Europe, Russia and Eurasia
The accession of the Czech Republic, Estonia, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Slovakia and Slovenia to the European Union in May 2004 marked a symbolic end to the transition in eight of the “transition economies” in Country by Country. Their incorporation into the EU required a review of the old regional borders drawn in this report. We have opted to group countries into “Europe and Eurasia”. Why?
One solution would have been simply to move these eight into “western Europe” and rename the region “Europe”, reflecting its extended reach. However, such an approach would fail to reflect a broader range of issues that lie at the heart of what “Europe” has come to mean. First, it implicitly equates “Europe” with “European Union”, ignoring the fact that several countries in western Europe are not in the EU. Second, it also fails to reflect the fact that there are already several other countries in the EU’s waiting room—Bulgaria, Croatia, Romania and Turkey—and that still more may eventually join. Many of the countries currently outside the EU have clear “European” aspirations, and consider themselves part of Europe not just geographically but also culturally—separated from the mainstream only by accident of fate.
This is an underlying factor that is sometimes overlooked in analyses of the countries on the EU’s eastern border. The Ukrainian election clearly showed how conflicts tend to be viewed as a zero-sum game between Russia and “the West”—a legacy that in many ways predates the Cold war. This perception is further strengthened by Russia’s own imperial hangover. Yet the irony is that whether to be part of Europe or not is a question that Russia itself has struggled with for centuries.
Russia: it’s hard to say goodbye when you won’t go
The schizophrenia at the heart of Russian political culture has a long history, leading to alternating periods of openness towards Europe and isolation from it. Russia’s enormous land mass straddles Europe and Asia, but its heart is firmly rooted in Europe, and most Russians consider themselves European. This is sadly evident in ugly manifestations of racism against Caucasians, Central Asians and Africans. Russia’s problem is that it considers itself not merely a European country, but a European power, on a par with (if not greater than) the other former imperial powers in Europe. Moreover, in the Russian view great powers have spheres of influence, and respect them.
This lies at the heart of most political disputes between Russia and the EU. When the EU proves too meddlesome, lecturing Russia about human-rights abuses in Chechnya and democracy in general, Russia withdraws into its enormous backyard, and when possible seeks to drive a wedge between the EU and the US—a country with which Russia shares some cultural similarities, not least a belief that their domestic affairs are nobody’s business but their own. However, these tactics are undermined by the reality of economic relations between Russia and the EU. Most pressing among these is that the EU needs to buy gas from Russia, and Russia needs to sell gas to the EU. Relations between the two are thus in semi-permanent tension, divided by political priorities but enmeshed by economic links. Yet these links—coupled with a shared cultural history from the 17th century onwards—bring Russia firmly into the European orbit, and its love-hate relationship with Europe has been a fundamental theme in Russian history since Peter the Great.
Central Asia: the Russo-Turkic world
Russia’s ambivalence about its place in Europe has led it to posit a “third way” of its own, neither European nor Asian, but Eurasian. At the heart of this lies Russia’s unwillingness to abandon Central Asia—the newly independent states of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan—as part of its sphere of influence. Yet while it might seem logical in this volume to exclude these five countries from “Europe” and incorporate them into Asia, this would belie the economic and geopolitical position of these states. Despite the occasional foray into the arms of the US—most pronounced in Uzbekistan’s case, least perhaps in Tajikistan’s—these countries are still overwhelmingly dependent on Russia.
The decisive argument for placing these five countries in “Europe” is economic. Exports from all five countries in Central Asia tend to head West, not just to Russia, but further to Ukraine and the EU. With imports coming mainly from Russia, this means that around half of Central Asia’s trade turnover is Western-facing. “Eurasia” is therefore not merely an abstract geopolitical concept designed to preserve Russia’s old empire, but in fact a chain of economic linkages that stretches from the oilfields in the Caspian basin to the refineries on the Baltic; from the gold mines in the Tien Shan mountains to metal trading centres in Switzerland. In its most noxious form, it is the transit corridor through which opiates, illegal weapons and modern-day slaves arrive in Europe. For better or worse, “Europe” does not stop at the Urals after all.
One solution would have been simply to move these eight into “western Europe” and rename the region “Europe”, reflecting its extended reach. However, such an approach would fail to reflect a broader range of issues that lie at the heart of what “Europe” has come to mean. First, it implicitly equates “Europe” with “European Union”, ignoring the fact that several countries in western Europe are not in the EU. Second, it also fails to reflect the fact that there are already several other countries in the EU’s waiting room—Bulgaria, Croatia, Romania and Turkey—and that still more may eventually join. Many of the countries currently outside the EU have clear “European” aspirations, and consider themselves part of Europe not just geographically but also culturally—separated from the mainstream only by accident of fate.
This is an underlying factor that is sometimes overlooked in analyses of the countries on the EU’s eastern border. The Ukrainian election clearly showed how conflicts tend to be viewed as a zero-sum game between Russia and “the West”—a legacy that in many ways predates the Cold war. This perception is further strengthened by Russia’s own imperial hangover. Yet the irony is that whether to be part of Europe or not is a question that Russia itself has struggled with for centuries.
Russia: it’s hard to say goodbye when you won’t go
The schizophrenia at the heart of Russian political culture has a long history, leading to alternating periods of openness towards Europe and isolation from it. Russia’s enormous land mass straddles Europe and Asia, but its heart is firmly rooted in Europe, and most Russians consider themselves European. This is sadly evident in ugly manifestations of racism against Caucasians, Central Asians and Africans. Russia’s problem is that it considers itself not merely a European country, but a European power, on a par with (if not greater than) the other former imperial powers in Europe. Moreover, in the Russian view great powers have spheres of influence, and respect them.
This lies at the heart of most political disputes between Russia and the EU. When the EU proves too meddlesome, lecturing Russia about human-rights abuses in Chechnya and democracy in general, Russia withdraws into its enormous backyard, and when possible seeks to drive a wedge between the EU and the US—a country with which Russia shares some cultural similarities, not least a belief that their domestic affairs are nobody’s business but their own. However, these tactics are undermined by the reality of economic relations between Russia and the EU. Most pressing among these is that the EU needs to buy gas from Russia, and Russia needs to sell gas to the EU. Relations between the two are thus in semi-permanent tension, divided by political priorities but enmeshed by economic links. Yet these links—coupled with a shared cultural history from the 17th century onwards—bring Russia firmly into the European orbit, and its love-hate relationship with Europe has been a fundamental theme in Russian history since Peter the Great.
Central Asia: the Russo-Turkic world
Russia’s ambivalence about its place in Europe has led it to posit a “third way” of its own, neither European nor Asian, but Eurasian. At the heart of this lies Russia’s unwillingness to abandon Central Asia—the newly independent states of Kazakhstan, the Kyrgyz Republic, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan—as part of its sphere of influence. Yet while it might seem logical in this volume to exclude these five countries from “Europe” and incorporate them into Asia, this would belie the economic and geopolitical position of these states. Despite the occasional foray into the arms of the US—most pronounced in Uzbekistan’s case, least perhaps in Tajikistan’s—these countries are still overwhelmingly dependent on Russia.
The decisive argument for placing these five countries in “Europe” is economic. Exports from all five countries in Central Asia tend to head West, not just to Russia, but further to Ukraine and the EU. With imports coming mainly from Russia, this means that around half of Central Asia’s trade turnover is Western-facing. “Eurasia” is therefore not merely an abstract geopolitical concept designed to preserve Russia’s old empire, but in fact a chain of economic linkages that stretches from the oilfields in the Caspian basin to the refineries on the Baltic; from the gold mines in the Tien Shan mountains to metal trading centres in Switzerland. In its most noxious form, it is the transit corridor through which opiates, illegal weapons and modern-day slaves arrive in Europe. For better or worse, “Europe” does not stop at the Urals after all.
posted by Marko at 12/13/2005 09:25:00 AM
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