerbaijan*

✓

✓

Belarus*

✓

Bosnia & Herzegovina

✓

Bulgaria

✓

✓

✓

Croatia

✓

✓

✓

Czech Republic

✓

Estonia*

✓

Georgia*

✓

Hungary

✓

Kazakhstan*

✓

Kyrgyzstan*

✓

Latvia*

✓

✓

✓

Lithuania*

✓

✓

✓

Macedonia

✓

✓

Moldova*

✓

✓

Montenegro

✓

✓

Poland

✓

Romania

✓

Russia*

✓

Serbia

✓

Slovenia

✓

✓

✓

✓ ✓ ✓

✓

✓ ✓

✓

✓

✓

✓ ✓

✓

✓

✓

✓

✓

Slovakia

✓

✓

✓

Tajikistan*

✓

Turkmenistan*

✓

Ukraine*

✓

Uzbekistan*

✓

✓

✓

 

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contemporaneous enlargement process occurring in the EU. After three years in the MAP program, these seven states were invited to become “candidates” for membership in NATO and became full members in March 2004. Since then, as Table 4.1 demonstrates, the MAP program has helped more post-​communist states to become members of NATO, including one with a substantial Muslim population (Albania in 2009). In April 2010, NATO invited Bosnia-​Herzegovina, the other European state with a substantial Muslim minority, to join the MAP. The issue of NATO’s relations with and expansion into the former Yugoslavia (FYU) and its environs (Albania) is a particularly fraught and illustrative one. NATO’s bungling of the early stages of the Yugoslav civil war, its bombing of Serbia in 1999, and its involvement in the administration and fostering of independence of Kosovo all complicate NATO’s relations with the region and with Russia. The reality of civil and international war in the former Yugoslavia has forced NATO to “walk the walk” of its commitment to greater overall European security through “democratic enlargement,” and has led it to embrace more quickly as “fully European” (and full NATO members) states that are “further down” the EOCG. NATO sped up considerably the membership process for Albania, as it also had for Macedonia (whose final accession to NATO, like its accession to the EU, has been delayed by the ongoing name dispute with Greece) (Asmus 2010, 111). NATO has done this not because it believed that these countries were intrinsically or extrinsically “European enough” that they deserved quick NATO membership,10 but rather because it felt bringing them into NATO was the best guarantee of regional and wider European security. (This can be considered a case of a phenomenon that Todorova and others point out, namely, that sometimes the paternalism inherent in “Balkanism” can have its benefits—​if you see NATO membership as a benefit.) With regard to its expansion into the Balkans and former Yugoslavia, NATO has taken Christopher’s advice to heart, moving even more quickly than the EU did to enlarge and make these states full members, and has done so in the name of both civilization and security. This point emphasizes NATO’s reluctance to help any non-​Baltic Soviet successor states to make the jump out of the PFP program into the MAP program in the way that it has helped other arguably “marginally European” states such as Albania to do. NATO’s courageous commitment to enlarge “security Europe” into traditionally “less European” realms has not yet been extended into any parts of the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union in any except a rhetorical sense. Russia’s willingness to use hard power to disrupt potential NATO enlargement further into the former Soviet Union is certainly at the root of this reluctance, though the conflicts in Georgia and Ukraine both moved NATO to reaffirm its “Open Door” policy of enlargement. NATO’s reluctance to extend its vision of a “Europe whole and free” into the non-​Baltic Soviet Union is in part informed by understandings about

 



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both the intrinsic Europeanness of the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states, but is even more directly related to the consistent, and patently unsuccessful, efforts that NATO has made since the collapse of communism to integrate Russia into its vision of a zone of security and cooperation “from Vancouver to Vladivostok.”11 NATO’s utter failure to convert Russia to a more norms-​ based, consensual, and cooperative view of European security has greatly compromised NATO’s willingness and ability to enlarge into the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states.

NATO and Russia: Another “Special” Partnership According to Asmus, there had been “no doubt in either American or European eyes,” that Russia had to be “an integral part” of any NATO enlargement process (2002, xxxi; 2010, 223). In his view, the most difficult but most important task of all that NATO faced in the post-​communist period was to try to “square the circle” of “increasing the integration of the new [post-​communist] states with the West,” while “also deepening ties to Moscow” and endeavoring to “show Moscow that NATO enlargement was not hostile towards Russia” (Asmus 2010, 223). After Moscow’s accusations that NATO’s “aggressive expansion” was aimed squarely at “destroying Russia,” forcing Russia to defend itself and Russian-​speakers in Ukraine by annexing Crimea in March 2014, participants such as former US ambassador to the Soviet Union Jack Matlock and commentators such as Michael Zantovsky have reiterated Asmus’s contention that NATO expansion was never aimed at weakening or threatening Russia (Zantovsky 2014).12 Initial prospects for integrating Russia into a new “common European” security system seemed rather bright (Clunan 2009, 156; Mankoff 2012, 152; Tsygankov 2010, 69–​75). Russia, like all the other post-​communist states, joined NACC in 1991, and, according to an episode related by Trenin that evokes Khrushchev’s two telegrams during the Cuban Missile Crisis, it appears that in December 1991 Boris Yeltsin sent a letter to the NATO heads of state saying that Russia was considering joining NATO, only to quickly send another letter saying the first had been a “mistake” (Trenin 2007, 70–​71). Nevertheless, as Shevtsova points out, during the 1990s, surveys showed that over a quarter of the Russian population consistently supported the idea of joining NATO, and she argues that “throughout the 2000s” there remained “possibilities” for thinking about Russia joining NATO (Shevtsova 2010, 141–​43). Throughout the 1990s, NATO continued to emphasize that, in the words of Secretary Albright in 1997, “NATO cannot build a Europe that is whole and free until a democratic Russia is wholly part of Europe” (Walker 2000, 465). In addition to joining NATO’s multilateral NACC in 1991, in June 1994 Russia

 

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also became part of the new PFP program. Following the pattern of Russian relations with the EU, however, as Russia regained its footing and began reimagining its future in the post-​Soviet era in the later 1990s, it began to demand “special” and unique relations with NATO, based on both its historical and contemporary hegemony in the post-​Soviet region and its historically important role in the broader European security sphere (Clunan 2009, 159). NATO, well aware of the centrality of Russia to the puzzle of post-​communist European security, concurred that some type of special and unique partnership with Russia was called for. Since 1997, NATO and Russia have been engaged in an ongoing attempt to try to find a “partnership formula” that will “square the circle” of European security in the post-​Soviet era. The first form that NATO’s “special partnership” with Russia took was a Permanent Joint Council (PJC), established in 1997 as part of the NATO-​Russia Founding Act and composed of NATO structures and Russian government representatives (known as the “NATO plus One” formula). The PJC, which US national security adviser Sandy Berger called “proof that a new NATO would work with a new Russia to build a new Europe,” was designed as a form of “time-​release medicine” that would make Russia’s “increased access” to NATO decision-​making structures dependent on Russia’s “good behavior” in its relations with Russia and on the progress it made in democratic reforms (Asmus 2002, 201; 191). Despite the effort to accommodate Russia’s special status and role in European security by offering it a chance to work with NATO in a “plus one” formulation, the PJC was not sufficient to placate Russian fears about NATO’s expansion into the former communist world (remember, the Central European states joined NATO in 1999 and the Baltic Soviet successor states became members of NATO’s new MAP program that same year). The PJC was supplanted in 2002 by the NATO-​Russia Council (NRC), which was described as a “mechanism for consultation, consensus-​building, cooperation, joint decision, and joint action.” The NRC provided for meetings according to a special “At Twenty-​Nine” format wherein Russia and the twenty-​eight individual NATO states would “meet and act as equal partners.”13 While NATO has “partnerships” with several other countries, whose relations with NATO are organized in various ways (including the Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council, which lists all of the other non-​Baltic Soviet successor states among its members), as NATO itself points out, “No other partner has been offered a comparable relationship” to that with Russia, and “no one else has been offered a comprehensive institutional framework” of relations as has Russia.14 This fact has not stopped Russia from trying to frame its 2014 annexation of Crimea as an act that was necessary to protect itself and Russian-​speakers everywhere from “aggressive and hostile NATO expansion” and intentional NATO “isolation” of Russia.

 



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The singular importance of Russia in NATO’s view of the European security universe, in particular the European energy security universe (Mankoff 2009; 2012, 165–​73), helps to explain the unique formulation of the NRC. Even after Russia’s invasion of Georgia in August 2008, NATO only briefly suspended the functioning of the NRC before taking the “historic step” of allowing Russia to participate equally alongside other member states in the 2010 NATO Summit in Lisbon and pledging new and unprecedented forms of NATO-​Russian cooperation in the realm of missile defense (RFE/​RL November 23, 2010). In the eyes of many observers, NATO’s reluctance to truly “punish” Russia for the events of August 2008 conveys the extent to which individual European actors are dependent on Russian energy and the lengths they will go to in order to avoid alienating Russia (Blank 2009; Sherr 2009). This pattern continued after the provocative annexation of Crimea in 2014; in its wake, NATO chose again only to suspend the activities of the NATO-​Russia Council, and the four new battalions that NATO decided to move to the Baltic states and Poland in response to Russia’s actions will be considered “rotating” and not “permanent” forces, so as not to violate the principles of the NATO-​Russian Council Founding Act (Cienski 2017; Clark et al. 2016). Despite these notable NATO efforts to reach out to Russia and, in former NATO secretary-​general Lord George Robertson’s words, “to create the kind of framework that brings home to Russia that its future lies in the West,” Russia remains blatantly hostile to NATO’s vision of European security. (It is particularly suspicious of NATO’s “Open Door” policy of future enlargement.)

NATO and the Non-​Baltic Soviet Successor States since 1989 NATO’s initial approach to the entire post-​communist realm was uniform: all the Warsaw Pact states and all fifteen former Soviet republics (including Russia and all five Central Asian republics) joined NATO’s NACC when it was formed in 1992 (the NACC was renamed the Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council in 1997). By early1995, all the former Soviet republics save Tajikistan (whose international relations were at that point paralyzed by a civil war) had joined the other post-​communist states in NATO’s PFP program (Tajikistan would finally join the PFP in 2002). At this point NATO began to treat the states of the post-​communist world more differentially: the Central European states were fast-​tracked to NATO membership via the MAP program, which has since become the official conduit for other post-​communist states (including the Baltic republics) to join NATO. Significantly, no non-​Baltic Soviet successor state has been invited to join the MAP. Instead NATO has designed an alternative

 

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set of institutions for the post-​communist states, institutions that recognize the varying degrees of intrinsic Europeanness (and thus potential fitness for NATO membership) that exist among these states and conforming broadly to the contours of the EOCG as they do so. Judgments about the “Europeanness” of the non-​Baltic post-​Soviet states are an important part of the narrative about NATO’s engagement with them; equally as important is Russia’s continued strong resistance to NATO expansion into the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union. If the EU’s reluctance to expand into the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states is due mostly to judgments about the lack of intrinsic Europeanness of those states, in NATO’s case strategic calculations about Russia and the balance of power in post-​Soviet Eurasia are as consequential as (if not more than) beliefs about the “Europeanness” of these states in question (and may, paradoxically, end up working in favor of NATO expansion in the long run). Ukraine Asserts Itself Early On: The IPAP and Beyond. Russia and the three Baltic states were the first to demand “enhanced” relations with NATO that would distinguish them from the pack of post-​communist states involved with the NACC and PFP programs. Ukraine also distinguished itself from the other post-​Soviet states by seeking (and obtaining) enhanced relations with NATO at an early date: at the same time that NATO established its first partnership with Russia (the 1997 NRC), it also created a bilateral framework for relations with Ukraine, the second-​largest post-​Soviet state. The NATO-​Ukraine Commission, founded in 1997, aimed to “develop” NATO-​Ukraine relations and “direct their cooperative activities.”15 Having successfully persuaded NATO to establish closer and bilateral relations, Ukraine also then took the lead in prodding NATO to create an institutional mechanism to facilitate NATO accession for itself and other non-​Baltic former Soviet states. The PFP, which Schimmelfennig describes as “both a way to demonstrate the commitment to the shared principles and values of NATO” and “a way to help [PFP member states] prepare politically and military and to become familiar with the rights and obligations of [NATO] membership,” was deemed insufficient by Ukraine’s leaders to accommodate Ukraine’s Europeanizing ambitions (2003, 93). Ukraine’s leaders correctly understood that after the 1999 establishment of the MAP program for the Central European and Baltic states, the PFP program had essentially become a dead end in terms of gaining NATO membership. NATO wanted to maintain close relations with Ukraine and encourage its pro-​European stance, but also judged that Ukraine was not ready in terms of the state of its political, economic, and military system to be invited to join the MAP; NATO was also cognizant of the depth of Russia’s displeasure at the 1999 accession to NATO of the Baltic states. As a compromise solution, at its Prague

 



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summit in 2002 NATO introduced a new mechanism for Ukraine called the Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP), which NATO seemed to see as a sort of halfway house between the “eternal NATO waiting room” of the PFP and the more “fast track to NATO membership” of the MAP (Table 4.1). The IPAP framework is based on the premise of conditionality (yearly reform targets, annual reviews), but is still not a full-​fledged promise of eventual NATO membership in the way that the MAP seems to be. In this sense, it resembles the EU’s “Eastern Partnership”; like the Eastern Partnership it is a way to recognize the “European ambitions” of certain of the non-​Baltic post-​Soviet states, without providing an explicit promise of and firm timeline for actual membership.16 The EU’s EAP and NATO’s IPAP program also share common membership, with two important exceptions—​Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan are all members of both programs. Belarus, however, while maintaining at least some formal ties to the EAP, has not opted for the closer relations with NATO that the IPAP program facilitates. Kazakhstan, on the other hand, while pointedly not invited to join the EU’s EAP, was allowed to establish an IPAP with NATO in 2006. This is potentially a very significant difference. If the EU made a relative bold geographic statement by including the Caucasus states in the Eastern Partnership, it was clear in its determination not to extend the program to any of the Central Asian Soviet successor states. NATO on the other hand apparently does consider Kazakhstan (and potentially others of the Central Asian republics) as “European enough” to join the IPAP. Given that since its inception both Bosnia-​Herzegovina and Montenegro have “graduated” from NATO’s IPAP program to its MAP program (and, in Montenegro’s case, to NATO membership), NATO’s willingness to include at least one of the Central Asian republics in the pool of “maybe someday members” is an important difference from the EU’s narrower imagining of potential future “Europe.” Not satisfied with its inclusion in IPAP in 2002, Ukraine’s leaders continued to press for closer relations with the organization. After the Orange Revolution of winter 2004–​2005, joining NATO became a top priority for new president Viktor Yushchenko and new prime minister Yulia Tymoshenko (though it was actually their predecessor Leonid Kuchma who in 2002 issued the official declaration of Ukraine’s intent to join NATO). Similarly, after the Rose Revolution in Georgia in winter 2003–​2004, new president Mikheil Saakashvili began in earnest to pursue NATO membership for his country. NATO tried to accommodate these countries’ ever-​stronger Europeanizing ambitions in the security sphere by offering them in 2005 (Ukraine) and 2006 (Georgia) yet another “special program”—​the so-​called Intensified Dialogue with NATO (Table 4.1). By the time of the April 2008 NATO summit in Bucharest, both countries were hoping to be invited to join the MAP program, and they had the support of the American president George Bush for this goal; Asmus calls the MAP a “kind of

 

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a holy grail providing a political lifeline to the West” for Georgia and Ukraine (2010, 111). However, German and French opposition to extending the MAP program into the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union trumped US and “new” NATO member support for Georgia and Ukraine, and the MAP invitation was not forthcoming. The failure of NATO to issue a MAP invitation to Georgia and Ukraine was a bitter disappointment to those states (Georgia especially), but the two did not leave Bucharest empty-​handed, and indeed, might have left with something “even better than an MAP invitation”—​an explicit promise from NATO that “someday” Georgia and Ukraine would become NATO members. As Asmus relates the story, during the intense negotiations at Bucharest over the MAP question, Polish foreign minister Radosław Sikorski, unable to convince German and French leaders Merkel and Sarkozy to issue the MAP to Georgia and Ukraine, asked them point-​blank, “Do we agree however that these countries should be NATO members?” Merkel and Sarkozy answered, “We do.” “Then let’s put that down,” Sikorski replied, and NATO’s endorsement of eventual membership for Georgia and Ukraine became a matter of public record (Asmus 2010, 133). If the enlargement skeptics in NATO thought they were being prudent regarding Russia by denying Ukraine and Georgia guaranteed future membership via the MAP and instead offering what they must have felt was a very vague and open-​ended invitation for NATO membership only “someday,” the later Russian military incursions into Georgia and Ukraine demonstrated how faulty that calculation was. The August 2008 Russo-​Georgian War and the NATO Response. Both the chronology of events surrounding Russia’s August 2008 invasion of Georgia and the assignation of blame for those events remain contested (Asmus 2010; Cornell and Starr 2009; Mankoff 2012, 240–​43). There is considerable agreement about Russia’s motivation for engaging in such a provocative move. By invading Georgia and establishing “independent” statelets in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, Russia sought to “freeze the process of European integration and replace it with a logic of regional bipolarity” (Blank 2009, 108). The August 2008 Russo-​Georgian conflict was the culmination of a long-​simmering Russian desire to “end the era of Euro romanticism” about post-​communist European security (Sherr 2009, 202), to “rollback and contain” Western influence in the post-​Soviet world (Asmus 2010, 217–​18), and to “establish a cordon sanitaire of weak and failed states” around and thus “drive back the West as a civilized force” in Russia’s “sphere of influence” (Shevtsova 2010a, 146, 182). With the August 2008 invasion of Georgia, Russia demonstrated that “the West’s entire post–​Cold War and largely postmodern schema of security had done nothing to avert and perhaps much to abet the revival of a classically modern, Realpolitik culture of security in Russia” (Sherr 2009, 197). It also

 



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proved that the “dozens of key documents and communiques” signed by Russia with NATO that “codified the new norms of the European system,” in reality “seemingly didn’t matter,” and signaled clearly “the end of the era begun when Gorbachev began to speak of ‘a new common European home’ ” (Asmus 2010, 217–​23). It also made patently obvious to all Russia’s view that the existing postwar European architecture of collective security was “irrelevant” (Tumanov et al. 2011, 127). Given its full participation in the creation of a Russian-​NATO partnership throughout the twenty years since the fall of the Berlin Wall, what explains Moscow’s decision in the summer of 2008 to challenge so boldly the system that it itself helped to build? Two explanations stand out. The first has to do with the Russian elite’s fear of reform or regime change (more specifically, the one leading to the other). The ruling Russian elite understands that embracing the liberal social and political reforms and norms that NATO is committed to spreading in the post-​communist period would mean their total loss of political and economic power (Shevtsova 2010a, 146; Techau 2011, 99). If they knew this early on in the Yeltsin period (as Sherr argues they did; 2009, 202), the lesson became even more acute, painful, and frightening after the Rose and Orange Revolutions of 2003 and 2004, which Asmus claims were interpreted in Russia as a “kind of 9/​11,” provoking there a “hysterical and surreal reaction” (2010, 69). Understanding that NATO membership would mean an irreversible path toward European liberal political and social norms in Ukraine and Georgia (thus amplifying to unacceptable levels the potential demonstration effects of Europeanization in Russia), Russia moved to halt this process in the bluntest way possible (Shevtsova 2010a, 158). The second explanation for Russia’s invasion of Georgia in August 2008 is related to the first and is rooted in the Russian elite’s great suspicion regarding NATO’s stated commitments to spreading liberal norms and building a genuine collective security system for Europe, including the post-​Soviet world. The Russian elite became increasingly convinced that this normative stance was merely a sham, a cover for a clever post–​Cold War zero-​sum game that, in their minds, NATO was winning (Tsygankov 2010, 193–​94). In this view, NATO “was and remains an anti-​Russian alliance,” regardless of however many partnerships it may build with Russia or how many liberal reform programs it may facilitate in the post-​communist world (Tsygankov 2010). Evidence supporting the increasing purchase of this narrative had been accruing as far back as NATO’s involvement with the Yugoslav civil war in the early 1990s, with NATO’s bombing of Serbia being the most persuasive case in point. Asmus and Sherr both argue that some Russian foreign policy elites saw NATO’s Kosovo campaign as “a dress rehearsal” for a planned anti-​Russian campaign (probably in Chechnya) (Asmus 2010, 88–​89; Sherr 2009, 203).

 

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This zero-​sum view of NATO’s actions in the former Warsaw Pact and Soviet territories (what Chaput and Colton characterize as an even worse “negative-​ sum,” “everyone loses” game) intertwines with historical, humiliation-​based Russian understandings of its place in the world and its relationship with Europe and Europeanness in particular (as ­chapter 6 discusses in detail) (Chaput and Colton 2017). While Gorbachev and his allies tried valiantly to break with the historical pattern of basing relations with Europe on an assumption of European perfidy and Russian inferiority (English 2000), it is clear that by August 2008 Russian elites believing that the post–​Cold War European security system had been “imposed on Russia at a moment of weakness” and thus had to be changed, had gained the upper hand (Asmus 2010, 8; Clunan 2009, 146). A speech given by Russia’s ambassador to NATO Dmitri Rogozin in the month after the invasion lends credence to this “humiliated Russia” interpretation: Rogozin spoke of the Georgian campaign by saying that “Now our Western partners regard Russia as a partner they cannot wipe their feet on anymore. We are restoring cooperation on our own terms” (Sherr 2009, 207). Some analysts find that the 2008 Georgian crisis was an unmitigated disaster for NATO, in that it demonstrated that its policies in the former Soviet Union had amounted to “too little, too late”; that NATO had essentially “caved” to Russia in the Black Sea region; and that the existing NATO-​based structures just “don’t work” for the contemporary security needs of Eurasia (Blank 2009, 105, 115). Others, however, have a more positive view of how NATO handled the aftermath of the crisis (if not their inability to foresee or prevent it). Shevtsova, for example, praised the United States’ public declaration that in the wake of the Georgian affair it would continue to hold up the common security architecture embodied in the CSCE/​OSCE founding documents and in the NATO-​Russian Council, and not bow to Russian attempts to “return to the geopolitics and balance of power politics of the USSR” (2010a, 317, 323). NATO leaders also moved quickly to try to turn the aftermath of the crisis into an opportunity to re-​establish their commitment to the vision of a pan-​ European collective security arrangement based on liberal norms. The leaders of Poland and the Baltic states (joined by Ukraine’s then-​President Yushchenko) visited Georgia in the immediate aftermath of the crisis to express their solidarity with the small state. NATO quickly suspended the work of the NATO-​Russian Council and at the same time established a new bilateral “NATO-​Georgia Commission,” which had the express aim to “serve as a forum for both political consultations and practical cooperation to help Georgia achieve its goal of membership in NATO.”17 The commission was clearly meant to demonstrate to Russia the failure of its ploy to stop NATO enlargement into the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union. Later that year, in December 2008, in another show of like resolution, the foreign ministers of NATO’s member states declared their

 



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intention to “enhance opportunities for Georgia and Ukraine to meet membership requirements in NATO” and reassured these states that NATO would “step-​up assistance” to these countries to help them move toward membership (Morelli et al. 2009). One such “step-​up” was the enhancement of the NATO office in Kyiv; another was the US pledge to help rebuild Georgia’s military (Sherr 2009, 211) Russia Tries a Reset: The EST of 2009. For its part, Russia attempted to build on its disruption of the existing NATO and OSCE-​based European security order in December 2009 with the introduction of an alternative “European Security Treaty” (EST) that would, in President Medvedev’s words, develop “true indivisible security” throughout Europe. The treaty, ill-​conceived and much revised, seemed not to have any coherent rationale behind it beyond “opposing European security developments that it [Russia] did not like—​such as NATO expansion or US forward-​based missile defense” (Weitz 2012, 1). NATO quickly deflected Russia’s challenge to the existing order; when NATO secretary-​general Anders Fogh Rasmussen visited Moscow in December 2009, he told Medvedev that NATO saw “no need for new treaties or legally binding documents, because we do have a founding act already”—​apparently referring to the 1990 Charter of Paris and the 1999 Istanbul Charter of European Security (Weitz 2012, 4). What was needed for the European security order to function better, Rasmussen added, was for certain countries [Russia] to comply more fully with the documents that they had already signed (Weitz 2012). At the post-​Georgian crisis “relaunch” of the NATO-​Russia Council in September 2010, NATO officials urged a renewed focus on “practical cooperation” and further integration between NATO and Russia, not a diversion of focus toward “big new schemes”—​a clear reference to Russia’s proposed European Security Treaty, and a sentiment that, somewhat surprisingly, the Kremlin’s own foreign policy think tank echoed in its report to Medvedev the same month (Weitz 2012). At its summit in Chicago in 2012, NATO reiterated again the “Open Door” enlargement policy that it has maintained since the fall of the Berlin Wall, going so far as to hold a separate meeting for the four states seeking NATO membership—​Montenegro, Bosnia-​Herzegovina, Macedonia, and Georgia—​ assuring them that the alliance “stands beside them as they move down the path” to NATO membership.18 Here NATO followed the advice of Ronald Asmus, who in his last book urged that in the wake of the Georgian conflict NATO must “return to its own principles” and redouble its efforts to “make them apply from Vancouver to Vladivostok” (2012, 232). Asmus felt it was “crucial that NATO’s door remain open and that prospects for future enlargement into Eurasia and across the wider Black Sea region be kept alive,” so that Russia not succeed in

 

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its bid to turn the post-​communist politics of European security “back to the future” of realpolitik and bloc-​based relations (Asmus 2012, 233). The Ukraine Crisis and the NATO Response. Russia’s actions in Ukraine since late 2013 have served as an even more powerful catalyst for renewed unity and sense of purpose for NATO than they have for the EU. As NATO military commander US general Philip Breedlove told a conference in Ottawa in May 2014, “If there was ever any doubt of the relevance of NATO and the strength of the Trans-​Atlantic bond before now, the last few weeks have cleared that up and reinforced the need for our essential core tasks” (EUObserver.com May 6, 2014). In the face of Russian accusations that NATO itself had provoked Russia’s incursions into Ukraine, NATO has defended itself publicly, loudly and often, charging Russia with “misrepresenting facts” and “ignoring the sustained effort that NATO has put into building a partnership with Russia,” noting, as the discussion earlier also does, that the PFP and EAPC have long been “open to the whole of Europe, including Russia,” and that, far from being marginalized by NATO, Russia has instead been treated like “a privileged partner” (NATO Fact Sheet April 2014). NATO went on to argue that “Russia’s long-​time assertion that NATO tried to force Ukraine into its ranks was and remains completely false,” but also reminded Russia that “NATO’s Open Door policy has been and always will be based on the free choice of European democracies” (NATO Fact Sheet April 2014). NATO suspended “all practical cooperation” with Russia in April 2014 but stated that the NATO-​Russia Council and the EAPC would continue to function as important tools of “political dialogue” (NATO News April 7, 2014). NATO officials also claimed that in formulating its response to Russia’s decision to “rip up the rule book” by invading Ukraine, they would nevertheless continue to “stick to the NATO-​Russia Founding Act,” arguing that now more than ever, “NATO allies want a strongly rules-​based international security system” (RFE/​ RL June 3, 2014). Even NATO’s military response to the annexation of Crimea, the deployment of four new battalions in the Baltics and Poland, is to be done on a “rotational,” not permanent basis, in order to allow NATO to continue to adhere to the letter of the NRC agreement.

Different Approaches to NATO: Former Soviet States Pursuing Security Europeanization If Russia’s own actions have served to keep alive, at least formally and rhetorically, the idea that NATO might consider further future enlargement into the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union, the question of whether and how quickly states

 



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like Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine might want to walk through NATO’s “open door” is another matter altogether. As Moroney and Clossen point out, all the Soviet successor states are small “buffer states” whose location leaves them no choice but to “learn to prosper between Europe and Russia” (2003, 203–​5). The Baltic states quickly and successfully were able to make the “European choice” the strongest component of their multi-​vectored foreign policy (Moroney and Clossen 2003; Malksoo 2010). Yet Russia’s demonstrated willingness to use hard power to destabilize the NATO and OSCE-​led European security order in the 2000s has significantly changed the equation for the remaining Soviet successor states, making the choice to definitively pursue NATO membership a potentially much costlier one for them. If pursuing EU membership is costly in terms of the elite’s potential to lose their (often ill-​gained) political and economic power, as Ukraine and Georgia have learned the hard way, pursuing NATO membership could be costlier still, up to and including the loss of that most necessary state characteristic, sovereignty. This suggests that it might be wise to heed the counsel of Wolff and others, who urge all three sets of actors—​European, post-​Soviet, and Russian—​ to explore versions of “third-​way” neutrality for states like Georgia and Ukraine that will neither further erode the international norm of state sovereignty nor provoke Russia into military reprisals (Charap and Colton 2017; Wolff 2015).

Strong Security Europeanizers: Ukraine, Georgia, Moldova Given the high price of pursuing security Europeanization for any given Soviet successor state and the clearly demonstrated potential for Russian retaliation, we might expect strong pro-​NATO sentiment among this set of states to be relatively rare. Only those states with either a very strong sense of intrinsic Europeanness and thus identification with Europe and its security institutions (as in Ukraine), or a very strong perceived need for NATO patronage to balance out Russian threats to their state sovereignty (as in Georgia), will vigorously pursue a membership trajectory with NATO. In the absence of either of these strong rationales and given the high price Russia is trying to place on a NATO membership trajectory, the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states will find it far more prudent to try to balance their relations with NATO with their ties to Russia—​in essence pursuing a dual vector rather than a single or multi-​vector policy (Marin 2011). The case studies that follow in Part II of this book bear out this supposition. For example, Georgia’s strong pro-​ Europe security stance has not wavered, and in fact only gained strength since Russia’s invasion of August 2008. The extreme Russian threat to Georgian sovereignty has pushed Georgia to the high-​risk, but potentially high-​reward, NATO

 

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membership trajectory strategy. Ukraine and Moldova have pushed for NATO membership when those elites who see their states as intrinsically European countries are in power (as is clearly the case with the post-​Maidan Poroshenko regime in Ukraine), but have backed off of these claims when elites who see these states as having only a mixed or moderate level of intrinsic Europeanness are in power (as was true of Ukraine under Yanukovich and has been true of Moldova under President Igor Dodon, elected December 2016).

“Balancing” Security Europeanization: Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Kazakhstan There is also a grouping of non-​Baltic Soviet successor states where no faction of the ruling elite has either a very strong sense of their country as “intrinsically European” or a sense of an imminent Russian threat to their state sovereignty, but where the ruling elite does seem to see strong (but not necessarily membership-​oriented—​pursuing the IPAP program but not pushing for MAP status) relations with NATO as part of a balancing strategy aimed at ensuring their independence and the maximizing their economic and political strength. Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Kazakhstan are in this category, as Ukraine and Moldova are when elites with a weaker sense of intrinsic Europeanness are in power. There is some potential for Belarus to eventually move into this category. It seems likely that this grouping of states will continue to try in the long term to maintain their independence through a balancing strategy, and only very gradually, if ever, seek to “upgrade” their relations with NATO from the IPAP to more firm membership trajectory through the MAP program (though for Moldova this process may be somewhat faster, depending on the pace of resolution of the Transnistria conflict).

Weak Security Europeanizers: Belarus, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan Perhaps unsurprisingly, the four Central Asian Soviet successor states with the lowest levels of both intrinsic and extrinsic Europeanness have not sought close relations with NATO, preferring to maintain participation in the PFP program but not to “upgrade” to the opportunities afforded by joining the IPAP program (Table 4.1). NATO found itself “courting” the Central Asian states because of their geostrategic value to NATO’s ISAF campaign in Afghanistan, despite these states’ lack of interest in deepening ties with or membership in NATO (the Central Asian states did prove very interested in NATO funds and equipment). NATO’s need for bases, staging areas, and for transport corridors

 



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in Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan especially, alongside NATO member countries’ interests in Turkmenistan’s energy resources, meant NATO and its individual member countries sometimes failed adequately condemn the serious human rights abuses in the Central Asian states. NATO’s relations with these four Central Asian republics are based chiefly on its strategic needs in Afghanistan rather than on any sense that they are “intrinsically” part of the European security theater. The Central Asian republics have not pursued close (i.e., IPAP) ties with NATO, and NATO has never suggested that this program might be appropriate for them. Rather, the PFP framework seems entirely adequate for both NATO and the Central Asian states at this point (again, with the partial exception of Kazakhstan). With the drawdown of NATO’s military operations in Central Asia, these tenuous ties are likely to weaken even further. (In June 2014, NATO and the United States returned complete control of the Manas Air Base in Kyrgyzstan to the Kyrgyz government.) Belarus’s relations with NATO are, as they are with the EU, the most puzzling of the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states. Like the EU, NATO seems somewhat perplexed by the behavior of Belarus as a state that, in terms of its levels (or potential levels) of intrinsic and extrinsic Europeanness, might be expected to pursue closer relations with European institutions. Rather, Belarus, at least for the present, has chosen to maintain relatively weak relations with NATO, remaining in the PFP program, but has shown no interest in moving up to the IPAP level. To a remarkable degree, both the EU and NATO predicate their understanding of “Europeanness” and what is necessary for a state to be considered “European” on democratic norms and institutions and the respect for human rights. The extent to which NATO has subsumed realpolitik concerns below adherence to “European norms” in domestic practice and interstate relations is as striking as is the vehemence with which Russia has opposed this framing of post–​Cold War European security (despite extraordinary efforts to bring Russia into closer and more transparent relations with NATO). Russia’s demonstrated desire to actively subvert the principles underlying the set of post–​Cold war institutions that it itself helped to craft through its relations with NATO (and its membership in the OSCE), has raised the stakes considerably for Soviet successor states as they attempt to insure their own sovereignty and security in the post-​communist period. While NATO may be more willing to embrace Soviet successor states as full members of its “Europe,” the costs that these states would incur to embark on such a bid are extremely high (indeed, the highest that a state can pay—​loss of sovereignty or territorial integrity). Europe’s political and security institutions and the definitions of Europe and Europeanness that they perpetuate and regulate are unarguably the most influential forces with which Soviet successor states engage as they pursue (or fail to

 

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pursue) their own paths to Europeanness. There is, however, another significant way that states and peoples come to see themselves as “European”—​through participation in social institutions in the fields of culture and sport. The next chapter explores how Soviet successor states might or might not be seeking (and finding) acceptance as “European” states by becoming active members of Europe’s cultural and sport communities in the post-​communist era.

 

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Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization since 1989

The EU and NATO are clearly the most important arbiters of Europeanization in the post-​communist era, but institutions in the social and cultural realms also provide significant opportunities for concepts of Europe and Europeanness to be negotiated and contested to by states on both sides of the former Iron Curtain. As Kuus argues, since the end of World War II, “Europeanness as a common political label as well as a common attribution of cultural identity is perceived with increasing clarity” (2007, 31). European pop music and football (soccer), being important attributes of what Kuus calls the “European lifestyle,” are “increasingly registered . . . as phenomena in which one purports to recognize a growing European collective identity” (2007, 31). To examine the extent to which these social, cultural, or “lifestyle” elements help mark understandings of Europeanness in the post-​Soviet era, this chapter analyzes developments in two of the most important European-​wide cultural events:  the Eurovision Song Contest (ESC), which is sponsored by the European Broadcasting Union (EBU); and Europe’s most important sporting event, the quadrennial European Football Championship (EURO), which is sponsored by the Union of European Football Associations (UEFA). Both the ESC and EURO are sites where “European cultural citizenship” is constructed; Eurovision has further become an event where Europe’s “supposedly exceptional” levels of sexual and gender diversity and commitment to LGBTQ rights are solidified and showcased (Baker 2016, 100). As with the EU and NATO, decisions about which countries qualify as “European enough” to join the EBU and thus compete in Eurovision or to join UEFA and thus participate in the European Football Championship are informed by the ideas embedded in the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG). Like political and security institutions, these cultural and sporting institutions are also settings where Soviet successor states face tests of their European credentials. The rules and norms governing the EBU and Eurovision 113

 

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and UEFA and the EURO also reflect “European” norms and standards of behavior that all participating countries must theoretically meet, regarding both political criteria such as democracy and human and LGBTQ rights, as well as infrastructural standards for transportation facilities and performance and lodging venues. As such, these cultural and sporting institutions are potentially effective sites for socialization into “European” institutional and behavioral standards for those post-​Soviet states that participate in them. The following discussion focuses particularly on the Eurovision contests held in the former Soviet Union since the collapse of communism (in Kiev in 2005 and 2016, Moscow in 2009, and Baku in 2012), and on the EURO 2012 tournament hosted by Poland and Ukraine. Each of these events is an important moment for exploring post-​communist understandings of what “Europe” means and also for Soviet successor states’ own past, present, and potential future self-​identifications as “European” states. European gatekeepers from the EBU and UEFA and actors from former Soviet states alike see Eurovision and the EURO as offering “ambiguously” European states from the former Soviet Union the chance to “prove” their European credentials to their fellow EBU and UEFA member states—​in particular in these cases their willingness and ability to conform to “European norms” regarding the provision of LGBTQ rights (and racial tolerance). Europe-​wide social and sporting events also allow citizens from states along all points on the EOCG to interact and form “European” identity communities, even if for brief moments. These interactions raise feelings of personal and national well-​being (Filipidis and Laverty 2018) and help to reinforce European norms of behavior, dispel mutual stereotypes from both sides of the former Iron Curtain, and create pro-​European sentiment among the populace in the former Soviet states. There are, however, clear limits to the “Europeanizing” functions of both Eurovision and the EURO Football Championship. Rather than inspiring host states to make concrete and lasting “Europeanizing” reforms to their political institutions and practices, Eurovision and the EURO sometimes serve as occasions for highlighting the failure of many former Soviet states to live up to the “European” characteristics they are claiming to possess and to accent the broad chasm that separates them from true “Europeanness” in the form of democratic institutions and respect for LGBTQ rights. Hosting such events may even encourage certain “un-​European” habits in Soviet successor states—​corruption, unaccountable spending by a hypertrophic state, and disregard for citizen and human rights in the name of completing a project of “state significance.” On the whole, the ledger seems fairly balanced, if perhaps somewhat tilted in favor of the argument that participation in Eurovision and the EURO do

 



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encourage large portions of the public in Soviet successor states to identify themselves and their states more fully as “European,” even if such participation only very gradually helps to bring about the types of lasting institutional and normative changes in politics and economics that mark true “Europeanness” in these states.

The EBU and Eurovision: An Enlarged Europe United by Song? Held for the first time in 1956 with only seven participating countries, the annual Eurovision song contest has since grown exponentially in popularity.1 Nearly fifty countries now participate in Eurovision every year, and an estimated 125 million people in Europe and the wider world watch the semi-​ and grand finals that are broadcast live during “Eurovision Week” in the early summer every year. Over the last half-​century the Eurovision contest has become “strongly embedded into Europe’s collective consciousness.”2 Eurovision is sponsored by the European Broadcasting Union, a not-​for-​profit organization made up of the national radio and television broadcasting units of European states.3 The purpose of the EBU is to assist its national member affiliates as they “serve the interests of the general public in the best possible manner,” by helping the affiliates to “promote and develop values such as human rights, the freedom of expression, democracy, cultural diversity, tolerance and solidarity”—​which are the same set of norms promoted by the EU and NATO.4 The EBU emerged from a failed attempt to build a truly pan-​European broadcasting institution after the World War II—​the International Radio and Television Organization (known as OIRT in its French acronym). OIRT was founded in 1946 and originally included member states from both sides of the developing Iron Curtain, as well as some North African states and Lebanon. In 1950, in the face of growing Cold War tensions, Belgium, France, and Italy, along with their allies in Western Europe and North Africa, split off from the OIRT to create the new “European” Broadcasting Union (EBU), leaving control of the OIRT to the USSR and its new “People’s” and “Socialist” republican satellites. As its security universe was divided by NATO and the Warsaw Pact throughout the Cold War, so would Europe’s broadcast arena be marked by the EBU/​OIRT split. And like the European Coal and Steel Community and NATO, the EBU claimed the modifier “European” for only those countries on the Western, “free side” of the new continental divide (though the EBU’s definition of “Europe” was considerably more geographically broad than that of the EU and NATO, as it included Turkey, Egypt, Morocco, Algeria, and, eventually, Israel). Like NATO, the EBU also kept open the theoretical possibility of membership in

 

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this “European” institution for any country behind the Iron Curtain that might choose to defect from the OIRT.5 The EBU’s founders held the first Eurovision contest in 1956, modeling their competition after Italy’s small Festival di Sanremo. Perhaps influenced by the seemingly unified and ideologically strong community arising under Soviet leadership on the other side of the Iron Curtain, Eurovision’s EBU founders saw the contest as a way to foster a “noble vision of Europe” by employing the new technology of television to minimize the “geographic and political realities” (read: heterogeneity) of post–​World War II Europe (Aksamija n.d.). Eurovision grew so effectively over the year in terms of both popularity and in the number of participating states (including the notable additions of Israel in 1973 and Turkey in 1976) that, by 1977, Eastern Europe’s OIRT paid the EBU the greatest compliment that it could, introducing a short-​lived Eurovision knock-​off contest for the Eastern Bloc, called the Intervision Song Contest, which ran from 1977 to 1980. When the collapse of the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact rendered the OIRT superfluous, the EBU was in a position to make a reality of its long-​stated mandate to represent national broadcasting networks from the entire “European Broadcasting Area,” including geographic areas that were once behind the Iron Curtain. In 1993 the EBU admitted all former ORIT national member organizations whose states fell within the “European Broadcasting Area” as defined by the ITU: from the former Soviet Union these states included Russia, the three Baltic states, Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova. The Caucasian states of Armenia and Georgia were not admitted to the EBU until 2005, and Azerbaijan joined only in 2007, suggesting that there was more significant doubt about the intrinsic and extrinsic “Europeanness” of these states and their readiness to be members of the EBU than there was about the other Soviet successor states, which joined in 1993. Significantly, no Central Asian republic from the former Soviet Union has been admitted to the EBU, though Kazakhstan has broadcast Eurovision since 2010 and may be gearing up for a formal application to the EBU. Though most closely identified with the annual Eurovision contest (ESC), the EBU also has a core mission of helping all its member organizations, particularly its newest members, remain politically independent, financially stable, technologically current, and committed to the principle of freedom of expression. The EBU operates on the principle of solidarity, where membership dues and other revenues are redistributed (through its Special Assistance Program and its partially EU-​funded Partnership Program) to those members who might be experiencing “serious political, technical or financial strife,” which, as might be expected, includes most often media from the poorest of the Soviet successor states.6

 



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The European Union (EU) made explicit its support of the EBU’s “Europeanizing” function by signing a “Memo of Understanding” with the EBU in July 2012. In the memo, the EU praised the EBU for its support of “the reform of public broadcasting and [the promotion of] its sustainability in the countries that aspire to join the European Union,” with EU commissioner Štefan Füle noting in particular the work the EBU had done in regard to the Caucasus states and the other EU Eastern Partners. The EU further praised the EBU’s commitment to “assisting the aspirant countries with their transformation and reaching European standards” in public broadcasting and freedom of expression. Membership in the EBU is therefore another way by which Soviet successor states are learning to “act European,” and an important channel through which they can receive technical and financial support to reform their media institutions and practices in order to bring them more in line with European norms. These institutional relationships and transformations may ultimately have the most lasting impact in terms of the Europeanizing aspirations of Soviet successor states. Unquestionably, however, the most “high-​profile” aspect of these states’ relations with the EBU (in terms of the consciousness of the average citizen), and thus the element that has the greatest potential to impact identifications with “Europeanness” among the citizenry in these states, is their participation in the EBU’s annual Eurovision song contest.

Eurovision as a Route to Europeanness for Soviet Successor States All EBU members are eligible to participate in the Eurovision song contest, but such participation does require a significant degree of institutional capacity and financial commitment.7 Due to these costs, not all Soviet successor state EBU members chose to begin participating in Eurovision right away, though Russia, Estonia, and Lithuania did enter the contest at the earliest possible date, beginning in 1994 (as did most of the former Warsaw Pact countries, including Poland, Hungary, and Romania). In contrast, Latvia did not begin participating in Eurovision until 2000, with Ukraine following in 2003, Belarus in 2004, Armenia in 2006, and Georgia in 2007. The latest to join the Eurovision parade was Azerbaijan, which made its debut in 2008. (See Map 5.1.) As it is the only annual European-​wide public spectacle (and also a literal stage), Eurovision should be seen as one of the most important sites for investigating how citizens in countries on both sides of the former Berlin Wall perceived and reacted to these changing notions of Europe and Europeanness. When the EBU admitted new members and Eurovision began displaying

Map 5.1  Europe According to Eurovision

Members of European Broadcasting Union

 

 



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competitors from “new” parts of Europe, it became a very public venue for negotiating new views of Europe and Europeanness. As Azra Aksamija explains: While Eurovision cannot be taken as a “reality show” of Europe, it may serve as a testing ground for examining the effect of equivalent non-​ symmetrical relations on the politics of the European Union. When the influence of Eastern European newcomers marked the shift of interests for Eurovision from West to East, it also redefined the negotiations of “Europeanness.” Competing for the “honor of dominating the geo-​ strategic space of the pan-​European Utopia of a hyper-​spectacle,” the new participants also brought new elements for defining European identity. (Aksamija n.d., 9) For the first post-​Soviet decade, the presence of the former Eastern Bloc countries in Eurovision did not appear to challenge the traditional dominance of Western European countries in Eurovision; there were no Eurovision victories from behind the former Iron Curtain in the 1990s (though another “quasi-​ European” state, Israel, did win in 1998). Beginning in 2001, however, countries from the former Eastern Bloc and the former Soviet Union in particular have dominated the Eurovision competition, winning in 2001 (Estonia), 2002 (Latvia), 2004 (Ukraine), 2007 (Serbia), 2008 (Russia), 2011 (Azerbaijan), and 2016 (Ukraine). Winning Eurovision does not just confer that year’s crown on a given country; more important, it bestows upon that country the honor of hosting the next year’s competition, which brings an influx of thousands of high-​ spending fans from all European countries. Hosting Eurovision also provides a country a prolonged moment in the pan-​European public spotlight, which can be a double-​edged sword. A compelling argument can be made that post-​Soviet states have pursued a clear and concerted strategy aimed at winning Eurovision contests in order to burnish their own “European” credentials—​a strategy that has succeeded in some ways (wins by Soviet successor states) and failed in others (translating those victories into great acceptance of their states as “truly European”). Post-​Soviet states clearly see Eurovision as a means to showcase and communicate their national identity to a wider audience in a way that highlights both its uniqueness and its Europeanness ( Johnson 2014). Selecting a performance for Eurovision is thus a weighty matter for member states. Each country’s national broadcasting station determines the format for the selection process for the song that will be sent to the contest. The artist, song, language, lyrics, costuming, set design, and choreography are all carefully curated, because a country’s Eurovision performer is an important opportunity to communicate national identity to an extremely

 

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large international audience. As a British journalist observed in 2006, this is particularly true for post-​Soviet states: Power has shifted eastwards, to the emerging new European nations that see the contest as a means of advertising national identity (almost all of this year’s eastern entries manage to squeeze some ethnic instrumentation into the mix). (Daily Telegraph May 18, 2006, 30) Turkey, another EU hopeful from “the east,” stresses the importance of Eurovision for its own self-​definition and European ambitions in ways similar to post-​Soviet states. As a Turkish diplomat states in speaking of Eurovision: This type of event, like the European capital of culture, is very important . . . we are in the south of Europe and sometimes we face prejudice. So this way we can help show our values, which are European values, to the north and west of Europe. (EUObserver.com May 18, 2006) Many former Soviet states share these sentiments and view the contest as a platform to demonstrate their Europeanness. As Iglesias put it in his 2015 study of Eurovision’s impact on post-​Soviet Moldova, in such states, Eurovision “is not only this ‘tacky’ show, but also a sound box and pretext for the defense and creation of national identity”—​and also, I  argue, the Europeanness of those identities (243). When such efforts at nation-​ and Europeanness-​building are recognized, post-​Soviet states feel validated: for example, the official homepage of the Belarusian government boasts that: “Our strides in modern music are noticeable at the European level, with two fantastic wins delivered by our child singers Ksenia Sitnik and Alexey Zhyhalkovich at the Junior Eurovision in 2005 and 2007.”8 If participating in Eurovision is an opportunity for post-​Soviet states to demonstrate their European credentials, winning the competition symbolizes a type of European triumph or acceptance that is that is often denied to them in other avenues (for example through EU or NATO membership). As Aksamija argues: While Western European representatives tend to caricature the Eurovision, the song contest evokes a diametrically opposed meaning for Eastern Europeans. It allows the newcomers and prospective countries to negotiate not only what they are, but also what they want or could be. Thus, the participation and the winning in the Eurovision contest represent an opportunity to draw attention to one’s position as well as their role within the current expansion of the EU. (Aksamija n.d.,  6–​7)

 



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Russia’s experience of Eurovision demonstrates the great extent to which post-​Soviet states see the contest as a barometer of their Europeanness. The Russian production that took home the Eurovision win in 2008 was the product of extensive preparation by a “dream team” from the international entertainment industry. The performance by Russia’s 2008 Eurovision contestant, Dima Bilan, was produced by Jim Beanz and Timbaland, prominent Americans who have also worked with artists such as Britney Spears and Shakira. Bilan was accompanied on stage by mega-​star figure skater Evgeni Plushenko, whose résumé includes a gold medal at the 2006 Winter Olympics. Plushenko skated on a patch of ice as Bilan sang, while a violinist accompanied them on a Stradivarius violin. Russia won, but only after investing millions of dollars in production costs (Daily Telegraph May 26, 2008, 25). Winning and hosting Eurovision provide particularly important opportunities for post-​Soviet states located in less preferable sites on the EOCG to display their “Europeanness” to an extensive audience, even if this opportunity comes at great financial cost to the host country. When Latvia hosted Eurovision in 2003, the $11 million price tag was justified by President Vaira Vike-​Freiberger with the argument that Latvia had to make up for: “the half a century when we did not exist. When our athletes won Olympic medals and were recorded as Soviet medals. We have to put ourselves back on the [European] map and regain the [European] identity that was stolen from us” (NYTimes May 26, 2003). Ukrainian officials demonstrated the same sentiment in 2005, when both the country’s ministry of culture and its ministry of foreign affairs dedicated nearly their entire staffs to preparing for the Eurovision contest. One functionary explained the great effort: “We wanted to show that we are just as good as any EU country for the sake of enlargement. We even lifted visa requirements for EU tourists for three months to encourage them to come for the contest” (EUObserver.com May 18, 2006). As a Serbian bureaucrat said after the contest in Belgrade in 2008, “no price can be put on . . . the fact that we turned 3000 bloodthirsty journalists into friends who glorified Belgrade in their 10-​day stay, seeing Serbians as a friendly, cordial and hospitable European nation . . . with good looks and behavior” (Floras 2008). The amount of money that the Azerbaijani government spent to host Eurovision in Baku in May 2012, estimated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of $700 million, is a record in the history of Eurovision (TOL April 20, 2012). Azerbaijani officials argued that the enormous expenditure, and the sacrifices demanded of Baku residents who lost both their homes and some of their water supply to the construction of Eurovision’s marquee venue, the Crystal Hall in Baku, were justified because “it is very important for Azerbaijan to make itself recognized in the world,” and because there was “no better opportunity than Eurovision to show the world that we are a secular, not a radical

 

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Islamic country” (TOL March 7, 2012; April 20, 2017). The strong identification of secularism with Europeanness and European values and the desirability of both voiced in this quote is quite remarkable. It is clear that post-​Soviet states are willing to expend significant resources to win Eurovision, and that they see such victories as chances to bolster their “European credentials.” What is less clear, however, is whether or not their efforts and victories indeed do translate into such acceptance on the part of their EBU counterparts in more westward, “traditional” European countries. Ambivalent Reactions from “Old” Europe. There is some evidence to suggest that the dominance of Eurovision by post-​Soviet states in the 2000s was not viewed favorably by some observers in “traditional” Europe. This might reflect the enlargement fatigue that the EU had begun to experience by the end of the decade, or perhaps the underlying impact of the Eurocentric, cultural gradient on understandings of Europeanness during the era of European institutional expansion after 1991. In the wake of yet another Eastern Bloc victory (when Dima Bilan of Russia won in 2008, it was the fifth victory by an ex-​communist state in the 2000s), public resentment in the “old” Europe of “new Europe’s” recent dominance of Eurovision reached a high point. When speaking of Bilan’s victory, veteran BBC Eurovision commentator Terry Wogan could barely conceal his disdain (and despair), and also offered accusations that the Russians (and all post-​Soviet countries) had somehow rigged the contest:  “You have to say that this is no longer a music contest. I have to decide whether I want to do this again. Western European participants have to decide whether they want to take part from here on it, because their prospects are poor” (Daily Telegraph May 26, 2008). London’s Daily Telegraph newspaper commentator Harry De Quetteville shared Wogan’s sentiments about the string of post-​Soviet Eurovision victories, though his comments were somewhat less histrionically expressed: Because the four big West European nations—​ Britain, France, Germany and Spain—​bankroll Eurovision, it is easy to feel that it is “our” competition. Just as is easy to feel that Europe’s identity is rooted in those same nations. But that is no longer true. The geographical fulcrum of Europe is moving ever eastward, ever away from London and Paris. While Western Europe’s ignominious result in Eurovision may be inconsequential, they are nonetheless telling. Russia and the “Eastern European Mafia” have not hijacked “our” competition. We are now floundering in “theirs.” (Daily Telegraph May 26, 2008) A central aspect of Wogan and De Quetteville’s bitter suggestion that somehow enlarging to the east began to “spoil” the Eurovision contest in the 2000s is the

 



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accusation regarding the rise of “collusive” or corrupt voting in Eurovision in the era following the inclusion of post-​communist countries. From 1956 until 1998, the Eurovision Song Contest was decided by a system of national jury votes. While the voting procedure has undergone several transformations in the five decades of the ESC, soon after most of the post-​Soviet countries joined the EBU, in 1998, the organization introduced the current system of televoting. This system, wherein votes are submitted through text messaging or telephone, enabled the average citizens to cast their ballot for the ESC for the first time. This transition from professional juries to the hands of the public meant citizens could now express their opinion of other countries competing in Eurovision without political or economic interference. The change to televoting might seem a great step toward democratizing the Eurovision voting process, which before was in the hands of closed professional juries. The fact that the switch coincided with the contest’s distinct shift eastward has given rise to increasingly vociferous charges that Eurovision voting has become hopelessly corrupt and politicized (as the comments earlier illustrate). For many “old” Western European observers, the simultaneous rise of “rigged voting” and post-​Soviet victories in Eurovision was a correlation with clear causation. This accusatory mindset, which follows the tenets of the EOCG, is particularly significant because several studies have shown that such collusive or “bloc” voting has been a part of the Eurovision contest since its inception, that is, since well before post-​communist states began to participate (Yair 1995; Yair and Maman 1996). However, such bloc voting only became “corrupt,” noteworthy, and problematic for more long-​standing and traditional Eurovision supporters like Britain when it started leading to victories for former Eastern Bloc countries. It seems clear that this is in part due to the preconception among Western Europeans to see their Eastern neighbors as inherently corrupt and less proficient at or even capable of democracy, as per the EOCG. Philip Bohlman accurately characterized commentator Terry Wogan’s angry 2008 outburst as a reaction to the fact that “the nations of Eastern Europe in general and South East Europe in particular had seized the mantle of representing Europe” (2007, 40). Rather than seeing the Eurovision victories of post-​Soviet states as signs that these states had achieved some sort of central and incontrovertible belonging to Europe’s cultural sphere, many in “traditional” Europe instead seemed to think instead that Eurovision victories by post-​Soviet states are ominous evidence that these “eastern” states, with their traditions of disorder, barbarism, and underdevelopment, are poised to “replace Europe’s politics of hegemony and centralization with fragmentation and centrifugal force” (thus perhaps also threatening Europe’s social, political and economic stability as well as its cultural space) (Bohlman 2007, 40).

 

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A similar dynamic obtains when post-​Soviet states have hosted Eurovision competitions. Observers in “traditional Europe” have used such occasions not to stress how the expansion of Europe’s (or at least Eurovision’s) borders to the east has enriched “Europe’s” culture, but rather to highlight the many ways in which post-​Soviet states continue to fail to meet “European” standards in all sorts of areas, ranging from the less significant (tourist and transport infrastructure, customer service) to the more significant (human rights and political freedoms). Rather than demonstrating the degree to which new post-​Soviet states “belong” to Europe, Eurovision competitions end up reinforcing the idea that these states still lack important aspects of Europeanness. One prime example of this is the issue of human rights for the LGBTQ community. LGBTQ Rights and the Eurovision in the Former Soviet States. Eurovision is “increasingly known as the biggest gay event in the world,” and every year, in every locale, the competition attracts large numbers of gay tourists (NYTimes May 27, 2012). Eurovision is also an important opportunity for LGBTQ artists to gain prominence and popularity. Openly gay or gay-​identified performers have represented many countries in Eurovision in recent years, including Israel (Dana International in 1998), Russia (t.A.T.u in 2003), Bosnia-​Herzegovina (Deen in 2004), and Austria (2014’s winner Conchita Wurst). The acceptance and indeed dominance of a queer aesthetic at Eurovision, where elements of transgressive sexuality infuse the performances of even straight acts, have helped it to become a major site for helping to establish support for gay rights as a marker of Europeanness and for “positioning a nation and/​or ‘Europe’ at the vanguard of LGBTQ equality” (Baker 2016, 110). Rights for LGBTQ people is perhaps the one issue that most distinguishes post-​Soviet states from their counterparts in the EU; this is particularly true in countries with majority–​Orthodox Christian populations (Spina 2016). Both public opinion and legal norms in Soviet successor states are far less supportive of human rights and full equality for LGBTQ people than states in Western Europe (Ayoub 2014, 2015; Gould and Moe 2015; Maghakyan 2012).9 Russia under Putin has been especially forthright in using homophobic rhetoric and policy as a “shorthand for national identity” (Wilkinson 2014, 368)  and as a way of demonstrating its moral and civilizational superiority over the “sexually deviant and decade” European Union (Snyder 2018, 78). When held in Soviet successor states, Eurovision competitions, with their high-​profile display of queer aesthetics and large contingents of gay fans, become moments when this clash over “European” values becomes very publicly manifest. They are also usually moments when the “failure” of post-​Soviet states to respect the fundamental European commitment to LGBTQ rights is made clear to the rest of Europe (Baker 2016; Ismayilov 2012). The function of Eurovision as a point when “the West” again gets to show “the East” the error of

 



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its ways regarding LGBTQ rights has come into greater focus as the post-​Soviet period has progressed. Particularly during the 2014 Eurovision competition in Copenhagen, which took place shortly after the 2014 Winter Olympics in Sochi and Russia’s annexation of Crimea, it became clear the extent to which Eurovision had become “embedded into the construction of geopolitical European-​Russian divisions around LGBT [sic] rights” (Baker 2016, 110.) Author Julie Cassiday has noted that the acts that Russia sponsored for participation in Eurovision during the 1990s and 2000s could be seen as “tracing a trajectory of ever-​increasing gayness that reached its prizewinning zenith in 2008” (2014, 3). When Eurovision moved to Moscow in 2009, however, it became clear that “the increasingly gay performances of Eurovision acts representing the Russian Federation had had little impact on the struggle of its LGBTQ citizens (Cassiday 2014, 4). When gay rights activists from across Europe and Russia attempted to hold a “Slavic Pride” gay pride march on the day of the Eurovision finals in Moscow in 2009, Moscow mayor Yuri Luzhkov not only banned the gay activists from proceeding with the planned 2009 march, he also authorized the police to use force to break up the march and to arrest the participants. Both Luzhkov and the anti-​gay protesters who harassed those supporting homosexual rights made it clear that their antipathy to homosexuality was based not only on its “satanic” nature, but also on its “foreignness” to Russian culture (Reuters May 7, 2009). Having “secured their country’s prominence in the Europe constructed by Eurovision through the strategy of going gay,” LGBTQ people in Russia experienced only intensified state homophobia, not increased acceptance or protection (Cassiday 2014, 4). The 2014 Eurovision contest in Copenhagen served as another opportunity for the “good” Europe vs. “bad” Russia dichotomy regarding LGBTQ rights to be strengthened. Throughout the contest, the bearded, ball-​gowned Austrian contestant, Conchita Wurst, was constructed and understood as “a symbolic opponent of Putin’s regime,” and her eventual win served to “give further common meaning to Europe” as a queer-​friendly place that would protect people like Wurst from the non-​European, state-​sponsored homophobia of places like Russia (Baker 2016, 109). Russian commentators played their assigned part in this, duly displaying their derision for the idea of LGBTQ rights and to assert the superiority of Russia’s “traditional family values” over European “decadence.” After Wurst won, Deputy Prime Minister Dmitry Rogozin mocked those who “support European integration” by pointing out that the “European future” that they so desired was that of “a bearded girl” (AFP May 11, 2014). Russian nationalist agitator Vladimir Zhirinovsky thundered predictably that Wurst’s victory signaled the “end of Europe,” where, unlike in Russia, “there are no more men or women, just it” (AFP May 11, 2014).

 

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Some in Russia tried to defend both Wurst’s victory and LGBTQ rights in general. In a display of great personal courage, the producer of Russia’s 2014 Eurovision entry, singer Filipp Kirkorov, praised Wurst, saying on Russian national television: Maybe this is a kind of protest against some of our views in Russia. Maybe we should have a think. Maybe we shouldn’t have such a categorical attitude to people of different sexual orientations. In a way it probably is a challenge from Europe to us, but let’s respect the winner. (AFP May 11, 2014) Other post-​Soviet states have also had to negotiate the question of LGBTQ rights when participating in the ESC. When Azerbaijan held the Eurovision contest in Baku in 2012, it faced criticism from both domestic audiences and from its neighbor Iran for the de facto acceptance of homosexuality and gay rights that hosting such a spectacle implied. In the run-​up to Eurovision 2012, senior Iranian cleric Ayatollah Sobhani urged Muslims in Azerbaijan to boycott and protest the “anti-​Islamic behavior” associated with the contest, particularly the promotion of homosexuality (Reuters May 24, 2012). Unlike Moscow in 2009, however, Azerbaijan’s government seems to have found it prudent to avoid a direct crackdown on gay rights during Eurovision—​some gay male tourists found that they were welcomed in Baku and that their sexuality seemed to be less of a concern or point of interest for Azeris than their blond hair (NYTimes May 27, 2012). Instead, in Azerbaijan’s case the issue of human rights for journalists and the political and civil rights of opposition political activists became the point around which public and critical discussions of Azerbaijan’s non-​adherence to major European norms coalesced. International NGOs such as Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and the Committee to Protect Journalists used the occasion of Eurovision 2012 to draw attention to Azerbaijan’s deplorable human rights and political freedoms record, while one of Germany’s leading newspapers, Der Spiegel, offered a “parade of coverage” in the weeks before the competition concerning Baku’s failure to live up to the normative commitments it has made as a member of the EU’s Eastern Partnership program (Reuters May 24, 2012; TOL May 11, 2012). Azerbaijani officials reacted with indignation to such criticisms, calling them “anti-​Azeri propaganda” and saying that they “do not correspond with reality.” These sham defenses that were belied when the Azerbaijani government began detaining human rights activists in the country as soon as the contest was over. In addition to demonstrating how deficient in the norms of “real Europe” these post-​Soviet states remain (despite their crowning as champions of Europe’s popular cultural space for a short while in a given year), the Eurovision contest can

 



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also actually encourage or reinforce “anti-​European” behaviors in these states (Ismayilov 2012). Luzhkov’s hostile reaction to the influx of gay supporters of Eurovision to Moscow in 2009 is a clear example of this dynamic. The cavalier commanding of state revenues to build new venues and transport routes, and the callous displacement of city residents during the Eurovision preparations and contest, as happened both in Kiev in 2005 and Baku in 2012, are other examples of this phenomenon. These “de-​Europeanizing” consequences, while significant, are not the whole story of the potential impact of EBU membership and Eurovision participation for post-​Soviet states. Participation in the ESC may not burnish post-​Soviet states’ reputations as “European states” in the minds of other European states, but these competitions can serve as longer-​term, slower-​acting catalysts for Europeanization in post-​ Soviet states. Eurovision acts as this type of “Europeanizing” catalyst in two important ways: the opportunity that it provides for European institutions like the EBU to pressure post-​Soviet states to live up to European norms (which is the positive side of the negative press described earlier), and the chance it affords citizens of post-​Soviet countries to learn about, practice, and become socialized to certain European norms (through exposure to Eurovision’s norms of extolling diversity and LGBTQ rights and by interacting with their peers from other European countries who come to see Eurovision contests in post-​Soviet states). Europeanizing Socialization through Eurovision. Eurovision contests held in post-​Soviet states provide opportunity for the EBU and other European organizations, along with opposition activists in the host states themselves, to pressure those states to close the gap between their professed commitment to European norms and their practice of those norms. One important example of the potential for positive political change affected by Eurovision was the activism of gay rights supporters in Moscow in 2009; knowing the eyes of all Europe were going to be on their actions, local and European gay rights activists took advantage of the opportunity to politicize the repression of LGBTQ people in Russia. The harsh overreaction of Luzhkov and Russian officials, which turned Russia into the “laughingstock” of Europe, provided local activists with new, unprecedented, and lasting levels of attention and support from their European allies (Guardian May 16, 2009). Russian LGBTQ rights activist Eduard Murzin praised Eurovision for concentrating European attention on the plight of the LGBTQ community in Russia, and for showing that while Russia “is trying to show that it is a European country, with a European line of thought and relationships in society,” in fact “it is not really like that” (RFE/​RL May 16, 2009). Similar events unfolded in the run-​up to the Eurovision contest in Baku in 2012. Tacitly acknowledging and anticipating the furor that would ensue over human rights and press freedom abuses in Baku during Eurovision, on World Press Day (May 3, 2012) the EBU held a conference in Geneva with Azerbaijani

 

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government officials, at which the three parties agreed on a “road map” of actions intended to transform the Azerbaijani state broadcasting service into a “true” public service entity marked by “professional conduct” of its journalists.10 At this conference, the Azerbaijani government also pledged to work with the EBU to uphold independent media,” to offer their citizens “free access to the media of their choice,” and to allow the EBU to “intensively” train Azerbaijani journalists to bring them up to European standards on editorial and management matters.11 The EBU’s executive director, Ingrid Deltenre, welcomed the increased attention that would be paid to Azerbaijan’s human rights records during Eurovision, arguing that during the contest “journalists are not going to ignore (the country) but to look [more closely]” at it than they would in the absence of the Eurovision contest. Eurovision provides an important opportunity for “naming and shaming” human rights abuses in post-​Soviet countries; as another EBU official said of Eurovision 2012, “Had we not been in Baku, nobody would have bothered” to pick up the Human Rights Watch report about Azerbaijan’s dismal political practices (EUObserver.com March 1, 2012). The Azerbaijani government did make some concessions to the pressure placed on it by the CoE and EBU, allowing an opposition protest on April 22, 2012 (only the second such authorized protest in seven years) (Adams 2012). At the protest, human rights and democracy activists called for Azerbaijani president Aliyev’s resignation, and carried signs calling for “Eurovision without Political Prisoners” and “Eurovision:  Shedding Light on Darkness.” Activists used the occasion to assert that “the best way to expose injustice [in Azerbaijan] is to come to Baku and make this the most subversive event in the history of Eurovision” (Adams 2012). The European press offered ample coverage of both the positive and negative aspects of the Baku contest, and even the European Parliament issued a “strongly worded resolution” during Eurovision calling on the Azerbaijani government to curb its human rights abuse and live up to its European human rights commitments. Despite these efforts, the Azerbaijani government went ahead and arrested a large number of anti-​government demonstrators during Eurovision in Baku (NYTimes May 21, 2012). The EBU tried to deflect criticism of the arrests by arguing that Eurovision was “about culture and not politics,” and vowing to push Baku on the questions of press freedom and human rights in the wake of the contest. It remains debatable just how effective Eurovision is in helping to forge ties between local post-​Soviet activists and their allies in Europe and in providing opportunities for European organizations to promote their values in post-​Soviet states. There is some evidence that Eurovision contests help promote the European norm of equality for LGBTQ citizens among post-​Soviet publics. Gay fans traveling to Ukraine in 2008 and, most recently, Baku in 2012 found local audiences

 



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to be hospitable and enthusiastic, unlike their governments and police forces. Similarly, Russian television ratings for the 2014 Eurovision contest won by Conchita Wurst were strong, and in fact Russian viewers gave more votes to Austria’s Wurst than they did the Ukrainian Eurovision entry (Reuters May 11, 2014). While this obviously reflects contemporary political tensions between Russia and Ukraine, it also suggests that a significant component of the Russian population (or at least of the Russian population that is watching Eurovision), is more tolerant of LGBTQ people and their rights than the Russian government is (and that Eurovision itself may play an important role in creating that tolerance).

UEFA and the EURO Championships:  An Enlarged Europe United by Sport? European-​ wide sporting events are also important sites for investigating Europeanization in the former Soviet Union. No pan-​European sporting event is more popular than the quadrennial European Football Championship (EURO), sponsored by the Union of European Football Associations (UEFA). As Ismer argues, “football should be understood as an arena used to stage social structures, as well as developments and changes in society,” providing “the most important area of ritualized action and collective emotion/​effervescence in a predominantly national frame” (2011, 553). To an even greater degree than EBU membership and participation in Eurovision, UEFA membership and participation in the EURO championship offer enhanced opportunities for post-​Soviet states to create and demonstrate their “Europeanness” to domestic and European audiences (Map 5.2). As with Eurovision, however, participating in UEFA also carries the danger of magnifying the differences between “traditional” Europe and the post-​Soviet states. The most important difference between the case of the EBU/​Eurovision and that of UEFA and the EURO is the fact that Russia, in both its guise as the Soviet Union and then as the Russian Federation after 1992, has, from their very establishment, been an integral, fundamental, and important (at times dominant) presence in UEFA and the EURO in a way that it still is not in the EBU and Eurovision. The Soviet Union was a founding member of UEFA, and when the USSR broke up in 1991, Russia, Ukraine, and to a lesser extent, Belarus, became powerful forces within Europe’s “official” football universe. The second distinguishing characteristic between the two cases is that, in general, UEFA and the EURO are less politicized than the EBU and Eurovision, though the former are not entirely immune from the pressures of politics. (For example, UEFA’s 2015 decision to create an independent, eight-​team Crimean football league, as

Map 5.2  Europe According to UEFA Membership

Members of UEFA

 

 



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a way to allow that peninsula’s teams to continue to play in the European league without endorsing Russia’s annexation of Crimea by forcing those teams to play in Russia’s league or to honor Ukraine’s continued claim on the region by insisting that Crimean teams continue to play in Ukraine’s league) (NYTimes May 22, 2015).

European Norms in European Soccer Like the EBU, UEFA holds its member organizations to certain “European” norms and standards. Also, like the EBU, UEFA has made a particular commitment to fostering those values among its members who may be more deficient in their current practice (namely, among certain members from the former Soviet Union). In another parallel with Eurovision, members from “more acceptable” parts of Europe have accused members from the former Soviet Union of egregious violations of European norms, in UEFA’s case, racism against non-​white players. In fact, racist transgressions are widespread across UEFA’s map, not merely concentrated on the “wrong” side of the old Berlin Wall. Post-​Soviet states seek to host the EURO as they seek to host Eurovision, as a means of proving or burnishing their “European” credentials, with the same mixed outcome in terms of actual “Europeanization” achieved by these efforts, as Ukraine’s experience hosting EURO 2012 demonstrates. UEFA is committed to eleven key values, a few of which are of particular relevance here.12 After a sensible declaration of its primal norm, “Football First,” EUFA goes on to assert its support for: subsidiarity (value three: the support of less successful and powerful members and clubs through revenue sharing); “good governance and autonomy” of member associations and clubs (value four: requiring that these be committed to openness, democracy, transparency, responsibility, and not be subject to “any undue influence from governments”); financial fair play (value eight); and respect for the game (value ten: defined as “integrity, diversity, dignity, players’ health, rules, the referee, opponents and supporters”). This last value is of particular import to UEFA, carrying the following supplementary injunctions: “The message is clear: zero tolerance against racism, violence and doping. Racism and any other forms of discrimination will never be tolerated by UEFA.” UEFA’s “Financial Fair Play” (FFP) program, begun in 2009, is another example of the organization’s self-​identification as a rules-​and-​norms based entity. Aimed at ensuring greater financial probity, fairness and transparency among all UEFA members, the FFP received a commendation and statement of support from the EU’s European Commission in March 2012, touting the way that the program mirrored and enforced existing European political norms. In 2014,

 

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the EU and UEFA signed an “Agreement of Cooperation” (renewed and extended in 2018) that recognized “the shared values and principles” of the two organizations, including “the rights and principles enshrined in the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the EU.” The 2018 agreement called for using future EURO championships as a means to “promote the values and principles common in Europe” such as good governance and non-​discrimination (“Annex” 2018). Even in the realm of sport, there is no escape from the responsibility to “act like a European.” The congruent emphasis on similar norms and values among the various pan-​European political, security, cultural and sport organizations is striking and suggests that there is indeed a basic core of “European” values, as discussed in ­chapter 2. One aspect of UEFA that distinguishes it from the other pan-​European institutions we have discussed so far (with the exception of the CSCE/​OSCE) is the fact that from its founding, in Switzerland in 1954, the architects of the new European football association considered Russia, then incarnated as the Soviet Union, as an absolutely integral member. As Gabriel Hanot, the editor of the L’Equipe football newspaper, noted in a 1954 article laying out the rationale for the establishment of a European-​wide football club championship, the English club Wolverhampton could not truly be considered “invincible” or the “true champions of Europe” before they had been “to Moscow or Budapest” (Ferran 2004, 5). Santiago Bernabeau, president of Real Madrid, also lobbied for the inclusion of teams “from behind the Iron Curtain” (Ferran 2004, 6). In what was thus a rare victory for East-​West relations during the nascence of the Cold War, the Soviet Union and most of the Warsaw Pact countries, including Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and Poland, became founding members of UEFA in 1954, making that organization one of the only truly “unified” European entities on the continent until the founding of the CSCE in the early 1970s. The Soviet Union not only participated in the inaugural UEFA’s European championships in 1960, but it actually won that tournament, beating Yugoslavia 2–​1 in the finals. The USSR would continue to be an important presence in the EURO until the collapse of the Soviet state in 1991, finishing as runner-​ up three times (1964, 1972, and 1998), and in fourth place in 1964. (Citing the “impossibility of holding international matches on Russian soil during the winter” and “because of the overloaded summer calendar” of Soviet clubs, the Soviet Football Association did not allow Soviet clubs to begin participating in UEFA’s other major event, the European Club Championship—​now known as the Champions’ League—​until 1967) (Ferran 2004, 8). Given the Soviet Union’s illustrious history in UEFA and the EURO, it is not surprising that upon the collapse of the USSR, UEFA immediately accepted as a full member the new Russian Federation’s football association (the Russian Football Union). The more complicated question was how UEFA would deal

 



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with the football federations of the other fourteen newly independent post-​ Soviet states. This was a moment for UEFA (as it was for other pan-​European political, security, and cultural organizations) to decide which of the Soviet successor states were “European” enough to warrant inclusion in Europe’s official football league absent Soviet imperial patronage.

Enlarging Europe by Enlarging UEFA There are few unexpected elements in UEFA’s enlargement trajectory in the early 1990s; like the EBU, UEFA allowed the Baltic states, the Caucasian states, Ukraine, and Belarus to join in the early 1990s. All of these became members by 1992, except Moldova and Azerbaijan—​it took Moldova one extra year and Azerbaijan two to prove they could handle the responsibilities of UEFA membership. It seems significant that in 1992, UEFA seems to have thought that the three Caucasian states were “natural” enough members of Europe to invite them to join, and that it also had no qualms about admitting either Belarus or Ukraine but seems not to have had any interest in reaching out to the five Central Asian republics for membership in “Europe’s” football association, regardless of whether or not these states had once been part of the USSR. Kazakhstan’s governing football body, the Football Association of the Republic of Kazakhstan, was founded in 1992. Not receiving an invitation to join UEFA, Kazakhstan’s football association instead became an observer member of the Asian Football Confederation (AFC) in 1992 and a full member of that organization in 1994. Intriguingly, however, in 2000 Kazakhstan’s football association reorganized itself as the “Football Federation of Kazakhstan,” and applied to UEFA for membership, apparently having decided that it more properly belonged in Europe’s football governance body than in Asia’s. UEFA, for its part, after determining that “part of Kazakhstan’s territory was in Europe,” and judging that this geographical “main argument for membership” was sound, admitted Kazakhstan to UEFA in 2002 (the UEFA website now lists this successful application for UEFA membership as “the greatest achievement of the Football Federation of Kazakhstan!”).13 UEFA’s embrace of all the non–​Central Asian Soviet successor states, and later of Kazakhstan, as members of the “European football family” was in fact warm enough to include not just membership, but tutelage and aid. In 1993 UEFA formed its “East European Assistance Bureau” (EEAB) to help clubs in the former Soviet bloc to “reach the technical and administrative standards of their sister associations in the West as quickly as possible.”14 Through the EEAB and its successors the KIOSK and HATTRICK programs, between 1994 and 2008 UEFA transferred over 250 million pounds for the development of

 

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national football associations and local football development programs in former communist states. Azerbaijan, Belarus, Georgia, and Moldova have all benefited greatly from these programs; in the 2000s each opened new state-​of-​ the-​art headquarters for their countries’ national football associations with generous funding from UEFA. The EOCG and “European” Football. In UEFA’s realm of “European football,” we see a partial repudiation of the main argument of this book, namely that Russia and the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states are continually judged to be “less European” than the countries located in the more western and northern geographic locales in Europe. Russia and Ukraine, found lacking in “Europeanness” in most other realms, consistently place in the top ten of UEFA’s country coefficient rankings, along with states located at traditionally more favorable places along the EOCG such as England, France, and Germany. Meanwhile the Baltic states, easily surpassing Russia and Ukraine in all other measures of intrinsic Europeanness, languish near the bottom of the UEFA country coefficient rankings. Football success may not seem as consequential a metric for measuring Europeanness as EU or NATO membership, but Russia’s and Ukraine’s status as “successful” European soccer powers might, however subtly and slowly, increase acceptance of these states as “truly” belonging to Europe. Yet, as was the case with the Eurovision song contest, even demonstrated success for some post-​Soviet states in the European soccer realm is not always enough to dispel the influence of Eurocentric-​Orientalist attitudes toward these states, nor to compel the post-​Soviet states to adopt European behavioral norms and values. Attempts to demonstrate Europeanness by succeeding in the European football arena or by hosting the European football championships appear to bring the same mixed results to post-​Soviet states as does hosting Eurovision. Success in or hosting of the EURO demonstrates heightened levels of belonging to Europe (or the pretension to and desire for such) and provides a platform for promoting such bona fides and aspirations. At the same time, such opportunities expose the post-​Soviet state in question to increased and intensified scrutiny of those same claims. EURO 2012 in Ukraine. When UEFA officials awarded the hosting of the EURO 2012 football championship to Poland and Ukraine, they indicated that they had done so specifically because they felt holding the EURO in the post-​ communist east would increase communal feelings of “Europeanness” on both sides of the former Iron Curtain (NYTimes May 30, 2012). Despite these good intentions, it can be argued that the actual EURO 2012 tournament itself might have done more harm than good both to the case for Ukraine “Europeanness” and to the cause of building European unity across the former East-​West divide. (Intriguingly, Poland, already long an EU and NATO member, did not seem to have had its European reputation subject to scrutiny to any significant degree

 



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during EURO 2012. Ukraine alone received such negative attention—​not, perhaps, without reason, as we shall see.) In bidding for EURO 2012, both Poland and Ukraine explicitly indicated that they sought to promote their “European identities, now renewed after decades of totalitarianism” (TOL June 8, 2012). In Ukraine, which initiated the bid and brought Poland on board, government officials promised that EURO 2012 would not only showcase Ukraine’s return to Europe, but also that the tournament would bring material benefits to the country, including tourism dollars and the opportunity to upgrade roads, railways, airports, and of course football pitches “to European standards” (TOL June 8, 2012). Ukrainian officials further promised that EURO 2012 provided an opportunity to demonstrate reformed and more European-​like financial and public policy norms in Ukraine—​they pledged that 80 percent of the costs of the EURO 2012 reforms would be privately as opposed to publicly financed (TOL June 8, 2012). As the tournament approached, it became clear that the decision to hold parts of EURO 2012 in Ukraine might not have the positive impacts that either UEFA or Ukrainian officials desired. The coincidence of EURO 2012 with the continued imprisonment of one of the most popular figures from Ukraine’s 2004 Orange Revolution, Yulia Tymoshenko, brought vociferous criticism and threats to boycott the Ukrainian portions of the tournament from across western Europe. Euro Commission president José Manuel Barroso, and EU commissioner of justice Viviane Reding were among those who refused to attend any EURO 2012 matches in Ukraine, citing “widespread concerns about selective justice and the [lack of] rule of law in Ukraine” (Guardian March 28, 2012). German chancellor Angela Merkel was particularly harsh in her EURO 2012-​related criticism of Ukraine, telling the Bundestag that in Ukraine, “as in Belarus,” people were “still suffering under dictatorship and repression,” and vowing not to attend any EURO 2012 matches in Ukraine (though she did attend Germany’s later matches in Poland, which of course has its own complicated history with Germany) (NYTimes July 2, 2012). European politicians were busy “naming and shaming” human rights abuses in Ukraine in the run-​up to EURO 2012. The European Parliament stopped short of a boycott but did urge all European politicians who traveled to Ukraine for matches to “visit political prisoners and express concern about human rights abuses in the country” (Voice of Russia May 25, 2012). Ukrainian society as a whole was also placed in a harsh and negative spotlight accused of tolerating and abetting racist attitudes among both their players and fans. In May 2012, just before the beginning of the tournament, the BBC showed a documentary film in its Panorama series entitled “Stadiums of Hate,” in which former English team captain Sol Campbell is shown telling the audience that UEFA should not have awarded Ukraine the EURO 2012 championship because of the extreme racism

 

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in that country, and warning British football fans, particularly fans of color, that they should just “stay home and watch it on TV,” lest they “come home in a coffin” (BBC May 28, 2012). Racism is undeniably a problem in Eastern European countries—​the organization Football against Racism in Europe notes that there are “particular challenges” with racism in Eastern Europe.15 But post-​communist countries are hardly the only places that experience racist attitudes and actions during football matches (the controversy involving the English team captain John Terry in November 2011 is only one high-​profile example of many). Yet just as post-​ communist states were charged with employing “corrupt voting practices” to win Eurovision, despite evidence that collusive voting also characterized Eurovision contests before these states joined the contest, so was Ukraine singled out for racism in the run-​up to EURO 2012. Behavior that is clearly, if inconveniently, “European” in the sense that it exists across the European spectrum was, in the case of Ukraine and EURO 2012, portrayed as something emanating from and perpetuated exclusively by, post-​Soviet, “eastern” states. The EURO 2012 tournament itself actually proceeded without significant problems, and EURO 2012 ultimately provided opportunities for host country Ukraine to foster more positive feelings about its “Europeanness.” UEFA president Michel Platini praised Ukraine and Poland for hosting what he called a “fantastic” tournament, while Shaun Walker from The Independent argued that Ukraine had made “major gains” in terms of demonstrating it could provide an appropriately European “atmosphere” at EURO 2012 (nevertheless noting that it was a bit lacking in “basic organization and infrastructure”) (RFE/​RL July 1, 2012). In his remarks after the tournament, Platini specifically addressed the racism question, noting that “I think everyone can see and say that there has been really no instances of racism in Poland and Ukraine,” defending the EURO 2012 hosts by adding that “racism exists all over the world, in Poland, Ukraine, France and England,” and reiterating UEFA’s pledge to fight it wherever it exists (RFE/​RL June 30, 2012). If Poland’s and Ukraine’s fans were well-​behaved during EURO 2012, the same cannot be said for the Russian national team and Russia’s football fans, many of whom traveled free to Ukraine and Poland under the sponsorship of the Putin government. Russia’s national football federation was ultimately fined $235,000 for Russian fans’ bad behavior during the EURO 2012 tournament, including one accusation of Russian racist taunts against Czech defender Theodor Gebre Selaisse. Arnold and Veth (2018) make the case that Russia’s football fans do in fact have closer ties to far-​right political culture and overt racism than do other fans in Europe, while Makarychev and Yatsyk (2018) describe a “civilizational difference” between European and Russian football hooliganism,

 



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with the latter characterized by “a conservative discourse rooted in blood and family, and Putin’s hegemonic masculinity” (123). If EURO 2012 ended up showcasing the bad behavior of Russian football fans, it also offered Ukrainian citizens the chance to defend themselves against the accusations of “Eastern barbarism” leveled at them before the tournament. In response to the fearful rumors of racism, price gouging, and incivility, Ukrainian cities such as Kharkiv and individual Ukrainian citizens founded Internet sites such as “Friendly Ukraine” and “Rooms4Free” that were meant to “counter the growing wave of bad publicity washing over Ukraine” by offering tourists from the rest of Europe the opportunity to stay in private homes across Ukraine during EURO 2012 (RFE/​RL June 4, 2012; June 11, 2012). As one young Ukrainian remarked, EURO 2012 and the “Friendly Ukraine” phenomenon were aimed at demonstrating that “Real Ukrainians and real Ukraine are a completely different thing” from the racist thugs shown on the BBC, and that “in our basic values and outlook, we’re the same Europeans as the rest of the citizens of the EU” (RFE/​RL June 4, 2012). There were some negative consequences of hosting EURO 2012 for Ukraine, specifically the revelation that far from funding 80 percent of the EURO 2012 preparations from private sources, the government of Ukraine in fact ended up using $6.6 billion in state funds to complete the EURO 2012 projects (Moscow Times January 23, 2012; Reuters May 30, 2012). However, UEFA was apparently satisfied enough with Ukraine’s performance in hosting EURO 2012; Kyiv was invited to host the UEFA Champions League finals in 2018 and did a “perfect” job, according to UEFA president Aleksander Ceferin (Interfax-​Ukraine May 29, 2018). This suggests that the Ukrainian people are continuing to get both economic returns on their investment in EURO 2012, and that Ukraine has solidified a strong position in the architecture of European football. The singing stage and football pitch may not have persuasive or coercive power equal to that of the EU or NATO, but Eurovision and European football do play an important role in constructing contemporary understandings of Europeanness. As citizens of “old” European countries are repeatedly presented with contestants from Azerbaijan or Belarus in Eurovision, or see the Georgian national team compete in the European Football Championships, or travel to Kyiv to view the EURO 2012 games, they become more habituated to the idea that those places and people are legitimately “European” in ways that other people in other places are not. The organizations governing Eurovision and European football also serve as sites where post-​Soviet states can and do learn to abide by “European norms and values” in ways that might help habituate them to doing the same as regards the EU or NATO. It is important not to oversell the significance of these European “social” institutions, but we must also be careful not to dismiss their influence out of

 

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hand. Particularly in an era when people may be more likely to pay attention to popular cultural and sporting events than to the minutiae of EU programs like the Eastern Partnership or NATO’s IPAPs, the inclusion of some post-​Soviet states in Eurovision or the UEFA championships (and the exclusion of others) is likely to influence both popular and elite level dynamics concerning questions of European belonging beyond conventional expectations. The evidence presented here suggests this is the case.

 

PA RT  T W O

CASE STUDIES

 

 

6   

 Russia Eternal and Incomplete Europeanization

The question of Europeanness, and thus Europeanization, is more central, vexing, and complex in Russia’s historical and contemporary struggle for a national identity and viable form of statehood than it is in any other of the post-​ Soviet states (with the possible exception of Ukraine). Various complex feelings about Europe—​resentment, anger, humiliation, but also longing, entitlement, and ambition—​are central elements of Russia’s post-​Soviet search for a meaningful form of “the Russian idea” (McDaniel 1996). Today, and throughout its history, “Russia is permanently balancing the duality of her attitude toward Europe” (Chebankova 2016, 39). The way it does so has enormous influence on the present and future ways that other post-​Soviet states are able to define and shape their own relationship to Europe and Europeanness, as Georgians discovered in 2008, and Ukrainians in fall 2013. Russia’s evolving efforts to weaken Europe’s postwar liberal security and political order, via both traditional and “hybrid” or “information” warfare, gained momentum as the Putin era matured, and began to dominate Russian foreign policy upon Putin’s return to the presidency in 2012. Europe’s own increasing disunity since the economic crisis of 2009 and migration crisis of 2015 has allowed Russia to “propose itself as the counter-​hegemonic herald of an alternative model of [European] integration” that has the twin ideas of illiberal democracy and conservative social morality “at its core” (Braghiroli and Makarychev 2017, 13). This alt/​alte version of Europe propagated by Russia “weaponizes” the idea of Europeanness by demonizing and Orientalizing (often in homophobic sexual terms) the “decadence and decay” of modern, liberal Europe represented by the EU, while both discursively and materially aiding conservative, traditionalist, and far-​right political movements and parties in Europe (Braghiroli and Makarychev 2017; Kazharski and Makarychev 2015; Makarychev and Medvedev 2015; Ostbo 2017; Tsygankov 2016). 141

 

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Russia’s most recent attempts to weaken Europe’s political and security communities are widely recognized and viewed with increasing alarm in Europe, yet it is arguably less understood but of equal importance that those efforts are couched within a broader set of shifting, evolving, and contradictory discourses about Russia’s own Europeanness and relation to Europe that have existed since its inception as a modern nation-​state and have emerged even more acutely since 1989. Russia’s relationship to the concept of Europeanness in the post-​Soviet era is often reduced to the idea that it has rejected any European identity in favor of a renewed form of “Eurasianism.” However, Marlene Laruelle, the foremost expert on the historical and contemporary influence of Eurasianism in Russia, has argued that Eurasianism has never been “particularly attractive to elites in power” in Russia, and that it is more correct to say that these elites think and act firmly within what she calls a European “civilizational grammar” wherein Russia claims that it is simultaneously European but also anti-​Western (2016, 278). This chapter discusses several different rhetorical ways that elites have tried to solve the problem of Russia’s cultural-​civilizational Europeanness in the post-​ Soviet era, which culminate in the idea of Russia as the embodiment of an alt/​ alte form of politically illiberal and socially conservative European statehood. It also examines the relationships that Russia has with institutional Europe—​the EU and NATO. Finding little compatibility between its own self-​understanding and interests and what is on offer from institutional Europe, Russia has created its own “Euro-​alternative” political organizations like the Eurasian Economic Union (EEU), security organizations like the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO), and social institutions like the “Russian World” foundation, which sponsors Russian language and culture abroad. As we saw in ­chapter  4, throughout the post-​communist era Russia has demanded a “privileged partnership” with the EU. Russia has participated actively in a number of bilateral and multilateral EU programs and has adopted some EU-​mandated policy changes. Yet the events in Georgia in 2008 and in Ukraine since 2013, and the revelations of Russian efforts to weaken the EU and NATO from within via “information warfare,” obviously have weakened relations between Russia and the EU, which since then have been characterized by mutual recriminations and hefty EU sanctions against Russia. Russia has founded its own “alternative to European” political organizations as a way to solve its internal and external dilemmas of Europeanness in the post-​ communist era. The most significant of these is the Eurasian Economic Union. The history of the EEU demonstrates the extent to which the Putin government seems to envision it as an equal to and partner of but also a competitor with and as superseding the European Union. On the whole, Russia’s engagement with Europe’s political institutions shows a simultaneous desire to gain from them and to be accepted by them, but also to limit its participation to forms that

 



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benefit Russia, and to refuse to concede Russia’s interests or alter its intentions in order to gain Europe’s acceptance. Much the same situation abides with Russia’s Europeanization in the security arena. As ­chapter  4 detailed, NATO and Russia had, until the rupture precipitated by the Ukraine crisis, continued to base their relations on an extraordinary partnership model that allowed Russia unique access to NATO’s periodic summits as well as robust bilateral relations with NATO via the NATO-​Russia Council. Russia also signed on to several multilateral agreements that bound it to uphold the sovereignty of all European states, including its fellow OSCE members, the fourteen former Soviet republics. Yet Russia has consistently violated the norm of state sovereignty regarding its former republics, especially in terms of preventing Georgian and Ukrainian accession to NATO by using armed force to destabilize those countries. Russia also continues to hinder EU and OSCE-​brokered settlements for the “frozen conflicts” in Georgia, Moldova, and Armenia, and to practice a multifaceted form of “creeping annexation” in these (and other post-​Soviet) states (Grigas 2016). In addition to repudiating international norms of state sovereignty regarding the former Soviet states, Russia has also tried to alter the liberal consensus underpinning postwar European and international security regimes by weakening NATO from within, and by proposing fundamentally new European security arrangements. The latter is best exemplified by Medvedev’s 2009 European Security Treaty (EST) and rejected by Europe and America. Russia has also worked to transform the CIS’s security arm, the CSTO, into a viable alternative to NATO, although it remains very much a “paper” entity (Blank 2014).

Is Russia European? Russia’s “Civilizational Blurriness” As is the case with Turkey, it is almost axiomatic to talk about Russia’s tortured and split civilizational identity, and about Russia forever being “somewhat in” and “somewhat out” of Europe. When we parse out more systematically the variables that one might use to arrive at such an assessment, this characterization seems apt: Russia’s intrinsic Europeanness rating is clearly medium or mixed (see Figure 6.1). Historians continue to emphasize the centrality of Orthodoxy in Russian national identity—​Riasanovsky identifies the “baptism of the Rus” in 988 as “the single most significant historical event” for future developments of Russian identity and nationalism, but the extent to which Orthodoxy can be considered a trait of Europeanness is itself quite contested, as we saw in ­chapter 2 (2005, 4). Russia also has a significant (and growing) indigenous Muslim minority,1

 

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Factors of Intrinsci Europeanness: Russia

High

Medium

Low

Religion: 80% of ethnic Russians identify as Russian Orthodox. Imperial Experiences: Claim to be “Third Rome”; Creator of Holly Alliance of Europe; Member of Concert of Europe in “long” nineteenth century.

Imperial Experiences: 400 years of “Mongol Yoke”

Geographic Location: Part of Russia up to Ural Mountains included on most maps of Europe. Historical Experience: Limited participation in Renaissance and Reformation; Active participation in Enlishtenment Russian/Soviet Narrative: Strong positive emphasis on modernizing aspects.

Figure 6.1  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Russia

which may add to perceptions of the country’s intrinsic “non-​Europeanness.” Centuries of Mongol occupation also weigh negatively on perceptions Russia’s intrinsic Europeanness; Russia claims to be the “Third Rome” and to have saved Europe from both Napoleonic and Nazi tyranny to cancel out such associations and to assert its membership in “European civilization.” In terms of contemporary cartography, Russia is literally “half-​European”—​ every map of contemporary Europe displays Russian territory to the Ural Mountains, and Russia now shares borders with several EU countries (and the exclave of Kaliningrad is totally surrounded by EU territory). Russia’s singular

 



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size means, however, that on most maps, the majority of the country is located in what is traditionally accepted as not-​European realms, whether labeled Eurasia, Central Asia, the Far East, or simply, Asia. Russia’s history is intertwined with Europe’s in every way. The prominence of Orthodoxy and weakness of the nascent Muscovite state in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries meant that Russia was “relatively isolated from Europe” during the Renaissance and “in the main stayed outside of ” the currents of the Reformation of Western Christendom during these eras (Riasanovsky 2005, 34, 53). In the eighteenth century, however, Russia’s leaders (particularly the two greats, Peter and Catherine) and its elites were full and enthusiastic participants in Europe’s “Era of Enlightenment.” This led to a true and serious admiration for Russia among Europe’s philosophes, one of whom, following Voltaire, argued that under Peter and Catherine Russia had transformed itself into “an ‘enlightened’ empire, into a country of ‘light,’ into an example” (Riasanovsky 2005, 100). Russia’s phenomenal scientific output in the nineteenth century is also testament to the extent to which the Russian educated class absorbed the intensified European focus on reason and positivism in the post-​Enlightenment era. As Laura Englestein argues, throughout the nineteenth century, Russia and Europe were “on parallel tracks,” and both the Russian state and its educated society were “full participants” in the “contemporary trends” of Europe during this era (2009, 102–​3). The ideology of the Bolsheviks (and that of all significant political thinkers and actors in Russia during the revolutionary era) is firmly rooted in the currents of European political and social thought of the nineteenth century (Muller, J-​M 2011; Pipes 2005). The entire Soviet experiment can be seen as a “tragic” playing-​out of European ideological innovations of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (Malia 1994). From the “vanguard of Europe” role played by the early Soviet state (Casteel 2016), to becoming the “savior of Europe” during World War II, through Gorbachev’s complicated vision of the role the renewed Soviet state could play in “our common European home” after the perestroika period (Petrov 2013), Europe remained the most important lodestar for political and philosophical development in Soviet Russia throughout the twentieth century. The abiding importance of the question of Russia’s intrinsic Europeanness and its place in contemporary Europe are also reflected in the prominent place that debates about European history play in post-​Soviet Russia (as they do in other former communist states). While the Baltic states have successfully pushed for the European Union to “officially” recognize the crimes and perversions of the Soviet Union as being on par with those of Nazi Germany, Putin’s Russia has instead forwarded the idea that is was collapse of the Soviet system that represents the European great tragedy of the twentieth century. The effort to portray pro-​ Maidan Ukrainians as “fascists” and Russia as the once and future defender of

 

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Europe against the forces of fascism is one important way that contemporary Russia tries to demonstrate its “European credentials.” The movement to position Russia as an alt/​alte embodiment of Europeanness, the defender of a “truly Christian,” socially and politically conservative Europe based on “traditional” institutions like the heterosexual family and church, is another. Both represent the latest iterations of an abiding cycle wherein Russia either attempts to imitate current modes of Europeanness or acts as the savior to a Europe that is under siege, both literally and militarily and metaphorically, from the corrupting forces of “modernity” (whether embodied by Napoleon and his norms in the nineteenth century or Merkel and hers in the twenty-​first).

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Russia since 1989 Sergei Prozorov has asserted that “all possible solutions to the question of Russia’s identity remain tied to the figure of Europe as the privileged referent” (2008, 182–​83). A  closer analysis of debates about Russian national identity and character in the post-​communist era reveals a deep and abiding desire for Russia to be recognized as a “European” state both in the geopolitical sense and as a member of European civilization (see Figure 6.2). Contemporary Russian claims to Europeanness, intermittent and contradictory as they are, are based both on reasons of instrumental national interest and the desire for a prestigious form of national self-​understanding. Russia’s current situation of “civilizational blurriness” is not a new one (Shevstova 2010a, 316). As Baranovsky points out, “the whole of Russian history is cast in” this type of “existential ambivalence about Europe” (2000, 445). Russia’s extreme loss of international prestige and power in the 1990s, accompanied by deep and wide domestic dislocation and impoverishment, intensified in the minds of many Russians by the Yeltsin administration’s wholesale embrace of “western European–​style” political and economic reforms, means that debates about Russia’s national identity in the past two decades are marked by a profound sense of loss and mourning (Clowes 2011; Condee 2009; Laruelle 2016; Lipovetsky and Etkind 2010; Oushakine 2009). A central element of this syndrome is the loss of assured acceptance of Russia as a great European, let alone a great global, power. All Russian leaders since Gorbachev have “consistently insisted on Russia’s belonging to Europe” and have sought “desperately to prove [Russia’s] Europeanness” (Makarychev 2012). The centrality of the claim of Europeanness to Gorbachev’s “new thinking” strategy of the 1980s has already been noted; McDaniel says of that period, “certainly not since Peter the Great had the

 



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Russia: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Europeanizing narrative present but alternative (alt/alte) narratives compete strongly (Russia as “alternative Europe”, Russia as European “on Russian terms” “Russia as Eurasia”). Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has won and hosted Eurovision (won in 2008, hosted in 2009).

Cultural Europeanization: Has passed legislation against the “promotion of a nontraditional life-style.” Violence against LGBTQ people in North Caucasus.

Sport: UEFA member and consistently in top 10 in national rankings.

Figure 6.2  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Russia

Russian ruling elite expressed such admiration for Western civilization” (1996, 153). The early Yeltsin era too, was marked by an open desire to “rejoin the civilized world” (McDaniel 1996, 162), which included personal appeals by Yeltsin to the Council of Europe regarding Russia’s swift admission to that body. Putin was at the beginning of his first term even more specific and adamant regarding Russia’s Europeanness; when he addressed the German parliament (in the German language) in September 2001, he made multiple references to the question, claiming that Russia was “the most dynamic part of the European continent,” referring to Germans and Russians as “two European peoples.” The trope of Russia’s Europeanness continued to surface throughout Putin’s first term; he told the Duma in 2003 that “real integration” with the European west was “Russia’s historical choice,” and, in 2005, he boasted to the same body that “Russia has been, is, and will be a major European nation, where the idea of freedom, human rights, justice, and democracy have for many centuries been defining values, sometimes even ahead of European standards” (quoted in Oldberg

 

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2007, 21). Dmitri Medvedev struck similar notes on his first visit to Berlin in September 2008, when he too referred to Russia as an “integral component” of Europe, noted that the “humanistic ideals and values shared by all of Europe” were also “an integral part of Russia,” and boasted that Russia had “laid the foundation of a state” that was “completely compatible with the rest of Europe” (Medvedev 2008). The sustained claim that Russia “is a European state” coexists uneasily with the reality that there is in fact a deep disjunct, both chronological and normative, between Russia’s understanding of what it means to be European and to belong to European civilization, and the dominant understanding of those things according to the postwar liberal European project. According to Ivan Neumann, Russia continues to base its understanding of Europeanness in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when acceptance of Russia as a “great power” in the European state system was all that was required to earn it the classification of a “civilized” entity aligned with the other European powers against the rest of the “barbarian” world (2008, 132–​33). Russia today promotes itself as the embodiment of a set of alternative (alt) and “old” (alte) assumptions about European political norms—​conservative in domestic social and political realms, realpolitik in the international sphere (Braghiroli and Makarychev 2017; Kazharski and Makarychev 2015; Kreko et al. 2016; Laruelle 2016; Neumann 2008, 146; Ostbo 2017; Tsygankov 2016). The ensuing “social incompatibility” between Russia and the rest of Europe is rendered more acute by the fact that during the 1990s, the EU (and to a lesser extent NATO) managed to “monopolize the European idea,” effectively “freezing out” Russia’s potential contributions to reframing discourses of Europeanness after the Cold War (Morozov 2008a). This aggravated Russia’s traditional pose of “wounded Russia,” of Russia as “the perpetual victim of Europe” (Shevtsova 2010a). It has led Russian elites to view “the EU’s much vaunted embrace of post-​modernity” not as a model to emulate but rather as “a dangerous pathology” ( Joenniemi 2008). Russia refused to accept that EU and NATO “technocrats” would get to “set the criteria for the ‘come back to Europe’ phenomenon after communism (Morozov 2009). Instead, Russia has since tried to “square the circle” of pursuing its own ideology and interests while also simultaneously not renouncing its “European choice” or its claims to belong to European civilization (Morozov 2009). Prozorov characterizes these opposing tendencies as the “in and out, yes and no, permanently oscillating, perpetually moving” relationship of Russia to Europe and Europeanness (2008, 185–​86). These tensions manifest themselves in a number of discrete contemporary discourses, each of which also includes within it the vision of a larger, Russian-​led community of illiberal states that would serve as an “alternative Europe.”

 



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The first of the various visions of Europe imagined and forwarded by Russia in the post-​Soviet period is a sort of triumphant neo-​Sovietism that posits an unclouded and relentlessly triumphalist vision of the Soviet victory over Nazism in World War II as the fundamental origin story of contemporary Europe. This vision also conveniently serves as a rationale for asserting the “natural continuity” of the Soviet peoples, now divided into independent states, who together won that “European” victory in that war. A second narrative stresses Russia’s role as “the only surviving independent bearer of Europe’s Eastern tradition,” namely Orthodoxy (Trenin 2007, 52). This strand emphasizes the need for the rest of Europe to accept that this “indigenous European tradition” leads to different, but no less legitimate, cultural, and political norms than are prominent in the rest of Europe. Third, under Kremlin ideologue Vladislav Surkov, Russia’s leaders began in 2006 to characterize post-​Soviet Russia’s political institutions as branches on the tree of mainstream conservative European political thought, as a unique Russian form of democracy that Surkov called “sovereign democracy.” These strains all evolved finally into a grander set of pretensions, articulated most boldly after Putin’s re-​election in 2012 and the Ukrainian crisis that began in 2013, according to which Russia is fact the only remaining contemporary reservoir of European conservatism, the last and best hope to defend European cultural and political traditions (often characterized as “Christendom”) from the hyper-​liberal, hypersexualized, and decadent evils of multiculturalism and gender theory run amok (Braghiroli and Makarychev 2017; Kazharski and Makarychev 2015; Kreko et  al. 2016; Laruelle 2016; Neumann 2008, 146; Ostbo 2017; Tsyganov 2016). As Maria Lipman notes, “the Kremlin has been extremely successful” in crafting “one indivisible image of the Evil of the West” from these “disparate” approaches, groups, and individuals (2015, 124). The resultant “Russia as alt/​alte Europe” stance has been accompanied by vigorous efforts to support radical right forces throughout Europe, including most famously multiple large loans to Marine Le Pen’s National Front Party in France (Brattberg and Mauer 2018; Cizik 2017; Polyakova et al. 2016). Russian leaders have deployed these various narratives strategically according to the perceived needs of the moment and audience. Notice, for example, the various and conflicting worldviews presented by Putin in defense of Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014. Putin various offered that the annexation was in order to: protect Russian-​speakers because of Russia’s obligation to the “Russian world,” defend Crimea because it was the “cradle of Orthodoxy,” compensate for the West’s failure to recognize Russia as a legitimate European state with its own interests, and so on. The rise of Russian-​friendly leaders in Hungary and the Czech Republic in 2010 and 2013 respectively, the Brexit vote in June 2016, and Marine Le  Pen’s strong showing in the French presidential elections of 2017 gradually focused Europe’s attention on the fact that Russia’s pretensions

 

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to influence in Europe, couched in ever-​stronger claims to be the “last bastion of true European values,” had increased dramatically. It remains to be seen if this latest and most ambitious attempt to embody some type of Europeanness proves to be more lasting than the others. Triumphant Neo-​Sovietism:  Russia as European Savior. Soviet ideology was relentlessly (perhaps pathologically) focused on the future (Petrov 2013). In contrast, post-​Soviet accounts of “the Russian idea,” particularly as they relate to the idea of Russia’s Europeanness, have often been squarely focused on the past, in particular, on the period of World War II, referred to in Russia as the Great Patriotic War. The “sacred victory” over the Nazis has been elevated to a greater “mythical status” under Putin than it was even during the Soviet era (Etkind 2009; RAD #72, February 9, 2010, 6–​9). The Great Patriotic War “is in fact the only positive anchor point for post-​Soviet [Russian] society’s national consciousness” (Kavaliauskas 2011, 323). The Putin narrative of the war, a simplified and edifying story of an innocent Soviet Union brutally attacked and taken unawares, only to rally to attain “the greatest victory in history,” has been disseminated through programs such as the 2001 and 2006 five-​year Russian federal government plans for “Patriotic Education of Citizens of the Russian Federation” and by Kremlin-​sponsored youth groups such as Nashi. Nashi members marched in May 2005 with veterans of the Great Patriotic War and swore to them an oath to “take the homeland from the hands of the older generation,” receiving from those hands bullet casings pledging the bearer to “Remember the War, Defend the Homeland” (Kavaliauskas 2011). Russia’s tenacious defense of this particular narrative about World War II is not surprising. As Tatiana Zhurzhenko points out, the Soviet role in the allied victory was “the Soviet Union’s key to the club of world powers”—​the victory over the Nazis legitimated both Russia’s “presence on the European continent,” and its claim to a postwar sphere of influence in Europe (2007). She further notes that in liberating Europe from what Soviet leaders then and Russian leaders now refer to as “fascist barbarians,” Soviet Russia became “not only a powerful, but also a ‘European’ nation” (emphasis mine). “Normalizing” the Soviet past in this way renders it a potent resource with which to legitimate the authoritarian statism at the heart of Putin’s Russia (Zhurzhenko 2007). As Alexander Etkind points out, as the Russian state becomes more authoritarian in the post-​Soviet era, the number of Soviet dead in the Great Patriotic War, whom Putin refers to as “my compatriots,” also increases (2009). One author has remarked upon the “cultural and mental sameness” of the Soviet-​era and Putin-​era approaches to World War II in Russia, noting that during the sixty-​fifth anniversary of Victory Day in Russia in 2010, both Soviet and Russian flags were carried in the official parade and that in “tone and vocabulary” the speeches and television coverage of the event were “identical” to that

 



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of the Soviet era (Kavaliauskas 2011, 324–​35). This unreconstructed version of the meaning of World War II is genuinely appealing to many Russians (and Russian-​speakers in the former Soviet Union), because it serves to “replenish Russian faith in Russian messianism in Europe during World War II,” a trope that has a “long pre-​history” in Russia, including the idea of Moscow as the Third Rome, and the eschatological visions of both Dostoevsky and the Bolsheviks (Kavaliauskas 2011, 328–​39; Malksoo 2010). Russia’s aggressive assertion of this “we are the blameless redeemers of Europe” narrative of the World War II has no place for criticism of or even recognition of ambiguity around such questions as the Molotov-​Ribbentrop Pact, the seizure of the Baltic states, the Katyn massacre, or the victims of Soviet state terror immediately before, during, and after the war (RAD #72, February 10, 2010, 6–​9). Russia’s narrative about the era is challenged by a consensus emerging from the rest of Europe about the moral equivalence of Nazi and Soviet totalitarianism during the 1930s and 1940s. Pan-​European efforts to equate Nazi and Soviet tyranny (such as the EP’s 2008 designation of August 23 as a “European Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Nazism and Stalinism”) aim at deepening the reunification of by Europe memorializing the collective trauma that the continent endured during World War II. They have been spurred in large part by the efforts of “new European” (and former communist) nations like the Baltic states and Poland, which are also individually rethinking and re-​presenting their wartime experiences instrumentally in order to “lay claim to a European identity” and as a means of “emancipation” from their recent Soviet pasts (Zhurzhenko 2007). Russia has responded vociferously to what Konstantin Kosachev, chairman of the Russian Duma’s Committee on Foreign Relations, calls “defamations of its past,” vowing that it will not allow the attempts of its former satellites to engage in “self-​affirmation” to turn into Russia as a “European outcast in the 21st century” (BBC Monitoring of Vesti-​T V November 3, 2009). Such actions suggest that “Russia is not ready to give up on its imperial past or to turn the page on its totalitarian past,” nor, perhaps more important, “is it ready to let other states do so” (Shevtsova 2010a, 125). Russia is therefore “talking to Europe in an obsolete language” in two different ways when it attempts to legitimate its contemporary Europeanness by perpetuating a neo-​Soviet view of World War II. First, by refusing to participate in the necessary construction of a truly “transnational common narrative of European history” that might serve as the basis for real European unity, Russia is rejecting the notion that it must go through the same transition from “triumph to trauma” that the rest of Europe has done through the course of the postwar era (Zhurzhenko 2007). Second, Russia has also tried to use the narrative of the “blameless and sacred” Soviet victory in World War II to “legitimate the demand

 

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for close cooperation in the post-​Soviet space under Russian leadership” (RAD #72 February 9, 2010, 8). In other words, it has employed it to bully ex-​Soviet satellites back into a Russian sphere of influence based on of Cold War–​era norms and territorial divisions rather than respecting the sovereignty of these states. Russia’s accusations against the “fascists” in Kyiv during the Ukraine crisis is a clear example of this second dynamic. Orthodox Russia as Indigenous Europe. Claiming a central place for Russia’s Orthodox religious tradition in the idea of Christendom (the traditional heart of European civilizational identity) is another significant trop of post-​Soviet Russia’s search for a national ideal. According to Garrad and Garrad, in post-​ communist Russia the “vacuum once filled by scientific atheism” is today filled by the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC), which they see as “reconstituting a national belief system in its own image,” wherein “believers replace party members as Russians recover a sense of themselves as a ‘great’ (derzhava) nation” (2008, ix). A significant aspect of this Orthodox revival is understanding and presenting Russia’s Christian tradition as being as fundamentally and legitimately European as are the Roman Catholic and Protestant traditions in Europe’s western parts. It is easy to underestimate the extent to which, even during the Soviet period, the ROC considered itself not just a pillar of Russian national identity, state institutional structures, and social life, but an inextricable part of Europe’s spiritual and civilizational heritage. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, the man who would in 1990 become Patriarch Alexsey II of the ROC was extremely active in the Conference of European Churches, working through that organization to develop the idea that Russian Orthodoxy’s claim to be one of Europe’s founding and most important “Christianities.” Alexsey’s commitment to European ecumenism was reinforced in 1987 when he was elected president of the Conference of European Churches. Upon his elevation to the position of Patriarch of the ROC in 1990, and throughout his tenure in that role, Alexsey II continued to assert that Russian Orthodoxy had a prominent role in the spiritual and social development of contemporary Europe. In 2007 the ROC challenged the Roman Catholic Church’s claim to be “the one true Church of Apostolic Succession,” saying that its intention in doing so was to help overcome the legacy of the division of Christendom after the breakup of the Roman Empire into its eastern and western successors and the eventual schism of 1054 (Garrard and Garrard 2008, 251). The declaration also had the effect of legitimating Russian Orthodox claims to influence in contemporary European politics—​Alexsey II has been outspoken on contemporary Europe’s need for spiritual correction and guidance from its “eastern” branch, particularly on issues such as gay rights, about which he asserted that “the west has something to learn from us,” whose “way of life, morals and tradition are more pure in all ways” (Garrard and Garrard 2008, 253).

 



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Kirill Gundiaev, who became Patriarch Kirill I after Alexey’s death in 2008, is an even more forceful and articulate advocate for the position that Orthodoxy must be seen as an indigenous and wholly legitimate pillar of contemporary European civilization. In a lecture entitled “The Future of Europe and the Eastern Christian Tradition” given at the University of Perugia in October 2002 when he was still Metropolitan of the ROC, Kirill argued that Russia’s Christian history made it an indisputably European nation. Through the Byzantine Orthodox and then Russian Orthodox tradition, Kirill argued, Russia had inherited and made fully its own the “Greek wisdom and Roman law and state traditions” that characterized the rest of European Christendom (Gvosdev 2007, 135). This “common tradition” of Christianity influenced united Europe both west and east in deep and abiding ways, according to Kirill. Kirill explained that while it had ultimately sprung from the same source, the once common European Christian tradition had henceforth developed differently in the intervening centuries. While the west, through the Reformation and Enlightenment, came to privilege individual rights above all else, the eastern Christian tradition of Europe followed a path leading to a more “conciliatory and communal” approach to social and political life that sought to “harmonize individual interests by integrating them into a framework of mutual self-​support in society” (Gvosdev 2007, 135–​36).2 Kirill chastised Europe’s west for failing to recognize the indigenous and legitimately European nature of Russian Orthodox societies, explaining that “Eastern Europe does not want to blindly follow the rules developed some time ago by someone without its participation and without the consideration of its inhabitants’ philosophy of life” (Gvosdev 2007). In a speech in Oslo (also in 2002), Kirill I  made his view even more clear: “We are convinced the Orthodox tradition is called to make its own contribution to the development of a united European space” (Gvosdev 2007). Scholars disagree about how the Russian state might seek to use this discourse of Russian Orthodoxy as a legitimate part of contemporary European culture and civilization to influence political developments in Europe and, more important, the post-​Soviet world. Kirill I has been an active participant in the Russian government’s “Russian World” movement, which seeks to open centers of Russian culture and language around the world, in both the “near” abroad of the former Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact states, and beyond. He told the audience at the third meeting of the Russian World Assembly in 2009 that any country that saw itself as “part of the Russian world” or that “inhabited the area of historic Russia” should realize that they were “part of the same civilizational project,” sharing the “unique Russian way of living,” and that they should work together with Russia to “reproduce that way of life, not just in countries with a predominantly Russian culture,” but also “far beyond our borders” (Bridge 2009).

 

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Orthodoxy is a fundamental element of the “civilizational project” that the Russian World Assembly seeks to forward. Zevelev notes that Kirill has effectively positioned himself as the head not just of the Russian Orthodox Church, but also as a “supranational leader” of a larger community of “Holy Rus,” encompassing Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, and “all Orthodox churches in Europe” (including in Estonia and Latvia, about which more later) (2009). Combined with Kirill’s emphasis on the indigenous Europeanness of the Russian Orthodox tradition, it seems clear that this discourse is aimed at urging these post-​Soviet states to turn away from the EU and NATO enlargement path to Europe and to consider closer relations with Russia as an alternative way of “being European.” The decision of the ROC to suspend its relations with the European Conference of Churches in October 2008 due to a dispute about which of Estonia’s competing Orthodox churches would be represented in the European organization may signal Moscow’s determination to foster a separate alternative “European” Christian community through the vehicle of an enlarged “Holy Rus.”3 The opening of a $112 million Russian Orthodox Spiritual and Cultural Center in central Paris in early 2017 and other efforts by the ROC to reclaim churches and cemeteries throughout Europe from diaspora groups is further indication of the seriousness with which Russia is pursuing this strand of its tapestry of post-​Soviet Europeanness (NYTimes September 16, 2016; AP May 29, 2017). Russian “Sovereign Democracy” as a European Political Philosophy. While demanding recognition of itself as a “European” country, contemporary Russian elites have energetically rejected charges from the EU that it continually violates the liberal political norms of the postwar European project. Instead of bowing to such criticism and reforming its political institutions and practices, Russian political elites have instead attempted to present Russia’s political system as a legitimate and legitimately European form of government that has its roots in Europe’s own more conservative political tradition, represented by the thought of François Guizot and Carl Schmitt (Krastev 2007). After the freewheeling Yeltsin years, Russian president Vladimir Putin and his chief political adviser Vladislav Surkov mounted an energetic effort both to recentralize political power in the person and office of the Russian executive, and to legitimate that recentralization philosophically. The result was “sovereign democracy,” which Krastev says Surkov and Putin see as a uniquely Russian form of “European civic nationalism” in the Guizot and Schmitt tradition, but with natural resources and a “one-​pipeline state” replacing the one-​party state, consumer rights replacing human rights, and the state’s fundamental sovereignty of action replacing the individual’s right to autonomy (2007). In this sense, the philosophy of “sovereign democracy” and its unapologetic replacement of Europe’s “postmodern” idea of sovereignty with a “very old European” version of

 



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the term emphasizing “a European order organized around the balance of power and strict non-​interference in the domestic affairs of other states” represents not a Russian “break with the European political tradition,” but rather Russia’s ideological ambition to be “the other Europe, an alternative to the EU, in fact an existential challenge to the EU” (Krastev 2007). Author Nancy Condee points out the central role that Oscar-​winning Russian filmmaker (and Duma member) Nikita Mikhalkov has played in representing the values of “sovereign democracy” on screen. She identifies Mikhalkov’s entire film corpus, which depicts various periods in Russian history from the 1870s through the 1930s, as presenting Russia as a fully “European empire,” indeed an “assertively European” state and culture that nevertheless is also “assertively different” from the rest of Europe because of its insistence on preserving the values of “enlightened conservatism” that the rest of Europe has left behind in its rush to modernity (2009, 85–​87, 109). Through Mikhalkov’s (largely utopian and nigh unrecognizable, one might add) cinematic depiction of a Russian society devoted to the “exquisite conservation of higher culture,” contemporary Russia claims for itself the right to “bring into being a Europe of the future,” a Europe that “real Europe” has forgotten and allowed to fall into disrepair (as it has traditional conservative political values) (Condee 2009). Authors such as Leonard and Popescu (2007), Shevtsova (2010b), and Silitski (2010) agree with Krastev that Putin and Surkov aimed to present “sovereign democracy” as an “ideological alternative” to the EU’s vision of a world build on liberal values. They share Krastev’s conviction that, despite its pretensions to a truly European intellectual genealogy, the concept of sovereign democracy in reality functions as the flimsiest of fig leaves for what is essentially a simple and brutal authoritarian system. (Krastev himself acidly notes that the type of sovereignty that Putin envisions for his “sovereign democracy” is the type that allows one to murder one’s enemies in the middle of London, a reference to the FSB’s murder by radiation poisoning of Alexander Litvenenko in November 2006.) Leonard and Popescu describe “sovereign democracy” as seeking to replace the rule of law with a system where law is “the mere expression of power,” while Shevtsova sees it not as an alternative form of European democracy but rather the mere “imitation of democracy.” Silitski sees it as ideological cover for Russia to foster the development of what he calls the “authoritarian international,” a sort of “alternative EU” community of states devoted to the subversion of European standards of democracy and fair play while giving the illusion of respecting European rules (2010). (Putin’s “Eurasian Union”/​EEU is the institutional expression of this ideological intent.) There is general agreement about the ideological thinness of the concept of “sovereign democracy”—​Krastev notes the ease with which the concept was shucked aside by Dmitri Medvedev in favor of the (also Euro-​oriented) idea of

 

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“modernization” as the basis of state policy (2009). This “flexibility” is evidence of the bind contemporary Russia finds itself in—​“wanting to claim and enjoy the benefits of ” the European political model while in practice actually “rejecting its standards completely” (Shevtsova 2010a, 57–​59). Russia wants to “ride freely” as a “parasite” on the ideological legitimacy of European ideas of democracy while in practice embracing a form of authoritarianism that the rest of Europe repudiated soundly in the postwar period (Snyder 2018). Russia as alt/​alte Europe. Upon Vladimir Putin’s return to the Russian presidency in 2012, the various elements of Russia’s understanding of its own Europeanness and its position in Europe began to mature into a more ambitious and coordinated program of presenting Russia as not just a practitioner of an alt/​alte form of “European democracy” at home domestically, but rather as the ready and willing leader of a wider regional movement to “save Europe” from the “decadence” foisted on it by the postwar liberal European project. Singling out particularly the “moral and sexual perversion” of contemporary Europe, Russia has backed up its pledge to lead a movement to “protect Christendom” and support “authentic European” (read conservative social and political) norms in Europe with support for traditionalist, nationalist, and anti-​EU political parties on the continent (Laruelle 2016; Makarychev and Medvedev 2015; Polyakova et al. 2016). The annexation of Crimea in March 2014 and the downing of Malaysia Airlines Flight 17 in July of that same year (which had originated in Amsterdam and two-​thirds of whose passengers were Dutch nationals) severely weakened Russia’s reputation in Europe. To attempt to recoup some standing and further promote its own alt/​alte version of “European values,” while simultaneously weakening the EU from the inside, the Russian government vastly increased spending on both its “legitimate” media presence (via the new Sputnik News Network, which debuted in November 2014) and on more covert and illegal “active measures” in Europe. The striking growth of pro-​Russian and anti-​EU forces in Europe in 2015 and 2016, particularly manifest in the Czech Republic, France, Hungary, Poland, and the Britain that produced Brexit, raised alarm in Europe about the perceived success of Russia’s alt/​alte model of Europeanness and the threat it posted to the postwar liberal European project. In response, the European Parliament passed in November 2016 a formal resolution identifying and condemning six different types of “anti-​EU propaganda” that it accused Russia of promoting in Europe via think tanks, media outlets, and the funding of political parties (Lomtadze 2016). In reaction, Pravda.ru defiantly claimed that Russia was “indeed the only defender of Christian values left” in Europe, gushed that “God himself guides Russia,” and warned that “If Europe does not change, Europe will perish” (Pravda.ru November 23, 2016).

 



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Losses by far-​right candidates in national elections in France and the Netherlands in 2017 suggest the limits of the appeal of a more explicitly Russian-​ identified alt/​alte Europe (Way and Casey 2018). Still, Russia’s efforts to “seduce or bully its European neighbors into abandoning their own institutions and histories” in favor of its alternative, illiberal vision remain powerful and problematic (Snyder 2018, 66). Russia has “successfully imported” its illiberal political and economic model into Hungary, and Poland’s “innovation-​oriented statism” appears to be evolving in a similar direction (Appel and Orenstein 2018, 166–​ 68). While explicitly pro-​EU and pro-​liberal democracy movements have arisen in these places to counter such developments, as they have in Ukraine, Russia’s alt/​alte vision of Europe (and the material help Russia gives to political actors that share its discursive vision) will remain an important variable in European politics. Russia in Eurovision and UEFA. Beyond explicit identity discourses about Europe, Russia also demonstrates that it considers itself a proper, even superior, member of European civilization through its choice to participate in European social and cultural institutions in the post-​Soviet period. The previous chapter noted the fact that the organizers of Europe’s official football organization, UEFA, have from the beginning considered Russia an integral part of Europe’s football landscape. The Soviet Union was one of the dominant teams in European football during the Cold War era, and the Russian national team has consistently been in the top ten of the national coefficient rankings since the fall of communism. The poor showing of the Russian national team (and fans) at the EURO 2012 championships was the subject of intense criticism in Russia, resulting in the replacement of the head of the Russian Football Union, suggesting the importance that Russia puts on being seen as belonging among the “European football elite.” In an effort to integrate itself even more completely with European football norms, for the 2012–​2013 season the Russian Premier League aligned itself fully with the autumn/​spring football calendar that the rest of Europe uses.4 (In addition to its involvement with UEFA, Russia is also an active member of the European Olympic Committees organization and other pan-​European sports associations.) Despite the clear conviction that Russia belongs within the European football universe, as opposed to the Asian Football Association, some Russian football fans seem to take an almost perverse delight in consciously thwarting European norms of tolerance and multiculturalism—​not only racking up fines for racist behavior at the EURO 2012 championships, but, in the case of the largest fan club of Zenit St. Petersburg, a team that has won the Russian championship two times, actually publicly declaring that the team should not recruit “dark-​skinned” or gay players (NYTimes May 30, 2012).

 

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If Russia clearly considers Europe to be the appropriate arena within which to pursue its national sports endeavors, it also sees Europe as the “natural” realm for its cultural strivings in the post-​Soviet period. While Russia’s nineteenth-​ and twentieth-​century cultural giants certainly have an unassailable place in Europe’s literary, artistic, and musical canons, in a more frivolous but telling example, we also saw in ­chapter 5 the financial and political effort that the Russian government put into winning the Eurovision Song Championships in the 2000s, a feat it accomplished in a “pull out all the stops” effort in 2008. As c­ hapter 5 recounted, Russian then used the occasion of the 2009 Eurovision championships in Moscow as an opportunity to prove its essential cultural Europeanness and its belongingness in Europe, an effort appreciated by one young participant in the 2009 Moscow contest, who commented that by hosting the event, Russia had proved that it can “create a celebration for Europe” and that, far from being worse than Europe, “we are better” (RFE/​RL May 16, 2009). At the same time as it seeks cultural legitimation in Europe via contests such as Eurovision, such venues also serve as a platform for highlighting the perceived differences between European and Russian culture (and the superiority of the latter to the former). Just as Russia’s EURO fans seem to relish in transgressive behavior at football matches, so the Russian state was willing to cancel a Pride parade during Eurovision in Moscow in 2009, when all of Europe was watching. Russia passed a so-​called anti-​gay propaganda law in 2013, and in 2014 over 15,000 people signed a petition calling for Russia to cancel the Eurovision broadcast in the country, arguing that the show was a plot by “European liberals” to subject Russian children to a “hotbed of sodomy” (The Telegraph UK May 26, 2014). The Russian Orthodox Church called the Eurovision victory by Austria’s Conchita Wurst that same year “one more step in the rejection of the Christian identity of European culture,” an identity that Russia alone was willing, it seems, to fight for (The Telegraph UK May 26, 2014). Indeed, since 2012, the ROC has increasingly used homophobic discourse (often associated with Eurovision) as a way to denigrate European civilization and demonstrate Russia’s “moral superiority” over Europe (Wilkinson 2014).

Political Europeanization in Russia since 1989 Russia’s post-​communist relationship with “political” Europe reflects two fundamental facts: first, that Russia’s bilateral relations with the individual countries of the EU are the most important for its stated goal of restoring itself to nineteenth-​ century European “great power status,” and second, that Russia strongly resists the attempt by the EU to “dictate” norms of political behavior to Russia in the post-​communist era or to expand those norms beyond the Baltic states

 



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and further into the former Soviet Union (see Figure 6.3). Instead, Russia has insisted on a “partnership” model with the EU that maintains Russia’s domestic and international freedom of action to the greatest extent possible and has tried to frustrate EU membership ambitions for the non-​Baltic former Soviet states. Russia also seeks to offer an alternative version of “political Europeanness” that challenges official “EU-​ropean” institutional models, replacing the shared sovereignty and postmodern ideals of the latter with Russian insistence on sovereignty understood as maximal state independence of action in both the domestic and international realms. Practically, this means that Russia has rejected any hint of a conditionality-​ based relationship with the EU of the type that the EU has fostered with other post-​Soviet states, instead successfully demanding a strictly “egalitarian” partnership model with the EU. Russia has also attempted to halt EU expansion further into the non-​Baltic former Soviet Union, both by using force, as in Georgia in 2008 and in Ukraine in 2013–​2014. Russia has pursued the concept of a “Eurasian Union” as a concrete alternative to EU membership for the

Russia: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Has a “privileged” partnership with EU, but not based on conditionality or eventual membership.

EU Relations: Not a member of Eastern Partnership. Actively hinders Europeanizing activities of EAP states like Ukraine and Georgia, including by use of military force.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe since 1996; does pay ECHR fines, finally passed Protocol 14 in 2010.

Council of Europe: At times attempts to hamper Council activities, criticizes Council heavily. Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Full-fledged, active member of and force behind the CIS and Eurasian Economic Union.

Figure 6.3  Political Europeanization in Russia

 

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former Soviet states—​an idea that currently exists in the form of the “Eurasian Economic Union” (EEU). (Founding member states Belarus and Kazakhstan demanded that the “Economic” modifier be added to specify the strict limits of the relationship and to warn Russia against potential incursions into their political sovereignty.)5 Russia and the EU. The countries of the EU are by far Russia’s number one most important trading partner, and Russia is the EU’s fourth largest trading partner. As Kulhanek states, “the economic importance of the EU to Russia cannot be overstated,” and one might say the reverse is true as well (2010, 52). This fact is fully appreciated by Russia’s citizens, 39 percent of whom listed the EU as the entity “most important to Russia’s national interests” in a 2010 survey (in contrast, 31 percent listed the CIS states and only 10 percent listed China) (Tumanov et al. 2011, 132). That the vast majority of Russian exports to the EU are hydrocarbons, used for energy, somewhat makes up for the fact that overall the EU is the much larger and healthier economy; according to Kulhanek, the EU may have the overall economic advantage over Russia, “but the EU does not speak with one voice” regarding energy, and this gives Moscow considerable strategic weight in what would otherwise be a more lopsided relationship (2010, 52). If recent developments in places like Slovakia and the Baltics suggest the “dissipation of its geographic, logistical and social centrality” in Europe’s energy network, Russia still wields significant influence in it (Stulberg 2015, 125). Beyond economic interdependence, the other great characteristic of contemporary EU-​Russian relations is Moscow’s extreme skepticism about the political norms upon which the EU is founded. While the EU emphasizes democracy, human rights, multilateral governance involving shared sovereignty, and the gradual enlargement of the community of European states that share and practice these principles as its core values, Russia continues to operate on a more traditional understanding of sovereignty that favors nation-​state autonomy and balance of power politics (Bugajski 2008; Leonard and Popescu 2007; Krastev 2008). Russia not only rejects the EU’s political principles, it has, particularly since the Orange Revolution of 2004, come to see the EU as “an aggressor to be countered and hedged against,” one with what Russia sees as a “threatening expansionist agenda,” especially regarding the former Soviet states, written into its political DNA (Krastev 2008; Mankoff 2012, 174). In practical terms, these conditions have led Russia to pursue different strategies regarding the EU. First was a brief “Atlanticist” period during Yeltsin’s early years in power, when true Russian institutional transformation still seemed possible (Gvosdev 2007, 136; Kulhanek 2010, 52–​53). Since the later Yeltsin years and particularly under Putin, Russia moved decisively to a much more “selective and pragmatic” approach to the EU, aimed at helping Russia become “stronger, more modern and more prosperous” (Kulhanek 2010, 54). Russia’s

 



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1999  “Midterm Strategy for Relations with the EU” emphasized that while the development of a “partnership” with the EU was necessary, it must be focused on those aspects of the relationship that would “consolidate Russia’s role as a leading power” in the European and CIS areas (Kulhanek 2010, 55). This means Russia avoids any EU commitments that might involve surrendering “any elements of its [Russia’s] sovereignty” to the EU and works to “restrict any EU criticism of its [Russia’s] policies,” while simultaneously pressuring the EU to grant Russia economically beneficial concessions such as short-​term visa-​free travel (Bugajski 2008, 44). As we saw in c­ hapter 3, the result of this is that while the EU-​Russian relationship is full of programs and proclamations, in fact it amounts to “mostly posturing” (Kulhanek 2010, 61). An important aspect of this posturing in the EU-​Russia relationship is the emphasis Russia places on framing its direct ties with the EU in the language of partnership and equality. In approaching the EU, Russia insists that it is “not some humble supplicant knocking on the door of Euro-​Atlantic institutions” and that the EU must not approach Russia with the logic that “Russia must prove itself and adopt without question all the conditions dictated to it” (Kosachev 2008, 49–​50). As Gvosdev points out, Russia views the “Common Spaces” format agreed upon with the EU in 2003 as “less humiliating” than the membership-​ oriented paths taken by Turkey and Ukraine, which Russia sees as forcing them to accept “diktat” from the EU (2007, 138). Russia walks a fine line in its relationship with the EU between acknowledging that much Russian infrastructure and production capacity needs “modernization” in order to be attractive and useful to EU partners and markets, while not wanting such an acknowledgment to put it in a position of inferiority vis-​à-​vis Europe. In lieu of a robust relationship with the EU as a multilateral actor, the second, and in Kulhanek’s view, “defining” aspect of Russia’s EU policy, “or lack thereof, is the preference for conducting bilateral relations with EU member states” (2010, 61). This bilateral strategy is a concerted effort to “divide and rule” the EU, particularly regarding energy, and is particularly targeted at Germany, France, and Russia, which have been “singled out by Russia as the core of a deeper Russian partnership that can bypass both the United States and Brussels” (Bugajski 2008, 35). The Nord Stream pipeline project, which began pumping gas in fall 2011 and serves chiefly German energy interests at the expense of the development of a common EU energy policy regarding Russia (which is better represented by the competing Nabucco project), is the best example of the success of Russia’s bilateralist strategy in Europe. The Nord Stream model is one Russia seeks to replicate with other individual EU states (though the cancellation of the “South Stream” project in 2014 suggests the limits of this approach). Nord Stream was considered a particular success by Russia not only because it increases Russia’s independence from older

 

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transport networks that go through Ukraine, Belarus, and Central Europe, but because it has the added impact of increasing disputes between the “older” and “newer” members of the EU, including marginalizing the Poles and the Baltic states within the EU by making their opposition to the bilateral German-​Russian deal seem “Russophobic,” “non-​ pragmatic,” and “obstructionist” (Bugajski 2008, 45). Weakening the EU’s common energy policy and increasing internal EU tensions also lessens the EU’s ability to mount a common general security policy, and a common approach to Russia and to expansion in the former Soviet Union. It also weakens the EU’s credibility as a “normative actor” that practices as well as preaches multilateralism. Russia’s policy of “divide and rule” toward the EU has borne some fruit. Before the 2013–​2014 Ukraine crisis, the EU had resisted calls from the European Parliament to adopt an American-​style “Magnitsky List” that would deny or revoke EU visas for Russian lawmakers and citizens implicated in the torture and murder of the Russian whistleblowing lawyer Sergei Magnitsky. The EU has grown increasingly assertive toward Russia in the realm of energy, launching in fall 2012 an investigation into price-​fixing and other monopolistic abuses by Gazprom in Europe (and severely ruffling Russia’s feathers in the process). The Ukraine crisis has finally unified the EU on the issue of sanctions against Russia—​it joined the United States and Canada in instituting penalties against Russian individuals and businesses in March 2014—​though the victories of pro-​ Russian political forces in Austria in 2017 and Italy in 2018 and the continued efforts of Russia to divide the EU from within offer the possibility of future sanctions relief. Beyond weakening EU multilateralism through divide and rule, Russia’s other main goal is to “keep the EU out of Russia’s neighborhood” by preventing further EU expansion into the non-​Baltic former Soviet states (Kulhanek 2010, 56). In addition to loudly voicing its opposition to the EU’s Eastern Partnership program (as discussed in c­ hapter 3), Russia has sought to counter any potential EU expansion into the other post-​Soviet states by employing its own soft-​ and hard-​power carrots and sticks. The 2008 Georgian war and Ukraine EuroMaidan events are the sticks; the most important carrot (which did not prove appetizing enough to prevent Moldova, Ukraine, and Georgia from signing Association Agreements with the EU in June 2014)  is the “Eurasian Union” proposal, promoted by Putin (beginning in 2012) as an alternative to the European Union and its ENP and EAP programs. The “Eurasian Economic Union” (EEU) as an “Alternative EU.” Popescu and Wilson have provided useful accounts of the many soft-​ and hard-​power strategies that Russia has used to try to counter EU expansion into the non-​ Baltic post-​Soviet world (2009, 2011). Not only does Russia “constantly employ a rhetoric of fraternity” aimed at the non-​Baltic post-​Soviet states (and at ethnic

 



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Russian populations in the Baltics) that emphasizes the “bedrock of historical and cultural affinity” built up during the Soviet era, it also “throws its weight behind projects that deliver concrete benefits” to the former Soviet states (Popescu and Wilson 2009, 3). As was discussed, the neo-​Soviet discourse about the glorious victory of the USSR in World War II and Russian efforts to promote linguistic and cultural ties among the Russian diaspora via the idea of the “Russian World” and “Holy Rus” are important parts of the Russian rhetorical strategy aimed at countering further EU expansion in the former Soviet states. Beyond offering former Soviet citizens the consolations of a great history and nostalgic reminders that, as Putin put it, they are “people who are close to us, with whom we have good understanding, and with whom we share the same language and common Russian culture,” Russia also offers them the more concrete consolation of visa-​free travel, work opportunities, and even Russian passports, measures that the EU is only slowly introducing to the EAP states (though by summer 2017 Moldova, Georgia, and Ukraine had all won the right to visa-​free travel in the Schengen Zone of the EU). In contrast to the constant criticism and “dictation” coming from the EU about economic and political reform, Russia also offers the leaders of former Soviet states the comforting and enticing concession of accepting and even facilitating the corrupt and authoritarian practices that keep them in power (by fostering the creation of what Silitski calls “the authoritarian international” or by playing what Levitsky and Way call “the role of the black knight”) (Levitsky and Way 2010, 41; Popescu and Wilson 2009, 35; Silitski 2010, 295). Particularly since the “Color Revolutions” of 2003 and 2004, Russia has used both NGO forms copied from the West and existing institutions such as the CIS to bolster the ability of authoritarian regimes in the former Soviet Union to fight the “contagion” of democracy coming from the EU and the US (Silitski 2010, 298). Russia views both the CIS and the EEU/​Eurasian Union as important institutional ways of consolidating its control over the non-​Baltic ex-​Soviet states, territories it clearly considers part of its “strategic sphere of influence” (Oldberg 2007, 25). The shock of the Color Revolutions and the economic, social, and political dislocations that the European Union has experienced since the financial and Eurozone crisis of 2008 have combined to inspire Russia to pursue a more “forceful imposition of a Russian ideological and geopolitical project” in the CIS territories (Tsygankov 2009, 356). Trenin sees this effort not as a clichéd attempt to “restore the Soviet Union” but, rather, as intended to “ensure loyalty to Russia” by creating a “privileged position” for Russian economic interests and ensuring the “predominance” of Russian (as opposed to European) cultural influences there (2009a). The Eurasian Union, in Putin’s original vision, was to serve as an alternative to both the CIS and the EU. Creating a more binding economic and political

 

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union among some of the states of the former Soviet Union has been a periodic Russian goal since the demise of the Soviet Union. (The Russian government’s interest in the CIS waxes and wanes—​Putin joked in a visit to Armenia in 2005 that the CIS was an organization aimed only at achieving “a civilized divorce of former Soviet republics”—​see Botan 2006.) In 1994 Russia proposed a CIS Economic Union, an idea endorsed by Belarus and Kazakhstan alone among former Soviet states; this trio formed a “Customs Union” within under the auspices of the CIS in 1996, which Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan then joined in 1999. In 2000, this entity was “upgraded” to form the “Eurasian Economic Community,” which itself, somewhat confusingly, formally declared in 2010 the foundation of a new (as opposed to CIS-​ derived) “Eurasian Customs Union” (ECU). The ECU was then upgraded to the “Eurasian Economic Community” (EEC). Finally it was announced that the EEC would be eventually transformed into a full-​scale “Eurasian Union,” though as of 2015 it had only evolved into the “Eurasian Economic Union” (EEU) because Kazakhstan and Belarus “strongly oppose the notion of the EEU as a closer political union or a bloc with an anti-​Western agenda” (International Crisis Group 2016, 8; Vieira 2016). The degree of economic integration among the members of the proposed Eurasian Union project is indeed deeper than previous models, yet what is most significant about actually calling this effort the “Eurasian Union” is the mimicking of and the direct challenge to the “European Union” that it obviously represents. Other attempts to create multilateral institutions in the former Soviet space have also promised to “approximate the idea of the EU” by offering “the voluntary political and economic integration of equal sovereign partners.” What was new about the Eurasian Union as Putin described it was its promise to be a “value-​based community” with an emphasis on “democracy, freedom and free-​ market principles,” as well as a focus on “society, its welfare, and the inclusion of non-​state actors in the integration process” (RAD #112, April 20, 2012, 2). The logic seems to be that best way to fight the attractions of the EU is to replicate them, despite the fact that “coming from the leaders of three authoritarian regimes” such promises for a law and values-​based community “hardly sound convincing” (RAD #112, April 20, 2012). Putin made clear the obvious influence of and desire to compete with the EU on his thinking in his 4 October 2011 Izvestiya article announcing the Eurasian Union project. After making reference to the “myriads of civilization and spiritual threads uniting our peoples” (and, the subtext reads, dividing “us” from “Europe,” at least the Europe of the EU), Putin moved quickly to a more instrumental appeal; the Eurasian Union would be a “stable and long-​term project that is intelligible and attractive to citizens and business,” one that is devoted to the task of “seriously modernizing” the outdated relationships among CIS states

 



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by “concentrating attention above all on the development of trade and production ties” through the implementation of “legislation in accordance with the best worldwide and European practice.” Putin boasted that while it took the EU “forty years to travel the road from the European Coal and Steel Community to the full-​fledged European Union,” the process of creating the Eurasian Union “was proceeding far more dynamically.” Putin also addressed head on the question of the Eurasian Union as a competitor to the EU. He reassured “certain neighbors of ours” who are “unwilling to participate in advanced integrative projects in the post-​Soviet area” because it might “contradict their European choice,” that they were guilty of “setting up a false dichotomy.” Arguing that “we do not intend to fence ourselves off from anyone or to oppose anyone,” Putin stated that the new organization will “be founded on universal integrative principles as an inalienable part of Greater Europe, united by integrated values of freedom, democracy and market laws.” He also assured the ex-​Soviet states that the Eurasian Union “will help countries integrate into Europe sooner and from a stronger position” (Krickovic 2014, 515). Putin was also transparent about the role civilizational thinking played in his plan for the Eurasian Union/​EEU. In his 27 February 2012 article for Moskovskiye Novosti outlining the foreign policy agenda for his second term as president, Putin reiterated the idea that “Russia is an inalienable and organic part of Greater Europe and European civilization,” whose citizens “think of themselves as European.” Russia was developing the Eurasian Union, he continued, in order to foster the true “unification of Europe” from “the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.” Moscow was clearly willing to commit serious economic and political resources to “entice” former Soviet states to participate in the EEU. The $15 billion loan package Russia offered Yanukovych in fall 2014 to persuade him not to sign the AA with the EU (and which catalyzed the EuroMaidan movement) is the most famous (and failed) example of this. Russia’s economic carrots (and the stick of threatening to remove security guarantees) proved irresistible for some states—​Armenia became a member of the EEU in January 2015, while Kyrgyzstan followed in May of that year. Tajikistan’s leadership has indicated that it too will eventually join the EEU though it has (seemingly intentionally) drawn out the accession process. In May 2017, Moldova gained observer status at the EEU. While the EEU has expanded its membership, it has not experienced a corresponding deepening of institutional ties and authority. EEU members are instead using the EEU as a means to “strengthen their own sovereignty,” and there is “no genuine willingness” on their part to “cede sovereignty to the supranational institutions” of the EEU (Roberts and Moshes 2016, 560). When Putin’s attempt to persuade Yanukovych to choose the path of integration with

 

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his Eurasian Union rather than the European Union path backfired in such spectacular and tragic fashion in winter 2013–​2014, Moscow’s future hopes for its Eurasian Union suffered a tremendous setback. Without Ukraine, which has since signed its Association Agreement with the EU, the potential of the EEU to become a “true competitor” to the EU is significantly limited. Indeed, Russia’s willingness to use force to destabilize Ukraine has arguably made its task of drawing other states into the EEU harder. Already skeptical of Moscow’s intentions in founding such an organization, the “Ukraine effect” on the EEU has caused elites in Belarus and Kazakhstan to experience a “new perception of a threat to their national independence and sovereignty,” and led them to “reconsider the validity” of their previous approaches to the EEU, up to and including a new “discourse of a possible withdrawal” from the organization (Vieira 2016, 576). In the short term, “loyalty can be acquired through loans,” but in the long term this tactic is unlikely to foster true, egalitarian, mutually beneficial integration; “integration for the mere sake of a Russian loans devalues the significance of the integration project itself ” (Markedonov 2011). While it may be “too early to dismiss the EEU as just another failed post-​Soviet project,” the EEU “has failed to achieve the breakthroughs its advocates promised,” and it is likely that “in its current form,” the EEU will “struggle to play a positive role in managing the political, economic and social challenges in the region” (International Crisis Group 2016, 22).

Security Europeanization in Russia since 1989 While visible in the cultural-​civilizational and political realms, we see the disjunct between postwar European and post-​Soviet Russian understandings of “Europeanness” most clearly in the security arena (see Figure 6.4). As discussed in ­chapter 4, Russia has reacted to European attempts to bring it into multilateral, values-​based pan-​European security arrangements with increasing (and increasingly militarized) suspicion and hostility, while for its part, Europe has been equally dismissive of Russian attempts to offer alternative bases for a European security order (such as 2009’s European Security Treaty). While the citizens of eastern and southern Ukraine currently feel the impact of this impasse most tragically, the failure of Europe and Russia to reconcile their understandings of what “security in Europe” must look like in the post–​Cold War era has much wider ramifications, as the breakdown of the 1987 IMF treaty in 2018 demonstrates. Russia and NATO. As discussed in ­chapter 4, multiple and innovative institutional forms as the NATO-​Russian Council have failed to assuage Russia’s fundamental zero-​sum view of NATO expansion in the post–​Cold War era, even

 



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Russia: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Despite “special partnership” with NATO, considers NATO “enemy number one”; actively fights NATO expansion. OSCE Relations: Active member of OSCE but highly critical and obstructionist. Seeks to dilute OSCE influence in Russia and former Soviet area. Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Chief animating force behind CSTO and CIS as alternatives to NATO and OSCE.

Figure 6.4  Security Europeanization in Russia

as such arrangements ensure some basic, if fluctuating, continuity in relations between Russia and NATO. Russia has a strong belief that NATO enlargement since 1989 is a “form of imperialism designed to impose a Western diktat on Russia,” and as such, Russia’s overall policy thrust toward NATO remains aimed at “weakening European unity on the role and scope of NATO while diluting transatlantic cohesion” (Bugajski 2008, 133). Russia’s use of force in Georgia in 2008 and Ukraine since 2013 is meant to underscore to NATO actors the seriousness of Russia’s opposition to further NATO expansion, and a growing chorus of realist voices in both the United States and Europe urges NATO’s leadership to attend more carefully to the fundamental philosophical and normative breach that undergirds the increasingly problematic NATO-​Russian relationship in Europe. The CSTO as an Alternative to NATO? Just as it has proposed the EEU/​eventual Eurasian Union as an alternative to the EU, Russia has also attempted to turn the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) into a viable and attractive

 

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alternative to NATO membership for the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states. The CSTO was founded in 2002 from the kernel of the 1992 CIS Collective Security Treaty. Founding members of the CSTO include all the members of what Henry Hale calls the “integrationist core of the CIS”—​Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Russia, and Tajikistan—​plus Armenia and Uzbekistan (2008, 196). The CSTO has gradually increased its institutional density and scope of action, initiating common military exercises in 2005 and agreeing to set up joint peacekeeping forces to be deployed within the CSTO (or anywhere else, with UN permission) at its summit in Dushanbe, Tajikistan, in 2007 (Kommersant October 8, 2007). At the same 2007 summit, the CSTO also signed a cooperation agreement with the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), whose membership already included Russia and the five ex-​Soviet Central Asian states. This agreement was in effect a way for China to show support to Russia’s pet CSTO project. In fall 2011, at an “informal” CSTO summit, the organization’s secretary-​general, Nikolai Bordyuzha, openly discussed “the use of CSTO potential” to prevent the spread of Arab Spring–​type unrest in CSTO countries (what he called “protecting the constitutional system at the request of a legally elected head of state” in the CSTO) (Blank and Saivetz 2012, 9). He again railed against the potential spread of “color revolutions” to CSTO states during the Ukraine crisis of spring 2014 but was also forced to reassure CSTO members like Kyrgyzstan that they would “not be dragged into” the Ukraine crisis in a military way (EurasiaNet.Org March 26, 2014; ValdaiClub.com January 24, 2014). Russian officials serving in the CSTO hierarchy, such as Nikolay Bordyuzha (who was chief of the Russian Federal Presidential Service at the end of Yeltsin’s term), have been frank about the CSTO’s aim of increasing Russian and decreasing NATO influence in the former Soviet Union. In May 2007 Bordyuzha decried what he called NATO’s attempts to “construct a military infrastructure around the CSTO” via enlargement and missile defense (Bugajski 2008, 138). Others, such as then Russian defense minister Sergei Ivanov, have criticized NATO for its “unwillingness to cooperate” with the CSTO or to recognize it as a “co-​equal” organization that is “logically” deserving of NATO’s collaboration (Bugajski 2008). Medvedev intended the 2009 European Security Treaty to become “a parallel to, or substitute for, a treaty that Moscow would like to conclude between NATO and the CSTO, so as to confer a semblance of legitimacy on the latter.” When NATO dismissed the Russian EST proposal, it was thus in part rejecting the co-​equivalence of NATO and the CSTO. During the Ukraine crisis in spring 2014, CSTO chief Bordyuzha announced that the alliance would suspend all contacts with NATO, accusing NATO of trying to “blackmail” CSTO member states and to force them to “look up to” European democracies (EurasiaNet.Org April 24, 2014).

 



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Moscow’s desire to have NATO recognize and respect the CSTO “as a co-​ equal” organization is understandable, but the CSTO remains, despite the presence of Belarus and Armenia, “an organization with a very strong regional slant—​Central Asian” (Markedonov 2011). Yet not even all of the ex-​Soviet Central Asian states are members—​Turkmenistan has never joined, and in June 2012, Uzbekistan left the CSTO, reportedly because it feared the Moscow’s plans to develop a CSTO Rapid Reaction Force would actually be used by Russia against CSTO members themselves someday (EDM 9, #136, July 18, 2012). The CSTO is also an organization over whose members Russia actually has very little control—​neither the CSTO as an organization nor any of its individual members would agree to recognize Abkhazian or South Ossetian independence after the 2008 Russian war with Georgia, despite intense Russian pressure to do so. Russia had more luck getting its CSTO allies to recognize its annexation of Crimea in 2014—​only Tajikistan withheld recognition of this action. The stark choice between NATO and the CSTO that Moscow is pressing upon post-​Soviet states is perhaps even more significant for them than is the EU versus EEU/​Eurasian Union variant. While they recognize the depth of Russia’s opposition to their potential NATO membership, Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova show no inclination to join or even cooperate with the CSTO, while Azerbaijan and Turkmenistan remain agnostic. Overall, the “utility, reliability and effectiveness [of the CSTO] as a collective security actor” “has always been” and remains “limited” (RAD #196, December 23, 2016, 8).

Long-​Term Trajectories of Europeanization in Russia The question of “Europeanness” continues to weigh heavily both in debates about Russia’s domestic political identity and in terms of its foreign policy. It seems exceedingly unlikely that Russia will ever be fully integrated into either the EU or NATO, though continued cooperation with these organizations, particularly the EU, continues even in the wake of the Ukrainian crisis. Russia’s “European alternative” projects like the EEU and CSTO do have some purchase for a limited set of post-​Soviet states (including Armenia, Belarus, and some of the Central Asian states, as we shall see in subsequent chapters), but on the whole they do not yet show evidence of being a robust ideological or institutional alternative to Europe’s political and security institutions. This is particularly true regarding Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia. Russia may be able to strike limited economic and security deals with some of the ex-​Soviet republics, but it does not appear to be making progress on creating some kind of alternative European community based on more than mere interest. This may be because, “as a petro-​state run by greedy bureaucrats,” a state that is increasingly and more

 

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brazenly authoritarian, “Russia lacks a soft power capable of influencing not only its nearest neighbors, but also its own citizens” (EurasiaNet.Org May 3, 2012). Russia’s own words and deeds show that the European civilizational, cultural, and normative model retains an attraction for both Russia and at least some of the ex-​Soviet states that no Russian alt/​alte version can easily replace.

 

7

The Baltic States Successful “Return to Europe”

The three Baltic states’ rapid and successful “return to Europe” by means of their accession to the EU and NATO in 2004, which made them the only post-​Soviet states to have yet achieved this goal, has reinforced the convention of thinking of the Baltic states as a coherent unit.1 There are important historical, cultural, linguistic, demographic, and economic differences among the three Baltic states (see Figure 7.1, Table 7.1, and Table 7.2), yet the very process of “returning to Europe” in the 1990s and 2000s was itself premised on and encouraged the idea of collective identification and collective action among the three (and also on the stark differentiation of the Baltic states from the rest of the former Soviet Union, especially Russia) (Kasekamp 2010, 189; Van Elsuwege 2008, xxii). This chapter examines how the Baltic states completed their rapid and thus far unique journey from the status of constituent republics of the Soviet Union to full-​fledged “European states,” seeking to better understand if, why, and how other former Soviet republics might seek to make the same journey and why they might or might not be successful in those attempts.

(Re)Occupying the “Top” of the Eurocentric-​ Orientalist Cultural Gradient? Cultural-​ Civilizational Europeanization in the Baltic States The Baltic “Return to Europe” represents a significant example of the influence of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) on the politics of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union. At one level, the Baltic journey back to Europe is a seemingly simple confirmation of the hypothesis that the geographically most northern and western and most “intrinsically” European states of the former Soviet Union will have the most desire to Europeanize and 171

 

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Estonia

Latvia

Lithuania

Language Group & Family Finno-Ugric Group, Uralic Language Family

Language Group & Family Baltic Group, Indo-European Family

Language Group & Family Baltic Group, Indo-European Family

Religion Twelfth- and thirteenth-century conversion to Christianity. Substantial influence from the Reformation and then Russian Orthodoxy. 54.14% claim no religion; 16.2% Eastern (Russian) Orthodox; 9.9% Lutheran.

Religion Twelfth- and thirteenth-century conversion to Christianity. Substantial influence from the Reformation and CounterReformation. 34% Lutheran; 25% Roman Catholic; 19% Russian Orthodox; 20% profess no religion.

Religion Thirteenth- and fourteenthcentury conversion to Christianity. Roman Catholicism consolidated under PolishLithuanian Commonwealth. 77% Roman Catholic, 4% Russian Orthodox.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Part of Livonian Confederation after thirteenth century. Part of the Holy Roman Empire until the end of the eighteenth century. Brief periods as part of Swedish and Polish-Lithuanian states. Under Russian rule after eighteenth century.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Part of Livonian Confederation after thirteenth century. Part of the Holy Roman Empire until the end of the eighteenth century. Brief periods as part of Swedish and Polish-Lithuanian states. Under Russian rule after eighteenth century.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Independent at start of the thirteenth century. Joins Poland and forms the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in fourteenth century. Later Incorperated into Russia after Polish Partitions

Figure 7.1  Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Attributes of the Baltic States Table 7.1 Demographics of the Baltic States, 1989 and 2014 Baltic State

Titular Titular Russian Russian Ethnic Population Population Population Population (2014) (1989) (2014) (1989)

Other Ethnic Minority (1989) 8.20%

Other Ethnic Population (2014)

Estonia

61.50%

68.70%

30.30%

24.80%

6.50%

Latvia

52%

61.10%

33.90%

26.20%

14.1%

12.70%

Lithuania

79.50%

84.10%

9.30%

5.80%

11.20%

10.10%

will experience the most success in that process. Upon closer investigation, the Baltic experience suggests that while geography, cultural inheritance, and historical experience are themselves significant variables that help explain the strength and success of “Europeanization” projects in the former Soviet Union (as the EOCG would suggest), the deliberate and targeted use of those factors by elite actors who are strongly committed to the project of Europeanization is equally important in explaining the success of Baltic Europeanization efforts.

 



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Table 7.2 Major Trading Partners of the Baltic States, 2014

Exports

Imports

Estonia

Latvia

Lithuania

EU (63%)

EU (70.4%)

EU (55.3%)

Russia (17.9%)

Russia (11.6%)

Russia (19.8%)

USA (3.5%)

Norway (2.7%)

Belarus (5.2%)

Norway (3.3%)

Belarus (1.9%)

Ukraine (3.5%)

Ukraine (1.3%)

Turkey (1.3%)

USA (2.8%)

EU

EU

EU

Russia

Russia

Russia

China

China

Belarus

Japan

Belarus

China

USA

Ukraine

USA

The Baltic states were geographically the most northern and western of the Soviet republics, and their historical and cultural legacies clearly qualified them as more “intrinsically European” than the other Soviet republics (see Figure 7.2, Figure 7.3, and Figure 7.4). The fact remains, however, that for more than four decades the Baltic states were constituent parts of the Soviet Union, even if the United States and some other states did not recognize the legal authority of the Soviet Union over the Baltic states and supported Baltic groups in exile (Van Elsuwege 2008, 34–​35). After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the acute question facing both Baltic peoples and leaders, and European gatekeeping actors, was just how much Europeanness the Baltic states retained after forty years of Soviet “de-​Europeanization.” The Baltic return to Europe was a process by which a critical mass of actors in both those camps became convinced that the answer to this question was “enough Europeanness” to admit all three Baltic states to the EU and NATO by 2004. The Baltic road to EU and NATO membership was an energetic, concerted, and ultimately successful effort by elites in the three Baltic states to remove their states from the lesser, “lower” and inferior, place on the EOCG that they believed (or feared) nearly forty-​five years of being part of the de-​Europeanizing Soviet Union had consigned them to in the eyes of those higher up the European scale. As part of their efforts to “re-​become” European, Baltic state activists actually had to first clearly articulate and reinforce the Eurocentric-​Orientalist gradient, in order to convincingly show European gatekeeping audiences that they, the Baltics, properly belonged near the top of that “civilizational slope,” and thus merited full inclusion into Europe’s political, security, and social institutions.

 

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Intrinsic Factors of Europeanness: Estonia

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Historically: Protestant (Lutheran) Today: atheist, Lutheran, Orthodox

Imperial Experiences: Holy Roman Empire (Teutonic Order/Livoniana Confederation)

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Geographic Location: North/West; Appears on all maps of Europe.

Historical Experience Reformation Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Captivity

Figure 7.2  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Estonia

In blazing the path for their own return to Europe, the Baltics became strong advocates of the position that in the post-​Soviet era, Russia should be considered essentially and fundamentally non-​ European. They argued that Russia represented a clear and present menace against which the “truly European” Baltic states, liberated from their long captivity under the control of the non-​European Russian bear, should now, in a new era of a reunited “Europe,” be seen as the last and most important line of defense.

 



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Intrinsic Factors of Europeanness: Latvia

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Historically: Protestant and Catholic Today: Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox Imperial Experiences: Holy Roman Empire (Teutonic Order/Livonian Confederation)

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Geographic Location: North/West; Appears on all maps of Europe.

Historical Experience Reformation Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Captivity

Figure 7.3  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Latvia

In order to successfully re-​present the EOCG, and to reposition themselves near its top, actors whom Kuus calls “intellectuals of statecraft” in the Baltics skillfully employed cultural-​civilizational arguments, based primarily on history and geopolitics. These arguments ultimately convinced European gatekeepers to think of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania not as “post-​Soviet” states, but rather as either “Central European” states akin in their level of intrinsic Europeanness to the Visegrad countries of Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic, or as Scando-​ Nordic states resembling Finland, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway (Kuus 2007, 15–​16). The Baltic states successfully emphasized their own historical, cultural,

 

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Intrinsic Factors of Europeanness: Lithuania

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Catholic

Imperial Experiences: Holy Roman Empire (Teutonic Order in parts of Lithuania) Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/ Soviet

Geographic Location: North/Western: Appears on all maps of Europe.

Historical Experience: Renaissance (via Poland) Reformation Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Captivity

Figure 7.4  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Lithuania

and religious similarities to, and history of integration with, various regions of Europe that ranked high on the EOCG. They also argued that because the most powerful Western European states had “abandoned” the Baltics to occupation and captivity by the non-​European and barbarian Soviet Union after World War II, Europe now owed the Baltic states a quick and total return to their “natural state” of Europeanness via EU and NATO accession. The three Baltic states also backed up their ultimately successful cultural-​ civilizational claims to be intrinsically European enough to “rejoin Europe” with prompt fulfillment of the conditionality criteria that the EU and NATO placed

 



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upon them during the process of accession. In other words, they demonstrated that in addition to being “convincingly European” in a historical and cultural-​ civilizational sense, they could also “act European” by establishing the democratic political and market-​based economic institutions and policies that (in theory) mark contemporary European practice. Skilled, ambitious, and motivated elites, a willingness to ask for and capitalize on tutelage, help from neighbors such as the Nordic states and Poland, and relatively small and responsive populations all help explain the success of the Baltic states in achieving “extrinsic” Europeanness in the post-​Soviet era. Another significant variable underlying and animating these others is a strong and widely, though not uniformly, shared conviction among citizens in three Baltic states, including ethnic Russians, about the importance of “Europeanness” as both an element of national self-​identification and as a collective national goal. The journey back to Europe for the Baltics was not as entirely problem-​free and uncontroversial as conventional narratives sometimes suggest. The conscious decision to “Europeanize” national, historical, and cultural narratives for the consumption of European gatekeeping audiences necessitated eliding alternative and equally meaningful forms of historical experience and corporate identity in the Baltic states. The policy reforms adopted in the Baltic states in fulfillment of EU and NATO conditionality were at times painful and strongly contested there (particularly the question of rights for “non-​citizens,” who are mostly ethnic Russians). The Baltic experience shows that Europeanization is difficult and divisive (but not impossible), even when “Europeanness” is felt strongly to be both an intrinsic part of a given people’s or state’s national self-​ understanding and a set of extrinsic goods worth sacrificing for. This presents a sobering reality for the other Soviet successor states that aspire to “full” Europeanization, like Ukraine and Georgia.

Acting Like Good Europeans The years since the Baltic states “returned to Europe” have been marked by simultaneous global, economic, and Eurozone crises, presenting stiff challenges to the Baltic states and putting to test the European gatekeeper conviction that these states were indeed more European than post-​Soviet. To their credit, the Baltic states have weathered these challenges with less “backsliding” than their fellow ex-​communists in Hungary and Poland, and the Baltics have in the post-​accession period in fact asserted their rights as truly European states to fuller forms of inclusion and participation within both the EU and NATO (Malksoo 2010). These efforts have taken the practical form of pushing both the EU and NATO to engage in a more comprehensive, unified, and aggressive

 

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“Eastern policy”—​the simultaneous pragmatic engagement of Russia on matters of trade and geopolitical and military containment of Russia in the territory of the former Soviet Union. The latter includes lobbying for a more robust NATO guarantee of Baltic defense—​particularly in the wake of the Georgian war of 2008 and the Ukraine crisis—​as well as stronger EU and NATO support for the Europeanization of some Soviet successor states (Park and Paulionyte 2016). The policy initiatives that the Baltics have forwarded since their accession to the EU and NATO are designed to do several things: to ensure that the Baltic states truly are included in a politically and militarily meaningful (and not just rhetorical) way within Europe’s security universe; to increase Baltic visibility within Europe’s political universe; and to push Europe to consider widening its boundaries even further into post-​Soviet territory. With the latter policy, the Baltic states are in effect attempting to reinscribe the post–​Cold War EOCG by moving it further eastward, asserting the fundamental Europeanness of “Eastern Partner” states like Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia, while firmly denying that Russia or the five former Soviet Central Asian republics are “European” in any way. Accompanying these political priorities are compelling efforts by the “new” European Baltic states (together with Poland) to force the “old” European states to revisit established understandings of European history in order to make them more inclusive of the experiences and concerns of the Balts and other “eastern” or post-​communist (particularly post-​Soviet) states (Malksoo 2010; TOL September 1, 2016; Wezel 2016). These initiatives, led by Lithuania as part of its 2013 European Commission presidency, aim to weaken continued assumptions about the “alien” nature of “Eastern” Europe’s histories and experiences based on the EOCG, but also to invert the traditional paradigm whereby “old” and “core” (that is, Western) Europe gets to “instruct” the east about the hegemonic history of all Europe (Hackmann and Lehti 2010; Malksoo 2010). Pointedly, the new narratives of European history pushed by the Baltic states clearly adopt the view of Russia as alien and de-​Europeanizing. Establishing Baltic Europeanness by “Recycling Easternness Eastward.” The Baltic states’ successful bid to Europeanize after the collapse of the Soviet Union was based on presenting the following thesis in a concerted way to European gatekeeping actors (as it is here by former Estonian president Lennart Meri): Despite over 40  years as constituent republics of the Soviet Union, we, the three Baltic states, remain fundamentally, intrinsically part of Europe. We were fully accepted as part of Europe before the Soviet Union occupied and annexed us illegally after the Second World War, and the years of Soviet occupation did nothing to de-​Europeanize us or de-​legitimate our claims to Europeanness. Russia, the successor state

 



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to the Soviet Union, remains a wholly un-​European entity, one whose existence threatens in an existential way all of European civilization. Finally, only we, the Baltic states, with our extensive experience under the occupation of this un-​European and de-​Europeanizing menace, can protect you, Europe, and we can only do so if you take us back fully into the cultural, political and security institutions of Europe. (Kuus 2007, 15) In successfully pressing this claim with European gatekeeping actors, the Baltic states simultaneously reinscribed the EOCG, placing themselves near “the top” of that gradient while reinforcing the idea that Russia was either dangerously low on that gradient or indeed so un-​European that it existed wholly apart from Europe and as a grave threat to it (Baberowski 2007; Bruggemann 2007; Kuus 2007; Lehti et al., 2010; Malksoo 2009, 2010; Vonderau 2007). “Intellectuals of statecraft” in the three Baltic states skillfully and intentionally “chose a suitable historical truth from many separate version of ‘our people’ ” to present to the relevant European gatekeeping audiences (Berg and Oras 2000, 602). They successfully “aligned the history of their own countr[ies] with Europe,” while also “remodeling [those histories] in such a way that ensured no trace would be left of Russia and its empire” (Baberowski 2007, 338–​39). All three Baltic states have complicated legacies of interaction with both “the European West” and Russia in its various Kievan, Muscovite, Tsarist, and Soviet guises (Kasekamp 2010; Plakans 2011).2 Yet the “Return to Europe” after 1991 demanded that all unwanted elements of the recent socialist, Soviet, and Russian pasts, must be washed away (Novikova 2011), while more useful elements, like the historical influence of Germany, Denmark, and Sweden, whose colonial enterprises brought Christianity, literacy, economic development, and “civilization” to Estonia and Latvia beginning in the twelfth century, were to be highlighted. Post-​Soviet Lithuania has highlighted its long tradition of independent statehood under the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and as part of the Polish-​ Lithuanian Commonwealth, and its voluntary Christianization (Catholicization) in the twelfth through fourteenth centuries, while downplaying the influence of Orthodoxy and Slavic/​Russian culture in its development (Lieven 1994, 257–​ 59; Snyder 2003). The “re-​Europeanization” of Estonian and Latvian history after the Soviet interlude emphasized the long European pedigree of these states and peoples, including the assertion that they had been part of Europe at least since Roman times. Lennart Meri, a historian, ethnographer, and filmmaker who became president of Estonia in 1992, liked to remind European gatekeeping audiences that the Roman senator and historian Tacitus had mentioned Estonians in the forty-​fifth chapter of his Germania in ad 98. Meri argued that Tacitus’ account

 

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suggested that Europe and Estonia’s closeness was already such by this early date that Tacitus decided “it required documentation,” and that Tacitus was in fact the “the first chronicler of a functioning Northern Dimension” (a reference to an EU regional program that covers Scandinavia) (Kuus 2007, 93). The Christianization and feudalization of the Estonian and Latvian lands and peoples at the hands of Germanic and Scandinavian crusaders in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which led to the development of a ruling Baltic German landholding elite that would economically, culturally, and politically dominate these societies up to the very end of the Romanov era, was also, in the service of “returning to Europe,” portrayed as something “unquestionably good” (Bruggemann 2007, 151). Baltic actors emphasized the Germanic, Scandinavian, and Hanseatic lineage of cities such as Riga and Tallinn by reconstructing Hanseatic League–​era buildings and erecting statues to famous Germanic characters such as the animal musicians of Bremen (and, to woo the French, even to Frankish heroes such as Roland!) (Novikova 2011, 308–​9). To emphasize the Protestant and Catholic nature of Baltic societies and thus their connection with western Europe, the “intensive restoration of churches and cathedrals” began in Vilnius (Novikova 2011, 313), while Meri named the highest honor awarded by the Estonian state as the “Cross of the Virgin Mary,” directly linking Estonia to its earliest Catholic roots. (Thereby obscuring the strong impact on Estonian society of the later Reformation and, more significantly, the atheistic Soviet Union—​surveys consistently indicate that in the contemporary period Estonians are among the most atheistic of all Europeans) (Bruggemann 2007, 151). Aware that, as his colleague and successor as president of Estonia Toomas Hendrik Ilves put it, EU and NATO audiences basically saw all post-​Soviet states “as the same . . . sort of Tomska-​Tomsk, Minsk-​Pinsk, Tallinn-​Stalin,” Meri took pains to remind European gatekeepers that, among other things, “the first Catholic bishop assigned to Estonia in the twelfth century was French,” and “that Tallinn had a long correspondence with Martin Luther and staged Moliere during his lifetime’ ” (Kuus 2007, 25, 93). Relentlessly emphasizing the positive aspects of the Germanic, Scandinavian, and Christian pasts of the Baltic states was an effective strategy; both the EU and NATO quickly came to see the Baltic states as more “Central European” than “post-​Soviet,” and crafted their enlargement policies toward the Baltics as such. The success of this strategy should not obscure the fact that this relentlessly “Europeanist” story represented a novel interpretation of the region’s history. During the mid and late nineteenth century, Baltic “national awakenings” that led to the first period of independence, those same Germanic crusaders and nobles who would be touted in the 1990s for bringing “Christianity and civilization” to Estonia and Latvia and making them part of Europe, were in fact understood as the great villains of the new national stories. The idea that

 



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Baltic German colonization and Christianization should be praised because it “preserved the region from conversion to Orthodoxy and early Russification” would have “caused outrage in the 1920s and 1930s” in these societies (Lieven 1994, 138). The Baltic German overlords did in fact see the indigenous Baltic cultures that they ruled over as “barbarian” ones that required tutelage and the “civilizing” influence of the superior German and Christian culture, and the German elite was “bewildered” by the nascent Baltic nationalisms of the late nineteenth century (Bruggemann 2007, 150; Ijabs 2014; Plakans 2011, 227). The dominant feature of the Baltic national narratives of the turn of the twentieth century was the portrayal of Estonian and Latvian history as “a 700-​year ‘night of slavery’ due to the German-​Danish conquest” that could only be remedied by the “age of dawn and freedom” that independence would bring them (Kasekamp 2010, 80; Tamm 2010, 122–​23). For Lithuanians, the analogous process of nation-​building in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was focused on reversing centuries of Polish linguistic, cultural, and political dominance (Snyder 2003). Beyond recasting their own histories, the “Europeanist” Baltic narrative also emphasized the essential non-​Europeanness of Russia and the central role that returning Baltic states could (must) play in protecting Europe from the Russian menace to European security (the nature of which was portrayed as existential and civilizational, not merely geopolitical) (Berg and Oras 2000, 616; Bruggemann 2007; Kuus 2007; Lehti et al. 2010; Malksoo 2010). Europe would only remain whole and safe, the Baltics warned, when and if Europe committed to protecting and preserving the independence of Baltics by welcoming them fully into the EU and NATO (Berg and Oras 2000, 615). Even if the Baltic states’ attempt to “escape from Russia’s sphere” was understandable and “praiseworthy,” re-​establishing and reifying the border between the “European” Baltic sphere and the non-​European and de-​Europeanizing sphere of Russia meant “going against powerful strands of both history and economics” that closely linked the Baltics to Russia (Lieven 1994, 376). It also meant “decontaminating” Baltic cities and public spaces of Soviet and Russian influence and banning the public display of Soviet symbols (Novikova 2011). In the municipal museum of the city of Narva, in Estonia, for example, there is virtually no documentation or representation of the Soviet era, “no arguments, no denials, no remembrance of the horrors of totalitarianism: It simply does not exist” (Brednikova 2007, 50). Nor in Narva’s city museum is there any acknowledgment of the existence of the Russian city of Ivangorod, with which it shares significant historical, economic, and demographic ties, and which is located directly across the river from Narva. In Lithuania, the fact that the Soviet past is “not accepted as a legitimate reference point for the present” means that instead of taking advantage of the long-​term experience and knowledge of the socialist

 

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system, which might help Lithuanians take advantage of economic opportunities in Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine, Lithuanians instead “must imitate the imagined habitus of Europeans,” even when those habits ill serve them (Vonderau 2007, 233). The memory of the Soviet period, which has been scrubbed from cities such as Narva, is instead contained within the frame of remembering “totalitarianism” in both its Nazi and Soviet forms, as in the Vabamu Museum of Occupation and Freedom in the capital city of Tallin. Baltic actors also used stark civilizational logic to press the case for Europeanization among their own populations. During the 2002 NATO summit in Prague, where the decision was taken to invite the three Baltics to apply for NATO membership, the Lithuanian daily Lietuvos Rytas ran a headline stating, “The clock of history in Lithuania has started showing real Western civilizational time!” (Kuus 2007, 1). Europeanizing Baltic elites urged their citizens to accept the conditions that European institutions placed on them (especially regarding rights for ethnic Russian minorities) by reminding them that “We ourselves must decide, whether we want to be Europeans or we want to be in Byzantium” (Budryte 2005; Kuus 2007, 77). Katja Wezel notes that the debate about EU accession in Latvia in 2003 framed the referendum as “an opportunity to correct history” (2016, 574). Rain Maruste, a constitutional law and human rights lawyer and scholar in Estonia, bluntly told his countrymen in a newspaper editorial in the run-​up to that country’s 2003 referendum that “the only reason not to join the EU is if we prefer remaining alone and belonging to the eastern civilizational sphere. Then we could contentedly twist off the cork of the moonshine bottle, cut up the cheap sausage, and send the whole Eurothing to hell” (Wezel 2016, 79).

Explaining Successful Political and Security Europeanization in the Baltic States The smooth accession of the Baltic states to the EU and NATO was due in part to the cultural and civilizational work described earlier, but the ability of the Baltic states to also “act the part” of modern European states in terms of institutional reform also played an important role in facilitating their accession. During the interwar period of independence, the Baltic states had functioned as full members of the global and European state systems, even if the post–​ World War I European peacemakers had “faint knowledge of or interest in” the Baltic states and they had to win their independence on the ground, militarily, and largely alone (Kasekamp 2010, 105–​6). The European powers eventually did come to see the fledgling Baltic states as a useful “cordon sanitaire” against the new Bolshevik state and also praised them for their “ultra-​democratic”

 



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interwar constitutions and robust minority rights provisions, even if these did not prevent the interwar Baltic states from devolving into authoritarianism later in the interwar period (along with most other states in western and central Europe) (Kasekamp 2010, 119; Plakans 2011, 307; Van Elsuwege 2008, 20–​21). The combined influence of World War II and the Soviet occupation effectively destroyed any institutional vestige of the interwar period in the Baltic states. However, Baltic diaspora populations made sure that the West did not forget about the illegality of the Soviet occupation. This Baltic “state continuity” thesis was a persuasive argument in the mind of some EU and NATO actors in the post-​Soviet era (Van Elsuwege 2008, 66–​67). During its rule over the Baltics, the Soviet government pursued aggressive collectivization, industrialization along Stalinist parameters, destruction of the indigenous anti-​Soviet intelligentsias via deportations and repression, and Russification through the transfer of Slavic Soviet citizens into the Baltic states. Most affected were Estonia and Latvia, which saw the number of Slavic and Russian-​speaking citizens in their republics double during the Soviet era, while Lithuania largely escaped intensive Russification and industrialization during the Soviet era (see Table 7.1). Despite the partially successful attempts to Sovietize and Slavicize the Baltic states, the perception remained prominent in the Soviet Union that the Baltic republics were, in the words of Sergei Arutiunov, a leading Moscow ethnographer, “really European and not nashi [“ours,” meaning Soviet]” (Grant 2009, 154). The idea that the Baltics were “in a different, ‘Western’ category,” and that they were “our West” seems to have been a point of some pride in the Soviet Union (Bruggemann 2007, 148–​48; Lieven 1994, xxii). Yet in the immediate aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet Union, when compared with the Visegrad and other Central European states, the Balts were indisputably “worse off,” having been hidden “behind two Iron Curtains”—​not just that marked by the Warsaw Pact but the even heavier one of the Soviet Union itself (Lieven 1994, 316). The Baltics faced the daunting challenge of “constructing state institutions from scratch in conditions of political insecurity and severe economic crisis” (Lieven 1994). They rose to this challenge, quickly enough. As early as December 1991 the EU had made the decision to include them in the PHARE program, which had been begun for the Visegrad states, rather than including them in TACIS, the program for Russia and the other Soviet successor states. This was a “strong political signal to the Baltic states that they were part of the ‘European Democratic Family’ ” (Van Elsuwege 2008, 102). By December 1994, the European Parliament was urging the European Commission that “in all the consideration of the further enlargement of the EU, the Baltic states . . . must be regarded as part of Central and Eastern Europe” and thus brought onto the path of expedited accession.

 

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The EC took this advice, signing the Europe Agreements that formalized the EU membership path for the Baltic states in June 1995 (Van Elsuwege 2008,130). In his account of the Baltic march to EU membership, Van Elsuwege identifies several factors that help explain how the Baltic states were able to meet so quickly the conditionality requirements set by the EU (and NATO). The first was the fundamental willingness of both elites and populations in all three states to embrace the stringent economic reforms known as “shock therapy,” and to continually assent to EU and OSCE suggestions about further economic and political reforms throughout the duration of the process. The Baltic states were the first to adopt the more radical “second-​stage” neoliberal reforms that would later become widespread throughout the post-​communist world (Appel and Orenstein 2018, 26). Even when the reforms demanded by Europeanization caused economic hardship or social controversy, the Baltic states adopted the required reforms quickly (Budryte 2005). One crucial factor enabling these transformations was the strong sense of national identity that existed among each of the indigenous Baltic populations, which were in part cultivated by the intense experience of collective and peaceful protest that led to the regaining of Baltic national independence during perestroika. The 600 km Baltic Way human chain in August 1989, the “Singing Revolutions” across the Baltics, and the peaceful protests in Riga and Vilnius during the brief Soviet military incursions there in January 1991 are described by Lieven as being “one of the most moving political images of modern times, not only for the Balts, but for Europe” (1994, 254). This helped the Baltic peoples to come to the national self-​understandings that were progressive, democratic, civilized, and European. These collective, Europe-​oriented identities were then redeployed to useful effect to support the Europeanization process. The Baltic populations were thus predisposed to support the creation of “European-​style” political institutions, and in fact, while “the preconditions for democracy in the Baltic region were weak [as they were throughout the former Soviet Union], a participant political culture quickly took hold in each reborn Baltic state” (Clemens 2001, 76). “Majority rule prevailed  .  .  .  governments changed often, but they did so peacefully,” such that by the end of the 1990s “Baltic democracy looked very strong compared to other parts of the former USSR” (Clemens 2001, 76–​77). Certainly, the fact that the Baltic states had the highest Human Development Index indicators of all the former Soviet states also helped to provide insulation from the worst economic and political dislocations of the 1990s (Clemens 2001, 91). The three Baltic states were also blessed with skilled and effective political leaders, some indigenous, some from the diasporas in Europe and North

 



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America—​when Toomas Hendrik Ilves was elected president of Estonia in 2006, all three Baltic states had heads of state who had spent the bulk of their lives in North America, the other two being Latvian president Vaira Vike-​Freiberga and Lithuanian president Valdas Adamkus (Kasekamp 2010, 178). Clemens notes that while even the indigenous Baltic leaders acted as “stabilizing agents” during the reform period (2001, 58), the diaspora Baltic leaders in particular were well positioned to mediate between the Baltic populations and the European and further “wests” (the United States), showing the Baltic citizens that it was possible for them to succeed in those desirable but frightening realms and giving them the courage to make the difficult changes necessary to attempt the jump to Europe. The three Baltic states also relied on one another’s help and, to an even greater extent, on the help of their Scandinavian and Central European (especially Polish) neighbors throughout the EU and NATO accession period. Van Elsuwege refers to the “persuasive efforts of the Danish EU presidency” in convincing the rest of Europe of the righteousness of the Baltic Europeanization efforts, and describes the Swedes and Finns as being “ardent defenders of the Balts” and their European quest (2008, 188–​19). The willingness of the Balts’ more Europeanized neighbors to support them politically and more crucially, to open their economies to them (Kasekamp 2010, 189; Van Elsuwege 2008, 110). During their years as EU and NATO members, the Baltic states have continued to seek recognition as “true Europeans” and have fought to “resist the badge of liminal Europeanness” that their status as post-​Soviet states only “newly arrived” to Europe affixes to them (Malksoo 2010, 75, 78). They have done so by moving to integrate even more fully into the “core” of the EU, by joining the Eurozone (Estonia joined in January 2011, Latvia in 2014, and Lithuania in 2015), and into NATO, by forcing NATO to reiterate its commitment to defend the Baltics according to Article 5 of the NATO treaty (even more so after the Russian invasion of eastern Ukraine and annexation of Crimea in 2014). The Baltic states have also used their status as full members of the EU and NATO to promote a new view of “Europe” among their colleagues in those institutions, one that promotes a narrative of Baltic victimization and Soviet (Russian) culpability. The Baltic states want their EU and NATO compatriots to acknowledge formally and more deeply both the traumas experienced by the Baltic states at the hands of the Soviet Union (and to exclude Russia from Europe for these reasons), and to support a stronger “European vocation” for those Soviet successor states that are part of the Eastern Partnership program.

 

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The Baltic States in the EU: Being Model Citizens, Shaping History, and Making Policy The Balts had the dubious luck to join the EU only a few years before the global financial crisis unleashed enormously disruptive economic problems in Europe. The crisis hit the Baltic states hard, though Estonia weathered it better than either Lithuania or Latvia, both of which experienced strong economic downturns, higher debt, and greater outmigration to other EU countries as a result (Kuokstis 2015). Yet overall, the Baltic response to the Eurozone and general economic crises in the EU states has served both to underline the fundamental Baltic commitment to ever-​greater integration with the EU and the basic strength and fitness of the Baltic states’ political and economic systems when compared with those of other, “older” EU members (Appel and Orenstein 2018, 149; TOL November 20, 2012). Even during the height of the global financial crisis, Estonia stayed the course of Eurozone integration, managing to join on schedule in January 2011. Despite considerable economic pain due to austerity, Latvian finance minister Andris Vilks said in 2012 that his country still aimed to join the Eurozone by 2014 because it aspired to be “like Germany or the Netherlands,” that is, “belonging to the core of the Eurozone” (emphasis mine) (TOL November 20, 2012). For their stalwart commitment to become “ever-​more European” and to support the Eurozone even in the face of the economic crisis, one author has claimed that the Baltic states “bear comparison to the founders of European integration” and that they should “stand as inspiration for their colleagues from other members of the EU—​even the largest ones” (TOL November 20, 2012). As EU members, the Baltic states have also fought for “their fair share” from Brussels, particularly regarding agricultural subsidies and support for the modernization of Baltic rail transport systems and better integration of those systems with Europe’s existing grid. The Baltic states have used the threat of the “de-​Europeanizing” Russian menace in making their case for both these policy priorities. To attract attention to the “deplorable” situation of Baltic farmers (in 2012 direct payments to Latvian farmers were roughly one-​third of the EU average), Baltic activists drove a Soviet-​era tractor from Tallinn to Brussels (with the Soviet-​era vehicle meant to symbolize the shameful, un-​modern, decrepit, un-​European treatment the Baltic farmers felt they were receiving from the EU) (Baltic Course September 12, 2012). The EU migrant crisis that reached its zenith in 2015 has had a relatively minor impact on Baltic relations with the EU. The Baltic states were assigned very small numbers of migrants according to the quota deal hammered out by the European Commission in September 2015, and the governments of all three

 



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states voted to approve the plan. Polls suggest that Baltic populations are not in favor of accepting even these small populations of migrants, and there have been small-​scale protests against the policy in all three states (POLITICO, September 25, 2015). It is therefore indicative of the strength of the Baltic governments’ commitment to the EU and the policy of continued Europeanization that they accepted the migrant quota despite societal opposition. Promoting a Baltic Vision of European History. One of the primary motivators of the Baltic self-​determination movements of the late 1980s and early 1990s was the desire for historical redress for the Soviet occupation of the Baltics during and after World War II. In May 1989, “popular fronts” in all three Baltic states issued a joint resolution condemning the Molotov-​Ribbentrop Pact and subsequent Soviet crimes and asked the international community to support Baltic self-​determination in the name of righting these historical wrongs. The next month, in an astonishing act of peaceful, symbolic activism, nearly two million citizens of the Baltic republics marked the fiftieth anniversary of the Molotov-​ Ribbentrop Pact by forming a 600 km human chain across the Baltic republics (Van Elsuwege 2008, 47). An important part of the Baltic claim about rejoining Europe rested on the argument that Europe “owed” the Baltics for their suffering at the hands of the Soviet Union after the war (the “Soviet Captivity” thesis). Since becoming “full-​fledged” members of Europe in 2004, the Baltic states have, along with other new EU members like Poland, Hungary, and the Czech Republic, worked assiduously to have their historical narrative accepted by the rest of Europe. In other words, the Baltic states want to secure their hard-​ won, post-​Soviet place in Europe by having their histories literally written into a broader European historical narrative (Malksoo 2010, 84). The proposed Baltic additions to European historical narratives are resolutely anti-​Soviet and anti-​ Russian; the Baltics believe that their “escape from the East cannot be finished without devaluing the Soviet interpretation of history” (that Soviet history of course being very close to the contemporary Russian view of history, as was discussed in ­chapter 6) (Bruggemann 2007, 142). The historical project is an important part of the overall Baltic attempt to remake the EOCG in a way that fundamentally excludes Russia from Europe. The two Europes on either side of the Iron Curtain developed substantially different understandings of World War II during the decades of the Cold War. Western European accounts of the war were mainly “post-​national” ones that “centered on collective mourning for the Holocaust” (Lehti et al. 2010, 18–​19), while Baltic narratives of the war awarded pride of place to the suffering of the Baltic nations, not to Europe’s Jewish populations (Kattago 2010, 65). Getting European gatekeepers to recognize the validity and importance of the Baltic narrative of modern European history was thus a difficult task, partially because of timing—​discussions of World War II were “no longer part of the dominant

 

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discourse of an EU-​Europe” when the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 (Lehti et  al. 2010, 32). Baltic activists have been key in changing this view and in bringing about the long list of “official” European actions legitimizing the view of World War II held by the Baltic and other post-​communist states. These include: Resolution #1481 condemning the crimes of “totalitarian communist regimes,” passed by the Council of Europe in January 2006; the European Parliament’s declaration of a “European Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Stalinism and Nazism” in September 2008; the establishment in 2011 of the “Platform of European Memory and Conscience,” a think tank devoted to curating the history of the crimes of totalitarianism, in October 2011; and the establishment of a new “Reconciliation of European Histories” caucus in the European Parliament in fall 2001, roughly 20  percent of whose forty members come from the Baltic states. Even this impressive roster of “official” recognitions apparently has not convinced the Baltic states that their understanding of the past is now securely part of the mainstream narrative of European history. At the annual meeting of the Baltic foreign ministers with their German counterpart in Riga in August 2012, history dominated the agenda, and the participants issued yet another resolution condemning the Soviet occupation of the Baltic states and the Molotov-​ Ribbentrop Pact (Baltic Course August 24, 2012). The Lithuanian government made history a priority of its EU presidency, which began in July 2013, initiating that process in November 2012 with a conference in Vilnius entitled “United Europe—​United History” (Baltic Course May 25, 2012). Lithuanian prime minister Andrius Kubilius told conference participants that in order for Europe “not to lose its values,” it must continue to “talk about the common understanding of the European past,” and that in order to talk about the “political consolidation of Europe,” it was also necessary to “talk about the consolidation of the historical memory of Europe” (Baltic Course November 11, 2012). The Baltic states continue to pursue this historical work because they see it as fundamental to securing broader European commitments for their defense against Russia, (a thesis that gained more sympathy among the rest of the EU states after Russia’s incursion into Ukraine in 2014)  (Kuus 2007; Malksoo 2010). The Baltic states and their post-​communist allies have successfully woven the thread of Soviet wartime culpability into the tapestry of “official” modern European history, and until Russia becomes willing to recognize, apologize for, and atone for its wartime crimes, as Germany has done, it will remain starkly outside Europe in this important realm, as it does so many others. Expanding Europe Eastward:  Baltic Leadership of the EU’s Eastern Policy. Estonian president Toomas Hendrik Ilves made “the implementation of a consistent and forceful EU policy with regards to Russia and the shaping of Eastern

 



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dimension of the European Neighborhood Policy” into the “key post-​accession foreign policy goal” for both the Baltic states and Poland (quoted in Malksoo 2010, 78). In pursuit of this goal, the Baltic states have worked to “lock” the six post-​Soviet Eastern Partnership (EAP) states into a “European orbit” that will protect them from Russia, while not seeming to care too much what happens with the Central Asian republics, which instead remain “firmly outside the Baltic and EU perception of what constitutes the European neighborhood” (Galbreath and Lamoreaux 2007, 110, 123). Such moves not only help the Baltic states themselves to continue to assert and shore up their own Europeanness by “resisting Russia as a determining factor in their liminal Europeanness,” but are also aimed fostering the EAP states as a “a counter-​example to Russian ideology of ‘managed democracy’ ” and thus to “expose the ‘dubious democratic contents’ of Russia’s model of governance” (Malksoo 2010, 80). Along with Poland and the Nordic states, the Balts have taken the lead in administering and promoting the EU’s Eastern Partnership program, providing help to the EAP states through both multilateral and bilateral means. Lithuania made the EAP a priority during its 2013 EU presidency, holding an EAP summit in Vilnius in fall 2013 (Park and Paulionyte 2016). Estonia has a permanent Center for the Eastern Partnership in Tallinn and Estonian foreign minister Urmas Paet has urged the EU to pay greater attention to the EAP states, which he considers “priority countries” for Estonia (Baltic Course July 24, 2012; August 28, 2012). All three Baltic states support the European Humanities University in Vilnius, which provides liberal arts education for Belarusian students, and all three are involved in EU “twinning” projects with various EAP states. Estonian foreign minister Paet has been particularly supportive of Moldova’s European ambitions, stating that he believes it will soon be time for Moldova to “move to the next level, the European Union perspective” (Baltic Course July 24, 2012), while Lithuania has shown itself to be a tireless advocate for both Belarus’s and Ukraine’s Europeanization. Lithuanian minister of foreign affairs Audronius Azubalis has urged his EU colleagues not to alienate Belarus despite that country’s “path of self-​isolation,” arguing that to do so would “leave the Belarusian people without the option of a European perspective” (Baltic Course August 24, 2012). He has also met with his Ukrainian counterpart to urge Ukraine to “make full use of the possibilities offered by the EA,” while his deputy Evaldas Ignatavicius has tried to convince his EU colleagues not to abandon Ukraine and to help it “stay on the European path,” despite the “serious concerns” about anti-​democratic tendencies in that country (Baltic Course May 15, 2012; September 19, 2012). In the wake of Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, Lithuania so vociferously condemned Russia, and so strongly called for the expedited signing of the disputed Association Agreement between the EU and Ukraine (and

 

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visa liberalization between the EU and Ukraine), that Russia responded by sanctioning the main Lithuanian port of Klaipeda, effectively shutting down much of the Lithuanian export trade to Russia. As we saw in c­ hapter 3, Lithuania has also taken the lead in calling for a “Marshall Plan” for Ukraine, to save it from “falling back” into Russia’s grasp. Lithuania has even acted to help Ukraine craft a more Eurocentric vision of its own history. In May 2012 the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Lithuania sponsored a conference at Vyautas Magnus University in Kaunas, devoted to the history of the “Battle of Blue Waters” (fought between the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Mongol Golden Horde in the mid-​fourteenth century and won by the armies of the Grand Duchy). Opening the conference, Lithuanian MFA Azubalis stressed that “just as at the time of the Battle of Blue Waters,” Lithuania’s task now was to “help our partners [Ukraine] to resist the lure of authoritarianism and to protect the reputable name of this historical European nation” (Baltic Course May 25, 2012). In case the Ukrainians themselves were unclear about the significance of the Battle of Blue Waters, he highlighted that as a result of the Grand Duchy’s victory over the Mongols, “Ukraine gained Europe, Christianity, and the freedom to continue to foster Ukrainian identity,” and that it also gave Ukraine “the inspiration to never be crushed under the yoke of tyranny by some strangers and to give witness to the whole world of their European nature and choice” (Baltic Course May 25, 2012). It is hard to imagine a starker formulation of the Lithuanian (and indeed, Baltic and Polish) view of history being used to frame contemporary politics. The policies pursued by the Baltic states since joining the EU and NATO have the potential to have significant and lasting influence on the post-​communist contours of the EOCG. The post-​accession Baltic stance is that while pragmatic economic engagement with Russia is necessary and could be mutually beneficial, the EU and NATO must see Russia as an intrinsically fundamentally dangerous and threatening anti-​European force that needs to be held in check by firm policies. If this view triumphs, Russia would more or less be exiled permanently from Europe’s most important institutions, and also be denied any claims to “Europeanness” in any realm.

The Baltic States in NATO: Seeking Enhanced Security Since acceding to NATO in 2004, the Baltic states have moved to consolidate their position within NATO and exert more influence in that organization, to the extent possible for states that are both ex-​Soviet and small. Malksoo argues convincingly that the Baltics’ controversial support of the American invasion of Iraq in spring 2003, even before their formal accession to NATO, which greatly

 



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angered many of their “older” European neighbors, was aimed at securing American support within NATO in order to prevent their larger European neighbors from eliding Baltic realpolitik views on Russia and the security threat it posed to them and all of Europe (2010, 138). Following Russia’s 2008 invasion of Georgia, which seemed to confirm Baltic fears of Russian aggression, the Baltics pushed hard for NATO to recommit to Article 5 in the Atlantic Treaty and to the “Baltic Skies” program, which provides NATO air patrols over the Baltics. Putin’s claim that Russia would seek to protect the interests of “all Russian speakers” in the same way that they had “protected” the Russian speakers of Crimea in 2014 (that is, by annexing them) has led the Baltic states to demand more a greater and more visible NATO presence on their territory. In response, NATO increased the number of Baltic Skies patrols as well as various land and sea exercises based in the Baltic states (such as BALTOPS and “Sabre Strike”) (Reuters June 12, 2014). At its 2016 Warsaw summit, NATO adopted a new Enhanced Forward Presence doctrine, which positions a multinational NATO battalion group in each of the three Baltic states, along with one in Poland. The Baltic states have been proactive in protecting and promoting NATO and American military assistance in the face of increased Russian pressure during the third Putin presidency, even convincing the Euroskeptic American president Donald Trump to host a Baltic summit at the White House in April 2016 (where they earned praise for meeting the 2 percent military spending goal that has become Trump’s chief demand for NATO allies) (AP April 3, 2018).

Estonia: Case Study Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Estonia since 1989 Since successfully joining the EU and NATO in 2004, Estonian actors have worked hard to further distinguish Estonia as a European state by stressing its historical and civilizational ties with the Nordic-​Scandinavian states of Europe. The sense that Estonia was “uniquely European” among the three Baltic states was evident even during the accession period but was at that point forced to bow to the European gatekeeper emphasis on Baltic unity and cooperation. The Finno-​Ugric linguistic roots of the Estonian language, and the strong cultural and historical ties between Finns and Estonians, make this “Nordic choice” an obvious way for Estonia continue to prove its Europeanness, deepen its bilateral ties to other EU member states, secure a wider regional bloc identity within the EU, and continue to distance itself from its Soviet past. (See Figure 7.5.) As the Estonian Ministry of Foreign Affairs explains on its website for visitors to the country, in Estonian culture “one can find elements originating from the

 

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Estonia: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Dominant and strong Europeanizing narrative. Strong elision of any Russian or Soviet elements in national narrative. Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has won and hosted Eurovision (won in 2001, hosted in 2002). Legalized same-sex partnerships in 2014.

Sport: UEFA member and hosted EUFA u-19 Championship in 2012.

Figure 7.5  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Estonia

East as well as the West, but mostly the Estonians consider themselves a northern people and conceptually bound to Scandinavia” (“Estonian Modern Culture” 2008). In arguing its belonging to the Nordic and Scandinavian, as opposed to Baltic and post-​communist, European subgroup, Estonian actors highlight the country’s high level of economic, technological, and cultural development, and emphasize its distance from more negatively viewed traits that might be associated with post-​communism, such as corruption. In an important address given to the Swedish Institute for International Affairs in December 1999, when he was Estonia’s minister of foreign affairs, Toomas Hendrik Ilves articulated the “Nordic Estonia” view. Ilves argued that Estonia must be properly seen as part of a cultural-​civilizational grouping he called “Yuleland,” which he defined as those lands where “one and the same word signifies both the birth of Christ as well as the solstice, the return of the sun, one of the two highpoints in the pre-​Christian Calendar of the hyperboreans” (Ilves 1999). According to Ilves, “the Yule-​swath that extends from Iceland and Britain through the Scandinavians to the Finnic lands that include Estonia, ends there,” thus consciously excluding the other two Baltic states and of course Russia from its embrace.

 



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Pointing out that “Yulelanders” shared the highest rates of Internet and cell phone usage in Europe, and also the lowest corruption rates, Ilves argued that “clearly the case is to be made that these Protestant and high-​ tech oriented countries form a Huntingtonian subcivilisation, different from both its southern and eastern neighbors,” and that the “long, dark and cold nights of Yuleland, inhospitable as they were to our ancestors’ lives in agrarian societies, have produced a similar mindset and culture geared to the demands of a modern, globalized economy.” Finally, he argued, “One could say that Yulelanders are the new wave of Europe” (Ilves 1999). A year later, Ilves would reiterate this identification of Estonia as one of the most economically, socially, and technologically advanced states in Europe in a speech at London School of Economics tellingly entitled “e-​Estonia and the new Europe” (Ilves 2000). Since the country’s accession to the EU and NATO, Estonian actors have also continued to de-​emphasize the Soviet and Russian elements in Estonia’s past and present and have worked to consolidate the position of the Estonian language and culture within its own borders. The tensions that these two policies have engendered among the country’s Russian-​speaking minority, which constitutes about one-​quarter of the country’s population (about only one-​half of whom are currently citizens of Estonia), became manifest in dramatic fashion in April 2007, when the Estonian government decided to remove from its location in central Tallinn the Soviet-​era statue of a Red Army soldier, known as the “Bronze Soldier.” The removal led to three days of rioting by Russian-​speakers in Estonia, with one protester being killed, over 150 injured, and over 800 arrested. The Estonian government’s reasons for removing the Bronze Soldier were the same ones that made this action so intolerable for some elements of the Russian-​ speaking community in Estonia—​it was the last and most prominent representation of Soviet history and culture in Estonia, having been “used ritually in Soviet identity politics” since its unveiling in Tallinn in 1947 (Ehala 2010). In the wake of the protests the Estonian government did develop a new program aimed at fostering the faster integration of Russian-​speaking residents of Estonia into the labor market, society, and politics, but emphasized that such integration must take place through more rapid and full acquisition of Estonian language skills by Russian-​speakers (Ehala 2008; Lauristin and Vihalemm 2010; Schulze 2010, 386; TOL September 12, 2007). Estonia displays strong evidence of seeking and finding acceptance as a full part of contemporary European culture. The country won the EBU’s Eurovision contest in 2001 and hosted Eurovision in 2002, and was the first Baltic state to hold an LGBTQ pride event (in 2004). It is also the first Baltic state to legalize same-​sex partnerships (in 2014). As a small state, Estonia has not enjoyed great

 

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football success at either the national or the club level as a UEFA member, but it hosted the UEFA European Under-​19 Championship in July 2012 and did so without any of the agonizing debate that surrounded Ukraine and Poland’s hosting of the main EURO tournament that year. Furthermore, Tallinn was named the “European Capital of Culture” in 2011, and the government has invested heavily in a new Art Museum of Estonia (KUMU) (designed, significantly, by a Finnish architect), whose purpose is “to be one of the main Baltic art centers and an important venue in the life of art in the Nordic countries and the rest of Europe” (“Estonian Modern Culture” 2008).

Political Europeanization in Estonia since 1989 Estonia has undergone full political Europeanization and is proud of its growing influence and status within the EU. Estonia joined the Schengen Area in December 2007 and the Eurozone in January 2011. It is the only Baltic state active in the EU’s “Nordic Battlegroup” response force, and successfully applied to have the headquarters for the management of large-​scale EU Informational Technology systems for justice and security to be built in Tallinn (“Estonia in the EU” 2011). Significantly, support among the Estonian population for the EU and Estonia’s continued integration with the EU has grown since the time of accession—​from about 67 percent voting yes in the EU referendum in 2003 to ratings in the 70–​85 percent range even after the Eurozone crisis (“Estonia in the EU” 2011). (See Figure 7.6.) Estonia is also committed to fostering the “Eastern Dimension” of the EU, arguing that the EU’s policy in this part of the former Soviet Union “must be flexible enough to allow an individual approach to partner nations, permitting the EU to move more quickly with the nations that are prepared for it,” and voicing its commitment to the further Europeanization of “priority partner countries Georgia, Ukraine and Moldova” (“Estonia in the EU” 2011). When it held the European Council presidency in 2017, Estonia reiterated these pledges to “strengthen” and “promote” the Eastern Partnership; it also put special emphasis on cooperation with Ukraine (Programme 2017).

Security Europeanization in Estonia since 1989 Estonia is fully Europeanized in the security realm, having joined NATO in 2004. The Foreign Ministry asserts that “active NATO membership will always remain the top priority of Estonia security and defense policy, as it allows Estonia to productively participate in international security cooperation and represents the most certain guarantee of Estonia’s national defense.” Estonia proudly hosted an

 



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Estonia: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Joined EU in 2004. Joined Schengen Zone in 2009. Joined Eurozone in 2011.

Council of Europe: Joined Council of Europe in 1993.

Euro-Alternative Institutions: Strongly urges Soviet successor states to choose Europeanization rather than Euro-Alternatives.

Figure 7.6  Political Europeanization in Estonia

informal meeting of all foreign ministers from NATO and ISAF states in 2011, and has participated in the most important NATO deployments, including KFOR, ISAF, and Operation Iraqi Freedom. As of January 2010, 200 Estonians joined 600 Lithuanians in founding NATO’s deployment-​ready “Baltic Brigade” (Latvian budgetary woes forced that state to limit its participation to three advisers). More recently, in wake of the Crimean affair, it fought hard for, and received, NATO pledges to station a NATO battalion directly on Estonian territory. Perhaps most notably of all, Estonia is one of the few countries to fulfill the 2 percent of GDP defense budget goal suggested by NATO, which it did beginning in 2014 (The Economist, February 16, 2017). (See Figure 7.7.) Estonia claims that one of its most important tasks as a NATO member is “to help Ukraine on its path to NATO and the EU” via the NATO-​Ukraine Commission. It also claims that “supporting and helping Georgia by sharing its reform experiences has been one of Estonia’s foreign policy priorities and has been done regularly on the bilateral and multilateral levels in NATO and other international organizations” (“Estonia and NATO” 2011). Estonia is obviously

 

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ESTONIA: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO: Member of NATO since 2004.

OSCE: Member of OSCE since 1991; Cooperated fully with OSCE on minority rights in run-up to EU and NATO accession.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Strongly supports NATO membership for Georgia, Ukraine, and Moldova.

Figure 7.7  Security Europeanization in Estonia

a strong voice for firm NATO line toward Russia, and makes it clear that in its opinion, “NATO does not represent a threat to Russia,” but “rather the other way around” (“Estonia and NATO” 2011).

Latvia: Case Study Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Latvia since 1989 As Lieven notes, Latvia’s search for a post-​Soviet national identity is more complicated than that of either of its Baltic neighbors. This owes to the fact that, while linguistically Latvians are true Balts, and in this respect are closer to Lithuania, in terms of religious and cultural expression, Latvians are closer to Estonians

 



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(1994, 34). Historically, the people and territory of contemporary Latvia experienced a “greater variety of rulers” than the other two Baltic states, which has led to a higher degree of “cultural confusion” in Latvia than in the other two Baltic states (Lieven 1994). Latvian poet and writer Imants Ziedonis describes it this way: “Latvians live along the line of confrontation between East and West, occupying a space diffuse in the political, demographic and philosophical sense; a space where the assessment and evaluation of our nation by the participants tends to be quite diplomatically evasive.”3 (See Figure 7.8.) This more complex ethno-​history has not made Latvia any less resolute about its Europeanness and the necessity of “rejoining” Europe in the wake of communism. Rather, the higher level of Russian in-​migration during the Soviet period, which left ethnic Latvians as a bare 52 percent majority in the country at the time of the 1989 Soviet census (down from 77 percent in 1939), has only enhanced

LATVIA: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Dominant and strong Europeanizing narrative. Strong elision of any Russian or Soviet elements in national narrative.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has won and hosted EUROVISION (won in 2002,hosted in 2003). Hosted EUROPride in 2015.

Sport: UEFA member and made it to final grouping in EURO 2004 championships.

Figure 7.8  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Latvia

Cultural Europeanization: Constitutional ban on same-sex marriage since 2006.

 

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ethnic Latvians’ commitment to both securing the primary place of the ethnic Latvian nation within the state and securing the place of the Latvian state in European cultural-​civilizational, political, and security structures. Latvians were the first of the Baltic peoples to use the freedoms of perestroika and glasnost’ to protest contemporary and historical Soviet human rights abuses, and their commitment to peaceful protest in the face of Soviet tanks in January 1991 impressed observers in Europe and further abroad. In the early 1990s, Latvians united around the idea that rejoining Europe was the best way to achieve the much-​desired state of “normality” that had been absent during the years of Soviet “dystopia” (Eglitis 2002, 17). Latvian political entrepreneurs began to “sell” Latvia to Europe, highlighting the long historical, cultural, and religious ties between Latvia and Europe, focusing in particular on the central role the Latvian capital city of Riga played in the Hanseatic League. As Latvian prime minister Einars Repse told the European Forum in Berlin in 2003 after Latvian voters had approved of joining the EU by a margin of 68 percent to 33 percent: I never tire of telling visitors that Latvia is an old European country. Our European credentials are strong—​the 800-​year-​old Hanseatic capital Riga; the German, Polish and Swedish historical influences; a rich native Baltic identity. 50 years of Soviet occupation could not suppress our determination to return to the West. We firmly believe that we belong in Europe, and the resounding “yes” from Latvian voters in the referendum on the twentieth September was the latest proof of our European calling. European gatekeeping agents ultimately were convinced by such arguments, and yet even in the post-​EU and NATO accession period, Latvia has struggled with its “perceived marginality” to the rest of Europe, a perception that is a product both of Latvia’s post-​Soviet status and the “cultural confusion” described earlier (Dzenovska 2007, 116). One response to the feeling that Latvians are poorly understood by and seen as marginal to the rest of Europe (“the real Europe”) even after EU and NATO accession, is to try to “turn these perceived liabilities into assets,” especially by emphasizing the “remote, pristine and uniquely unspoiled natural environment” in Latvia (Dzenovska 2007, 116). Latvians have also tried to cultivate a view of themselves as “the last genuine peasant nation in Europe,” attempting to provoke among other Europeans “the image of an appealing and vanishing European indigeneity” (Schwartz 2006). The Latvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs website for visitors to the country boasts about the abundance of “natural forests, marshes and fields” in Latvia and the fact that while “once all of

 



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Europe looked like this,” now only Latvia “preserves and protects a very special balance between man and nature.” Asserting the primacy of the ethnic Latvian nation within Latvia and crafting a more solid place for the Latvian state in Europe also entails de-​emphasizing the ethnic Russian presence in Latvia. For example, on the Latvian government’s EU portal, the “Population” section of the “Latvia in Brief ” posting states with only very thinly disguised disdain that “Latvians are the indigenous people of Latvia, and Finno-​Ugric Livs (or Livonians) are the only indigenous minority,” while “Latvia’s present ethnic mix” (that is, its 27  percent Russian minority) is described as being “largely a result of massive postwar immigration, which resulted in the decline in the share of ethnic Latvians from 77% in 1935 to 52% in 1989.”4 Russians in Latvia are thus clearly marked as alien interlopers whose presence threatens the existence of the true owners of the state of Latvia—​ ethnic Latvians and Livs. Latvia takes pains to point out that it is in full compliance with international and European norms on minority rights, and indeed, ethnic Russian citizens of Latvia are vocal and influential participants in the country’s political system.5 However, political developments in 2011 and 2012 emphasized the determination of the country’s ethnic Latvian majority to minimize the influence of its ethnic Russian citizens on the country’s development.6 In September 2011 the ethnic Russian political party Harmony Center was frozen out of the ruling parliamentary coalition despite winning the largest number of seats, while in February 2012 voters in Latvia overwhelmingly defeated a referendum calling for Russian to be named an official language in Latvia. The next month the Latvian parliament voted not to make Russian Orthodox Christmas an official national holiday, a clear rebuke to the cultural sensibilities of Russophone citizens in Latvia (Dreifelds 2012, 322). Latvia won the Eurovision song contest in 2002, a mere two years after its debut in the event. After hosting Eurovision in 2003, Latvian enthusiasm appeared to wane somewhat, and the country threatened nonparticipation in the late 2000s, citing the deleterious effects of the European economic crisis. However, in the end the country decided to devote the funds, and Latvia has not missed a Eurovision contest. The country has a mixed history on LGBTQ rights, passing a constitutional ban on same-​sex marriage in 2006, but hosting the EuroPride festival, “Europe’s highest profile gay pride event,” in Riga in 2015 (Reuters April 10, 2015). Latvia “put itself firmly on the European footballing map” when it reached the final grouping of the EURO championships in 2004, though it failed to win a game in that round and has not returned to the final grouping since (“Latvian Football Survives Setbacks” 2010).

 

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Political Europeanization in Latvia since 1989 Latvia has neither attempted nor managed to become as prominent within the EU in the post-​accession period as has its northern neighbor Estonia. Latvia’s economy and citizenry have both suffered greatly from the Eurozone and fiscal crises of the late 2000s. While the country has weathered the economic storm (thanks, apparently, to the stoic ability of Latvian citizens to absorb economic pain), Latvian president Valdis Zatlers told the plenary session of the European Parliament in 2009 that “Latvia has not been sufficiently purposeful in trying to introduce the Euro. That is one of the biggest mistakes that we have made in the process of European integration—​the economic crisis makes this harshly clear.” In January 2014, Latvia joined the Eurozone. (See Figure 7.9.) Like Estonia and Lithuania, Latvia is committed to encouraging Europeanization in the EU’s Eastern Partnership neighbors; Latvia has boldly

Latvia: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

EU: Joined EU in 2004. Joined Schengen Zone in 2009. Joined Eurozone in 2015.

Council of Europe: Joined Council of Europe in 1993.

Euro-Alternative Institutions: Strongly urges Soviet successor states to choose Europeanization rather than Euro-Alternatives.

Figure 7.9  Political Europeanization in Latvia

Weak

 



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stated of the six Eastern Partner states that “We are their lobby in the EU” (Galbreath 2010, 167). In a 2012 essay entitled “Why the Eastern Partnership Still Matters,” Latvian minister of foreign affairs Edgars Rinkevics continued these lobbying efforts, going so far as to argue that Georgia and Moldova had a realistic EU “membership perspective,” and advocating a “individualized” approach to each of the EAP states, one that would give “more for more” to each EAP state, trading progress in democratic and market reforms for closer relations with the EU (Rinkevics 2012).

Security Europeanization in Latvia since 1989 NATO membership is the most important aspect of Latvia’s post-​Soviet security Europeanization. Latvian state actors understand the country’s membership in NATO as conferring both the best guarantee of its security, arguing that “The most valuable effect of Latvia’s membership in NATO is having permanent allies. Permanent allies within NATO provide confidence that never again will Latvia stand alone in the face of a threat” (“Latvia: A Reliable Partner in NATO” 2003). But NATO membership is also seen as integral to Latvia’s place in Europe. Because “Latvia historically belongs to the Western European cultural sphere,” NATO membership helps to “demonstrate that Latvia has overcome the legacy of separation and oppression [from Europe]” and to “cement western democratic standards and principles in [Latvian] society” (“Latvia: A Reliable Partner in NATO” 2003). (See Figure 7.10.) Latvia took an important step toward consolidating its position in NATO when it hosted the 2006 NATO summit meeting, an event that is still featured prominently on the Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ website). After Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, and in response to more Russian bomber flights near its coast, Latvia discussed reinstituting the draft, and also increased its defense spending significantly (up 44 percent from 2015 to 2016), though it has still not reached the 2 percent of GDP level recommended by NATO (SIPRI 2017, 6; TOL March 27, 2015).

Lithuania: Case Study Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Lithuania since 1989 Shortly after throwing off Soviet rule in 1991, Lithuanian intellectuals and politicians, who were, as in the other Baltic cases, often one and the same actors (post-​Soviet Lithuania’s first leader, Vytautas Landsbergis, is a historian

 

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Latvia: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO: Member of NATO since 2004.

OSCE: Member of OSCE since 1991; Cooperated fully with OSCE on minority rights in run-up to EU and NATO accession.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Strongly supports NATO membership for Georgia, Ukraine, and Moldova.

Figure 7.10  Security Europeanization in Latvia

specializing in the first independence period), began to voice the need for Lithuania to “return to Europe,” which was represented as “Lithuania’s natural place of belonging” (Pavlovaite 2003, 243). Some “Euro-​realists” did worry about Europe’s consumerist, materialist, and secular values “imperiling the traditional, spiritual, moral and Christian identity of the deeply-​Catholic Lithuania,” but for most Lithuanians, the identification of Lithuania as part of European civilization was seen as “ an inherently good and valuable idee fixe” (Pavlovaite 2003, 244–​49). (See Figure 7.11.) Lithuanian arguments about the country’s Europeanness often identify Lithuania as being part of the “Central Europe” articulated by Kundera, Havel, and the other Visegrad intellectuals in the 1980s and early 1990s. The long history of independent statehood of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and later the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth, gave Lithuania a strong and credible claim to cultural-​civilizational Europeanness, as did the strong traditional of Roman

 



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Lithuania: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Dominant and strong Europeanizing narrative. Strong elision of any Russian or Soviet elements in national narrative. Cultural Europeanization: EBU member; has never won Eurovision and did not participate in Eurovision from 1995–1998; threatened to withdraw in 2010 due to lack of funds.

Cultural Europeanization: Marriage limited to “a man and a woman” in constitution. No legal provision for same-sex partnerships.

Sport: UEFA member and hosted u-19 Championship in 2013.

Figure 7.11  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Lithuania

Catholicism in the country. As Snyder notes, the Catholic conversion of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania’s leader Jagiello in 1386 created a fundamental “cultural link between Lithuania and Europe,” while the political union with Poland “communicated larger trends in European law to Lithuania” in the early modern period, with the Grand Duchy’s Statutes of 1566 and 1588 demonstrating “the growing importance of Roman and Germanic” legal models in Lithuania (2003, 17–​20). During both the first (late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries) and second (late 1980s and early 1990s) periods of independence-​seeking, Lithuanian intellectuals struggled to identify the bases of a modern ethnic Lithuanian nation-​ statehood that was independent of Polish influences, but still emphasized the Europeanness that the Polish legacy had helped bring to Lithuania. In the first period of nation-​building, this meant eliding the early modern ethnic complexity and blurred “national” loyalties of the

 

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Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth in favor of reviving a “glorious and mythical medieval Lithuanian past” that emphasized the ancient, indigenous, and “civilized” nature of both the Lithuanian state and language. The latter was presented as “the oldest, best preserved language in Europe” (Snyder 2003, 32–​37). Contemporary presentations of Lithuania’s European origins, such as that offered on the Lithuanian Foreign Ministry’s “Gateway to Lithuania” website, take a similar approach, noting that when the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was issued a Papal Bull in 1253, “Lithuania was recognized by and accepted into the family of Western Europe as an equal member of the political system.” Some observers have noted critically Lithuania’s keen desire in the post-​Soviet period to “be more European than the Europeans themselves” (Balockaite 2008), and also the “one-​way street” nature of Lithuania’s cultural-​civilizational Europeanization in this period (from Europe to Lithuania and never the other way around) (Vonderau 2007, 223). Lithuanian society adopts European cultural, political, and economic norms without question, burying, avoiding, and demonizing its recent Soviet past, while “imitating the imagined habitus” and behaviors of what it imagines to be “modern Europe” (Vonderau 2007, 233). The desire, or perceived need, to adopt European social, cultural, and political norms and forms has produced some conflicts in Lithuanian society; the introduction of European norms of tolerance and human rights for sexual and ethnic minorities in Lithuania “has not sufficiently produced ‘European’ subjectivities in many Lithuanians,” whose views on family, sexuality, and the leading role of the ethnic Lithuanian nation in modern Lithuanian remain comparatively more conservative (Beresniova 2010, 265; TOL February 9, 2011). However controversial some aspects of the process may be, Lithuania’s strong desire for Europeanization is clearly manifest in the cultural realm. Lithuania was an early joiner of the EBU and first participated in Eurovision in 1994, years before the other Baltic states. However, the country placed dead last in its first Eurovision appearance, and in its humiliation, did not return to the contest until 1999. The country’s highest finish at Eurovision since then is a sixth-​place showing in 2006. Lithuania’s skepticism about the value of Eurovision is mirrored in the country’s ambivalence about the associated question of LGBTQ rights. Baltic Pride parades have taken place in the country in 2010 and 2013 only by court order and under heavy police protection, and the country’s constitution clearly limits marriage to “a man and woman.” The country did pass a Law on Equal Treatment that protects against discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in 2005, “to ensure the implementation of EU anti-​discrimination directives in national legislation” (Andriukaitis 2016, 7).

 



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In the arena of European football, while Lithuania has not enjoyed the success on the pitch that its Latvian neighbors have, Lithuania has hosted a major UEFA championship (U19 in 2013)  and “has worked hard to develop the country’s football infrastructure,” with the aim of “earning a place in the final round of a major [European] championship” (“Lithuania Goes It Alone” 2011).

Political Europeanization in Lithuania since 1989 Lithuania has become fully integrated into “political Europe” in the post-​Soviet period. Lithuanians supported joining the EU with large majorities; in the May 2003 referendum on membership, 91 percent of the 63 percent of Lithuanians who participated voted in the affirmative. Upon joining the EU, Lithuania again demonstrated its “Euro-​enthusiasm” by becoming the first country to ratify the proposed (and ultimately unsuccessful) EU Constitution in November 2004; in 2007 it joined the EU’s Schengen Zone and in 2008 it ratified the Lisbon Treaty. Even after suffering significant economic pain in the wake of the 2009 financial crisis, and despite the lingering turmoil in the Eurozone, Lithuania joined the currency union in 2015. (See Figure 7.12.) Lithuania occupied the presidency of the European Commission in the second half of 2013 and used the opportunity to refocus European attention on the Eastern Partnership states, hosting an EAP summit in November 2013 in Vilnius. Lithuania is deeply committed to the idea of expanding “political” Europe’s boundaries eastward; as Lithuanian foreign minister Petras Vaitiekunas explained in 2008: The first fundamental principle of our foreign policy in the East is paying a moral debt. Some time ago, when we were restoring our independence, we had the support of the Western countries. We were looking for this support, it was precious to us and we needed it, and it was effective. Now, we give support to others. Another principle [of our Eastern policy] is connected with national security. Lithuania will be safer when it is surrounded by states that think the same way and accept the same basic values of European civilization as we do. And finally, the third interest that determines our policy in the East is based upon economics. (RFE/​RL March 11, 2008) Perhaps the most striking example of Lithuania using its EU membership to pursue these “eastern objectives” is its surprisingly successful efforts to get the EU to actually enforce its “Third Package” of energy market legislation by forcing the Russian gas giant Gazprom to “unbundle” its energy assets in Lithuania

 

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Lithuania: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Joined EU in 2004. Joined Schengen Zone in 2009. Joined Eurozone in 2015.

Council of Europe: Joined Council of Europe in 1993.

Euro-Alternative Institutions: Strongly urges Soviet successor states to choose Europeanization rather than Euro-Alternatives.

Figure 7.12  Political Europeanization in Lithuania

(specifically, by ordering Gazprom to decouple its gas transport and pipeline networks from its supply business) (EDM Vol. 8, No. 128, July 6, 2012). The EU’s moves against Gazprom, which are almost entirely the result of Lithuanian prodding and Lithuania’s own legal maneuvering against Gazprom, mark one of the first instances where the EU has overcome the competing strategic interests of its individual members regarding Russian energy provision to pursue collective action; effecting this transformation in EU energy policy toward Russia is a remarkable achievement for Lithuania. Lithuania’s full-​ f ledged embrace of political Europeanization, which includes adopting the EU’s thorough commitment to neoliberal economics, has not been without great social costs, and the country’s domestic political transformation into a “modern European-​style democracy” remains

 



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incomplete. Since joining the Schengen Zone, Lithuanians have left their country for other parts of the EU “in extraordinarily large numbers” (Park 2015, 2). Even in the years before Schengen, Lithuania’s population had decreased dramatically (by 12.6 percent during the period 2001–​2011, for example), but “the real puzzle” is the “massive exodus” of Lithuanians from their country after joining Schengen (Park 2015, 6). Ausra Park argues that the search for economic opportunities is part of the answer, but that the out-​ migration of Lithuanians in large numbers is explained more fully as being a result of the failure of the “fundamentals of socio-​political organization in the country” in the post-​Soviet period, including “the denial of democratic voice, the dissipation of social trust, the disintegration of previous social solidarities  .  .  .  and, above all, the social destructive outcomes of a failed post-​Soviet experiment in neo-​liberal free market transformation” (Park 2015, 17).

Security Europeanization in Lithuania since 1989 Lithuania has become fully integrated into Europe’s security structures in the post-​Soviet period. NATO membership is the absolute key to Lithuania’s post-​Soviet security strategy, and since joining in 2004, Lithuania has participated in all significant NATO peacekeeping and nation-​ building missions. Lithuania is also a founding member of the new NATO Baltic Battalion, and the country’s Šiauliai air force base hosts NATO’s “Baltic Skies” air defense initiative. It actively supports the NATO membership ambitions of those post-​Soviet countries that have expressed that desire (especially Georgia), most recently voicing this support at the December 2012 meeting of the NATO foreign ministers (Lithuania Tribune, December 6, 2012). (See Figure 7.13.) Russia’s annexation of Crimea has heightened fears about security in Lithuania just as it has in the other Baltic states—​its reaction has been if anything even more forceful. In November 2016 the Lithuanian government issued to schools, libraries, city councils, and troops some 30,000 copies of a civil defense booklet instructing citizens on how to “spot Russian tanks and landmines, how to report and react to such sightings, and even how to survive in the wild” (TOL November 2, 2016), while in January 2017 it announced plans to build a 129-​kilometer fence with its Kaliningrad/​Russian border in order to “defend against a massive military assault” (but also to reduce smuggling) (RFE/​RL January 18, 2017).

 

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Lithuania: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO: Member of NATO since 2004.

OSCE: Member of OSCE since 1991; Cooperated fully with OSCE on minority rights in run-up to EU and NATO accession.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Strongly supports NATO membership for Georgia, Ukraine, and Moldova.

Figure 7.13  Security Europeanization in Lithuania

The Baltic “Return to Europe”: Foregone Conclusion, Virtuous Circle, or Inspiration? For all three Baltic states, Europe was the unambiguous and resounding answer to the spate of questions that faced them after the fall of the Soviet Union. What does the successful “Return to Europe” by the three Baltic states in the post-​Soviet period tell us about the potential for Europeanization in the rest of the former Soviet Union, and about how the EOCG might inform that process? All three Baltic states had a strong sense of European vocation and belonging, informed by an understanding that their historical experiences and national-​cultural attributes qualified them as “European by nature.” In this way, their strong belief in their own Europeanness is based on their relatively “high” or “privileged” location on the cultural gradient. The Balts’ equally forceful assertion that nothing

 



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associated with Russia or the Soviet Union (even elements of their own historical or cultural background) could be considered European, but rather should be seen as “de-​Europeanizing,” is also based on traditional Eurocentric-​Orientalist ambivalence about Russia. The Baltic return to Europe has thus successfully reinforced traditional understandings about the superiority of Western Europe to the “Orthodox world” and Russia and has strengthened the idea that Russia represents a non-​ European entity that Europe should be wary of (Russia’s actions in Georgia and Ukraine have also helped reinforce that idea). By their strong support of the Eastern Partnership states, and their attempt to speed Europeanization in those states, the Baltics have also tried to position those states “higher up” on the EOCG (while clearly excluding both Russia and the Central Asian states from their Europeanizing patronage). The Baltic states’ high intrinsic levels of Europeanness informed their deep sense of European vocation and made their claims of Europeanness more convincing for European gatekeeping audiences. Strong leadership, relatively small and homogenous populations, beneficial geographic location, and the “virtuous circle” of European conditionality have allowed the Baltic states to make the successful transition over the past decades from strongly intrinsically European states to strongly extrinsic European states. As the next two chapters demonstrate, despite the Baltics’ conviction that the six Eastern Partner states (Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan) also possess sufficient levels of intrinsic Europeanness to be given the opportunity to try to join the EU and NATO (and despite the continuous Baltic attempts to get their EU and NATO allies to agree with this judgment), in none of these EAP states is the path of Europeanization as relatively short, straight, and smooth as it was for the Baltic states.

 

8

Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova Almost European?

Each of our next three case studies, Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, has a particularly complicated historical, cultural, linguistic, demographic, and economic legacy inherited from its Tsarist Russian and Soviet pasts. Each therefore also has a more ambiguous and problematic placement on the Eurocentric-​Orientalist cultural gradient (EOCG) than the Baltic cases just discussed (see Figure 8.1, Table 8.1, and Table 8.2). In a geographic sense, contemporary Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova appear to be unambiguously European, appearing in their entirety on most contemporary maps of Europe (for instance those issued by Wikipedia and the CIA Factbook). There is much less agreement among both European gatekeeping actors and among actors in Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova themselves about the extent to which these states are European in cultural-​civilizational, political, or security terms. Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova resemble Russia in having mixed/​moderate levels of intrinsic Europeanness. As smaller states that are caught in an increasingly dangerous position between Europe as represented by the EU and NATO on the one side and a seemingly increasingly revanchist Russia on the other (Charap and Colton 2016), these three states also closely resemble their ex-​Soviet kin that will be discussed in ­chapter 9, the Caucasus states. Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova all occupy similar positions on the EOCG—​lower than that of the Baltic states, but higher than the Caucasus and Central Asian states. Yet as they seek to preserve their independence and sovereignty, each of three has made different choices about what level of political, security, and cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization serves that overarching goal. In Belarus, a small but vocal minority sees the country as clearly European in the same way that other “Central European” states (Poland and the Baltic states in particular) are. The more hegemonic, state-​sponsored view in Belarus also defines the country as a European state, but one that, like Russia, insists that it must be allowed to define its Europeanness on its own terms, not on those set by 210

 

Belarus

Ukraine

Moldova

Language Group & Family Balto-Slavic Group, Indo-European Family

Language Group & Family Balto-Slavic Group, Indo-European Family

Language Group & Family Italic Group, Indo-European Family

Religion Converted in 988 by Vladimir the Great. Kievan Church inherited traditions of Constantinople and fell under the Patriarch of Moscow after the Turkish rise. Some parts later convert to Roman Catholicism and Uniate Catholicism.

Religion Converted in 988 by Vladimir the Great. Kievan Church inherited traditions of Constantinople and fell under the Patriarch of Moscow after the rise of Ottoman Turkey.

Religion Thirteenth century conversion begins. Short-lived period of Catholicism as state religion in fourteenth century. Later conversion to Orthodoxy.

73% Eastern Orthodox (Belarusian Exarchate under Russian Orthodox Church), 12% Catholic (mostly Roman Catholic, some Uniate); 3% non-religious.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Conquered by Slavs in the early centuries AD, it became part of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, Rus, and Samogitia in the thirteenth century. In 1569 it became part of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonweath until partitioned into Russia at the close of the eighteenth century.

65.1% Orthodox (38% Kievan Patriarchate, 23% Moscow Patriarchate); 6.5% Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church (Uniate); 2% Protestant; 1% Roman Catholic.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) The historical center of Kievan Rus, it was split between the Golden Horde and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania (et al.) in the and thirteenth centuries. In 1569 fell under the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth until partitioned into Russia in the eighteenth century.

93.3% Eastern Orthodox (Moldovan Orthodox selfgoverning under Russian Orthodox Church); 2% Protestant, 1.4% profess no faith.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) First through seventh centuries part of Roman/Byzantine Empire. Seventh to fifteenth century, controlled by the Bulgarian Empire. Fourteenth century the Principality of Moldova is formed. In 1538 incorperated into the Ottoman Empire.

Figure 8.1  Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Attributes of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova Table 8.1 Demographics of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, 1989 and 2014 State

Titular Titular Russian Russian Ethnic Population Population Population Population (2014) (1989) (2014) (1989)

Belarus

77.80%

83.70%

13.20%

8.30%

Ukraine

73%

77.80%

22.00%

17.30%

Moldova

64.40%

75.80%

12.90%

5.90%

Other Ethnic Minority (1989)

Other Ethnic Population (2014)

9.00%

8.00%

5%

4.90%

22.70%

18.30%

 

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Table 8.2 Major Trading Partners of Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, 2014 Column1

Belarus

Ukraine

Moldova

Exports

Russia (45%)

EU (26.5%)

EU (46.8%)

EU (27.9%)

Russia (23.8%)

Russia (26%)

Ukraine (11.3%)

Turkey (6%)

Ukraine (5.8%)

Kazakhstan (2.3)

China (4.3%)

Turkey (5.2%)

Brazil (1.4%)

Egypt (4.3)

Belarus (3.7%)

Russia

EU

EU

EU

Russia

Russia

China

China

Ukraine

Ukraine

Belarus

China

USA

US

Turkey

Imports

the EU or NATO. Belarus’s apparent president-​for-​life, Alexander Lukashenko, pursues limited economic Europeanization as a preventative measure that accrues the country some bargaining power in its overwhelmingly dependent economic relationship with Russia. In contrast, Lukashenko shows no interest in political Europeanization. Rather, Belarus finds itself in the unique situation of being courted by the EU, which seems truly flummoxed by the country’s lack of desire to draw closer to it. Belarus has attempted both rhetorically and empirically to assert its geopolitical independence in the security realm, but it has, as have the other non-​Baltic, former Soviet states, found that position largely untenable. Belarus has thus chosen to firmly ally itself with Russia in the security sphere, largely eschewing any Europeanization in this sector. Ukraine is now notorious for its experience as a state acutely conflicted about its own European identity and its appropriate course of Europeanization in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union. Questions about the extent to which Ukraine is culturally-​civilizationally “European” as opposed to “Slavic” or “Orthodox” or “post-​Soviet,” about pursuing closer relations with and even potential membership in the European Union, and about which security policy will best provide and protect Ukraine’s fragile sovereignty have animated politics in Ukraine since the collapse of communism. The tragic events that began in fall 2013, and which have resulted in the deaths of over 10,000 civilians, constitute only the most recent and dramatic demonstration of the profound dilemma at the heart of Ukraine’s post-​Soviet existence. All of Ukraine’s post-​Soviet leaders have publicly supported and followed a course of political Europeanization, even Viktor Yanukovych, who publicly

 



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supported signing an Association Agreement with the EU until his fateful turnabout in November 2013. Since the EuroMaidan events, Ukraine has proceeded apace with political Europeanization, signing the disputed AA with the EU in May 2014 and receiving the right to visa-​free travel with the EU in 2017. Both Ukraine’s citizenry and its elite historically have been more conflicted about the question of Europeanization in the security sphere, though the ongoing military conflict with Russia has strengthened resolve to join NATO among both these constituencies even as it makes NATO’s bind more acute, raising the costs both for abandoning Ukraine and for moving forward with full membership for it. Russian aggression in Ukraine in the wake of the EuroMaidan events has reaffirmed the strong trend of cultural-​civilizational Europeanization that the country has followed since 1989. Moldova is a geographically small country that is rendered even smaller by the self-​declared independence of one of its regions, Transnistria.1 Moldova’s geopolitical weakness is further underscored by the continued presence of 1,200 Russian “peacekeepers” in Transnistria. The precarious security situation has not prevented the country from pursuing strong Europeanization efforts in the cultural-​civilizational and political spheres, however. Moldova enjoys visa-​free travel within the Schengen Zone as of April 2014, and signed an AA with the EU in June 2014, but the country’s path of strong political Europeanization is not universally admired there, as the election of an anti-​EU and pro-​Russian president in 2016 demonstrates. Moldova also remains beset by crippling poverty and corruption and is the target of intense Russian economic pressure and “active measures” (which led to the expulsion of five Russian diplomats from Moldova in summer 2017, amid charges that they were fomenting armed rebellion against Chisinau using recruits from Moldova’s Gagauz autonomous region).

Case Study: Belarus—​European despite Itself ? Belarus is perhaps most well known for being, in a phrase former US secretary of state Condoleezza Rice appears to have coined, “the last dictatorship in Europe.” This characterization conveys nicely the nature of Belarus’s relationship with both the idea of and the institutions of Europe. There is a strong assumption among some European gatekeeping actors (particularly those from the “new” European states of Central Europe and the Baltics) that Belarus fundamentally belongs to Europe due to both geographic and historical factors. There is also, however, an equally strong recognition that the flamboyant rejection of postwar liberal European political norms and institutions by Belarus over the last two decades under the leadership of said “last European dictator,” Aleksandr Lukashenko, complicates and threatens, but has not fully nullified, Belarus’s

 

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“European future.” The fact of Lukashenko’s grim and grisly regime “on Europe’s doorstep” seems to have had the effect of actually, and in some ways artificially, inflating the sense of Belarus’s Europeanness in the eyes of many European gatekeeping actors. Many in Europe increasingly view Belarus as a sort of reincarnation of Poland in the 1980s—​a “Central European” state currently suffering from dictatorship but nevertheless destined to rejoin Europe eventually.2 As Figure 8.2 demonstrates, Belarus does in fact have relatively high levels of intrinsic Europeanness that could support such an interpretation.

Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Belarus

High

Medium

Religion: Protestant (2%) Catholic (15%) Orthodox (80%)

Imperial Experiences: Grand Duchy of Lithuania/Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Geographic Location: Appears on all maps of Europe

Historical Experience Western area participates in Reformation, CounterReformation and Enlightenment (via Poland). Eastern area does not. Russian/Soviet Narrative: Minority “nationalist” view propogates captivity narrative.

Figure 8.2  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Belarus

Low

 



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Belarus under Lukashenko shares with Putin’s Russia both an authoritarian form of government and a neo-​Soviet national narrative, but this does not mean that Belarus has been content to resign itself exclusively to a role as a satrap of Moscow. Belarus remains heavily dependent on Russian economic aid, but since 1991 has grown increasingly desirous of guarding its own independent existence as a sovereign state (Wilson 2011). In this aspect, Belarus represents the first in a series of cases (including Ukraine, Moldova, and the Caucasus states) whose Europeanization efforts in the post-​Soviet era are conditioned by their truly vexing position as (more or less) small states located between two equally powerful and interdependent, but still essentially antagonistic forces—​Europe and Russia. The result for Belarus is, as Le Carré’s George Smiley might say, an increasingly problematic attempt to “play both ends against the middle.” It is clear that on balance Belarus is much more deeply embedded in Russia’s “alternative to Europe” institutions such as the EEU and the CSTO than it is in their European counterparts the EU and NATO. Yet Belarus has engaged in some limited political and security Europeanization, particularly through its participation in the EU’s EAP program. Regarding Belarus, many in “official” Europe appear to be increasingly persuaded by arguments based both in history and contemporary politics that Belarus is a European state with an inevitable, if only currently repressed, European destiny, despite Belarus’s own weak desire for political Europeanization. (RFE/​RL March 20, 2013). For his part, Lukashenko demonstrates a keen understanding of the importance of the “European vector” to his longevity and the maintenance of Belarus’s sovereignty in the face of superior Russian strength. He “skillfully uses” overtures to Europe to raise the price Russia must pay to retain Belarus as “its most important ally”—​a price that has surely risen following the failure of Moscow to prevent Ukraine, Moldova, and Georgia from signing Association Agreements with the EU in the wake of the EuroMaidan phenomenon (Moshes 2014). The combination of Europe’s surprisingly tenacious courtship of Belarus and the utility of European contacts for Belarus’s search for sovereignty (and Lukashenko’s desire for longevity) assure that the “European vector” of Belarus’s foreign policy will remain an important factor in the future.

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Belarus since 1989 Belarus is conventionally described as lacking a strong national identity. Timothy Snyder has called Belarus “a national failure,” in the sense that the “social and political contingencies” of Belarus’s history have generally “escaped national

 

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reasoning” (2003, 9, 42). Andrew Wilson stresses that Belarus’s status (or at least its reputation) as a “country without a [national] history” is puzzling, given that, in his opinion, the country and its people “have a decent enough potential foundation myth”—​one based in the same historical and cultural elements used by Lithuanians and Poles to make successful claims to “Europeanness” in the recent past (2011, 3). (See Figure 8.3.) Belarusian sociologist Nelly Bekus rejects the thesis that Belarus is a country with a weak and underdeveloped sense of nationalism, and instead argues that in contemporary Belarus two “specific versions” of national identity “co-​exist and compete,” albeit on very uneven terms (2010, 1, 174, 278). The first version of Belarusianness, the “European Belarus” model, is identifiable as a conventional ethnonationalist discourse that posits Belarus as a modern, European nation exactly analogous to and thus following the same historical path as the Baltic

Belarus: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Minority/opposition Europeanizing narrative linked to historical legacy of Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Also narrative of Belarus as “bridge to Europe.”

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly anti-European and antiWestern, focused instead on Soviet era triumphs in WWII and Soviet-led modernization of Belarus.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member since 2004. Has not won Eurovision but has won Eurovision Junior twice (2005, 2007).

Cultural Europeanization: No provision for same-sex marriage or domestic partnerships. No legal protections against discrimination on basis of sexual orientation.

Sport: UEFA member and consistently in top 20 in national rankings. Has hosted u-17 and u-19 EURO championships. Has called for a “European Hockey League” separate from KHL.

Figure 8.3  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Belarus

 



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states and Poland “back to Europe” (Bekus 2010, 197–​99, 279). In this view, Belarus’s “natural” post-​Soviet progression to Europe has been stymied only by the “Eastern” and tyrannical interventions of Lukashenko’s regime. The second national idea, what Bekus calls “official Belarusianness,” is promoted by the Lukashenko regime with all the (formidable) resources of the Belarusian state. This narrative is built on appeals to and derives most of its legitimacy from the Soviet period, specifically the trauma and sacrifices of the World War II era and the near-​miraculous resurrection qua founding of the modern Belarusian state under the auspices of Soviet postwar reconstruction. Elements of chauvinism, populism, and the values of “archaic rural culture” also factor into this discourse (Bekus 2010, 75–​77, 88–​95, 219, 280; Buhr et al. 2011; Silitski 2010; Wilson 2011, 134). The “European Belarus” Narrative. The narrative of Belarusian history offered by proponents of the “European Belarus” is strikingly similar to that forwarded by the three Baltic states and the other Central European states in their successful quests to rejoin Europe after 1989. Its supporters advocate “an interpretation of history meant to serve purposefully to orient the Belarusian political tradition . . . to the West,” and forward the idea that “Belarus at all times has found itself in the sphere of European history and European cultural values” (Bekus 2010, 191, 200–​1). In the words of Belarusian political scientist Uladzimir Rouda, the “European Belarus” narrative argues that “nine centuries of European history” outweigh the “two centuries of Asianness” represented by the Tsarist Russian and Soviet-​era experiences of Belarus (Bekus 2010, 199). Evidence employed in support of the “European Belarus” narrative includes Belarus’s participation in the European West’s Catholic tradition (in both its Roman and Uniate guises) and especially the cultural and trade ties that Belarus had with the rest of Europe when it was part of the Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth. This era is portrayed as the “Golden Age” of Belarusian history, a time when “Renaissance and humanistic ideas” pertained in Belarus and “largely influenced the development of native culture” (Bekus 2010, 62–​65). In terms of Belarus’s more recent history, advocates of a “European Belarus” consciously cast themselves in the model of the Central European dissidents of the 1970s and 1980s, for whom Russian Tsarist and then Soviet occupation also represented a great diversion from their fundamentally (Western) European location and destiny. The anti-​Lukashenko, pro-​Europe “Charter 97” movement purposefully echoes Czechoslovakia’s own Charter 77 movement of the late Soviet era, and before his death in December 2011, one of Václav Havel’s last acts was to publicly state his support for Belarus’s dissidents and his belief in Belarus’s essential Europeanness and eventual integration into Europe (RFE/​ RL December 15, 2011).

 

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Supporters of the “European Belarus” theory mount a “strong and convincing historical projection” of Belarus into the European past; that historical argument is also perhaps the “sole manifestation” of this version of Belarusianness, which Bekus describes as having “weak correlations to the political and cultural present” in Belarus (Bekus 2010, 202). The Shushkevich government that ruled Belarus in the short interregnum between the end of Soviet power and Lukashenko’s presidential victory in 1994 showed some “superficial” support for the “European Belarus” view of the country (Wilson 2011, 154). Since then, however, proponents of the European Belarus view have represented only a “passionate, identity-​based minority” in the country (Way 2012, 443). Bekus notes that proponents of the European Belarus thesis do not recognize the extent to which their “return to Europe” argument for Belarus fails to resonate with ordinary Belarusians, for whom the sources of national identity have been shaped “in a different civilizational context”—​that of the Soviet Union, skillfully perpetuated and updated in the post-​Soviet period by Lukashenko (Bekus 2010, 279; Wilson 2011, 138). The “Official Belarus” or “Lukashenkist Belarus” Narrative. The “official” form of Belarusianness, so closely identified with the regime of Lukashenko as to be called by many simply “Lukashenkism,” is an eclectic, sui generis form of collective identity anchored firmly in the idea of patriotic love and support for the (newly) sovereign state of Belarus. In this formulation Belarusian “national” history is essentially the political history of the Belarusian state, which is in turn “essentially coterminous with Soviet history” (Snyder 2010). Lukashenko’s “official,” “neo-​Soviet,” and heavily politicized understanding of Belarusianness borrows from the Soviet legacy both in historical content (“foundational” historical tropes about the suffering and ultimate victory in World War II, the rebirth and modernization of the Belarusian state after the war, and the “moral greatness of the past and the possibility of finding prescriptions for salvation there”), and in social and economic content (an emphasis on collectivism and state provision of social welfare and social equality) (Bekus 2010, 94–​95, 211–​12,  280). Lukashenkism, unsurprisingly, also affords an important role to the man himself, who serves as the “batka” (“father of the nation”) who willingly takes upon himself the burden of enforcing the “potpourri, hybrid” ideology he espouses, especially its promise of an “egalitarian social contract” for the Belarusian people (Snyder 2010; Wilson 2011, 258). Lukashenko takes pains to emphasize that the values represented by “official” Belarusian ideology are not his own megalomaniacal, authoritarian inventions, but rather that they are “native” to Belarus and represent the “traditional values that are the backbone of our people and the result of the natural adaptation of society to the natural and social environment of Belarus” (Bekus 2010, 213–​17).

 



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This “official Belarus” discourse is “familiar and relevant” and fully accepted by many Belarusians (Bekus 2010, 213–​17). Silitski notes that Lukashenko’s quick moves after his 1994 presidential victory to “re-​Sovietize” Belarus’s language regime (returning Russian to official state language status) and its state symbols were popular and “aligned with the outlook of the majority of Belarusians” (2010, 281). The strong cultural and historical resonance of official Belarusianism with a majority of the population, coupled with Lukashenko’s marshaling of the Belarusian state’s significant political, media, and coercive resources to ensure its discursive hegemony, severely weakens the potential social and political power of the opposition’s Central European–​based “European” narrative of Belarusianness. Lukashenko’s version of “official Belarusianness” has its own complicated vision of Belarus’s degree of “Europeanness” and Belarus’s place in European civilization and culture. On the one hand, “official Belarusian” ideology emphasizes clearly that in a geographic and geopolitical sense, Belarus is European. According to Lukashenko, Belarus sees itself as “the center of Europe,” a claim he repeated twice in an interview with the Financial Times in 2008 and that also appears on the country’s official website (Lukashenko 2008).3 Beyond geographic centrality to Europe, Lukashenko has stated of Belarus that “We were, are and will be an inalienable part of the pan-​European civilization that is a mosaic of different cultures,” while also emphasizing, as does Russia, Belarus’s identification with the Orthodox, Slavic parts of that mosaic and not the “alien” Catholic and Protestant ones (Wilson 2011, 138).4 Belarus in UEFA and Eurovision. Lukashenko has made it clear that he sees Belarus as belonging to Europe’s sports and cultural milieu, and that the country craves acceptance as a serious “European” participant in these realms. Belarus has actively pursued UEFA success, and while unable to break into the top ranks in terms of country coefficients (usually hovering around twentieth place), the country hosted the UEFA U-​17 men’s tournament in 2012 and the women’s U-​ 17 in 2016. Despite vociferous protest from some European rights groups and politicians, Lukashenko demanded and received an invitation from Ukrainian president Viktor Yushchenko to watch the EURO 2012 finals in Kyiv, signaling his continued determination to claim Belarusian belonging in most important European sports community, regardless of political condemnation of his regime from other European actors. Lukashenko has also called for the development of a specifically European hockey league, arguing that “Europeans,” including Belarus, should create their own league and leave “the Russians, the Kazakhs and the Ukrainians” to populate the Russian-​sponsored Kontinental Hockey League (KHL) (“Belarus President Suggests” 2013). Lukashenko also lobbied successfully for Belarus to host the second ever European Games competition, which will be held in June 2019.

 

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Belarus has been an active participant in the Eurovision song contest, debuting in 2004 and appearing twice in the finals since then. The “Official Website of the Republic of Belarus” has special pages on the country’s Eurovision activities and particularly promotes the fact that Belarus is the only country that has won “Junior Eurovision” twice (in 2005 and 2007). Belarus hosted Junior Eurovision in 2010 and, unlike some of the other former Soviet republics, has never had a problem finding funding for the country’s participation in Eurovision. Bekus also notes how the Junior Eurovision victories are used by the government as support for the “official Belarusian” ideology (2010, 281). The country remains resolutely hostile to the idea of LGBT rights, however. Marriage is defined as being between one man and one woman, the country has not passed any laws that would protect LGBT people from discrimination, and in 2016 Lukashenko signed an “anti-​ gay propaganda law” resembling Russia’s (Human Rights First, 2016). Anti-​Europeanism in Belarus. Despite the identification as Belarus as “the center of Europe” and the desire to be accepted as part of Europe’s sport and cultural realms, the “official Belarusianism” propagated under Lukashenko also has strong isolationist and specifically anti-​European elements as well. Bosse and Korostelea-​Polglase note that Lukashenko skillfully “cultivates a normative clash with Europe” to aid in the self-​preservation of his regime, with state media “constructing and manipulating a cultural and values boundary with Europe” that emphasizes the “civilizational distance” between Belarus and Europe (2009, 157). In this discourse, Belarus is portrayed as a faithful, materially poor but spiritually rich society that “supports traditional values” such as respect for family and the past, in contrast to the “millionaires” of the “West” who are seen as spiritually bankrupt and morally corrupting (Bekus 2010, 215–​17).5 Lukashenko emphasizes that the “triumphalist and hypocritical West” is bent on Belarus’s “humiliation” by forcing it to adopt the “anarchy” of democratic governance (Wilson 2011, 140). Furthermore, “official Belarusianness,” and indeed “ordinary Belarusians,” “until recently  .  .  .  above all” identified “Europe” with Nazi tyranny and “Hitler the Liberator” posters, refusing to acknowledge Europe’s clear reckoning with and atonement for the crimes of that era (Wilson 2011, 138).6 Belarusian and Russian Culture. The complex and somewhat paradoxical view of “belonging to Europe” displayed by “Official Belarusianism” is similar in some respects to contemporary Russian takes on the same question. The issue of Belarus’s relationship to Russia and its “civilizational sphere” is no less complicated and follows closely the ebb and flow of political and economic relations with Russia. Specifically, the slavishly close identification with Russia and Russian culture that marked the early Lukashenko period gave way to one that

 



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was often overtly anti-​Russian (though still pro-​Soviet) as relations between the two countries worsened under Putin (Silitski 2010, 287–​88). Under Lukashenko, Belarus has made Russian an official state language and reversed earlier post-​Soviet efforts at promoting the Belarusian language, yet Snyder cautions that it is important not to conflate the use of the Russian language among Belarusians with a lack of Belarusian national consciousness (2003, 280).7 Lukashenkism does give pride of place to Orthodoxy, with Lukashenko identifying himself as an “Orthodox atheist” and Orthodoxy as the most “genuine Belarusian tradition.” But Belarus also officially recognizes its Roman Catholic and Protestant communities and in general prides itself on its traditions of “religious tolerance and peaceful co-​existence of different religious communities” (which, Bekus points out, is actually one of the only pieces of evidence of the “genuine Europeanness” of the country) (2010, 96, 159). If the idea of an “initial and indivisible bond” with the Russian people and Russian culture does “genuinely” resonate with most Belarusians and thus is part of “official Belarusianness,” the main object of this eclectic and highly personalized “national” Belarusian ideology nevertheless is to “preserve the status and the power of the state and regime and to protect it from both Russia and the West” (Bekus 2010, 195, 212). Belarus’s political and security relations with Europe in the post-​Soviet era reflect much the same concern.

Political Europeanization in Belarus since 1989 Belarus is the first of the Eastern Partnership (EAP) states whose experience is detailed here, and like those other states Belarus’s fundamental post-​Soviet challenge is to chart a political and economic course between the EU and Russia will secure its sovereignty and survival. All the EAP states face a “common security dilemma” by dint of their location between the EU and Russia (Korosteleva 2011, 4; Marin 2011). Belarus’s particular attempt to resolve this dilemma is characterized by the fact that, at the urging of the “new” EU states from the former Soviet bloc, especially Poland and the Baltics, the EU appears to be increasingly committed to a view of Belarus as a state that is “intrinsically European” and thus deserving of eventual membership in the EU, but also one whose “essential Europeanness,” like that of the Central European states under Soviet rule in the 1970s and 1980s, is currently held hostage by an essentially non-​European political regime. (See Figure 8.4.) Belarus and the EU. The EU remains committed to both political and economic reforms in Belarus and punishes Belarusian human rights violations via travel bans and other sanctions on the Belarusian leadership. The fact that the EU has not pursued similarly punitive actions toward the equally repressive

 

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Belarus: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Is a member of the Eastern Partnership program, but has frequent conflicts with EU and is target of EU sanctions. EU ambassadors often leave Belarus to protest government actions. Council of Europe: Application for CoE membership frozen in 1997 to protest authoritarian actions by government of Belarus. Does participate in some CoE conventions on sport and culture.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Full-fledged, active member of the CIS and the Eurasian Economic Union/Eurasian Union.

Figure 8.4  Political Europeanization in Belarus

regime in Azerbaijan suggests that the EU finds the human rights violations of the Lukashenko regime more egregious than those of the Aliyev regime in Azerbaijan exactly because it views Belarus as a “truly European” state, whereas much more significant doubts exist about the intrinsic Europeanness of Azerbaijan. Belarus under Lukashenko certainly desires loans from and increased economic opportunities in Europe, but Lukashenko rightly views the political reforms demanded by the EU as threatening to his personalized authoritarian control over the country. Belarus thus calls for deepening “pragmatic” cooperation with the EU, while roundly condemning the “politically motivated” sanctions and other actions taken by the EU against Belarus. In large part because they do not demand the types of democratic political reforms European political organizations do, Belarus has pursued much deeper integration with

 



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Russia’s “alternatives to Europe” organizations and is significantly involved with all of the “multiple integration platforms” that Russia has forwarded in the post-​ Soviet period, including the Russian-​Belarusian Union State, the CIS, and the Eurasian Economic Union (EEU). The “Russian vector” also presents Belarus with significant costs and potential risks, however, namely the risk that Russia will use these organizations as a means of encroaching on Belarus’s political and economic sovereignty. The “European vector” thus remains an important counterweight for Belarus in resisting Russia’s historical and contemporary claims on Belarusian sovereignty. In the interregnum between the fall of the USSR and the consolidation of authoritarian rule in Belarus by Lukashenko in 1995–​1996 (via a series of referenda), Belarus’s relations with “official Europe” were “rather promising,” and followed the same patterns that the other former communist states had trod, including signing of a PCA with the EU in 1994 (Rotman and Veremeeva 2011, 80–​81). The EU responded decisively to the growing authoritarianism in Belarus under Lukashenko, freezing the PCA and other cooperative projects with Belarus, while also banning high-​level bilateral contacts with Belarusian government officials. Belarusian relations with the EU since then amount to a series of thaws and re-​freezes, throughout which Lukashenko’s aim has been to “consolidate his hegemony and assert his nuisance power in the face of EU ‘lesson-​givers’ abroad” (Marin 2011, 8). Following the March 2006 Belarusian presidential election, which the OSCE criticized for failing to meet “European norms and standards,” the EU issued travel bans for Lukashenko and thirty-​six other Belarusian political elites. Later that year the EU published a “non-​paper” on Belarus offering an “unofficial roadmap to the people of Belarus” that would lead to better relations and greater integration with Europe (Wilson 2011, 222). In October 2008 the “Belarus Task Force” of the International Center for Democratic Transition, led by former Polish president Alexsander Kwasniewski, released “A European Alternative for Belarus,” which articulates the vision of Belarus as a contemporary sort of Soviet-​style captive Central European state, and which would heavily influence future EU policy on Belarus (Wilson 2011, 226–​27). Given the evolution of this narrative, it is not surprising that when the EU was developing the EAP, Poland and the Baltic states stressed that “snatching Belarus out of Russia’s grip” was a “key geopolitical underpinning” of the initiative (Marin 2011).8 Accordingly, when the EAP was launched in 2009, Belarus was invited to participate, despite the country’s “pariah” status in Europe. Belarus’s official participation in the EAP has been largely limited to its multilateral programs, and Belarus has criticized the EU for seeking to “impose alien values” on Belarus via the EAP, characterizing the program as an “arrogant conditionality tool transferred from the EU’s enlargement toolbox” (Korosteleva 2011,

 

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11–​12; Marin 2011, 6). The participation of Belarusian civil society organizations in the EAP’s Civil Society Forum has been described as “outstandingly dynamic and purposeful,” and for them, the EAP represents a sort of lifeline to Europe (Marin 2011, 11–​12). Belarusian relations with the EU and EAP cooled down again considerably following Lukashenko’s brutal crackdown on the political opposition in the wake of the December 2010 presidential elections. The predictably corrupt September 2012 Belarusian parliamentary elections brought another round of EU sanctions against Belarus, prompting Anatoly Rubinov, chair of Belarus’s Council of Representatives, to say of the EU that “they treat us like we are some untamed animals that one has to train by withdrawing and limiting food . . . one must abandon sanctions” (EDM Vol. 10, #27, February 13, 2013). In his important December 2011 speech detailing the EU’s approach to Belarus, EU Enlargement commissioner Štefan Füle demonstrated the extent to which European gatekeepers had come to see Belarus as being analogous to Central European countries during the period of Soviet occupation—​essentially European states that were being held captive by alien, autocratic rulers (Füle 2011). Füle called on the intelligentsia and nomenklatura in Belarus to “support civil society organizations,” arguing that “a key lesson from the transitions in Central Europe” is that “autocracy always erodes from within.” He also warned Lukashenko about the consequences of continued repression, stating that “when a government acts to repress its own people, is the beginning of the end—​I know this from my own experience in Central Europe.” He also hinted that the EAP might serve as a platform for future EU membership for Belarus, inviting “Belarus and its society” to “take all of the benefits that the EAP can provide today” and promising that “together we can discuss the shape of those it will provide in the future.” Belarus and Russia’s EEU. Despite the EU’s oft-​voiced commitment to “Europeanizing” Belarus, the country remains far more embedded in Russia’s post-​Soviet EEU project than it does the EU. Belarus’s economy remains heavily structurally dependent on subsidized access to Russian crude and gas, which it refines, marks up, and sells to the European market. If closer relations with the EU come with the impossibly high price tag of real political reforms, economic integration with Russia carries no such stipulation; indeed, Russia has often acted as a “black knight” in Belarusian politics, helping Lukashenko to “blunt the impact” of Western-​aided opposition attempts at democratization in Belarus (Levitsky and Way 2010, 41). May puts it more bluntly—​while Belarus’s relations with Russia have “see-​sawed” between attempts to assert its own political and economic sovereignty and attempts to ensure continued Russian economic support of Belarus, overall, he argues, it is clear that “without Russia as a close partner, the autocracy of Lukashenko would not stand” (2011).

 



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The network of institutional ties between Lukashenko’s Belarus and Russia is a complex and robust one. In addition to the Russian-​Belarusian Commonwealth and Union State structures pursued by Lukashenko early in his regime (1996 and 1997, respectively), Belarus is one of the most loyal and densely enmeshed members of the CIS.9 It is also a founding member of the EEU. Lukashenko was with Putin in October 2011 when he announced plans for the eventual “Eurasian Union,” and duly pronounced that the new project would someday be “stronger than the European Union.” Observers note, however, that Belarus’s participation in Russia’s institutional alternatives to Europe appears to be less the result of actual enthusiasm than a “lack of foreign policy alternatives” to Russian oil and gas supplies and other economic subsidies (RAD #112, April 20, 2012). Despite economic dependence on and increasing institutional ties to Russia, Belarus continues to try to assert and protect its political sovereignty, “strongly rejecting” a recommendation from Russian ambassador to Belarus Alexander Sourikov that Belarus adopt the Russian ruble to help facilitate the development of the Eurasian Union, and demanding (successfully) that new Russian-​ Belarusian joint industrial ventures such as the merger between Russian KamAZ and Belarusian MAZ truck producers be conducted on a strict parity model (EDM Vol. 9, #117, June 20, 2012). In the wake of the Maidan events that began in 2013, Belarus has found itself “reconsidering” even more seriously the utility of its membership in the EEU (Veira 2016, 576).

Security Europeanization in Belarus since 1989 In the political and economic realms as described earlier, Belarus strives for a policy of balancing the European and Russian vectors, an attempt, “however unrealistic . . . to achieve a compromise that allows them to remain true to themselves—​an independent, neutral nation living in harmony with its neighbors” (Marin 2011, 9; Popescu and Wilson 2011, 5; Wilson 2011, 258–​ 59). These characterizations are even more apt regarding Belarus’s pursuit of geopolitical security in the post-​Soviet period. Belarus has declared its “official neutrality,” and holds that the “golden rule of our foreign policy is multi-​vectoredness” (Bosse and Korosteleva-​Polgasse 2009, 156). Belarus has attempted to become “to all appearances what might be called an ‘equilibrium axis’ in international relations” and has “set a course for the practical realization of the multivector principle of its foreign policy” (Rotman and Veremeeva 2011, 95). It is also clear, however, that despite the effort at balance, “the Russian direction takes precedence over all others” (Radchuk 2011, 46). (See Figure 8.5.)

 

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Belarus: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PfP, but no strong bilateral or other relations with NATO. Actively criticizes NATO expansion.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE, but highly critical of and obstructionist within it. Periodically closes down OSCE representation in Minsk, most recently in 2011.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Active participant in CSTO and CIS as alternatives to NATO and OSCE.

Figure 8.5  Security Europeanization in Belarus

Belarus and NATO. Belarus’s Mission to NATO clearly states that “our country does not pursue the aim of joining NATO,” but that it does aim to “expand its involvement in European security structures” in the name of strengthening both “peace, security and trust in the Euro-​Atlantic region” and Belarus’s own “multi-​vector foreign policy” (“Co-​operation Overview—​NATO”). Belarus joined NATO’s PFP program in 1995 and is also a member of the Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council, but its participation in these programs has been hampered by NATO condemnation of political repression in Belarus. NATO’s page on its relations with Belarus boldly states that while NATO “remains open to dialogue and cooperation with Belarus,” it “will not deal with those involved in political repression” (“NATO’s Relations with Belarus”). Under the auspices of the PFP program, NATO did aid in the destruction of 700,000 anti-​personnel mines in Belarus in 2007, and, more recently, the PFP facilitated NATO financing for

 



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the first automatic monitoring station on the Pripyat river in Belarus, aimed at improving flood forecasting. The “European vector” of Belarus’s “multivector” foreign policy clearly exists, and appears aimed at attempting to balance, however weakly, Belarus’s much stronger ties to Russian-​sponsored security organizations. And yet it is also clear that in particular Belarus’s dealings with NATO, which remain underdeveloped compared with those of other post-​Soviet states, are finely calibrated not to aggravate Russia, Belarus’s main security patron. Belarus and Russia’s Euro-​Alternative Security Organizations. Belarus’s relations with Russian-​sponsored security organizations are stronger and less tendentious than with NATO, although they are not entirely harmonious, and Belarus remains in continual danger of being “devoured” by its larger Russian neighbor (EDM Vol. 10, #27, February 13, 2013). Belarus is a founding member of the CIS and is characterized by Hale as part of the “integrationist core” of the CIS (2008, 196). It ratified the CIS Collective Security Treaty in December 1993, supported the renewal of that treaty in 1999, and became a founding member of the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) in 2002. Belarus has assented to both the CSTO Collective Rapid Reaction Force and its Peacekeeping force. Belarus served as chair of the CSTO in 2011 and “does not have a single CSTO document that is still not ratified” (“Belarus Needs CSTO” 2011). Particularly after the Arab Spring inspired the expansion of the CSTO’s rapid reaction force’s mandate to include action in the case of internal threats to CSTO member states, Lukashenko has emerged as “the most enthusiastic CSTO advocate” (Blank and Saivetz 2012, 9). Belarus’s fealty to the CSTO is not however absolute; unlike fellow CSTO members Armenia, Kazakhstan, and Kyrgyzstan, Belarus has avoided officially recognizing Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Beholden to No Bloc or European State-​in-​Waiting? Belarus’s course under Lukashenko demonstrates a keen intention to remain as independent of both “Europe” and Russia as it can be given the structural limits of its social and economic situation. (Compared with the other Eastern Partner states, in this resolute search for a truly independent course Belarus resembles most Azerbaijan.) In his public appearances, which are often entertaining because of his bluntness, Lukashenko proves to be an equal-​opportunity critic, disparaging both the EU and Russia, often using salty language to make his points.10 It is important to remember, therefore, that Lukashenko’s brutal honesty and blunt pursuit of independence, which sometimes seems admirable, is of a piece with his brutal and blunt rule over Belarusian society, which is not.

 

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There are some indications that younger generations of Belarusians might support and seek convergence with European democratic norms more than the first post-​Soviet generation did. Polls taken after the brutal events of December 2010 indicate that most Belarusians continue to support a policy of balanced relations with both Europe and Russia. Yet the percentage of Belarusians who, when asked to indicate a clear preference for one or the other, indicate a desire to move closer to the EU, showed a marked increase after the repressions of 2010—​this is particularly true for young and well-​educated Belarusians (Marin 2011, 9; May 2011, 5). Also, despite having to pay higher fees for them, in both 2010 and 2011, Belarusians acquired more Schengen Zone visas than Russians, Ukrainians, or Georgians (61 per 1000 people as compared with 36, 24, and 13, respectively) (EDM Vol. 9, #117, June 20, 2012). Long-​term socialization to European political norms may thus yet emerge in Belarus. To quote Wilson again, “even Lukashenko will not last forever” (2011, 260).

Case Study: Ukraine—​The Truly “Torn” Country? Perhaps no post-​communist state can more legitimately describe itself as a civilizationally “torn” country than Ukraine (as Huntington described it in his “Clash of Civilizations” theory), yet the divisions that characterize contemporary Ukraine are not as clear as either Huntington’s reductionist theory nor the violent events that began in 2013 might suggest. Ukraine is not a simple case of a western region characterized by its historical association with European civilization and culture via Catholicism and Protestantism and an eastern/​southern region characterized by its closer linguistic, religious, and historical association with the Slavic or “Orthodox” world. Ukraine’s regional diversity is complicated by multiple and cross-​cutting factors, some of which are visible in the assessment of Ukraine’s “intrinsic Europeanness” presented in Figure 8.6. Ukraine is geographically large, shares borders with both EU and non-​EU states, and has a long maritime border with the “ambiguously European” Black Sea. It is also internally very diverse, composed of not just two “East-​West” halves but rather several distinct regions characterized by important differences in language use and ethnic identification (Ukrainian versus Russian), historical experiences with empire (Polish-​Lithuanian, Hapsburg, or Russian Tsarist), religious and cultural identification (Roman or Greek Catholic, Kiev or Moscow Patriarchate Orthodoxy, Protestantism), and, perhaps most important, feelings about and legacies from the Soviet experience (captivity versus loyalty) (Barrington and Faranda 2009; Pachlovska 2009; Riabchuk 2008).11 These cleavages line up fairly neatly with Ukraine’s geopolitical position between the EU and Russia. Majorities in the west of Ukraine identify more

 



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Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Ukraine

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Historically: Eastern Orthodox, some Greek Catholic (Uniate)

Imperial Experiences: Western part (Galicia) part of Habsburg Empire

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist / Soviet

Geographic Location: Appears on all maps of Europe

Geographic Location: Central/East

Imperial Experiences: Eastern part occupied by Mongol Turks

Historical Experience: Western part experiences Reformation and Enlightenment via Poland

Historical Experience: Eastern and Southern Ukraine experience late Enlightenment via Russia

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Western Ukraine strong captivity narrative

Russian/Soviet Narrative: East and Southern Ukraine strong loyalty and modernity narrative

Figure 8.6  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Ukraine

with Europe in a cultural-​civilizational sense and want full political and security Europeanization for Ukraine in the form of EU and NATO membership, while citizens in the east and south of the country tend to identify more closely with the Russo-​Soviet civilizational legacy, and therefore want Ukraine, for both emotional and instrumental reasons, to remain as neutral as possible. If forced to choose, those in the east and south would want to draw closer to Russia’s Euro-​ alternative political and security projects than to Europe’s. Despite this regional diversity, there is strong support across the country for the existence of an independent Ukraine and for Ukraine’s territorial integrity.

 

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Before the violence that began in 2013, support for secession in the pro-​Russian east and south of the country hovered at around only 10 percent, and even in the wake of those polarizing events, that number had only risen to 18 percent—​ fully 70 percent of all residents of eastern Ukraine voiced support for a unified Ukraine, as did 58 percent of Russian speakers in that region.12 Beyond this consensus about the importance of having an independent Ukraine, there is much less agreement about which civilizational pole Ukraine should lean toward. Before the Maidan events, the majority of Ukrainian citizens supported a policy of balance and nonalignment, rather than enduring alliance with either the EU or Russia (Radchuk 2011). In 2010, a nationwide survey found that only 30 percent of Ukrainians favored NATO membership, while a 51 percent majority expressed an unfavorable opinion of NATO and opposed membership (fn.11). Only after the traumatic events that began in 2013 did a bare 53 percent majority of Ukrainians to begin to support the idea of eventual NATO membership for the country; by the summer of 2016, however, support for NATO membership had slipped down to 39 percent nationally (Center for Insights in Survey Research 2017, 39–​40). Support for eventual EU membership among Ukrainians has grown in the wake of the Maidan events, reaching a high of 59 percent in fall 2014, before sliding back a bit to 54 percent in June 2016 (Center for Insights in Survey Research 2016, 37). Given the lack of a consistent, clear majoritarian support for a pro-​Europe course in the political or security realms in the pre-​Maidan era (outside of Ukraine’s western regions, at least), it is perhaps somewhat surprising that since independence all Ukrainian leaders have, to differing degrees, supported a “European choice” for Ukraine. Leonid Kravchuk (1991–​1994) followed Yeltsin’s lead in seeking early help from and alliance with Europe; Leonid Kuchma (1994–​2005) pursued an unexpectedly strong pro-​Europe course after campaigning on a more pro-​Russian agenda; Viktor Yushchenko (2005–​2010), the radical Europeanizer, attempted to secure EU and NATO membership for Ukraine during his time as president. Until his radical volte-​face in November 2013 that precipitated the EuroMaidan phenomenon, even Viktor Yanukovych (2010–​2014) attempted to enhance Ukraine’s cultural-​civilizational, political, and security ties to Europe, though as he simultaneously worked to enhance the same types of arrangements with Russia. If the main theme of post-​independence Ukrainian politics is recognition of the need to balance relations with both Europe and Russia, a clear preference for Europeanization in the cultural-​civilizational, political, and security arenas is still discernible; Ukraine has strong to moderate Europeanization ratings in all three realms considered here. Ukraine’s first post-​EuroMaidan president, Petro Poroshenko, has worked assiduously to strengthen Ukraine’s Europeanization in all three realms—​his 7 June 2014 inauguration speech contained no fewer than

 



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twenty references to Ukraine’s “natural” Europeanness, its “European choice,” and its return to the “European Homeland” (Poroshenko 2014). Beyond the cultural-​civilizational diversity of the country, Ukraine’s political system also strongly influences its Europeanization policies. Ukraine scores higher than Russia and Belarus on measures of democracy, but significant elements of the “post-​Soviet syndrome” are also deeply entrenched in Ukraine (especially economic corruption and selective justice systems). The authentically democratic and highly inspirational Orange Revolution of 2004 did not succeed in permanently reforming the dysfunctional aspects of Ukraine’s political system, and the deep roots of corruption and violence in all sectors of the economy and state under Yanukovych were some of the main causes of the EuroMaidan movement—​in the minds of some, even more important than the decision to “reject Europe” by refusing to sign the EU Association Agreement (Popova and Shevel 2014).13 In the wake of the EuroMaidan events, Ukrainians manage to agree on the necessity of Ukrainian independence and territorial integrity, and they also are united in their desire for a more democratic, less corrupt form of government and for the promise of the Orange Revolution, so bitterly unrealized after 2004, to finally come to fruition in the post-​EuroMaidan era. This desire for better governance helps to explain the rather high post-​Maidan baseline of support for a course of Europeanization in Ukraine; Ukrainians correctly understand that European institutions are more likely to force positive changes in political and economic governance than are their Russian “Euro-​alternative” equivalents. A universal desire for more “European-​style” governance aside, the underlying cultural-​civilizational fractures in Ukraine, functioning in tandem with the deep entrenchment of corrupt political and economic structures, mean that bottom-​up reforms necessary for real political Europeanization have remained weak, while elites remain motivated more by personal interest and avarice than any sense of responsibility to their citizens, who seek to live in a “normal, European state” (Korosteleva 2011). Acting prime minister Arseniy Yatsenuk, who took power after Yanukovich fled in February 2014, recognized the difficulty of overcoming these obstacles. Yatsenyuk described himself and his cabinet as being “doomed,” a set of “kamikaze” politicians who were willing to sacrifice their popularity and tenure to undertake the difficult and unpopular reforms that Europeanization requires. Ukraine remains among the front runners of the non-​Baltic Soviet successor states in all areas of Europeanization, and the EuroMaidan and subsequent events have only strengthened both the country’s resolve to Europeanize and Europe’s commitment to Ukraine. But strong forces still hamper Ukraine’s potential progress in Europeanization in all sectors. Despite Poroshenko’s lofty proclamation that, upon receiving the right to visa-​free travel in the EU for Ukrainians in June

 

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2017, the country had finally “returned to its historic place among European countries” (RFE/​RL June 11, 2017), it seems rather more likely that the structural constraints of Ukraine’s internal diversity, political weakness, and corruption, coupled with its unenviable geopolitical position, will force Ukraine to maintain indefinitely an essential position of nonalignment in the face of two more powerful but unfortunately antagonistic blocs.

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Ukraine since 1989 Since the advent of independence in 1991, Ukrainian historians and the politicians who authorize the dissemination of their work through the educational system have been engaged in creating a new “nationalized” Ukrainian history that is aimed at accomplishing many things: legitimating the newly established state and its elite, grounding the territorial and chronological concepts of the Ukrainian nation, and confirming the Ukrainian nation’s existence as a legal successor in the consciousness of citizens and neighbors alike (Von Werdt 2011, 384–​85). This is a difficult task, not only because of the great regional and cultural fragmentation in Ukraine, but because of the “great discontinuities” and gaps that hinder the effort to construct a coherent narrative of Ukrainian statehood out of a diverse set of historical experiences, many of which threatened to extinguish once and for the Ukrainian nation and the dream of a state to contain it (Yekelchyk 2007, 4–​5). (See Figure 8.7.) The “diverse historical elements” available to Ukrainian nation and state-​ builders in the post-​Soviet period include: the glory days of Kievan Rus; disparate imperial experiences under Poland, Lithuania, and Muscovy; the era of the Cossack Hetmanate, which is viewed by many as the first independent Ukrainian state; the brief and confused period of independence after World War I; the Janus-​faced Soviet experience in Ukraine, which brought great suffering in the form of the famine and purges of the 1930s and World War II, but also industrial modernization and national rebirth (albeit “socialist in content”) in the 1950s–​1980s; and finally, the independence that came to Ukraine after the demise of the USSR. Ukraine as a European Nation. From 1991 until the election of Viktor Yanukovych as president of Ukraine in 2010, a clearly “ethno-​nationalist” historical paradigm was ascendant in Ukraine (Plokhy 2008, 288–​89). That Ukraine was a “natural” part of Europe was an “obvious central component” of this new historical narrative (Wilson 2009, 285). Within this nationalist narrative it was taken as an “article of faith” that it is exactly Ukraine’s “historical ties to Europe” which “distinguish Ukraine from Russia,” and which both legitimate

 



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Ukraine: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

National Identity Narratives: Strong “Europeanizing” narrative in Western part of Ukraine, promoted under Yushchenko presidency and reinforced by EuroMaidan events and ensuing Poroshenko presidency.

National Identity Narratives: More moderate “Europeanizing” national narrative promoted under Kravchuk, Kuchma, and Yanukovych presidencies.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member since 1993. Won Eurovision in 2004 and 2016.

Cultural Europeanization: Marriage limited to one man, one woman in constitution. Some limited legal protections against discrimination for LGBT people.

Weak

National Identity Narratives: In East and South, strongly anti-European and anti-Western narrative, focused instead on Soviet-era triumphs in WWII and Soviet-led modernization of Ukraine.

Sport: UEFA member and consistently in top 10 in national rankings. Hosted EURO 2012 with Poland.

Figure 8.7  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Ukraine

and necessitate a “return to Europe” for Ukraine exactly like that affected by the Central European and Baltic states (Szporluk 2009, 11). The fact that in reality Ukrainian history more closely reflects a “multiplicity of worlds,” created by different “civilizational and imperial boundaries throughout the history of Ukraine,” did not prevent the propagation of a form of Ukrainian history that unambiguously “hopes for the future of Ukraine in the EU” during these years (Plokhy 2008, 288–​9. The Ukrainian nationalist historical narrative mirrors that of the Baltic states and the minority nationalist narrative in Belarus in emphasizing commonalities with Europe and emphatically rejecting ties to the Russo-​Slavic-​Soviet  world. The contemporary nationalist narrative of Ukrainian history has strong roots in similarly Eurocentric and anti-​Russian accounts from the nineteenth century, which first promoted the idea that “the division between Russian and Ukrainian

 

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culture mirrors that of Europe and Asia” (Wilson 2009, 100). Particularly important is the artistic and emotional legacy of poet and artist Taras Shevchenko (1814–​1861), “the first true Ukrainian nationalist,” who saw Ukraine and Muscovy as “cultural and political antitheses” and who viewed the joining of the Cossack Hetmanate to the Tsarist Empire after the 1659 Treaty of Pereislav as “the loss of Ukrainian freedom” (Wilson 2009, 90–​93). Equally influential is historian Mykhailo Hhushevsky (1866–​1934), who arguably “did the most to promote the idea of Ukrainian national identity,” especially by reclaiming the legacy of Kyivan Rus for Ukraine alone and arguing that the cultural, religious, and political divide between Ukraine and Russia was already well established even by the time of the Mongol conquest of Kyivan Rus in the thirteenth century (Plokhy 2008, 4; Wilson 2009, 9–​10). Both the nineteenth-​century and contemporary “Europeanist” readings of Ukrainian history focus on the “emergence of a clear political boundary” between those eastern Slavic peoples (the Ukrainians and Belarusians) who fell under Lithuanian and Swedish influence after the Mongol conquest, and those who fell under Mongol suzerainty (the Russians) (Plokhy 2006). The people living in the lands that form the heart of contemporary Ukraine experienced more than three centuries of political, cultural, and religious interaction with western European culture and its “three great cultural traditions”—​the Renaissance, Reformation, and Counter-​Reformation (Wilson 2009, 45). During this period, the argument goes, Ukrainian religion and culture were so influenced by these contacts with Europe (evidenced by the Union of Brest in 1596 and the establishment of the Mohyla Academy in 1632), that what Russia characterizes as the “reunification” of the Slavic peoples under the Agreement of Pereiaslav in 1654 must more accurately be described as a tactical measure on the part of the Ukrainians, and one marked by “a depth of cultural misunderstanding and divergence” at that (Plokhy 2006, 357). For proponents of the Europeanist, ethno-​nationalist version of Ukrainian history, the distance toward Europe and away from Russia traveled by the Ukrainian from the fourteenth to seventeenth centuries is further demonstrated by the rise of the Cossacks and the Hetmanate they established during what nationalists refer to as the “War of Liberation of the Ukrainian People” (1648–​ 1654). According to this narrative, the European credentials of the Cossack Hetmanate are unimpeachable: the Hetmanate is described as having “created the first European constitution, with a mix of republican and authoritarian elements”; as having “defended Christianity against the Turks”; and as “have been accepted by many European powers as an independent subject in international politics” (Von Werdt 2011, 390–​91). This period thus is “central to Ukraine’s claim to return to Europe” because it furnishes the central idea upon

 



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which Ukrainian national identity rests, that of “Cossack liberty as opposed to Tsarist autocracy” (Wilson 2009, 69–​70). The division of the Cossack lands in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when the western regions of Galicia came under Austro-​Hungarian control, while Kiev and the southern and eastern areas came under Tsarist Russian control, set the two regions on different courses of relations with Europe. Galicia became “a special symbol, a testimony to choosing Europe and to our [Ukraine’s] will to co-​exist in the circle of free and independent nations of Central Europe” (Wolff 2010, 4).14 The Ukrainian elite from the Hetmanate who found themselves in the Russian Empire were, according to Szporluk, “the most enthusiastic builders” of a Russian imperial identity, because they saw that as the “way to become European” (2009, 10). As the ethnic Russian elite of the empire became more nationalistic and began to repress Ukrainian culture and language in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the proud descendants of the Cossacks began to feel more and more that they had to “draw their own map to Europe” (Szporluk 2009, 10). The result was the various short-​lived Ukrainian national polities that emerged during the confused and violent period from 1918 to 1922. Ultimately, the old division of the Cossack realms re-​emerged (belatedly) after World War I, with the Treaty of Riga making Galicia part of a new Polish state, and Kyiv the capital of a new Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. The Soviet era presents a challenge for the nationalist narrative of Ukrainian history. There does exist a more radical nationalist reading of the Soviet experience that sees this period unambiguously as a time of captivity; this view is particularly prominent among émigré communities (as was the case in the Baltics as well). This more radical nationalist view interprets the famine of the 1930s as a deliberate holocaust of the Ukrainian people by the Soviet Union (called “the Holodomor” in Ukrainian), and is unrepentant about the Nazi ties of some Ukrainian “freedom fighters” (namely the Ukrainian Insurgent Army—​the UPA) during World War II, claiming that these were tactical relations entered into with the ultimate aim of gaining Ukrainian independence. For those supporting a nationalist reading of Ukrainian history, the Orange Revolution of 2004 in Ukraine was seen as “an attempt to catch up with the former Hapsburg nations by standing up for human dignity and human rights,” the core of modern “European” political thought and practice (Szporluk 2009, 14). It was also when Ukraine demonstrated its commitment to “a multicultural, European, ideology with liberty at its heart,” as opposed to “neo-​Soviet,” Russian model devoted to imperialism and repression; in short, it is when Ukraine established its willingness to fight for the values of “Charlemagne” as opposed to those of “Genghis Khan” (Pachlovska 2009, 40–​41, 50–​54).

 

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This “Occidentalist” view of Ukrainian history, while “taking firm hold” under all Ukrainian presidents from 1991 to 2010 (Plokhy 2008, 288–​89), was most strongly supported by the president brought to power by the Orange Revolution, Viktor Yushchenko. Yushchenko and his erstwhile ally Prime Minister Yulio Tymoshenko made bold moves to distinguish more boldly Ukrainian history and culture from that of the Soviet Union and contemporary Russia. Yushchenko promoted the official classification of the 1932–​1933 famine as a genocide, put strict limits on Russian-​language media in Ukraine, and made UPA fighter Roman Shukhevych a “Hero of Ukraine” in 2007. Tymoshenko pushed for the introduction of new textbooks that would reflect the nationalist narrative, including ones that described the Orange Revolution as “a victory for all Ukrainians who want to live a rich and happy life,” and ones that interpreted the Cossack Ivan Mazepa’s 1708 alliance with Sweden against Russia as an attempt to “make Ukraine a great and powerful European state” (TOL April 22, 2009). Complications of the “European Ukraine.” The problem with this nationalist narrative is that Ukraine is not “as ‘incontrovertibly European’ as the Ukrainian nationalists want it to be,” and that the exclusive promotion of the Occidentalist view ignores the large proportion of the Ukrainian population that identifies strongly with the Soviet Union or who see themselves as possessing some kind of hybrid Ukrainian-​Russian identity (Wilson 2009, xiii). This includes the almost 20  percent of the population of Ukraine that is ethnic Russian and the nearly 30 percent of the total population of Ukraine who consider Russian their native language.15 Many of the most important aspects of the multifactor cultural divide that characterizes contemporary Ukraine crystallized during the twentieth century and center on antagonistic interpretations of World War II and the Soviet experience. In Snyder’s eloquent view, “Ukraine is less a country than a concentrated expression of the worst of the European twentieth century, a place where the realization of both Stalinism and National Socialism left behind killing fields of all sorts, multiple terrains of forgetting, full of pitfalls” (2010). Contemporary Ukraine’s borders were set after World War II; the former Hapsburg and Polish western areas were added to the Ukrainian SSR right after the war, and Crimea gifted to the republic by Khrushchev in 1954. The divergent experiences of the different parts of Ukraine during the war and the way the war is remembered regionally continue to have important ramifications today. Western Ukraine’s interpretation of the war aligns closely with those of the Visegrad and Baltic states, while in central and southern Ukraine, the triumphalist and neo-​Soviet view of the war promoted by Russia obtains. Orange Revolution hero Viktor Yushchenko, who hails from a Ukrainian-​speaking region of central Ukraine, “tried without success to elevate the west Ukrainian myth of suffering and resistance to pan-​Ukrainian history” (Snyder 2010).

 



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After Yushchenko lost the presidency in 2010, his successor, Viktor Yanukovych, who himself hails from the extreme east of Ukraine (the Donetsk region), moved to reverse Yushchenko’s “Occidentalizing” moves and to reintroduce more neo-​Soviet understandings of Ukrainian history, such as authorizing the display of the Red Army red flag on the May 9th Victory Day celebrations, and shutting down a museum in Lviv that had portrayed, in a very contemporary “European” manner, both the Nazi and Soviet occupations of Ukraine as “national” tragedies (TOL May 30, 2011). Yanukovych also introduced legislation allowing localities in Ukraine to make Russian an official language if more than 10 percent of their population considers Russian their native language; ironically, while nationalists complained that such a policy risked alienating Ukraine from Europe, its sponsors argued that in protecting Russian-​speaking language minorities, the bill was actually a pro-​European measure (NYTimes, July 4, 2012). These differing interpretations of World War II and the question of Russian-​ language rights in Ukraine were fundamentally important elements of the conflict that began in 2013, inflamed in large part by Russian rhetoric about “Nazi” and “UPA” forces terrorizing Russian-​speakers and having taken over Kyiv after Yanukovych fled. This was illustrated by the “dueling symbols” of World War II remembrance in Ukraine in May 2014—​people in the eastern and southern regions favored the more “pro-​Soviet” St. George Ribbon while Kyiv and the west of the country wore the “Europeanized poppy” preferred in Kyiv (RFE/​RE, May 6, 2014). Ukraine’s Politics of Culture and Sport since 1989. Ukraine has sought, and seemingly achieved, a significant level of inclusion in the European cultural realm in the post-​Soviet period. An early joiner of the EBU, Ukraine won the Eurovision song contest in 2004 (only its second year of participation). As c­hapter  5 demonstrated, Ukrainians viewed the hosting of Eurovision in 2005 as an important chance to “demonstrate their Europeanness.” Ukraine’s 2004 Eurovision victor, Ruslana, who later went on to become a deputy in the Ukrainian parliament, seemed to both cater to and send up Orientalist stereotypes of the post-​communist world. Her “Wild Hearts” song was based on motifs from the Carpathian Hutsul culture of Ukraine, itself ambiguously European, located as it is in the western part of the country and with a Hapsburg past, but also being an “exotic” mountain minority culture (TOL August 1, 2007). Ruslana herself consciously cultivated the image of a primitive and wild, if alluring, “barbarian” princess. Her brief costumes often featured leather and animal furs in Xena-​ esque combinations, and some of her publicity shots featured the singer posed with live wolves. During the EuroMaidan movement, Ruslana would become a prominent and tireless supporter of Ukraine’s “European choice,” appearing onstage in Maidan Square nearly every night in late November and December 2013 and traveling throughout Europe in spring 2014 to advocate for Ukraine’s continued Europeanization (Newsweek February 18, 2014).

 

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Ukraine’s second Eurovision victory, in 2016 in Stockholm, and its second hosting of the show, in 2017 in Kyiv, also both served as platforms upon which Ukraine “performed its Europeanness” for both European and Russian audiences. In 2016, Ukraine’s Eurovision entry was Jamala, an ethnic Crimean Tatar woman who sang a song recalling Stalin’s deportation of her people (including her grandmother) in 1944. Russia protested Jamala’s entry, claiming that her presence broke Eurovision rules banning “lyrics, speeches or gestures of a political or similar nature” (RFE/​RL May 14, 2016). Jamala was allowed to perform, and her eventual victory was widely seen as a Europe-​wide rebuke of Russia’s annexation of Crimea and the subsequent suppression of Crimean Tatar activism there. When Kyiv hosted Eurovision the following summer, it brought further attention to Russia’s illegal actions in Crimea by not allowing Russia’s 2017 contestant, Yulia Samoilova, to enter Ukraine, because she had visited Crimea in 2015, after its annexation. (More than 140 Russian artists have been banned from Ukraine for the same reason.) (RFE/​RL March 23, 2017). The work of many prominent Ukrainian authors, particularly those hailing from the western city of Ivano-​Frankivsk, such as Yuri Andrukhovych and Halyna Petrosanyak, also “feeds off the cultural humus of Europe,” and locates Ukrainian literature in the European cultural family (TOL August 1, 2007). Andrukhovych, upon winning the Leipzig Book Prize for European Understanding in 2006, used his acceptance speech in part to chastise Europe for its hesitancy in accepting Ukraine as a full part of “Europe’s very self.” After the collapse of the Soviet Union, independent Ukraine was fully accepted as an integral part of, and indeed as a powerhouse in, European football, even before cohosting the EURO 2012 tournament with Poland (the Ukrainian national team is consistently in the top ten UEFA country coefficient rankings). As ­chapter  5 demonstrated, both Europe and Ukraine saw hosting EURO 2012 as, to use an unforgivable pun, a potential “game changer” for Ukraine, in terms of becoming more fully integrated into Europe. EURO 2012 certainly did have some positive impact in terms of burnishing Ukraine’s image as a part of “European civilization”; 43 percent of EU citizens who visited Ukraine for EURO 2012 championships said that Ukraine should become a member of the EU in the short term, with an additional 31 percent believing it should do so in the medium term. (Over 75  percent also said they would like to return to Ukraine, perhaps an even more important indicator.)16 One author suggests that the increase in EURO-​based goodwill went both ways during the tournament, as Ukrainian citizens, over 70  percent of whom have never been to an EU country, were able to see firsthand, via their visitors from the EU, the “spontaneity and respect for individuality that dominate in Western Europe” (Petrynska 2012). EURO 2012 also may have served to render the Russian “Euro-​alternative” less attractive for Ukrainians. After seeing the

 



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“obnoxious and aggressive” behavior of Russian fans at EURO 2012 (for which Russia’s delegation was fined 30,000 Euros), one business owner in Kharkiv commented, “Now that everyone has seen the ‘golden billion’ countries, what ‘Russian vector’ are we talking about? It’s only Europe now!” (Petrynska 2012). LGBTQ Tolerance and Rights in Ukraine. Ukraine’s successful strategy of Europeanizing through participation in Eurovision and UEFA has not been as easily replicated in the realm of greater societal tolerance and increased rights for LGBTQ persons. Ukraine’s post-​Maidan Europhilia does not necessarily extend to European-​style concern for LGBTQ rights; Kiev’s mayor and EuroMaidan champion Vitali Klitschko has stated that while he does, like a good European, support human rights, he “will not stand up for gays and lesbians” (Kenarov 2015). LGBTQ activists in Ukraine report high levels of harassment and violence, and Pride events are held in the country only with massive police protection (in 2017 police outnumbered marchers 5,500 to 2,500) (RFE/​RL June 18, 2017). The Ukrainian constitution limits marriage to one man and one woman, and there are no legal provisions of any type for same-​sex partnerships. In November 2015, Ukraine’s Rada (parliament) did pass an anti-​ discrimination bill that covers sexual orientation and gender identity but did so only on the sixth reading and only under duress from the EU, which threatened to derail visa-​free travel talks over the issue (RFE/​RL November 12, 2015). The strong traditionalist strain in Ukrainian society suggests that if the country continues to see itself as “European” and to draw closer to Europe politically, its natural allies will be other traditionalists and “family values” activists in places like Poland and Hungary.

Political Europeanization in Ukraine since 1989 Ukraine’s Europeanization in the political realm resembles quite strongly the pattern it has established in the cultural-​civilizational realm, namely, a keen recognition of the divided nature of the country and a subsequent desire to establish equitable and balanced political and economic relations with “Europe” in the guise of the EU on the one hand, and Russia (and its Euro-​alternative political organizations) on the other, but with a clear tendency, certainly more pronounced after the events of 2013–​2014, to lean more strongly toward Europe. Ukraine is, with Moldova and Georgia, one of the “furthest along” of the EAP countries, having signed an Association Agreement with the EU (as did those other two states) in June 2014; Ukrainian president Petro Poroshenko made it clear in his inauguration speech that same month that, “As for the Association Agreement, we consider it as the first step towards full membership in the EU.” (See Figure 8.8.)

 

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Ukraine: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Member of the Eastern Partnership program. Signed Association Agreement and DCFTA with EU.

Council of Europe: Council of Europe member since 1995.

Euro-alternative Institutions: Announced intention to end “association” with CIS in 2018; Not a member of EEU.

Figure 8.8  Political Europeanization in Ukraine

At the beginning of the 2010s, as post-​communism entered its third decade, Ukraine found itself in the distinctly unenviable position of being pressured ever more strongly by political actors on either side to do exactly what it did not want to do: make a decisive choice to bind itself fully and clearly (in terms of political and economic alliance) to either Europe or Russia. This escalating external pressure, coupled with continued regional tensions and, more alarmingly, the increasing authoritarianism and centralization of economic and political power of the Yanukovych “family,” helped to lead to the conflict that began in fall 2013. Ukraine and the EU. Ukraine was the first non-​Baltic ex-​Soviet state to sign a PCA with the EU in 1994, and under President Kuchma Ukraine officially declared its intention to join the EU. The official pursuit of EU membership was briefly repudiated by Kuchma in an unsuccessful attempt to try to help his chosen successor, Viktor Yanukovych, prevail in the 2004 presidential elections

 



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(Hale 2008, 205), but the Ukrainian drive for EU membership would be accelerated by the Orange Revolution and became a chief policy priority of the embattled Yushchenko government during its tenure. Thus, even under Kuchma, and continuing through to the Yanukovych regime (at least up until November 2013), Ukraine had positioned itself as a “pre-​candidate” for EU membership (Delcour 2007, 147). It was also widely considered the “most likely case” for EU membership from the post-​Soviet world (Franke et al. 2010, 155–​56). Ukraine’s rhetorical commitment to eventual EU membership, reiterated by Poroshenko upon his inauguration in June 2014 and after Ukraine achieved visa-​ free access to the EU in 2017, has actually remained consistent throughout its independence. All major political forces in Ukraine, including Yanukovych and his Party of Regions, have learned to “speak European” and have “discursively adopted” the norms of EU enlargement, even if Yanukovych later repudiated that commitment in fall 2013 in the face of intense economic and political pressure from Russia (Solonenko 2007, 49–​50). Ukraine has also created a bevy of institutional structures to try to help it along the path of political Europeanization (Stegniy 2011, 93). Yet despite both rhetorical and institutional commitments, progress on true Europeanizing reforms in terms of fulfilling the types of “conditionality” that characterized earlier EU enlargements remains only “sporadic” in Ukraine, limited to certain “enclaves” such as the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and on the whole “localised, unsystematic and shallow” (Wolczuk 2007, 2009). Whether or not the momentum that the political Europeanization project carries in the wake of the EuroMaidan phenomena can translate into actual, technical progress leading to eventual EU accession remains to be seen—​the recognition by the post-​ Maidan “kamikaze cabinet” of the extreme difficulty of this task, and its willingness to embrace those difficulties, is hopeful, but the task remains large and onerous. Attitudes of European gatekeepers toward Ukraine are similar to those held about Belarus—​there is some level of consensus about the “essential Europeanness” of Ukraine, stemming from a reading of the country’s history that places it in the Central European mold from which emerged such now-​ confirmed European states like the Balts, but which is tempered by skepticism about the norms and practices embedded in Ukraine during its Russian and Soviet pasts. What distinguishes Ukraine from Belarus in Europe’s eyes is the much greater capacity for actually acting politically European that Ukraine has demonstrated during the Orange Revolution, during which the influential French nouveau philosophe Andre Glucksmann famously held up Ukraine as an example of “true European values” to be contrasted with the perfidious and anti-​European French, who had just voted “no” on the European Constitution (Glucksmann 2005).

 

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The authoritarian devolution under President Yanukovych, particularly the imprisonment in fall 2011 of former prime minister Yulia Tymoshenko after a conviction for “abuse of office,” tarnished Ukraine’s “Europeanness” in European gatekeepers’ eyes, as the boycotts of EURO 2012 by some high-​level European politicians discussed in ­chapter  5 demonstrate. For others, Ukraine certainly regained its position as “the true representative of European values” during the EuroMaidan events. No less a figure than European Commission president José Manuel Barroso voiced this conviction in March 2014, when he praised the “over 100 people in Ukraine who have already died in the name of European values” (RFE/​RL, March 8, 2014). Even before the authoritarian backsliding under Yanukovych, Ukraine had only made very sporadic reforms toward EU compliance. Despite this lack of real progress, the EU remained committed to moving forward with the signing of an Association Agreement (AA) and a Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement (DCFTA) between the EU and Ukraine, an event first planned for the November 2013 EAP Summit in Vilnius. The EU was so keen to see Ukraine sign the AA by this date that it established a special commission, headed by former EP president Pat Cox and former Polish president Aleksandr Kwasniewski, to help Ukraine meet the necessary requirements in advance of the Vilnius EAP summit. Yanukovych’s abrupt decision not to sign the agreement as planned in November 2013 was the event that precipitated the EuroMaidan movement. Russia’s unexpectedly rash and bold reaction to the fall of the Yanukovych government seems to have been in part a desperate (and ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to prevent Ukraine from signing the AA with the EU (the other main cause seems to have been Putin’s fear of a Yanukovych-​type scenario spreading to Russia). The EU’s commitment to Europeanization in Ukraine under Yanukovych had motivated Russia to ratchet up its own efforts to persuade Ukraine to join its planned “Eurasian Union” instead of the Brussels variant. Russia saw Ukraine as the “defining factor for the future of the Eurasian Customs Union—​if UKR were to join the EEU, it would mean the post-​Soviet economic model has been cemented in the region” (RFE/​RL January 8, 2013). The “ultimate aim and supreme reward” of Putin’s entire Eurasian Union project was in fact “the potential reintegration of UKR into the Russian bosom” (RAD #112, April 20, 2012, 8–​11). Russia offered Ukraine steep gas discounts and other incentives in exchange for rejecting Europe and joining the EAU—​ incentives that Yanukovych ultimately found impossible to refuse, first agreeing to have Ukraine become an “observer” of the EAU in May 2013, and ultimately refusing to sign the AA agreement with the EU, setting in motion the dramatic events of EuroMaidan. Despite the achievements of the EuroMaidan movement, Poroshenko’s strong reassertion of Ukraine’s desire for EU membership, and the EU’s renewed

 



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enthusiasm for Ukraine’s Europeanization (a gathering of EU foreign ministers said in February 2014 that the AA agreement “does not constitute the final goal in EU-​Ukrainian relations”), it is still far from clear that EU membership is or should be in Ukraine’s future. The well and truly divided nature of Ukraine, and the fact that it finds itself squarely in the middle of a tug of war between the EU and the EEU, has led some analysts to call for a new formulation, a “Pan-​ European Economic Space,” that would allow countries like Ukraine to get the best of both the political and economic worlds it inhabits without having to disengage from either (Sidenko 2013). That such a formulation has very slim prospects of emerging as the deus ex machina that would ease the intense pressure on Ukraine to “choose one side” does not make it any less desirable.

Security Europeanization in Ukraine since 1989 Given the higher stakes and realist logic that dominate in the security realm, Ukraine occupies an even more dangerous position in the extremely tense and antagonistic relationship that has evolved between NATO and Russia in the former Soviet Union than it does between the EU and Russia. As was discussed in ­chapter 4, a major motivation behind Russia’s decision to invade Georgia in August 2008 was NATO’s public support earlier that year for “eventual” NATO membership for both Georgia and Ukraine. Yanukovych officially rescinded Ukraine’s previously stated claim to NATO membership in April 2010, yet it is clear that part of Russia’s decision to intervene in Ukraine was based on a fear that a post-​Yanukovych Ukraine would join NATO. (See Figure 8.9.) Ukraine’s post-​Maidan Poroshenko government has at times taken pains to emphasize that “with a view to maintaining Ukraine’s unity,” it will not seek NATO membership; “the country is non-​aligned and will stay so,” said acting defense minister Andriy Deschytsia in March 2014 (Interfax-​Ukraine March 29, 2014; Moscow Times, March 19, 2014). Celebrating the granting to Ukraine’s of visa-​free travel in the EU in June 2017, however, President Poroshenko claimed that he believed that Ukraine would in fact become a member of both the EU and NATO one day, and that “nothing, nobody, will ever stop us” (RFE/​RL June 11, 2017). Ukraine and NATO. Ukraine’s desire to protect its fragile state sovereignty led its leaders to display an early eagerness to reach out to NATO as a way of establishing its independence from Russia and the CIS (Ukraine remained a CIS “skeptic,” particularly in the realm of security, and did not sign the 1992 CIS Collective Security Treaty). In February 1994 Ukraine became the first non-​ Baltic former Soviet republic to join NATO’s PFP, the same year it worked with the United States and Russia to affect the transfer of all nuclear weapons on its

 

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Ukraine: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP, IPAP and has an “Intensified Dialogue” with NATO. Formally sought NATO membership from 2002–2010, then withdrew membership bid. As of December 2014, again openly seeking NATO membership.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE since 1993. Chaired OSCE in 2013.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Not a member of CSTO and has not ratified other CIS security treaties.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: In 2011, signed agreement that leases Sevastopol Naval Base to Russia until 2042. Superseded by Russian Annexation of Crimea in March 2014.

Figure 8.9  Security Europeanization in Ukraine

soil back to Russia. By 1997, Ukraine had demanded and received a “Charter on a Distinctive Partnership” with NATO, much like that Russia negotiated with NATO. This agreement established a NATO-​Ukraine Council, resembling the NATO-​Russia Council. In 2002, President Kuchma made Ukraine’s NATO membership bid a part of the country’s official national security policy, despite the glaring lack of any type of a national consensus on the wisdom of officially joining Europe’s security community. After the Orange Revolution, Yushchenko and Tymoshenko pursued NATO membership even more ardently, one of the few things they ended up agreeing on. They pushed NATO for an “Intensified Dialogue” on membership, which Ukraine received in 2005, and in January 2008 they petitioned (unsuccessfully) both NATO and the United States directly to give

 



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Ukraine a MAP. NATO did offer the (non–​legally binding, informal) promise of eventual membership for Ukraine and Georgia at the April 2008 Bucharest Summit, as discussed in ­chapter 4. Russia’s Georgian incursion in August 2008 led NATO to recommit to its stated “Open Door” policy of eventual membership for both Georgia and Ukraine. While the Georgian war certainly made Ukrainians aware of the precarious nature of their independence, it did not lead to an increase in support for NATO membership in the country, which remained extremely divided over the issue—​a Pew Research Center survey from September 2009 showed that 51  percent of Ukrainians opposed joining NATO, with only 28  percent advocating membership (Pew Research Center 2009). These percentages gradually began to change after the annexation of Crimea by Russia in 2014. In May 2014, 41 percent of the country’s citizens favored joining NATO, with 40 percent opposed, while by June 2014 the percentage in favor had crept up to 47 percent while 36 percent were opposed (Pew Research Center 2014). A year later, in June 2015, 53 percent of Ukrainians were in favor of joining NATO, with only 32 percent opposed, but by June 2016, support had dipped down to 39 percent, while opposition stayed at 32 percent (Pew Research Center 2009; Center for Insights in Survey Research 2016, 39). Former Ukrainian president Yanukovych once called NATO membership a “Euro-​Romanticist” dream, and in April 2010 he got parliament to rescind Ukraine’s NATO membership bid in favor of a policy of “strict neutrality.” Yanukovych argued that joining NATO was less a guarantee of independence and security than an invitation to Russian military incursion. In fall 2014 the new post-​Maidan Ukrainian Rada once again abandoned the policy of formal nonalignment and indicated its intention to join NATO, while new President Poroshenko announced both a six-​year plan for Ukraine to join NATO and the EU and a referendum on NATO membership in Ukraine (though he did not announce a date for the latter) (Bloomberg Business November 24, 2014). Poroshenko has also called repeatedly for NATO to send arms to Ukraine, calls that the alliance has thus far resisted, though individual countries like Lithuania and the United States have sent substantial “non-​lethal” aid to Ukraine. Military personnel from NATO states also continue to help train Ukrainian personnel, and NATO has continued to hold training exercises in Ukraine, making Ukraine “the first European country to contain both NATO troops and Russian combat units” (Telegraph September 15, 2014). Despite the post-​Maidan Ukrainian government’s strongly stated desire for membership, NATO clearly is reluctant to signal closer relations with Ukraine when Russian troops, official or not, continue fighting continues in the country’s east. For all its declared support for “any democratic country in Europe” being able to join NATO, and its condemnation of Russia’s “revision of the post–​Cold

 

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War security order by force,” NATO clearly prefers that Ukraine would continue to pursue the “balancing” policy that had evolved under Yanukovich after 2010. Ukraine’s protestations that Crimea remains Ukrainian territory notwithstanding, no clear or likely path for the return of Crimea to Ukraine is visible. Heightened tensions and the ongoing fighting in the east and south, Ukraine’s border with the “frozen conflict” zone of Transnistria (where Russia continues to sponsor the self-​proclaimed “independent state”), and the lack of overwhelming popular support in Ukraine for NATO membership suggest that a true “balancing” stance in the security realm, one that shuns both NATO and CSTO membership, while maintaining denser and closer ties to NATO than the CSTO, is perhaps the only prudent course of action for Ukraine. This reality may be disappointing to Ukrainian nationalists such as Poroshenko, and also to their allies in the former communist world who seek eventual NATO membership for Ukraine. Given the potential for renewed and expanded military conflict with Russia over the question of Ukrainian membership in NATO, however, Ukraine’s uneasy but necessary “strategic neutrality” will (and should) abide. As Charap and Colton argue, both European actors and Russia can and should take steps to reinforce and support this type of strategic neutrality, as difficult and remote as that possibility seems in an environment marked by Ukrainian claims of “returning to Europe” and Russia vowing never to give up its claim on “ancient Rus” lands in Ukraine (2016, 181–​82).

Case Study: Moldova—​Following Romania into Europe or Returning to Russia? Moldova is the smallest and one of the most poorly known of the former Soviet republics; it is also a state that, for most of the post-​Soviet period, until the election of a pro-​Russian president in 2016, had a strong positive consensus about its own Europeanness. Moldovan elites and citizens have been remarkably united behind the idea of the necessity and desirability of fulfilling the country’s “European vocation” by pursuing Europeanization in all its forms. Moldova was the first EAP state to achieve visa-​free travel within the Schengen Zone (in April 2014), and has signed an AA with the EU (in June 2014). Moldovan elites have openly voiced the demand that the EAP be expanded to include an eventual EU membership perspective, and until the election of Igor Dodon as president in 2016, no Moldovan head of state ever wavered in the commitment to eventual EU membership (as Ukraine’s leadership has at times). Moldova’s strong sense of Europeanness derives in part from the historical, linguistic, and cultural affinity (some would say unity) that Moldova shares with

 



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neighboring Romania, a country that, as a member of the EU and NATO, is now universally recognized as “fully European.” Moldova’s kin-​state neighbor in Europe, something no other former Soviet state has, provides a powerful cultural legitimation for Moldova’s sense of its own Europeanness (which appears to be stronger than its intrinsic Europeanness rating in Figure 8.10 suggests it should be). Romania also provides important practical support for Moldova’s Europeanizing ambitions. At the same time, Moldova’s actual, practical achievements in Europeanization are modest, and its long-​term prospects for making better progress in concrete

Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Moldova

High

Medium

Imperial Experiences: Roman (106–270)

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Geographic Location: Appears on all maps of Europe.

Geographic Location: Central/East, "Balkan"

Low

Imperial Experiences: Vassal of Ottoman Empire

Historical Experience: Renaissance/Reformation weak influence via Italy

Soviet Narrative: No real “captivity” narrative, but no real “pro-Soviet” sentiment

Figure 8.10  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Moldova

Soviet Narrative: Transnistria strongly pro-Soviet/pro-Russian

 

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measures of Europeanization are severely hampered by several structural factors. The most important of these is the “frozen conflict” involving the breakaway Moldovan region of Transnistria, which considers itself an independent state strongly allied with Russia (and currently home to several hundred Russian troops and much more Russian ammunition and military equipment). Moldova is strongly committed to the reintegration of Transnistria into Moldova and sees Europeanization as the strategy by which to achieve that end; all evidence suggests that this is at best a long-​term, long-​shot strategy, while in the short and medium term the territory is likely to stay in Russia’s orbit. It remains an immovable obstacle in the road to Moldova’s hopes for full political and security integration into Europe. Beyond the issue of Transnistria, Moldova shares in common with the rest of the post-​Soviet states other fundamental elements that hamper its Europeanization efforts. First, while there is more consensus around Moldova’s “Europeanness” than there is in other post-​Soviet states, that consensus is not complete, and Moldovan society has the same types of conflicts about history, language, and its relations with Russia and the “Russian world” does as Ukraine (if to a much lesser degree). Second, while there are hopeful signs of limited progress in political reform, Moldova’s political system remains weak and under threat of capture from oligarchic elites. Finally, Moldova is often described as “the poorest country in Europe,” its economy largely dependent on an unproductive and inefficient agricultural sector. The country’s economic woes are perpetuated and exacerbated by the entrenched and wide-​scale corruption practiced by nearly all its elites, including its most vociferously pro-​ EU ones.17 Countervailing, pro-​Europeanization factors also exist in Moldova: the strong degree of unity around the idea of Moldova’s “European vocation,” the strong pull of “already European” Romania, and the degree to which Moldova is already embedded in the EU. Moldova’s political and economic problems are formidable, but it is far more politically free than Belarus, and its cultural divisions, the glaring issue of Transnistria aside, are less acute than those in Ukraine. Should a solution to the Transnistrian problem be found (either Moldova giving up its claim on Transnistria in order to join Europe; Moldova and Transnistria together joining Europe as a federated entity; or the designation of some form of special status for Transnistria that satisfies the EU, Moldova, and Russia), it is not unthinkable that Moldova could become a member of the EU in the foreseeable future.

 



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Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Moldova since 1989 Moldova’s particular variation on the common post-​Soviet quandary of self-​ definition and civilizational choice is colored by the presence of their resolutely (and successfully) Europeanizing Romanian kin on the one side, and the equally forcible example of pro-​Russian, neo-​Sovietism in the breakaway Transnistrian region on the other. The civilizational choice facing post-​Soviet political and cultural elites thus exists in somewhat greater relief in Moldova than it does in other contexts, and its resolution is therefore that much more complicated. (See Figure 8.11.) It is perhaps not surprising, then, that the most prominent form of “official” Moldovan national identity that has emerged in the post-​Soviet period is one

Moldova: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Strong Europeanizing narrative present; no real alternative narratives (with exception of Transnistria's regional neo-Sovietism)

National Identity Narratives: Strong pro-Soviet, pro-Russian narrative in Transnistria

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member but has not won or hosted Eurovision.

Cultural Europeanization: Marriage restricted to one man and one woman in constitution. No anti-discrimination protections for LGBT people.

Sport: UEFA member but not in top 10 and has not hosted tournament. Does participate in UEFA development programs.

Figure 8.11  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Moldova

 

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that seeks a compromise between the two extremes posed by the small, radically pro-​Romanian minority and the neo-​Soviet, pro-​Russian reintegrationist camp (March 2007). The resulting “centrist” idea of “Moldovanism” is still contested ground, and the attempt to balance the competing narratives is a difficult one. It is all the more significant, then, that despite disagreements about what to call the official language of Moldova (“Romanian” versus “Moldovan”), or which national holidays Moldova should celebrate ( June 28th as the somber “Day of Soviet Occupation” versus May 9th as the joyous “Victory Day” for the Red Army in World War II), two points of strong consensus in the emerging sense of “official Moldovanism” are that the Moldovan people are Europeans and that therefore Moldova the state deserves a place in Europe’s cultural and civilizational landscape. The contemporary Moldovan state has its political and cultural roots in the Principality of Moldavia, a medieval state that emerged in the fourteenth century and was an important defender of Christendom in the struggles against the “infidel Turks” before being forced to accept vassal status under the Ottomans in 1538. The majority of the populace was Orthodox Christian, and the liturgy was in Old Church Slavonic, written in Cyrillic letters. This meant the Principality and its residents were of special interest when the Russian Empire began to see itself as the defender of Orthodoxy against both the Ottomans and the western Christian powers in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. King notes that visitors to Moldavia after its incorporation to the Ottoman Empire found it to be “more Turkish than Christian,” and that while portraits of the Principality’s fourteenth-​ and fifteenth-​century founders depicted them as “typical European medieval knights,” later Moldovan leaders were featured in the robes and turbans of “Turkish pashas” (2000, 12). When Russia won the eastern part of Moldavia from the Ottomans in 1812 and incorporated it in the Tsarist state as the oblast (and later guberniia) of Bessarabia, Russian rule was seen as a “civilizing” act of “rescue” for a Christian people being held against their will by the “backward” Ottoman Turks. Imperial Russia would bring European forms of administration and a European cultural renaissance to this “languishing” territory (King 2000, 21). The long nineteenth century of Russian control in Bessarabia meant that this territory “missed the key moments in the Romanian national awakening” that culminated in the formation of the Romanian nation-​state in the late nineteenth century (Ciscel 2006, 602). Despite Russian hopes of bringing enlightenment and rational government to their Orthodox kin in Bessarabia, it remained “the most backward” part of the Tsarist empire, known as the “Siberia of the West” (King 2000, 23). The nascent Romanian nation-​state, which had its own “Moldavian” province, partially formed from the western territories of the old Principality of Moldavia, also had claims on Bessarabia, which it was able to realize in the aftermath of

 



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World War I. From 1918 to 1940, Romania pursued its own “mission civilisatrice” in Bessarabia, based on yet another set of Eurocentric-​Orientalist assumptions. Romanians assumed the superiority of Romanian culture and language, which was written in the Latin alphabet, the Romanian state having “re-​Romanized” the language as part of its self-​realization as a modern “European” nation-​state the century before. They felt Slavic culture of the Russians represented “wastefulness and destruction,” and sought to lessen its influence in the newly regained territory (King 2000, 59). The new Romanian state had also successfully established an autocephalous Romanian Orthodox Church with its patriarchate in Bucharest, which competed with the Russian Orthodox Church for the loyalty of Bessarabia’s Christians during the period of Romanian control. This process was severely complicated for the Russian side by the precarious position of the church in the new Bolshevik state, allowing the Romanian church to make important inroads. The fledgling Soviet state did not relinquish its historical claims to Bessarabia, creating a Moldovan “Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic” in 1924 within Ukraine. It later annexed Bessarabia proper in 1940 as part of the Molotov-​ Ribbentrop Pact. The region was in flux during the course of the war; Soviet control of the territory, enlarged and renamed the Moldovan Soviet Socialist Republic (MSSR) in 1940, was finally re-​established by the Red Army in 1944. During the postwar years, the MSSR as a whole became “a well-​integrated part of the Soviet state,” while its Transnistrian region, on the eastern banks of the Dnester River (and which had comprised the bulk of the 1924 Ukrainian MSSR), was distinguished by the fact that it became “one of the most Sovietized territories in all of the USSR” (King 2000, 101, 184). Soviet nationalities policies, which aimed to promote socialist ideology through ethno-​nationalist cultural idioms, fostered the creation of a separate “Moldovan” language in the MSSR. The language, supported by a robust bibliographic, educational, and cultural infrastructure, was linguistically indistinguishable from contemporary Romanian, with the exception of the use of the Cyrillic alphabet. The years of Soviet “Moldovanism” thus actually led to “the quiet acceptance of standard literary Romanian language” in Moldova, while historical scholarship and other intellectual pursuits in the MSSR were also functionally “Romanianized” at the same time that they were “Sovietized,” a contradiction that continues to shape Moldovan cultural politics today (King 2000, 107–​11). The extent to which “Moldovanization” was also “Romanianization,” at least among the politically active Moldovan intelligentsia inspired by the Baltic popular front movements in the late 1980s, was revealed in the language laws shaped by those activists and passed by the MSSR Supreme Soviet in August 1989. These laws asserted the “unity” of the Moldovan and Romanian languages, mandated the use of the Latin alphabet, and introduced the requirement

 

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of Romanian-​language fluency for state functionaries. The declaration of State Sovereignty of the MSSR, passed at the same time as the language laws, also showed influence of Romanization—​it decried the “carving up of Romania” by the Soviet Union when it “seized” Bessarabia from Romania in 1940. The pan-​Romanianism of the Moldovan Popular Front activists of the early independence period was also visible in the introduction of a course in the “History of the Romanians” into Moldovan schools. This early period of radical Romanianism provoked a counter-​reaction among the “highly Sovietized” population in the Transnistrian zone east of Moldova. While the eventual military hostilities of 1992 that led to the declaration of independence of Transnistria were, in King’s view at least, more an old-​fashioned power struggle between Chisinau-​based, agrarian elites and Tiraspol-​based, industrial and military elites, certainly the intense pan-​Romanianism of the early independence period alienated the Ukrainian and Russian dominated elite across the Dnester as well (2010, 187). After the trauma of 1992, when Transnistria won its de facto “independence” from Moldova by roundly defeating the Moldovan army (with ample help from Russia’s 14th Guards Army, which was stationed in Transnistria and took up its cause with support from Moscow), the new Moldovan government’s early Romanianophilia was gradually replaced by a more centrist “Moldovan” ideology. Since 1994, Moldovan governments of all political stripes have generally promoted “a civic, citizenship-​based” idea of Moldovanism that emphasizes Moldovan independence and sovereignty as opposed to unification with Romania (King 2010, 169). This official Moldovanism, or “Basarabism,” as Luke March calls it, attempts to balance the pan-​Romanianism of the former Popular Front (whose supporters number about 10 percent of the population, in March’s estimate), and the roughly 20 percent of the Moldovan population who are Russophone supporters of the Party of Communists of the Republic of Moldova (mostly ethnic Russians and Ukrainians) and who tend to support a neo-​Soviet ideology (2007, 603–​4). The 1994 Constitution of Moldova, for example, enshrines “Moldovan” as the official language of the state, making no mention of “Romanian.” Europhilia in “Official” Moldovanism. An important distinguishing element of this ideology of official “Moldovanism” is its Europhilia. Surveys and focus groups carried out by the European Council on Social Research as part of their four-​country study of the EAP from 2009 to 2011 find that large majorities of Moldovan citizens, students, and elites believe that they are already “European” in a cultural-​civilizational sense, that they “share European values” with their neighbors in the EU, and that those differences in values that might still exist between them and Europe are “inconsequential” (Radchuk 2011, 43–​44). Moldovans also believe, in greater number than Ukrainians, Russians, or

 



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Belarusians, that they belong fully to the sphere of European history, culture, and civilization (Danii and Mascauteanu 2011, 114). The strong conviction that Moldovans have about their Europeanness seems to derive from the fact that the ethnic and linguistic roots of the Moldovan/​ Romanian people are firmly planted in the uber-​European soil of ancient Rome. Also significant is the fact that the Principality of Moldavia was a defender of Christendom alongside the medieval Polish and Hungarian states (whose modern-​day successors have since had their own Europeanness validated). Perhaps most influential of all is the geographic, historic, and cultural proximity of Romania, whose own success at “achieving Europeanness” in the wake of communism makes a similar vocation seem logical, possible, and even necessary for Moldova. The shared understanding across the political spectrum in Moldova that the people and its country belong to the European cultural and civilizational sphere leads to a common willingness to implement European-​approved cultural programs and legal institutions in the realm of culture and education—​Moldova has worked closely with the Council of Europe on curricular reforms, for example (Cash 2007, 2009). This desire for validation of Moldova’s belonging to Europe’s cultural and civilizational realm is also visible in the country’s participation in the Eurovision song contest and UEFA. Sport, Culture, and LGBTQ Rights in Moldova since 1989. Moldova has not enjoyed the success in Eurovision that other post-​Soviet states have, never finishing higher than sixth place. Yet the country’s population strongly supports participation in the annual contest, to the point that public outcry forced the Moldovan national broadcasting company to reverse its decision that “it could not find funds” for the country to participate in the 2007 version. It did find the money and the country has participated every year since without incident. Regular participation in Eurovision apparently has not done much to advance the cause of LGBTQ rights in Moldova; it is clear that without the intense pressure exerted by the EU in the run-​up to the signing of the AA and the possibility of visa-​free travel rights, there would not have been the grassroots support to pass an anti-​discrimination law including protections for sexual orientation in Moldova. After the bill’s passing, the Moldovan Orthodox Church (MOC), which is formally and legally subordinate to the ROC, began a vigorous campaign for its repeal, citing its “immorality” (RFE/​RL June 21, 2013). The MOC also supports Russia’s condemnation of other aspects of contemporary European culture, and praises Russia for taking a stand as the “guardian of Christian values” in the contemporary world. The MOC’s bishop in Balti, Marchel Mihaescu, decreed that the biometric passports issued to allow visa-​free travel to the EU were “satanic,” because their identification numbers contained thirteen digits (NYTimes September 13, 2016). Russian media is also a very

 

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strong presence in Moldova; even the Moldovan minister of European integration admits that “Russian TV is in nearly every household in Moldova,” and that the Moldovan government will find it “very difficult” to compete with Russia in this sphere (EURACTIV.com June 6, 2017). The arena of sport has proved to be a less controversial aspect of cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization in Moldova. The country has not enjoyed much success on UEFA’s football pitches, which is perhaps not surprising given its small size (the country regularly ranks in the bottom half of UEFA’s country coefficient standings). Moldova has, however, pursued ardently and taken full advantage of all the developmental opportunities that UEFA has for post-​ communist states. UEFA has helped Moldova to build a new headquarters for the Moldovan Football Association and to construct several news fields across the country. Participation in European football also provides an important channel for Moldovan-​Transnistrian cooperation and diplomacy and is the only aspect of “Europeanization” supported by Transnistrian authorities, who otherwise strongly support joining Russia’s Eurasian Union project (and all other Russian-​ sponsored ventures) (Calus and Oleksy 2013). Transnistria’s FC Sheriff has one of the most modern stadiums in Europe, and Transnistrian authorities agreed in 2003 to host there a friendly match between Moldova and the Netherlands, after UEFA found the national stadium in Chisinau not to meet European and international standards (Hill 2012).18 Transnistria’s club can only play in UEFA-​sanctioned matches under the auspices of the Moldovan national football association—​working with the Moldovan national officials in this regard is one of the only concessions by Transnistria that its “independence” is not recognized by anyone outside of Moscow. Transnistria’s desire for respect as a “European” football power is a faint but important indication that Moldova’s advocacy of increased Europeanization for both parties as the preferred means for resolving the Transnistrian impasse might eventual yield results.

Political Europeanization in Moldova since 1989 Moldova in the EU. Moldovan political authorities were one of the last of the ex-​ Soviet republics to sign a PCA agreement with the EU in 1994, but the republic has quickly made up for lost time (Danii and Mascauteanu, 2011, 101). From 2011 to 2013, Moldova surpassed both Ukraine and Georgia in the EU’s EAP Integration Index rankings, and it is regarded both as the “most willing reformer” among the EAP group and the state that has made them most significant institutional and legislative progress toward EU integration (EDM, Volume 9, #121, June 26, 2012; Shapovalova and Boonstra 2012, 62–​63). Despite experiencing

 



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severe political turmoil beginning in 2010, including parliament’s inability to agree on an official president for Moldova during much of 2011 and 2012, and the fracturing of the governing Alliance for European Integration coalition in spring 2013, a “pro-​Europe team fit to govern” eventually “survived the chaos” in Moldova (EDM Vol. 10, #97, May 22, 2013). (See Figure 8.12.) In April 2014, Moldova became the first EAP state to be granted visa-​free travel into the EU’s Schengen Zone, and in the first month of the new program, over 40,000 holders of the new Moldovan biometric passports visited the EU (RFE/​RL June 5, 2014). Moldova has seen a huge increase in the number of residents of the disputed Transnistria enclave crossing into Moldova to apply for the new passports, cheering those who believe that increased Europeanization in Moldova will eventually persuade Transnistria to give up its pro-​Russian stance

Moldova: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

EU: Has signed AA agreement with the EU; has visa-free travel with EU; member of EAP; at times has voiced desire for EU membership.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe since 1995; full participant in all Council activities.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Member of CIS; has observer status in Eurasian Economic Union.

Figure 8.12  Political Europeanization in Moldova

Weak

 

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and voluntarily rejoin Moldova. In June 2014, Moldova signed its Association Agreement with the EU, with European Council president Von Rompuy remarking of the event that “it does not represent the final goal of our [the EU’s] cooperation with Moldova.” Moldova’s staunch commitment to political Europeanization was first articulated in the mid-​1990s. In 1996, President Petru Lucinschi sent a letter to the European Commission and individual EU heads of state voicing Moldova’s commitment to Europeanization and its intent to become an “associate member” of the EU. Moldova under Lucinschi attempted to “ride the way of Balkan enlargement” in the EU by pressing for membership in the EU’s Stability Pact for Southeastern Europe (which it achieved in 2001) (Shapovalova and Boonstra 2012, 54). From 2001 to 2005 a “strong consensus” on the path of European integration evolved among all factions of the Moldovan political spectrum, including the Communists (the PCRM), who in spring 2001 became the first “unreconstructed” communist party to win parliamentary control in an EAP state (Danii and Mascauteanu, 2011, 101). After 2005, the PCRM’s support of Europeanization became so “profound” and “genuine” that one author likened it to a “colored evolution” (March 2007, 613–​16). Cracks in the European Façade? Moldova’s steady march toward political Europeanization via the EAP program (and Romania’s patronage) was unable to solve or mask deep problems of pervasive and crippling corruption (including among the pro-​European Moldovan government), economic inequality, or continued poverty exacerbated by Russian trade bans initiated after Moldova signed its AA with the EU. This perceived lack of tangible results from Europeanization led to the election of an openly pro-​Russian, anti-​EU candidate as president of Moldova in November 2016. Igor Dodon framed his campaign as “a referendum on ties with the EU” and pledged to restore “mutually-​beneficial ties with Russia” (Reuters January 17, 2017). He also threatened to cancel Moldova’s AA with the EU. Dodon’s victory led to grave fears about the future of Europeanization on the part of Moldova’s legislature, which is still led by a pro-​European coalition backed by multi-​billionaire Vladimir Plahotniuc. Since taking office, Dodon has backed off on the anti-​EU rhetoric, claiming that Moldova “is destined to be friends with both West and East” (EURACTIV. com, April 19, 2017). He visited Brussels in February 2017 to meet European Council president Donald Tusk, thanking Tusk for the EU’s support but arguing that, in order to “improve the quality of life in Moldova,” it was necessary to “restore relations with the Russian Federation” (FOCUS Information Agency February 7, 2017). At the same meeting, he proposed to Tusk that Moldova, the EU, and Russia begin tripartite trade negotiations. Dodon has also moved to strip Romanian-​identified symbols from Moldova’s flag, and has criticized what he calls the “Romanization” of Moldova, claiming

 



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that schoolchildren in Moldova have been subjected to “the myths and imperial ideology of a neighboring state [Romania]” (RFE/​RL February 3, 2017, March 28, 2017). He has called for the reintroduction of compulsory Russian language instruction in Moldovan schools, decrying the fact that more than 60 percent of Moldovan children were choosing to learn English as their first foreign language instead of Russia (EURACTIV.com March 27, 2017). Perhaps the most consequential action of his young administration came in April 2017 when Dodon traveled to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, where he signed an agreement giving Moldova observer status in Russia’s EEU project (EURACTIV.com April 19, 2017). Prime Minister Pavel Filip and other pro-​EU forces reacted strongly to Dodon’s overtures to Russia and the EEU. Filip declared Dodon’s move to be “of no legal value,” and vowed that Moldova’s parliament, which he described as “the supreme body that approves the direction of domestic and foreign policy” for Moldova (emphasis mine), would continue to implement the Association Agreement with the EU (EURACTIV.com April 19, 2017). Moldova’s Constitutional Court has also become an important force in the struggle over political Europeanization, suspending President Dodon’s powers three separate times between 2016 and 2018 over his desire to remove pro-​EU ministers (DW February 26, 2018). In both Ukraine and Moldova, then, the question of political Europeanization has helped a functional domestic division of political powers evolve. The Romanian Dimension. The Central European and Baltic states’ strong commitment to the political Europeanization of the EAP states has certainly helped bolster Moldova’s vigorous pursuit of its “European vocation,” but even more significant is the support Moldova has received from its “sister state” Romania, which is Moldova’s “most committed advocate” (Milevschi 2012, 167). The demonstration effects of Romania’s own political Europeanization inform Moldova’s future expectations, and, potentially, those of European gatekeeping actors as well. As March points out, given the historical and cultural ties between the two states, it will be hard for the EU to “justify the long-​term exclusion of Moldova” (2007, 616). Romanian members of the European Parliament make frequent (monthly) visits to Moldova, and “consistently take the pro-​Moldovan position” in EU structures (Milevschi 2012, 171). Romanian EP members were instrumental in convincing Moldovan parliamentarians to pass the controversial non-​ discrimination (LGBTQ rights) bill, telling them that if Moldova “wants to get closer to the EU,” passing the bill was “non-​negotiable” (RFE/​RL March 23, 2011). Potentially even more meaningful for the future trajectory of Moldovan Europeanization is the fact that fully one-​quarter of Moldovan government functionaries received their higher education in (post-​communist) Romania, and through educational opportunities, cultural outreach, and mass

 

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media, “Romania has had sizable success in winning over the hearts and minds of the younger generations of Moldovans” to the European cause (Milevschi 2012, 175). Moldova’s political Europeanization also has important patrons in “old Europe.” In August 2012, German chancellor Angela Merkel made an “historic” visit to Moldova, where she stressed the “prospect of closer European integration” for “all the citizens of Moldova,” including, pointedly, citizens of Transnistria (EDM Volume 9, #160, September 5, 2012). This latter point helps both to explain Germany’s support of Moldovan Europeanization and to highlight the prominent obstacle in Moldova’s path to political Europeanization—​ the unresolved status of Transnistria and Russia’s role as the breakaway region’s political and economic patron. (Merkel was in Moldova in part to try to resuscitate the principles of the 2010 Meseberg Memorandum, which called for increased Russian compromise on the issue of Transnistria in exchange for deeper and more institutionalized overall EU-​Russian cooperation on security issues at the ministerial level.) Moldova and Russia’s Euro-​Alternatives: The CIS and EEU. Moldovan officials certainly understand the precariousness of their geopolitical position between the EU and Russia, and that “the principles of pragmatism and realpolitik” make it necessary for “relations with Russia to remain one of the country’s main foreign policy priorities” (Korosteleva 2011, 12–​13). Moldova is characterized by Hale as a “CIS skeptic,” having signed some of the CIS treaties and agreements on politics and economics (including the CIS Free Trade Agreement in October 2011), but registering substantial reservations and not participating in any of the CIS’s military structures. Before the election of Dodon in 2016, observers thought that Russia’s Eurasian Union project might have “some limited interest” for Moldova in terms of potential markets for Moldovan products (Korosteleva 2012, 4). Possible Moldovan interest in the EEU was dampened by repeated Russian boycotts of Moldovan foodstuffs and products over the years, which spurred Moldova to “abandon the search for special treatment from Russia” (Deryatkov 2012, 185), and by the fact that Moldova’s trade with the EU significantly dwarfs its trade with Russia (54 percent to 12 percent of overall trade, respectively, according to 2013 figures).19 Until the EuroMaidan events in Ukraine, Moldova was not the target of particularly intensive Russian pressure to join the EEU, possibly because of Moldova’s vanishingly small economic impact for Russia. After the loss of Ukraine, however, attracting Moldova to the EEU began to seem more important to Moscow, which began to up economic pressure (the gas card), political pressure (the Transnistria and “dark money” cards—​much of the corruption in Moldova involves laundering Russian money and other mutually enriching but

 



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legally dubious ventures), and “active measures” pressure on Moldova (media and money for political allies). Dodon’s election and post-​election actions reflect the success of these strategies. Beyond internal political division and economic woes, Transnistria’s separatist ambitions, which are kept alive by Russia’s continued political and economic support, most threaten to derail Moldova’s desire to realize its “European perspective.” Both Moldovan and EU officials insist that Moldovan Europeanization that includes Transnistria is the best (indeed, only) course forward. Transnistrian elites, to the contrary, insist that Europeanization is not an option for the province, which remains formally committed to “independence” and a future with the Russian Eurasian Union (Calus and Olensky 2013; Safonov 2012). If Moldovan officials are serious about EU membership, both they and their EU counterparts may have to begin to consider alternatives to the “unified Moldova” variant, up to an including actual de jure recognition of Moldova’s partition, with the compensation of EU membership easing the loss of Transnistria to Russia.

Security Europeanization in Moldova since 1989 The Transnistrian quandary also plays a fundamental role in shaping Moldova’s Europeanizing ambitions in the security sphere. On the one hand, the ongoing conflict has brought an intense and unique level of European attention to Moldova, particularly in the guise of OSCE interventions and monitoring missions. On the other hand, the “frozen” nature of the conflict effectively limits Moldova’s range of action in the security sphere (Deryatkov 2012). In practice, this means that Moldova has relied heavily on the OSCE to represent its Europeanizing ambitions in the security sphere while de-​emphasizing its relationship with NATO. Moldova has pointedly not sought the “Intensified Dialogue” with NATO that Ukraine and Georgia have, and instead repeatedly stresses Moldova’s “constitutional neutrality” (and thus lack of interest in NATO membership). Moldova only authorized the opening of a NATO liaison office in Chisinau at the tail end of President Nicolae Timofti’s term in office in late 2016, in a last-​ditch effort to shore up ties with NATO before the pro-​Russian Dodon took office (EURACTIV.com, December 7, 2016). (See Figure 8.13.) William H. Hill, twice the head of the OSCE Mission to Moldova (1999–​ 2001 and then 2003–​2006), argues that the Transnistrian question plays an outsized and largely unrecognized role in explaining Russia’s belief that it is the target of an intentional campaign by the European and American West to “weaken Russia and displace its influence” in the former Soviet sphere (2012, xii). In April 1993, the OSCE established a mission in Moldova, by which time Russia had already established its own “peacekeeping” force in Transnistria.

 

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Moldova : Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of Partnership for Peace does have an IPAP but publicly denies any desire for NATO membership.

OSCE Relations: Active members of OSCE; relies on OSCE for Transnistria negotiating framework and domestic political reforms.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Never signed CIS Security Treaty; is not a member of CSTO.

Figure 8.13  Security Europeanization in Moldova

Since then, the OSCE has taken the European lead on the Transnistrian issue, with NATO largely abstaining from any involvement in the process. The 1999 OSCE Istanbul Accords called for Russia to remove its troops and ammunition holds from Transnistria, in exchange for NATO ratification of the amended Conventional Forces in Europe treaty—​neither obligation was ever fulfilled. Moldova and NATO:  Pursuing Balance and Neutrality. Given Russia’s commitment to preserving its troop presence in Transnistria and to preventing any resolution in Transnistria that would allow for further “Europeanization” of the security situation there, Moldova is obviously very reluctant to provoke Moscow into a Moldovan version of the Georgian or Ukrainian wars. Hence Moldova has never publicly declared a desire for NATO membership, as Georgia and Ukraine have. Moldovan leaders instead take pains to stress its constitutionally mandated

 



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neutral status, as Moldovan prime minister Iurie Leanca did during his first trip abroad, when he met with NATO secretary-​general Anders Fogh Rasmussen in June 2013. Moldovan officials also stress that they consider the political and security strands of their Europeanization policy to be completely separate—​that Moldova can and will pursue closer relations with the EU, up to and including membership, while not aiming for NATO membership. In a July 2013 interview, Prime Minister Leanca asserted that “many members of the EU are either neutral countries or remain outside military blocks [sic],” and that “Moldova will basically follow this path, by staying neutral, by keeping its neutrality” (Euronews, July 8, 2013). Russian representatives have rejected this argument, however. In a May 2014 interview with Kommersant, Russian deputy defense minister Dmitry Rogozin warned Moldova against signing an Association Agreement with the EU, arguing that this move would be “a true change in the neutral status of Moldova,” the “end of Moldova’s neutrality,” and that, “it is a rule—​if you enter into the EU, you must join NATO also.” Rogozin further admonished that, should Moldova go ahead and sign the AA (which it did, in June 2014), soon Moldova would find itself “knocking at the door named NATO,” in which case, “Russia will be forced to react.” (Kommersant May 15, 2014). Moldova has thus cultivated its relations with NATO cautiously, stopping well short of ever asserting a desire for membership, though it is a member of NATO’s PFP program and has an IPAP. Leanca did use the occasion of his June 2013 visit to NATO headquarters to formally offer Moldova’s participation in the KFOR mission, marking the first time, in his words, that Moldova would become “a producer of security and not a consumer” (Fogh Rasmussen and Leanca 2013). Because of the Transnistrian question, however, Moldova will most likely continue to pursue a broader understanding of Europeanization in the security sphere, one relying on its OSCE and EU participation rather than on seeking NATO membership. (The three other post-​Soviet states also affected by “frozen conflicts” with Russia, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, have all followed different strategies to attempt to resolve those conflicts, as the next chapter demonstrates.)

Destined to Remain Truly “Semi-​European” States? Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova embody the dilemmas facing the truly “semi-​ European” post-​Soviet states (what Anders Åslund calls the “intermediate” post-​Soviet states and Charap and Colton call “the in-​betweens”) (Åslund 2017;

 

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Charap and Colton 2016). Each has approached these dilemmas in a different and instructive way. Belarus, whose position on the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient makes it possible for it to be seen as a “Central European” state in the same way that its Baltic neighbors, has not chosen to build a Europeanization strategy based on that self-​understanding. Instead, Belarus under Lukashenko’s firm hand has tried to navigate a balanced course between Europe and Russia, albeit with a clear tilt toward the Russian sphere. Lukashenko’s argument that Belarus enjoys all the Europeanness it needs by virtue of its long and glorious association with the Soviet Union and does not need the additional legitimacy of “belonging” to European civilization on the terms offered by the EU and NATO, is seemingly persuasive to the majority of Belarusians. Lukashenko’s policy of maintaining just enough relations with “official” Europe to keep Russia on its toes, and his willingness to criticize Russia when he feels it is violating Belarus’s sovereignty, also appear to be popular, but given the smothering nature of his authoritarian rule, it is difficult to tell. Ukraine’s position on the EOCG is similar to Belarus’s, though arguably Ukraine is more truly “torn” between its “Europeanness” and its Russian/​Soviet legacies. Ukraine has also been through a much more painful, but also authentically democratic, process of nation and state-​building in the post-​Soviet period that has resulted in the consolidation of a firm majority in favor of strong Europeanization in both the cultural-​civilizational and political spheres in Ukraine. (This is true even in most parts of the disputed east of Ukraine, with the area around Mariupol being an exception.) Russia’s annexation of Crimea and commitment to fostering instability in eastern Ukraine makes it very dangerous for Ukraine to pursue strong Europeanization via NATO membership, or for NATO to contemplate allowing Ukraine in. More likely, the two will continue to devise ever more intricate and acronym-​ed ways of cooperating without establishing a clear path to membership for Ukraine. Romania’s successful journey “back to Europe,” and its strong and close example for Moldova of the political, economic, and security benefits that come with Europeanization, appear to be a very strong influence on Moldova’s own Europeanizing efforts. Romania has consciously fostered Europeanization in Moldova via educational exchanges and training programs for Moldovan bureaucrats and has lobbied for its neighbor in the EU. Young Moldovans embrace this hopeful vision of Moldova as “the next Romania,” but the actual achievements of Europeanization in terms of good governance are very few. The cravenness of even the pro-​European Moldovan elite, the temptations of Russian dark money (for political and economic gain), the pull of a residual Soviet identity among older and rural Moldovans, and the existence of the separatist, oppositional, pro-​Soviet, and pro-​Russian territory of Transnistria also

 



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mitigate against the Moldovan government’s oft-​professed desire to “become European.” These factors help explain the election of a pro-​Russian president in Moldova in late 2016 and suggest that the strong Europeanization efforts that have heretofore characterized Moldovan politics may evolve toward a more Belarusian-​style policy of balancing between Europe and Russia (though perhaps with a more pro-​European bent as opposed to Belarus’s pro-​Russian one).

 

9

The Caucasus States The Endpoint of Europe or Europe’s New Eastern Boundary?

Of all the post-​Soviet states under consideration here, the three countries of the Caucasus region, Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, have perhaps the best claim to represent the most truly “transitional” space in the former Soviet Union.1 On one side, the Caucasus states are bounded by the Black Sea, which historically and in the contemporary period functions as quasi-​Europeanized space potentially marking Europe’s geographic limits (King 2008). On the other side is the Caspian Sea, which in both the past and the present is generally considered unambiguously non-​European. Three of their neighbors, Turkey, Ukraine, and Russia, represent an EU-​candidate state, an aspiring EU-​candidate state, and a profoundly conflicted, oft-​spurned European state, respectively. Their fourth neighbor, the Islamic Republic of Iran, is clearly Middle Eastern. The Caucasus’s Muslim-​majority state, Azerbaijan, represents the first clear crossing of the Christian-​Muslim border in the post-​Soviet world. Like Belarus, Ukraine, and Moldova, the Caucasus states seek foremost to preserve their sovereignty despite their profoundly precarious location between the two increasingly antagonistic regional hegemons—​Europe and Russia. The Caucasus states also have found achieving this balance to be increasingly difficult. Deep-​seated historical and more contemporary conflicts and territorial disputes have left each of the Caucasus states with significant internal and geopolitical challenges. Two regions of Georgia, Abkhazia and South Ossetia, have declared independence and enjoy the “peacekeeping” presence of Russian troops, which also invaded the rest of Georgia and came close to Tbilisi in 2008. A brutal war between Azerbaijan and Armenia technically ended with a 1994 ceasefire, but part of that conflict remains notably “hot,” with the “independent” republic of Nagorno-​Karabakh and other parts of Azerbaijan under de facto Armenian occupation. As a legacy of the 1915 genocide of Armenians in Turkey, Armenia’s contemporary border with Turkey remains closed. 264

 



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This legacy of regional war and de facto partitions means that for the three Caucasus states, the question of regaining and preserving state integrity and security arguably takes precedence over the issues of crafting legitimate national identities and political systems. Beyond geographic proximity, then, the three Caucasus states share the burdens of fractured and weak statehood, internal regional conflicts, and a precarious geopolitical location. Like the Baltic states, the three Caucasus states also share a legacy of being referred to collectively, despite the fact that they differ quite dramatically from one another in terms of history, religion, culture, and contemporary resource endowments. (See Figure 9.1.) The unique historical trajectories of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan mean that their contemporary approaches to Europeanization are correspondingly

Georgia

Armenia

Language Group & Family Kartvelian Group, Karto-Zan Family

Language Group & Family Armenian Group, Indo-European Family

Language Group & Family Western Oghuz Group, Turkic Family

Religion Conversion to Christianity in fourth century (before Constantine did so in Rome). Despite Muslim and Russian occupations the Georgian Orthodox Church has remained autocephalous.

Religion Adopted Christianity in 301 AD, making it the first state with Christianity as its official religion.

Religion Never experienced Christian conversion, so most remained Shi'a Muslims..

83.9% Georgian Orthodox, 9.9% Muslim, 5.9% Other Orthodox

Political Experience (prior to 1700) First century BCE conquered by Pompey the Great. Ninth century the first Georgian kingdom arose. Partial autonomy under Mongols in thirteenth century and under various Persian and Turkish rulers until annexed by Russia in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

93% Armenian Apostolic Church, 2% other Christians, 1% Yazidi.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Conquered by Pompey in first century BCE. Kingdom had some level of autonomy under Romans and Byzantines until fall of Byzantium. Partial autonomy under Ottoman Empire as well. Absorbed by Russia in nineteenth century.

Azerbaijan

93.4% Muslim (85% Shia, 15% Sunni), 3.1% Christian

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Until Mongol invasion of thirteenth century, was a battleground between Byzantium and Persia. Durring this time Oghuz Turkic tribes moved into the area, but heavy Persian influence continued. Conquered by Ottomans in sixteenth century. Annexation by Russia in nineteenth century.

Figure 9.1  Linguistic, Historical, and Cultural Comparison of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan

 

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different as well. Multiple factors seem to account for the different approaches to Europe taken by the three Caucasus states, including modest differences in position on the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) and larger differences in resource endowment (including natural resources and access to transportation routes). Georgia, while occupying virtually the same position on the EOCG as Armenia, has pursued a far more robust Europeanization policy than its neighbor, openly declaring its intention to join both the EU and NATO, and working continuously to make those “European dreams” a reality. Georgia’s robust Europeanization efforts helped to provoke the war with Russia in 2008, a conflict that led many in Georgia to redouble their commitment to becoming a full member of the EU and NATO (at the same time that it led many in Europe to understand more fully the depth of Russian opposition to that possibility). The Ukrainian EuroMaidan events have redoubled Georgian commitment to join both the EU and NATO, even as they complicate further the calculations of European gatekeepers about eventual membership for both Georgia and Ukraine. For most of the post-​Soviet period, Armenia has publicly supported a policy of “complementarity,” consciously balancing its relations with Europe and Russia. In practice, Armenia’s affiliations are strongly tilted toward Russia—​it is a full member of the Eurasian Union project (EEU) and the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO). But the country’s leaders appear desperate to balance Armenia’s dependence on Russia by pursuing relations with the EU and NATO to the fullest extent possible without violating its pro-​Russian commitments. Armenia therefore has become a pioneer in exploring how far a post-​Soviet country can go in establishing relationships with the EU and NATO while simultaneously remaining a member of Russia’s Euro-​alternative institutions. In contrast to both strongly Europeanizing Georgia and Russian-​dependent Armenia, Azerbaijan has most fully realized a functionally independent, balanced, and “nonaligned” policy in the post-​communist period. Azerbaijan has developed strong economic and political relations with Europe while also securing substantial military aid from Russia without having to pledge its formal affinity to either Europe or Russia’s political or security organizations. It withdrew from all CIS-​led security initiatives in 1999, and since that point has kept its distance both from the CSTO and EEU, while also preferring to keep the EU and NATO at more of a distance than any other EAP state except Belarus. Azerbaijan’s government appears interested in pursuing some veneer of “Europeanness,” particularly in the realm of culture and sport, while seeking to maintain the maximum amount of policy maneuverability in both the domestic and foreign policy spheres.

 



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The Caucasus as a True “Crossroads of Civilizations”? There is some controversy about the extent to which the Caucasus states should be identified together as a specific region and addressed collectively by policymakers. Yakobashvili argues that the Caucasus is not in any sense a region, as the three Caucasus states conceive of their threats, interests, and identities quite differently, and display “no real aspiration to interdependency” (2013, 5). DeWaal argues to the contrary that the southern Caucasus states are “quite distinct” from the Russian-​held regions of the north Caucasus, and that the historical experience of statehood under the Soviet Union, however ersatz it was, gave the individual state and collective regional borders of the southern Caucasus region a real “historical solidity” (2012, 1710). King notes that the Caucasus Mountains constitute a region of geographic transition that has historically acted as a “bulwark between the nations of Europe and Asia” (2008, 5). The Caucasus is also a zone of religious transition, where Christian and Muslim peoples have lived in proximity for centuries. The complex religious and ethnic mix in the Caucasus region is due to competition among various empires and forces there throughout history—​including, in rough chronological order, Greek, Median, Persian, Roman, Arab, Venetian, Genoese, Mongol, Ottoman Turk, and Russian. Some parts and peoples of the Caucasus, particularly western Georgia and Armenians living in Ottoman-​ruled cities, were exposed to “Europe” through their trade ties with Italian city-​states or their position as the most successful entrepreneurs in the vast Ottoman Turkish Empire. For the majority of the Caucasus region, however, Russia, in both its Tsarist and Soviet guises, represented the most direct and lasting agent of Europe and Europeanization (DeWaal 2010, King 2008). Georgia and Armenia can plausibly claim to be the earliest formally identified Christian states in the world historical record. The Georgian and Armenian kingdoms both adopted Christianity as a state religion early in the fourth century, even before Constantine effected his famous conversion of Rome. Despite intense pressure from occupations by various, mostly Islamic, powers (especially Arab, Persian, and Ottoman Turkic), both the Georgians and the Armenians have preserved their Christian faith. One of the main factors drawing Russia into the Caucasus in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was, together with access to the Black Sea, rivalries with Turkey and Persia, and the desire for a western European–​style empire, the opportunity to “protect” the ancient Christian communities in the Caucasus region. The Azeri Turks, by contrast, adopted the Islamic faith common to both the Persian and Ottoman Empires that ruled over them at various times. The

 

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Table 9.1 Demographics of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, 1989 and 2014 Baltic State

Titular Titular Russian Russian Ethnic Population Population Population Population (2014) (1989) (2014) (1989)

Georgia

70.10%

83.80%

6.30%

1.50%

Armenia

93%

98.10%

1.50%

N/​A

Azerbaijan

82.60%

91.60%

5.50%

1.30%

Other Ethnic Minority (1989)

Other Ethnic Population (2014)

23.60%

14.70%

6% 11.90%

1.90% 7.10%

dual influence of Persia and Turkey is visible in the fact that the Azeris are Shia Muslims, while most other Turkic populations in the Middle East and Central Asia are Sunnis. Similarly, some of the most important historical (and contemporary) figures in Persian and Iranian history are ethnically Azeri. The different political histories of the three main south Caucasian peoples are another potential source of contemporary divergence in terms of Europeanization. King notes that the salient divisions in the Caucasus are more east/​west than north/​south, with western Georgia and western Armenia falling more consistently under the control and influence of the Ottomans and the Turkic world, while eastern Georgia and eastern Armenia, plus most of Azerbaijan, spent more time as part of the Arab and Persian worlds (2008, 13). These legacies certainly do influence contemporary politics, but they are arguably less important than the common historical imperial experience that all three Caucasus states shared under Tsarist Russia and the Soviet Union in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. (See Table 9.1.)

The Caucasus as “Russia’s Own Orient” Starting in the 1820s, the Caucasus became, as Central Asia would also later become, part of “Russia’s own Orient” (Brower and Lazzerini 1997), the place where Russia could prove that it was “as great and civilized an empire as any in Western Europe” (DeWaal 2010, 44). Russia’s early nineteenth-​century “civilizing mission” in the Caucasus was “cloaked in unimaginable savagery,” much like Belgium’s in the Congo or the United States’ in the American West (King 2008, 18). By the latter half of the nineteenth century, Russia had come to see itself as being deeply “culturally and emotionally” embedded in the Caucasus, even as its political control over the area remained fragile (King 2008, 100). Part of Russia’s role as civilizing imperial power included presenting and introducing “its” Caucasus to the rest of Europe, particularly by opening up the Caucasus mountains themselves to a “fanatical band of European climbers” who

 



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Table 9.2 Trading Partners of Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan, 2014 Column1

Georgia

Armenia

Azerbaijan

Exports

Azerbaijan (24.4%)

EU (34.7%)

EU (48.2%)

EU (20.9%)

Russia (22.6%)

Indonesia (11.9%)

Armenia (10.9%)

USA (6%)

Thailand (7%)

Ukraine (6.6%)

Canada (6%)

Israel (5.3%)

Russia (6.5%)

Iran (5.9%)

India (4.6%)

EU

Russia

EU

Turkey

EU

Russia

Azerbaijan

China

Turkey

Ukraine

Ukraine

Ukraine

Russia

Turkey

China

Imports

found in the Caucasus in the late 1860s “a new vision of primordial freedom” in the spectacular peaks “at the edge of Europe” (King 2008, 123–​24).2 Such notions of the Caucasus as Russia’s “internal Orient” abided throughout the twentieth century, when the Transcaucasus region was proudly displayed to domestic and international audiences as “the tropics of the Soviet Union” (King 2008, 81). King argues that the Caucasus remains, at least to some extent, “a poorly understood specter at the edge of Europe’s thinking about its future” (2008, 248). DeWaal concurs, adding that it is “unrealistic” to think that the Caucasus states might ever join Europe, and further, that there is “a fundamental question mark over whether the three actually aspire to be full parts of Europe” (2012, 1720). This perceived distance between the Caucasus and Europe has not stopped actors on both sides from pursuing Europeanization projects of varying intensity and success. (See Table 9.2.)

Case Study: Georgia—​An Unrelenting, and Surprising, Quest for Full Europeanization Georgia has emerged, along with Ukraine, as one of the two post-​Soviet states with the strongest and most consistent Europeanization efforts across all sectors. Even before the November 2003  “Rose Revolution,” Georgia’s leadership pursued vigorous Europeanization efforts. Under President Mikheil Saakashvili (in power from January 2004 to November 2013), Georgian Europeanization

 

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efforts became even stronger and more explicit, with Georgian elites openly pursuing membership in both the EU and NATO (O’Beachain and Coene 2014). Given Georgia’s moderate levels of intrinsic Europeanness (see Figure 9.2), which are similar to those of its fellow EAP member countries, Georgia’s consistently strong Europeanization project is notable. Georgia’s consistently and provocatively strong pro-​European policy was a direct cause of Russia’s military action in Georgia in August 2008. Beyond securing the “independence” of the Georgian territories of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, Russia clearly meant to deter any further pursuit of Europeanization

Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Georgia

High

Medium

Low

Religion: One of earliest Christian nations; one of first to declare Christianity as official state religion.

Religion: Georgian Autocephalous Orthodox Christian (84%); Muslim (10%)

Imperial Experiences: Roman

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Persian and Ottoman

Geographic Location: Appears on some maps of Europe.

Geographic Location: South/East

Historical Experience Renaissance (weak influence), Enlightenment (late and via Russia).

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Since independence, has cultivated the captivity/ threat narrative.

Figure 9.2  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Georgia

 



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on the part of Tbilisi. As with the provocations in Ukraine that followed the EuroMaidan movement, however, the 2008 war with Russia rather has reinforced and intensified the perceived need and desire for joining Europe, whose political and security structures are seen more than ever as the only true safe harbors for Georgia.

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Georgia since 1989: Crafting an Unambiguously Europeanist National Narrative Consistently throughout the post-​communist period, Georgian elites have fashioned and forwarded the argument that Georgia is unambiguously and undeniably part of European civilization, and they have a rich and varied historical and cultural legacy to draw from in doing so. Europeanizing elites in Georgia point to the country’s historical links with Greek and Roman civilization, to the antiquity of Georgia’s commitment to Christianity as a state religion, and to the modernization and urbanization of Georgia during the years of Russian rule as evidence of the country’s cultural-​civilizational “Europeanness” (Manning 2009; O’Beachain and Coene 2014, 926–​28). Georgian actors have also declared their country’s European vocation loudly for European and domestic audience through speeches, the display of flags, and urban reconstruction and architecture (Harris-​Brandts 2018). There seems to be substantial agreement among the Georgian political elite about the country’s cultural-​civilizational belonging to Europe, but the extent to which this European identification is shared by ordinary Georgians, and especially by the autocephalous Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC), is much less clear. (See Figure 9.3.) Georgia’s “Ancient European Roots.” Thomas DeWaal has noted that Georgian national identity is both a “very ancient and completely recent” phenomenon (2010, 32). Georgia’s long history of statehood and peoplehood provides ample material for contemporary attempts to position Georgia as a European state. The Kingdom of Colchis, located on what is today western Georgia’s Black Sea coast, was colonized by the ancient Greeks and forms the basis for one of the best-​ known and most-​beloved Greek myths—​it is where Jason and his Argonauts found the Golden Fleece. Despite the fact that Xenophon would describe those the Greeks met in Colchis as “the most uncivilized” of people and the “original barbarians,” the long contact with Greek civilization is an important part of early Georgian history (Suny 1988, 10). The territory of contemporary Georgia would pass from Greek hands to Persian hands, back to Greek hands (thanks to Alexander the Great), and finally into Roman hands (under Pompey), all

 

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Georgia: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Strong Europeanizing narrative present; no real alternative narratives

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member but has not won or hosted Eurovision. Won Junior Eurovision in 2008 and 2011. Antidiscrimination protection law for LGBTQ people.

Cultural Europeanization: No legal recognition of same-sex couples.

Sport: UEFA member but not in top 10 and has not hosted the EURO football tournament. Does participate in UEFA development programs.

Figure 9.3  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Georgia

before the fateful decision by Georgian rulers to adopt Christianity in the fourth century. Suny notes that at the end of the Classical era, Georgia’s “most permanent social and political forms . . . reflected Persia more than Rome,” but also that the decision to adopt Christianity in the early fourth century committed Georgia “to an orientation towards Romans” and to “a new cultural and religious allegiance to the West” (Suny 1988, 18–​19). Suny further argues that the early centuries of Georgia’s Christianity, which coincided with Rome’s conversion and then the rise of Byzantium, were the “most formative” for Georgian kings, who took as their models the Christian emperors of Rome (Suny 1988). This early consolidation of Christian monarchy in Georgia is what allowed a distinct Georgian cultural identity and political unit (especially under the royal Bagration Dynasty,

 



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which reached its zenith in the eleventh and twelfth centuries) to persevere through the next long centuries of Arab, Seljuk and Ottoman Turkic, Mongol, and Persian rule. Georgia and the Tsarist Empire. Their identity as a Christian people and their status as an ancient and increasingly beleaguered Christian kingdom is what led the Georgians to seek the protection of the ascendant Russian empire in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. While Russia’s early attempts to wrest territory from the Ottomans and Persians were unsuccessful, by 1801 the Georgian kingdom had been entirely annexed to Russia, and an “irreversible transformation” of Georgia’s political system and elite culture began (Suny 1988, 63). By 1856 the “once rebellious, semi-​independent dynasts of Georgia had been transformed into a service gentry loyal to the Tsar,” a force that would be used to great effect to help Russia pacify other areas of the Caucasus (DeWaal 2010, 45; Suny 1988, 63). This transformation of the Georgian gentry was not easily wrought. Alexei Yermelov, Russia’s first commander-​in-​chief of forces in Georgia, saw the territory as “the very edge of civilization,” and its inhabitants as “barbarians” deserving of “barbaric tactics” of pacification (King 2008, 45–​46). Military government was the “reality behind the façade” of Russia’s “civilizing mission” in the Caucasus, but that civilizing mission did exist, and the transformation of Georgian elite society was “also an intellectual evolution” (Suny 1988, 69–​70). Significant “progress” toward the goal of “civilizing” and “Europeanizing” Georgia was made under the rule of the first Russian Viceroy of the Caucasus, Mikhail Vorontsov, who was appointed in 1844. Vorontsov ordered the construction of the first “modern” thoroughfare in Tiflis (Rustaveli Avenue), in order to make the city less “Persian” and more “European.” He also ordered libraries, museums, theaters, and schools built, and brought in an Italian opera troupe to perform, so he would not have to hear “the semi-​barbarous sounds of Persian music” around him (DeWaal 2010, 46; Suny 1988, 93). Russians had a keen appreciation for Georgia’s historical connections with classical Greek and Roman civilization, and consciously modeled themselves as the inheritors of these “civilization-​bearing” peoples. When the new “Museum of the Caucasus” opened in Tiflis in 1867, it featured murals depicting the arrival of Jason and the Argonauts in Colchis, the “bearers of western civilization reaching out to the ancient inhabitants in Georgia.” In this rendering, however, all the faces of the “Greek” figures bore the likenesses of Russian imperial leaders (King 2008, 143–​44). Suny argues that a “thin layer” of Georgian society desired these perceived benefits of European civilization and understood that the road to “enlightenment” and away from their “past domination by the Muslim East” went through Russia, but that Georgians were also aware of Russia’s condescension and thus

 

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remained somewhat ambivalent about the processes of Europeanization and Russian rule (1988, 122). The gradual subsuming of the autocephalous Georgian Orthodox Church to the Russian Orthodox Church, which would be partially reversed in the 1940s and then more fully accomplished in the post-​Soviet period, was a particularly distressing aspect of Russian rule (DeWaal 2010, 39, 86). The political and social trends that transformed European, and especially Russian, life in the latter half of the nineteenth and early part of the twentieth centuries also brought important changes to Georgian society. Conditions in Georgia favored the development in the late nineteenth century of a social movement that was at once strongly socially democratic and Georgian nationalist ( Jones 2005; King 2008, 147–​49). For activists like the Menshevik Noe Zhordania, the head of the short-​lived Georgian Democratic Republic (1918–​ 1921), Marxist philosophy and politics were the way to deepen the integration of Georgia with Europe, to continue its “turn away from the East and towards the West” (DeWaal 2010, 61). The brief period of Georgian independence at the end of World War I provided the first real opportunity for Georgians to join the European world on their own terms; as the Georgian foreign minister Evgeni Gegchkoi said in 1919, “We have always been on the threshold of Europe, and now we want to be European” (King 2008, 243). Georgia in the Soviet Union. The Red Army’s recapture of Georgia in spring 1921 ended Georgian dreams of entering Europe as an independent state. Georgia again experienced a painful transformation under the tutelage of Russian masters, this time a full-​fledged, irreversible jump into modern industrial, urban society via the Bolsheviks and then Stalin’s brutal revolution from above (Suny 1988, 291). In the latter years of the Soviet Union, Georgians pursued a policy of “national local autonomy,” which meant firm resistance to central Soviet (Russian) authorities in Moscow and the increased dominance of ethnic Georgians in economic, cultural, and educational structures in Georgia (Suny 1988, 304–​5). If ethnic Georgians flourished in their republic in the postwar Soviet Union, however, so did “favoritism, parochialism, cronyism, and careerism” (Suny 1988, 307). Post-​Soviet Georgia:  “We Are Europeans!” As a multinational citizenry demanding independence for the Georgian SSR, Georgians were at the forefront of perestroika-​inspired anti-​Moscow protests in late 1980s. This short period of civic Georgian nationalism quickly deteriorated under the leadership of Zviad Gamsakhurdia (served 1990–​1992) into a purely ethnic Georgian nationalism that alienated the Abkhaz and Ossetian minorities and led to a virtual civil war in the country. Veteran Soviet leader Eduard Shevardnadze (served 1992–​2003) was brought to power in March 1992 and was able to establish a sort of peace by 1994. This settlement included the de facto separation of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, enforced by Russian “peacekeeping” troops. The calm brought about

 



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by Shevardnadze allowed the beginning of the policy of identifying post-​Soviet Georgia as a “European nation,” while his wide contacts in the European arena, fostered during his years as Gorbachev’s foreign minister, helped to facilitate this identification. In perhaps the most blatant example of this type of European claim, Zurab Zhvania, prime minister under Shevardnadze, stood before the Council of Europe in 1999 and proclaimed that “I am a Georgian and therefore I am a European!” (Muller, M. 2011, 74). Georgia’s Rose Revolution president, Mikheil Saakashvili (served 2004–​ 2013), greatly intensified the movement to identify Georgian culture with European civilization (Manning 2009; O’Beachain and Coene 2014). The attempt to convince external European gatekeeping audiences and domestic Georgian audiences that “Georgia is Europe” has been prosecuted forcefully. One Georgian scholar noted that “the current Georgian elite truly believes that the Georgian people have to be isolated from Russia for some time in order to truly form a new, European Georgia” (CAD #41, September 17, 2012, 3). Saakashvili wasted no time in establishing the parameters of his cultural-​ civilizational Europeanization project during his January 2004 inaugural address to the country. During the speech, Saakashvili displayed the EU flag along with the Georgian flag, and declared that: The EU flag is Georgia’s flag as well, as far as it embodies our civilization, our culture, the essence of our history and worldview, and our vision for the future of Georgia. Georgia is not just a European country, but one of the most ancient European countries . . . we are on a steady course towards European integration . . . and it is time Europe finally saw and valued Georgia and took steps towards us. (Muller, M. 2011, 64–​65) Saakashvili also shepherded through parliament the approval of a new Georgian flag featuring a “Jerusalem Cross,” an emblem with one large red cross and four small square red crosses that is identified with the Crusader era of Christendom. The new “Europeanized” Georgian flag was displayed ubiquitously and always together with the EU flag under Saakashvili’s tenure (Muhlfried 2007, 294; O’Beachain and Coene 2014, 930). During this same time, urban development and reconstruction projects in cities like Batumi were undertaken to make them seem simultaneously more “historically European” (through the creation of Italian-​style, Renaissance-​era piazzas, for example) and more like modern, prosperous cities “on their way to Europe” (by the erection of new high-​rises such as the thirty-​five-​story “Batumi Towers,” whose architectural motifs pay homage to the Jason Myth) (Harris-​Brandts 2018, 1123–​26). Culture, Sport, and LGBTQ Rights in the Service of Europeanization. Saakashvili brought Georgia into the EBU in 2005 and Eurovision in 2006, and increased

 

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Georgia’s participation in UEFA, which the Georgian Football Federation joined along with several of the other post-​Soviet states in 1992. Georgia’s national football side has not had great success in UEFA competitions, consistently ranking in the bottom half of the UEFA country rankings, but Saakashvili’s efforts to boost Georgia’s European football profile have borne some fruit. UEFA’s HATTRICK program gave the funds to fully renovate Tbilisi’s Mikhail Meskhi stadium, and in both 2013 and 2015 Georgia hosted major UEFA events (the Futsal Cup Finals and a Super Cup match, respectively). Georgia’s Europeanizing elites have struggled to fulfill the commitments to LGBTQ rights that are part of “becoming European” in the post-​communist period, in large part due to the strong oppositional influence of the Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC). The autocephalous GOC is one of the most powerful institutions in Georgia today, with far more people professing trust in its current leader, Patriarch Ilia II, than in the country’s political leaders.3 The Georgian constitution provides for the formal separation of church and state, but in 2002 Shevardnadze signed a concordat with the GOC that recognized the church’s “special role” in Georgian society and gave it a privileged “consultative role” in many spheres of Georgian life, particularly the education system (BBC News July 2, 2013). Ilia II has used his role as a platform from which to warn about the threat that “western culture in general” and LGBTQ rights in particular pose to “our eternal Georgian values” (TOL October 25, 2013). He has also referred to homosexuality as a “disease” and compared homosexuals to drug addicts (NYTimes May 17, 2013; RFE/​RL May 16, 2013). Under Ilia II’s leadership, the Georgian church has also isolated itself more and more from European and world currents in theology. In 1997 the GOC left the European Conference of Churches and the World Council of Churches because of a growing belief that such ecumenism was “heretical.” The conservatism and anti-​Europeanism of many GOC clergy was evidenced in July 2013, when several dozen GOC priests led a large crowd of demonstrators in a violent attack on a small group of LGBTQ rights activists trying to hold a rally in Tbilisi (BBC News July 2, 2013). The GOC also sided with the ROC when it boycotted the “Holy and Great Synod of the Orthodox Church” in June 2016 over the question of ROC authority in Ukraine (Leustan 2018). Georgia’s political leadership has tried to say the right things (the “European” things) about the rights of LGBTQ people in the country, with Prime Minister Ivanishvili publicly asserting that “sexual minorities in Georgia have the same rights as any other social group” and the mayor of Tbilisi proclaiming the “constitutional right” of LGBTQ activists to hold rallies in the city (RFE/​RL May 16, 2013). Yet the Georgian government held out to the very last minute before passing the anti-​discrimination law required by the EU in order to complete the

 



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AA with Georgia and to proceed with the visa-​free travel regime for Georgia. This “progressive” EU influence on Georgian society has not gone over well with the powerful GOC, whose Patriarch Ilia II helped bring the socially conservative, anti-​LGBTQ (and US-​based) World Congress of Families to Tbilisi in May 2016 (RFE/​RL May 17, 2016). Despite the hope of Saakashvili and others that Georgia’s integration with contemporary European social and cultural norms would be quick and seamless, the reality seems to be that, as Georgian sociologist Marina Muskhelishvili has said, “nobody can expect Georgians will become European in a moment and tolerate all lifestyles and behaviors equally” (EurasiaNet Weekly Digest, May 29, 2013). The cleavage around LGBTQ rights and other aspects of cultural Europeanization in Georgia erupted into a political crisis in summer 2018, when young, Europe-​supporting Georgians came out into the streets to protest a police raid against two Tbilisi nightclubs that were famous “not just for their music, but also for being LGBTQ-​friendly” (TOL May 16, 2018). The young protesters saw the raid as “an operation against freedom  .  .  .  against Western values,” which they were willing to fight to preserve (TOL May 16, 2018). These protests helped lead to the resignation of Prime Minister Giorgi Kvirikashvili in June 2018.

Political Europeanization in Georgia since 1989:  An Open Drive for EU Membership Along with Moldova and Ukraine, Georgia has one of the strongest and most consistent political Europeanization projects in the post-​Soviet world. Begun under the ten-​year reign of Eduard Shevardnadze, Georgia’s political Europeanization project gathered significant speed under Saakashvili. All significant political actors in Georgia support eventual EU membership for the country—​no party opposing Georgia’s “European vocation” has ever made it into the country’s parliament (Goglashvili 2013, 5). Complete integration into Europe’s political and economic structures is Georgia’s “highest priority” and “Georgian [popular] support for EU membership dwarfs all other EAP states in terms of Euro-​enthusiasm” (generally hovering at about 80 percent approval) (Muller, M. 2011, 69, 81). (See Figure 9.4.) External developments, namely the 2008 war with Russia, have served to reinforce and deepen the Georgian commitment to political integration with the EU. Though the will to Europeanize has not wavered in Georgia, the country’s internal political developments have at times threatened to derail its practical progress toward this goal. From the corruption and state weakness that marked Shevardnadze’s rule and wrought the Rose Revolution in 2003, to the successful

 

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Georgia: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Has signed AA agreement with the EU; member of EAP; desires EU membership.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe since 1995; full participant in all Council activities.

CIS: Withdrew from CIS in 2008. Even before withdrawal, very low treaty participation in CIS.

Figure 9.4  Political Europeanization in Georgia

but costly state-​building efforts of Saakashvili, who forced Georgians to trade off freedom for order, Georgia’s political capacity and performance has not always matched its unfailingly Europeanizing rhetoric. Parliamentary elections held in Georgia in 2012 and presidential elections held in 2013 were rated as fully free and fair by international observers. This has helped Georgia overcome the creeping authoritarianism of the Saakashvili years and re-​establish itself as being firmly on the path to building a “European-​ style” political system. The EuroMaidan events in Ukraine have strengthened the commitment of both Georgians and European gatekeepers to Georgia’s political Europeanization, and Georgia signed its Association Agreement with the EU in June 2014. In March 2017, Georgians earned the right to visa-​free travel

 



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in the EU, and Georgia is one of the states included in the “EAP Plus” (EAPP) program forwarded by the European Parliament in summer 2018. The Shevardnadze Era: From Civil War to Europeanization. Bunce and Wolchik characterize Georgian politics in the late 1980s and early 1990s as “a bitter fight over the carcass of the Soviet state,” where both ethnic Georgian elites and ethnic minority elites in autonomous regions like Abkhazia and South Ossetia “made choices that deepened social and ethnic divisions” (2011, 150–​51). By the time former Soviet foreign minister Eduard Shevardnadze took power in January 1992, Abkhazia, South Ossetia, and the southern Black Sea region of Adjaria had all declared separation from Georgia. Shevardnadze had the gravitas and political skills to both stabilize (though not unify) the country and to attract significant attention and aid from his close contacts in Europe (especially Germany) and the United States (DeWaal 2010, 188–​89). Shevardnadze brought Georgia into the CIS in 1993 “to re-​normalize relations with Russia and to help bring some degree of order at home,” but Georgia remained what Hale describes as a “CIS rejecter,” avoiding “the vast majority of commitments that even symbolically promised significant integration” with Russia (Hale 2008, 195–​96). Shevardnadze, with help from young, English-​speaking, Europe-​oriented cadres like Parliamentary Speaker Zurab Zhvania, helped bring Georgia closer to Europe both politically and economically. In 1999, Georgia signed a Partnership and Cooperation Agreement with the EU, joined the Council of Europe, and signed the Baku-​Tbilisi-​Ceyhan pipeline deal. Under Shevardnadze, Georgia “became more consistently allied with the West,” yet this veteran leader “had neither the will nor the institutional wherewithal to be very democratic” (Bunce and Wolchik 2011, 152–​53). During his long tenure, Shevardnadze’s Citizens’ Union of Georgia “became a mechanism for capturing the state rather than transforming it,” and the country was marked by “Soviet-​era type of corruption” in both the political and economic sectors (King 2008, 229–​30). This pervasive corruption smothered any real progress toward political Europeanization in Georgia under Shevardnadze, despite its new institutional relationships with the EU. By the early 2000s, anger and frustration manifested itself in the 2003 Rose Revolution, which included protests whose themes “were similar to those that ended communism in eastern and central Europe: Georgians wanted to move away from their communist past and establish even closer relations with Europe” (Bunce and Wolchik 2011, 156). Mikheil Saakashvili: The Great European Hope. Mikheil Saakashvili, hero of the Rose Revolution, wasted no time in signaling his strong commitment to full political Europeanization, using the occasion of his January 2004 inaugural address to verbally and visually convey his administration’s goal of EU membership for Georgia (Muller 2011, 64). Saakashvili also initially balanced his strong leanings

 

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toward Europeanization with recognition of the outsized importance Russian relations had for his country, stating that “for us, the main strategic priority is to build normal relations with all countries, Russia first and foremost . . . our integration with Europe should take place together with Russia” (DeWaal 2010, 197). However well-​intentioned Saakashvili was at the beginning of his term in office, four years later his strategy of achieving “normal” relations with all countries was in tatters. Saakashvili’s domestic policies came under strong criticism from European and other international observers for their increasingly authoritarian nature, and under his leadership Georgia suffered a humiliating military defeat at the hands of Russia in August 2008. The American-​educated Saakashvili and his coterie of Western-​education and Western-​leaning advisers did achieve substantial progress in state-​building, particularly in the realm of police reform (Kakachia and O’Shea 2012). In February 2012 the World Bank reported that Georgia’s public services were virtually “corruption free” and that “trust in government had reached near Western European levels” (TOL Weekly February 24, 2012). Saakashvili and his team not only transformed the “failing state” of Georgia in 2003 in an “almost miraculous” fashion, they also initiated a “mental revolution” among the population in Georgia, which became “less post-​Soviet and more European” under his leadership (TOL Weekly October 26, 2012). Unfortunately, the state-​building and Europeanizing miracles wrought under Saakashvili had “come at the price of democratization,” as the same February 2012 World Bank report noted (TOL Weekly February 24, 2012). Saakashvili’s United National Movement (UNM) party consolidated its power to the point where it ruled Georgia almost like a one-​party state, and tales of horrendous abuses of power and human rights, particularly in prisons, emerged. Saakashvili’s moves to build a “superpresidential” system also attracted Western opprobrium, as did his heavy-​handed tactics to bring South Ossetia and Abkhazia back into the Georgian fold. Saakashvili did manage the largely peaceful reintegration of Adjaria with Georgia in 2004, but his more forceful efforts in South Ossetia and Abkhazia eventually helped to lead to the war with Russia in August 2008 (the outbreak of which was aided by provocations on the Russian end). Europeanization after the 2008 Russian-​Georgian War. The military humiliation Georgia suffered at the hands of Russia had the somewhat paradoxical effect of strengthening both Georgian and European commitments to Georgia’s eventual political Europeanization (as would Russia’s incursions into Ukraine in 2013–​2014). As Martin Muller says, “the 2008 war only reinforced the belief that Georgia’s future lies in Europe” (2011, 69). Georgia promptly left the CIS after the 2008 war, about which Saakashvili said, “we are giving our final goodbye to the Soviet Union” (RFE/​RL August 18, 2009). The EU brokered the 2008 ceasefire and peace agreement between Georgia and Russia, which elevated the EU’s role in the country. In the wake of the war, Georgia seemed

 



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“more inclined to embrace European, rather than Anglo-​American legal and economic paradigms,” and cooperation with the EU increased “dramatically” after 2008, particularly under the auspices of the Eastern Partnership (CAD #35–​36, February 15, 2012, 14–​15). The renewed push for Europeanization after the war with Russia did nothing to mitigate the growing authoritarianism of Saakashvili and the UNM, nor was there much progress on the question of reintegrating Abkhazia or South Ossetia (though the EU did help Georgia pass a 2010 law and action program regarding its “occupied territories”). Twenty years of hearing about Georgia’s supposed commitment to “a normative framework defined by core ideas of modern liberal democracy” had resulted in “a fairly deep institutionalization of important democratic norms” in Georgia (Nodia 2011, 230–​31). This was demonstrated when Georgians handed the increasingly authoritarian Sakaashvili and his UNM party a resounding defeat in the October 2012 parliamentary elections, bringing the “Georgian Dream” (GD) coalition headed by billionaire Bidzina Ivanishvili to power. The October 2012 parliamentary elections were “historic” (CAD #43, October 15, 2012, 13) because they marked the first time that a sitting political party “accepted a peaceful transition of power to a victorious opponent” in Georgia (CAD #43, October 15, 2012, 2–​3). The elections marked a “clear improvement in Georgia’s international image and democratic credentials,” and they provided Georgia with “a significantly strengthened argument for continued integration with Europe” (CAD #43, October 15, 2012, 19). The fact that Saakashvili’s UNM party had fallen largely because of its abuses of human rights seemed to prove that “priorities in Georgian society have changed  .  .  .  there has been a mental revolution to European attitudes, a real revolution, and this worked against Saakashvili” (TOL Weekly October 26, 2012). After the elections, the EU called on the new Georgian Dream coalition and the smaller UNM opposition faction to “cohabitate” peacefully and productively and to work together with Saakashvili, who remained president (CAD #48 March 3, 2013, 5). This proved difficult, and Ivanishvili faced criticism from Europe about a wave of arrests of UNM activists and government functionaries (RFE/​RL November 12, 2012). Ivanishvili also received criticism for his suggestion that Georgia might consider close relations with and even joining Russia’s Eurasian Economic Union (EEU) project, and for his appointment of a new Special Envoy for Relations with Russia (RFE/​RL September 9, 2013). Europeanization after Saakashvili. In response to Ivanishvili’s calls for more pragmatic relations with Russia, some Georgian NGOs demanded that the government pursue “constitutional action” that would “forbid the consideration of the country’s accession to any union or bloc in post-​Soviet space led by Russia” (CAD #48, March 3, 2013, 6). A constitutional amendment to this

 

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effect proposed by UNM in January 2013 did not come to fruition, but the GD and UNM factions did manage to come together to issue a joint declaration about their commitment to EU and NATO membership for Georgia (CAD #48, March 3, 2013). Evaluated as positive by most, the 2012 parliamentary elections also had their potentially more negative side. Saakashvili was ousted, and the country’s new prime minister, Bidzina Ivanishvili, was the richest man in Georgia, mysterious and reclusive. His election struck many as more evidence of the post-​Soviet trend of “strong man” politics, and it wasn’t clear that he shared Saakashvili’s Europeanizing tendencies. Ivanishvili’s announcement in summer 2013 that he would step down as prime minister and appoint a less controversial successor (former interior minister Irakli Garibashvili) in order to “leave Georgia with a European-​style government” was therefore both astonishing and, in terms of Georgia’s Europeanization, very welcome (EurasiaNet Weekly Digest November 4, 2013; CAD December 18, 2013, 5). Ivanishvili’s favored candidate, Giorgi Margvelashvili, did handily win the presidential elections held (as regularly scheduled) in October 2013 (with 62 percent of the vote), but the OSCE and other international observers described the elections in “glowing” terms, and as an “impressive step forward” that “confirms Georgia’s democracy is maturing” (NYTimes October 28, 2103). Ivanishvili himself said simply that the elections proved that Georgia “had joined European civilization” (NYTimes October 27, 2013). Georgia’s EU Hopes after EuroMaidan. The EuroMaidan movement in Ukraine has, understandably, strengthened pro-​European sentiment in Georgia, and brought about a situation where “all major political forces are competing on who is more pro-​Europe” (EurasiaNet February 4, 2014). The Georgian parliament passed a unanimous resolution critical of Russia and in support of Ukraine but has also continued to pursue the more difficult and controversial work associated with Europeanization—​as noted earlier, in May 2014 the parliament passed an anti-​discrimination bill that specifically named gender and sexual orientation as protected categories (Civil Georgia May 14, 2014). Georgian parliamentary speaker Davit Usupashvili tied the passage of the controversial bill to the events in Ukraine, and framed it as a stark choice facing Georgia, stating that: either we go towards Europe and we recognize that we should not chase people with sticks, we should not fire people from job [sic] if we do not share their opinions and their way of life, or else we stay in Russia, where it is possible to expel from a city those people, whom you dislike, to ban from entry to shops those people, whom you do not like, and simply to go and invade a territory of other if you like that territory. . . . Decisions

 



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have to be made in this dimension when we speak about this bill and we have to take decisions that are acceptable in the civilized world in order not to stay in uncivilized [sic] world with Russia. (Civil Georgia April 30, 2014) With the passing of the anti-​discrimination bill, and the signing and ratification of the AA with the EU in summer 2014, Georgia “has re-​emerged as the regional center of gravity . . . surpassing its neighbors in political and economic reform,” so much so in fact that it “seems to be leaving the South Caucasus, moving much closer and farther to Europe than its neighbors” (Al Jazeera June 30, 2014). Parliamentary elections in 2016, won again by Georgian Dream, were described by NATO’s Parliamentary Assembly delegation as being largely free and fair and as “reaffirming Georgia’s status as the leader of democratic transition in this region” (RFE/​RL October 9, 2016). Georgia’s leadership remains resolute that “We are not moving towards Europe, but we are Europe,” as Prime Minister Giorgi Kvirikashvili told European audiences in Prague in spring 2016 (emphasis mine) (RFE/​RL February 23, 2016). The commencement of visa-​ free travel for Georgians within the Schengen Zone soon after seemed to confirm his confidence. Talk of Georgia “leaving the South Caucasus” may be hyperbolic, but the combination of Georgia’s political unity on the question of political Europeanization, its access to the Black Sea and links to Turkey and the West via the BTC pipeline, and its recently demonstrated progress in democratization do suggest that, along with Moldova and Ukraine, Georgia is one of the strongest candidates for eventual EU membership.

Security Europeanization in Georgia after 1989:  A Controversial (and Quixotic?) Commitment to NATO Membership Georgia’s attitude toward Europeanization in the security sphere has been as unidirectional and uncompromising as its stance on political Europeanization. The country has maintained an open and unwavering commitment to NATO membership as the only way to guarantee Georgia’s state sovereignty (indeed, Georgia’s very existence) in the face of demonstrated Russian willingness and ability to violate its smaller neighbor’s sovereignty at will. As Gogolashvili put it, “Georgia’s pro-​Western foreign policy orientation has never been disputed since its independence, surviving several wars and constant pressure from Russia, its more powerful neighbor” (CAD #48 March 3, 2013, 5). This unequivocal stance toward NATO membership sets Georgia apart from all the other EAP

 

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states—​Ukraine’s stance on NATO membership has wavered over the years (though it seems to have solidified after the EuroMaidan events), while Belarus, Moldova, Armenia, and Azerbaijan either have not voiced or have publicly repudiated any intentions to join NATO. (See Figure 9.5.) While steadfast, Georgia’s quest for NATO membership has a distinctly quixotic air about it. First, the extension of NATO membership to Georgia would be an unmistakable and dangerous affront to Russia. The 2008 war with Georgia was directly intended to send a stern warning to both Georgia and NATO about what they could expect if NATO offered membership to Georgia (Asmus 2010, 8). Moscow’s willingness to use force in Ukraine to try to prevent (unsuccessfully, as it turns out) Ukraine from signing an AA with the EU (a mainly political and economic organization) only further reinforced how dangerous an

Georgia: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

NATO Relations: Member of PfP, has an IPAP. Publicly declares desire for NATO membership. At Bucharest in 2008 NATO says GEO will join NATO “someday.”

OSCE Relations: Active member of OSCE; relies on OSCE for Abkhaz negotiating framework and domestic political reforms.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Never signed CIS Security Treaty; is not a member of CSTO.

Figure 9.5  Security Europeanization in Georgia

Weak

 



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expansion of NATO would be for both Europe and the former Soviet states, particularly Georgia. (To clear up any residual ambiguity on the issue, on the tenth anniversary of the 2008 war, Russian prime minister Dmitri Medvedev said in an interview that allowing Georgia into NATO would “provoke a terrible conflict”—​Reuters August 6, 2018). For its part, NATO finds itself “rhetorically entrapped” by its own Europeanizing policies and verbal commitments to Georgia (and Ukraine); NATO clearly is not willing to risk a direct military confrontation with Russia, but is running out of policy and logistical reasons to continue to deny Georgia membership. Furthermore, not just one, but two regions of Georgia, Abkhazia and South Ossetia, have been “de facto states” since early in the post-​Soviet era. Both have been subject to “virtual annexation” by Russia in the post-​Soviet era and, should Moscow “choose to repeat the same secessionist choreography they just used in Crimea,” they would likely be quickly, and mostly willingly, “absorbed into the Russian Federation (Washington Post March 20, 2014). Georgia insists on the principle of territorial integrity and the eventual goal of reintegration of these lost territories. In fact, Georgian leaders claim that the country’s successful Europeanization will help to entice the secessionist regions back into the Georgian fold. (If O’Loughlin and Toal’s 2014 data are to be believed, this does not appear likely—​with the exception of the small ethnic Georgian population in Abkhazia, citizens of the de facto states “overwhelmingly support Russia’s leadership”).4 Georgia’s entry into NATO would be problematic enough if it were an intact state; with the status of Abkhazia and South Ossetia unresolved, it becomes even more so. On the other hand, Georgia enjoys certain advantages that suggest that its quest for NATO membership might not be entirely futile, particularly in the long term. Georgia is located on the Black Sea, where three out of the six littoral states are already NATO members, and it shares a border with Turkey, a NATO member. Georgia also has a unique and uniquely close relationship with NATO’s most important member, the United States, which has provided direct military training assistance and other aid aimed at helping Georgian modernize its armed forces (through a series of programs that began with the Georgia Train and Equip Program in 2002 and culminated in the promulgation of the US-​ Georgia Charter on Strategic Partnership in 2009). Georgia has repaid this US interest with support of America’s various military ventures, becoming the third largest contributor of troops to the American-​led coalition forces in Iraq from 2003 to 2008 (RFE/​RL September 10, 2007). Georgia has kept more troops in Afghanistan than any other country besides the United States, and its per capita contribution to NATO’s Afghan mission is “by far the biggest” of any state (RFE/​RL June 11, 2015).

 

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After the Russian-​brokered ceasefires that brought open hostilities to an end in South Ossetia (1992) and Abkhazia (1993), Georgia began to reach out in earnest to Europe for both security assistance and help in “unfreezing” these conflicts and reunifying its territory. Shevardnadze brought Georgia into NATO’s Partnership for Peace program in 1994, established an ambassadorship to NATO in 1999, and fostered joint military exercises with NATO in 2001 and 2002. Perhaps Shevardnadze’s most important pro-​NATO action was to invite US troops onto Georgian soil in May 2002 under the auspices of the Georgia Training and Equipment Program. DeWaal describes this move as “turning a public relations disaster into a success,” as the pretext for the American presence was to help Georgians clear suspected Chechen terrorists from Georgia’s Pankisi Gorge, the site from which they were launching attacks on Russian forces across the border (2010, 190). Shevardnadze’s genius in this situation was to “get the Chechens to leave, and the Americans to stay” (DeWaal 2010). After succeeding Shevardnadze in 2004, Saakashvili “did all he could to restart Georgia’s NATO integration process,” including the aforementioned troop deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan (CAD December 18, 2013, 6). Ironically, Georgia’s enthusiastic participation in NATO missions and the United States’ GTEP program “hurt its ability” to defend itself, since the military training and preparation it engaged in for these endeavors was aimed at combating terrorist operations elsewhere, not at territorial defense of Georgia (Asmus 2008, 173). In the wake of Georgia’s overwhelming military defeat in the August 2008 war with Russia, NATO created a new “NATO-​Georgian Council” and pledged its help in “providing further assistance to Georgia in implementing reforms as it progresses towards NATO membership”—​though pointedly still not crossing the political Rubicon of giving Georgia the Membership Action Program (MAP) that would lead to accession (Morelli et al. 2009). Russia’s interventions in Ukraine in March 2014 provoked an understandably strong reaction from Georgia. Georgian diplomats used Russia’s actions as a pretext for increasingly pressure on NATO, and on its number one patron, the United States, to offer Georgia more security guarantees—​chiefly, the elusive MAP, but also the placing of “defensive NATO assets” on Georgian territory (Civil Georgia, May 1, 2014). In February 2014, forty members of the US Congress urged the US State Department to grant a MAP to Georgia, prompting Secretary of State John Kerry to announce that the United States “stands by the Bucharest Declaration and all subsequent declarations that Georgia will become a member of NATO someday” (EurasiaNet, February 27, 2014). In spring 2014, Georgian defense minister Irakli Alasania also repeatedly told NATO and other European gatekeepers that “Georgia is ready and deserves to move to a qualitatively higher level of cooperation with NATO” (EurasiaNet, March 13, 2014). Addressing the Atlantic Council’s April 2014 “Europe Whole

 



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and Free Conference,” Alasania chided NATO’s leaders, saying that, “honestly, after Ukraine, we should be talking about accession talks for Georgia and other aspirants to NATO” (EurasiaNet, March 13, 2014). He reminded his audience that “Georgia is already pushing above its weight” in NATO, in terms of having more troops serving in ISAF than most NATO member nations, and plaintively offered that Georgia needed and deserved “validation from NATO” for its contributions to NATO’s common security missions (EurasiaNet, March 13, 2014). Despite Russia’s provocative actions in Ukraine and Georgia’s renewed push for a NATO MAP, NATO officials have remained noncommittal toward Georgia. NATO’s secretary-​general’s special representative for the Caucasus and Central Asia, for example, said in May 2014 that Georgia “continues to improve” its military reforms and performance, and as such, NATO will look at the “next steps” to bringing Georgia “even closer” to NATO, but did not promise a MAP. The following month, at a meeting of NATO member state defense secretaries, NATO’s secretary-​general himself praised “the people of Georgia” for “exercising their sovereign choice . . . to choose the path that leads towards the EU and NATO membership,” and warned Russia to respect that choice (RFE/​RL June 4, 2014). He also admitted, however, that the defense ministers had not found the time to discuss a potential MAP for Georgia that weekend.

Case Study: Armenia—​Negotiating Europeanness under Russia’s Protection Armenia, like Georgia, has a mixed historical and geographic heritage that places it further “down” the EOCG than Belarus, Ukraine, or Moldova, in a position virtually equal to that of its neighbor Georgia. For every factor that Georgia can claim to bolster its Europeanness, Armenia can offer its own analogues—​equally early statehood and Christianization of that state, the long and continued presence of Armenian monks in Venice, and a cosmopolitan and influential diaspora spread throughout Europe and the rest of the “West.” It is intriguing, then, that Armenia’s efforts at Europeanization have been so much more tempered and measured than those of its single-​minded Georgian neighbor. While consistently claiming the label of “Europeanness,” Armenia’s leadership has concentrated its efforts on a policy of “true complementarity,” attempting to balance its relations with European institutions with ties to Russia and its European-​alternative organization. In practice this means that Armenia has cultivated friendly relations with the EU and NATO, participating in the EU’s EAP program and NATO’s IPAP program, while also repeatedly, publicly, and clearly

 

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repudiating any ambitions for full membership in these organizations. Instead, Armenia has “complemented” its European ventures with full membership and participation in Russia’s Eurasian Union project and CSTO. (See Figure 9.6.) If in the Georgian case, identity and interest aligned to create a unified and strong Europeanization effort across sectors, in the Armenian case, concerns about security and sovereignty have trumped those of identity. There is some evidence that many Armenians (and their leaders) see Armenia as a part of the “European” cultural and civilizational sphere, but the sense of this identification is not strong enough to overcome historical and contemporary calculations

Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Armenia

High

Medium

Religion: One of first nations to establish Christianity as a state religion.

Religion: Armenian Apostolic (93%).

Imperial Experiences: Rome

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Geographic Location: Appears on most maps of Europe.

Low

Imperial Experiences: Persian and Ottoman

Geographic Location: South/East

Historical Experience Renaissance (weak influence); Enlightenment (late and via Russia)

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Mixed and Conflicted Views

Figure 9.6  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Armenia

 



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about national interest identified in terms of national survival. According to this calculation, Russia emerges as the only power both strong enough and committed enough to ensure Armenia’s continued existence as an even somewhat independent state in a neighborhood that has proven all too hostile to it over time. For Georgia, Russia is the “barbarian other” against whom Georgia’s “civilized Europeanness” must be defended via EU and NATO membership. For Armenia, the historically hostile “other” of the Muslim Turks and Azeris is closer and more threatening than that of the (at least) semi-​European and Christian Russians. NATO’s close embrace of Turkey (and the EU’s more cautious one), together with Europe’s perceived cosmopolitanism and strong support of LGBTQ rights, has only served to reinforce the Armenian belief that its security, political, and cultural-​civilizational needs are best served in the post-​Soviet period by remaining closer to Russia, while also taking advantage of any European political, security, and cultural opportunities that it might without angering its Russian patron.

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Armenia since 1989: “A European Nation Close to Asia” Like Georgia, Armenia boasts a history that stretches far back into antiquity and features the claim of being one of the earliest literate and Christian state-​ formations. As in Georgia, the long disappearance of that statehood under occupation by various alien powers (Persian, Arab, Ottoman, Russia) is seen as a national tragedy, and the recovery of Armenian statehood in the twentieth century, even in the truncated form it took under Soviet tutelage, is seen as a development to be celebrated. Distinguishing Armenia from Georgia is the dramatic and tragic genocide of the Armenian people at the hands of the Ottoman Turks during World War I, the (related) presence of a large Armenian diaspora around the world, and the positive outcome of Armenia’s own early post-​Soviet war. (Whereas Georgia effectively lost control of much of its own territory in its civil war, in its conflict with Azerbaijan, Armenia was ultimately victorious, now controlling the Azerbaijani region of Nagorno-​Karabakh and several other sections of Azerbaijan). (See Figure 9.7.) Each of these factors helps to explain Armenia’s path of moderate Europeanization in the cultural-​civilizational sphere. While much in Armenia’s past and present lends itself to an identification with “European civilization,” other elements mean that the imperative of self-​preservation of Armenian identity and the protection of that identity from total obliteration via genocide (the traditional fear) or via the onslaught of globalization via Europeanization (the

 

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Armenia: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

National Identity Narratives: Strong Europeanizing narrative present.

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Moderately strong narrative about Russian/Soviet protectors of Armenian nation.

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member but has not won or hosted Eurovision. Won Junior Eurovision in 2010.

Sport: UEFA member but not in top 10 and has not hosted the EURO football tournament. Does participate in UEFA development programs.

Figure 9.7  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Armenia

contemporary fear) trump desires to single-​mindedly pursue Europeanization in the manner of the Georgians. Armenians “see Armenia as located between Europe and Asia, both eastern and western, threatened by both globalization and Europeanization,” and so try to “enrich and strengthen Armenian identity by fusing elements of east and west in Armenia” (Matosyan 2008, 104). Armenians may at times call themselves Europeans but are also prone to “semiotically manifest their closeness to Asia,” and to “imagine themselves as permanently in a borderland, acting as an intermediary between Europe and Asia” (Abrahamian 2007, 277–​80). As Armenian author Azat Eghiazaryan put it, “it is understandable that the European element is strong in us, but it is at least ridiculous to forget the eastern roots that are also very strong in us” (Matosyan 2008, 115).

 



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The “European element” in Armenian culture and history has deep roots, if one considers the primacy of Christianity in European history. However, Suny points out that Armenia’s autocephalous and state-​bearing form of Christianity meant that Armenians “defiantly distinguished themselves from the Greek Orthodox to the west” to almost the same degree that they distinguished themselves from the pagans, and later, Muslims, around them, and that it was only periodically, mainly during the Crusades, that Armenians identified with the wider Christian world (1993, 8).5 In the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, inspired by Mekhitar of Sebaste, the eponymous Mekhitarist community of Armenian monks formed and eventually founded monasteries and printing houses in Venice, Vienna, and Trieste, from which base they developed the written Armenian language and disseminated throughout the world voluminous religious translations and commentaries in the Armenian language. It was the work of these Armenian monks in Europe that would play the key role in “energetically reviving Armenian learning” at the end of the eighteenth century, “laying the foundation for” the strong secular nationalist movement in Armenia that emerged at the end of the nineteenth century (Suny 1993, 5–​6). The outsized impact of the Mekhitarist monks in cultivating the identification of Armenians as “Europeans” became evident in 2005, when the Masi Foundation of Italy, which was founded and is run by the descendants of Dante Alighieri, bestowed the Grosso d’Oro Veneziano award on Armenia’s foreign minister, Vartan Oskanian. In his remarks to the Masi Foundation, Oskanian noted that the Mekhitarist monks of Venice “were pioneers in establishing a common European identity” (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Armenia 2005). For this reason and others, he continued, “Armenia is Europe. This is a fact, it’s not a response to a question.” He insisted that “Armenians believe in the values of the European enlightenment, of European civilization,” and that for this reason, “Armenia’s foreign policy priority is the gradual integration of Armenia into European institutions.” The special role played by some urban Armenians within Ottoman Turkey, namely as members of the empire’s foremost merchant class, meant that they became known in Europe as “the Jews of the Middle East,” a “wealthy middle class who adopted the way of life and values of Europe,” due to their educational and economic ties with European centers of commerce (Suny 1993, 19). This European orientation meant that when Armenians in the Ottoman Empire began to think about demanding increased equality, they turned to Europe for support, imagining that Europe would adopt their cause much as it had earlier done for Greece (Suny 1993, 24–​25). Russia as the Savior of the Armenian Nation. Armenian historical experience in the twentieth century dictated that the relationship with Russia would ultimately have greater impact in mediating how Armenians would understand and express

 

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their “Europeanness” in the post-​Soviet era. Simply put, after the cataclysmic events of 1915, a deep fear of extermination and the imperative of survival became the “fixed obsession” of the Armenians (Cheterian 2008, 124). And just as Russia had in 1828  “truly liberated” those Armenians living under Persian control from the “purely Asian (and too often barbarian)” conditions they had been living under, Russia again came to the rescue of Armenia after World War I by creating the republic of Soviet Armenia (Voskanian 2007, 326–​27). After this, Russia became seen as “the single guarantor of survival” for the Armenian people (Voskanian 2007), while Russian dominance over Armenia was justified with the argument that “without Russian protection, Armenia simply could not exist” (Suny 1993, 145). For Imperial Russia, the role as “protector” of the Christian Armenians presented a happy confluence of hard and soft power considerations. The acquisition of Armenian territory (via the 1828 Treaty of Turkmenchay and the 1878 Treaty of San Stefano) enlarged and enriched Russia and contributed to its self-​ image as the “Third Rome,” a benevolent, civilized, and civilizing Christian empire. Many Armenians came to see Russia in this way, viewing Russian culture as their path to civilization and modernity and favorably comparing Russian rule to that of their previous Turkic and Persian overlords, whom Armenians dismissed with “bitter hatred and racial contempt” due to their “Asiatic and uncultured” ways (Suny 1993, 23). For their part, while Russians did recognize Armenians as fellow Christians, they also saw the Armenians as “Asiatic,” “alien,” and in need of Russia’s civilizing and modernizing help (Suny 1993, 43). The Soviet government would approach Armenia in much the same way, through a missionary lens of “Russian-​ Soviet Orientalism” that deemed Armenian culture to be “exotic,” “backward,” and in need of modernization at the hands of the more advanced Soviet civilization (Bayadyan 2007). The Soviet Armenian “hybrid” culture that emerged was one where even the most sacred national memory, the trauma of 1915, had to be subordinated to and commemorated through Soviet ideological imperatives; no “personal” memory of loss was allowed, either for the collective Armenian people or for individual Armenians (Darieva 2007, 71). Armenian memories of the genocide had to be expressed through the “socialist cosmology” and “incorporated into the abstract symbolism of the antifascist, anti-​Hitler Soviet struggle” (Darieva 2007, 75). Diaspora Politics and Armenian Europeanness. Since independence, due to the activities of both diaspora Armenians and those living in Armenia, understandings of and memorialization of the 1915 Armenian Genocide have led to the recognition of the genocide as the “genealogical beginning” of what Darieva calls “a shared memory of European death” (2007, 65). Through the creation of the new Museum of the Armenian Genocide in Yerevan and the establishment of contacts between that institution and both diaspora Armenians

 



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and those involved in the memorialization of other European tragedies, such as the Holocaust and the Bosnian genocide of the 1990s, Armenians have been “remembered into” European history in a new way (Darieva 2007, 80–​83). The presence of the diaspora has influenced ideas about Europeanness in Armenia in other significant ways as well. The Armenian diaspora is complex and diverse, with two main groupings: the “far” or “established” diaspora, those who left Armenia before or directly as a result of the 1915 genocide, and the “near” diaspora, Armenians living in Russia and the countries of the former Soviet Union. Cavoukian argues that the near diaspora (what she calls the “Russian Armenian Diaspora”) has been more effective than the far diaspora in influencing the contemporary Armenian state, due to the “shared mentality based on Soviet-​era symbols” to which Armenians throughout the former Soviet Union collectively relate (2013). The large “near” diaspora is thus an important influence in keeping Armenia anchored more securely in the post-​Soviet cultural-​civilizational  realm. The “far” or “established” diaspora in Europe and America, on the other hand, tends to approach Armenia in a “development frame,” visiting Armenia as tourists or as volunteers seeking to “develop” Armenia and help it “progress” into modernity (Darieva 2011; CAD September 29, 2011; Ishkanian 2008). The “cosmopolitan,” “globalized” worldview that the far diaspora brings to Armenia is often “utterly incomprehensible” to Armenians in Armenia, and thus while representing a tangible link to Europe, it may actually serve to increase feelings of resentment and alienation between Armenia and “Europe” (CAD #29, September 29, 2011, 6). Sport, Culture, and LGBTQ Rights in Armenia. Armenia has shown interest in being part of Europe’s cultural and, especially, sports scene, although it has not enjoyed a high profile in either of those venues. Armenia was a latecomer to the EBU and Eurovision, not entering the contest until 2006, and has not won either the general or Eurovision Junior contest (which means it has not hosted the competition, either). In 2012, when Eurovision was held in Baku, Armenia threatened to and eventually did withdraw from the contest, ostensibly for “security” reasons, but in actuality as a potential attempt to discredit their Azerbaijani enemies. Armenia’s lack of success at Eurovision might indicate a lack of interest in putting forth the resources (economic, lobbying) necessary to achieve this mark of “Europeanness,” and makes for an interesting contrast with the Azerbaijani case, as we shall see. The Football Federation of Armenia has been a member of UEFA since 1992 and has, like many of the smaller former Soviet republics, taken advantage of UEFA’s HATTRICK funds to try to build up its national team and developmental program. In 2013 a new “national team technical centre and football academy” opened in Yerevan, and the main football stadium in Yerevan has also

 

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been renovated, both efforts aimed at trying to “raise standards” of football in Armenia to the European level.6 While Armenia seems unlikely to become a European football powerhouse (it ranked above only one other former Soviet state in the 2014 UEFA country rankings, placing forty-​ninth to Estonia’s fiftieth), the country is fully integrated into UEFA’s structures and developmental programs. Armenia’s experience in the realm of cultural-​civilizational politics seems to reflect squarely the country’s efforts to find complementarity between its “European” and “Asian” faces; more than anything, Armenian policies seem aimed at preserving a unique Armenian culture in the face of pressures to “Europeanize,” “Russianize,” and “globalize.” The country seems willing and happy enough to take advantage of opportunities to display its cultural-​ civilizational Europeanness, such as those afforded through Eurovision or UEFA, but not at the expense of threatening its own national traditions and values. The perception that “European values” represent a threat to “traditional Armenian culture,” with its emphasis on the patriarchal, heterosexual family unit, is strong in contemporary Armenia (Matosyan 2008, 110–​11). In May 2012, soon after an EU-​friendly bill on gender equality was published, a gay-​friendly bar in Yerevan was firebombed. When the bill passed in May 2013, the country’s police force proposed a counter bill (modeled on Russia’s) that would ban the promotion of “non-​traditional sexual relations” in Armenia (TOL August 15, 2013; Nikoghosyan 2016). Though the bill was quickly retracted, Mamikon Hovsepian, the head of PINK Armenia, an LGBTQ rights group, pointed out that the incident demonstrated the extent to which Armenians continue to “live the shadow of Russia” (RFE/​RL August 8, 2013). The long reach of Russia’s shadow is also visible in Armenian policies in both the political and security spheres, where a theoretical preference for balance and some moderate level of Europeanization is challenged by stronger imperatives to maintain Russian security and economic aid by fully participating in Russia’s Euro-​alternative organizations.

Political Europeanization in Armenia since 1989: European Ambitions Tempered by Economic and Security Realities Two elements in particular characterize Armenia’s approach to political Europeanization in the post-​Soviet period. The first is that, like Georgia, concerns about territorial security are tantamount and thus strongly influence political Europeanization, though in contrast to Georgia, in Armenia’s case the security imperative has led to a closer strategic alliance with Russia. The second is the fact that Armenia’s approach to political Europeanization represents a

 



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vanguard attempt to truly balance political relations with European institutions on the one hand and Russian-​led institutions on the other. After over twenty years of the policy of “complementarity,” Armenia “opted” for full membership in Russia’s Eurasian Union and CSTO projects—​one author refers to Armenia’s 2013 “decision” to join the EEU as “joining under the gun” (Grigoryan 2014). Armenia’s hope to keep up and even move forward its relations with the EU even as it remains a member of the EEU is an important test case as Europe and Russia try to move forward in the wake of the Ukraine crisis. (See Figure 9.8.) Russia’s traditional role as the political savior of Armenia was “seriously undermined and challenged” by the perceived role the Soviet center played in allowing the Nagorno-​Karabakh conflict to develop in the late 1980s and

Armenia: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Is a member of the EAP; rejected AA with EU in September 2013.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe since 1995; full participant in all Council activities. Held CoE presidency May-December 2013.

CIS and EEU: Full participation in CIS, joined EEU in January 2015.

Figure 9.8  Political Europeanization in Armenia

 

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early 1990s (Marutyan 2007, 90). The growing skepticism about Russia’s true intentions toward Armenia in the early post-​Soviet period coincided with the reemergence of a “European lobby” in Armenia and the desire among some to turn to Europe as the new Armenian patron. In 2007, Marutyan argued that “Armenia is today leveling a road to democratic Europe. At the beginning of that road is the Karabagh [sic] Movement and the transformations it brought to Armenian identity” (113). Armenia and the EU. Armenia did start down a road to democratic Europe early in the post-​Soviet period, albeit somewhat belatedly due to the violence and disruption of the Nagorno-​Karabakh conflict. It signed a PCA with the EU in 1996 and joined the EU’s ENP in 2004 and EAP in 2009. By 2013, Armenia’s exports to and imports from the EU in 2013 were nearly double those to and from Russia, Kazakhstan, and Belarus combined, and it was scheduled to sign an Association Agreement with the EU at the same time as Ukraine in November 2013 (Grigoryan 2014, 100). It was therefore a surprise to many when Armenia promptly announced in September 2013 that it would not sign the AA with the EU, but rather would be joining Russia’s EEU/​Eurasian Union project. For those who had watched Armenia’s attempt to balance its European desires with its security, energy, and economic realities, however, Armenia’s ultimate decision to join Russia’s politico-​economic and security ventures rather than move forward with political Europeanization was completely rational. After emerging victorious from the Nagorno-​Karabakh war in terms of territory but weakened in terms of economic losses and broken international ties, in the mid-​1990s Armenian diplomats began to both speak of and execute a policy of “complementarity” in both political and security relationships. Complementarity rejected the logic of “either/​or” in favor of the principle “and/​ and” (CAD #58, December 18, 2013). As articulated by Armenian foreign minister Vartan Oskanian in Brussels in 2007, complementarity meant “good relations with all of the region’s major players—​Russia, the USA, the EU, Georgia, and Iran” (Inside Europe September 14, 2007). Complementarity also meant a very public and conspicuous stance of repudiating any intention to join the European Union; in 2006 Armenian president Rober Kocharian told Golos Armenii that while “preparing for closer relations with the EU,” Armenia was not interested in “the task of joining the EU.”7 Armenia’s relations with Europe were instead dictated by the principle of “avoiding direct dissent with Russia’s goals” (CAD #51–​52, June 17, 2013, 13). Within this constraint, Armenia’s relations with the EU have developed quite robustly, even after it joined Russia’s EEU project. Pioneering Tripartite Relations? Armenia, the EU and the EEU. After joining the EEU in December 2014, Armenian president Serzh Sargsyan stressed that Armenia intends to “continue our dialogue with European structures” (RFE/​

 



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RL September 3, 2013). Armenia’s European counterparts have been equally adamant that they are “still eager” for ties with Armenia, despite the country’s decision to join the EEU (RFE/​RL September 13, 2013). EU enlargement commissioner Štefan Füle argued that while Armenia’s decision to join the Eurasian Union meant that the AA between the EU and Armenia was of course now “off the table,” it did not mean that “the European agenda, European values, European principles, will disappear” in Armenia (RFE/​RL September 13, 2013). On 1 January 2014, a new EU-​Armenia visa facilitation agreement came into force, resulting in quicker, cheaper, and easier access to EU visas for Armenian citizens, signaling that Armenia’s EEU choice would not nullify all ties with Europe, at least in the short run, and offering hope that “complementarity” in the political realm would continue in some form. In spring 2017 Armenia signed an “Enhanced and Comprehensive Partnership Agreement” with the EU, having “cleverly involved its own key EEU protagonists in the negotiations, ensuring that the deal would not contradict EEU commitments” (EUObserver April 10, 2017). Despite these ongoing Europeanization efforts, for important cultural, economic, and security reasons, Armenia’s policy of complementarity in the political realm seems likely to remain tilted more strongly toward Russia. Culturally, Armenia has never undergone any type of lustration program, which means that “Soviet era symbols remain salient” in the country (Cavoukian 2013, 722). Armenians appear to admire Vladimir Putin’s leadership highly—​a 2011 poll found that 75  percent of Armenians approve of Putin, making Armenia the second-​most pro-​Russian state in the world, behind only Mali (RFE/​RL August 9, 2011). This neo-​Soviet “shared mentality” is further strengthened by the large Armenian diaspora in Russia, which is now the most numerous in the world, having recently overtaken in size the Armenian diaspora in the United States (Cavoukian 2013, 722). The diaspora in Russia is also economically crucial for Armenia, with remittances from Armenians there (both temporary and permanent residents) contributing over 20 percent of Armenia’s total GDP (EurasiaNet April 30, 2014). Russia skillfully used its role as “the economic buoy that keeps Armenia afloat” to help convince Armenia to join the EEU instead of signing the Association Agreement with the EU (Grigoryan 2014; TOL March 29, 2011). In spring 2014, Russia announced changes to its citizenship law that made it much easier for “fluent and habitual” speakers of Russian to become citizens; the same legal reforms also made it harder for noncitizens to stay in Russia for long stretches of time (EurasiaNet April 30, 2014). These changes may lead many Armenians working in Russia to become Russian citizens, binding Armenia closer to its former hegemon.

 

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The Eurasian Economic Union thus provides tangible, immediate, and necessary cultural and economic opportunities and reassurances for Armenia that the “far” European Union could not. As President Sargsyan rather ruefully admitted during his announcement of Armenia’s impending Eurasian Union membership, “joining the EU was never really in the cards” for his country (EurasiaNet February 5, 2014). Yet while cultural and economic factors certainly influenced Armenia’s decision on the EEU, weighing perhaps even more heavily in the balance was the issue of Russia’s security guarantees to Armenia. Armenian foreign minister Zohrab Mnatsakanyan stated as much baldly in comments he made while visiting Brussels in July 2018, when he noted that while Georgia and Ukraine were apparently willing to wait for EU and NATO membership for over ten years, “we can’t afford a security vacuum for 10 minutes” (EUObserver July 2, 2018). Only Russia, he continued, was willing to “provide hard security for Armenia.”

Security Europeanization in Armenia since 1989: Firmly under Russia’s Security Umbrella While Not Spurning NATO The security imperative is historically and currently so important in Armenian politics, and Russia’s role in the provision of that security so central, that Armenia’s formal policy of “complementarity” is in reality characterized by a primary commitment to the Russian-​led “Euro alternative” organization, in this case, the CSTO. Despite the disappointment Armenia experienced with Moscow’s actions during the early days of the Nagorno-​Karabakh conflict, from the very beginning of the post-​Soviet period, Armenia was part of the “integrationist core” of the CIS and has been a signatory of every Russian-​sponsored, security-​oriented treaty and organization since 1991. (See Figure 9.9.) In the security realm, Armenia is in fact considered “Russia’s closest ally, not just in the South Caucasus, but in all of the former Soviet Union” (RAD #142, February 6, 2014, 8–11). Russian guards patrol Armenia’s borders, Russian troops and MIG-​29 fighter planes are housed at Base #102 in the Armenia city of Gyumri, and Russia acts as the guardian of the current truce in Nagorno-​ Karabakh (Cheterian 2008, 367). In 2010, having failed in an attempt to normalize relations with Turkey and reopen the border between the two states, Armenia moved to strengthen itself against potential Turkish hostility by renegotiating its treaty with Russia to allow the latter to occupy the base at Gyumri for a period of forty-​nine years (Grigoryan 2014, 99). Armenia’s enthusiastic and sustained support of Russian-​led Euro-​alternative security organizations in both their CIS and CSTO guises is explained by one

 



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Armenia: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PfP, has an IPAP. Publicly and repeatedly disavows any intention to join NATO.

OSCE Relations: Active member of OSCE; relies on OSCE for Nagorno-Karabakh negotiating framework and domestic political reforms.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Full member of the CSTO. Hosts Russian troops at 102nd Military Base in Gyumri, Armenia.

Figure 9.9  Security Europeanization in Armenia

analyst as “a shell covering the main reasons for Yerevan’s participation and interest—​bilateral military-​political cooperation and military guarantees from Russia” (Minasyan 2013). The relationship has been a symbiotic one; while Russia pledges to “protect Armenia’s security together with Armenia’s army units” and to give Armenia “modern and compatible weapons and military hardware,” Russia has received “prolonged and upgraded” right to military presence in Armenia, including the long-​term access to the Gyumri base beyond (RFE/​ RL August 15, 2010). The Nagorno-​Karabakh Factor. Armenia may be Russia’s “closest security ally” in the former Soviet Union, but the small country still occupies this role more out of necessity than desire (as it has historically). Armenia’s loyalty to Russia and the CSTO alliance is predicated on Russian support of Armenia’s

 

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position on (and in) Nagorno-​Karabakh, but Armenia’s position in the CSTO alliance is unenviable. It is the only member of the CSTO with a “hot” cross-​ border conflict, yet the other CSTO members are reluctant to offer public support of Armenia in its conflict with Azerbaijan (which was itself a member of the CSTO predecessor treaty from 1994 to 1999)  (Lragir.AM July 2, 2014; Minasyan 2013). Worse still, Russia “insistently offers” the CSTO’s “peacekeeping services” to Armenia for Nagorno-​K arabakh, offers that Armenia (probably rightly) interprets as a thinly veiled Russian attempt to put its own troops on the ground in Karabakh (ArmeniaNow July 2, 2014). More unsettling still for Armenia is the fact that in recent years, Russia has sharply increased its sales of military hardware to Azerbaijan, making Russia the main supplier of weapons to both parties of the Nagorno-​K arabakh conflict (Lragir. Am July 2, 2014). Regarding Armenia’s security, Russia both giveth and taketh away. The asymmetry of Armenia’s security alliance with Russia and its lack of true security guarantees from its membership in the CSTO have therefore led Armenia to pursue the policy of complementarity in the security realm as far as possible while still remaining in Russia’s good graces. Armenia joined NATO’s Pf P in 1994 and signed an IPAP agreement with NATO in 2006, which was renewed in 2011. Armenia has sent its troops to participate in NATO’s KFOR mission, pledged its troops to NATO’s post-​2014 “Resolute Support” mission in Afghanistan, and continues to participate in NATO trainings, such as the “Noble Partner” exercises held in Georgia in August 2018 (though Russia’s military pointedly held its own training exercises in Armenia with the Armenian military at the same time that four Armenian officers were participating in the latter!). Russia appears to allow Armenia’s “complementary” relationship with NATO precisely because Armenia is a full member of the CSTO and the country has consistently rebuffed the idea of NATO membership (in contrast to Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine). Some critics argue that Armenia’s deep entrenchment in Russia’s security web hurts Armenia’s prospects for “true security diversification” (Lragir.Am July 2, 2014). Others concede, however, that particularly regarding the Nagorno-​Karabakh situation and Armenia’s traditional enemy Turkey, NATO and the EU are “unlikely to ever offer Armenia security guarantees comparable to Russia” (Minasyan 2014). Armenia’s undesirable position as a small, landlocked state means that as imperfect as the security guarantees offered by Russia and the CSTO are, they are the best ones that Armenia is likely to get.

 



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Case Study: Azerbaijan—​A Truly Nonaligned State in Eurasia? Or Europe’s “First Muslim Republic”? Like its Caucasian neighbors, Azerbaijan is a small state unfavorably located in a region dominated by large and ambitious neighbors. Similar to Georgia, Azerbaijan’s tenuous geopolitical position in the post-​Soviet world has been further weakened by an armed conflict that resulted in the secession and de facto independence of a major province—​in this case, Nagorno-​Karabakh. Azerbaijan’s loss of Nagorno-​Karabakh was accompanied by the Armenian army’s conquest of the seven districts adjacent to the Karabakh territory, which means that the issues of security and territorial integrity are heightened in Azerbaijan in the same ways that they are in Georgia. Unlike its neighbors, Azerbaijan has thus far in the post-​Soviet period managed the tricky feat of maintaining its independence (if not its territorial integrity) without pursuing a course of close integration with either Europe or Russia. Azerbaijan’s post-​Soviet leadership does show a clear affinity for belonging to Europe’s cultural-​civilizational and political milieus, though it insists on doing so on its own terms and actively resists “tutelage” from Europe on issues such as LGBTQ rights and political prisoners. In the security sphere, Azerbaijan has followed a more pronouncedly “nonaligned” policy, clearly and repeatedly averring a desire to join either NATO or the CSTO. Azerbaijan’s relative success in remaining independent from both Europe and Russia comes from the active diplomacy of its long-​serving post-​Soviet president, Heydar Aliyev (1993–​2003). During his decade in power, Aliyev the elder skillfully deployed Azerbaijan’s Caspian oil and gas reserves and the country’s status as a transit hub for energy resources to build up its independence, its “international personality,” and its economic and strategic importance to Europe. While Azerbaijan has not entirely escaped the “resource curse” that plagues other oil-​ and gas-​rich states, the country’s resource endowment has proved to be a blessing in terms of facilitating the type of truly autonomous post-​Soviet development that has eluded Georgia and Armenia. Azerbaijan’s resource strength is only one of the things that differentiates it from its Caucasian neighbors. Azerbaijan also marks the place on the former Soviet Union’s EOCG where the border from Christian-​majority to Muslim-​ majority state is crossed. Azerbaijan has strong historical and cultural connections to three regional hegemons—​Turkey, Iran, and Russia. Azeris are ethnically and linguistically Turkic, but their culture and history are deeply intertwined with that of Persia (which means that Azeris are the only Turkic population in the world that largely follows Shia Islam rather than Sunni Islam). (See Figure 9.10.)

 

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Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Azerbaijan

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Shia Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol, Ottoman Persian

Geographic Location: Appears on some maps of Europe.

Geographic Location: South/East

Historical Experience: Enlightenment (late, limited, and via Russia)

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Loyalty/Indifference

Figure 9.10  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Azerbaijan

Azerbaijan’s elites understand that to be accepted as a “fully modern state” and a “significant player in international politics,” the country must prove its “Europeanness.” Given its status as “the world’s first democratic Islamic republic” (in the form of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic—​the ADR—​which existed from 1918 to 1920), Azerbaijan’s contemporary leaders feel the state has a certain historical burden and self-​image to uphold and export. At the same time, Azerbaijan has made it clear that it is not interested in EU membership and the strict reform that is required to achieve that status. For their part, European

 



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gatekeepers seem willing to elide evidence of significant corruption and authoritarian, even sultanistic or patrimonial, governance in Azerbaijan, in glaring contrast with Europe’s often much stronger criticism of similar “non-​European” political practices in Belarus. Europe’s desire to keep Azerbaijani hydrocarbons flowing might account for this discrepancy.

Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Azerbaijan:  A “Strong Leaning” toward Europe Scholar Thomas DeWaal notes that even within the Caucasus’s culturally and historically complex tapestry, “many more threads have formed the weave that make up contemporary Azerbaijan” than almost anywhere else in the region (2010, 26). Several of those threads inform a contemporary sense of “Europeanness” in Azerbaijan and bind the country to Europe, including: the Azerbaijani intelligentsia’s indigenous secularization and modernization in the mid to late nineteenth century; the related establishment of the “world’s first secular Muslim republic” in the form of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic (May 1918–​April 1920); and the “securing” of secularization and a commitment to multiculturalism in Azerbaijan under Soviet rule (Cornell 2011, 254). These historical elements, together with the desire to distance Azerbaijan from the “unappealing, unattractive, unacceptable” form of Islam modeled in the contemporary period in neighboring Iran (Wistrand 2012, 5), have led both Azerbaijan’s leadership and its population to “lean strongly” toward joining Europe’s cultural and civilizational sphere in the post-​Soviet period (Cornell 2011, 269–​70). (See Figure 9.11.) Azerbaijan has won and hosted the Eurovision contest (not without controversy, as was discussed in c­ hapter 5), and, while ranked near the bottom of the UEFA country rankings, Azerbaijan has been a strong self-​advocate within UEFA. It hosted the 2016 U17 Championships and is the only FSU state to be named one of the twelve host countries for the EURO 2020 Championships (Baku will host three group games and a quarterfinal game). In June 2015, Baku also became the inaugural host of the new “European Games,” a “continent-​ wide” athletic competition organized by the European Olympic Committees aimed at “reflecting the energy and unity of Europe.”8 An Azerbaijani official working on the European Games mused about the possibility of the event raising the country’s profile among Europeans: It’s just for Europe, when in the future they ask someone where Azerbaijan is, they will say, we know that country. It’s a kind of south-​ south part of Europe, maybe it’s not even Europe, but we know that

 

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Azerbaijan: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Strong Europeanizing narrative present; no real alternative narratives

Cultural Europeanization: EBU member. Won Eurovision in 2011, hosted in 2012.

Sport: UEFA member and will host some EURO 2020 matches. In June 2015, hosted the inaugural European Games in Baku.

Figure 9.11  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Azerbaijan

country, it’s a good country, they had a good European Games, they have a good culture. (Quoted in Rojo-​Labaien 2018, 1110) Azerbaijan has also labored to bring its cultural laws and institutions into line with EU norms and has been a participant in the Venice Biennale since 2007 (Sandell et al. 2013, 11–​12). Ilham Aliyev’s glamorous and highly secularized wife, Mehriban Aliyeva, “spends generously and cleverly,” in ways aimed to enhance Azerbaijan’s status as a hub of and promoter of European culture, including making generous donations for renovations at the Louvre, the Palace of Versailles, and the Strasbourg Cathedral (RFE/​RL December 31, 2104). Regardless of the country’s attempts at some degree of cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, contemporary Europe’s insistence on human rights and cultural

 



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recognition for LGBTQ people does not sit comfortably with many Azerbaijanis or their government. Because it has not pursued an AA with the EU, Azerbaijan’s government has felt no pressure to adopt any anti-​discrimination protections for LGBTQ people, and there are no same-​sex partnership or adoption rights in Azerbaijan. In the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Alliance’s (ILGA) 2018 rankings of the rights of LGBTQ people in “European” countries, Azerbaijan ranked dead last, forty-​ninth out of forty-​nine. Turkey’s subtle but powerful cultural and political Islamization and Europe’s concomitant and growing anti-​Islamic sentiment also have both had a chilling effect on Azerbaijan’s cultural-​civilizational Europeanization. Azerbaijan’s leadership has reached out to the Muslim world, seeking to “position itself as a cultural crossroads and facilitator of diplomatic and intercultural dialogue” between the Muslim world and Europe (Sandell et al. 2013, 8). Azerbaijan is also part of TURKSOI (International Organization of Turkish Culture) and the OIC (Organization of the Islamic Conference). In 2008, Baku hosted conferences for both the Council of Europe and the OIC, and Azerbaijan has “extravagantly” promoted the holiday of Nawruz as a “mechanism of tolerance” and “secular alternative” way to mark its “eastern” and Muslim heritage while celebrating contemporary European values (Wistrand 2012, 7). Navigating the Politics of Islam in Post-​Soviet Azerbaijan. The long era of Soviet rule “secured the secularization” of Azerbaijani society, leading to a situation where Azerbaijan eventually overtook even Turkey on markers of modernity such as standards of living, emancipation of women, and literacy among both men and women (Cornell 2011, 254). After winning the territories from Persia in the early nineteenth century, Tsarist Russian officials approached Azeris (whom they referred to as “Tatars” or simply “Muslims”) with a familiar civilizing mission. Tsarist policy toward the Azeris was less accommodating than that toward the Christian Caucasian minorities, with Audrey Alstadt noting that the Armenian Church was largely left alone while Azeri mullahs were brought under “direct state control and regulation” via the Muslim Spiritual Boards, while the population at large was subject to “intense Orthodox proselytization” (1992, 19). The Azeri Turks skillfully wielded the antiquity of their history, language, and literature (themselves a result of long interaction with the great Persian and Turkic empires, not to mention the Greeks and Romans—​the easternmost extant Roman inscription is near Baku) to retain a sense of corporate identity and even superiority in the face of Russian rule (Alstadt 1992, xxiv–​2). By the time of the first oil boom in Baku in the late nineteenth century, a segment of the Azeri Turk community was well positioned to profit (in many senses) along with the European, Russian, and Armenian economic elites who descended on the city. The result was the growth of a “prosperous commercial and industrial”

 

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Azeri bourgeoisie that engaged in cultural philanthropy, was united around the concept of secular education, created a free and vibrant press, and pushed for the liberation of Azeri women, opening the first school for women in Baku in 1910 and Baku University in 1919 (Alstadt 1992, 33–​34, 50–​56). The “cultural richness and progressive social and political nature” of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century Azeri creative intelligentsia and bourgeoisie were “unique in the Muslim world at the time” (Cornell 2011, 13). This fertile period culminated in the founding of the “ephemeral yet critically important” Azerbaijani Democratic Republic (ADR), which existed from May 1918 to April 1920 as the world’s first Muslim parliamentary republic (King 2008, 161). The ADR promulgated many progressive measures during its short and tumultuous existence, including the extension of political and social rights to both male and female citizens and the establishment of a secular institution of higher learning, Baku State University, which continues to be the leading educational institution in the country. The takeover of the ADR by the Red Army in 1920 and the ensuing seventy years of Soviet rule brought increased standards of living and the consolidation of the emancipation of women, including near universal literacy and high rates of employment for both genders (Cornell 2011, 254). DeWaal points out that the Soviet era is also when large numbers of Azeris “learned to drink, to go to university and not to go to the mosque,” further eroding any residual authority that religious structures and clergy had held on to before the Soviet takeover (2001, 71). The Azerbaijani government has pursued a policy of strict separation of religion and state in the post-​Soviet era, finding inspiration in the Kemalist example of its linguistically and culturally close Turkish neighbor. Turkish culture has “much more influence in Azerbaijan than in any of the Central Asian states,” and Turkish youth culture in particular has “rapidly spread” among young Azeris since the 1990s (Cornell 2011, 262). Turkish TV, soccer, soap operas, and gossip have all “permeated Azerbaijan deeply”; critically, however, this is the culture of the “Turkey of Atatürk” (Cornell 2011, 359–​60, 390). It is not unusual, according to Wistrand, to see portraits of Atatürk and the elder Aliyev together in Azerbaijani classrooms, twin fathers of “the two states that represent one nation” (2012, 6). Insofar as Turkey under Kemal explicitly fashioned itself as a culturally and politically European state (receiving official recognition as a candidate for full EU membership in December 1999), so does post-​Soviet Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan’s post-​Soviet elites also mirrored Kemal’s strict adherence to secularism in government accompanied by a strong state policy of fostering “official” forms of Islam while repressing unsanctioned or “politically dangerous” forms of religious expression. In the early independence period, under Elçibey, the Azerbaijani government heavily repressed the Azerbaijani Islamic Party for its

 



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perceived pro-​Iranian and Khomenist Shia tendencies, but it tolerated the limited introduction of other “foreign” Islamic elements into Azerbaijan, including representatives of the Nur movement from Turkey and various Salafi groups from the Gulf states, all of whom brought with them significant resources for building mosques and erecting Islamic educational and publishing institutions (Goyushov 2008, 73–​74). In the 2000s, however, the Azerbaijani government grew fearful of the perceived growing influence of “foreign” forms of Islam in the country, effectively closing off opportunities for religious education abroad, heavily regulating or closing domestic religious media and educational outlets, and introducing “strict state control” of religious expression (CAD #44 November 20, 2012, 9–​10). Azerbaijan’s status as a Muslim-​majority state complicates the country’s efforts to define a post-​Soviet sense of cultural-​civilizational belonging. Azerbaijani elites have tried to find a fruitful balance in emphasis between the European secularist elements and Muslim Turkic elements of the country’s past and present. Azerbaijan’s geographic proximity to the religious and political conflicts rocking Turkey, Iran, and the wider Middle East make the effort to construct a legitimate sense of national and religious identity even more problematic. While continuing to participate in and profess at least some degree of allegiance to “European civilization,” Azerbaijani elites are also increasingly emulating the cultural practices of their geographically closer “eastern” neighbors, most recently via the gigantic “Khazar Islands” construction project, which consciously mimics the ostentatious style current to the UAE and other Persian Gulf states (NYTimes, February 8, 2013). Azerbaijan’s rich cultural complexity, together with the country’s substantial resource wealth and strategically significant geopolitical location, has compelled its leaders to pursue a policy in the political and security realms that is as syncretic and autonomous as is its cultural-​civilizational one.

Political Europeanization in Azerbaijan since 1989: Nonalignment and Non-​Democracy With two neighbors fully committed to the Russian-​led EEU/​Eurasian Union project (Russia itself and Armenia), and two at least rhetorically committed to joining the EU (Turkey and Georgia), Azerbaijan finds itself in the uncomfortable position of trying to maintain a nonaligned stance of true independence in terms of domestic and foreign policy (CAD #51–​52, June 17, 2013, 17–​19). Azerbaijan’s political leadership has continually voiced its preference for and made rhetorical commitments to building a “European-​style” democratic political system in the country, yet it has very intentionally stopped short of claiming

 

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a desire for full-​fledged membership in the European Union. At the same time, Azerbaijani elites have made it clear that they have no interest in their country joining the Russian-​led Eurasian Economic Union project. (See Figure 9.12.) Azerbaijan’s European-​ oriented but fundamentally nonaligned political project showed some early promise of democratization, but it is now firmly stalled in a pattern of what one author calls “sultanistic semiauthoritarianism” (Guliyev 2005). The disjunct between Azerbaijan’s claimed fealty to European political values and its blatant disregard of those practices has engendered harsh criticism of Azerbaijan and charges of hypocrisy against Euro institutions (European Stability Initiative 2012). Given Azerbaijan’s reluctance to pursue a “full-​fledged” project of political Europeanization, and its constant and open flouting of European political norms, one might ask why its leadership persists

Azerbaijan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

EU: Member of EAP but has not signed an AA and has not stated desire for EU membership.

Council of Europe: Member of Council of Europe since 1995; full participant in all Council activities. Chaired Council of Europe in 2014.

CIS/EEU: Member of CIS since 1993. Not a member of CIS Free Trade Area. Invited to join Eurasian Economic Community but declined.

Figure 9.12  Political Europeanization in Azerbaijan

Weak

 



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in maintaining allegiance to “European political values” and participation in European institutions like the EU’s EAP. Europe’s willingness to overlook much of Azerbaijan’s egregiously bad domestic political behavior also raises questions, but an identity-​based, normative explanation for Azerbaijan’s persistent and paradoxical claim to Europeanness in the political sphere holds some weight—​both Azerbaijan’s own history as the first democratic Muslim republic in the world and the brief democratic interlude of 1992–​1993, as well as the strong identification with Turkey’s path of modernization via Europeanization, are important here. Of equal or perhaps greater importance in explaining Azerbaijan’s pursuit of full rhetorical and but only partial institutional Europeanization in the political realm (and also its ability to thus far successfully resist Russian pressure to join the EEU) is the country’s rich energy endowment. Azerbaijan’s status as “a medium-​level world producer” of oil and gas (DeWaal 2010, 170) and its desire to sell the bulk of that oil and gas to the wealthy and stable states of Europe make a joint Azerbaijani-​European agreement on the membership of Azerbaijan in “Europe’s political community” a mutually beneficial (and for Azerbaijan, extremely lucrative) endeavor (however dubious the country’s actual record of democratic governance). There is some evidence that even these instrumental forms of belonging to the European political community are gradually bearing some small fruit in Azerbaijan—​a beleaguered Azerbaijani opposition continues to exist and evolve, and some European actors seem to be tiring of their own craven hypocrisy regarding Azerbaijan. The trend in Azerbaijan does however seem more firmly leading toward the consolidation and entrenchment of its resource-​fueled “sultanistic semi-​authoritarianism.” Azerbaijan’s Democratic Interlude (1992–​1993). The perestroika period in Azerbaijan was more tumultuous and violent than anywhere else in the Soviet Union, and therein lie the roots of the “real war” that took place between Armenia and Azerbaijan in Nagorno-​Karabakh in 1993–​1994 (DeWaal 2010, 117). During this period a dominant narrative coalesced in Azerbaijan, which supposed that the Soviet government, intelligentsia, and media were all biased against Azerbaijan in the evolving conflict over Karabakh (Alstadt 1992, 198). One event more than any other helped consolidate the Azerbaijani sense of grievance—​the “Black January” killing of over 100 Azerbaijanis at the hands of Soviet troops in Baku in 1990, which “broke whatever bonds of limited trust that remained between the rulers in Moscow and their subjects in Azerbaijan” (Alstadt 1992, 218) and “made the alienation of Azerbaijan from the USSR and Russia final and irreversible” (Cornell 2011, 54–​55). The Azerbaijani Popular Front (APF) emerged in the early 1990s on the basis of disillusionment with all things Soviet fused with democratic, pro-​Western ideology and nationalist support for the cause in Karabakh. The APF saw the

 

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election of its leader, Abulfaz Elçibey, as president of Azerbaijan in June 1992 in what would turn out to be the “first and last fairly contested election” in post-​ Soviet Azerbaijan (Guliyev 2005, 414). Elçibey’s short-​lived APF government (1992–​1993) proved to be “disunited and disorganized” (DeWaal 2010, 117), but it also represented “the unique instance of true democracy taking control of a post-​Soviet Muslim state” (Cornell 2011, 60). The AFP’s year in power was composed mostly of “failures and disappointments,” including the total breakdown of the Azerbaijani war effort in Nagorno-​Karabakh. It also proved to be a respite of democratic practice that “would remain indelibly stamped in public memory” during the long years of authoritarian backsliding that were to come (Sultanova 2014, 17–​18). The Heydar Aliyev Era: State-​Building through Oil Wealth. When the floundering Elçibey became the victim of a near putsch by rogue Azerbaijani army colonel Suret Husenyov in June 1993, Heydar Aliyev, a former head of the Azerbaijan SSR KGB and Soviet Politburo member who had renounced his membership in the CPSU in 1990, assumed the powers of the presidency. Guliyev sees the elder Aliyev’s “takeover of power” to be “the major event” of post-​Soviet Azerbaijani politics; during his near decade in power, Aliyev successfully (re)established both domestic order and a strong Azerbaijani presence in the international political and economic realms, in the process attaining the status of an “Azerbaijani Kemal” whose status as patriarch and savior of the nation was unassailable (2005, 417–​21; Sultanova 2014, 18). Tokluoglu notes that Heydar Aliyev skillfully tapped the traditional Azeri reverence for elders (aksakals) in the same way that he had during the Soviet era, ensuring that from 1993 on, political power in Azerbaijan would consolidate around one powerful leader (2012, 323). Aliyev did successfully restore order and stability to war-​torn and poverty-​ stricken Azerbaijan, but he could not bring military success in Nagorno-​ Karabakh. As the result of a ceasefire in May 1994, Azerbaijan lost to Armenia control not only of that province but the seven surrounding districts, almost 10 percent of its total landmass. Three-​quarters of a million Azerbaijanis were expelled from these areas, events that were experienced as “pure humiliation” in Azerbaijan (Cornell 2011, 86). Aliyev brought domestic order and, eventually, a measure of domestic prosperity and international prestige to Azerbaijan, but in the process he “forged the most clearly authoritarian state in the South Caucasus and created a personality cult that is absent from the other two South Caucasus states” (King 2008, 228). Aliyev père “skillfully used patronage coupled with coercion” to establish a state system that was “extremely effective in dividing and weakening the opposition, demobilizing the population, and which became increasingly repressive over time” (Bunce and Wolchik 2011, 178–​79). Heydar Aliyev’s second great achievement during his near decade-​long tenure as president of Azerbaijan was to deploy the country’s resource wealth to

 



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“turn Azerbaijan into a ‘real country,’ ” in the process ensuring that Europe and America gained “a governing stake in Azerbaijan’s statehood” (DeWaal 2010, 172). Universally regarded as an astute and skillful negotiator, in September 1994 Aliyev brokered an $8 billion deal dubbed the “contract of the century” between Azerbaijan’s State Oil Company (SOCAR) and a consortium of nine international (mainly Western) oil companies, which became known as the AIOC (Azerbaijan International Operating Company).9 Aliyev’s intention was to “use Western investment to cut the proverbial umbilical cord that tied Azerbaijan’s political system and economy to Moscow,” and under his watch Azerbaijan successfully “carved a niche for itself as an energy-​producing country that sought to play by Europe’s rules, thereby providing an opportunity for the diversification [of energy] Europe so desperately needed” (Cornell 2011, 76, 393). Western investment–​driven expansion of the Azerbaijani oil industry powered huge GDP growth in Azerbaijan during the Heydar Aliyev years. Throughout his years in power, Aliyev groomed his son, Ilham Aliyev, who held a PhD in history from Moscow State’s Institute of International relations, to succeed him as president of Azerbaijan. The younger Aliyev was made a vice president of SOCAR during the negotiations for the “contract of the century,” and was given ample other opportunities to establish relationships with Western leaders, including heading Azerbaijan’s delegation to the Council of Europe, which the country joined in 2001. In an example of what Guliyev calls “a sophisticated familial-​dynastic dynamic,” Ilham Aliyev was elected president of Azerbaijan in October 2003, in a process that the Institute for Democracy in Eastern Europe said “cannot be evaluated as what in the practices of the civilized world is called an election” (2005, 414–​16). The Ilham Aliyev Era: Rhetorical Europeanization Masking Transformation to an Authoritarian Petro-​State? The younger Aliyev took power “just as serious oil revenues were about to begin accruing in Azerbaijan” (Cornell 2011, 111). Under Ilham Aliyev, “Azerbaijan has not wavered from its stated course of closer relations with Europe,” even as “it has not lived up to the human rights, governance or human rights commitments” that it has made in the name of that Europeanness (Cornell 2011, 393). There is strong official backing in Azerbaijan for the state’s claim to Europeanness:  Aliyev fils has repeatedly asserted that “Europe is the only model for Azerbaijan’s future development as a state,” the country’s intelligentsia and political class “are clearly and overwhelmingly European in orientation,” and public opinion polls show that levels of citizen support for European-​style democracy in Azerbaijan are “on par with rates in Central and Eastern Europe” (Cornell 2011, 193, 424–​25). Azerbaijan has taken some practical steps to animate this rhetorical commitment to Europeanization with concrete meaning. Azerbaijan has been an active participant in the EU’s Eastern Partnership, to the extent that in November 2013

 

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the country signed an important visa facilitation agreement with the EU within the EAP framework. Yet under Ilham Aliyev the country’s Europeanization in the political sphere has also been explicitly moderate and self-​limiting. Azerbaijan has never expressed a desire to become a full member of the EU, even in the long term (as Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine have done), and has chosen not to pursue the type of AA that other Eastern Partners have already signed with the EU. Azerbaijan seems to want to want “economic cooperation with the EU but no political obligations,” and to “be part of EU projects without having to significantly change its system of governance” (CAD #58, December 18, 2013, 8–​ 9). Azerbaijan does have a “State Commission on Integration with Europe,” but the scholarly and popular consensus is that Azerbaijan can and does ignore EU pressure for meaningful political reforms “by playing on the energy and geopolitical interests of the West” (CAD #35–​36, February 15, 2012, 16–​17). For its part, the EU refers to its policy toward Azerbaijan as one of “engagement,” which one author argues really means “energy security” and “accepting dictatorships as they are” (TOL July 2, 2010). Political scientists and other analysts have not been persuaded by Azerbaijan’s repeated assertions that “we are pursuing a European path” of political development: characterizations of the contemporary Azerbaijani regime range from Guliyev’s “sultanistic semiauthoritarianism” (2005) to Franke et  al.’s “post-​ Soviet rentier state” (2009) and the International Crisis Group’s “full-​blown authoritarian state” (CAD #44, November 20, 2012, 9–​11). The increasing concentration of economic and political power in the hands of the Aliyev family is described as dynastic, neopatrimonial, or sultanistic, and is attributed both to the legacies of the Soviet political system and to the country’s natural resource wealth boom (Tokluoglu 2012). Bunce and Wolchik note that Azerbaijan has become a “nearly classic” case study of pathological political development in resource-​rich countries (2011, 179), while Kendall-​Taylor details how oil revenues have served as the cornerstone both for Ilham Aliyev’s concentration of power and the flourishing of corruption in Azerbaijan (2011, 2012). It seems significant, however, that despite the Azerbaijani regime’s clear preference for practicing a very un-​European type of non-​democracy, it maintains both a rhetorical commitment to membership in Europe’s political community and a loud public disavowal of any desire or intent to join Russia’s EEU. Russia remains an important economic trading partner for Azerbaijan—​it is the leading source of imports into Azerbaijan (14  percent)—​but Azerbaijan has reiterated time and again that while it is grateful for the “friendly and warm bilateral relations” with Russia, joining the EEU is “not on the agenda” (ITAR-​ TASS December 25, 2014; Kyiv Post June 3, 2014). Indeed, Azerbaijan apparently has made its reluctance to endure the “political implications” of joining the EEU clear enough that Russia has never even bothered to formally invite it to

 



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join (Kyiv Post June 3, 2014). The great economic strength and political power afforded by its oil and gas reserves allows Azerbaijan to realize more fully than either Belarus or Armenia the dream that it shares with them—​true political independence and nonaligned status regarding both the EU and Russia’s EEU. Azerbaijan’s quest to pursue a European-​leaning but chiefly independent political course in the post-​Soviet period has developed into a system where systematic corruption is the norm and severe repression is increasingly rationalized as being necessary to protect the small state’s independence both from Russian neo-​imperialism, but also, confusingly, from “meddling” on the part of the European political community that Azerbaijan’s government itself claims to hold up as a model for future development. Given Europe’s desire to keep Azerbaijani gas and oil flowing (particularly after the projected opening of Southern Gas Corridor’s Trans Adriatic Pipeline in 2019), and the imperative of keeping Azerbaijan from shifting to a more pro-​Russian course, it seems likely that European gatekeepers will continue to tolerate Azerbaijan’s claims to political Europeanness even as the country’s leadership grows increasingly authoritarian and intolerant.

Security Europeanization in Azerbaijan since 1989:  Overcoming the Loss of Nagorno-​Karabakh While Balancing NATO and Russia Azerbaijan’s intrinsic security dilemma, the same faced by all post-​Soviet states except Russia, is enhanced in Azerbaijan’s case by the painful loss of Nagorno-​ Karabakh and the continued Armenian occupation of that territory. Despite these challenges, Azerbaijan has, in large part due to the outsized political and economic heft its energy independence and wealth give it, achieved a high degree of independence in the security realm in the post-​Soviet period. Unlike its two South Caucasian neighbors, Azerbaijan has managed to avoid both Russian occupation of any part of Azerbaijani territory and any formal hosting of Russian forces in Azerbaijan via bilateral or multilateral agreement; how long it will be able to do so in the future given the proximity, overwhelming strength, and renewed revanchism of Russia, is unclear. (See Figure 9.13.) Azerbaijan’s foreign policy has been described as “diversified” (DeWaal 2010, 182), “multivector” (Mayer 2012, 8), and “a mix of independence and caution” (Cornell 2011, 115). The Nagorno-​Karabakh debacle did have the silver lining of resulting in the departure of Russian army and border forces from Azerbaijan (Cornell 2011, 213), though it also ensured that Azerbaijan’s chief foreign policy aim subsequently has been the “restoration and consolidation of the country’s full sovereignty” (Cornell 2011, 307). In 1992, Azerbaijan was a founding signatory of the CIS’s Collective Security Treaty (the CSTO predecessor organization),

 

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Azerbaijan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO: Member of PfP, has an IPAP with NATO since 2005. Has never proclaimed desire for membership in NATO.

OSCE: Member of OSCE since 1992. In June 2015, ordered OSCE office in Baku to close.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Was a party to CIS Collective Security treaty from 1994–2000. Not a member of CSTO.

Figure 9.13  Security Europeanization in Azerbaijan

but in 1999, after several uncomfortable years of sharing “collective security” with the state currently occupying large swaths of its territory (Armenia), and several years of cultivating lucrative energy and political ties with Western and other states, President Heydar Aliyev led Azerbaijan out of the CIS security alliance. During its years in the CIS security alliance, Azerbaijan pursued a balanced foreign policy; it joined NATO’s NACC/​E APC in 1992, the same year it signed the CIS security treaty. Azerbaijan later joined NATO’s PFP (in 1994)  and developed an IPAP with NATO (in 2005). Azerbaijan also participated in NATO’s KFOR peacekeeping mission in Kosovo and is still active in NATO’s ISAF mission in Afghanistan, even after the formal cessation of hostilities there.

 



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The elder Aliyev had several reasons to actively cultivate NATO ties in the 1990s—​not only did such ties help facilitate the economic relationships responsible for increasing Azerbaijan’s independence and strength, they also served as a tribune from which Azerbaijan could “appeal to Western norms and policies guarding the rights of small states to independence,” something that Russia was clearly not terribly concerned about (Cornell 2011, 398). After the 9/​11 attacks, the US-​led NATO coalition had an even greater need for friendly allies in the wider Middle East region, and Azerbaijan was happy to oblige, offering “full support and full access” to NATO and becoming an “indispensible part” of NATO’s campaign against Afghanistan (Cornell 2011, 407).10 Azerbaijan has also cultivated a close bilateral “strategic partnership and mutual assistance” relationship with Turkey, which has been facilitated by the NATO umbrella and which is “aimed at neutralizing Armenia’s close military cooperation with Russia” (EDM, Vol. 10, #13, July 29, 2013). Despite its withdrawal from the CIS security community in 1999 and the growth in its relations with NATO, Azerbaijan remains “a very small country on a very significant state of real estate, which pursues a very realpolitik policy” in the security realm (NYTimes February 8, 2013). This means staying on cordial, but distinctly wary and distant, terms with Russia. Azerbaijan’s government has repeatedly asserted that it “will never be a member of NATO,” though it has also stated that it won’t join the CSTO, but rather will “cooperate with both . . . as based on the needs and interests of the Azerbaijani people” (EurasiaNet May 26, 2013). In comparison with its South Caucasian neighbors, Azerbaijan aligns itself with EU positions on the Common Foreign and Security Policy “significantly less often,” particularly where human rights are concerned (Mayer 2012, 7). Azerbaijan occupies a “special place” in the security structure of the former Soviet Union—​neither a “close ally” nor a “difficult neighbor” for Russia (Markedonov 2014, 10). Russian leaders continue to court Azerbaijan, attempting to entice it to rejoin the CSTO (by resuming arms sales to Azerbaijan after 2011 and trying to convince it that it would be possible for Azerbaijan and Armenia to coexist within the CSTO). Russia’s continued economic, military, and political support of Armenia makes it difficult for Azerbaijani elites to take Moscow’s invitations to join the CSTO seriously, particularly when Azerbaijan’s resource revenues, NATO ties, and relations with other power states like Israel make it possible for Azerbaijan to finance its own independent massive arms build-​ups (Azerbaijan’s military budget in 2013 was larger than Armenia’s entire state budget) (RFE/​RL July 6, 2013). In July 2014, Azerbaijan celebrated twenty years of relations with NATO by announcing not that it sought to join NATO in the future (as Georgia and Ukraine’s leaders routinely do), but that it would continue to pursue, with

 

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NATO’s help, the modernization of its armed forces “to the point of Euro-​ Atlantic standards.” This close parsing of its relations with NATO, which are mirrored by its “cordial” and flexible relations with Russia in the security sphere, will continue to characterize Azerbaijan’s security policy as long as its resource revenues and strategic importance to both Europe and Russia afford it the possibility to do so.

 

10

The Central Asian States Not European by Mutual Agreement?

The five former Soviet republics of Central Asia—​Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan—​often referred to derisively as “the Stans,” are the least well known and the most subject to misunderstanding and ridicule of all the post-​Soviet states. American pop culture and politics have proven this time and again, for example, Borat, Herman Cain’s “Ubeki-​beki-​ beki-​beki-​stan-​stan” comment during the 2012 US presidential election, the NYTimes’ (non-​satirical) January 2015 story on the (nonexistent) country of “Kyrzbekistan.” As with the Baltic and Caucasus states, there are good reasons to treat the five Central Asian republics as a unit, but it is crucial to recognize the distinct historical, cultural, linguistic, demographic, and economic experiences of each country. The variations in percentages of ethnic Russian and other ethnic minorities in each state, the strength of economic ties with various partners, and the natural resource (energy resource) endowment for each of the five Central Asian republics are of particular importance (see Figure 10.1, Table 10.1, Table 10.2, and Table 10.3). Incorporation into the Russian Empire in the latter nineteenth century (during their incarnation as Tsarist Turkestan)1 in some ways enhanced the cultural distance of the Central Asian states from “Europe,” with increased physical and political proximity reinforcing the difference between them and the “European” metropoles of Russia that claimed to rule them. Two Central Asian cities, Bukhara and Samarkand, were thriving and well-​respected centers of Islamic learning for centuries before the Russian conquest, and the region lacked the indigenous Christian populations that offered kinship (even if of a limited variety) between Russia and the Caucasus. As such, the Central Asian territories were subject to classic forms of colonialism and the mission civilisiatrice by the Tsarist government, functioning to a greater degree than the Caucasus as “Russia’s own Orient.” 317

Language Group & Family Karluk Group, Turkic Family

Religion Islam brought to some parts of region in eighth century when Arabs arrived in Central Asia. Golden Horde reinforces it after adopting Islam in thirteenth century. 90% Muslim (Mostly Sunni). 9% Orthodox. 3% No affiliation.

Political Experience (prior to 1700) Significant influence of Persian empires before Turkic and Mongol conquests. Tamerlane establishes capital at Samarkand in 1370. After fall of Timurids, Uzbek tribes establish influential Khanates of Kokand, Khiva and Bukhara, which all become centers of Islamic culture and learning. They finally fall to Russian Empire in late nineteenth century.

Language Group & Family Kipchak Group, Turkic Family

Religion Islam brought to some parts of region in eighth century when Arabs arrived in Central Asia. Golden Horde reinforces Islam after adopting it in thirteenth century. 83% Muslim (Mostly Sunni). 10% Orthodox. 3% No affiliation.

Political Experience (prior to 1700)

Part of early Turkic and Uighur federations. Later fall to Mongol Empire. Nomadic Kyrgyz resist incorporation until Russian Empire begins to influence region in seventeenth century. Full incorporation into Russian Empire in latter nineteenth century.

Language Group & Family Kipchak Group, Turkic Family

Religion Islam brought to some parts of region in eighth century when Arabs arrived in Central Asia. Golden Horde reinforces it after adopting Islam in thirteenth century. 70% Muslim (Mostly Sunni). 21.9% Orthodox. 2.8% No affiliation.

Figure 10.1  Linguistic, Religious, and Historical Comparison of the Central Asian States

In eighth century, Turkic Federation is formed. In thirteenth century fell under control of Mongol Empire. Kazakh Khanate founded in fifteenth century. Kazakhs maintain nomadic lifestyle. Russians begin to influence region in mid-eighteenth century but Kazkahs not incorporated until later nineteenth century.

Political Experience

Uzbekistan

Kyrgyzstan

Kazakhstan

Political Experience Early Turkic confederations fall under Arab, Persian and Mongol rule at different points. Later, some parts of contemporary Turkmenistan fall under Khanates of Khiva and Bukhara. Incorporated into Russian Empire in late nineteenth century.

Political Experience Part of Persian-speaking Samanid Empire in ninth century. Fell under Mongol rule in thirteenth century, and Turkic rule thereafter. In eighteenth century, some parts fell back under Persian rule, while rest became part of Khanate of Bukhara. Came under Russian control in late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

Religion Islam brought to some parts of region in eighth century when Arabs arrived in Central Asia. Golden Horde reinforces it after adopting Islam in thirteenth century. 90% Muslim (Mostly Sunni). 9% Orthodox. 8% No affiliation.

Language Group & Family Oghuz Group, Turkic Family

Turkmenistan

Religion Islam brought to some parts of region in eighth century when Arabs arrived in Central Asia. Golden Horde reinforces Islam after adopting it in thirteenth century. 96% Muslim (Mostly Sunni). 3% Orthodox.

Language Group & Family Indo-Iranian Group, Indo-European Family

Tajikistan

 

 

Table 10.1 Demographics of the Central Asian States, 1989 and 2014 Titular Titular Russian Russian Ethnic Population Population Population Population (2014) (1989) (2014) (1989)

Other Ethnic Minority (1989)

Other Ethnic Population (2014)

22.60%

13.0%

Kazakhstan

39.60%

65.50%

37.80%

21.50%

Uzbekistan

71%

80.00%

8.30%

5.50%

20%

14.50%

Turkmenistan

72.00%

85.00%

9.40%

4.00%

18.60%

11.00%

Kyrgyzstan

52.30%

72.60%

21.50%

6.40%

26.20%

13.0%

Tajikistan

62.20%

84.30%

7.60%

0.5%

30.20%

15.20%

(Source: CIA Factbook, 2014)

Table 10.2 Trading Partners of the Central Asian States, 2014 Kazakhstan Uzbekistan Exports China (14%) Switzerland (32%) Russia (11%)

Tajikistan

China (78%)

Switzerland (34%)

Turkey (23%)

Kazakhstan (16%)

Kazakhstan (18%)

China (21%) Afghanistan (6.1%)

Netherlands Kazakhstan (8.7%) (12%) France (7.4%)

Turkmenistan Kyrgyzstan

Turkey (6.1%) United Arab Switzerland Emirates (8%) (17%)

Turkey (12%) Italy (1.9%)

Italy (7.2%) Russia (9.7%) Georgia (1.3%) Imports Russia (33%)

Algeria (6.4%)

Turkey (7.4%)

Afghanistan (6.4%)

China (22%) Turkey (33%) China (36%) China (51%)

China (18%) Russia (22%) China (15%) Germany (5.5%)

Uzbekistan (7.4%)

South Korea (13%)

Russia (27%) Russia (21%)

Russia (15%) Kazakhstan (11%)

Kazakhstan (12%)

USA (4.3%) Kazakhstan (9.4%)

Germany (6%) Turkey (4.7%)

Turkey (4.6%)

France (3.8%)

Ukraine (3.1%)

India (0.88%)

Turkey (9.4%)

Germany (1.7%)

(Source: Observatory of Economic Complexity, MIT Media Lab)

 

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Table 10.3 Economic Impact of Petroleum Resources in the Central Asian States, 2014 Kazakhstan

Turkmenistan

Uzbekistan*

Exports 2.7% of the world's crude petroleum

Exports 2.5% of the world's petroleum gas

10% of its exports made up of refined petroleum

Petroleum exports are 61% Petroleum gas is 91% of its of its total exports (11% total exports (78% to China; goes to Russia; roughly less than 5% to Europe) 40% to Europe) *Petroleum Resources < 5% of Total Trade Volume in Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. (Source: Observatory of Economic Complexity, MIT Media Lab)

On the Eurocentric-​ Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG), Central Asia is the terminus of our discussion. As Cooley and Heathershaw put it, “Central Asia is typically viewed in the West as a distant ‘heartland,’ isolated from global influences and processes”—​in other words, as part of the true Orient (2017, 4). The Europeanizing efforts of the Central Asian states general reflect this positioning; despite nearly two centuries of attempts by both the Tsarist and Soviet governments to “Europeanize” the Central Asian parts of their respective empires, the contemporary Central Asian states, with the partial exception of Kazakhstan, are largely uninterested in any aspects of formal Europeanization. The main European gatekeeping actors are equally clear that the Central Asian states in no way represent current or future incarnations of “Europe.” In Central Asia, therefore, we appear to see the assumptions embedded in the EOCG operating as expected, with European gatekeepers seeing Central Asia as distant and foreign (definitely not members of the European neighborhood, let alone as “Eastern Partners”). European institutions have kept their distance from the Central Asian states beyond an instrumental concern for hydrocarbon supplies and stopping terrorism. For their part, Central Asian states approach Europe and European political, economic, and cultural-​civilizational ideals with similar skepticism, keen to foster trade and other relationships with Europe that will enhance their sovereignty and independence, while displaying little interest in otherwise “becoming” European in any meaningful way.2 If post-​Soviet Central Asia is not in anyone’s estimation “European,” then what is it? Cooley and Heathershaw’s groundbreaking work importantly demonstrates that Central Asia’s lack of interest in becoming formally European

 



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in a political, security, or cultural-​civilizational sense, and the fact that many observers in Europe and the United States continue to see the region as a remote bastion of backwardness, corruption, and ignorance, largely “disconnected” from “the modern world” (an errant opinion they call “vulgar localism”), must not prevent us from understanding that contemporary Central Asian regimes are in fact “at the center of world politics,” particularly through their deep connections “to the hidden global financial system of tax havens and shell companies” (2017, 19). Post-​Soviet Central Asian states may be corrupt and authoritarian, but their graft and misrule are aided and abetted by, and very much a part of, a very modern, very globalized network of helping institutions. Of the many post-​Soviet states under study here that have claimed to represent “a bridge between Europe and Asia,” Kazakhstan proves to be the most fully committed to a political strategy based on such a “Eurasian” identity. Kazakhstan also arguably has, besides Russia, the best claim of all the ex-​Soviet states on this type of truly hybrid Euro-​Asian status in historical, geographic, demographic, and, increasingly, in political and cultural-​civilizational terms. Based on other nation-​state models, the other four Central Asian republics have employed a variety of approaches to political development in the post-​Soviet era, but none includes a serious engagement with or desire to emulate European norms or join European institutions. Western states and aid agencies were initially drawn to Kyrgyzstan and its telegenic first president, Askar Akayev, who portrayed the country as “a Central Asian Switzerland.” But Kyrgyzstan quickly devolved into cycles of political corruption and upheaval (with abrupt changes of power in part motivated by political violence in 2005 and 2010)  and ethnic violence (especially between Uzbeks and Kyrgyz in the Osh region in June 2010). Uzbekistan, suffering under the depredations of its long-​standing ruler, Islam Karimov, who became president in 1990 and left office only upon his death in September 2016, has the dubious honor of representing most closely the particular Central Asian spin on Linz and Stepan’s “modern non-​democratic regimes” (1996), which seems to combine elements of neopatrimonialism, sultanism, and what Schatz calls “soft authoritarianism” (2009). Tajikistan’s long civil war (1992–​1997) both delayed development of its own form of post-​Soviet statehood and positioned it firmly in Europe’s collective mind as a “failing state” that required European economic, political, and security aid—​a state that was by no means an equal partner, let alone a future European state (Heathershaw 2011). Turkmenistan’s experiment with a post-​Soviet variant on Stalinist-​type megalomaniacal “cult of personality-​ism,” begun under Saparmurat Niyazov, the self-​proclaimed “father of the Turkmen” (“Turkmenbashi”), has continued under Niyazov’s successor (and former personal dentist) Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov.

 

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If Europe has not shown much interest in any form of integration with Central Asia in the post-​Soviet period, Russia has been keen to keep the region as part of its sphere of influence. Russia has pushed hard for all five republics to participate in the EEU and the CSTO. Three Central Asian states—​Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan—​have, for various reasons and with various degrees of enthusiasm, chosen to accept Russia’s overtures and are firmly integrated into both these institutions, while nevertheless remaining wary of Russia’s potential neo-​imperial pretensions. Uzbekistan has been more skeptical of the Russian-​ led ventures, joining and leaving the CSTO two different times (it was a member from 1994 to 1999 and 2006 to 2012), keeping a firm distance from the notion that it would or should ever join the EEU project. Turkmenistan’s nearly-​autarkic foreign policy means it has never participated in either Russian-​led institution; it has kept its distance from most other international organizations as well. Russia’s chief rivals for the political and economic allegiance of the Central Asian states are China (via both bilateral ties and the SCO), Iran, Turkey, and, in a more limited sense, the EU and the United States. In terms of the Central Asian states’ security relationships, these same players are relevant, though NATO’s influence, small to begin with, has diminished further since its drawdown in Afghanistan. Central Asia’s location amid so many regional and global powers provides these five republics with rich opportunities and also potential hazards, as they each seek to maintain and strengthen their own sovereignty. As such, even the “true Eurasians” (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan), who have chosen to participate in Russia’s Euro-​alternative organizations, seek to balance Russia’s bid for power in the region by fostering economic relations with both European and “Asian” countries, corporations, and donors, as well as through limited participation in some European and international institutions.

Central Asia before the Russian Conquest Historian Scott Levi offers the two “defining features” of the region that we identify today as post-​Soviet Central Asia (2007). First is the sometimes contentious but always symbiotic relationship between the two main cultures of the region, the pastoral-​nomadic peoples of the steppe region (contemporary Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, northeastern Turkmenistan) and the sedentary farmers of the agricultural oases of the southern region (contemporary Uzbekistan and Tajikistan, southern Turkmenistan) (15). Second is “the region’s position at the hub of a vast network of trans-​Eurasian caravan routes that connected virtually all of the classical civilizations of Europe and Asia”—​a geographical feature that remains salient today (18). Europe had its “first close encounter with Central Asian nomads” in the fourth century ce, when a union of steppe tribes centered

 



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in contemporary Kazakhstan, commonly known as the Huns, emerged to prey upon the crumbling eastern Roman Empire (Golden 2011, 33). This meeting with the swift-​moving Huns and their horse-​mounted archers left a lasting memory and a legend “all out of proportion to its actual impact” in Europe. As a result, the Huns became for Europe, as the Mongols would later, “symbols of the ‘unbridled barbarian,’ ” despite the fact that the Hun raids were not actually the decisive factor in the breakdown of the Roman Empire, which was succumbing to its own internal dynamics (Golden 2011, 34). After the breakdown of the Hun confederation in the middle of the fifth century ce, Central Asia saw the rise of the region’s first great Turkic empire, the Turk Khaganate (sixth–​eighth centuries ce), followed rapidly by the Arab conquests inspired by the dawn of Islam (eighth century ce). The ensuing competition added Arab and Islamic factors to the already rich Central Asian cultural and political landscape, marked as it was by the interplay of Turkic, Persian, and Chinese elements. Islam rapidly became the dominant religion among the Persian-​speaking populations of the oases in southern Central Asia. The Samanid dynasty (ninth to eleventh centuries ce) proved to be “patrons of a brilliant revival of Persian literature,” under whom the cities of Bukhara and Samarkand emerged as a center of both trade and Islamic learning (Golden 2011, 66). The Samanids were succeeded by two rival Turkic dynasties, the Karakhanids and Seljuks, which led to a marked “Turkicization” among elite populations inside and outside the oasis areas (Levi 2007, 22). In 1206, a kurultai (council) of nomadic warrior tribes living in what is today northern Mongolia elected as their leader a man named Temujin, who took the title of “Chinggis Khan” or “Universal Leader,” known to most of the western world as Genghis Khan. The impact of the subsequent Mongol conquests across Central Asia (and well beyond, as we have seen) was “so complete that for the next six centuries, the Chinggisid royal family would serve as a sort of Central Asian ruling caste,” where “with few exceptions, one’s right to rule was derived from the ability to trace one’s ancestry back to Chinggis Khan himself ” (Levi 2007, 24). Golden argues that “in reality, nomads were no more bloodthirsty or covetous of silks than their ‘civilized’ neighbors,” yet the thirteenth-​century invasions by the “Devils of the East,” as the Mongols were known in Europe, would reinforce there the impression of Central Asia as a realm of “unbridled barbarianism” (2011, 6). After the conversion of the Chinggisid successor ruler Ozbek to Islam in 1320, “Islam gained a lasting foothold” throughout Central Asia, even among most of the nomadic peoples (Golden 2011, 92).

 

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The Tsarist Era in Central Asia According to historian Adeeb Khalid, for Russia, Central Asia occupied a place in the empire that was “distinct”—​if earlier Russian annexations in the Middle Volga and North Caucasus had “coopted elites and absorbed locals,” Russian policy in what it called Turkestan was “more like British India or French Algeria, wherein the local population remained ‘natives’ regardless of social standing,” and “Russians saw themselves as resolutely European, sharing in the European civilizing mission to which all imperial power pretended” (1999, 15).3 Russia’s “forward policy” into southern Central Asia in the latter nineteenth century was in large part a result of its defeat at the hands of the British in the Crimean War in 1856. The humiliation of the Crimean defeat was partially assuaged by the relatively quick absorption of Central Asia; this “nourished and restored the Russian army’s pride in military conquest,” and meant that military rule in Russian Turkestan would “remain firmly implanted . . . until the very end” (Brower 2003, 20–​21). Russian expansion into Central Asia thus largely “arose out of confrontation with the West, as Russia struggled to rationalize and master the overwhelming sense of inadequacy with which this confrontation left them” (Bassin 1999, 13). Alexander Herzen’s Kolokol claimed that Central Asia provided the perfect opportunity for Russia to live out its “irresistible historical fate and world mission,” which was to “transfer the Enlightenment from Europe to Asia” and to become “ ‘European civilizers’ by carrying ‘creative ideas’ to Central Asia” (quoted in Bassin 1999, 55–​57). In this “imperial periphery,” Russians referred to themselves as “Europeans,” not Russians, in order to better set themselves apart from the region’s indigenous residents (Northrup 2003, 7). Reinforcing the sense of Russian superiority was the great geographic and cultural distance between Russia and Central Asia. Until the advent of railroads, Turkestan was for Russia “so distant and isolated geographically that it might as well have been an overseas colony,” while the “Islamic integrity and intensity of Muslim faith in its core settled areas” also “marked it as part of a very different cultural world” from Russia (Brower 2003, xi). The absence of an indigenous Christian population and the “religious uniformity” of Central Asia made it more like French Algeria than the Caucasus or Crimea, and so the Tsarist government saw Turkestan as more “fanatical” than these other areas of the empire (Brower 2003, 32). This cultural difference did not deter Tsarist officials. They believed “gradual assimilation” of the “half-​wild tribes of Central Asia” was both possible and inevitable, and that, by pursuing this “soft path” toward their “Orientals,” and “not annihilating them like Europe does in its ‘New World’,” Russia would secure “another peaceful and sure victory of human genius over the wild, still unbridled forces of Nature, of civilization over barbarism” (Bassin 1999, 202–​3).4

 



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Russia’s relatively gradualist approach to Turkestan began to change into a more intensively extractive and settler-​based one once rail links with the rest of the empire were completed. Railroads were “the physical manifestation of European preeminence in CA,” allowing the final subjugation of nomads in the Western deserts of Central Asia (Brower 2003, 79–​82). The completion of the line from the Caspian to Samarkand in 1888 was the occasion for a telegram sent from the (Russian-​controlled) Tashkent municipal government that trumpeted that “the vast, virtually impassible steppe lands of the half-​savage nomads are forever united with Europe” and rejoiced that “at last the benefits of European civilization will illuminate the Central Asian Muslim world” (Brower 2003, 82). The construction of the railroad also led to the more intensive settlement of parts of Central Asia, especially what is the northern part of contemporary Kazakhstan, with ethnic Russia and other “European” (mainly Ukrainian) transplants. Brower refers to this as a “foolhardy reversal” of the empire’s previous policy (2003, 126–​27), which had in general “tried not to interfere with the everyday life of Central Asian subjects” (Levi 2007, 30). Significantly, the settler activity was not accompanied by intensive missionary activity on the part of the Orthodox Church. Instead, “Russian authorities approached Islam with far greater caution and hesitation than they did the religions of Orthodox heretics, Uniates, Jews, Animists or Buddhists,” only attempting a “belated and short-​lived attempted to spread Christianity,” mainly among the Kazakh nomads (Geraci and Khodorkovsky 2001, 14).

The Bolshevik Revolution and Soviet Rule in Central Asia The Russian Revolutionary and Civil War era was characterized by an intense “struggle for survival of Europeans versus Turkestanis,” and was a “time of unmitigated suffering” for all (Edgar 2006, 36–​37). Between famine, epidemics, and armed conflict with local Russians, the indigenous rural population of Central Asia is estimated to have decreased 23 percent between 1917 and 1921 (Khalid 1999, 284–​85). After consolidating military and political control of Central Asia (which took until the mid-​1920s in some parts of the region), the Bolsheviks began “the wholesale transformation” of the region “in the image of a political, social, economic and moral order whose inspiration was derived from the history and thought of the modern West” (Becker 1968, 310). As Brower puts it, “an ideology of militant modernity reached Turkestan in the baggage train of the Red Army” (2003, 176). As it did with other non-​Russian parts of the reconstituted empire, the Bolshevik regime decided to simultaneously manage cultural pluralism and strengthen communist rule by instituting a particular form of ethnofederalism,

 

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where the “form” was “national” (actually ethno-​national) but the “content” distributed through these forms would be more “socialist” than ethnic (Slezkine 1994). Given that the populations of Central Asia had never before been organized politically in anything like a modern nation-​state based on distinct ethnic groupings, the 1920s and 1930s were “a mad rush of nation-​building activity” in the region, according to which each of the five new “Soviet Socialist Republics” (which correspond to today’s sovereign states) were given all the elements necessary to create states that were “national, modern, and socialist” (Edgar 2006, 4–​5). The “resulting changes in mental and cultural geography” of the peoples of Central Asia “were as profound as the transformation of the physical landscape” that later came in the 1930s with the forced collectivization of agriculture and sedentarization of the nomadic populations there (Edgar 2006, 42). Soviet Cultural Transformation and Modernization in Central Asia. The Communist Party sought to modernize even the most personal elements of Central Asians’ (and all Soviet citizens’) lives. As historian Douglas Northrup has noted, “ ‘success’ in remaking Uzbeks [and other Central Asians] as modern, civilized citizens [emphasis mine] was thought to flow from the party’s success in transforming the social position, legal rights, and cultural status of Muslim women” (2003, 7). In practice this meant above all forcible unveiling of women (hujum)—​the veiled Central Asian woman “provided Russians with a visible civilizing mission” and served as a “metaphor for the generalized despotism” that the Soviets from the metropole felt characterized the region (Northrup 2003, 37). The Soviet government also sought to counter the “backward” influence of Islam by pursuing forced deconversion. In Soviet Central Asia, being an “atheist Muslim” was “not a contradiction,” because Islam had been so thoroughly “folklorized,” “nationalized,” “emptied of sacrality,” and “rendered amenable to secular bureaucratic management” (Northrup 2003). Tsarist Orientalists like V.  V. Bartol’d helped the Bolsheviks to “establish the superiority of European epistemology over local forms of knowledge” via the founding of educational institutions like the Turkestan Orientological Institute in 1918, which in 1924 became the Oriental Studies Faculty of Tashkent University (Tolz 2011, 160). In a turn of events richly evocative of the way that the EOCG infused both Tsarist and Soviet approaches to Central Asia, Bartol’d convinced the Soviet leadership that the monuments of Islamic architecture and art in Central Asia, particularly in Samarkand and Bukhara, represented the “greatest examples of an ancient civilization in the former Russian empire,” and that the care that the new Soviet Union took to preserve and showcase these antiquities “would be the measurement, in the eyes of the international community, of the Russian and now Soviet governments’ own level of civility” [emphasis mine] (Tolz 2011,162–​63).

 



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The successive traumas of the Stalinist collectivization of agriculture and purges of the 1930s, followed quickly by World War II (during which the multiethnic population of the new Central Asian “national republics” had to sacrifice together to secure victory and survival) helped to “cement a Soviet identity” in the region (Northrup 2003, 350). By the late 1960s, Northrup argues, “the Russians’ self-​styled Europeanizing mission appeared, at long last, to have achieved hegemony among Central Asians themselves,” marking a “true transformation” of the region (Northrup 2003, 351). Pauline Jones Luong agrees that “the Soviet transformation of Central Asia was more complete and more pervasive than many expected,” particularly in terms of how it fostered modern, “European-​style” expectations about a cradle to grave welfare state and the role of women in society ( Jones Luong 2004, 13). Some argue that the transformation of Central Asia was less about “modernization” or “Europeanization” of social life than the institutionalization of the “benign if highly corrupt” Soviet social contract in Central Asia, wherein Moscow demanded political loyalty and raw material deliveries from indigenous Central Asian elites, who in exchange were allowed to “staff their governments and rule their republics largely as they wished” (McGlinchey 2011, 60–​62). More than any other legacy, however, the Soviets bequeathed to the people of Central Asia a sense of “territorialization and systematic ethnicization,” which together worked to “create a vision of the world” and indeed a lived experience of the world, a habitus, that was “not nationalist but simply national” (Roy 2000, ix–​x). By the end of the Soviet period, the eponymous Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, Tajiks, and Turkmen had grown to believe not only that they and their nations existed, but also that those nations rightfully possessed the state entities that they inhabited

European Institutions and Post-​Soviet Central Asia: Distant Partners With the partial exception of Kazakhstan, and despite the fact that both Tsarist and Soviet elites identified their modernization projects specifically as “Europeanizing” and “civilizing” projects, none of the Central Asian republics have demonstrated any real desire or intention to “become European” in the post-​Soviet period. They want to be nation-​states that are “modern,” “strong,” “independent,” and “respected in the international community,” but do not see being “European” as being in any way necessary or intrinsic to achieving these goals. In this regard, they are very much unlike the other post-​Soviet states—​ even Russia, Belarus, and Azerbaijan, which, as we have seen, crave the status of

 

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Europeanness even as they reject contemporary European political and social norms. The Central Asian republics do not. Despite (or because of) rule by two successive Russian-​dominated imperial states bent on “Europeanizing” them, during their first period of true nation-​ state independence, only one of the Central Asian states has shown even minimal interest in pursuing “Europeanness” as a goal. Is this purely a function of geographic distance and indeed geographic determinism? On maps and in common parlance, after all, the region has historically been and in the present is obviously “Asian.” Even with rail and air and wireless connections, the geographic distances between the Central Asian states and any European Union members or even “neighbors” are vast—​being part of the Caspian littoral, particularly its eastern portion, is quite another thing from being part of the Black Sea littoral. (Azerbaijan, which is also a Caspian littoral state, is at least by virtue of geography and cartographic, historical, and political convention considered part of a region that is generally identified with the Black Sea). The qualitatively different culture of Central Asia, “purely” and “intensely” Muslim, as opposed to the mixed Muslim-​Christian region of the Caucasus, might also continue to be an important element in explaining the mutual lack of enthusiasm for identifying Central Asia as “European” in the post-​Soviet period, two centuries of Russian-​inspired “Europeanizing” colonial ventures in the region, including intensive efforts to wipe out Islam, notwithstanding. When we examine the attitude of the EU, NATO, and European cultural institutions toward the Central Asia republics in the post-​communist era, both geographic and cultural factors—​those very factors that characterize the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient—​appear to function as might be expected. The EU views the region through a neocolonial lens wherein Central Asia is a “troubled” and “insecure” region that must be “pacified” so that its valuable energy resources might be more easily exploited, a place from whose pathologies (drugs and Islamic terrorists) Europe needs “protection.” None of the Central Asian states has applied to or received membership in the EBU, though Kazakhstan has been broadcasting the Eurovision song contest since 2010. Significantly, after having spent ten years in the Asian Football Confederation (AFC), in 2002 Kazakhstan applied to transfer its national football association to UEFA—​an application UEFA accepted based on the rationale that some of Kazakhstan’s territory appears on some maps of Europe (­chapter 5). All other Central Asian football teams remain in the AFC. Kazakhstan’s particular geographic and demographic profile (it also has a large minority of citizens who might also be considered “European”) has led it to be treated as a sort of “quasi-​quasi-​European state” by both the political and cultural-​civilizational organizations of “official Europe.” In contrast, the other Central Asian states do not even merit this minimal interest. By mutual assent,

 



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there appears to be very little possibility of pursuing any amount of political or cultural-​civilizational integration between Europe and the four non-​Kazakh Central Asian republics; however, relations between the Central Asian republics and both the Russian-​led and China-​led Euro-​alternative institutions (the EEU, the CSTO, the SCO) are relatively strong. NATO’s approach to post-​Soviet Central Asia has been strongly conditioned by the 2003 commencement of Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan (which continues in a diminished and altered form in Operation Resolute Support as of January 1, 2015). NATO included all five Central Asian states in its Partnership for Peace program from its inception, but only Kazakhstan has “graduated” from that program to the more rigorous IPAP one (which it has balanced by remaining a member of the Russian-​led CSTO organization). The relative mutual disinterest that characterized relations between NATO and the Central Asian states was transformed after the events of 9/​11 into a paradoxical combination of enhanced mutual desire for gain (of flyover and basing rights for NATO, of lucrative rents and supply contracts for the Central Asian states) and enhanced mutual fear (of the Central Asian states becoming centers of Islamic terrorism and drug trafficking for NATO and of closer relations with NATO potentially provoking Russian ire or a loss of sovereignty on the part of the Central Asian states). Political Europeanization in Central Asia:  The EU’s Lack of Engagement. The “overall picture” of the EU’s engagement in post-​Soviet Central Asia is “one of limited to no impact” (Boonstra 2015, 1). Central Asian elites feel that “the EU is barely visible in Central Asia,” and that it is “weak” and ‘easily bought’ ” by corrupt and authoritarian energy providing governments in the region (Peyrouse 2014, 12). It was not until 2007 that the EU even developed a targeted “Central Asia Strategy” (CAS). Until that point, the Central Asian republics were treated much like the other non-​Baltic ex-​Soviet republics; that is, they were first mainly recipients of EU aid under the TACIS program, and then each signed PCA agreements with the EU in the late 1990s. In the early 2000s, however, EU policy toward Central Asia began to deviate from that toward the other ex-​Soviet states that were “further up” the cultural gradient. None of the Central Asian states, despite the ex-​Soviet provenance they shared with Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Moldova, and Ukraine, was considered suitable (geographically, politically, or culturally) for inclusion in the new EU Neighborhood or Eastern Partner programs when they were introduced. Instead, whereas the other ex-​Soviet republics were offered ever-​ closer partnerships with the EU, the Central Asian states were recast mainly in the mold of aid recipients, subjects of the EU’s new Development Cooperation Instrument (DCI), which like the EU’s Central Asia Strategy, was founded in 2007.

 

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This conception of Central Asia as a “troubled” region in need of EU “tutelage” was reflected in other parts of the EU’s 2007 CAS as well. That document noted that the EU was particularly concerned about “security and stability” in Central Asia, especially “increasing trans-​regional challenges” in the region related to Islamic terrorism and war in neighboring Afghanistan and Pakistan, and drug trafficking emanating from the same (EU Commission 2007, 6–​7). The EU was also upfront in its 2007 CAS about its overriding interest in using Central Asian energy resources to increase EU energy security (EU Commission 2007). Shirin Akiner argues that the EU badly miscalculated in treating Central Asia so differently from the rest of the ex-​Soviet republics, arguing that by “continuing to see Central Asia as a zone of underdevelopment and dysfunctionality,” the EU completely missed the fact that the Central Asian states consider themselves strong independent states “that expect and demand to be treated as equals, not ‘junior partners’ ” in a situation of mentorship (2010, 18). Akiner finds “echoes of Dostoevsky’s colonial mindset” in the EU’s approach to Central Asia, finding the EU’s emphasis on development assistance, stability and security, and the exploitation of energy “oddly reminiscent of past imperial ambitions” (Akiner 2010, 26). Adding insult to the injury of the EU’s “hubris” in Central Asia is the fact that the aid it seeks to bestow upon the region in order to bring “order, enlightenment and prosperity” is so paltry, particularly when compared with Chinese investments in economic development of the region (Akiner 2010, 26). The EU has only earmarked about one billion Euros in aid for Central Asia from 2015 to 2022 (about $1.1 billion), while China has pledged $40 billion during the same period (Boonstra 2015, 2). Whereas the amount and type of EU aid strengthens the impression that it only sees Central Asia as a “reserve fuel tank” and seeks only to “stabilize fuel supplies” in the region, China’s aid through institutions such as the Asian Development Bank (ABD), the SCO, and the Silk Road Initiative seeks to establish “a web of physical and cultural ties” between the region and China that “give substance to the concept of a Eurasian space that is shared among equals” and allows the Central Asian states to see themselves “at the centre of a vital, dynamic region” rather than as a pitied and neocolonial region of the world (Akiner 2010, 35). The European Commission has full-​ fledged representation only in Kazakhstan, which is not surprising given that “Kazakhstan is the top priority for most EU member states”—​half of Kazakhstan’s FDI originates in Europe, and 40  percent of its exports (mostly hydrocarbons) go to Europe (Boonstra 2015, 2). Kazakhstan is also the only Central Asian republic to have pursued an “enhanced” PCA with the EU (in 2014), and to explicitly state that it finds inspiration in the “European way” of political and economic life. Kazakhstan’s enhanced interest in relations with the EU and other European political,

 



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security, and cultural-​civilizational organizations seems motivated in equal parts by a desire for stronger economic relations, concerns about domestic politics (reassuring the country’s large Russian and Ukrainian minority), and the Nazarbayev regime’s particular interest in burnishing Kazakhstan’s “prestige and standing” in the international community by any means possible, including associating itself with “Europeanness” as well as “Eurasianness.” “Security” Europe and Post-​Soviet Central Asia:  Relations with NATO. There seems to be an irresistible urge to refer to the security situation of post-​Soviet Central Asia as “a New Great Game,” in reference to the nineteenth-​century Russian-​British rivalry played out in Afghanistan and Turkestan (Dalrymple 2014). The point of this new game is for the five Central Asian republics to preserve and enhance their independence and sovereignty while facing greedy predatory actors both near (Russia and China) and far (NATO). Alexander Cooley finds some utility in referring to the contemporary situation in this way, but notes that while “the big three,” by which he means Russia, China, and the US/​ NATO, do have significant and often discordant interests in Central Asia, rather than engaging in a zero-​sum competition for the region, these three hegemons have rather “formed tactical partnerships,” and even a symbiotic “strategic triangle” in the region, which has allowed each of them to achieve many of their goals simultaneously (2012, 7). Despite the tendency to continue to think of Central Asia as a “persistent peripheral zone,” a mere mouse in the paws of the Great Power cats, the region’s geographically central (if landlocked) location and rich natural resource endowments lend it geopolitical importance (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, xvii). The post-​Soviet Central Asian states are “not just passive pawns in the strategic maneuverings of the great powers,” but rather must be seen as “important actors in their own right” that are “committed to a multidirectional foreign policy” and are fully capable of “playing external powers off one another to extract increased benefits and assistance and better contractual terms” from each (Cooley 2012, 8–​9, 67–​69). Even those that have chosen (if that is the word) to ally more firmly with Russia’s CSTO and the SCO (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan) also try to maintain some ties to NATO to help preserve the semblance of sovereignty, while Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan have thus far managed to enact their declared neutrality by staying free of entangling security alliances with either “the West” or Russia. NATO’s initial approach to the Central Asian republics matched its overtures to the other ex-​Soviet states—​the five republics quickly became members of NATO’s NACC, EAPC, and PFP programs. Central Asia was, however, in the main neglected by both Europe and Russia during the 1990s, until the events of 9/​11 in 2001 quickly elevated the strategic importance of the region. NATO, and its “first among equal members” the United States, moved quickly to gain

 

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footholds in the five republics to help in the execution of Operation Enduring Freedom. Pushing aside concerns about human rights in Uzbekistan, the United States established a “Declaration on Strategic Partnership” with Karimov that included stationing of US Air Force troops at the Karshi-​Khanabad (K2) base in southeast Uzbekistan and, later, accusations that the country was used by the CIA as a site of “black ops” (Cooley 2012, 34). In December 2001, the United States and several other NATO countries started using Manas Airbase near Bishkek in Kyrgyzstan as a staging ground for Operation Enduring Freedom. (Uzbekistan forced NATO from the K2 base in 2005, while in 2009 the Kyrgyz government demanded that the base be renamed a “transit center” and raised the rent it charged the United States threefold. The US lease ran out in July 2014 and Manas is now a civilian airbase again.) Both Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan also allowed NATO travel rights through their territory as part of the Northern Distribution Network established in 2008 to supply the ongoing International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) mission in Afghanistan. Beyond the very substantial basing, provision, and transit fees collected (which in Kyrgyzstan amounted to over $2 billion from 2009 to 2014), the conflict in Afghanistan proved very lucrative in other legal and less legal ways as well (Cooley and Heathershaw 2017, 170–​77). All together, US CENTCOM (the regional US command responsible for Central Asia) established nineteen different programs and other sources of funding for Central Asia’s militaries after 2003, with the US Department of Defense outspending its Department of State threefold in Central Asia in 2007 (Cooley 2012, 41). Very little was required of the Central Asian republics in exchange; none of their troops have served in either the ISAF or Resolute Support Missions, and none (in stark contrast to Georgia and Ukraine) except Kazakhstan even attempted to capitalize on their new importance to NATO in order to demand upgraded or closer military relations with the alliance. As Erica Marat argues, “several years into the Afghan campaign, NATO and the Central Asian states realized that neither part was particularly interested in full-​fledged engagement” (2012, 104). NATO has shown greatly diminished interest in Central Asia after withdrawing the bulk of the ISAF forces in 2014 and replacing them with much smaller Operation Resolute Support in January 2015. Of all the Central Asian states, only Kazakhstan today has “enhanced” (IPAP) relations with NATO (which it balances by being a full member, along with Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, of Russia’s CSTO). The other Central Asian states retain their formal membership in NATO’s PFP program and do participate in anti-​ drug and terrorism programs through NATO, but it is clear that none envision a closer future with NATO. Overall, with the partial exception of Kazakhstan, during the years of Operation Enduring Freedom, “NATO’s presence did not

 



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prompt significant political or economic change” in Central Asia, nor did it “facilitate foreign direct investment or detach Central Asia from Russia’s pervasive influence” (Marat 2012, 109). The Central Asian states have not been invited to, nor have they asked to, embark on the same path of political, security, and cultural-​civilizational Europeanization that even “weaker” Europeanizing states like Belarus and Armenia have. The Central Asian states do not seem to be interested in becoming specifically European nation-​states in the post-​Soviet period, and Europe does not seem interested in having them become European. There seems to be a common agreement that these states are beyond the ken of Europeanness, and that trying to fit them into a European-​style nation-​state model would be neither desirable nor practical. This is the place on the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient where we see the beliefs embedded in that “mental map” functioning exactly as expected—​European gatekeepers do not consider the states at this farthest point on the gradient even potentially European enough to warrant serious attention, and the Central Asian states themselves largely concur. But if Europe is not the model that Central Asian republics seek to emulate as they pursue sovereignty, security, stability, and respect in the post-​Soviet period (in part because that model has not been made open to them in any serious way), then what is?

The Central Asian Variant of the Russian Model:  “Soft” Authoritarian Patrimonialism? In the absence of a strong desire or possibility for Europeanization, the most significant model of nation-​statehood for the Central Asian states appears to be, perhaps unsurprisingly, their neighbor and former hegemon, Russia. The Central Asian regimes clearly do not want to be dominated by Russia as they have been in the past, but they do, like Russia, “see democracy as a threat to their existence,” and instead are “more comfortable with Russia’s model of authoritarian governance” (Boonstra 2015, 2). Russia’s model of authoritarian development under Putin has had “contagious effects” in Central Asia, and they clearly see Putinism as “a functioning alternative to democracy” (Matveeva 2009, 1105). In the absence of alternative forms of political development, such as those adopted to fulfill conditionality requirements for institutions like the EU or NATO, it is not surprising that Central Asian political development is strongly influenced by the “well-​developed set of formal and informal institutions that were created and reinforced by common experiences under Soviet rule” ( Jones Luong 2004, 2). The most important of these are the legacy of “strong man” rule via the position of the first secretary of the Communist Party of the various Central Asian Soviet Socialist Republics, and the proliferation of patronage

 

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networks that developed to allocate scarce resources under the Soviet command economy, networks that overlapped to some degree with pre-​existing regional and clan identities in Central Asia (Collins 2008; Jones Luong 2004; McGlinchey 2011; Schatz 2004). Contemporary ruling elites in Central Asia also “pursue to the utmost the Soviet logic of creating nations and differentiating them from their fellow republics,” jealously guarding their newly achieved independence and sovereignty by encasing it in, “the model of a strong, personalized state that tends towards monolithism” (Roy 2000, xv–​xvi). All the post-​Soviet Central Asian states are authoritarian; the main distinction is between those that are “softer” in their authoritarianism (Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan) and those that are “hard” authoritarians (Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan—​two states that have the distinctly dubious honor of showing up regularly on Freedom House’s “Worst of the Worst” list of the world’s most repressive states). Hard authoritarianism in Central Asia includes total control of the media and both the open and covert use of repression (and torture) against political opponents, while the “soft” authoritarian toolkit in Central Asia includes, according to Edward Schatz, the ability to control both the population and the political debate in the country by less violent means—​the “rationing” of “naked coercion,” less than total information control, and the use of enticements and discursive preemption (2009, 203–​18). The post-​Soviet Central Asian states are also “predatory states” where “private benefits have displaced public goods as the coin of the realm” (Cooley 2012, 25–​27). Patronage politics “remains entrenched throughout the region” of Central Asia, where “economic rents (licenses to exploit) flow from top to bottom, while kickbacks flow from bottom to top” (McGlinchey 2011, 1–​2). As they were in the Soviet days, “state institutions and administrative positions are critical leveraged for personal gain,” while the worth of oil and energy resources in the new market context and the increase in international security engagement have “offered new opportunities for gain” that elites in all the Central Asian states have learned to protect through their new “sophisticated links to the offshore financial sector” (Cooley 2012, 25–​27; Cooley and Heathershaw 2017). All the Central Asian states are “superpresidential” ones, where leaders seek to personify their states via ubiquitous “portraits, slogans, and television appearances,” though “only Nazarbayev in Kazakhstan connects with citizens in any emotional way,” and even he is “no Putin” (Matveeva 2009, 1114). It is no coincidence that all the Central Asian elites are male; as it is in Putin’s Russia, the idea of “personalized authoritarian power held in the mature male over the petulant son” is “central to political authority” in Central Asia (Heathershaw 2012, 619). All the Central Asian states are “highly invested in maintaining and staging the image of the patriarch of the nation” (Heathershaw 2012, 629). National

 



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histories are being rewritten to center around “vividly drawn historical personae, all male and warriors,” and presenting “the spirit of a national defender . . . as an indispensable source of national ideologies” (Marat 2007). Like Russia, the Central Asian states do continue to “perform” democratic practices such as elections, though in Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan in particular, “presidential elections have been reduced to a ritual, sanitized mechanism in which incumbency is systematically translated into irreplaceability” (Anceschi 2015). Political systems in post-​Soviet Central Asia thus bear more than a passing resemblance to the institutions of Putinism in neighboring Russia. Their emulation of Russia’s political forms, however, do not indicate a desire to return to the vassalage that characterized earlier relations between the region and Russia, and the Central Asian states have attempted to balance relations with their former hegemon with ties to China and, a lesser degree, Europe, in order to maintain their sovereignty.

Russia’s Political and Economic Goals in Central Asia: The EEU Russia has “sought regional primacy in the [Central Asian] region as a marker of the great power status it considers central to its foreign policy identity,” and has used its EEU initiative to gain this primacy (Cooley 2012, 51–​52). Since the year 2000, in particular, “Russia has again become a respected power in Central Asia” (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 9). John Heathershaw notes that “both ‘pro’ and ‘anti’ Russian forces assume the ‘elder brother’ role for Russia,” and that this trope “is the most prominent in Central Asian conspiracy theories,” about politics, serving to “normalize and renormalize the role of Russia as part of the post-​ Soviet condition” (2012, 627–​28). Two Central Asian states have already joined Russia’s EEU project—​ Kazakhstan is a founding member of the organization, and Kyrgyzstan joined in 2015. Tajikistan, whose economy is more dependent on remittances from workers in Russia than is any other state, to the tune of 47.2 percent of its GDP in 2012, has completed the first steps toward integration with the EEU, and has no real alternative to further integration into the union (Salimov 2015; Schottenfeld 2015). Kazakhstan “never misses an opportunity to remind others that President Nursultan Nazarbayev was the first to evoke a Eurasian integration approach” (in a speech at Moscow State University in 1994) (Balci and Kassimova 2015). Kazakhstan has nonetheless consistently stressed that the union project be primarily economic and not entail “sovereignty losses or political constraints”; Nazarbayev has always maintained that Kazakhstan will withdraw from the EEU the day it threatens its national interests (Balci and Kassimova 2015). In the

 

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wake of the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2014, Kazakhstan’s skepticism of the EEU increased dramatically (Vieira 2016). Kyrgyzstan has joined the EEU because of its economic and political weakness and isolation—​it has virtually no natural resource income and its main economic activity is as a “resale hub” for Chinese goods. The rapid growth of Chinese economic power in Central Asia has “led the public and elites to believe that renouncing some of its sovereignty to Russia and the EEU is not such a bad alternative to total ‘absorption’ by China” (EurasiaNet January 24, 2015). Kyrgyzstan also derives a large percentage of its economy from remittances from Russia (30 percent), and the country is host to Russian Air Force troops at the Kant military base in the Ysk-​Ata district, elements that conspire to “make Kyrgyzstan a vassal to Moscow against an unfavorable public opinion” (EurasiaNet January 24, 2015; Cooley 2012, 63). Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan occupy stronger positions vis-​à-​v is Russian pressure to join the EEU. Each has vanishingly small Russian minorities (Table 10.1), no Russian military presence, some natural resource-​derived income (substantial, in the Turkmen case) (Table 10.3), and a much smaller percentage of GDP derived from remittances earned in Russia. Russia is not seen as more than a “marginal partner” for either of these two, particularly for Turkmenistan, which “from the start bet on a strategy of diversified foreign economic cooperation,” and which remains “remains the strangest and most isolated and closed autocracy in the region” (EurasiaNet January 24, 2015). The future of the EEU as a viable regional organization and engine of Eurasian economic growth is unclear, particularly after the annexation of Crimea by Russia in 2014 (Roberts and Moshes 2016; Vieira 2016). That event increased what was already a “a profound misunderstanding” between the “Russian architects of the Eurasian Union and their Central Asian member states and potential candidates” (EurasiaNet January 24, 2015). While “being so small and weak” may eventually lead to even Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan joining the EEU, they do so only with considerable “resignation and resistance,” which some analysts feel will “doom the Eurasian Union in the womb” and prevent it from acting in the way that Moscow hopes (EurasiaNet January 24, 2015). With the growth of the EEU, Moscow has “regained an important but not monopolistic economic position in Central Asia.” However, even this leading role and Moscow’s profound importance in “structuring development of the Central Asian hydrocarbon market” does not seem to “be slowing China’s progress” in the region (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 17–​19).

 



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Russia’s versus China’s Security Interests in Central Asia: The CSTO and SCO Both the Moscow-​led CSTO and the Chinese-​led SCO have “become important channels for maintaining national and regional security” in Central Asia, as each of the Central Asian ruling regimes has come to “significantly shape their perceptions of their own vulnerability” according to the norms of these two organizations (Marat 2012, 82). (All but Turkmenistan are members of the SCO, which is not a member of the CSTO either. Uzbekistan was a member of the CSTO and its predecessors from 1992 to 2002 and again from 2006 to 2012; its membership remains “suspended.”) Since the early 1990s, the military and security doctrines of the Central Asian member states have routinely included mentions of the CSTO and SCO being vital for their domestic and regional security, and since the early 2000s, both organizations have conducted annual collective anti-​terror military exercises in Central Asia (Marat 2012, 92–​93). The CSTO in Post-​Soviet Central Asia. The CSTO is “Moscow’s most efficient instrument for retaining the loyalty of the Central Asian regimes,” and in the 1990s, the CSTO was able to largely supplant NATO and its PFP program in the region (Marat 2012, 88–​90). Moscow, via the CSTO and bilaterally, has been and remains “the primary source for military equipment and training for Central Asian states since the breakup of the Soviet Union” (Gorenburg 2013, 1). In contrast with the more heterogeneous SCO, the CSTO “does have a certain dynamism and homogeneity,” given the “common Soviet history and the use of the Russian language,” along with the fact that Russian military education is still “considered prestigious” in Central Asia (Marat 2012, 91). Erica Marat argues that, even before the Arab Spring and Ukraine crisis of 2013–​2014, the CSTO had “reached ideological hegemony” in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan (2012, 103). Those events only increased the appeal of the CSTO for its Central Asian members, as they demonstrated to the Central Asian states the high costs of internal dissent. Not all were persuaded by Moscow’s argument that without the CSTO, post-​Soviet states were under great peril of succumbing to Arab Spring–​type turmoil—​despite blatant attempts of this type to get Turkmenistan to join the CSTO, it has not yet shown any interest in doing so (Blank and Saivets 2012, 10). Uzbekistan, too, has remained cool to the CSTO, actually freezing its membership during the Arab Spring despite Moscow’s warnings of impending chaos. The rise of Islamic State (IS) as a potentially destabilizing threat led Russia to call an April 2015 CSTO meeting in Tajikistan, where it proposed a unified air-​defense system for Central Asia, and also said it would be “bolstering” its military presence in Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan, while also providing increased aid to those countries’ militaries (RFE/​RL April 9, 2015). Moscow has also

 

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used the IS phenomenon as another opportunity to chastise Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan for their reluctance to join the CSO, expressing “great disappointment” in the failure of these states to respond to Russia’s “repeated overtures” to them (EurasiaNet March 19, 2015). The deeper obstacles preventing Russia from regaining the status in Central Asia that it desires are the fact that Russia “remains post-​colonially condescending to Central Asia,” that Russia has no expertise or long-​term vision for its immediate “south,” and that the only status Moscow appears to be able to truly envision for the region is “as a geographic and political appendage” to itself (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 21–​22). Absent the ability to engage the Central Asian states as true sovereign states, Russia may be terminally weakening its own position in the region, condemning itself to a future of being “a power just like any other” in Central Asia (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013). The SCO in Post-​Soviet Central Asia. China repeatedly states that the SCO is not a military organization, and stresses that it is a multilateral, not Chinese-​ dominated, organization. Yet Erica Marat argues that in practice the SCO is actually quite asymmetrical, and that relations within it are more bilateral between individual members and China than they are multilateral (2012, 84–​86). China sees Central Asia both as an arena of opportunity—​to gain help in suppressing Islamic terrorism and Uighur separatism, to secure new and reliable sources of hydrocarbons and other forms of energy—​and of threat—​as a potential source of Islamic terrorism, Uighur separatism, and drug trafficking (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 28–​29). The overwhelming impulse of Central Asian state elites to “focus on regime and state survival” and their “suspicion of international organizations in general” means that the SCO “has remained passive and ineffective at moments of extreme threat” in Central Asia (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 462, 472). Laruelle and Peyrouse concur, arguing that, at least in the realm of security and military cooperation, the SCO remains a “paper tiger” that is “relatively inactive in practice” and “unable to compete with Russian security influence” in the region (2013, 28–​29). Perhaps the most significant aspect of the SCO for Central Asia is the way that it has helped to facilitate direct Chinese investment into the Central Asian states’ infrastructure and economies. In January 2000, China announced a “Great Western Development Drive” that was meant to simultaneously increase China’s presence in its restive Xinjiang Province while also “building a bridge to expand Chinese economic and political influence into Central Asia” (Szadziewski 2009, 211). After the founding of the SCO in 2001, Chinese trade with SCO members skyrocketed; between 2001 and 2005, trade increased 173 percent with Russia, 429  percent with Kazakhstan, 718  percent with Kyrgyzstan, 1067  percent with Uzbekistan, and an impressive 1368 percent with Tajikistan (214). China opened a gas pipeline with Kazakhstan in 2005, and a larger gas pipeline that

 



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links Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan with China in 2009. In 2013, China announced its largest economic initiative in Central Asia to date, the so-​ called Silk Road Economic Belt program, which includes a $40 billion infrastructure investment fund to “increase connectivity” between Central Asia and China (Reuters November 8, 2014).

Islam in Post-​Soviet Central Asia: State Control versus Regional Influences The reopening of Central Asia to the Islamic world in the 1990s coincided with the development of a robust and multifaceted politics of Islam emanating from different points in the Muslim world—​the reverberations of the successful Iranian revolution of 1979, the Saudi-​funded global Wahhabist proselytization campaign begun in the wake of the takeover of the Grand Mosque in Mecca that same year, and the transformation of the mujahedeen movement that had started in Afghanistan into a mobile, cosmopolitan, and globally ambitious terrorist fighting force. The increased visibility and importance of these various forms of Islamism in international politics in the 1990s and 2000s means that Central Asia’s Muslim-​ majority populations are viewed by political leaders both in and outside the region as something deeply threatening that must be tightly controlled and channeled into appropriately benign and politically denuded forms. The fear of violent Islamism manifesting itself in the form of terrorism or insurgency, and the subsequent application of state force to prevent its emergence, is a prominent characteristic of politics in all five of the Central Asian republics. The Central Asian states have staunch support from all the major global powers for this approach: Russia’s scorched-​earth tactics against Chechen and other Caucasian Islamist militants have served as an example for Central Asian leaders, who also eagerly accept Russian funding and intelligence as they fight their own “Wahhabis.”5 China’s fear of violent insurgency in its own Muslim Xinjiang region leads it to support Central Asian leaders’ hardline approach to Islamism, and of course the United States and NATO’s own campaigns against al-​Qaeda, the Taliban, and now Islamic State mean that they too have enabled Central Asia’s political and military elites in their continual campaign against Islamic extremism. In terms of cultural and civilizational influence, the contemporary Islamic world does not seem an attractive one for Central Asian elites and the vast majority of their citizens: “the main reference point” for contemporary Central Asia is not the Islamic world, but Russia, “whose cultural models they copy and to which hundreds of thousands of Uzbeks, Kyrgyz and Tajiks emigrate” every year

 

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(Falkowski and Strachota 2010, 50). Unlike the “exotic and risky models used in the Islamic world,” Russia’s civilizational model, “with all its weaknesses and inconveniences,” is seen in Central Asia as functional, understandable and reliable (Falkowski and Strachota 2010). As we shall see in the case studies later, the partial exception to this rule is the nominally Muslim but practically ultra-​ secularist and capitalist emirate city of Dubai. The rapid rise of IS and its supporters throughout the Middle East and Afghanistan and Pakistan has rekindled fears that violent Islamism will emerge in post-​Soviet Central Asia as well. A January 2015 report by the International Crisis Group estimated that between 2,000 and 4,000 citizens of the five Central Asian republics have left their homes to join the IS, suggesting that they are motivated by “the unfulfilled desire for political and social change” in their states and that they consider IS to be “the creator of a novel and ordained political order,” one that will leave them feeling less “frustrated and excluded” than current Central Asian political regimes do (International Crisis Group 2015, 2).

Case Study: Kazakhstan—​The Truest Eurasian State? As of this writing in late 2018, Nursultan Nazarbayev is the only post-​Soviet leader Kazakhstan has known. He was re-​elected to the Kazakh presidency in April 2015, just two months shy of his seventy-​fifth birthday. As has become the tradition with Nazarbayev re-​elections, he won over 97 percent of the vote with a voter turnout rate of over 95 percent (RFE/​RL April 26, 2015). Under its strong and singular leader, Kazakhstan has followed a strong and singular policy of true Eurasianism. Nazarbayev has “gone to great lengths to present Kazakhstan as the geopolitical crossroads of multiple identities and interests,” an identity that is partially supported by the country’s historical experience (Cooley 2012, 9) (Figure 10.2). In practice this means claiming co-​leadership status with Russia in the EEU and CSTO, while simultaneously drawing closer to European cultural-​civilizational, political, and security organizations than any other Central Asian republic (but stopping far short of seeking full membership in either the EU or NATO). (See Figure 10.2.) Kazakhstan has also cultivated strong ties to powers in the “Asian” world as well, including China, through its participation in the SCO, and the Islamic world through the OIC. Kazakhstan offers itself as the “Road to Europe” for China and claims at least some space for Kazakhstan in Europe’s cultural-​ civilizational sphere (switching from the Asian Football Confederation to UEFA in 2002, playing in the KHL, broadcasting Eurovision and pondering

 



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Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Kazakhstan

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Muslim (70%)

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol

Geographic Location: Western parts appear on some maps of Europe.

Geographic Location: East

Historical Experience: No direct participation in European Renaissance/ Reformation/Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Loyalty and Modernity transforming into Captivity and Colonization

Figure 10.2  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Kazakhstan

membership in the EBU) (Figure 10.3). Yet Nazarbayev also openly emulates Asian states like Singapore and Malaysia and has sought a place for Kazakhstan among these “Asian tigers”—​he has referred to Kazakhstan as “the Asian Snow Leopard” (Koppen 2013, 602).

 

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Kazakhstan: Cultural-civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Weak

Moderate

National Identity Narratives: Strong narrative of Kazakhstan as “Road to Europe.”

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly Eurasian and focused on Turkic, nomadic, shamanistic heritage of Kazakhs.

Cultural Europeanization: Not an EBU member, but does broadcast Eurovision contest and has inquired about future EBU membership.

Sport: Became UEFA member in 2002 after 10 years in Asian Football Confederation. Has one team in the Kontinental Hockey League (KHL).

Figure 10.3  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Kazakhstan

Cultural-​Civilizational Developments in Kazakhstan since 1989: The Truest Eurasian State? Nazarbayev has identified himself personally with the idea of Kazakhstan as a unique, Eurasian power, vowing to “develop the idea of Eurasianism, which has, I am convinced, a strategic future” (Schatz 2004, 76–​77). Kazakhstan has invested significant resources in the form of mass media campaigns, commemorative books, conferences, and public events both at home and abroad, all aimed at establishing the country as the world’s “geopolitical crossroads,” sitting “In the Heart of Eurasia”—​Nazarbayev published a book by this title in 2005 (Marat 2009, 1125–​28). Perhaps the most impressive action that Nazarbayev has taken on behalf of the Eurasianist identity project is the decision to move Kazakhstan’s

 



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capital from Almaty, in the country’s far southeast corner, to Astana, in the north-​central region. (See Figure 10.3.) The decision to move Kazakhstan’s capital city to Astana was “thoroughly calculated both geopolitically and economically” (Koch 2013, 138). Moving the capital closer to the majority-​ethnic Russian regions of the north allowed Nazarbayev to express concretely his oft-​repeated commitment to the “multicultural people of Kazakhstan,” but it also allowed him to symbolically “reclaim” the north from the Russian-​Soviet heritage, while at the same time using the huge building projects involved in creating the new capital to restructure patronage networks in his favor and to reform public sector institutions in ways that allowed them to access huge sums of money from international organizations (Schatz 2004, 124). The geographic symbolism of Astana’s more northern and central locale is immense—​if Kazakhstan is the heart of Eurasia, and Astana is the heart of Kazakhstan, Astana is thus rendered the truest center of Eurasia, and is often referred to as such (Koch 2013, 134). The Nazarbayev regime has made the Eurasianist intentions of the Astana project quite clear. The official presentation of the new capital city to the world in June 1998 exhibited central features of the Eurasianist doctrine, including paeans to the “eternal friendship” of the Kazakh and Russian peoples and the importance of the city being home to the Kazakh, Russian, and English languages (Schatz 2004, 76–​77). Nazarbayev’s speech at the inauguration of the new capital city had references from the “European” Herodotus and as well as the ancient Turkic leaders Tauke and Abylai (Marat 2009, 1129–​31). The architecture of Astana has been described as “neo-​Kazakh Eurasian”; designs of major public buildings contain “oriental and Islamic architectural motifs” such as a blue-​white color scheme, use of tile, and pointed arches (Koppen 2013, 598–​600). Other public monuments and buildings reference the Kazakh yurt and traditional Kazakh headwear, and overall the intended effect of the city is to represent “the harmonious co-​existence of eastern and western cultures” while also being “international and cutting-​edge” (Koppen 2013, 596–​97). While the city of Astana is a concrete embodiment of the Eurasianist blend of cultures that characterize the multiethnic population of Kazakhstan, other domestic nation-​building efforts in the country highlight exclusively the Turkic and shamanistic (Tengrist) aspects of the nomadic Kazakh past, particularly by celebrating those “proto-​Kazakh” Turkic warriors (batyrs) who defeated the Mongol invaders in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries (Isaacs 2015, 404–​8). Kazakhstan’s new and flourishing film industry produces works that are thematically and geographically tied to the Kazakhs’ nomadic, steppe history, and makes no attempt to connect with Europe or establish any type of “Europeanness” in the Kazakh ethnogenesis or history.

 

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Nazarbayev: The Eurasian Patriarch. Nazarbayev is heavily invested in his self-​ identification as the progenitor and champion of Kazakhstan’s Eurasianist identity; if Kazakhstan is at the heart of Eurasia, and Astana is the heart of Kazakhstan, then Nazarbayev’s presidential palace, the Akorda (the White Horde), is the heart of Astana and the body politic. During his long tenure, Nazarbayev has skillfully established a “cohesive and devoted support base” among the country’s political and economic elite (Kendall-​Taylor 2011, 54), and has been equally adept at using the country’s “stunning oil wealth” to “maintain the Soviet social contract while ensuring the continued passivity of the Kazakh population” (McGlinchey 2011, xi). From his well-​entrenched perch, Nazarbayev has moved to imbue the Eurasianist ideology with real political substance, proving to be the “most skillful” of all the Central Asian rulers at “playing the Great Powers off one another” in ways that simultaneously strengthen Kazakhstan’s independence and sovereignty while enriching him and his clients (Cooley 2012, 9).

Political Development in Kazakhstan since 1989 Given their relative weakness and the competing pressures from regional hegemons Europe, Russia, and China, it is not surprising then, that all the Central Asian republics have pledged to follow a neutral, balanced course in international politics. However, Kazakhstan is “the only Central Asian state to have succeeded in implementing a positive, multi-​vectored policy”; it has done so by “building links in multiple directions,” but also by “openly displaying the hierarchy of its priorities”—​Russia is first, China is second, with the West (the EU and United States) coming in third (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 6). The “optimal balance” for Kazakhstan seems to be a policy where cooperation with Russia via the EEU and CSTO and with China via bilateral economic ties and the SCO play “an overall indispensable role,” while cooperation with the EU and the United States is targeted to specific, narrow issue areas that are either lucrative or instrumental in some other way (Marat 2012, 68–​69). (See Figure 10.4.) Kazakhstan and the EU. Kazakhstan’s early relations with the EU were not all that different from those the EU had with the other Central Asian states, nor, for that matter, the relations it had with any of the non-​Baltic republics. Kazakhstan signed a PCA with the EU in 1999, and ensuing decade, however, Kazakhstan’s oil sector, which had been privatized and opened to foreign investment, grew rapidly, and economic relations with the EU likewise burgeoned ( Jones Luong and Weinthal 2010) (see Table 10.3). On the strength of these growing economic (mainly energy) ties, in 2009 Kazakhstan developed the “Road to Europe” program as a centerpiece of its Eurasianist strategy. The program aims to increase cooperation with Europe in the technology, energy, and transport sectors, and to

 



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Kazakhstan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: Not a member of the Eastern Partnership; does have a PCA with the EU (only Central Asian state that does).

Council of Europe: Not a member of CoE. CoE has “agreed to consider the possibility of observer status” for Kazakhstan. Only CA state to pursue observer status in CoE.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Full-fledged, active member of the CIS FTA and the EEU.

Figure 10.4  Political Europeanization in Kazakhstan

transform Kazakhstan into one of the main communication hubs between Asia and Europe (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 70). Kazakhstan’s approach to the EU is strategic and limited in its aims to increasing energy and economic ties. The EU is now Kazakhstan’s leading trade partner, with about 40 percent of exports going to countries in the EU, and there is a mutual interest in strengthening these ties by replacing the 1999 PCA with a “new and enhanced” version (Tsertsvadze and Axyonova 2013, 1–​2) (see Table 10.2). However, the EU is reluctant to offer “enhanced relations” to a country with the high authoritarian and low democratic ratings that Kazakhstan regularly receives from organizations like Freedom House. The European Parliament has pressured the EU not to proceed with a new PCA for Kazakhstan “unless real political reforms occur there” and only if it contains a clause about suspending

 

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the agreement “in case of gross human rights abuses” (Tsertsvadze and Axyonova 2013, 3). Kazakhstan in the CIS and EEU. Another factor impeding progress between the EU and Kazakhstan on a new PCA and the enhanced economic cooperation it would bring is the fact that Kazakhstan is already a full and founding member of a different, and rival, economic association, Russia’s EEU. From the very moment of the collapse of the USSR, Kazakhstan has been a part of Hale’s “integrationist core” of the CIS and other post-​Soviet regional projects (2006, 196). Nazarbayev’s Eurasianist ideological and identity project has been most consistently embodied in his country’s steadfast support of Russia’s Eurasianist projects, including the Customs Union–​turned–​EEU and the CIS Security Treaty–​turned–​CSTO. In this regard, Kazakhstan is like Belarus; both states are fundamentally committed to preserving and exploiting Soviet-​era economic and social ties, a policy they consider both realistic (in the realpolitik sense) and, perhaps, unavoidable. Nazarbayev has rationalized Kazakhstan’s membership in the EEU by arguing that the organization “is not at all like USSR,” and asserted that it “would be complete nonsense to equate them or to say Kazakhstan will lose independence by joining it” (RAD #165, March 17, 2015, 7–​10; RFE/​RL September 1, 2014). Nazarbayev makes clear that Kazakhstan considers the EEU to be a “purely an economic project,” and membership in it merely “a choice that can be reversed if a treaty is not fulfilled or Kazakhstan’s interests and independence are threatened” by Russia or other members (RAD #165, March 17, 2015, 7–​10). Russian president Putin’s comments in August 2014 that “Kazakhstan has never really had statehood,” coming as they did so soon after Russia’s annexation of Crimea and incursion into eastern Ukraine, and which some interpreted as a veiled threat to Kazakhstan’s sovereignty, certainly cast doubt on whether or not Russia sees the EEU and Kazakhstan’s role in it the same way Nazarbayev does (EurasiaNet August 30, 2014). Nazarbayev’s regime responded to Russia’s provocative dismissal of Kazakhstan’s statehood with ideological and legal measures aimed at defending and strengthening that statehood. In spring 2015, Kazakhstan added an article to its penal code that made threatening the state’s territorial integrity or calling for secessionism (presumably in the ethnic-​Russian dominated north of the country) punishable by ten years in prison. The procedure for granting citizenship to repatriated Kazakhs was also streamlined (RAD #165, March 17, 2015, 8).

 



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Security Development in Kazakhstan since 1989 Kazakhstan’s security policy in the post-​Soviet era demonstrates the competing imperatives facing it—​its deep desire to maintain sovereignty and autonomy on the one hand, and the fact that it seems to believe that it has no alternative to full integration into Russia’s CSTO organization on the other hand (see Figure 10.5). As in the political realm, Kazakhstan’s security policy has aimed to balance its primary allegiance to the CSTO with some cooperation with NATO, including the pursuit of an IPAP and granting of transit rights to NATO during its withdrawal from Afghanistan. At the same time, Kazakhstan has openly rejected any idea of ever joining NATO or allowing NATO troops in the country, and,

Kazakhstan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP and IPAP. Has never voiced desire for membership in NATO.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE. Chaired OSCE in 2010.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Founding member of CIS CST and CSTO. Strong bilateral military relations with Russia. Founding member of SCO.

Figure 10.5  Security Europeanization in Kazakhstan

 

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perhaps more important, has sought a leadership role in the more purely multilateral SCO (Marat 2009, 110). Indeed, in 2015 Kazakhstan hosted the first joint military exercises that involve troops from CSTO, NATO, and SCO countries (the wonderfully named “Steppe Eagle”), described as “a military parallel to the country’s oft proclaimed ‘multi-​vector’ foreign policy” (EDM Vol. 12, #68, April 13, 2105).

Case Study: Kyrgyzstan—​From the “Switzerland of Central Asia” to Object of European Pity For a short time during the 1990s, the combination of Kyrgyzstan’s mountain scenery and its affable physicist president Askar Akayev led to aspirational descriptions of the republic as the future “Switzerland of Central Asia,” despite the near-​total lack of any indicators of intrinsic Europeanness in the republic (see Figure 10.6). In reality, even under Akayev, Kyrgyzstan’s outreach to the West was more about “performing democracy” in order to receive development aid than it was about creating a truly “European-​style” political, economic, or social system (Heathershaw 2012, 628). Throughout the 1990s, Akayev skillfully used a combination of rhetoric about reform and the precariousness of the Kyrgyz state to “maintain foreign engagement” and “extract economic and political benefits” from the international donor community, including Europe (Cooley 2012, 11). Instead of using that development largesse to actually build a “Western-​style” system in Kyrgyzstan, Akayev placed his family and friends in the position to expropriate this aid, as his own leadership style became more and more authoritarian and corrupt (Cummings 2013, 612; McGlinchey 2011; Radnitz 2010). Whatever façade of Western-​leaning reformism the Akayev regime once had was long gone by the time he was ousted in the “Tulip Revolution” of 2005. Akayev’s successor, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, would also be removed by extra-​ constitutional means in 2010. These executive turnovers provide such a contrast with the moribund presidencies for life in the other Central Asian republics that some have interpreted them not as the markers of state weakness and instability that they are, but rather as evidence of democratic development or democratic potential. The real roots of the executive turnovers in 2005 and 2010 are in the all-​too-​recognizable Central Asian combination of “neopatrimonial rule, elite control of resources, and oppressive tactics” that characterized both the Akayev and Bakiyev regimes (Temirkulov 2010, 589), while the agents of political change in Kyrgyzstan were less Swiss-​style democrats than “stick and steel-​rod wielding flash mobs” (McGlinchey 2011, 112–​13).

 



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Factors of IntriFactors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Kyrgyzstan

High

Low

Medium

Religion: Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol

Geographic Location: East/South; Does not appear on any maps of Europe.

Historical Experience: No direct participation in European Renaissance/ Reformation/Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Loyalty and Modernity

Figure 10.6  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Kyrgyzstan

Cultural-​Civilizational Developments in Kyrgyzstan since 1989 Nation-​building and cultural policy in post-​Soviet Kyrgyzstan reflect a number of sometimes contradictory impulses, none of which attempts to make any type of claim to cultural-​civilizational Europeanness for the republic (see Figure 10.7). Instead, Kyrgyzstan’s national-​political cultural is crafted from the following elements: a prominent strand of Kyrgyz nationalism, centered strongly on the Manas, an epic oral poem that has been promoted as the fount of Kyrgyz

 

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Kyrgyzstan: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Weak

Moderate

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly focused on Turkic, nomadic, shamanistic heritage of Kyrgyz.

Cultural Europeanization: Not a member of EBU. Does not broadcast Eurovision.

Sport: Member of the Asian Football Confederation.

Figure 10.7  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan

ethnic and national history and wisdom; a neo-​Soviet form of “internationalism” that stresses Kyrgyzstan’s commitment to ethnic tolerance and peace domestically and with all nations; a national-​cultural form of Islam that strongly rejects “foreign” elements such as the politicization of Islam; and respect for Kyrgyzstan’s pre-​Islamic and nomadic past, namely a renewed interest in the shamanist practices and beliefs of Tengrism (Cummings 2013, 612; Murzakulova and Schoeberlein 2009, 1236–​37). Kyrgyzstan’s leaders have been more willing than those of some other post-​ Soviet states to acknowledge the profound impact the Soviet period had on their country’s political development. Sally Cummings argues that the two truly hegemonic elements of the post-​Soviet Kyrgyz political culture are a reverence for the Soviet past, embodied by the statues of Lenin that still stand in the republic

 



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and remembered as a source of “international and universal values” such as tolerance and peace, and the Manas epic, which is said to contain similarly edifying and respectable Kyrgyz national values and principles (2013, 612, 617–​18).

Political Development in Kazakhstan since 1989:  “No Alternative” to the EEU In May 2015, Kyrgyzstan acceded to the EEU, though the occasion was not welcomed with a great deal of enthusiasm in the country. When discussing his state’s intention to join the Russian-​led project in November 2014, Kyrgyz prime minister Djoomart Otorbaev sounded resigned and defensive, arguing that Kyrgyzstan had “no alternative” to joining the EEU and asking, “With whom else are we going to trade? I don’t know. The US is not here. Europe neither. China is very aggressively importing things. If someone would advise us differently, I would be more than happy to hear them” (EurasiaNet November 17, 2014). Economic logic thus seems to have been paramount in Kyrgyzstan’s decision; the country remains desperately poor, largely reliant on remittances from workers in Russia and entirely reliant on Russia to help supply its gas needs (Gazprom purchased KyrgyzGas for the symbolic amount of $1 in 2013 in exchange for a $600 million investment in the modernization of the country’s gas infrastructure) (RAD, #165, March 17, 2015, 11). In exchange for Kyrgyzstan’s membership in the EEU, Russia also promised to ease travel for Kyrgyzstan’s migrant workers, to invest over $1 billion in industrial development in the republic, and $170  million in direct aid and debt relief (RAD, #165, March 17, 2015). (See Figure 10.8.) Unlike Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan has never made cooperation with Europe a priority, nor has it tried to sell itself as a “Road to Europe.” Kyrgyz leaders have a cordial relationship with both the EU and the CoE, and, as discussed earlier, Kyrgyzstan has been the recipient of significant humanitarian aid from the former. Kyrgyzstan participates in some of the EU’s Central Asia initiatives but has shown no particular enthusiasm for closer relations with it.

Security Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan:  Firmly in the Orbit of the CSTO Like the other post-​ Soviet states, Kyrgyzstan would prefer to remain independent—​the country’s 2002–​2010 Security Doctrine hopefully stated that it would collaborate with both the CSTO and NATO (Marat 2010, 71). In practice, however, Kyrgyzstan’s cooperation is firmly weighted toward the CSTO side.

 

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Kyrgyzstan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: No PCA with EU. Not a member of Eastern Partnership (not invited).

Council of Europe: Not a member of CoE. Does participate in CoE's Venice Commission.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Full-fledged, active member of the CIS and the EEU.

Figure 10.8  Political Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan joined the NATO PFP program in 1994, and, as discussed earlier, agreed to lease the Manas Air Base to the United States for NATO and ISAF use during the Afghan war. The lease of Manas was lucrative for both the Akayev and Bakiyev administrations (indeed, the misuse of these funds by the presidents contributed to their deep unpopularity and eventual removal), but the controversial presence of ISAF troops in Kyrgyzstan became even more unpopular when a US serviceman killed an ethnic Kyrgyz civilian employed at Manas in December 2006. That incident, combined with the impact of the 2008 financial crisis on the already weak Kyrgyz economy and the fact that most political and economic elites remained “vehement supporters” of the CIS and CSTO, led to growing opposition to the Manas lease both domestically and from Russia, and the lease was terminated in 2014 (Marat 2010, 110–​11). (See Figure 10.9.)

 



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Kyrgyzstan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP. Leased Manas Air Base to US/NATO 2001–2014.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE but sometimes obstructionist within it.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Founding member of CIS, CST, and CSTO. Strong bilateral military relations with Russia. Founding member of SCO.

Figure 10.9  Security Europeanization in Kyrgyzstan

Kyrgyzstan, like Kazakhstan and Belarus, is described by Hale as being part of the “integrationist core” of the CIS (2006, 196). Kyrgyzstan was a founding signatory of both the CIS Collective Security Treaty and the CSTO, and fully participates in all CSTO activities. The country hosts a Russian air force base in the city of Kant, which has recently been upgraded and reinforced, and the Russian navy has a test site at Lake Issyk Kul in Kazakhstan. In 2012, Russia’s military lease at Kant was extended by fifteen years in exchange for the forgiveness of $500 million in debt and the promise of a $1.1 billion program of bilateral military aid to Kyrgyzstan (Guardian, September 18, 2014). These moves, coupled with the eviction of the ISAF forces from Manas, led analyst Alexei Malashenko to assert that Kyrgyzstan is “more controlled by Moscow than

 

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other Central Asian states,” and that the country lacks any security alternatives to Russian hegemony (Guardian, September 18, 2014). Kyrgyzstan’s leaders do what they can to balance this overweening Russian security influence. The country remains an active member of the SCO, and “all things Chinese” remain in fashion in Kyrgyz society, including the “thousands of scholarships” that China awards yearly to Kyrgyz civil servants to study in China (Laruelle and Peyrouse 2013, 39). Kyrgyzstan also continues its relationship with NATO, celebrating the twentieth anniversary of its membership in the NATO PFP in 2014 and beginning a small-​scale English-​language training program for military personnel under NATO auspices in 2015. Yet given Kyrgyzstan’s overweening dependence on Russian economic, energy, and military aid, it might have been little more than wishful thinking when Kyrgyz president Almazbek Atambayev mused in July 2015 that while Russia did indeed have a long-​term lease on the Kant and other military installations in the country, “sooner or later we will have to defend ourselves, and not rely on the bases of brotherly friendly countries” (EurasiaNet, July 27, 2015).

Case Study: Uzbekistan—​The “Model” Central Asian State? Long-​serving Uzbekistan president Islam Karimov (in power from 1991 until his death in September 2016) was “unique among his peers” in terms of efforts to “formulate and transmit an ideology of national independence” to legitimate both the post-​Soviet Uzbek state and his own regime (Adams 2010, 4). Karimov used repression and violence against his own people to achieve this goal in more extreme ways than any other Central Asian leader, which is an ignoble distinction to be sure. To an extent matched only by his counterpart in Turkmenistan, Sapamurat Niyazov, Islam Karimov backed up the rhetorical commitment to his state’s post-​Soviet independence with a demonstrated unwillingness to embrace either the Russian-​led Euro-​alternative institutions or European institutions. Uzbekistan is part of the CIS and the CIS’s Free Trade Area, but it has not joined the EEU nor signaled any intention to, and it has only fitfully participated in the CSTO, first from 1994 to 1999 and then again from 2006 to 2012. The country has limited relations with both the EU and NATO, and what ties there are with NATO are instrumental rather than developmental and are closely tied to the ISAF mission (though the US military has provided limited special forces training to Uzbek troops coincident with Uzbek participation in the Northern Distribution Network) (EurasiaNet March 28, 2017).

 



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If Kazakhstan seeks to rival Russia as a Eurasian leader by promoting its own position in Russia’s Eurasian institutions, and Kyrgyzstan’s and Tajikistan’s weakness leaves them little alternative but to fall in line with Russia’s Euro-​alternative ventures, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan have attempted to remain more truly independent of both Russia and Europe as they navigate the post-​Soviet era. The country’s military and demographic strength, and lack of any real elements of “intrinsic Europeanness,” might help to explain the attempt to pursue a truly independent path. (See Figure 10.10.)

Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Uzbekistan

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol

Geographic Location: East/South; Does not appear on any maps of Europe.

Historical Experience: No direct participation in European Renaissance/ Reformation/Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Loyalty and Modernity

Figure 10.10  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Uzbekistan

 

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Unfortunately for Uzbekistan’s citizens, if it stands among the most “independent” of post-​Soviet states regarding its relationship with both Europe and Russia, the country also “unwaveringly ranks as the most autocratic of Central Asian states” (McGlinchey 2011, 4–​5). Karimov’s regime was accused of the most horrific forms of human rights abuses, including boiling regime opponents and prisoners alive, and as many as 1,000 people protesting the arrest of local businessmen in the Andijan region of Uzbekistan were killed by government troops in May 2005 (Human Rights Watch 2006). It is clear, then, that at least to some extent, the mutual distaste between Europe and Uzbekistan in the post-​ Soviet era, which has at times been overlooked in the name of mutual economic or security gains, is motivated by Uzbekistan’s desire not to be held accountable for its continual and flagrant flaunting of European political and human rights norms.

Cultural-​Civilizational Developments in Uzbekistan since 1989: Connecting Old Strongmen to New Ones According to Laura Adams, “Uzbekistan, like Assad’s Syria, Hussein’s Iraq and Kim’s North Korea, took the political uses of culture to an extreme” and became what she calls “a spectacle state” (2010, 4). Any interest in identifying Uzbekistan as a European or even potentially European state is completely absent from the political culture being conveyed through these spectacles. Rather, we see the familiar attempt to link Uzbekistan’s “gloried past” with its promising future. (See Figure 10.11.) In Uzbekistan’s case, this has meant claiming for ethnic Uzbeks alone the mantle of the great Amir Tamur (Tamerlane), “usurping” the glories of the Timurid period, which could rightfully be claimed by any Central Asian state, exclusively “under the Uzbek national banner, in order to construct a symbolic image of cultural superiority among its regional neighbors” (Marat 2007). Adams describes how Karimov used the cult of Amur Timur, the past leader of the Uzbek people, as a proxy meant to illuminate his own greatness as their contemporary leader, observing that this marked his rule as more sophisticated than the cult of self-​personality engineered by Niyazov in neighboring Tajikistan (2010, 40). Karimov routinely exhorted Uzbeks to “learn from and assimilate the military arts of our great ancestors, such as Amir Timur, Babur and others . . . physically and morally strong patriots who have mastered the values of our nation” (Marat 2007). Uzbekistan’s post-​Soviet national ideology also contains a strand of “postcolonial civic nationalism,” celebrating anodyne norms such as friendship, peace,

 



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Uzbekistan: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly focused on Turkic, nomadic heritage of Uzbeks as embodied by Amir Timur (Tamerlane).

Cultural Europeanization: Not a member of EBU. Does not broadcast Eurovision.

Sport: Member of the Asian Football Confederation.

Figure 10.11  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Uzbekistan

tolerance, and progress, which reflects Uzbekistan’s desire to be taken seriously in the international arena as a modern, independent state, and is informed by both the “legacies of Soviet internationalism and the pressures of international norms” (Adams 2010 104–​6). Uzbek embassies in the United States and Europe disseminate this nebulous “internationalist” idea of Uzbekistan as a “cultural gem,” and a “crossroads of civilization,” holding events such as fashion shows featuring both traditional and modern Uzbek fashion, celebrations of the ancient Persian Navruz spring holiday, and festivals of Uzbek cuisine (Marat 2009, 1125–​31).

 

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Political Development in Uzbekistan since 1989: Open Authoritarianism Uzbekistan has neither the “great Eurasian power” pretensions of Kazakhstan (nor that country’s large Slavic minority), and while poor, does not view itself and is not viewed by European gatekeepers as the “basket case in desperate need of aid” in the same way that Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan have been. Uzbekistan’s flagrant human rights abuses and unwavering authoritarianism have instead made it the target of frequent criticism from the EU. In this respect it is often compared with Belarus, though Uzbekistan’s more distant geographic location and lack of intrinsic Europeanness mean that while Belarus’s democratic shortcomings are seen as a disappointing failure to live up to its intrinsic or potential Europeanness, Uzbekistan’s autocratic excesses are treated as a regrettable, but understandable, aspect of its fundamental otherness. Hence while Belarus is actively exhorted by the EU to complete the reforms necessary to fulfill its European vocation, relations with Uzbekistan are distant and weak. (See Figure 10.12.) Uzbekistan did not sign a PCA with the EU until 1999, a full five years after most of the other post-​Soviet republics had done so. The country participates in the EU’s Central Asian ventures and receives small amounts of EU development aid. Uzbekistan’s lack of substantial energy resources to sell to Europe, coupled with its open brutality against opposition activists and even regular citizens, means that when Uzbekistan is the topic of EU consideration, it is as a target of criticism and sanction, as it was in the wake of the Andijan massacre of 2005.

Security Development in Uzbekistan since 1989: Instrumental Relations with NATO Uzbekistan’s foreign policy seems to have two goals: to make the country the security hegemon among the former Central Asian republics, and to maintain as much sovereignty as possible in the face of Russia’s own regional ambitions (EDM, Vol. 10, #142, August 1, 2103). These aims have led Uzbekistan to pursue somewhat closer relations with NATO than it has with the EU. On the other hand, when the political (democratic and human rights reform) demands that come with a closer security relationship to Europe become too onerous, Uzbekistan has pragmatically (and contingently) pledged closer allegiance to Russia’s Euro-​alternative security organizations such as the CSTO. (See Figure 10.13.) Uzbekistan and NATO. Uzbekistan joined NATO’s PFP in 1994 and became the object of intense US and NATO interest after 9/​11. From 2001 to 2005, Uzbekistan leased the Karshi-​Khanabad (K2) airbase to the United

 



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Uzbekistan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: No PCA with EU. Not a member of Eastern Partnership (not invited).

Council of Europe: Not a member.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Member of the CIS and the CIS Free Trade Area. Not a member of EEU.

Figure 10.12  Political Europeanization in Uzbekistan

States, which became home to the 416th Air Expeditions Operations Group of the US Air Force. The decision to cut such a lucrative arrangement with Uzbekistan was controversial in NATO states from the beginning, as Uzbekistan’s horrendous human rights record was well established by 2001. Only after the Andijan events in 2005 did US and NATO condemnation of the Karimov regime become intense enough that Uzbekistan abruptly terminated the K2 lease and forced the ISAF troops to leave. In 2012, Uzbekistan skillfully exploited NATO’s urgent need for a new evacuation route out of Afghanistan to become the “leading player” in NATO’s Northern Distribution Network—​a lucrative arrangement that led to economic and military aid from the United States to Uzbekistan (EurasiaNet, September 12, 2012; February 28, 2013).

 

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Uzbekistan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP. Leased Karshi-Kanabad Airbase to US/NATO 2001–2005.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE but sometimes obstructionist within it.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Member of CIS CST from 1994–1999 and CSTO from 2006–2012 . Member of SCO since 2001.

Figure 10.13  Security Europeanization in Uzbekistan

Uzbekistan has pragmatically approached its relations with NATO to maximize profit to itself (in terms of cash and equipment), while eschewing any type of rhetorical or actual “Europeanization” in the security sphere. Its attitude to Russia in this sphere has been similarly self-​interested. Uzbekistan and the CSTO. Henry Hale describes Uzbekistan’s post-​1991 relationship with Russia and Russia’s Euro-​alternative institutional projects as being motivated by three sometimes contradictory impulses: first, to insulate itself as much as possible from any renewed Russian political or security hegemony; second, to maintain as many economic and military subsidies as possible from Russia; and finally, to preserve to its advantage economic ties with Russia and the other ex-​Soviet republics (2006, 210). In the early days of its post-​Soviet independence, when Karimov had not yet firmly established his regime of rule

 



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by spectacle and coercion, Uzbekistan stayed close to the CIS, joining almost all of its political, economic, and security conventions and earning a “CIS activist” rating from Hale (2006, 195). By 1999, Karimov felt strong enough to withdraw from the CIS Collective Security Treaty, only to return to the welcoming embrace of the CSTO in 2005 after the Andijan massacre and NATO’s exit from Uzbekistan. “Back in the international doghouse,” Uzbekistan “needed friends it could do business with without fear of subversion”—​unsurprisingly, it found them “in Moscow and Beijing, where foreign policy doesn’t include democracy promotion” (Shishkin 2011, 43). Uzbekistan remained a member of the CSTO until 2012, when it again abruptly withdrew from the alliance. The country’s stubborn insistence that it will not permanently commit to any Russian-​led political, economic, or security alliance (Karimov declared in January 2015 that Uzbekistan “will never join any alliance similar with to the USSR”), is either admirable or foolhardy, and probably both (RFE/​RL January 13, 2015). Uzbekistan is a member of the CIS’s Free-​ Trade Area but has consistently rebuffed any suggestion that it join the EEU, despite growing pressure from Russia to do so. Uzbekistan does seem amenable to some types of multilateral cooperation with Russia—​it joined the SCO in 2001, perhaps feeling that China’s presence in the SCO would prevent the organization from becoming too much of a Russian hegemonic project.

Case Study: Tajikistan—​The Poorest and Most Fragile of All? Tajikistan is generally described as the poorest and most fragile (economically, politically, ecologically) of all the Central Asian states (Heathershaw 2011, 147). It lacks the petroleum and natural gas resources of its wealthier neighbors, though it does have considerable potential as a provider of hydropower, as the immense Rogun Dam project exemplifies. Tajikistan also suffers the aftereffects of a brutal civil war that took place from 1992 to 1997, which is often misleadingly portrayed as being instigated by an Islamist insurgency, when in reality it was a product of region and clan-​based power struggles (Heathershaw and Herzig 2011, 6; Jonson 2006). Like Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan has “effectively dangled the prospect of its own collapse” to maintain flows of foreign development aid, but otherwise has been little interested in Europeanization efforts on any front (Cooley 2012, 11). It has instead pursued the difficult task of trying to craft a national identity based on the glorification of its past as the center of a vast and powerful Persian-​speaking empire—​hampered in part because the most storied and prominent cities of

 

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that past now belong to other states (specifically, Bukhara and Samarkand in Uzbekistan) (Levi 2007, 31). Rhetorically, Tajikistan claims to pursue an “open door” foreign policy, indicating that it seeks economic and political cooperation with any and all foreign partners (RAD, #165, March 17, 2015, 13). The overall political and economic weakness of Tajikistan—​remittances from Tajiks working in Russia are estimated to constitute nearly half of the country’s GDP—​ have led it to a strong embrace of Russian-​led integration efforts in the post-​ Soviet period. Though it has not yet formally joined the EEU, as Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan have done, Tajikistan has completed the first steps toward integration, and seems likely to become a full member at some point in the future (Salimov 2015).

Cultural-​Civilizational Developments in Tajikistan since 1989: Finding Inspiration in the Persian Past and the Arab Present Uniquely among the Central Asian states, Tajikistan has an historical interlude in its past, the Greco-​Bactrian Kingdom established by Alexander the Great (250–​125 bce) that could, with a little effort, be spun into a claim to cultural-​ civilizational Europeanness ( Jonson 2006, 37). Tajikistan’s leaders have not pursued this course, nor have they made any movement toward joining any of Europe’s cultural institutions. Since the end of the civil war in 1997, Tajik president Emomali Rahmon has promoted a “state-​nationalizing project” that celebrates the distinctiveness of Tajikistan as a Persian-​speaking nation, indigenously “Aryan” civilization that reached its zenith during the Samanid dynasty of the ninth and tenth centuries (Heathershaw and Herzig 2011, 10; Matveeva 2009, 1107). The intense focus on the Samanid period (the thousandth anniversary of which was celebrated in 2001) elides the complexity of Tajik history, which includes significant periods of Arab, Mongol, Chinese, and of course Russian influence. It is also hampered by the aforementioned contemporary denial of the Tajiks their “rightful claim to the great centers of Central Asia’s Iranian heritage,” the cities of Bukhara and Samarkand, which are located in Uzbekistan (Levi 2007, 31; Marat 2007). (See Figure 10.14.) Like other Central Asian states, Tajikistan’s nationalizing efforts focus around a particular warrior-​patriarch, in this case the Samanid Amir Ismail Somoni. Tajikistan has also joined its Central Asian neighbors in policing tightly the form of Islam that accompanies nationalist revival—​only “purely Tajik” forms of dress and naming are allowed, with “alien” (Arab or Russian influenced) variants discouraged (RFE/​RL April 19, 2015). Tajikistan also became the first Central Asian state to entirely ban young citizens (under the age of thirty-​five) from

 



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Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Tajikistan

High

Medium

Low

Religion: Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Greco-Macedonian under Alexander the Great

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol and Persian

Geographic Location: East/South; Does not appear on any maps of Europe.

Historical Experience: No participation in European Renaissance/ Reformation/ Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Loyalty and Modernity

Figure 10.14  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Tajikistan

undertaking the Hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, out of fears that the trip might be a stimulus to extremism (TOL April 15, 2015). Tajikistan has also moved, at least rhetorically, to reclaim the cities of Samarkand and Bukhara—​in a 2009 interview President Rahmon, after bragging about the fistfights he had engaged in with his bitter personal and regional enemy Karimov of Uzbekistan, claimed that he told Karimov that Tajikistan would “someday reclaim Samarkand and Bukhara!” (Kucera 2013, 58). (See Figure 10.15.) Beyond glorification of the Tajik-​Persian past, Rahmon has spoken of “turning Tajikistan into Kuwait,” in terms of standards of living, specifically by

 

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Tajikistan: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Weak

Moderate

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly focused on Persian, Islamic heritage of Tajiks, especially the era of the Samanid Dynasty (ninth–tenth centuries).

Cultural Europeanization: Not a member of EBU. Does not broadcast Eurovision.

Sport: Member of the Asian Football Confederation

Figure 10.15  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Tajikistan

promoting the construction of what would be the world’s largest hydroelectric dam, Rogun, in the country (Menga 2015, 483). The Rogun Dam project also serves as a source of Tajikistani patriotism and a way to pursue the historical and regional rivalry with Uzbekistan, which opposes the dam. President Rahmon has used the most hyperbolic language in speaking of Rogun, claiming that the project is “a real battleground for honor and dignity . . . a daily symbol of warmth and light for every citizen, a source of national pride, indeed, of the life and death of the Tajik state!” (Menga 2015, 485–​86). This developmentalist paradigm is more redolent of the Arab and African state ideologies of the 1970s and 1980s than the Europeanization paradigm of the Baltics in the 1990s or Ukraine and Moldova in the 2000s.

 



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Political Development in Tajikistan since 1989:  From Object of European Aid to Autonomous Agent in the International System Tajikistan’s long civil war and the ensuing breakdown in political, social, and economic conditions in the country meant that it became an object of intense international and European attention in the 1990s. Tajikistan was viewed more as a dangerous country in need of aid, lest it “go down the road to complete failure,” than as a potential European partner (Heathershaw 2011, 147). Unsurprisingly, then, Tajikistan is the primary recipient of EU development aid to Central Asia. Heathershaw argues that the “state failure” discourse about Tajikistan emanating from Europe and other points in the international community is misleading, masking the deep (and often corrupt and damaging) ways in which the Tajik state actually is embedded in the international economy, as through its state-​ owned aluminum company TALCO (2011, 149). Tajikistan thus plays more than the “aid recipient” role for Europe and other international actors—​it is also understood as a source of potentially lucrative (if shady) economic enterprises and imagined as a source of potential insecurity (its state weakness prohibiting it from being a “strong bulwark” against the Islamist mayhem of the Af-​Pak arena) (Heathershaw 2011). (See Figure 10.16.)

Security Development in Tajikistan since 1989:  Little Interaction with NATO The civil war in Tajikistan meant that the country was delayed in joining NATO’s PFP program, doing so only in 2002. The military doctrine Tajikistan adopted in May 2006 differs from other Central Asian states like Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan by not mentioning cooperation with both NATO and the CSTO as sources of its security—​Tajikistan mentions only the CSTO and the UN (Marat 2010, 73–​74). Tajikistan’s ties with NATO “remain rather feeble today,” though it did allow NATO flyover rights during the Afghan war (for which it was paid approximately $50 million a year), and it continues to participate in programs such as NATO-​organized summer training academies (Marat 2010, 111). (See Figure 10.17.) The Russian Alternatives:  Tajikistan in the CIS, EEU and CSTO. Russia is widely seen by Tajik officials, chief among them President Rahmon, as the sole true guarantor of both Tajikistan’s sovereignty and its ruling regime ( Jonson 2006, 49). When the Soviet Union fell, the former Soviet 201st Motorized Rifle Division that was stationed in Tajikistan as part of the Soviet Afghan war effort remained there and was transformed in the Russian Federation’s 201st.

 

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Tajikistan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: No PCA with EU. Not a member of Eastern Partnership (not invited).

Council of Europe: Not a member.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Member of the CIS and the CIS Free Trade Area. Has announced intention to join EEU/EAU.

Figure 10.16  Political Europeanization in Tajikistan

These Russian troops were active participants in the civil war, intervening on the side of the Tajik government, and Russian troops served as Tajikistan’s external border guard until 2006. Whether out of genuine enthusiasm for Russian military leadership or out of necessity, Tajikistan under Rahmon has been a bedrock supporter and member of the CSTO. Tajikistan’s geographic proximity to Afghanistan, and the porousness of the border between them, has made Tajikistan an epicenter of CSTO anti-​Islamist efforts. The CSTO met in Tajikistan in spring 2015 to address this exact topic, and Russia has been increasingly vocal about the necessity of strengthening the ability of both Tajik and CSTO military forces to respond to a potential IS or other Islamist threat originating in Afghanistan (RFE/​RL April 9, 2015; RIA Novosti September 23, 2013). The interdependence of Tajikistan and Russia in

 



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Tajikistan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP. Allowed NATO limited use of Dushanbe Airport for Afghanistan campaigns.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE but sometimes obstructionist within it.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Member of CIS CST and CSTO from the beginning. Strong bilateral military relations with Russia. Member of SCO from beginning.

Figure 10.17  Security Europeanization in Tajikistan

the military sphere was also highlighted by Russia’s decision in March 2015 to allow Tajik citizens who serve in the Russian 201st Division in Tajikistan to legally represent the Russian army outside Tajikistan, for example in eastern Ukraine (EurasiaNet March 10, 2015). In exchange for volunteering for such service, Tajiks will be fast-​tracked for Russian citizenship. Perhaps because of the depth of its military reliance on Russia for its own security, Tajikistan has tried valiantly to remain outside the formal orbit of the EEU (while continuing to receive nearly half of its annual revenue from Tajiks working either illegally or legally in Russia). Under immense pressure from Russia to formally join the EEU, in fall 2014 Tajikistan tried to buy time by undertaking an “in-​depth study” of the potential costs and benefits of EEU membership. Support for joining the EEU is high among Tajik citizens, perhaps

 

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due to the fact that so many Tajik families earn their subsistence by working in Russia; in 2014, 84 percent of those surveyed supported joining the Russian-​led alliance (RAD, #165, 17 March 2015, 16). It seems likely that Tajikistan’s reliance on Russia for trade and as a destination for migrant labor will dictate that it join the EEU sooner rather than later. The country will continue to participate in WTO, EBRD, and Chinese economic ventures, such as the New Silk Road, but in the end, the cumulative pressures to join the EEU are probably too strong for such a weak, resource-​poor state to avoid.

Case Study: Turkmenistan—​In a World of Its Own By its own design, Turkmenistan is one of the most closed countries in the world. “Right from its independence,” Turkmenistan has “played a geopolitical card of extreme isolationism,” keeping its distance equally from its Central Asian and Caspian neighbors, from Russia, and from Europe, while allowing only the smallest of openings to the hard-​currency rich Chinese next door (Peyrouse 2012, x–​xi). In the post-​Soviet period, Turkmenistan has been in the thrall of two successive leaders bent on ruling through repressive cults of personality, with second Turkmen president Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov’s version proving to be only a few degrees softer than that originated by the self-​ proclaimed father of the Turkmen (Turkmenbashi) himself, the inaugural post-​ Soviet Turkmen president Saparmurat Niyazov. This insistence on closing itself inward serves to “protect” the Turkmen from both the potentially corrupting influences of modern politicized Islam and the danger of a renewed Russian hegemony. It also reflects the country’s near-​total lack of interest in engaging with Europe and Europeanization in any meaningful way. Turkmenistan has very low “intrinsic” Europeanness, and its low levels of Europeanization in all spheres reflect that inheritance. (See Figure 10.18.)

Cultural-​Civilizational Development in Turkmenistan since 1989: Cult of Personality as an Alternative to Europeanization From early in the post-​Soviet period, Turkmenistan has been “an outlier on a noticeably different path,” one that takes the general Central Asian model of neo-​patrimonial autocracy to an extreme of “centralized dictatorship defined by universal and all-​encompassing loyalty to the president” (Kunysz 2012, 1). Saparmurat Niyazov, the former first secretary of the Communist Party of

 



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Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness: Turkmenistan

High

Low

Medium

Religion: Muslim

Imperial Experiences: Russian Tsarist/Soviet

Imperial Experiences: Mongol

Geographic Location: East/South; Does not appear on any maps of Europe

Historical Experience: No participation in European Ref/Ren/ Enlightenment

Russian/Soviet Narrative: Russia seen as alien colonizer, but no “being held apart from Europe” narrative.

Figure 10.18  Factors of Intrinsic Europeanness in Turkmenistan

Turkmenistan, was appointed the first president of independent Turkmenistan in October 1991. He was later “confirmed” as president in June 1992 (in an unopposed election), in fall 1994 (in a plebiscite that extended his rule to 2002), and in December 1999 (when the parliament declared him “President for Life”). The Turkmen people had lived through cults of personality in the Soviet era under Stalin and Brezhnev, but Niyazov’s version of the form was “positively pharaonic” in terms of the scale of Turkmenbashi’s self-​promotion, the degree of devotion he demanded of the populace, and the scale of monumental projects undertaken in celebration of the great leader (Peyrouse 2012, 94–​95).

 

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These cults of personality have effectively replaced any cultural-​civilizational Europeanization in Turkmenistan in the post-​Soviet period. (See Figure 10.19.) One unique element of Niyazov’s personality cult was the role played by the Rukhnama, Niyazov’s self-​penned amalgamation of Turkmen national history, mythology, and spiritual guidance. (The Rukhnama also contained substantial doses of Turkmenbashi’s autobiography, which were also to serve as sources of national and personal inspiration.) Niyazov made the Rukhnama mandatory reading in schools and military training and tied the hiring and promotion of civil servants to knowledge of the Rukhnama. Unsurprisingly, this led to a radical decrease in the levels of training and professionalism of military recruits, medical personnel, and administrative personnel in Turkmenistan (Marat 2007).

Turkmenistan: Cultural-Civilizational Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

National Identity Narratives: Official state-sponsored national narrative is strongly focused on Turkic, nomadic heritage of Turkmen as embodied by the Rukhnama.

Cultural Europeanization: Not a member of EBU. Does not broadcast Eurovision.

Sport: Member of the Asian Football Confederation

Figure 10.19  Cultural-​Civilizational Europeanization in Turkmenistan

 



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If earlier personality cults, such as those of Atatürk and Stalin, had “aimed at promoting a set of values beyond their own experience and example,” under Niyazov, all was much more centered on “the man Turkmenbashi himself ” (Polese and Horak 2015, 462). A  prominent aspect of the Niyazov-​centric nation-​building project pursued under Turkmenbashi is the denigration of both the Russian colonial and Soviet periods of rule over Turkmenistan. Russian colonization is regarded as a “ ‘long period of enslavement” that prevented Turkmen entry into new golden age,” while the “entire Soviet era is passed over in silence in Turkmen schools” (Peyrouse 2012, 94). Niyazov also acted to remove all traces of Soviet and Russian cultural influence on Turkmen life, declaring opera and ballet to be “alien” art forms that had “no meaning” for the Turkmen and shutting down the opera, ballet, circus, and cinemas in Turkmenistan (Matveeva 2009, 1104). Following Niyazov’s death in December 2006, his successor Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedov “quickly became the new object of sanctification,” taking on the titles of “National Leader” and “The Protector of the Nation” (Polese and Horak 2015, 463). Under Berdimuhamedov the “most caricatured components” of the Niyazov regime were set aside, but most were retained, including: “a vigorous cult of personality, nationalist megalomania and architectural gigantism, repression of every form of dissidence and absence of civil society, massive corruption of administrative bodies and regular purges and high turnover of state employees in order to guard against internal opposition” (Peyrouse 2012, xiii),

Political Development in Turkmenistan since 1989: “Endless Neutrality” and Isolationism Under both post-​ Soviet presidents, the “extreme isolationism” discussed earlier has taken the concrete form of a policy of “endless neutrality” and non-​participation in most international institutions (Polese and Horak 2015, 469–​70). Turkmenistan stopped offering data to the IMF and World Bank in the year 2000 and suspended all cooperation with the IMF in the same year (Peyrouse 2012, 195). Niyazov banned all foreign news broadcasts, including those from Europe. Berdimuhamedov has restored Russian news programming in Turkmenistan and has engaged in limited cooperation with the EU’s Tempus and Erasmus Mundus education programs, though the results of this venture have been judged by the EU to be “particularly unsuccessful”! (Peyrouse 2012, 126). There is talk of expanding Turkmen gas exports to Europe, via the Trans-​ Caspian Pipeline (TCP), but that project has yet to move out of the planning and feasibility stages. (See Figure 10.20.)

 

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Turkmenistan: Political Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

EU: No PCA with EU. Not a member of Eastern Partnership (not invited).

Council of Europe: Not a member.

Euro-Alternative Political Institutions: Ratified original CIS Treaty in 1991 but not Charter in 1994. “Associate” member of CIS. Not a member of the CIS FTA or the EEU.

Figure 10.20  Political Europeanization in Turkmenistan

Turkmenistan has not been any more interested in cooperating with Russia’s EEU venture than it has with the EU. Its strong economic position as a supplier of natural gas to China supports and sustains this uniquely independent stance vis-​à-​vis its former hegemon (see Table 10.3). Russia is in fact “a marginal partner,” who is “not vital” to Turkmenistan’s economic survival or development, meaning that Turkmenistan “may be the last Central Asian exception to the enlargement of the Eurasian Union” (Balci and Kassimova 2015). Turkmenistan has even resisted joining the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, despite its successful and growing economic cooperation with China.

 



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Security Developments in Turkmenistan since 1989: Security through Isolation Turkmenistan has been as autarkic in its security relationships as it has in the political realm. Turkmenistan did join NATO’s PFP in the early 1990s, and Berdimuhamedov came to NATO summit in Bucharest in 2008, but Turkmenistan did not allow NATO to transit through its territory during the Afghan war, nor has it given permission for NATO to run the NDN through Turkmen territory. Overall, Turkmenistan’s cooperation with NATO remains, clearly, “limited” (Peyrouse 2012, 201). (See Figure 10.21.) During the early years of independence, Turkmenistan relied on Russian troops to help guard its external borders. In 1999, Niyazov asked the Russian

Turkmenistan: Security Europeanization

Strong

Moderate

Weak

NATO Relations: Member of PFP.

OSCE Relations: Member of OSCE but sometimes obstructionist within it.

Euro-Alternative Security Institutions: Not a member of CSTO or SCO.

Figure 10.21  Security Europeanization in Turkmenistan

 

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troops to leave, and since that time, Turkmenistan has provided wholly for its own security. Russia has continued to supply the Turkmen army with equipment and advice, exchanged in part for deliveries of Turkmen natural gas (Marat 2010, 76–​77). Despite this pragmatic cooperation, Turkmenistan has made very clear to Moscow its intention to steer an independent foreign policy course. In Kazan in 2005, Turkmenistan announced its withdrawal from the CIS (it is now an “associate” member only), and its January 2009 security doctrine prohibits the joining of any military blocs or alliances, and states that no foreign bases will ever be allowed on Turkmen territory (Peyrouse 2012, 196). Turkmenistan’s absolute refusal to countenance even mere cooperation with the CSTO, let alone consider joining that bloc, is “greatly disappointing” to CSTO secretary-​general (and colonel-​general in the Russian armed force) Nikolay Bordyuzha, who offers that despite repeated overtures to Turkmenistan, “there is never a response” (EurasiaNet March 19, 2015). Turkmenistan’s determination to remain the “strangest and most isolated and closed autocracy” in a region that is full of them has not led to the glorious outcomes for its citizens that are routinely promised (Balci and Kassimova 2015). Like Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan seems “poised to follow the development of an OPEC-​style, resource cursed state, with the low levels of HDI and high levels of state ownership and state control that entails” ( Jones Luong and Weinthal 2010, 17). The “pharaonic” nature of presidential personality cults in Turkmenistan only exacerbates this general tendency, as funds that could be used for social welfare or economic development instead are poured into projects such as Niyazov’s $63 million artificial river in Asghgabat, or Berdimuhamedov’s new $250 million palace. Meanwhile, the average Turkmen continues to earn $300 a month and to enjoy the pleasures of “crowding into the homes of relatives where they can share intermittent supplies of water and electricity” (RFE/​RL June 1, 2015).

 

11   

 Conclusion The Continuing Influence of the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient on European, Russian, and Post-​Soviet Politics

As we recede ever further from 1989, those European institutions and the ideals that animate them which have anchored the post–​World War II international order are being severely tested from both within and without. The preceding discussion has demonstrated why it would be premature, however, to declare “the end of Europe.” Long-​standing beliefs about the worth and desirability of “Europeanness” as a way of organizing political, security, and cultural-​civilizational communities continue to shape state behavior and inspire people across the post-​Soviet world. They continue to offer for many the hope that life can be freer, fairer, and more prosperous. While debates about what exactly it means to “be European” have deepened and sharpened, particularly in post-​communist countries like Hungary, and are amplified by intentional Russian attempts to forward an alt/​alte version of Europeanness, the histories presented here demonstrate the continued pull of a specifically liberal, democratic, and multilateral understanding of Europe for (some) countries in the post-​Soviet  world. The European-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) as it has been described by Malia and others does continue to shape the desire for Europeanization in the former Soviet Union in predictable ways, up to a point: those ex-​Soviet republics with the highest levels of “intrinsic” Europeanness, the Baltic states, have sought and achieved the highest levels of acceptance into European institutions, while those ex-​Soviet republics with the lowest levels of intrinsic Europeanness, the Central Asian states (with the partial exception of Kazakhstan), have neither sought nor achieved membership in European institutions. Russia’s own relationship to the idea of its own Europeanness and to contemporary European institutions since the time of Gorbachev mimics a familiar historical pattern—​an 375

 

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expressed desire to be identified with Europeanness and to embrace of European institution norms followed by disillusion with, rejection of, and hostility toward the same. Beyond these rough contours, the influence of traditional understandings about who belongs in Europe and who doesn’t on the processes of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union is less discernible. The EOCG did structure the first phase of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union, resulting in the expected full acceptance of the Central European and Central European–​designate Baltic states into Europe. During the second and third phases of Europeanization, from 1999 until today, those “new” Europeans helped to transform the EOCG, attempting to “upgrade” the Europeanness of countries in the EU’s Eastern Partner program, while discursively excluding Russia from the map of contemporary Europe (for example, by pushing “official” understandings of European history that equate Nazi and Soviet tyranny and highlighting Russia’s specific failures regarding the provision of rights for LGBTQ citizens). During the early phase of Europeanization, Westernizers within the Gorbachev and Yeltsin administrations displayed some sympathy for the creation of a “Europe whole and free,” and even pursued it, with the understanding that Russia would help co-​lead that new Europe in some type of equal partnership with Western European political and security institutions. As the Putin years unspooled, this attitude was gradually replaced by increasing Russian suspicion about the motives behind “European expansion” and a growing hostility toward it. The transformation in Russia’s position toward Europe and European expansion was hastened by political events, such as NATO actions in the former Yugoslavia in the late 1990s and the Color Revolutions of the 2000s in Georgia, Ukraine, and Kyrgyzstan. Russia’s increasing sense of both cultural-​civilizational alienation and resentment toward Europe and geostrategic fears about the motives behind Europeanization programs resulted in military action in 2008 in Georgia and since late 2013 in Ukraine. It has hardened into a multifaceted rhetorical and practical program aimed, seemingly, at fatally weakening the postwar liberal European project. Yet even Russia’s most vociferous denunciations of contemporary Europe as “unnatural,” “flaccid,” “weak,” “godless,” “decadent,” “cosmopolitan,” and “doomed” are couched in historically familiar Russian attempts to “out-​Europe Europe” by offering itself as the true Europe, an alt/​ alte form of Europe that is both older and more authentic than the version proffered by Brussels. Russia’s strenuous assertions that it offers a viable and attractive alternative Europe are belied by the weakness of its own Euro-​alternative institutions, the EEU and the CSTO, and the marginalization of its

 

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would-​be clients in the most powerful European states, such as Le  Pen in France and Nigel Farage in Great Britain.

Explaining Variation in Europeanization Efforts in the Former Soviet Union Both the Baltic states and the Central Asian states have approached Europeanization since 1989 in the ways predicted by the Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient—​full and successful Europeanization for the former and a profound lack of interest in Europeanization in the latter. But what have we learned about why states in between these distinct poles, in the mixed/​moderate intrinsic Europeanness category (the six Eastern Partnership states plus Kazakhstan), pursue the Europeanization strategies that they do? (See Figure 11.1.) Given their similar levels of intrinsic Europeanness, and their similar goal of maintaining their sovereignty as small states inconveniently located between two hegemonic powers, why have Georgia, Moldova, and Ukraine chosen to pursue strong Europeanization efforts that have the stated goal of “joining Europe,” while Azerbaijan, Armenia, and Belarus have mounted weaker Europeanization efforts aimed at “balancing” Europe with Russia? Table 11.1 summarizes the main factors that appear to determine the varying outcomes among the Eastern Partner states.

Strength Europeanization / Balancing / Weak Europeanization

Estonia

Ukraine

Azerbaijan

Latvia

Georgia

Lithuania

Moldova

Kazakhstan Belarus

Armenia

Kyrgyzstan Tajikistan

Russia

Turkmenistan Uzbekistan

Figure 11.1  Strength of Europeanization Projects in the Former Soviet Union

 

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Table 11.1 Factors Influencing Strength of Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States Factors Influencing Strength of Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States* Strong Europeanizers

Balancers

• Usable “European” history skillfully deployed by political and intellectual elites (UKR—​Galicia; MOL—​Romania) • Strong, geographically contiguous patron-​state in Europe (beyond Baltic states) (UKR—​Poland; MOL—​Romania) • Uniquely strongly Europe-​oriented elites (GEO—​Saakashvili; UKR—​ Yushchenko and Poroshenko) • Post-​invasion distrust of Russia (GEO; UKR) • Beginning of “virtuous circle” of Europeanization (visa-​free travel to Europe granted by 2017 to GEO, UKR, and MOL)

• Economic resources = policy of balancing—​little need for aid (AZ) • Security imperative (ARM—​fear of Turkey; BEL—​distrust of NATO) • Weak economy structurally dependent on Russia (ARM and BEL)

(*  ARM—​Armenia; AZ—​Azerbaijan; BEL—​Belarus; GEO—​Georgia; MOL—​Moldova; UKR—​Ukraine)

A Future for Europeanization in the Former Soviet Union? While it would be foolhardy to try to predict the exact path of future Europeanization efforts in the former Soviet Union, it is possible to identify those factors that are likely to influence those processes. (See Table 11.2.) The multiple crises threatening the postwar liberal European experiment threaten to overshadow the concrete achievements of Europeanization in the former Soviet Union. This analysis demonstrates why it is important to recognize the positive role that both European institutions and ideas and understandings about “Europe” and “Europeanness” have played for many of the former Soviet republics. The belief that Europe represents good governance, rule of law, prosperity, respect for human dignity, and the chance for a freer and better life has and continues to inspire many citizens in the former Soviet Union. Precious few more philosophically or materially attractive “alternatives to Europe” for

 

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Table 11.2 Factors Influencing Future of Strong Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States Factors Influencing Future of Strong Europeanization Efforts in Eastern Partner States* Factors Promoting Continued Europeanization

Factors Working against Continued Europeanization

• Continuation/​reinforcement of Europe-​ identified national narratives in wake of continued Russian aggression/​misbehavior • Continuation of virtuous circle of reform and political Europeanization (deepening of economic relations, visa-​free travel • Democratic learning /​maturation of population (UKR after 2004 and 2014; GEO successful police reform and elections; MOL sep. of powers) • Renewed European unity vis-​à-​vis Russia in wake of Crimean annexation

• Frozen military conflicts/​ presence of Russian military/​ NATO fear of provoking Russian response • Endemic and widespread corruption • Poverty and structurally weak economies • Retrenchment of pro-​Russia elites • Europe’s preoccupation with economic and refugee crises

(* GEO, MOL, UKR unless specified)

the former Soviet Union have manifested themselves in the years since 1989, so it behooves both Europeans themselves and all who respect what Europe has stood for since 1945 to help in the realization of “the European dream” for those who still dream it.

 

 

NOTES

Chapter 1 1. Scholars struggle with how to define the post-​communist world and what to call the countries that were, to varying degrees and in different forms, influenced by the seventy-​year experience in Soviet communism. Appel and Orenstein (2018) employ the all-​encompassing acronym “PCEEC”—​Post-​Communist European and Eurasian Countries—​to account for all those states that were in the former Warsaw Pact, constituent republics of the Soviet Union itself, or otherwise influenced by Soviet-​style communism (Albania). In this book, when talking about the “post-​communist world,” I am referring to this larger universe of states; when referring to the “post-​Soviet” or “former Soviet” states, I mean specifically Russia and the fourteen other constituent Soviet Socialist Republics of the Soviet Union. 2. In October 2011, President Putin announced Russia’s intention to transform what was at that point a Eurasian Customs Union (ECU) made up of Russia, Kazakhstan, and Belarus into a full-​fledged “Eurasian Union” by the end of 2015. By the time of this writing, the grouping had evolved into the Eurasian Economic Union, with plans to complete the transformation into a full-​fledged Eurasian Union in the near future. For clarity, I refer to this entity by its current name, the Eurasian Economic Union (EEU), but with the understanding that it is meant to someday become the “Eurasian Union” (EAU). The structure of the EEU and the plans for the eventual EAU are discussed in more detail in ­chapters 3 and 6. 3. I am indebted to Oner (2011), Risse (2010), and Rumelili (2004) for the clarification about the intrinsic and extrinsic characteristics of Europeanness and how they play into the enlargement debate, particularly as it regards Turkey. 4. I am not using the term “Orientalist” here in the strict sense that Edward Said did in his famous work, but rather use it as shorthand for the complex of attributes and behaviors that are considered negative in the Eurocentric cultural gradient because of their anti-​Europeanness. I am following here Bakic-​Hayden and Hayden’s fruitful discussion of this topic, where they assert: “The question of orientalism is actual and existential for a Europe that seeks to unite itself, and for those parts of the world that would like to join this new, putatively united Europe” (1992, 2). 5. As Etkind says, “In 1815, when Russian troops occupied Paris, [the Russian] empire had its highest moment. Alexander I defined laws and borders for Europe and initiated the first viable project of European unification, the Holy Alliance” (2007, 618). It was only later in the nineteenth century (particularly after 1848) that “the combination of imperialist politics and internal repressions made Russia unpopular in Europe” (2007, 618). 6. On both Tsarist Russia’s and the Soviet Union’s views of the mission to Europeanize and civilize those peoples living in their own “Orient,” see: Bassin 1999; Becker 1986; Brower and Lazzerini 1997; Geraci and Khordarkovsky 2001; Grant 2009; Hirsch 2005; Jersild and Melkadze 2002;

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Khalid 1997, 1999; Martin 2001; Michaels 2003; Northrup 2003; Riasanovsky 1972; Schonle 2001; Sunderland 1996; Suny and Martin 2001; Tolz 2011; Werth 2002. 7. On the theory and practice of European enlargement in general, see Dangerfeld 2007; Lane 2007; Schimmelfennig 2003; Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2005a, 2005b; Taras 2009, 25. 8. From 2016 to 2018 many citizens of Hungary and Poland, two countries thought to have successfully “Europeanized” a decade before, found themselves rising up to defend their rights to a “European-​style” good governance as their governments moved to erode democratic norms and institutions. See Matthes 2016. 9. For a helpful discussion of intersubjectivity and the problem of disentangling interest and identity, see Darden 2009.

Chapter 2 1. Some of the most important work on this question is in the realm of post-​colonial literary theory, which I do not discuss here. I am indebted to Margaret Greaves for her helpful discussion of images of Europe in this body of literature (2015). 2. Mark Bassin (1991, 1999)  has done particularly important work on the geographic representations of Europe and its others, particularly Asia, and focuses more squarely on how these debates play out in Russia proper. 3. French president general Charles de Gaulle would famously articulate this vision of Europe as stretching from “the Atlantic to the Urals” on numerous occasions. As Bassin notes, in 1961 in the Nizhny Tagil province, the Soviet government erected a marker on the “exact spot” where Europe becomes Asia (1991, 17). Today a similar monument stands near the city of Ekaterinberg, and apparently functions as a bit of a tourist attraction and good luck charm for newlyweds. 4. Malia joins Peter Heather and Peter Brown in arguing that “It is necessary to insist that the founding age of Europe as a civilizational entity falls between 800 and 1000” (2006, 12) and that “This melding of Roman, Christian, and barbarian elements in a zone extending into Russia was the founding act of a continuing Europe” (14). Riasanovsky argues that Kievan Rus, dating roughly from the eighth to thirteenth centuries, “was a European state,” not only because of its “obvious location in Europe,” but also in its “entire nature and orientation,” which, after the conversion of the Rus in 988, was Christian (2005, 22–​23). 5. Orlando Figes’s account of the Crimean War highlights the role that intra-​Christian animosity played in prompting that conflict, noting that Russian tsar Nicholas I “had an absolute conviction in his divine mission to save Orthodoxy from the Western heresies of liberalism, rationalism, and revolution,” which in his estimation infected Protestant and Catholic societies in Europe alike (2011, 36–​37). 6. In his account of the origins of the Russian, Ukrainian, and Belarusian nations, Serhii Plokhy argues that the Mongol occupation, which fell most squarely and consequentially on the territory of contemporary Russia, and only partially and less onerously on the territory of contemporary Ukraine and Belarus, some areas of which were “saved” by Polish or Lithuanian rule, marks the beginning of the most significant differences among these three peoples (2006, 356). 7. Malia’s entire oeuvre is based on making the case that Russia did enter the “modern European world” with Peter and Catherine, and that it was only derailed from its path to full Europeanization by the “Soviet Tragedy.” Liah Greenfeld (1992) says that despite Peter’s energetic efforts, only with Catherine II did Russia seek and achieve Europeanness in a cultural sense as well as a military one. Larry Wolff ’s verdict on Peter’s and Catherine’s Europeanization efforts is that they were “only partially successful” (1994), while Pagden argues that after Peter and Catherine, Russia “[b]‌ecame ‘Europeanized’ but was not given a place among the civilized nations of Europe” (2002, 46–​47). Kabakchieva says Catherine did succeed in “implanting the ideals of the Enlightenment into Russia” to a great extent, and points out that in Solzhenitsyn’s view, this was to Russia’s later great detriment (2010, 39). 8. For accounts of the variety of Russian nationalisms during the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries, see Engelstein 2009; Greenfeld 1992; Malia 1999; Neumann 1996; Pipes 2005; Riasanovsky 2005. On Eurasianism in particular, see Marlene Laruelle’s Russian Eurasianism: An Ideology of Empire (2008).

 



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9. “Ostalgie” is a term that combines the Germans words for “east” and “nostalgia” to describe a feeling of warm remembrance of aspects of life in the former East Germany (GDR) or other communist societies. 10. The unprecedented numbers of Muslim immigrants reaching Europe in fall 2015 as a result of the Syrian, Libyan, Iraqi, and Afghanistan wars make this point even more salient.

Chapter 3 1. In Schimmelfennig’s words, “membership in the EU and NATO is the strongest indicator that [post-​communist] states have transformed themselves into ‘modern European countries,’ that they have ‘broken links’ with their communist past, and that they have ‘cast off ’ their Eastern identities” (2003, 90–​91). Similarly, Taras argues that EU membership as a marker of Europeanness is “neater, has greater legitimacy and appeal, and is less contested” than “other forms of European belonging” (2009, 25). 2. As Vachudova argues, the process of being considered for and pursuing EU membership creates a virtuous circle of foreign aid, political and economic reforms, and economic growth/​ political stability (2010). The longer Soviet successor states are left out of this cycle, the lower the chances become that they will be considered viable candidates in the future or will be able to avail themselves of the opportunities afforded by closer integration with the EU. 3. Croatia joined the EU in July 2013; Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, and Albania are official candidates for EU membership, having had their applications for candidacy accepted in 2005, 2008, 2008, and 2014 respectively. The EU has identified Bosnia-​Herzegovina and Kosovo as “potential” candidates for EU membership. 4. The forum for discussion about reunification was not the EU or NATO, but the “2 + 4” model that included Germany’s postwar occupiers, the United States, the UK, USSR, and France. Only after German reunification was achieved would the country begin to debate the issue of how forty years of “alien, non-​European Soviet rule” might have affected the culture of East Germany, through the phenomenon of Ostalgie and through more critical treatments of the communist era in the east, such as von Donnersmarck’s film The Lives of Others. While von Donnersmarck’s film invites viewers to contemplate the moral degeneration shared by all who suffered under Soviet rule (Scott and Taylor 2014), the less demanding forms of “remembering communism” through Ostalgie, which collapse the distance between western and eastern Germans by eliding and softening the “alien” experience of life in the GDR, have great appeal. The work of reassuring contemporary Germans that the Soviet era has not left a “lasting anti-​European taint” on Germany continues, as the discussion of Dimou’s (2010) work in the previous chapter illustrates. 5. Here I draw on Malksoo’s discussion of Eyal (2010, 56). Regarding NATO, as is discussed in the next chapter, NATO’s role as a primarily security-​oriented organization added another layer of complexity to discussions about Europeanness, belonging, and institutional enlargement. 6. Put another way, enlargement, like all other “large European projects—​from conceptions of history, of constitutions, of civil society, to the arenas of high culture and popular culture, all the way to social spheres of lifestyle and consumption practices—​carr[ies] the unmistakable stamp of the West. In contrast, the East, the putatively ‘new’ Europe—​is clearly ascribed almost no political competence, social substance or cultural resources—​or at least not any that ultimately have to be preserved or integrated into the European center” (Kaschuba 2007, 32). 7. PHARE is an acronym for “Poland and Hungary:  Assistance for Restructuring Their Economies.” The program began in 1989 and was eventually extended beyond Poland and Hungary to include all the Central and Eastern European states that were admitted in the 2004 and 2007 enlargement rounds, and, later, to the Western Balkan states as well. 8. J. A. Pocock had argued as early as 1991 that Europe, which he characterized as “once again an empire in the sense of a civilized and stabilized zone,” must decide “whether or not to extend its political power over the violent and unstable cultures along its borders but not yet within its system” (1991, 315). In the case of the Western Balkans, Europe has chosen to do this, but it is also clear that it sees this decision exactly in Pocock’s terms. Huszka (2010) and Vachudova (2008, 2010) argue that the (neo-​colonial and quasi-​racist) “pacifying” and

 

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“securitizing” discourse has become more pronounced as the enlargement process has moved further into the Western Balkans and former Yugoslavia. 9. For illuminating discussions of the distinctive developmental paths taken by the ex-​Soviet republics, see Appel and Orenstein 2018; Darden 2009; Hale 2008. 10. The EU has invited Russia to participate in several geographically specific, multilateral EU initiatives, including the Northern Dimension, the Barents Euro-​Arctic Council, the Council of Baltic Sea States, the Black Sea Synergy, and the Black Sea Economic Cooperation initiatives. Russia also takes part in at least two programs sponsored by the EU’s Interreg (region-​specific) program—​the Barents Interreg program (a subset of the larger Barents Euro-​Arctic Council initiative), and the Lithuania, Poland, and Kaliningrad Neighborhood Program. 11. Belarus negotiated a PCA with the EU in 1995, but it was never ratified by the EU; Tajikistan finally signed a PCA with the EU in 2010, while Turkmenistan still does not have such an agreement with the EU. 12. The EU formulation eventually included countries that were neighbors of the EU “via land or sea border.” The countries participating in the ENP include: Algeria, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Egypt, Georgia, Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, Moldova, Morocco, the Occupied Palestinian Territory, Syria, Tunisia, and Ukraine. 13. Belarus signed a PCA in 1995, but the EU has never ratified it. Thus, Belarus’s participation in the ENP remains embryonic. As will be discussed in more detail in ­chapter 8, the EU’s policy toward Belarus is curious and instructive. The EU is consistently much harsher in its criticism and penalization of authoritarianism in Belarus’s authoritarianism than it is toward what is arguably a similarly harsh regime in Azerbaijan. This discrepancy can be explained in two ways. The first, more realist explanation, suggests that the EU does not want to put its energy dealings with Azerbaijan at risk. The second, more cultural or identity-​based explanation offers that the EU is harsher in its dealings with Belarus because, on some level, it identifies Belarus as more intrinsically European than Azerbaijan, and thus holds it to higher standards of extrinsic European behavior. See Marin 2011. 14. The matter of Belarus’s inclusion in the Eastern Partnership initiative demands some comment. While the EU initially included Belarus in the ENP program in 2004, by 2006 Belarus’s strict refusal to comply with any EU directives on human rights or democratization led the EU to suspend relations with Minsk and to produce a twelve-​point set of conditions that had to be fulfilled before the EU would restore dialogue with Minsk. Yet when the EAP was unveiled in 2008, Belarus was included as a participant, despite having fulfilled only two of the twelve conditions. Marin argues that it did so at the strong insistence of Poland, which saw “snatching Belarus from Russia’s grip” as a “key geopolitical goal” of the EAP (Marin 2011, 5). This lends credence to the idea that at least some actors in the EU see Belarus as being intrinsically European enough that its political future is a matter of some import to the EU. 15. All information for this section comes from the Europe Union’s External Action Service’s Eastern Partnership website, particularly the link on “Frequently Asked Questions”: http://​ eeas.europa.eu/​eastern/​index_​en.htm (Accessed January 17, 2018). 16. Other aspects of the Eastern Partnership include biannual meetings of the heads of state of the twenty-​seven EU countries with their counterparts in the six EAP states, annual meetings of the ministers of foreign affairs of the same and pledges that senior policy officials from the two entities will meet at least two times a year. 17. At the September 2011 EAP Summit, the EU and five attending EAP states also issued a “Declaration on the Situation on Belarus” in which they expressed their “deep concern” about Lukashenko’s dictatorship and the fact that they “deplored” his regime’s harsh treatment of democracy activists. In his remarks following the summit, Herman Van Rompuy stated that the EU “remains attached to the vision of a democratic Belarus” occupying “its proper place in European cooperation,” but that the EU “cannot fully reengage with Belarus without clear progress towards democratization and respect for human rights” (Van Rompuy 2011). 18. The study measured attitudes toward the EU, the ENP, and the EAP in four countries Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, and Russia (which is not a member of the ENP or EAP), using a combination of elite interviews, focus groups, and analysis of student essays. See Danii and Moscauteanu 2011; Daskalovski 2011; Korosteleva 2011; Radchuk 2011.

 



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19. See the European Council’s website devoted to the 2015 Riga EAP summit:  http://​www. consilium.europa.eu/​en/​meetings/​international-​summit/​2015/​05/​21-​22/​. 20. All references to the “New Partnership” in this section are drawn from the “EU and Central Asian Strategy for a New Partnership,” issued in June 2009 and available at: http://​eeas.europa.eu/​central_​asia/​docs/​2010_​strategy_​eu_​centralasia_​en.pdf.

Chapter 4 1. NATO’s “Enlargement” page states baldly that “At the 2008 Bucharest Summit, the Allies agreed that Georgia and Ukraine will become members of NATO in future” [sic]. Available at: https://​www.nato.int/​cps/​ie/​natohq/​topics_​49212.htm#. Accessed August 11, 2018. 2. The two most important “frozen conflicts” involve territorial disputes in Georgia (Abhazia and South Ossetia) and Moldova (Transnistria). In both these places, Russia has used its military to perpetuate the existence of “statelets” whose existence undermines the territorial integrity (and thus ability to join international organizations like NATO) of the host state. For extensive and useful discussions of these conflicts and Russia’s role in them, see Bugajski 2008, 27–​31; King 2001; Sherr 2015. To a lesser extent Russia has also inserted itself into the Nagorno-​Karabakh (Armenia-​Azerbaijan) conflict (see ­chapter 9). 3. For a comprehensive assessment of how publics in NATO member states view the organization and its future, see the Pew Research Center’s Global Attitudes and Trends report from June 10, 2015, entitled “NATO Publics Blame Russia for Ukrainian Crisis, but Reluctant to Provide Military Aid.” 4. For spirited calls for NATO and the OSCE to not abandon a vision of European security based on European norms and standards see Asmus 2010, 233–​35; Bugajski 2008, 170–​73; Kirchik 2017; Shevtsova 2010; Sherr 2015. 5. It is perhaps more correct to say that NATO brought these European states not only together but also under the protective and hegemonic arm of the United States. 6. In the preamble of the North American Treaty, the language about the common European identity comes before the pledge to support “stability and well-​being in the North American area” by “uniting efforts for collective defense.” 7. This point was first made, somewhat differently, but most pithily and most memorably, by NATO’s first secretary-​general, Lord Hastings Ismay, who said the organization’s raison d’être was to “keep the Russians out, the Americans in, and the Germans down.” It is significant to note here the idea that the Americans felt both able to and obliged to lead the process of resocializing Western European states to the norms of their own civilization, and that the European members of NATO acquiesced to this formulation; the rise of fascism in Spain, Italy, and Germany certainly had cast doubt on the ability of Europeans to safeguard their own “civilizational heritage.” 8. For absorbing and persuasive accounts of the persistent intellectual, social, economic, and political trends and ties abiding between the two halves of Cold War Europe, see Muller, J. 2011; Peteri 2010; Todorova and Gille 2010. 9. Bindi reports that Clinton was so moved and impressed by the arguments for NATO enlargement made by Havel, Wałesa, and Göncz, that he ended the meeting by telling the three leaders that their membership in NATO was a matter of “when” and not “if ” (2011, 18). This view of NATO’s enlargement policy emerging as a result of pressure from the Central European states themselves, and not from a US and Western European “plot” to weaken and destroy Russia was reiterated by former US ambassador to the Soviet Union Jack Matlock in an article he published in the Russian newspaper Komsomolskaya Pravda in April 2014 and later published on his personal website. See http://​jackmatlock.com/​2014/​nato-​expansion-​ was-​there-​a-​promise/​, accessed April 4, 2014. 10. Bugajski argues that both Georgia and Ukraine “were ahead of both Macedonia and Albania” in terms of meeting the criteria NATO uses to assess fitness for membership when the latter two countries received their MAP invitations in 1999 (2008, 138). 11. The idea of creating European security via the construction of “one security roof ” that would reach “from Vancouver to Vladivostok” has become the preferred way of referring to the desire to enhance security cooperation between Russia and the two most important European

 

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security institutions, NATO and the OSCE (both of which also count the United States and Canada as members). Most recently the OSCE has introduced the “V to V Dialogues,” an initiative explicitly aimed at creating security “from Vancouver to Vladivostok via Vienna and Vilnius,” by facilitating informal contacts and discussions among ambassadors from all OSCE states. (See http://​osce.org/​cio81397, accessed July 11, 2012.) Russia has also used the “Vancouver to Vladivostok” expression to propose its own vision of European security in the post-​Soviet era, most recently when then Russian Federation president Dmitri Medvedev unveiled Russia’s concept for a new “European Security Treaty” (EST) in 2009. 12. For a detailed refutation of the idea that NATO leaders ever issued a “no-​enlargement” pledge to Russia, one that was composed long before the Ukraine events of 2013–​2014, see Kramer 2009. For a somewhat more nuanced view of the same issue and time period, see Goldgeier 2016. 13. According to the NATO website entry devoted to the NATO-​Russian Council: http://​www. nato.int/​cps/​en/​natolive/​topics_​50091.htm. Accessed July 17, 2018. 14. See the extensive NATO website devoted to explicating the special nature of NATO’s relationship with Russia in the post-​Soviet period, “NATO-​Russia: Setting the Record Straight,” particularly the section “NATO-​Russia Relations: The Facts,” which discusses thirty-​eight different “myths” that NATO claims Russia has propagated. Available at: http://​www.nato.int/​ cps/​en/​natohq/​topics_​115204.htm. Accessed May 23, 2017. 15. See the NATO-​Ukraine relations page at the NATO website: http://​www.nato.int/​cps/​en/​ natolive/​topics_​37750.htm. Accessed July 11, 2018. 16. For further information on the IPAPs, see NATO’s page on the subject: http://​www.nato.int/​ cps/​en/​natohq/​topics_​49290.htm. Accessed August 4, 2018. 17. See the NATO page on the NATO-​Georgia Commission:  http://​www.nato.int/​cps/​en/​ natolive/​topics_​52131.htm Accessed July 13, 2012. 18. See the White House fact sheet on the 2012 NATO Chicago summit:  http://​www. whitehouse.gov/​the-​press-​office/​2012/​05/​21/​fact-​sheet-​chicago-​summit-​strengthening-​ nato-​s-​partnerships Accessed July 13, 2012.

Chapter 5 1. Eurovision is somewhat like American Idol, except that each participating country nominates one contestant. 2. See the section “The Story” on the official Eurovision website, under the heading “History,” found at: http://​www.variety.com/​article/​VR1118058591/​. Accessed August 10, 2012. 3. See the section “Conditions for Active Membership” on the EBU’s official website, under the heading “Admission,” found at:  http://​www3.ebu.ch/​members/​admission. Accessed June 11, 2014. 4. See the “Code of Ethics” and “Statement of Purpose” on the EBU’s official website, under the heading “Corporate Governance,” found at:  http://​www3.ebu.ch/​files/​live/​sites/​ebu/​files/​ About/​Governance/​Corporate%20Governance%20EN.pdf. Accessed June 11, 2014. 5. The International Telecommunications Union (ITU) would eventually uphold and legitimate the EBU’s claim to and desire to represent “all” of Europe, even the parts behind the Iron Curtain, despite the continued existence of the OIRT until 1993. In its own “Conditions for Active Membership,” the EBU made it clear that membership in the EBU was open to “any member country of the ITU situated in the European Broadcast Area.” 6. See the section “EBU Member Benefits” at the EBU official website, found at: http://​www3.ebu. ch/​cms/​en/​sites/​ebu/​home/​services/​member-​relations/​content-​area/​member-​benefits. html. Accessed September 6, 2012. Also see the article from July 24, 2012, “EU Entrusts the EBU with Strengthening Public Broadcasting in Candidate Countries,” found on the EBU main website at: http://​www3.ebu.ch/​cms/​en/​sites/​ebu/​home/​ebu-​columns-​1/​au-​service-​ de-​la-​societe-​-​declar@/​european-​union-​entrusts-​the-​ebu.html. Accessed September 6, 2012. 7. Individual national members are responsible for organizing the pre-​competition to select their country’s Eurovision contestant and also must pay a participation fee to the EBU for Eurovision, on top of annual EBU membership dues; these fees and dues are based on an individual country’s ability to pay, which means that richer European countries pay more.

 



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8. See the entry entitled “Modern Belarus” on the official website of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Belarus, found at http://​www.mfa.gov.by/​en/​republic/​ modernbelarus/​. Accessed July 10, 2009. 9. See for example, RFE/​RL’s infographic on “LGBT Rights Around the Globe,” available at:  https://​www.rferl.org/​a/​lgbt-​rights-​around-​the-​globe/​28491614.html. Accessed May 26, 2017. It is important to stress, however, that (Western) Europe’s self-​promotion as a beacon for LGBTQ rights is itself worthy of interrogation and criticism (Baker 2016; Rivkin-​ Fish and Hartblay 2014). 10. See the entry on the conference at the EBU’s official blog about Eurovision 2012, available at:  http://​ebueurovision.wordpress.com/​2012/​05/​03/​ebu-​conference-​pledge-​for-​ independent-​media-​and-​free-​access-​to-​media-​of-​choice/​. Accessed September 5, 2012. 11. Ibid. 12. The following discussion and quotes are based on the listing of the “Eleven Values” on the official UEFA website, available at:  http://​www.uefa.com/​uefa/​elevenvalues/​index.html. Accessed September 6, 2012. 13. See the article “Progress Aplenty in Kazakhstan,” from the official UEFA member profile of Kazakhstan, dated January 5, 2012, and available at:  http://​www.uefa.com/​ memberassociations/​association=kaz/​news/​newsid=945252.html. Accessed September 6, 2012. 14. This section draws on the section of the UEFA website for “Assistance Projects.” See http://​ www.uefa.com/​news/​newsid=2495.html. Accessed August 2, 2017. 15. See “Challenges in Eastern Europe,” undated publication of Football against Racism in Europe (FARE), available on FARE’s website at: http://​www.farenet.org/​default.asp?intPageID=41. Accessed June 28, 2009. The very existence of an organization like FARE and the prominent place that anti-​racism holds as a UEFA value are testament to the fact that racism is a problem across the UEFA universe, not only in Eastern Europe.

Chapter 6 1. According to the 2010 Russian Federation census, Muslims made up 10.9  percent of the country’s population. Some analysts believe that the actual number of Muslims living in the country may be much higher, due to undocumented workers from Muslim parts of the former Soviet residing in Russia. 2. Here Kirill is echoing a view widely disseminated by Nataliia Alekseevna Narochnitskaia, a Russian intellectual who sits on the board of trustees of the Russian World Foundation and at the head of the most prominent Russian think tank in Europe, the Institute for Democracy and Cooperation in Paris. For a deep discussion of her views, see Ostbo 2016, especially ­chapter 6. 3. On the decision of the Russian Orthodox Church to suspend its membership in the European Conference of Churches, see the announcement on the Moscow Patriarchate’s website, “Russian Orthodox Church Suspends Membership in Conference of European Churches.” Available at: http://​orthodoxeurope.org/​page/​19/​2/​585.aspx. Accessed October 21, 2012. 4. See the article “New-​look Russian League Ready for Lift-​off ” from July 20, 2012, on the FIFA website:  http://​www.fifa.com/​worldfootball/​clubfootball/​news/​newsid=1666266.html. Accessed October 19, 2012. 5. At the time of writing (2018) the members of the Eurasian Economic Union were: Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Russia. Moldova became an observer member of the EEU in April 2017. For a discussion of the evolution of the body, see International Crisis Group (2016) and Starr and Cornell (2014).

Chapter 7 1. As Bruggemann notes, it was after the moment of Soviet annexation of the Baltic republics that the tradition of referring to the three collectively took strong hold; the Soviets encouraged the regional mindset as a way of replacing and erasing the just-​passed period of differentiated, national independence for the Baltic states, while the legal activism of the Baltic governments-​ in-​exile and diasporas reinforced a similar dynamic in the West (2007, 145–​148).

 

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2. For other general histories of the Balkans see Clemens 2001; Lieven 1994; Palmer 2005; Smith et al. 2002. 3. See the entry on Latvian culture by Latvian poet Imants Ziedonas on the Latvia.eu website: http://​www.latvia.eu/​blog/​identity-​latvian-​culture. Accessed August 3, 2017. 4. Available at:  http://​www.latvia.eu/​sites/​default/​files/​media/​files/​faktu_​lapa_​latvia_​in_​ brief_​2014_​www.pdf. Accessed August 3, 2017. 5. The Latvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs offers extensive fact sheets about the country’s citizenship, naturalization, and minority education policies, which offer that over 82 percent of the Latvian population has obtained citizenship, emphasizes that the Latvian state has “simplified the naturalization process several times,” and asserts forcefully that “Latvian legislation and practice fully conform to international standards” regarding minority rights. (“Citizenship in Latvia”; “Integration Policy in Latvia”; “Minority Education in Latvia.”) 6. For a more detailed discussion of Latvia’s approach to social integration see Budryte 2005.

Chapter 8 1. Only the three other “statelets” stuck in “frozen conflicts” in the former Soviet Union—​South Ossetia, Abkhazia, and Nagorno-​Karabakh—​recognize Transnistria’s independence. 2. See, for example, European Commissioner for Enlargement and European Neighbourhood Policy. Štefan Füle’s 2011 speech “Towards a European Future for the Citizens of Belarus” (Füle 2011)  and historian Timothy Garton Ash’s March 2013 interview with Radio Free Europe, where he predicts that in twenty to twenty-​five years Belarus will “easily” be a member of the EU and NATO (RFE/​RL March 20, 2013). 3. In the section entitled “Geography of Belarus,” www.belarus.by, the “Official Website of the Republic of Belarus” poses the question, “Where exactly is Belarus?” and answers with “Belarus is situated in the centre of Europe!” Accessed September 2, 2009. 4. The “Official website of the Republic of Belarus” also highlights many “most European” aspects of Belarus, such as the Belovezhskaya Pushcha forest (“the largest ancient forest in Europe”), Nesvizh castle (“owned by one of Europe’s richest families”), the Frantsysk Skorina sixteenth-​century Bibles (“Belarus was one of the first nations in Europe to have its own printed Bible,” and the Belarusian partisan movement in World War II (“the strongest resistance movement in Europe”). See “Did you know? Little known facts about Belarus,” http://​ www.belarus.by/​en/​about-​belarus/​did-​you-​know. Accessed September 2, 2009. 5. Survey data reported by Rotman and Veremeeva (2011) suggest that such arguments find resonance with the majority of Belarusians. When asked to list their own society’s most important values, they name “peacefulness,” “tolerance,” “respect for different cultures and religions,” and “preservation of cultural heritage,” while identifying the most important “European values” as “support for a market economy” and “desire for economic prosperity” (87). 6. One of the elements in the November 1996 referendum in Belarus proposed to transform July 3, the “Day of Belarusian Liberation from the Hitlerite Aggressors in the Great Fatherland War,” into Belarus’s new Day of Independence; the measure passed with 88.2 percent voter support. 7. While only about 20 percent of Belarusians speak Belarusian as their primary language (while about 70 percent speak Russian), over 80 percent of Belarusians identify themselves primarily as Belarusians, not Russians (Snyder 2003, 280). 8. As Wilson puts it, it was “assumed, or hoped, by many, that Belarus . . . indeed was somehow the missing geopolitical piece, which, after a bit of special treatment, would fall in line with the other five” (2011, 226–​27). 9. Hale notes that, in addition to being a founding member of the CIS, Belarus had by May 1993 signed 289 of the 318 extant CIS agreements, making it part of what he calls the “integrationist core” of the CIS (2008, 195–​96). 10. In his April 2017 annual address to Parliament, for example, Lukashenko criticized Russia for the “constant disputes” that marred relations between EEU members, but also taunted EU officials for their weakness against criminals like Norwegian killer Anders Breivik by asserting that they “are lacking something in the lower body area” (RFE/​RL April 21, 2017).

 



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11. In his 2003 book Ukraine Is Not Russia, former Ukrainian president Leonid Kuchma identified twelve distinct regions in Ukraine. Barrington and Faranda’s 2009 analysis identifies only five but concludes that regional identity is a significant independent factor in contemporary Ukrainian politics, amplifying the individual influence of ethnic identity, language, and religion. These compounding differences are meaningful; Barrington and Faranda find that “a Russian-​speaking ethnic Russian from Crimea who is a Moscow-​Patriarchy Orthodox believer scores more than 80 points higher on the −60 to 60 support for Russia index than a Ukrainian-​speaking, ethnic Ukrainian from the west who is a Uniate believer, other things constant” (2009, 252). 12. See the Pew Research Center’s Global Attitudes Project Survey from spring 2014, published on May 8, 2014, and available at: http://​www.pewglobal.org/​2014/​05/​08/​despite-​concerns-​ about-​governance-​ukrainians-​want-​to-​remain-​one-​country/​. For the earlier surveys, see the Kyiv Post August 20, 2012, and September 12, 2012. Also see the Razumkov Centre’s polling on this and other relevant questions, available at:  http://​www.razumkov.org.ua/​eng/​poll. php?poll_​id=318. 13. In 2009, before Yanukovych’s election, Ukraine’s Freedom House overall democracy score was 4.39—​somewhat worse than the decadal high that it had reached in 2007, when Ukraine’s score was 4.25 (according to Freedom House’s scale, 1 is most democratic, 7 is least democratic). In 2010, Yanukovych’s first year in office, Ukraine’s score was unchanged, but by 2011 it had worsened to 4.61; by 2012 it slid further to 4.82. Available at: http://​www. freedomhouse.org/​report/​nations-​transit/​2012/​ukraine. Accessed June 25, 2012. 14. This is despite the fact that when Austria-​Hungary first inherited Galicia, the region was seen as a “backward and barbarian” place where the Hapsburg elite could play out “civilizing fantasies” (Wolff 2010, 7). 15. The most recent state census in Ukraine was held in 2001; at that point, 67.5 percent self-​ reported Ukrainian as their “mother tongue,” while 29.6 percent reported Russian. See the results of the census at:  http://​2001.ukrcensus.gov.ua/​eng/​results/​general/​language/​. Accessed June 18, 2013. 16. According to a survey administered by the Gf K company in four different Ukrainian cities during the EURO 2012 championships. Available at:  http://​wnu-​ukraine.com/​news/​ culture-​lifestyle/​?id=1971 Accessed June 19, 2013. 17. Corruption in Moldova reaches eye-​popping levels, even in a region known for graft. In 2014 nearly $1 billion (about one-​eighth of the country’s GDP) “disappeared” from its three major banks. The Council of Europe’s Anti-​Corruption Digest for Moldova provides a litany of fraud. In a ten-​month period ( June 2016–​April 2017), the CoE reported that the following Moldovan officials were either under investigation or already under arrest for various forms of corruption: the agricultural minister, the deputy economic minister, the investigator of the Center for Combating Human Trafficking (!), the former National Bank of Moldova head, the transportation minister, and twenty judges and court officials. 18. See also the very interesting story “Across the Dniester: How Football Is Bridging Moldova’s Cultural Divide,” in These Football Times, November 22, 2016. http://​thesefootballtimes. co/​2016/​11/​22/​across-​the-​dniester-​how-​football-​is-​bridging-​moldovas-​cultural-​divide/​. Accessed August 3, 2017. 19. Data and analysis from the European Commission website, available at:  http://​ec.europa. eu/​trade/​policy/​countries-​and-​regions/​countries/​moldova/​. Accessed August 5, 2013. Moscow does control nearly all of Moldova’s gas supply, which gives Russia significant influence in Moldovan affairs.

Chapter 9 1. I use the shorthand “Caucasus states” to refer to the three southern Caucasus states, sometimes called the Transcaucasus states—​Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. My analysis does not cover the northern part of the Caucasus region, except insofar as these territories are still part of the Russian Federation. 2. The convention of referring to Mt. Elbus as “the highest mountain peak in Europe” dates from this period (King 2008, 125). Contemporary Europeans, and the rest of the world,

 

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were re-​introduced to the amazing beauty of the Caucasus Mountains via the truly stunning backdrops broadcast during the 2014 Sochi Winter Olympics. 3. A September 2013 survey by the National Democratic Institute in Tbilisi found that 94 percent of Georgians trusted Patriarch Ilia II, while only 64 percent trusted then Prime Minister Bidzina Ivanishvili. See TOL October 25, 2013. 4. While most ethnic Abkhaz support the Russian leadership, Toal and O’Laughlin’s 2014 analysis suggests that they would prefer to remain “independent” and not be integrated into Russia (Washington Post March 20, 2014). In August 2014, acting president of Abkhazia Valery Bganba sent a letter to the presidents of Belarus and Kazakhstan asking them to recognize Abkhazia’s “sovereignty and independence” and stating Abkhazia’s desire to help “with the building of the Eurasian Union”; that is, to join the EAU itself, and not as a part of Russia (Civil Georgia August 22, 2014). 5. The Armenian Apostolic Church is, together with the Coptic, Ethiopian, Syriac, Eritrean, and Malankara Syrian churches, often referred to as an “Oriental Orthodox” or “Old Oriental Orthodox” church, distinct from Eastern Orthodox and Western Catholic and Protestant traditions. 6. See the article “Armenia’s Best Laid Plans Paying Off,” published on the UEFA website on January 31, 2014. Available at: http://​www.uefa.org/​football-​development/​hattrick/​news/​ newsid=2048876.html; and UEFA’s historical sketch of Armenian football, “Armenia Always a Football Hotbed,” January 5, 2012, available at: http://​www.uefa.com/​memberassociations/​ association=arm/​news/​newsid=945454.html. 7. See China View April 24, 2006, available at: www.news.xinhuanet.com, for the Golos Armenii comment and Nicu Popescu’s October 12, 2009, entry in the EU Observer’s Neighborhood Blog, available at: http://​blogs.euobserver.com/​popescu/​2009/​10/​12/​eu-​in-​armenia-​high-​ level-​but-​low-​profile/​. 8. The European Games are imagined as a sort of “mini-​Olympics” for European athletes; Azerbaijan reportedly invested more than $10 billion in preparations and infrastructure for the 2015 Games, a lavish sum surpassing even the extravagant outlay it expended in 2012 to host Eurovision in Baku. See RFE/​RL December 31, 2014, and the official site for the 2015 European Games: http://​www.baku2015.com/​en/​. 9. Along with SOCAR, the major players in the “Contract of the Century” and the AIOC have been British Petroleum, Chevron (USA), Statoil (Norway), ExxonMobil (USA), Hess (USA), and also some smaller Turkish and Japanese firms. Russia’s LUKoil was an original signatory to the 1994 contract, but later sold its shares. 10. Intense and effective lobbying by Armenian Americans led in 1992 to the US Congress’s adoption of the Freedom Support Act, which effectively blamed Azerbaijan for the ongoing violence in Nagorno-​Karabakh and prevented Americans from offering any aid to or pursuing closer relations with Azerbaijan. Every year since 2002, Congress has given the US president a waiver to enable the new, more intimate relationship between Azerbaijan and NATO to continue (Cornell 2011, 405–​7).

Chapter 10 1. Turkestan was named a Governorate of the Tsarist Empire in 1867 and covered most of contemporary Central Asia. At different times it included the territories of the Fergana, Samarkand, Semirechye, SurDarya, and Transcaspian Oblasts, plus the Emirate of Bukhara. 2. In a spring 2014 survey, only 3 percent of Kyrgyz respondents said their country should pursue integration with the EU, as did only 7 percent of Tajiks and 5 percent of Uzbeks, while the corresponding numbers who thought their states should pursue integration with Russia stood at 67 percent, 70 percent, and 47 percent respectively. See RAD, #165, March 17, 2105, 25. 3. Historian Daniel Brower concurs, noting that, within the empire, “Turkestan was a space apart . . . receiving the label of ‘colony’ almost immediately after its conquest,” and that “In words and in deeds, Russian rule in that region drew explicitly on ideas of colonialism inspired by European overseas empires” (Brower 2003, x–​xi). 4. In his fascinating discussion of “going native” during the period 1870–​1914, historian Willard Sunderland noted that for the Tsarist Russian state, “assimilation in Eastern borderlands was

 



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supposed to be a one-​way street . . . Russians were not supposed to go down the scale of civilization and become ‘the Other.’ The key here was the existence of the scale itself. Russian ethnographers created a scale of peoples of empire, a hierarchy of cultures . . . all should proceed upwards via assimilation and progress and Russification” (1996, 806). 5. It is common in Russia and the former Soviet world to refer to any Islamic opposition figures as “Wahhabists,” whether they harbor violent tendencies or not, and whether they actually embrace any tenets of the strict Saudi form of Wahhabism. See Heathershaw and Montgomery 2014 and Peyrouse 2016.

 

 

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INDEX

Note: Tables are indicated by an t following the page number “A European Alternative for Belarus,” 223 Abkhaz ethnic group, 390n.4 Abkhazia, 104, 169, 264, 270–​71, 274–​75, 279, 280–​81, 285, 286 Accession Partnerships, 69 Adamkus, Valdas, 184–​85 Adams, Laura, 356 Afghanistan concerns about Islamic terrorism in, 330 Georgian troops in, 285, 286 ISAF activities in, NATO interests in, 110–​11, 314–​15,  332 Islamic State in, 339, 340 NATO drawn down in, 322, 347–​48, 358–​59 NATO’s Resolute Support mission in, 300 Operation Enduring Freedom, NATO, 329 war and NATO members, 86 “Agreement of Cooperation” (EU and UEFA),  131–​32 Agreement of Pereiaslav, 234 Akayev, Askar, 348, 352 Akiner, Shirin, 329 Aksamija, Azra, 117–​19, 120 Alasania, Irakli, 286–​87 Albania. See also Balkan states and EU enlargement, 72 EU membership of, 383n.3 MAP membership, 96–​98 and NATO, 98, 385n.10 as Post-​Communist European and Eurasian Country, 381n.1 Albright, Madeleine, 94–​95, 99–​100 Alexander the Great (250–​125 BCE), 362 Alexsey II, Patriarch, 152 Algeria EBU membership of, 115–​16 participation in ENP, 384nn.12–14

Alighieri, Dante, 291 Aliyev, Heydar, 301, 310–​11, 313–​14 Aliyev, Ilham, 128, 304, 306 Aliyev, Mehriban, 304 Aliyev regime, 221–​22 Alstadt, Audrey, 305 alt/​alte version, of Europeanness, 7, 10–​11, 19, 73, 87, 141, 142, 145, 148, 149, 156–​57, 169–​70 “Alternative EUP” (EEU as), 162–​66 Amnesty International, 126 Amsterdam Amendment, 70–​71 Andrukhovych, Yuri, 238 “anti-​gay propaganda law” Belarus, 220 Appel, Hillary, 19, 65 Arab Spring, 29–​30, 168, 227, 337 Armenia balancing independence with economic and political strength, 110 and CSTO, 227 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  289–​94 diaspora politics, Europeanness of, 292–​93 EAPP as protection for Europeanization, 85 as earliest Christian state, 267 EEU and CSTO membership, 169–​70 EEU membership of, 292–​93 and ENP Action Plans, 82 EOCG rating of, 287 and EU membership requirements, 74–​76, 296 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization projects of, 65 Europeanness of, 82 Eurovision participation of, 117 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 frozen conflicts with Russia, 143 joins EEU, 165 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t 419

 

420 I n d e

Armenia (cont.) as members of EAP and IPAP, 103 negotiating Europeanness under Russia’s protection,  287–​89 no stated intention on NATO membership,  283–​84 participation in ENP, 384n.12 political Europeanization, since 1989, 294–​98 “Russian-​Soviet Orientalism,” 292 security Europeanization since 1989, 298–​300 tripartite relations with EU and EEU, 296–​98 Tsarist Empire and, 57 Armenian Apostolic Church, 305, 390n.5 Arnold, Richard, 136–​37 Arutiunov, Sergei, 183 Asad, Talal, 44 Asian Development Bank (ABD), 330 Asian Football Confederation (AFC), 133, 157, 328,  340–​41 Åslund, Anders, 261–​62 Asmus, Ronald, 94, 95, 99, 103–​4, 105, 107–​8 Association Agreements (AAs). See also European Union (EU) Armenian lack of participation, 297 and EAP, 65 Georgia and EU, 278–​79, 283 and Lithuania, 189–​90 Moldova and EU, 246, 253, 255–​56 Ukraine and EU, June 2014, 239, 242–​43 Ukraine’s signing of, 165–​66 Yanukovych signing and cancellation of, 85 Astana, Kazakhstan, 342–​43 “At Twenty-​Nine” format, 100 Atambayev, Almazbek, 354 Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal, 51, 306–​7, 371 Atlantic Treaty, 191 Atlantic West, 39–​41, 53–​54 “Atlanticist” period, Yeltsin era, 160–​61 Austria, 39–​41, 124 “Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic” (Bessarabia), 251 Azerbaijan balancing independence with economic and political strength, 110 benefits from EEAB, 133–​34 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization,  34–​35 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  303–​7 democratic interlude (1992-​1993), 309–​10 and ENP Action Plans, 82 and EU, 221–​22 and EU membership requirements, 74–​76 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization projects of, 65 Europeanness of, 82 Eurovision and gay LGBTQ rights, 126 Eurovision and self-​identity, 121–​22

x

Eurovision participation of, 117, 119 Heydar Aliyev era, 310–​11 human rights and Eurovision, 127–​29 Ilham Aliyev era, 311–​13 and Islamic politics, 305–​7 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as members of EAP and IPAP, 103 membership in UEFA, 133 no stated intention on NATO membership,  283–​84 nonaligned policy of, 266, 301–​3 participation in ENP, 384n.12 political Europeanization since 1989, 307–​13 security Europeanization since 1989, 313–​16 Azerbaijan Democratic Republic (May 1918–​April 1920),  302–​3 Azerbaijan International Operating Company (AIOC), 310–​11, 390n.9 Azerbaijani Democratic Republic (ADR), 306 Azerbaijani Islamic Party, 306–​7 “Azerbaijani Kemal.” See Aliyev, Heydar Azerbaijani Popular Front (APF), 309–​10 Azeris culture changes among, 306 as ethnic and linguistically Turkic, 301 Eurovision and gay rights, 126 as Shia Muslims, 267–​68 as threatening to Armenia, 288–​89 Tsarist officials and, 305–​6 Azubalis, Audronius, 189

Bagration Dynasty, 272–​73 Bakic-​Hayden, Milica, 45–​46, 381n.4 Bakiyev, Kurmanbek, 348, 352 Baku, Eurovision in, 127–​28 Baku-​Tbilisi-​Ceyhan pipeline deal, 279 Balkan states. See also Albania; Bosnia-​ Herzegovina; Bulgaria; Croatia; Greece; Kosovo; Montenegro; Romania; Serbia; Slovenia; Turkey enlargement in, 72–​73 EOCG rating of, 42–​43 NATO membership, 98 “Baltic Brigade,” 194–​95 Baltic German colonization and Christianization,  180–​81 Baltic Pride, 204 “Baltic Skies” program, 191 Baltic states. See also Estonia; Latvia; Lithuania and “Big Bang” enlargement, 96 Christian heritage of, 180–​81 MAP membership, 100 membership in UEFA, 133 “snatching Belarus from Russia’s grip,” 223–​24 “Soviet captivity” narratives and EU and NATO membership, 56 warns EU to be skeptical of Russia, 78–​79

 



Index

Baltic states, “return to Europe” acting like “good” Europeans, 177–​82 Baltic vision, European history, 187–​88 EOCG rating of, 171–​77 as EU model citizens, 186–​90 and Europeanization of post-​Soviet Successor states,  208–​9 as members of NATO, 190–​91 political and security Europeanization of,  182–​85 Baltic Way human chain, Aug. 1989, 184, 187 BALTOPS, 191 Bannon, Steve, 17–​18 Baranovsky, Vladimir, 146 Barents Euro-​Arctic Council, 384n.10 Barents Interreg, 384n.10 Barrington, Lowell, 389n.11 Barroso, José Manuel, 135, 242 Basescu, Trajan, 73 Bassin, Mark, 382n.2, 382n.3 “Battle of Blue Waters” conference, May 2012, 190 Bauman, Zygmunt, 38 Baykal, Sanem, 25–​26 Bekus, Nelly, 216–​17 Belarus as almost European, 210–​13 anti-​Europeanism,  220 benefits from EEAB, 133–​34 and CIS, 388n.9 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, since 1989,  215–​21 culture and heritage, 388nn.4–​8 “Declaration on the Situation on Belarus,” EAP summit, 384n.17 EEU and CSTO membership, 169–​70 EEU membership of, 292–​93 endorsement of CIS Economic Union, 164 and EU membership requirements, 44–​45,  74–​76 “European Belarus” model, 217–​18 and European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 81 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanness of, 82 Eurovision and self-​identity, 120 Eurovision participation of, 117 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 as founding member of EEU, 159–​60 “Holy Rus” community and, 154 joins UEFA, 15 lack of EU partnership agreements, 1190’s, 81 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as member of EAP but not IPAP, 103 membership in UEFA, 133 No Bloc or European state-​in-​waiting, 227–​28 no stated intention on NATO membership,  283–​84 opposition movement in, 29–​30

421

participation in ENP, 384n.12, 384nn.13–​14 PCA with EU, 384n.11 political Europeanization, since 1989, 221–​25 and Russian culture, 220–​21 “Russian vector” vs. “European vector,” 222–​23 and Russia’s EEU, 224–​25 search for sovereignty, 213–​15 security Europeanization since 1989, 225–​27 as “Semi-​European” state, 261–​63 and UEFA and EURO, 129–​31 as weak security Europeanization (no NATO aspirations),  110–​12 “Belarus Task Force,” International Center for Democratic Transition, 223 Berdimuhamedov, Gurbanguly, 368, 371 Berg, Eiki, 31 Berger, Sandy, 100 Berlin Wall, fall of, 3, 23, 41, 67, 88, 105, 107–​8 Bernabeau, Santiago, 132 Bessarabia,  250–​51 “best moral self,” Europeanness as, 14–​15 “Big Bang” enlargement, 16, 41, 70–​71, 96 Bildt, Carl, 78–​79 Bindi, Federiga, 385n.9 “Black January” killings, 309 Black Sea, 264, 271–​72 Black Sea Economic Cooperation, 384n.10 Bohlman, Philip, 123 Bolshevik Revolution, 325–​27 Bordyuzha, Nikolai, 168 Bosnia-​Herzegovina, 96–​98, 103, 107–​8, 124, 383n.3, See also Balkan states Brandt, Willy, 92–​93 Breedlove, Philip, 108 Brexit, 17–​18, 19, 62, 149–​50, 156 Brezhnev, Leonid, 368–​70 Brezhnev Doctrine, 66–​67 “Bronze Soldier,” removal of, 193 Brower, Daniel R., 57, 325, 390n.3 Brown, Peter, 48, 382n.4 Bruggemann, Karsten, 387n.1 Bucharest Declaration, 286 Bugajski, 385n.10 Bulgaria. See also Balkan states and Big Bang enlargement, 96 differences between Visegrad states and Balkan states,  15–​16 EOCG rating of, 42–​43 EU enlargement in, 72–​73 EU membership of, 62–​64 Europeanness of, 23 joins EU, 2007, 42–​43 offers of EU membership, 64 Bunce, Valerie, 279, 293, 312 Bush, George, 103–​4 Byzantine Empire, 48–​49 Byzantine Orthodox, 153

 

422 I n d e

Campbell, Sol, 135–​36 Canada, 92–​93, 162 Case, Holly, 50 Caspian Sea, 264 Cassiday, Julie, 125 Catherine II, 23, 24–​25, 52, 145 Caucasus states. See also Armenia; Azerbaijan; Georgia as “crossroads of civilization,” 267–​68 definition of, 389n.1 EOCG rating of, 210 membership in EBU, 116 membership in UEFA, 133 as “Russia’s own Orient,” 268–​69 as “transitional” space from Soviet Union,  264–​66 Ceferin, Aleksander, 137 Center for Combating Human Trafficking, 389n.17 Central Asia Strategy, 329 Central Asian republics, 76 Central Asian states Bolshevik Revolution, 325–​27 “courted” by NATO, 110–​11 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 and the EEU, 335–​36 EOCG rating of, 210 EU and, 86–​87 and European institutions, 327–​33 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40 not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 political Europeanization of, 329–​31 relations with NATO, 331–​33 before Russian conquest, 322–​23 “soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 Soviet cultural transformation and modernization,  326–​27 Tsarist era, 324–​25 Central European states. See also Baltic states; Czech Republic; Estonia; Hungary; Latvia; Lithuania; Poland; Slovakia; Slovenia Belarus as, 213–​14, 224 as captive states, 39–​41 claim of Europeanness, 69–​70, 71 definition of, 39–​43 as EOCG “zone of ambiguity,” 22 Europeanizing ambitions of, 94, 95 Lithuania as, 202–​3 question of Europeanness, 69–​73 warns EU to be skeptical of Russia, 78–​79 “centralized statism and kleptocracy,” in Russia, 19 Champions’ League, 132 Charap, Samuel, 246 “Charter 97” movement (anti-​Lukashenko, pro-​Europe),  217 Charter of European Identity, 52

x

Charter of Fundamental Rights (UE), 131–​32 Charter of Paris, 1990, 107 “Charter on a Distinctive Partnership,” Ukraine and NATO, 243–​44 China and the Central Asian states, 338–​39 and Kazakhstan, 340–​41, 344 and Turkmenistan, 368 “Chinggis Khan” (Temujin), 323 Christianity, 43, 45–​50 Christopher, Warren, 94–​95, 96, 98 CIS Collective Security Treaty, 167–​68, 227, 243–​44, 353–​54,  361 CIS Collective Security Treaty, 1992, 243–​44 CIS Economic Union, 164 Citizens’ Union of Georgia, 279 Civil Society Forum, EAP, 223–​24 “civilizational blurriness” of Russia, 143–​46 Classicism, era of, 51 Clemens, Walter C., 184–​85 Clinton, Bill, 94–​96, 385n.9 Closson, Stacy, 108–​9 Colchis, Kingdom, 271–​72 Cold War breach, mending of, 9 Cold War era, 23, 37, 39–​41, 55, 92–​99 Cold War rhetoric, European “divide,” 92–​93,  187–​88 Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and Armenia, 266, 298–​300 Armenia membership, 295 and Belarus, 227 in Central Asian states, 332–​33, 337–​38 Kazakhstan membership, 347–​48 and NATO, 167–​70 as Russian alternative to NATO, 10–​11, 16–​17, 91, 142 and Tajikistan, 365–​68 and Turkmenistan, 373–​74 and Uzbekistan, 360–​61 Collective Security Treaty (predecessor to CSTO),  313–​14 Color Revolutions, 16, 103–​4, 105, 163, 168 Colton, Timothy, 246 Committee on Foreign Relations, 151 Committee to Protect Journalists, 126 Common Foreign and Security Policy, EU, 68–​69 “common security dilemma,” 221 “Common Spaces” framework, 78, 161 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). See also Russia and Armenia, 298–​99 Azerbaijan membership in, 314–​15 and Belarus, 222–​23, 225, 227 and Kazakhstan, 346 and Kyrgyzstan, 351–​54 and Moldova, 258–​59 and Tajikistan, 365–​68

 



Index

and Ukraine, 243–​44 used by Russia to bolster power, 163–​64 and Uzbekistan, 354, 360–​61 communism, collapse of, 9, 11–​12 Condee, Nancy, 155 conditionality principle, 93–​94 Conference of European Churches, 152 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 9, 93, 106–​7, 132, 215. See also Helsinki Accords Constitution of Moldova, 1994, 252 “Contract of the Century,” 390n.9 Conventional Forces, 259–​60 Cooley, Alexander, 320–​21, 331 Copenhagen Criteria goals, 69, 70–​71 Copenhagen Summit, 1993, 69 “cordon sanitaire,” Baltic states as, 182–​83 Cossack Hetmanate, 232, 233–​35 Council of Baltic Sea States, 384n.10 Council of Europe (CoE), 27, 62, 128, 146–​47 Council of Europe’s Anti-​Corruption Digest, 389n.17 Council of Representatives, Belarus, 224 Counter-​Reformation,  234 Cox, Pat, 242 Crimea annexation, March 2014, 23, 99, 100, 108, 124–​25, 129–​31, 149–​50, 156, 189–​90, 194–​95, 207, 227, 238, 245, 336 Crimean War 1856, 50, 324, 382n.5 Croatia, 62–​64, 383n.3, See also Balkan states CSCE (Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe). See Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) CSTO (Collective Security Treaty Organization). See Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) CSTO Peacekeeping force, 227 CSTO Rapid Reaction Force, 169, 227 Cuban Missile Crisis, 99 Cummings, Sally, 350–​51 “Customs Union” Russia, Belarus and Kazakhstan, 164 Czech Republic. See also Central European states as Central European state, 69–​70 and EU, 71 as EU member, 187 and European Agreements, 69–​70 Europeanness of, 23, 71 and growth of pro-​Russian and anti-​EU forces, 156 joins EU and NATO, 15 and NATO, 15 NATO membership of, 95–​96 rebranding as Western, 41 Russian friendly leadership of, 149–​50 support for Ukraine and Moldova EU membership, 82

423

Czechoslovakia as Central European country, 39–​41 as founding members of UEFA, 132 joins EU and NATO, 14

Daily Telegraph, London, 122 “Day of Soviet Occupation,” 249–​50 De Quette, Harry, 122–​23 “Declaration on Strategic Partnership,” US and Uzbekistan,  331–​32 Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Acts (DCFTA), 85 Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement (DCFTA), 242 “de-​Europeanization” Soviet, 173 Deltenre, Ingrid, 127–​28 Denmark, 179 Der Spiegel, Germany, 126 Derrida, 39 Deschytsia, Andriy, 243 Development Cooperation Instrument (DCI), 329 DeWaal, Thomas, 267, 271–​72, 286, 303, 306 Diez, Thomas, 72 Dimou, Augusta, 56, 383n.4 Dodon, Igor, 109–​10, 256–​57, 258 EAP Index rankings, 254–​55 EAP summit, 2013, 242 EAPC (Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council). See Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC) “East European Assistance Bureau” (EEAB),  133–​34 Eastern Bloc, 119, 122 “Eastern Dimension,” EU, 194 Eastern Europe. See also Baltic states; Central Europe; Russia and death of Brezhnev Doctrine, 66–​67 definition of, 39–​43 Europe Agreements, 183–​84 Europeanness of, 53 PHARE program and, 104 and the Russian Orthodox Church, 156 zone of ambiguity, 22 Eastern Orthodoxy, 48–​50 Eastern Partnership Civil Society Forum, 83 Eastern Partnership (EAP) Armenian participation, 287–​88 and Belarus, 215, 221, 223, 384n.14 and Central Asian states, 76, 86–​87 common membership with IPAP, 103 Eastern Partnership to, 82–​84 as EU platform for Belarus, 224 EU upgrading of relationships, 65 and Moldova, 246, 256 purpose,  26–​27 Summit in Vilnius, 2013, 189

 

424 I n d e

Eastern Partnership Plus (EAPP), 65, 85, 86–​87 Eastern policy, EU, 188–​90 “Eastern policy” EU and NATO, 177–​78 east/​west divide, Europe, 4–​5, 9 EBU (European Broadcasting Union). See European Broadcasting Union (EBU) ECU (Eurasian Customs Union). See Eurasian Customs Union (ECU) EEU (Eurasian Economic Union). See Eurasian Economic Union (EEU) EEU/​Erasian Union project, 296 Eghiazaryan, Azat, 250 Egypt EBU membership of, 115–​16 participation in ENP, 384n.12 Elçibey, Abulfaz, 309–​10 Emerson, Michael, 82 energy network, Europe, 79, 161–​62, 302–​3, 330–​31,  338 England, 3, 17–​18, 19, 149–​50 Englestein, Laura, 145 “Enhanced and Comprehensive Partnership Agreement,” 297 Enhanced Forward Presence, NATO, 191 enlargement fatigue, 26, 122 enlargement process, post-​communist, EU. See also “Big Bang” enlargement and Balkan states, 42–​43 brief history of, 65–​67 Central Asian states, 86–​87 and dynamics of EOCG and Russian power struggle,  25–​26 end of, EU and non-​Baltic Soviet states, 26,  73–​77 and EOCG ratings, 30 EU and NATO enlargement, 67 EU in the East, early enlargment, 70–​72 EU in the East, European Agreements, 67–​70 Europhilia, 16 “good” Europe vs. “bad” Russia, dichotomy, 383n.6 later enlargement: cultural and civilizational barriers,  72–​73 of other Soviet Successor states, 81–​87 as three phase process, 62–​64 via UEFA and EURO championships, 133–​38 Enlightenment, 47–​48, 51–​52, 153 ENP (European Neighborhood Policy). See European Neighborhood Policy(ENP) ENP Action Plans, 82 EOCG (Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient). See Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG) “Era of Enlightenment,” 145 Estonia. See also Balkan states Center for the Eastern Partnership, 189 as Central European country, 175–​76

x

cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  191–​94 EU and NATO membership of, 10 EU membership interest, 71 Europeanness of, 23, 71 Eurovision participation of, 117, 119 global financial crisis and Eurozone integration, 186 joins EBU, 15 joins EU and NATO, 14–​15 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as new European state, 26–​27 political Europeanization, since 1989, 194 re-​Europeanization of,  179–​80 security Europeanization since 1989, 194–​96 “Estonian Modern Culture” 2008, 191–​93 Etkind, Alexander, 150, 381n.5 EU (European Union). See European Union (EU) “EU and Central Asia Strategy for a New Partnership,” 86 EU Customs and Energy Unions, 85 EU Enlargement Commission, 85 EU-​Armenia visa facilitation agreement, 297 Euphoric phase, Europeanization, 15, 27–​28 Eurasian Customs Union (ECU), 242, 381n.2 “Eurasian Customs Union” (ECU), 164 “Eurasian Economic Community” (EEC), 164 Eurasian Economic Union (EEU) and Armenia, 266, 292–​93, 295, 298 and Belarus, 215, 224–​25 and Central Asian states, 335–​36 as EAU, 381n.2 and Georgia, 281 and Kyrgyzstan, 351 Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan in, 335–​36 and Moldova, 258–​59 as Russian alternative to EU, 10–​11, 27, 74–​76, 142, 159–​60,  169–​70 and Russian-​Belarusian Union State, 222–​23 and Tajikistan, 365–​68 Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan, 336 and Ukraine, 165–​66 and Uzbekistan, 354 Eurasian Union, 159–​60, 163–​64 “Eurasianism,” 142 “Eurasianist” policy, 65 EURO 2012, 134–​38, 157, 242 “Euro alternative” regional security organizations, 91 Euro-​Alternative security organizations, Belarus and Russia, 227 Euro-​Atlantic Partnership Council (EAPC), 100, 108,  331–​32 Eurocentric conceptual map, 32, 38–​39 Eurocentric-​Orientalist Cultural Gradient (EOCG). See also Balkan states; Baltic states; Central Asian states

 



Index

as animating force in Europeanization, 12–​13 assessment of Eastern Partner states, 178 Azerbaijan, rating of, 301 Baltic states, rating of, 171–​77, 178–​82 Belarus’ position on, 262 and cultural-​civilization Europeanization in former Soviet Union, 31–​35, 93–​94, 113–​15 defining concepts, 37–​39 defining the “between” or middle states, 39–​43 and the desire for Europeanization, 375–​76 distinction between PHARE and TACIS states, 77 and the east/​west divide, Europe, 4–​5 and EU enlargement, 62–​64 and European efforts in former Soviet Union, 377 and “European” football, 134 and Europeanization in former Soviet Union,  378–​79 Europeanization in political and security realms, former Soviet Union, 25–​30 Europeanization of Belarus, Ukraine and Moldova,  210–​13 and Europe’s self-​identity, 15–​16, 62 as gradient of Europeanness, 21–​22 influence on Russia, Europe and the post-​Soviet states,  375–​77 Moldova’s position on, 262 and NATO policies, 89 Old vs. New Empire, perceptions of Eurovision voting corruption, 123–​24 rating of Turkmenistan, 368 ratings of Central Asian states, 320, 328, 333 replication in Tsarist and Soviet Russia,  23–​24 and rhetoric of modernization, 80 and self-​identification, 36 transformations and exclusion of Russia, 16–​17 Ukraine’s position on, 262 EuroMaidan movement as cause of Europhobia, 17–​18 effects on EU gatekeepers, 27 effects on Georgian Europeanization, 266, 282 Russian anger and, 80 and suspension of AA, 85, 212–​13, 242 Ukraine, Georgia and Moldova sign AA as result, 215 and Ukraine political system following, 230–​32 Ukraine sports and culture following, 237 and Ukrain’s Europeanness status, 242 Europa-​Union Deutschland, 52 Europe cognitive map of, 36–​37 definitions of, 43–​44 eastern boundary of, 264–​300 geographical borders, 44–​45 “Europe and the Challenge of Enlargement,” 68

425

“Europe Whole and Free Conference” Atlantic Council,  286–​87 “Europe whole and free” rhetoric, 89–​91, 98–​99 European, meaning of, 10 European Agreements, 69, 183–​84 “European alternative” projects of Russia, 169–​70 European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), 367–​68 “European Belarus” model, 217–​18 “European Broadcasting Area,” 116 European Broadcasting Union (EBU). See also Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) as actor of Europeanization, 12, 113–​14 and Europeanization of post-​Soviet Successor states, 4, 117–​22, 127–​29 Eurovision and “Old” Europe, post-​Soviet Successor states, 122–​24 founding of and Europeanizing function of,  115–​16 history of, 115–​16 LGBTQ rights and Eurovision in post-​Soviet Successor states, 124–​27 and principle of solidarity, 116 in Ukraine, 237 “European Capital of Culture,” 2011, 193–​94 European Club Championship, 132 European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC), 41, 115–​16,  165 European Commission, 70–​71, 131–​32, 186–​87, 205,  330–​31 European Conference of Churches, 154, 276 European Council on Social Research (ECSR), 84,  252–​53 “European cultural citizenship,” 113 “European Day of Remembrance for the Victims of Stalinism and Nazism,” 151, 188 “European Democratic Family,” 183–​84 European dream, 3, 7–​9, 266, 378–​79 European Football Championships (EURO), 15, 34–​35, 61, 113–​15, 129–​31, 199, 238–​39, 303. See also Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) European Forum, Berlin, 2003, 198 European Games, 390n.8 European Humanities University, Vilnius, 189 European identity, 68 European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 26–​27, 65, 74–​76, 81–​83, 86–​87, 188–​89, 296, 384n.12 European Security Treaty (EST), 2009, 91, 107–​8, 143, 168, 385–​86n.11 European unification, aim of, 52 European Union (EU) AAs signed with Ukraine, 189–​90 as actor of Europeanization, 11–​12 as animating force in Europeanization, 13 Article 237 of Treaty of Rome, 44–​45

 

426 I n d e

European Union (EU) (cont.) Baltic “state continuity” thesis, 183 Baltic states model citizens, 186–​90 and Belarus, 221–​24 Belarus and, 215 and Central Asian states, 329–​31 criteria/​cost for joining, 27–​30 Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Serbia, Albania and, 383n.3 Eastern policy, 188–​90 enlargement fatigue, 122 enlargement in the East, 67–​73 enlargement studies, 25–​26 and ENP, 384n.12, 384n.13 as European gatekeeper, 12 Europeanization in political and security realms, former Soviet Union, 25–​30 Euroskepticism in, 17–​18 and Eurovision, 117–​19 as gatekeeper, 20–​21 includes Baltic states in PHARE program,  183–​84 and Kazakhstan, 344–​45 as marker of Europeanness, 383n.1, 383n.2 membership of Baltic states, 10 monopoly of the European idea after the Cold War, 148 as most important European institution, 62–​65 and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 73–​77 offers of membership to Balkan states, 64 and other Soviet Successor states, 81–​87 partnership with Russia, 158–​62 and privileged partnership with Russia, 142 and Russia, 76–​80 Russia’s participation in initiatives, 384n.10 support of EBU, 117 and Ukraine, 240–​43 and Uzbekistan, 358 as world’s largest economy, 66 Europeanization actors in, 12 Central European hybrid phase, 42 concept of, 4 cultural-​civilization in former Soviet Union, 31–​35 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization of Baltic states,  171–​82 cultural-​civilizational evidence of, 61 definition of, 3, 19–​20 EOCG as animating force in, 13 EU and NATO as animating forces in, 13 ex-​Soviet republics and, 10 of former Soviet Union, 9–​10, 378–​79 Gorbachev’s claim of Europeanness, 24–​25 modernization as, 80 Phase One: Europhoria, 14–​16 Phase Three: Europhobia, 17–​19 Phase Two: Europhilia, 16–​17

x

political, in Russia since 1989, 158–​66 political, since 1989, 62–​65 political and security Europeanization of Baltic states,  182–​85 in political and security realms, 25–​27 realist theories of, 30 of Russia, incomplete, 141–​43 Russian hostility toward, 10–​11, 382n.7 security since 1989, 88 and self-​identification,  13–​14 through enlargement, 20–​21 and Ukraine crisis, 85–​86 Europeanness of Armenia, 287–​89 as “best moral self,” 14–​15 characteristics of, 21 definition of, 43–​44 and Eastern Orthodoxy, 49–​50 extrinsic and intrinsic aspects of, 36–​37 historical markers of, 51–​53 indexes of intrinsic, 59–​61 intrinsic characteristics, 59–​60 intrinsic of post-​communist states, 93–​94 of non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 101–​2 as political label and cultural identity, 113 religion as marker of, 45–​50 Russian alt/​alte vision of, 7 Russia’s cultural “blurriness,” 53–​55, 169 and the Soviet “Taint,” 55–​57 understanding and value of, 3–​4 “Europe’s common home” CSCE, 93 Europhilia, 14, 16–​17 Europhobia, 14, 17–​19 Europhoria,  14–​16 EuroPride festival, Latvia, 2015, 199 “Eurovision: Shedding Light on Darkness,” 128 Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) and Armenia, 293 and Azerbaijan, 303 and Belarus, 219–​20 and Central Asian states, 328 and Estonia, 193 Europeanizing socialization in post-​Soviet Successor states, 113–​15, 117–​22, 127–​29 founding of and Europeanizing function of,  115–​17 and Kazakhstan, 340–​41 and Latvia, 199 LGBTQ rights in post-​Soviet Successor states,  124–​27 and Moldova, 253 post-​Soviet state’s cultural-​civilizational Europeanization efforts, 31–​32, 34–​35,  113–​15 Russian participation, 157–​58 Russian participation in, 158 and Ukraine, 237

 



Index

“Eurovision Week,” 113–​15 “Eurovision without Political Prisoners,” 128 Eurozone austerity and economic crises, 3, 62, 163 Baltic states, 177–​78, 185 Baltic states response to crisis, 186 Estonia joining of, 194 and EU enlargement fatigue, 26 Latvia’s economy and Eurozone crisis, 200 Lithuania joins, 205 “Evil of the West,” 149 Eyal, Jonathan, 68

Faranda, Regina, 389n.11 Festival di Sanremo, 115–​16 Figes, Orlando, 382n.5 Filip, Pavel, 257 “Financial Fair Play” (FFP) program (UEFA),  131–​32 Football against Racism in Europe (FARE), 387n.15 Football Association of the Republic of Kazakhstan, 133 Football Federation of Armenia, 293–​94 “Football Federation of Kazakhstan,” 133 founding age, European civilization, 382n.4 “Four Common Spaces” arrangement, 81 France and financing of Eurovision and self-​identity,  122 and growth of pro-​Russian and anti-​EU forces, 156 France, on “neighborhood” policy, 81 Free Trade Area, CIS, 354 Freedom House’s “Worst of the Worst” list, repressive states, 334 “Friendly Ukraine” (Ukraine Internet site), 137 “from Vancouver to Vladivostok,” 45, 98–​99, 107–​ 8, 385–​86n.11 frozen conflicts, 91, 143, 246, 247–​48, 285, 385n.2, 388n.1 Füle, Štefan, 117, 224 “Future of Europe and the Eastern Christian Tradition, The,” 153 Gamsakhurdia, Zviad, 274–​75 Garrard, Carol, 152 Garrard, John, 152 gatekeepers, EU and NATO as, 12, 16 “Gateway to Lithuania” website, 203–​4 Gaulle, Charles de, 382n.3 Gazprom, 162, 205–​6 Gegchkoi, Evgeni, 274 Gellner, Ernest, 21, 36–​37, 41 Georgia “ancient European roots,” 271–​73 benefits from EEAB, 133–​34

427

Color Revolution in, 16 considered “Oriental” by Tsarist Russia, 57 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  271–​77 culture, sport and LGBTQ rights, 275–​77 and EAPP, 85 EAPP as protection for Europeanization, 85, 87 as earliest Christian states, 267 as “Eastern Partnership” state, 178 and ENP Action Plans, 82 EU hopes after EuroMaidan movement, 282–​83 EU membership interest, 74–​76, 169–​70 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization after Saakashvili, 281–​82 Europeanization projects of, 65 Europeanness of, 82 Eurovision participation of, 117 frozen conflicts in, 385n.2 frozen conflicts with Russia, 143 Intensified Dialogue, NATO, 103–​4 invasion by Russia, 2008, 16–​17, 18–​19, 23, 25 lack of invitation to join MAP by NATO, 103–​4 level of instrinsic Europeanness, 61t as members of EAP and IPAP, 103 Mikheil Saakashvili, 279–​80 NATO membership considerations, 107–​8, 385n.10 and NATO “open door” policy, 89 and NATO’s Open Door project, 98 participation in ENP, 384n.12 political Europeanization, since 1989, 277–​83 post-​Soviet,  274–​75 promised NATO alliance, 2012 Summit, 107–​8 promises of NATO membership, 94 quest for Europeanization, 269–​71 Russian-​Georgian War, 2008, 280–​81 Russian incursion in, 78–​79, 83–​84, 88, 98, 101, 142, 159–​60, 167, 169, 191, 245 and Russia’s refusal of NATO policies, 91 Russo-​Georgian War, Aug. 2008, 280–​81 security Europeanization since 1989, 283–​87 Shevardnadze era, 279 signs AA with EU, 278–​79 in the Soviet Union, 274 as strong security Europeanizer (pro-​NATO sentiment),  109–​10 survival imperative of Europeanization, 30 and the Tsarist Empire, 273–​74 Georgia Orthodox Church (GOC), 273–​74 Georgia Train and Equip Program (GTEP),  285–​86 Georgian Dream coalition (GD), 281–​82, 283 Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC), 271, 276–​77 Germany accounts of Cold War era, 56 as Central European state, 41 Europa-​Union Deutschland, 52

 

428 I n d e

x

Germany (cont.) as Europeanizing element, 179 Europeanness of, 41 and financing of Eurovision and self-​identity,  122 and NATO, 92 reunification, Europeanness of, 14–​15, 67, 383n.4 Gershenkron, Alexander, 36–​37 Ghodsee, Kristen, 3–​4, 55–​56 “glasnost,” 92 Glucksmann, Andre, 241 Golden, Peter, 323 Golos Armenii, 296 Göncz, Árpád, 94, 385n.9 “good” Europe vs. “bad” Russia, dichotomy, 37, 125, 165, 288–​89 Gorbachev, Mikhail “New Thinking” strategy of, 9, 92–​93, 145, 146–​47,  165 on reuniting Europe and Soviet Union, 66–​67 on Russia’s claim to Europeanness, 55 on Soviet Union’s claim to Europeanness, 24–​25,  106 “whole and free” Europe, 7 Grand Duchy of Lithuania, 179 Great Patriotic War, 150 “Great Western Development Drive,” 338–​39 Greaves, Margaret, 382n.1 Greco-​Bactrian Kingdom, 362 Greece, 92, 98, 291–​92. See also Balkan states Greek Orthodox Church, 291 Greenfeld, Liah, 382n.7 Grosso d’Oro Veneziano award, 291 Gundiaev, Kirill, 153, 387n.2 Gvosdev, Nikolas K., 161

Herzen, Alexander, 324 Hhushevsky, Mykhailo, 233–​34 hierarchical inclusion, 68 Hill, William H., 259–​60 historical markers (Europeanness), 51–​53 Hobson, John, 38 Holodomor, 235 “Holy and Great Synod of the Orthodox Church,” 276 Holy Roman Empire, 46–​47, 48, 51 “Holy Rus,” 154, 162–​63 homophobic rhetoric and national identity, 124–​25,  158 Human Rights Watch, 126 Humanist movement, 52 “humiliated Russia” interpretation of Europeanness, 106 Hungary. See also “Central European” states authoritarian backsliding and, 62 as Central European state, 39–​41, 69–​70, 71 as EU member, 187 and European Agreements, 69–​70 Europeanness of, 71 Eurovision participation of, 117 as founding members of UEFA, 132 and growth of pro-​Russian and anti-​EU forces, 156 illiberal government and Europhobia, 19 joins EU and NATO, 14, 15 and NATO, 95–​96 rebranding as Western, 41 Russian friendly leadership of, 149–​50 Huns,  322–​23 Huntington, Samuel, 49, 228 Huszka, Beata, 383–​84n.8

Hahn, Johannes, 85 Hale, Henry, 167–​68, 258, 346, 352, 388n.9 Hanot, Gabriel, 132 Hanseatic League, 198 Harmony Center, 199 HATTRICK (UEFA program), 133–​34, 275–​77,  293–​94 Havel, Václav, 14–​15, 25–​26, 52, 70, 94, 201–​2, 217, 385n.9 Hayden, Robert, 45–​46, 381n.4 Headley, James, 68 Heather, Peter, 48, 382n.4 Heathershaw, John, 320–​21, 335 Hegal, Georg, 52 hegemonic western scale, 22 Helsinki Accords, 93 Helsinki European Council, 14–​15, 24–​25, 45, 55 Helsinki Final Act, Aug. 1975, 92–​93 Helsinki process, 9, 24–​25, 92–​93 Helsinki Summit, 72

Iglesias, Damero J., 120 Ignatavicius, Evaldas, 189 Ilia II, Patriarch, 276–​77, 390n.3 Ilves, Toomas Hendrik, 180, 184–​85, 188–​90,  191–​93 Image of Europe, The (Wintle), 38 Independent, The, 136 Individual Partnership Action Plan (IPAP) and Armenia, 287–​88, 300 and Azerbaijan, 314 Azerbaijan membership in, 314 and Central Asian states, 286–​88 and Kazakhstan, 275, 332–​33, 347–​48 and Moldova, 261 and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 110 in Ukraine, 102–​4 “information warfare,” 141, 142 Institute for Democracy and Cooperation, 311, 387n.2 integrationist core, 227, 346, 352 Intensified Dialogue, NATO, 103–​4

 



Index

“Intensified Dialogue,” Ukraine and NATO, 244–​45,  259 International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Alliance, 304–​5 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 166, 371 International Organization of Turkish Culture (TURKSOI), 305 International Radio and Television Organization (OIRT), 115–​16, 386n.5 International Security Assistance Force (ISAF), 110–​11,  332 International Telecommunications Union (ITU), 386n.5 Interreg, EU, 384n.10 Intervision Song Contest, 116 Iran, 126, 301, 303, 307 Iron Curtain, 9, 11–​12, 55, 71, 92 Iron Curtain, OIRT and EBU, 115–​16 Iron Curtain states, 93 ISAF (International Security Assistance Force). See International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) ISAF, NATO, 194–​95, 314 “Islamic other,” 47, 288–​89 Islamic religion. See also Muslim and Azerbaijan politics, 305–​7 in Central Asian states, 323 Europeanness of, 45–​50 Europeanness of in Tsarist and Soviet Russia,  58–​59 in Kyrgyzstan, 349–​50 Russian Federation census findings (2010), 387n.15 in Tajikistan, 362–​63 Islamic State (IS), 337–​38 Islamic world (Central Asian states), 34–​35 “Islamic/​Oriental/​Eastern” versus “Russian-​ Soviet/​European/​Western,”  59 Ismay, Lord Hastings, 385n.7 Ismer, Sven, 129 Israel EBU membership of, 115–​16 Eurovision participation of, 119 homophobia and Eurovision, 124–​26 participation in ENP, 384n.12 Istanbul Charter of European Security, 1999, 107 Ivanishvili, Bidzini, 276–​77, 281–​82 Ivanov, Sergei, 168 Izvestiya, Oct. 4, 2011, Putin article, 164–​65

Jamala, 238 Jordan, 384n.12 Kabakchieva, Petya, 382n.7 “kamikaze cabinet,” 231, 241. See also Ukraine; Yatsenyuk, Arseniy Kapuscinski, Ryszard, 38

429

Karaganov, Sergei, 83–​84 Karakhanid dynasty, 323 Karimov, Islam, 321, 354, 356 Katyn massacre, Poland, 151 Kazakhstan balancing independence with economic and political strength, 110 Bolshevik Revolution and Russian rule,  325–​27 broadcast of Eurovision, no EBU member, 116 in CIS and EEU, 346 and CSTO, 227 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 cultural-​civilizational developments since 1989,  342–​44 EEU membership of, 292–​93 endorsement of CIS Economic Union, 164 enhanced IPAP relations with NATO, 332–​33 European institutions and post-​Soviet Central Asia,  327–​33 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization projects of, 65 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 as founding member of EEU, 159–​60 geography of and EU, 76 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as member of IPAP but not EAP, 103 membership in UEFA, 133 not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 political development, since 1989, 344–​46 relationship with EU, 85–​86 before the Russian conquest, 322–​23 Russia’s political and economic goals, 335–​36 security development since 1989, 347–​48 “soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 as truest Eurasian state, 340–​41 Tsarist era in, 324–​25 Kazharski, Aliaksei, 42 Kemal. See Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal “Kennan sweepstakes,” 94 KFOR, NATO, 194–​95, 261, 300, 314, 383n.3 Khalid, Adeeb, 37–​38, 324 “Khazar Islands”construction project, 307 Khrushchev, Nikita, 99, 236 “kidnapped West,” 42 Kievan Rus, 48, 49–​50, 232, 382n.4 King, Charles, 267, 268, 269 KIOSK (UEFA program), 133–​34 Kirkorov, Filipp, 126 Klaus, Václav, 71 Kocharian, Rober, 296 Kok, Wim, 70–​71 Kolokol, 324 Kontinental Hockey League (KHL), 219 Kosachev, Konstantin, 151

 

430 I n d e

Kosovo, 98, 105, 314, 383n.3, See also Balkan states Krastev, Ivan, 18–​19, 154–​56 Kravchuk, Leonid, 230 Kubilius, Andrius, 85 Kuchma, Leonid, 103–​4, 230, 240–​41, 389n.11 Kulhanek, Jakub, 160, 161 Kumar, Krishan, 46, 47, 244–​45 Kundera, Milan, 23, 39–​41, 52, 201–​2 Kuus, Merje, 36–​37, 41, 70, 113, 175–​76 Kvirikashvili, Giorgi, 277, 283 Kwasniewski, Aleksander, 223, 242 Kyivan Rus, 233–​34 Kyrgyzstan Bolshevik Revolution and Russian rule, 325–​27 and CSTO, 227 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 cultural-​civilizational developments since 1989,  349–​51 EEU membership of, 292–​93 European institutions and post-​Soviet Central Asia,  327–​33 and Europeanization, 10 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40 joins EEU, 165 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t neopatrimonial rule, elite control of resources, and oppressive tactics, 348 not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 political development, since 1989, 351 before the Russian conquest, 322–​23 Russia’s political and economic goals, 335–​36 security development since 1989, 351–​54 “soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 Tsarist era in, 324–​25 as weak security Europeanization (no NATO aspirations),  110–​12

Landaburu, Eneko, 71, 83–​84 Landsbergis, Vytautas, 201–​2 Laruelle, Marlene, 382n.8 Latvia. See also Balkan states cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  196–​99 EU and NATO membership of, 10 EU membership interest, 71 Europeanness of, 23, 71 Eurovision and self-​identity, 121 Eurovision participation of, 117, 119 global financial crisis and Eurozone integration, 186 joins EU and NATO, 14–​15 lack of participation in Baltic Brigade, 175–​76 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as new European state, 26–​27

x

political Europeanization, since 1989, 200–​1 re-​Europeanization of,  179–​80 security Europeanization since 1989, 201 “Latvia in Brief ” website, 199 Latvian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 198–​99,  388n.5 Law on Equal Treatment, Lithuania, 204 Lazzerini, Edward J., 57 Le Pen, Marine, 149–​50 Lebanon, 115–​16, 384n.12 Lehman Brothers bank collapse, 18–​19 Leipzig Book Prize for European Understanding, 238 Lenin,  350–​51 Leonard, Mark, 155 L’Equipe (football newspaper), 132 Levi, Scott, 322–​23 Levitsky, Steven, 33, 163 LGBTQ persons, rights of in Armenia, 294 in Azerbaijan, 304–​5 in Belarus, 219–​20 and EOCG ratings, 34–​35 in Estonia, 193–​94 and Eurovision -​cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, 113, 114, 124–​27 Eurovision and UEFA as promoting gay rights,  31–​32 in Georgia, 276–​77 in Latvia, 199 in Lithuania, 204 in Moldova, 253 in Moscow, 2009 Eurovision, 127 in Ukraine, 239 Libya, 384n.12 Lietuvos Rytas (Lithuanian daily), 182 Lieven, Anatol, 196–​97 Linz, Juan, 321 Lipman, Maria, 149 Lisbon Treaty, 205 Lithuania. See also Balkan states cultural-​civilizational Europeanization since 1989,  201–​5 EAP summit, 2013, 189 EU and NATO membership of, 10 EU membership interest, 71 Europeanness of, 23, 71, 175–​76 Eurovision participation of, 117 helping Ukrain toward Eurocentric vision of history, 190 history of independent statehood, 179 joins EBU, 15 joins EU and NATO, 14–​15 level of instrinsic Europeanness, 61t as new European state, 26–​27 political Europeanization, since 1989, 205–​7 security Europeanization since 1989, 207

 



Index

Lithuania, Poland, and Kaliningrad Neighborhood Program, 384n.10 Lives of Others, The (von Donnersmarck), 383n.4 “Lukashenkist Belarus” model, 218–​19 Lukashenko, Alexander, 210–​12, 213–​18, 219–​21, 223, 227, 262, 384n.17, 388n.10 Lukashenko regime, 221–​23, 224, 227 LUKoil (Russia), 390n.9 Luong, Pauline Jones, 327 Luzhkov, Yuri, 125, 126–​27

Maastricht Treaty, 68, 70–​71 Macedonia, 98, 107–​8, 383n.3, 385n.10 Magnitsky, Sergei, 162 “Magnitsky List,” 162 Maidan Square, Ukraine, 7–​9 Makarychev, Andrey, 136–​37 Malashenko, Alexei, 353–​54 Malaysia Airlines Fight 17, downing of, 156 Malia, Martin, 4–​5, 21, 36–​37, 38, 41, 51, 53, 382n.4, 382n.7 Malksoo, Maria, 39, 56–​57 Marat, Erica, 337, 338 March, Luke, 252 Marshall Plan, 66, 94–​95 “Marshall Plan” for Ukraine, 85 Maruste, Rain, 182 Marutyan, Harutyn, 295–​96 Marxism, 54 Masi Foundation, Italy, 291 Matlock, Jack, 99, 385n.9 Mazepa, Ivan, 235–​36 McDaniel, Tim, 146–​47 Mediterranean Union program, 82 Medvedev, Dmitri, 107–​8, 143, 147–​48, 284–​85, 385–​86n.11 Melegh, Atilla, 37 Membership Action Plan (MAP) and Georgia, 286–​87 and “marginally” European states, 96–​98 and Moldova, 110 and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 110 non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 101–​2 and Ukraine, 244–​45 for Ukraine and Georgia, 102–​4, 287 “Memo of Understanding” (EU & EBU), 117 Meri, Lennart, 178–​82 Merkel, Angela, 104, 135, 258 Michnik, Adam, 39–​41 Middle Volga, 57 “Midterm Strategy for Relations with the EU,”  160–​61 migrant crisis, 2015, 186–​87 Mihaescu, Marchel, 253–​54 Mikhalkov, Nikita, 155 minority rights, 182–​83, 199, 388n.5 “Mitteleuropa,” 41

431

Mitteleuropa, 41 Mnatsakanyan, Zohrab, 298 modernization as Europeanization, 80 “Modernization Partnership,” 78, 80 Mohyla Academy, 1632, 234 Moldova as almost European, 210–​13 benefits from EEAB, 133–​34 corruption in, 389n.17 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, since 1989,  249–​54 disappointment with EAP framework, 83–​84 EAPP as protection for Europeanization, 87 as “Eastern Partnership” state, 178 as EEU observer, 292–​93 and ENP Action Plans, 82 EU membership interest, 44–​45, 74–​76,  169–​70 and European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 81 “European vocation” of, 246–​48 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization projects of, 65 Europeanness of, 42–​43, 82 Europhilia in, 252–​53 Eurovision and self-​identity, 120 frozen conflicts in, 385n.2 frozen conflicts with Russia, 91, 143 “Holy Rus” community and, 154 invasion by Russia, 25 joins UEFA, 15 languages of, 248, 249–​52 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as members of EAP and IPAP, 103 membership in UEFA, 133 Moldova and EU, 246, 253, 255–​56 no stated intention on NATO membership,  283–​84 participation in ENP, 384n.12 political Europeanization, since 1989, 254–​59 Romanian dimension, 257–​58 Russia’s Euro-​alternatives: CIS and EEU,  258–​59 security Europeanization since 1989, 259–​61 as “Semi-​European” state, 261–​63 sport, culture and LGBTQ rights, 253–​54 as strong security Europeanizer (pro-​NATO sentiment),  109–​10 survival imperative of Europeanization, 30 Moldovan Football Association, 254 Moldovan Orthodox Church (MOC), 253–​54 Moldovan Popular Front, 251–​52 Moldovan Soviet Socialist Republic (MSSR),  251–​52 Moldovanism/​Basarabism,  252 Moldovan-​Transnistrian cooperation, 254 Molotov-​Ribbentrop Pact, 151, 187, 188 Mongol Yoke, 49–​50, 53

 

432 I n d e

Mongols,  322–​23 Montenegro, 82–​83, 103, 107–​8, 383n.3, See also Balkan states Montesquieu (Charles-​Louis de Secondat), 52 Morocco EBU membership of, 115–​16 participation in ENP, 384n.12 Moroney, Jennifer D. P., 108–​9 Moskovskiye Novosti, Feb. 27, 2012, Putin article, 165 Muller, Martin, 280–​81 Murzin, Eduard, 127 Muscovite Rus, 49–​50, 53, 145 Muskhelishvili, Marina, 277 Muslim. See also Azeris; Islamic religion Armenia as first secular Muslim republic, 303 Central Asian states, 328 Europeanness of, 46 Turks as hostile “other” to Armenia, 288–​89 Muslim Spiritual Boards, 305 Muslim-​Christian, Caucasus states as, 328

NACC/​EAPC (NATO), 314 Nagorno-​Karabakh conflict, 65, 264, 295–​96, 298, 299–​300, 301, 309–​10,  313–​16 Narochnitskaia, Nataliia Alekseevna, 387n.2 Nashi (youth group), 150 National Front Party, 149 NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization). See North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) NATO deployments, Estonian participation,  194–​95 “NATO plus One” formula, 100 NATO Summit, Bucharest, April 2008, 103–​4 NATO Summit, Lisbon, 2010, 101 NATO Summit, Prague, 2002, 102–​3 NATO Summit, Washington, April 1999, 15 “NATO-​Georgia Commission,”  106–​7 “NATO-​Georgian Council,” 286 NATO-​Russia Council (NRC), 100–​1, 106–​7, 108, 143, 243–​44 NATO-​Russia Founding Act, 100, 108 NATO-​Russian Council Founding Act, 101 NATO-​Ukraine Commission, 102 NATO-​Ukraine Council,  243–​44 Nazarbayev, Nursultan, 334–​36, 340–​44, 346 Nazi, ties in Ukraine, 235 Nazi Germany, 145–​46 Nazism,  56–​57 Nazism, Soviet victory over, 56–​57, 149, 150 Neumann, Ivan, 148 Neumann, Iver B., 25–​26 New European Baltic states, 178 New Silk Road, 367–​68 “New Thinking” strategy, Gorbachev, 9, 92–​93, 146–​47,  165 Niyazov, Saparmurat, 368–​71, 374

x

non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states. See also Armenia; Azerbaijan; Belarus; Caucasus states; Georgia; Russia; Ukraine and EU enlargement fatigue, 26 NATO’s initial approach, 101–​2 NATO’s reluctance to include, 98–​99 Nord Stream, 161–​62 “Nordic Estonia” views, 191–​93 “normalizing” Soviet past, 150 normative rivalry, Europe and Russia, 4 North American Treaty, April 1949, 92, 385n.6 North Atlantic Cooperation Council (NACC), 94,  331–​32 North Atlantic Treaty, 92 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) as actor of Europeanization, 4, 10, 20–​21 as animating force in Europeanization, 13 approach to Central Asian states, 329 and Armenia, 298–​300 Article 10, 44–​45 and Azerbaijan, 313–​16 Baltic “state continuity” thesis, 183 Baltic states as Central European rather than post-​Soviet,  180–​81 and Belarus, 215, 226–​27 as “courting” Central Asian states, 110–​12 criteria/​cost for joining, 27–​30 as defender of “true” Europe, 92–​93 enhanced relations with Ukraine, IPAP, 102–​4 enlargement Eastward, 93–​99 enlargement studies, 25–​26 as European gatekeeper, 12 Europeanization in political and security realms, former Soviet Union, 25–​30 Europeanization of Belarus, Ukraine and Moldova,  212–​13 Euroskepticism in, 17–​18 and Georgia, 283–​87 initial approach to non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states,  101–​2 Kazakhstan, IPAP, 347–​48 and Kyrgyzstan, 351–​54 Lithuanian membership, 2004, 207 monopoly of the European idea after the Cold War, 148 and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 110 redefining post-​communist Europe as security commodity, 88 rejection of EST, 107 relations with Armenia, Azerbijan and Kazakhstan, 110 relationship with Russia, 143 response to Russo-​Georgian War, 104–​7 response to Ukraine Crisis, 108 role in Europeanness, 383n.5 and Russia, 166–​67 and Russia, a “special” partnership, 99–​101

 



Index

Schimmelfennig on, 383n.1 and security Europeanization of Estonia since 1989,  194–​96 security Europeanization since 1989, 259–​61 as security institution, 385–​86n.11 security provisions of, 66 self-​identity and interest in, 89–​91 and Tajikistan, 365 and Turkmenistan, 373 and Ukraine, 243–​46 Ukraine, Georgia and Moldova relations,  109–​10 and Ukraine’s torn identity, 228–​30 and Uzbekistan, 358–​60 North Dimension, 384n.10 Northern Distribution Network, NATO, 366–​67 Northrup, Douglas, 326

“Occidentalist” view, Ukraine history, 235–​36 Occupied Palestinian Territory, 384n.12 “official Belarusianness” or “Lukashenkist Belarus” model, 216–​17,  218–​19 O’Loughlin, John, 390n.4 “one security roof ” European security as, 385–​86n.11 Oner, Selcen, 25–​26 “Open Door” policy (NATO), 89–​91, 92, 98, 107–​8,  245 Operation Enduring Freedom, NATO, 329, 331–​32 Operation Resolute Support, 329 Orange Revolution, 103–​4, 105, 135, 160, 230–​31, 235–​36, 240–​41,  244–​45 Oras, Saima, 31 Orbán, Viktor, 47–​48, 50, 73 Orenstein, Mitchell A., 19, 65 Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC), 305 Organization on Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), 9, 27, 385–​86n.11, See also Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) Oriental Studies Faculty of Tashkent University, 1924, 326 Orientalism, identification of, 39, 45–​46, 292, 381n.5 Orthodox Christianity, 47–​49, 124 Orthodoxy, Russian, 143–​45 OSCE (Organization on Security and Cooperation in Europe). See Organization on Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) OSCE Istanbul Accords, 259–​60 OSCE Mission to Moldova, 259–​60 Oskanian, Vartan, 296 Ostalgie, 56, 383n.9, 383n.4 Ottoman Empire, 47, 250, 291 Ottoman Turkey, 47, 51, 52, 291 Ottoman Turks, 47–​48, 50, 250, 289

433

Paet, Urmas, 189 Pagden, Anthony, 53, 382n.7 Pakistan, 329, 330 “Pan-​European Economic Space,” 242–​43 Panke, Julian, 62–​64 Panorama BBC series “Stadiums of Hate,” 135–​36 Park, Ausra, 206–​7 Parks, Johan, 71 Partnership Cooperation Agreement (PCA), 78, 81–​82, 86, 223, 254–​55, 296, 358, 384n.11 Partnership Cooperation Agreement (PCA), Georgia and EU, 279 Partnership for Peace (PFP) Azerbaijan membership in, 314 in Central Asian states, 331–​33 and Central Asian states, 111 and Czech Republic, Hungary and Poland,  95–​96 and MAP, 96–​98 and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 98 and Russia, 99–​100 Schimmelfennig on, 102 and Turkmenistan, 373 and Ukraine, 243–​44 Partnership Program (EBU), 116 Party of Communists of the Republic of Moldova (PCRM), 252, 256 “Patriotic Education of Citizens of the Russian Federation,” 150 PCEEC (Post-​Communist European and Eurasian Countries). See Post-​Communist European and Eurasian Countries (PCEEC) Permanent Joint Council (PJC), 1997, 100 Peter the Great, 23, 45, 52, 53–​54, 55, 145, 146–​47 Peteri, Georgy, 37 petrochemicals, Russian, 79 Petrosanyak, Halyna, 238 PFP (Partnership for Peace). See Partnership for Peace (PFP) PHARE (Poland and Hungary: Assistance for Restructuring Their Economies). See Poland and Hungary: Assistance for Restructuring Their Economies Plahotniuc, Vladimir, 256 “Platform of European Memory and Conscience,” 188 Platini, Michel, 136 Plokhy, Serhii, 382n.6 Pocock, J.A., 383–​84n.8 Poland. See also “Central European” states authoritarian backsliding and, 62 as Central European country, 39–​41 and “democratic enlargement” plan, 95–​96 and EU, 71 as EU member, 187 and EURO 2012, 134–​38 and European Agreements, 69–​70

 

434 I n d e

Poland (cont.) Europeanness of, 23, 71 Eurovision participation of, 117 as founding members of UEFA, 132 and growth of pro-​Russian and anti-​EU forces, 156 illiberal government and Europhobia, 19 joins EU and NATO, 14, 15 as new European state, 26–​27 rebranding as Western, 41 as self-​proclaimed Central European state,  69–​70 “snatching Belarus from Russia’s grip,” 223–​24 support for Ukraine and Moldova EU membership, 82 Poland and Hungary: Assistance for Restructuring Their Economies (PHARE), 69, 76–​77, 183–​84,  383n.7 Polish-​Lithuanian Commonwealth, 179, 202–​3,  217 Pope Benedict XVI, 46 Pope Pius II, 48–​49 Popescu, Nico, 155, 162–​63 Poroshenko, Petro, 230–​32, 239, 241, 242–​43, 245, 246 “post communist world,” 22 post-​Cold war era, 55 post-​communist Eurasia, 22 Post-​Communist European and Eurasian Countries (PCEEC), 381n.1 post-​communist world, defined, 381n.1 post-​Soviet Successor states EBU and Europeanization, 117 enlarging Europe through enlarging UEFA,  133–​38 European norms in soccer, 131–​33 Europeanizing socialization through Eurovision,  127–​29 Eurovision and “Old” Europe, 122–​24 Eurovision Europeanness of, 117–​22 LGBTQ rights and Eurovision, 124–​27 unified Europe through sports, 129–​31 Pravda.ru, 156 Principality of Moldavia, 250, 253 Prozorov, Sergei, 146, 148 Putin, Vladimir Armenian approval of, 297 on cause of Ukrainian crisis, 149–​50 on CIS, 163–​64 on collapse of Soviet Union as great tragedy,  145–​46 Eurasian Union as competitor to European Union,  164–​66 and LGBTQ rights, 124 as personalized authoritorian power, 334–​35 promise of Russian protection to Baltic states, 191

x

recentralization policy of, 154–​55 return to presidency, 2012, 156 and Russian behavior at EURO 2012, 136–​37 and Russian World movement, 163 on Russia’s claim to Europeanness, 56–​57,  146–​47 “selective and pragmatic” approach to EU,  160–​61 Putin era, 141

racism, Eastern European countries, 136–​37, 157 Rahmon, Emomali, 362–​63 Raleigh, Sir Walter, 52 Rasmussen, Anders Fogh, 107 Real Madrid, 132 realist theories of Europeanization, 30 “Reconciliation of European Histories” caucus, 188 Red Army, 325 Red Army intervention, removal of, 66–​67 Reding, Viviane, 135 reductionist theory, 228 Reformation of Western Christendom, 47–​48, 145, 153, 234 refugee crisis, 2015-​2016, 43–​44 religious divisions, considerations of, NATO, 96 religious markers (Europeanness), 51–​53 Renaissance, 51–​52, 234 Repse, Einars, 198 Resolution #1481, 188 rhetorical entrapment, 64, 87 Riasanovsky, Nicholas, 143–​44, 382n.4 Rice, Condoleezza, 213–​14 Riga Summit, EAP, May 2015, 85 “rigged voting,” Eurovision, 123 Rinkevics, Edgars, 200–​1 Robertson, Lord George, 101 Rogozin, Dmitri, 106, 125 Rogun Dam project, 363–​64 Roman Catholic Church, 152, 202–​3 Romania. See also Balkan states and Big Bang enlargement, 96 EOCG rating of, 42–​43 EU enlargement in, 72–​73 EU membership of, 62–​64 Europeanness of, 23 Eurovision participation of, 117 and Moldova, 249–​51, 257–​58 offers of EU membership, 64 successful “back to Europe” journey, 262 Romanian Orthodox Church, 250 “Romanization” of Moldova, 256–​57 Romanticism, era of, 51 Rome Treaty, 68 “Rooms4Free” (Ukraine Internet site), 137 Rose Revolution, 2003, 103–​4, 105, 269–​70, 275,  279–​80

 



Index

Rubinov, Anatoly, 224 Rukhnama (Niyazov), 370 Rumelili, Bahar, 25–​26 Ruslana, 237 Russia ambivalence about Europeanness of, 23–​24 animosity toward Europeanization, 16–​17 Caucasus states as “Russia’s Own Orient,”  268–​69 cultural relationships to Azerbaijan, 301 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, since 1989,  146–​58 disappointment with EAP framework, 83–​84 EEU and Belarus, 224–​25 EEU membership of, 292–​93 eternal and incomplete Europeanization,  141–​43 and EU, 76–​80 and EU initiatives, 384n.10 as European colonizer, 57–​59 and European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 81 “European Security Treaty” (EST) reset of NATO and OSCE security, 107–​8 and Europeanization movement in Ukraine (see Ukraine, security Europeanization since 1989) Europeanness, long-​term,  166–​69 Europeanness of, 53–​55 Europeanness of, “civilizational blurriness,”  143–​46 Eurovision participation in, 117, 119, 121 Eurovision television ratings and gay rights,  128–​29 expansion into Central Asia, 324–​25 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 frozen conflicts of, 91, 143, 262, 385n.2 gay or gay-​identified Eurovision representatives, 124 hostility toward Europeanness, 10–​11 incursion into Georgia, 78–​79, 83–​84, 88, 98, 101, 142, 167, 169, 191, 245 incursion into Ukraine, 88, 98, 142, 167, 286 influence on Europeanization in Soviet Union,  24–​25 and integral member of EURO, 132 joins EBU, 15 Kazakhstan co-​leadership with, EEU and CSTO, 340, 344 and Kyrgyzstan, 351–​54 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t and NATO, a “special” partnership, 99–​101 NATO sentiment, 88–​91, 93–​94, 98, 109–​10,  111 as non-​European, 174 non-​Europeanness of, 181 as player in Europeanization, 12 political Europeanization, since 1989, 158–​66

435

Russia pressure on Ukraine to join EEU, 242 Russo-​Georgian War, Aug. 2008, 280–​81 as savior of Armenia, 291–​92 security Europeanization since 1989, 166–​69 and Tajikistan, 365–​68 and UEFA and EURO, 129–​31 Ukraine and Georgia incursion, 88 and Uzbekistan, 358–​61 “Russian Armenian Diaspora,” 293 Russian Civil War era, 325 Russian Empire, 23 Russian Eurasianism: An Ideology of Empire (2008), 382n.8 Russian Football Union, 132–​33 Russian Orthodox Church (ROC), 149, 152–​54, 158, 250, 251, 273–​74, 276 Russian Orthodox Spiritual and Cultural Center, Paris, 154 Russian Premier League, 157 Russian Revolutionary War era, 325 Russian World Assembly, 154 Russian World Federation, 387n.2 “Russian World” foundation, 142 “Russian World” movement, 153, 162–​63 Russian-​Belarusian Union State, 222–​23 Russian-​NATO partnership, 105 “Russian-​Soviet Orientalism,” 292 Russification, Baltic states, Soviet era, 180–​81, 183 Russo-​Georgian War, Aug. 2008, 245, 266, 270–​ 71, 277–​78, 280–​81,  283–​84 Russophone, Latvian citizens as, 199

Saakashvili, Mikheil, 103–​4, 269–​70, 275, 277, 281, 286 “Sabre Strike,” 191 Said, Edward, 381n.4 Samanid dynasty (ninth to eleventh centuries CE), 323, 362 Samoilova, Yulia, 238 Sargsyan, Serzh, 298 Sarkozy, Nicolas, 82, 104 Sartre, Jean-​Paul, 52 Schatz, Edward, 321, 334 Schengen Area. See Schengen Zone Schengen Zone Belarus and, 228 EOCG ratings and, 23 Estonia in, 194 first EAP state granted access, 255–​56 Georgia in, 283 Lithuania in, 205, 206–​7 and Moldova, 246 Moldova in, 213, 246, 255–​56 and visa-​free travel, 163 Schimmelfennig, Frank, 69–​70, 92, 102, 383n.1 SCO (Shanghai Cooperation Organization). See Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO)

 

436 I n d e

Security Doctrine, 2002-​2010, 351 security universe -​NATO and Warsaw Pact, 101, 115–​16,  178 Selaisse, Theodor Gebre, 136–​37 self-​identification, 13–​16, 29–​30, 36–​37, 64,  89–​91 Seljuk dynasty, 323 Serbia, 119, 383n.3, See also Balkan states Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) as alternative to EU, 27, 91 and Central Asian states, 322, 330, 331, 337–​39 CSTO signs cooperation agreement with, 168 Kazakhstan’s relations with, 328–​29, 340–​41,  347–​48 Kyrgyzstan’s relations with, 354 Uzbekistan’s relations with, 361 Sherr, James, 95, 105 Shevardnadze, Eduard, 274–​75, 277–​78, 279, 286 Shevchenko, Taras, 233–​34 Shevtsova, Lili, 99, 106, 155 Shia Islam, 301, 306–​7 Shukhevych, Roman, 235–​36 Shushkevich government, 218 Siberia, 57 “Siberia of the West,” 250 Sikorski, Radoslav, 44–​45, 82, 104 Silitski, Vitali, 155, 163 Silk Road Economic Belt program, 338–​39 Silk Road Initiative, 330 “Singing Revolutions,” 184 Sjursen, Helene, 71 Slavic world (Russia, Ukraine, Belarus), 34–​35 Slovakia, 71, 96 Slovenia, 41, 69–​70, 71, 96. See also Balkan states Smith, Anthony, 51 Snyder, Timothy, 19, 202–​3, 215–​16 “social incompatibility” Russia and Europe, 148 soft imperialism, 64 Solidarity movement (Poland), 66–​67 Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr, 56 Somoni, Amir Ismail, 362–​63 South Ossetia, 104, 169, 264, 270–​71, 274–​75, 279, 280–​81, 285, 286, 390n.4 Southern Gas Corridor’s Trans Adriatic Pipeline (projected to open 2019), 313 “Sovereign Democracy,” Russian, as European political philosophy, 154–​56 “Soviet captivity” narratives, 30, 56 Soviet Football Association, 132 Soviet Successor states non-​Baltic, 73–​77,  81 other, EU membership of, 81 Soviet “Taint,” 55–​57 Soviet Union collapse of, 116 cultural-​civilization Europeanization in,  31–​35

x

“deconversion” countering Islam in Central Asia, 326 as embodiment of European modernity, 23 as founding members of UEFA, 132 founding of, 1917, 54 Georgia in, 274 territories of, 23 and UEFA and EURO, 129–​31 Spain, 92, 122 Special Assistance Program (EBU), 116 Special Envoy for Relations with Russia, 281 Sputnik News Network, 156 Stability Pact for Southeastern Europe, 256 Stalin, Joseph, 23, 368–​70, 371 Stalinism, 55 Stalinist collectivization of agriculture, 327 “State Commission on Integration with Europe,” Azerbaijan, 312 “state continuity” thesis, Baltic, 183 State Oil Company of the Azerbaijan Republic (SOCAR), 390n.9 State Oil Company (SOCAR), 310–​11 Stepan, Alfred, 321 Strahlenburg, Phillip Johann von, 45 Sultan Mahomet II, 48–​49 Sunderland, Willard, 390–​91n.4 Sunni Islam, 301 Suny, Ronald Grigor, 272–​73, 291 Surkov, Vladislav, 149, 154–​55 Sweden, 82, 175–​76, 179, 235–​36 Swedish Institute for International Affairs,  191–​93 Syria, 356, 384n.12

Tajikistan Bolshevik Revolution and Russian rule, 325–​27 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 cultural-​civilizational developments since 1989,  362–​64 European institutions and post-​Soviet Central Asia,  327–​33 and Europeanization, 10 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40 joins EEU, 165 lack of EU partnership agreements, 1190’s, 81 level of instrinsic Europeanness, 61t not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 PCA with EU, 384n.11 political development, since 1989, 365 poorest and most fragile of Central Asian states,  361–​62 before the Russian conquest, 322–​23 Russia’s political and economic goals, 335–​36 security development since 1989, 365–​68 signs PCA with EU, 86

 



Index

“soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 Tsarist era in, 324–​25 as weak security Europeanization (no NATO aspirations),  110–​12 TALCO (aluminum company), 363–​64 Tatischev, Vasili, 45 theory of containment, Kennan, 94 “Third Package,” energy market legislation, 205–​6 “Third Rome,” Russia as, 143–​44 Timofti, Nicolae, 259 Timur, Amur, 356 Toal, Gerard, 89–​91, 390n.4 Todorova, Maria, 42 Transition Assistance to the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS), 76–​78, 81, 86–​87,  329 Transnistria, 246, 247–​49, 251, 252, 254, 255–​56, 258,  259–​60 Transnistria conflict, 110, 213 Transnistria quandry, 259 Treaty of Pereiaslav, 1659, 233–​34 Treaty of San Stefano, 1828, 292 Treaty of Turkmenchay, 1828, 292 Trenin, Dmitri, 77, 78, 99 Trevor-​Roper, Hugh, 52 Triumphant Neo-​Sovietism,  150–​52 Trump, Donald, 17–​18, 191 Tsarist Empire, 36, 57–​59 “Tulip Revolution,” 2005, 348 Tunisia, 384n.12 Turk Khaganate (sixth–​eighth centuries CE), 323 Turkestan, 390n.1 Turkestan Orientological Institute, 1918, 326 Turkey and Azerbaijan, 315 blurred civilizational identity, 143–​44 cultural relationships to Azerbaijan, 301 EBU membership of, 115–​16 effect on Azerbaijan Europeanization, 305 Europeanness of, 23, 45 Eurovision and self-​identity, 120 and Islamic politics in Azerbaijan, 305–​7 NATO membership of, 92 relations with Armenia, 298–​300 Sultanate legacy, 51 Turkmenbashi. See Niyazov, Saparmurat Turkmenistan. See also Balkan states Bolshevik Revolution and Russian rule, 325–​27 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 cultural-​civilizational developments since 1989,  368–​71 European institutions and post-​Soviet Central Asia,  327–​33 and Europeanization, 10 as extreme isolationists, 368 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40

437

lack of EU partnership agreements, 1190’s, 81 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 political development, since 1989, 371–​72 before the Russian conquest, 322–​23 Russia’s political and economic goals, 335–​36 security development since 1989, 373–​74 “soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 Tsarist era in, 324–​25 as weak security Europeanization (no NATO aspirations),  110–​12 Tusk, Donald, 256 “2 + 4” model, 383n.4 Tymoshenko, Yulia, 103–​4, 135, 235–​36, 242,  244–​45

UEFA (Union of European Football Associations). See Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) UEFA key values, 131 Ukraine. See also EuroMaidan as almost European, 210–​13 as civilizationally “torn” country, 228–​32 Color Revolution in, 16 complications of “European Ukraine,” 236–​37 cultural-​civilizational Europeanization, since 1989,  232–​39 and EAPP, 85 EAPP as protection for Europeanization, 85, 87 as “Eastern Partnership” state, 178 enhanced relations with NATO, IPAP, 102–​4 and ENP Action Plans, 82 EU membership interest, 44–​45, 74–​76,  169–​70 and EURO 2012, 134–​38 as European nation, 232–​36 and European Neighborhood Policy (ENP), 81 and Europeanization, 10 Europeanization projects of, 65 Europeanness of, 82 Eurovision and self-​identity, 121 Eurovision participation of, 117, 119 Freedom House score, 389n.13 and gay Eurovision fans, 128–​29 “Holy Rus” community and, 154 Intensified Dialogue, NATO, 103–​4 invasion by Russia, 25 joins UEFA, 15 lack of invitation to join MAP by NATO, 103–​4 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as members of EAP and IPAP, 103 membership in UEFA, 133 moving toward more Eurocentric vision of history, 190 NATO and, 98 and NATO criteria, 385n.10 and NATO “open door” policy, 89

 

438 I n d e

Ukraine (cont.) participation in ENP, 384n.12 political Europeanization, since 1989, 239–​43 promises of NATO membership, 94 return of Crimea to, 246 Russia pressure to join EEU, 242 Russian incursion in, 88, 98, 142 and Russia’s attempt to halt EU expansion,  159–​60 and Russia’s refusal of NATO policies, 91 Russia’s use of force in, 167 security Europeanization since 1989, 243–​46 as “Semi-​European” state, 261–​63 signs AA with EU, 165–​66, 189–​90 as strong security Europeanizer (pro-​NATO sentiment),  109–​10 survival imperative of Europeanization, 30 and UEFA and EURO, 129–​31 Ukraine Crisis. See also Russia; Ukraine blamed on fascists by Russia, 151–​52 Bordyuzha on, 168 NATO policy and, 89 NATO response to, 108 relationship between Russia and EU as cause, 76, 143 resulting new EU agreements, 85–​86 and sanctions against Russia, 162 warnings to EU to be skeptical of Russia, 78–​79 Ukraine Is Not Russia (Kuchma), 389n.11 Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA), 235 Ulmanis, Guntis, 95 Union of Brest, 1596, 234 Union of European Football Associations (UEFA) as actor of Europeanization, 4, 11–​12, 15,  113–​14 and Armenia, 293–​94 and Belarus, 219–​20 and EOCG ratings, 134 and European enlargement, 133–​38 European norms in soccer, 131–​33 Europeanness of of Russia and non-​Baltic Soviet Successor states, 134 in Georgia, 275–​76 and Georgia, 275–​77 and Kazakhstan, 328 Kazakhstan membership, 340–​41 and Lithuania, 204 and Moldova, 254 Russian participation, 157–​58 unified Europe through sports, 129–​31 “United Europe—​United History,” 188 United National Movement (UNM), 280, 281–​82 United States and Kazakhstan, 344 as NATO member, 92–​93 non-​lethal aid to Ukraine, 245 sanctions against Russia, 162

x

transfer of nuclear weapons from Ukraine to Russia,  243–​44 US CENTCOM, 332 US-​Baltic Charter, 1997, 95 US-​Georgia Charter on Strategic Partnership, 2009, 285 USSR, 55. See also Soviet Union Usupashvili, Davit, 282–​83 Uzbekistan Bolshevik Revolution and Russian rule, 325–​27 CSTO and SCO, Russia’s vs. China’s security interests,  337–​39 cultural-​civilizational developments since 1989,  356–​57 European institutions and post-​Soviet Central Asia,  327–​33 and Europeanization, 10 as founding member of CSTO, 167–​68 Islam in post-​Soviet Central Asia, 339–​40 leave CSTO, June 2012, 169 level of intrinsic Europeanness, 61t as “model” Central Asian state, 354–​56 not European by mutual agreement, 317–​22 political development, since 1989, 358 before the Russian conquest, 322–​23 Russia’s political and economic goals, 335–​36 security development since 1989, 358–​61 “soft” authoritarian patrimonialism, 333–​35 Tsarist era in, 324–​25 as weak security Europeanization (no NATO aspirations),  110–​12

“V to V Dialogues,” 385–​86n.11 Vachudova, Milada Anna, 383n.2, 383–​84n.8 Vaitiekuna, Petras, 205 values, European, defining, 65–​66 Van Elsuwege, Peter, 184, 185 Van Rompy, Herman, 80, 384n.17 Vartan Oskanian, 291 Venice Biennale, 304 Veselovsky, Andriy, 83 Veth, Karl Manuel, 136–​37 Victory Day, 150–​51, 249–​50 Vike-​Freiberga, Vaira, 121, 184–​85 Vilks, Andris, 186 Visegrad countries, 202–​3 von Donnersmarck, Florian, 383n.4 Vorontsov, Mikhail, 273 “Wahhabists,” 391n.5 Walesa, Lech, 94, 385n.9 Walker, Shaun, 136 Warsaw Pact, 92–​93, 105, 106, 116 Warsaw Pact states, 9, 14–​15, 66–​67, 94, 101–​2, 132, 153 Washington Summit Communique, 96 Washington Summit, NATO, 1999, 96–​98

 



Index

Way, Lucan A., 33, 163 West Germany, 41, 92–​93 Western Balkan States, 72, 73, 383​n.7 “Western Europe,” defined by NATO, 92 Wezel, Katja, 182 “Why the Eastern Partnership Still Matters,”  200–​1 Wilson, Andrew, 162–​63, 215–​16, 388n.8 Wintle, Michael, 38, 45 Wogan, Terry, 122, 123 Wolchik, Sharon L., 279, 312 Wolff, Larry, 22, 382n.7 World Bank, 280–​81, 371 World Council of Churches, 276 World Press Day, 127–​28 World Trade Organization (WTO), 367–​68 “wounded Russia,” 148 Wurst, Conchita, 125–​26, 158

Yanukovych, Viktor authoritarian devolution of/​imprisonment of Tymoshenko, 242 on Europeanness of Ukraine, 232–​33 fall of, 242 rescinds AA, 85 rescinds Ukraine claim to NATO membership, 243, 245 Russia and, 165–​66, 230 and Russian pressure to join EAU, 242 signs and then rescinds AA, 212–​13

439

Ukraine under, 240–​41 Yatsenuk, Arseniy, 231 Yatsyk, Alexandra, 136–​37 Yeltsin, Boris, 10–​11, 99, 146 Yeltsin era, 146–​47, 154–​55, 160–​61 Yermelov, Alexei, 273 Yugoslav civil war, 105 Yugoslavia (FYU) differences between Visegrad states and Balkan states,  15–​16 EOCG rating of, 42–​43 EU enlargement in, 383–​84n.8 as founding members of UEFA, 132 NATO relationship and expansion in, 98,  376–​77 war in, 96 “Yuleland,”  191–​93 Yushchenko, Viktor, 103–4, 106, 230, 235–​36,  244–​45

Zantovsky, Michael, 99 Zatlers, Valdis, 200 zero-​sum game, Russia, 105–​6, 166–​67 Zevelev, Igor, 154 Zhirinovsky, Vladimir, 125 Zhordania, Menshevik Noe, 274 Zhurzhenko, Tatiana, 150 Zhvania, Zurab, 274–​75, 279 Ziedonis, Imants, 196–​97 zone of ambiguity, 22