Why the Austrians are the Japanese of Europe

The country must admit its mistakes,
but other EU countries could also take
the opportunity for some soul-searching

Dominique Moisi

　Nearly six months after the imposition of bilateral sanctions against "Jorg Haider's Austria", and just after the appointment of three "wise men" to assess the human rights record of the new government in Vienna, what are we to make of the European Union's first attempt to define itself as a continent of shared values?

　On the positive side, the largely symbolic measures - how else can one describe receiving Austria's ambassadors at the lowest diplomatic level or refusing to support Austrian candidates to international jobs - have stimulated debate. The humiliation and stigma of sanctions have forced Austria to take a long-overdue look at its past record and present identity. Without this sense of exclusion, Austria would have remained the closed and selfish society described with such cruel accuracy in Thomas Bernhardt's plays.

　On the negative side, this bout of introspection has produced defiance rather than contrition. Austria is feeling sorry for itself: the country suspects it has been singled out because of its size rather than for its deeds.

　A former empire that still takes great pride in its miraculous economic recovery after the second world war, Austria feels misjudged. Its political and diplomatic elites will tell you that few other European countries of similar population have opened their borders more generously to immigrants. The EU, they complain, would not dare to impose sanctions on Germany, and will not take action against Italy if the extreme right were to reach power there in a coalition government in the near future.

　They have a point. But while the sanctions may be unfair, they are undoubtedly legitimate. The same distinction applied to the western military intervention in Kosovo: that too may not have been strictly legal but it was certainly morally justified.

　Austria's problem lies elsewhere. It has failed to recognise the profound change, accelerated by globalisation, that has affected all western political systems and the relationship between citizens and leaders - the need for transparency. It was not just young Austrian voters who turned to Mr. Haider because they were tired of the old established parties. Europe as a whole wants Austria to show greater openness about its history.

　Austria is the Japan of Europe, a nation unable to apologise publicly for the mistakes of the past - a strange contradiction for a largely Catholic country where confession should come easily. Where is the Austrian equivalent of Willy Brandt, the German chancellor who knelt in front of the war memorial in the Warsaw ghetto? The precedent of Kurt Waldheim, the former Austrian president who lied to his countrymen and probably to himself about his wartime role, explains in part the severity of Europe's reaction to Austria's apparent willingness to continue repeating it mistakes.

　A few Austrians during the second world war were heroes of the resistance against Hitler, a lot more were active collaborators with the Nazi regime. The remainder were simply somewhere in between. Austria found itself in the wrong place - so close to Germany - at the wrong time and still humiliated by defeat and loss of Empire. Hence its uncertain and fractured identify today.

　Austrians are now starting to admit the ambiguity of their history, but apologising for the present will be harder. To do so requires a self-confidence they currently lack. While Austrian diplomats are defensive in public, in private they concede that Europe's criticism is partly justified and that things will have to change. This will require a searching debate on the meaning of democracy; one should not forget that Mr. Haider's Freedom party came to power after a perfectly democratic electoral process.

　What reinforces the defiant mood of the Austrians is their accurate perception of the unease and embarrassment, if not outright division, among the other European states over the sanctions policy. The French, who have just assumed the EU presidency for the next six months, may be determined to maintain it. Others are much less convinced of the efficacy of largely symbolic sanctions, or for that matter of sanctions of any kind.

　In their search for an exit strategy, Austria alternates between open threats to paralyse EU institutions, and patiently keeping a low profile. It may be that neither tactic will succeed, but there is another way forward. It depends on all the EU states signing a charter of fundamental rights a move seen as the preamble to a future European constitution and as one of the objectives of the French presidency. If Austria were to sign such a symbolic text it might clear the way for its gradual return within the community of democratic nations.

　Finally, sanctions matter less than education. By taking action against Austria, the EU was doing two things at once: defining its future and forcing the Austrians to confront their past. The Haider phenomenon is more symptom than cause, one that forces us to confront a much more fundamental question: is Austria, for a mix of historical, cultural and political reasons, inherently more xenophobic than other European countries? Or is its xenophobia common to most of Europe?

　At a time when the return of economic growth in Europe points to a need for more immigration, the Austrian case brings to the surface tensions between the rational arguments for open, multicultural societies and the emotional defence of more homogeneous models of nationhood. Unlike France, not every country has a successful soccer them to bolster a pluralist, multi-coloured, confident identity with which to resist xenophobic instincts.

The writer is deputy director of the Paris-based Institut Francais des Relations Internationales. He writes here in a personal capacity

Opposing View (Letter written in response to the article "Why the Austrians are the Japanese of Europe" in the Financial Times on 3 July 2000)