On Saturday we should all celebrate a dramatic enlargement of freedom in Europe
Timothy Garton Ash Thursday April 29, 2004 The Guardian
This Saturday, May 1 2004, is a great day in European history. Nothing - not the fears or the resentments, not the terrorists or the demagogues - should stop us celebrating this day as it deserves.
What we achieve with the eastward enlargement of the European Union is more than just the demolition of the remnants of the Berlin wall, which artificially divided Europe into "west" and "east". It's an unprecedented step towards a Europe whole and free. Never before in European history have so many countries of central and eastern Europe been together with their western neighbours as democracies in the same political, economic and security community, with equal rights and obligations. For centuries, they've been second-class citizens, poor relatives, objects of others' designs. For centuries, they've had a complex of backwardness and exclusion, while west Europeans have caricatured them as exotic, eccentric and obscure. Ruritania. Dracula. Tintin's Syldavia.
The German historian Leopold von Ranke wrote what he called a history of the Latin and Germanic peoples. The Slavs didn't get a look in. They were not history-makers. A senior German politician once told me, in his heavily accented English, that the history of central Europe had been shaped by "the interaction of Germans, Jews and slaves". It took me a moment to realise that he meant Slavs. Never again to be slaves, the Slavs join our Latin and Germanic leaders at the top table in Brussels - and, before that, at a party in Dublin (plus, of course, the non-Slav Hungarians, Maltese, Estonians and Greek Cypriots). A third great chord of Europeanness is finally reintroduced to the unfinished symphony.
These are grand, sweeping terms. What do they mean for everyday lives? First of all, they mean that more Europeans are more free than ever. When I started travelling to these countries, more than 25 years ago, my contemporaries lived in a different world. They could not say what they thought, in public, or they would lose their university places or jobs. They could not travel where they wanted. They could not read what they liked. Their shop windows often resembled an empty morgue.
Acid jokes told their story. "Rabbi, can one build socialism in one country?" "Yes, my son, but one must live in another." "Are the Russians our brothers or our friends?" "Our brothers - you can choose your friends." Or this, from a Poland plagued by food shortages: A man goes into a butcher. "Could I have some pork, please?" "No, we haven't any." "Lamb?" "Nope". "Veal?" "Nope". "Some beef sausages?" "Nope". He leaves, downcast. "What an idiot!" the butcher's assistant says. "Yes," replies the butcher, "but what a memory!"
Now the sons and daughters of the friends I made then, in Warsaw, Budapest, Prague or Ljubljana, have life chances that are not so drastically different from those of my own children. They can read and write what they like. They can travel where they like, subject only to our common tyrant, money, or the shortage of it. They can shout what they like in a public square. On this May Day, there will be no compulsory marches, with yawning youngsters holding aloft banners of Lenin, Brezhnev and local mini-Brezhnevs. Instead, some will celebrate EU accession on the streets, because they want to, while others join an anti-globalisation demo.
To be sure, the Pole or Slovak you meet in Britain or Germany is still more likely to be a building worker or cleaning lady than a manager or a professor. But this will change. In the 1950s, au pairs in Britain were Swiss, German or French. In the 1970s, they were Spanish or Portuguese. Now they are Polish or Slovak, but in 10 years they may be Ukrainian or Turkish. At which point, the everyday, human story reconnects to the larger, political one.
This enlargement is not just the end of a long chapter; it's also the beginning of a new one. Don't let's kid ourselves that this is the last enlargement for years to come. Romania and Bulgaria have already been promised membership. The rest of the Balkans will come in step by step, though in what jigsaw of states remains to be seen. In December, we decide whether to open negotiations with Turkey - which we definitely should, for reasons I'll explore another time. A sour note in this enlargement has been struck by Greek Cypriots voting against reunification of that island, while Turkish Cypriots voted for it; as a result, with stunning logic, the Greek Cypriots are rewarded by membership of the EU, while the Turkish Cypriots are punished by having to stay outside. I hope EU leaders in Dublin will give the Greek Cypriot president - the party-pooping Papadopoulos - the icy welcome he deserves.
The fact remains: from Saturday, the EU will not only be much larger and more diverse, but will continue to grow even larger and more diverse. I have some sympathy with those Eurosceptics, in Britain and elsewhere, who fear bureaucratic homogenisation. Yet the truth is that with this enlargement, diversity has won. The question is no longer: will our individual national identities be devoured by a European superstate, a Europa run by bureaucrats in Brussels? It is: how can we prevent the councils of Europe descending into 17th-century sejmiki, those often riotous parliamentary assemblies of seldom entirely sober Polish lords? But if we can manage that feat, Europe will be an extraordinary community, unique in the world, of 25 going on 35 democracies, and 455 million going on 600 million citizens, living together in mutually reinforcing freedom, peace and prosperity.
Yes, I know this is a very tall order. I know this party will in fact be full of long faces, among both old and new members of the union. I can write the lament as well as anyone. The new members are mostly poor, measured against the average of the EU of 15, and, even with their superior growth rates, will remain significantly poorer for decades to come. Many have shocking levels of corruption in public life, unstable party systems and disaffected voters. The old EU members fear immigration, chaos and competition from cheap skilled labour or more favourable tax regimes. Many west Europeans, particularly in the original six member states of the European Economic Community, secretly wish this enlargement wasn't happening at all. No one knows how decisions will be reached around that giant table for 50 ministers in Brussels. The present European Commission is falling apart like a tired blancmange. National political leadership in all the major states of Europe is weak. Causes enough to send up not gala fireworks but an international distress signal: Mayday! Mayday! (Incidentally, in case you're wondering, this derives not from May Day but from a phonetic spelling of "m'aidez", the French for "help me".)
But let's leave all those troubles aside until the resumption of normal business on Monday. At the weekend, we celebrate a great change. If we keep measuring Europe against the United States, or some utopian dream of United Europe, we shall always find it sadly wanting. But compare this Europe of May Day 2004 with its own past. Think what Europe was like 20 years ago, in 1984, let alone in 1944. Then put Dvorak's Slavonic Dances on your CD player, and crack open the vodka.
· timothy.garton.ash at guardian.co.uk